I live in the same Mississippi town where I was born. Besides my years in college, this is the only place I’ve ever known as home. Some people might not agree, but I think there’s something really special about that. When I go into stores, I’m almost certain to run into old friends who I’ve known most of my life. When I turn on the local news or look at the paper, I see faces that I love. When I go to the hospital or doctors’ offices, there’s a good chance I’ll be cared for by an old classmate. When I call businesses, I hear familiar voices on the other end who know me by name. When I dine out, I may spot a former teacher sitting across the way who still remembers my face. I cross paths with people, everywhere, who have some sort of connection with my parents or my brothers or my children. Our kids are grown and gone now and Davis and I are free to live just about anywhere we choose, but it takes a long time to grow this kind of sense of home. In today’s loosely connected world, those things are worth a whole lot to me. 

Like most cities and towns across the country, we’ve experienced an increase in crime in the last few years. I probably wouldn’t feel very safe going back to some of the places where my memories take me- especially after dark- but I’d guess that would be true of most places in our country. Invariably, a social media post will herald the news of the latest theft or gunfire and a predictable chorus of commenters will follow. There are always the same types of remarks that are shared. “Our town is a lost cause” - “Only here” -  “I need to move” - “This place is no longer safe” - “I don’t go out at night unless I just have to.” Because I love my hometown, I kind of take all of that personally. Sometimes, I even think that the bad stuff blinds them to ever seeing the good things that happen. And I wonder if those people even watch or read the national news. If they did, they’d know bad headlines are definitely not unique to our town. Not even to our time. 

We’ve been making splashy “headlines” since Cain and Abel. Man was only 2 generations into this whole life thing and we were already plotting and killing and covering our tracks. And if there was Yahoo News or a Bethlehem Community Watch Facebook page back in Jesus’ day, can you imagine the horrible lead stories? For starters, “Local Infant Boys Slaughtered at Herod’s Command.” The fallen world Jesus came into was brutal. Barbaric. Evil. Oppressive. And when He left it, it was still thrashing about in just as much wickedness.

I think we’ve become addicted to bad news today. We like to repeat it and share it and go on about how life isn’t like it used to be and people are worse than they’ve ever been. I’m certainly guilty of it. It’s contagious. We’re prone to whitewash the past and remember it as the standard of perfection. And we like to imagine there are perfectly ideal places out there that are better than where we are- free of any kind of evil or troubles. The bad stuff holds our attention the longest. It’s why they put it on the front page. It’s what keeps us reading and watching and complaining and can make us discontent- wishing for another time or place other than where we’ve been planted. 

But, Christmas isn’t about bad news. In the middle of all the bad “headlines” they were facing then, the angel came to the shepherds in the fields and said, “I bring you good news of great joy for everyone! The Savior- yes, the Messiah, the Lord- has been born tonight in Bethlehem, the city of David!” Luke 2:10 In all of their oppression and frustration, they needed some good news more than anything. Not the kind that is bumped by a bigger story the next day. The kind that would bring hope for all time and eternity. They didn’t need the angel to tell them how bad things were- they were well aware. They needed some good news that would shift their focus. And in our day and with our headlines, the good news of their day is still the good news and we can’t share good news if we’re always talking about bad news. Yes, it exists. Yes, we should stand against evil every chance we get. Yes, we should always work toward changes for the good. But- people need to hear us tell the good news of the gift of our Savior more than they need to hear us rehash the bad news of the day. We all get plenty of that. The world is craving the refreshing hope that the good news brings. 

This Christmas, I hope we won’t let the bad news blind us to the good news of Jesus. I hope our lips will celebrate the good more than they lament the bad. Jesus warned us, a long time ago, that we should expect troubles and bad times in this fallen world and Christmas is all about overcoming the bad with the good. I hope the way we talk and share and live, this holiday season, will testify that we believe in the power of the good news to prevail over the bad. 

“How beautiful are the feet of those that bring good news.” Romans 10:15

“For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes” Romans 1:16

“And everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” Act 2:21

I’ll just tell y’all- I’ve got Christmas-itis really bad. Right after Thanksgiving, I was busy working and didn’t write and now I’m just busy playing. Most of my obligations have been fulfilled and I’m really enjoying this season with my friends and family. So, consider this like a note to the teacher from my mom to please excuse my absences through the end of the year. I’ll be celebrating the good news of Christmas and then heading to the mountains with the fam for the last week of 2021. 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from my family to yours! May God bless you all! 

JONI 

Ok, so I’ve obviously been on an unplanned break. I don’t know about you, but my calendar has already been doing the holiday s t r e t c h and I’ve just not found time to write. A lot has happened that I could write about- like burning up the motor in my Flawless personal trimmer- likely even before the warranty had expired. Not sure what that says about my hormone levels, but it can’t be good. Or my longtime doctor retiring, which will have me scrambling to find someone young enough to see me through to the end- literally. A longstanding doctor/patient relationship is kind of like an old married couple and now I have to go all the way back to a “first date” with someone new as we nervously get to know each other. Or Ruby’s altercation with a raccoon that left bloody claw marks across her face and nose, which the vet says will likely leave a scar. Having always relied on her looks, she’s kind of taken to her bed over it as she’s worried about how she’ll look for our family Christmas picture, this weekend. Or the fact that Carson has ONE more semester of college and we’re about ready to finally implement our home renovation plans and met with a contractor last week. Living in a renovation site with Davis and Ruby will either give a lot of good blog material for 2022 or end it all together with me having lost my mental faculties. Only time will tell. But, it’s Thanksgiving week, so we’ll have to come back to those topics later. This week is all about gratefulness.

Today, as I was driving, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the day was. The gold and orange leaves just popped against the bright blue fall sky. The wind blew the falling leaves around like confetti in the air. Everywhere I looked, I saw beauty and thought how God blesses us through His creation. This week just always has a different feel about it. We all seem to really be tuned in to all that God has done for us. The protection He’s given us to bring us this far. The freedoms and liberties we enjoy. The people He’s given us to love. The abundant physical provisions that sustain us. The forgiveness and grace He offers. This week, in particular, brings those things to the forefront of the mind where they should always reside. 

I’m really looking forward to the big gathering of my family that we didn’t get to have last year. There will be a house full of people and the Egg Bowl will be on in the background. There will be cousins, aunts, uncles, and kids that have gotten taller since we last met. The boys and boys-at-heart will end up in the backyard throwing a football around. The men will stand around outside with their hands in their pockets talking about man things. The tables will have beautiful centerpieces and extra chairs brought in for all the guests. There will be a lot of hugging and laughing and noise making. There will catching up and picture taking and candles burning. The food will be lined up for what seems like a mile. The dessert table- too much goodness for so little time. My mother and her sister will have executed their mother’s cornbread dressing recipe to perfection. And when the ice is in the glasses and the rolls are finally lightly browned, the crowd will be corralled into the house and the noise and the chatter will start to fade and my uncle, who has the gift of putting words together in a most beautiful way, will have our Thanksgiving blessing. There, as a family, we’ll bow our heads, young and old, and thank God for giving us another year to be together and for the way He’s held our family close through the generations. How He’s given us the strength to bear the losses along the way, for the faith that that has been passed down, and for the hope of a family reunion in heaven, one happy day. We’ll thank Him for all the ways He’s provided for us here in this life and the one to come and then we’ll lift our heads and open our usually teary eyes and the food line will quickly form. That’s been the same format for our family Thanksgivings for as far back as my memory will take me. Through the years, the location has changed. Some of the dear faces have left us. A lot of new ones have been added. The young have gotten older. Kids have grown into adults. But, the cornbread dressing recipe, my uncle offering a beautiful prayer, and our family united in faith and love have been constant.

I’m so very thankful for you and your support of my blog. You really just can’t imagine how much. I’ll check in as often as my schedule will allow through the holiday season, but we’ll get back to a more normal flow in the new year! Have a most wonderful Thanksgiving day and, if you’re in a particularly hard season, know that you’re not alone. There will be a lot of families having difficult holidays, this year, and God knows each and every one by name. May He give you peace. 

JONI 

The cool air of fall has set in and, as you might imagine, I couldn’t be happier. This week, our heat came on for the first time and diffused that lovely aroma of burning socks throughout the house. For 8 1/2 months of the Mississippi year, I live for this right here. This long-awaited, albeit, brief cool period. We, cold lovers, have November through mid-February to cool off and then it’s basically over for another long stretch of months and months’ worth of heat. Sure, we get excited about September and October when all the commercials are pumpkin spice and flannel shirts, but it’s just because we like to play pretend fall during those months, while you, Northerners, are already in your sweaters and jackets. The only real changes we have, at that point, are that we buy some candy corn, switch from our pastel short sleeves to our earth tone short sleeves, and then wait. And most years, we even have to subtract the weeks of Thanksgiving and Christmas from our already deficient pile as some mysterious phenomenon occurs in the South during those weeks- usually resulting in us switching back to the A/C and wearing shorts to see Santa. 

Anyway, I can’t explain why I’m drawn to this time of year, but I have been all my life. The cold, cloudy days have always been my favorite. The chilly winds blowing the leaves loose from their trees and moving the dark clouds across the sky. The earlier arrival of nightfall. The layering and bundling up. The hunkering down and covering up. The lazy, cold and rainy days. All the things that most of my friends despise are my very favorite things. I know. I’m an oddball. But, it’s like I go from just trudging along through the scorching months to suddenly feeling renewed and resuscitated simply by the chill in the air. 

Maybe another reason I’m partial is because I feel like this season brings more than just temperature changes. It’s this time of year when we become more loving, giving, and outward thinking than usual. Our hearts turn a little softer and our bad attitudes seem to mellow. We’re more sensitive to the needs of others and are more eager to share our blessings. We become mindful of the source of our provisions and tend to become more thankful for them. We’re gathered inside from the cold and darkness- forced away from our busyness and into the warmth of home with family and friends where we can enjoy what’s really important. Our thoughts just seem to be turned outward and upward as we go through this most lovely season and I love that, too. 

When I was a kid, I hated going to the doctor, but the winter months always brought me the sicknesses that were circulating around school at the time. Back in the day, a visit to the doctor with fever and a sore throat was an automatic sentence to a shot in your tail. You knew when the doctor rolled his stool over to the door, opened it, and gave the order to the nurse that ended in the letters, cc, you were doomed. As much as I hated turning over on that crinkly paper and having my bony bottom harpooned, there was something that happened afterward that I did love. We’d go home and, besides the overall preferential treatment we got when we were sick and having Sprite in the house, my mother would always tell me to get into my pajamas and she’d make up the couch as my sick bed so I could watch TV. I’d lie down on the bed of sheets and quilts and pillows and then she’d come and cover me with blankets. She’d pulled them up to my chin, tuck them in tight, and ask me if I was warm enough. Even though I was sick with chills and fever and it was cold outside, I had nothing but cozy feelings of being snug, safe, tucked in and cared for by my mother. 

We’ve all been through a lengthy season of boiling controversies and fevered debates. Some people have really heavy issues hanging in the air and the realities of these changing times- well, they can leave us feeling as if we might just self-combust. There are many with health troubles and financial worries and future concerns- honestly, I feel like we’re coming through what’s been a sort of oppressive season for everyone. Maybe a cool down is just what we need right about now- in more ways than one. A time to rest and regroup. To slow down, take a breather, and refocus our gaze. 

Whatever ails you. Whatever is weighing on your heart. Whatever is causing your spirit to be discouraged. Whatever emptiness you feel. Whatever worry is keeping your mind from rest. Whatever need you have. Whatever circumstance you can’t change. Whatever weariness overcomes you. Whatever loss still haunts you. Whatever fear won’t leave you alone. Whatever thoughts overwhelm you. Let your Father wrap you up in His blanket of love. Let Him pull them up to your chin and tuck them in tight and let this new season be one of respite and healing for the soul. No matter how sick or weak you’re feeling or how cold the winds blow around you, rest in the safety and comfort of being covered and cared for by the God of the universe. 

“But let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you. For surely, O Lord, you bless the righteous; you surround them with your favor as with a shield.” Psalm 5:11-12

Well, I went on a little road trip with some friends last weekend. I know you’ve heard me talk about the many years I spent in the Bible study group that formed a lasting bond. We ranged in age, personality, and backgrounds, but all grew close because of the commonality we shared through Jesus. What I may not have told you was that our group was called The Bad Girls. That’s an odd name for a group of Christian ladies, you might say, but there’s a story. 

One of the studies we did was on the book, Bad Girls of the Bible. It was a study of women like Jezebel, Delilah, and Herodias- all just lovely, lovely ladies. Anyway, every week in the church bulletin, they’d list the church’s weekly calendar and, at first, it would say The Bad Girls of the Bible study group will meet Tuesday at 6:00. A little later on, it started to read, The Bad Girls of the Bible will meet Tuesday at 6:00. Then, finally, it just said “The Bad Girls” will meet Tuesday at 6:00. I’m not sure if the church started having to pay by the word for the bulletin printing or if the office staff just thought the title was appropriate for our group but, either way, I’m sure it caught the attention of new members and it stuck to us like glue. 

Well, one of our favorite Bad Girls, Jan, (pictured in the center) relocated to Georgia, a few years ago, and a few of us hit the road to go visit her. Some of us had been once before and had a most delightful time, so we decided to go again and take along another Bad Girl friend who was especially close to her. Jan is just the epitome of a true southern lady. She is gracious and a hostess to her very core. She is simply beautiful in every way a person can be beautiful and we couldn’t have had a more wonderful visit with her and her family. 

You know you really get to know people when you travel with them. There are just things you’ll never know about a person by just going shopping or out to dinner. Like if they snore (as was reported about me), or if they have a pill organizer the size of a tackle box, or if they’re completely unrecognizable in the morning, or how long their beauty routine takes- you know, things of that nature. But, no matter who you travel with, it’s been my experience that everyone in the group will fall into one of a few categories. Each week, you could go on a trip with a different set of people and, invariably, you’d see them naturally separate into the same varieties of travel companions each time. 

1) First, there’s the one who always wants to be the FRONT SEAT DRIVER. That’s me. I always want to drive whenever possible. Yes, I concede that, perhaps, the front seat driver usually does have some control issues which cause her to blurt out, “Me, me, me,” whenever the driving question arises. After all, the driver determines the background music, speed, departure time and place, temperature, routes, safety factors, gas levels, and stops, so it is really a powerful position to hold. Sure, the driver asks the passengers for their input, but since they didn’t want to drive in the first place, they’re usually of the “We don’t care” variety. If you are like me and always want to drive, then you, like me, may also suffer from the hidden sickness that is a deep-seated desire for control (mwah ha ha ha) for which you might need to seek help as I do.  

2) Next, there’s always a FUN-SIZE BLADDER in every group. A regular bladder will keep the normal person away from the bathroom for approximately 3-4 hours and longer if needed. The fun-size bladder, however, is only good for 3-4 exits before it’s full. The fun-size bladder causes the driver to have to stop more than their controlling tendencies would probably choose, but there’s one in every group and it should be an expected part of any travel experience. Once in the car, this traveler should be limited in regards to her intake of liquids. This one also has very low standards when it comes to where they “go.” A gas station restroom requiring a key, a truck stop, a rest area- it matters not to them. Their urgency trumps any worries of safety or sanitary conditions. It could smell like a septic tank in there and the fun-size bladder only sees the beauty in its offer of impending relief. Since the fun-size bladder is a medical condition, the other travelers are sympathetic and try to cater to the whims of her unusually small organ. 

3) Then, there is the always a BACKSEAT DRIVER. This is a person who doesn’t want to be the front seat driver when it’s being discussed, but always desires to be the driver’s helper. Her position possibly indicates a lower level thirst for control- not quite as strong as the front seat driver’s. This person is best seated directly behind the driver’s seat, which largely shields her view of the speedometer, the road, and most of its goings-on. Invariably, the backseat driver will not be able to hold her comments and will spit out some driver’s education refresher gobbledygook. But, if the backseat helper is trying to refrain from intruding, she may make involuntary guttural noises when a road situation occurs. These may come in the form of air being sucked in between teeth, soft whimpering sounds, or indiscernible mutterings. The backseat driver, sometimes, does have legitimate concerns, but the ratio of legitimate danger versus perceived danger is quite low. But, for those few times, the front seat driver is very thankful for her. 

4) The I DON’T CARE traveler is just there to relax and go with the flow. They don’t care what time they leave, where they eat, where they sit, or if the car is traveling at 120 mph and on fire. As long as they don’t have to make a decision or call the shots, they’re good with whatever is decided among the other travelers. It’s like taking Switzerland on a trip and rarely will she assert herself in any trip deliberations. The little care traveler doesn’t even have an opinion on whether she has to go potty. If everyone else has to potty, then the “I don’t care” traveler can also potty…..but she can also wait if everyone else can wait, so it’s always whatever with her. This traveler is just as happy as she can be as long as everyone else is as happy as they can be. While these types are not your go-to for trip feedback and quick travel decisions, they are usually among the most pleasant and accommodating companions on the road. 

5) There is always a MOTHER in every travel group. This has nothing to do with age or relations, but more to do with their caring nature toward their fellow travelers. She wants to know how everyone slept, reminds them that they may need a jacket, and offers mints after each meal. In the mother’s purse, she always has Band-aids, Tylenol, Advil, Benadryl, Imodium, hydrocortisone cream, an enema, and any other medication that could be needed by anyone in any situation. She’d whip off her scarf if there was need for a tourniquet. This traveler always packs extras of everything in case someone has forgotten theirs. They are always armed with phone chargers and cords and safety pins and Kleenex and snacks and a Tide pen and digital thermometers and change for a dollar. The mother thinks of everything and packs accordingly. She’s on Boy Scout level in the area of preparedness and, often times, she saves the day. 

6) The TIMEKEEPER is always a present force on any trip. She’s that person who decides what time the group needs to wake up to have breakfast, get everyone showered, and out the door at exactly the right time. Such a task requires some mad math skills, especially in the area of subtraction. Prior to the group scattering, she will announce what time everyone is to meet back at the front of the store or at the car. She will give the group warnings when a designated time is approaching, “We need to leave here in 10 minutes to get there by 3:00.” The timekeeper is usually a very organized and structured person and she would prefer a slow death over being late getting back to the predetermined meeting place. The group follows her lead as they recognize her gift of time management. The timekeepers are the ones to point out allowances needed for time zone changes and will make adjustments to the ETA when stops run long. She runs a tight ship and is basically the reason the others don’t miss the boat. 

I’m sure names appeared in your head as they did in mine as you thought about the different kinds of travelers. There are other kinds that I didn’t get to because, well, I’m tired and so we’re stopping at 6. It takes all kinds to make the world (and the wheels) go round. I love all the people traveling through this life with me. Friends, family, mentors, acquaintances. Life’s a journey and everybody has been given something special to share along the way. No two bags are packed just alike, so love all your people for the uniqueness they bring to your life’s passage. It’s no mistake that they’re traveling alongside you. “For such a time as this.”

Happy Weekend to y’all! 

JONI 

First of all, I’m a little behind on things, I want to thank everyone who sent messages about my mother and her bout with Covid and my father-in-law’s passing. It’s certainly been an eventful three weeks in our family. 

Thankfully, my mother recovered from her illness and I never got sick. I stayed home for a whole week to be safe, but never tested positive. Thank the Good Lord, my natural immunity was up to the task. And true to form, until the last few days, Mama’s been giving us all a wide berth ever since she tested positive. I mean, there are the CDC guidelines and then there are Mama’s guidelines. Those are much, much more stringent. I mean, if the Center for Disease Control says 10 days is good to avoid the spread, then 20 days would have to be so much better. Never let it be said of her that she passed along a germ. 

I missed you all last week. We were just out of sorts emotionally and taking care of those things that require attention when there’s a death in the family. God really worked out so many things in those days and in ways that only He could. Not the least of which was providing a perfect home for Gramps’ dog, Coco, as we found out really quickly that jealous Ruby was not a fan of giving up her only child status. One of the first responders took an immediate interest in Coco on that sad morning and thought of his co-worker who was mourning the loss of his little dog. The man who was missing his dog was eventually joined with the dog who was missing his man and, from our latest report, the two of them together are a match made in heaven. Coco is enjoying truck rides to Petco, riding on a four-wheeler in the woods, playing with his two cat siblings, and overall royal and privileged treatment. They both found their missing pieces in each other, which has been an emotional relief for us all. He was such a loyal friend to my father-in-law and we had to be sure he was going to a happy and loving place. Sounds like he certainly found it. God takes care of all of His creatures. I believe in Him and not coincidence. Many happy years to you, Coco. 

We’ve spent the last week writing notes, making phone calls, cleaning out cabinets, a refrigerator, and going through boxes of pictures. I’ve seen bits and pieces of my children’s faces in some of those photos. I’ve seen the parts of history that their family tree survived. I’ve heard stories of the kind of stuff their people were made of. I love history- especially learning more about my children’s family history. I believe we’re all the sum of so many pieces and parts of those who came before us and we’re carefully put together with what we’ll need for the time and task we’re each given. 

The one thing that stood out as the closest family members would arrive at Gramps’ house and walk in the door for the first time since his death, well, that was the moment when the emotions would overwhelm them. There’s just something about being in a person’s home- the smells, the places where they should be, their things-  they highlight their absence and make it real. One day, someone will go through all of our things, sit in our houses without us there, and tell our stories. What will those people remember? What was it about us that made a difference in their lives? We’re all busy building legacies. May we build good and lasting ones. 

Next week, I’ll be back to regular programming. Sometimes, life just happens and I have to take a pause, but we’ll get back on track. 

Happy Thursday!

JONI 

Today has been a sad day. I lost my father-in-law, this morning. More importantly, Davis lost his Daddy. My kids lost their Gramps. Coco, his dog, lost his best buddy. He was 90, but I guess, no matter how old, we’re never really ready to give up the ones we love. 

He was such a lovable character. He loved his family and was so proud of his sons and grandchildren. He got a lot of joy out of dispensing white bank envelopes at Christmas and on birthdays. He had an endearing wit and liked to tell stories from his military days. He served in Vietnam, Saudi Arabia, Germany, and a lot of other faraway places and we’re all so proud of his service and accomplishments. Even though he was retired from the Air Force, he never retired from military discipline. Predictable doesn’t even begin to cover it. He liked everything to be the same and to be done in the same way- every single day. He was very thorough and conscientious and if he wasn’t 30 minutes early, he considered himself to be late. He could be direct, but we all knew that was the matter of fact-ness he’d learned in the service and took it in stride. He lived out in the country and never liked to be gone away from home for too long. He loved to share the bounty of his blueberry bushes, fig and pear trees, and catfish ponds with neighbors and friends from church. He was very generous with all that he had. He was a man of God and prayed the most humble and sweet prayers. He took such good and faithful care of his sweetheart through in her decline with dementia. He was determined to continue doing the work around his place himself even when it might not have been the safest option. He valued his independence and wanted to do what he could for as long as he could do it. He was a good man with a good heart and his presence will be missed in our lives. 

Through the years, Davis and I have lost a lot of loved ones, but most of them have been after a long period of terrible sickness or mental decline, where their eventual death had already been accepted in small increments along the descending way. But, while Gramps did have health problems, he was still a very active and present part of our lives, so it feels a bit different. I suppose, even at 90, when a soul’s light is snuffed out from our presence all at once, it’s harder for the heart to adjust to the sudden darkness that it leaves than if it had been slowly dimmed to dark. I’m not sure either way is easy, but they are felt differently in the heart. 

Davis has lost both of his parents now. Whenever that happens, a lot of changes are sure to follow. The old home place likely won’t be the gathering site for family events and holidays. That’s usually the way it goes. I remember when my grandparents’ homes were left empty. The place that was once the hub of family activities, became just a shell of a house. The homes had lost their heart- the thing that had drawn us there and had made them so very dear. Such is the course of life and we’re reminded to make the most of our years and start new traditions with the younger generations, while never letting them forget the old. It’s where they came from and part of who they are. 

Even at the end of life, God is so good and faithful. It’s, sometimes, easy to forget how He’s able to answer our prayers in very specific ways until He gives us undeniable reminders. He’s given us plenty of those today. God gave Gramps the gift of a peaceful end and so many other mercies for which we hadn’t even thought to pray. He is a loving and merciful Father. 

Night, friends. 

JONI 

Well, I just got home after several days on the coast. Blair and John Samuel went on an anniversary trip to Boston and needed a dogsitter. I know I’ve told y’all that they have a rescue dog who carries some emotional baggage from her past, so she requires extra tender care. She also has pretty severe separation anxiety when her humans go away and I made the offer to come stay at their house to, at least, let Allie be in her familiar surroundings. I mean, the area where they live is not a bad place to have to spend a few days. 

Since I’d be gone for a while, I asked my mother if she’d like to come with me and we’d squeeze some shopping and seafood experiences in between our dog care. I thought it would be nice to enjoy a few quiet days away with her -watching movies, reading, and visiting. And, of course, Ruby had to go along to entertain Allie and help distract her from the fact that her humans were on hiatus. Ruby is nothing if not distracting. So, I loaded her in her kennel and my mother, who isn’t a dog person, and a whole bunch of luggage and dog food into my car and we headed out on Friday morning. 

Their flight was early that morning and we arrived around 11. Blair had left a delicious lunch ready for us in the crockpot. We unloaded the car and quickly settled into a routine. Mama would go walking early in the morning at her leisurely pace. I’d take the dogs walking three times a day at a very un-leisurely pace. We’d go out and get a good lunch and shop a little bit every day. We napped. Read. Snacked. Rocked on the porch. Cooked dinner. Watched movies. It was a lovely time. 

Well, Mama had been having some allergy symptoms since the night before we left home. We have terrible allergies in the fall- even worse than in the spring. So, she sneezed and her nose was runny and her voice was hoarse and she had a little cough. All the while, she was steadily taking her allergy meds. Until. The day before we were heading home, she got a call that she’d been exposed to Covid, the week before at a small party, so we had to get her tested. It was positive. She’d had a breakthrough case that she’d picked up from another breakthrough case at the gathering. 

There I was stuck with my Covid roommate and Allie with notable car anxiety- making loading her up and taking her home with us, for the duration of their trip, an impossibility. I might also mention here that this is about when it started thundering, another fear of Allie’s, so I administered the CBD anxiety chews her parents left me. At this point, I thought I might benefit from some pot myself. As a matter of fact, we all could have. 

After much back and forth and phone calls with Mama’s doctor and my brother, we settled on coming home, the next evening, as planned and get her an antibody infusion, the following day. She didn’t feel too bad and was still enjoying herself, so we stayed. She was worried about me, but, I mean, we’d been breathing the same air for 4 days, so I didn’t think one more day would make much difference as far as I was concerned. I had to complete my sitting mission for my emotionally fragile granddog, so I dosed Mama up with my vitamin D, C, and Zinc and headed out to walk them again.  

Well, you have to pick up the dog poop in Blair’s neighborhood, which is just disgusting even for this dog lover. And with 2 of them, they kept me busy. We don’t do that in our neighborhood. We operate on the “Watch Where You Step” system and it seems to work nicely. Anyway, Ruby did her afternoon business and I leaned over to scoop it up and that’s when I saw it. A worm in her poop. “This is just so great,” I thought. Allie is going to get worms from her country cousin and her parents will freak. Overprotective dog parents doesn’t even begin to cover what they are. 

So, I got back and texted Davis to have some dog wormer ready when we got home. Then I texted Blair. I felt it was close enough to the end of their trip that she could digest all the news without it ruining anything. I needed to give her a little heads up for when she drove up and her grandmother was locked up in the car and wouldn’t get out and her house was a fog of Lysol Spring Meadow. “First of all, your Grandma has Covid, but she’s feeling fine. Second thing, Ruby has worms and you’ll probably never want us to come near your house again with all of our nastiness.” I thought she took it all fairly well after some reassurance. 

Well, Mama was feeling ok and doing her little exercises and we continued having a good time. And as a refresher, she’s not a dog person and she is also very germ conscious, so I knew the worm thing would have to be my and Ruby’s little secret as I’m a firm believer in what you don’t know can’t hurt you. 

Fast forward to right before we leave. My mother Cloroxed (southern word for the act of applying bleach cleaner) every surface of Blair and John Samuel’s house. If she’d touched it, looked at it, or walked past it, she wiped it down. She sprayed Lysol in the air and went and got in the car about 10 minutes before they were to drive up. She said she was going to sit in the back seat and double mask so to not infect me, being closed up together in the car on the way home. I told her that ship had already sailed several days ago, but it made her feel better to do it. 

They finally arrived and I passed the care of Allie’s special needs back to her parents. Allie celebrated by howling for 5 straight minutes. I think it was her recap of how horrible the whole experience was for her. We put Ruby in her kennel in the back of the car with her grandmother. There, they sat together. The grandmother who didn’t know the dog had worms. The dog who didn’t know the grandmother had Covid. Each living in their own ignorant bliss as we drove off into the dark Alabama night. 

Ruby has since been wormed. Mama has since been infused. Both are doing well. I’m showing no symptoms but staying away from people for a bit. 

We’re all just doing the best we know to do right now. Going on the latest information we have. Trying to minimize risks and damages. We can do everything in our power to stop the spread and, sometimes, it’s still not enough. I’m just thankful that my mother isn’t too sick and grateful for a few days- just her and me. Even if it was a bit contaminated. 

Y’all stay safe out there! Happy Weekend! 

JONI 

Ok, a little mature lady talk. I’m 53. That mysterious age where these eerie transformations are supposed to be happening. They use to call it “The Change” which indicates you’re going to be altered or transformed into something different than you once were. Boy, I’ll say. I wasn’t sure what it was called way back when my Mama was going through it, but I certainly knew she was going through something and it wasn’t pleasant for any of us. I remember how the usually sweet, gentle, and kind woman began emitting sparks from her eyes and smoke rose from her mouth when anything made her mad. Anything covered a lot of ground back then. When there were no sparks or smoke, there were tears. And not just any tears- the epic kind that said, “you have ripped my heart from my chest and I will never recover from what you have done to me in this moment.” So, those were our choices for a couple of years. The crazed angry woman who could kill with the flaming arrows of her stare or the pitiful creature in a puddle of her own tears. Of course, while this was all going on, I was in my later teenage years and a hormonal hurricane all my own. As I recall, those were some good, good times. 

Well, since I had a partial hysterectomy, I’ve wondered how I would tell when I crossed over into that spooky change thing. I mean, would the eye sparks come first and then the large uptick in Kleenex usage? Would I start to notice more and more people trying to avoid me and that would be my first sign? I wasn’t clear on how that worked, but I may have noticed some stronger hints as of late. I think they could be put into two categories- physical changes where I feel as if my head is attached to an alien body- unfamiliar and of another world than the one I’ve been living in until now. And then the mental and emotional aspects in which it might be said that some of my fruits of the spirit have been out of season- namely the patience, long-suffering, and self-control. 

Now, those physical changes can be a doozy. I believe my facial hair progression, through the years, has gone from just a little bleach to hot wax to now a battery powered razor. Of course, they don’t call them razors when they’re for the ladies. No, it’s a personal trimmer. A beautiful metallic gold apparatus with the feminine sounding name, Flawless, written on the side, but let’s get real- it’s a miniature weed eater for hormone deficient women and, when I put it to my chin, it sounds just like the weed whacker hitting that tall patch of grass around our mailbox. My eyelids are drooping now and my neck is starting to show a lot of give and my arms are getting that textured look not unlike a worn leather recliner. And the pain in some of my joints even had me buying some of that topical pain relieving cream like my grandmother used. But the most glaring place I notice the physical change is around the middle. Oh, the middle. What is all that? Sure, I’ve had a muffin top since the children were born, but we seem to have advanced it to the next level. 

Needing a new dress for a wedding, I recently brought home two to try on with my shapewear and shoes as they can make all the difference, although, I’m not specifically a Spanx girl. I find it doesn’t really do much to minimize anything, but just gives it more the appearance of a water balloon. But, you know, we can only ask so much from our textile foundation garments. I mean, they’re not liposuction. Anyway, I determined one dress would work and the other was just too fitted in the midsection for this new and transforming me, where there is no longer a discernible change in girth from the rib cage to the waist. And I decided, while I was suited up in my spandex, I’d try on every dress in my closet and cull the hopeless cases- something I’ve been saying I needed to do, every Sunday, when I’m trying to decide what to wear to church. It took a while, but I struggled and pulled and sweated and ripped seams trying on each and every one. Now, they’re hung back in the closet in order from “Fitting For Now” to “Will Fit If I Drink More Water” to “Might Work If I Contract a Stomach Bug” to, finally, the “Will Require a 2 Week Liquid Diet” section in the very back. Who knows- someday, I may need some dental surgery. That would be the only way I’ll get back into that section. Anything that fell beyond those perimeters, I considered too far fetched and placed in the special give-away pile. 

The emotional and mental clues I’m getting from the ominous “Change” have been appearing for a while and are growing. I fixed myself a glass of tea at lunch today and then I fixed myself another glass of tea not remembering I’d fixed a glass of tea just two minutes earlier. My mind is as foggy as a……um….well….a really foggy place. And then there are my emotions. It’s like I can’t help it, sometimes. Something just comes over me. Yesterday, I was out running errands in the rain and I was in and out of the car all day and getting aggravated. Getting in and struggling with an impaired umbrella that was dripping all over everything had me spouting off words my Mama taught me never to say. And I find myself getting angry at inanimate objects. Like slinging the said malfunctioning umbrella all the way to the back of the car and hitting the window or kicking things that are in my way to show them who’s in charge. And I’ll just go ahead and warn you if I get behind you in traffic, you won’t be able to do anything right. You’ll be going too slow or taking too long to turn or driving in the wrong lane. I’ll find something in your driving to talk out loud to myself about and don’t be alarmed if I honk for emphasis. Just say, “Bless her little changing heart- her patience fruit has just completely rotted on the vine.” 

I’ve also become considerably more irate with injustice and unscrupulous behavior. I obviously can’t watch the news in my current state. It’s like I can’t let things go. I’m hormonal and I’m taking names. I’ve recently turned in a school bus that I felt was being unsafe and dialed the 1-800 number on the back of an 18 wheeler that was driving like a fool. Just today, I sat in wait to take pictures of the tag of a shoplifter. If I had a badge and a holster, I think I could really clean up some stuff. And if my new body wouldn’t look so ridiculous in those super hero costumes with the steel bras, I’d go so far to say I’d even be a good fit for the Justice League- somewhere between Superman, Green Lantern, and Wonder Woman, there I’d be- Mental Muffintop. I’d need an outfit with an empire waist for it to work though. 

So, all that to say, the times, they are a-changin’ and so am I, apparently. If you’re a-changin’ too, well, I feel ya and I’m here for you. So, let’s just forge ahead and carry on with what we were doing. What were we doing? Is it hot in here? What did you just say to me? I can’t remember why I called you. I can’t believe you’re not hot. Did I already tell you this? What do you mean the zipper won’t go any higher? Yes, I’d like to report an incident. Where did my eyebrows go? What were we talking about? What are all these brown spots? Nothing’s wrong- I’m fine.  

Y’all have a great weekend and for all you, young women, out there- never change.

JONI 

I was watching a 9/11 documentary on Hulu this morning. I couldn’t help but cry as I saw people hanging out of those smoky windows. People, with no hope of being rescued, leaping into the air after it was determined to be the best of two very grim options. My lip quivered listening to answering machine messages of sons saying goodbye to mothers and wives saying goodbye to husbands. “Please tell the children I love them always.” My eyes teared for the co-workers who went back in to save others but never came out again or those, who lagged behind the crowd, refusing to leave an injured stranger behind. I cried for the unimaginable trauma those people endured on that terrifying day. A day that could only be described as a living nightmare. Their desperation. Their fear. Their hopelessness. Their pain. Their confusion. I cried for them- those people who were physically present and what they experienced. But, I think some of my tears were for how many lessons we’ve forgotten since then. 

On that day, we didn’t have a sprawling list of prerequisites in order for someone to qualify to receive our care and compassion. We didn’t stop to ensure that political affiliations or stances on social issues lined up with ours before dispensing our assistance. There were no checklists to be completed in order to prove someone’s worthiness of our love and concern. We didn’t give careful examination of skin color or background or religious views or personal records before we deemed them eligible for our sympathy. On that day, we didn’t care about any of that. It was enough that they were our fellow man. Created by God, the Father, and in need of His mercy just like us. If only that was still enough, today. 

God, help us find our way back to that place where it’s enough. 

When I found out it was International Dog Day, I couldn’t resist. Y’all know I’m a sucker for a dog, so I thought we’d have a quick talk about them today. We all need happy things to think about and there’s not much of anything that makes us happier than our pups. 

Growing up, we had outside dogs. I didn’t really know many people who had dogs that actually lived inside their houses. It was more of a common thing then than it is now to just have a nice dog house in the backyard and everybody seemed happy with the arrangement- dog included. Daddy built ours. It was painted to match our house and had a shingled roof and a little front porch- the works. A dog really couldn’t ask for nicer accommodations. On cold nights, we’d make sure they had help to stay warm with extra hay or whatever was needed. There just wasn’t any way a dog was going to live in my mother’s house, the queen of clean. She, especially, was of the belief that animals should live outside where God intended.  

So, when Davis and I got married, we got two Bassett Hounds. I’d always wanted a Bassett as I’ve had an enduring soft spot for dogs with big ears as long as I can remember. They were sisters. Cleo and Maxine. Because of how I was raised, Cleo and Maxine had a lovely dog house in our nice fenced backyard and that’s where they stayed. Every now and then, I’d get the urge to bring them in for a little bit and I’d go get a blanket and spread it out on the floor to protect it from their rather enormous feet. They’d lie on the blanket and we’d love on them and then it was back outside they’d go. 

When the kids got a little older, we decided it was time to get a little dog for them. Cleo and Maxine were gone and we thought they needed to have a pet. That’s when we got our little Sugar- the dachshund with the traveling salesman chihuahua daddy. We’d just moved into our new house and I wasn’t planning on bringing a dog into it to live. I just wasn’t used to that concept. But, since she was so little, we put her small dog house in the garage right by the door so she’d stay warm and be safe at night. The kids would be like- “please, can Sugar come inside?” I’d say, “Ok, if you hold her and don’t put her down.” Then, it was- “ok, she can sleep in the laundry room in her kennel and go outside during the day.” Then it was- “ok, whatever.” Sugar lived out the remaining 95% of her life as an inside dog. God rest her sweet angel soul. I still can’t look at her picture without crying.

Ruby comes on the scene as our beloved rescued stray- the dog, who’d been actually living out in the elements all of her life and could’ve fared very well outdoors, came straight in as an inside dog. She had no earthly idea how to behave as an inside dog. We would’ve done just as well to go out and get a large zoo animal and bring it in to live with us. She was barbaric, I tell you, but we worked through our issues albeit rather slowly. 

So, we’ve gone from a dog house in the backyard to a dog house in the garage to a kennel in the laundry room to this. 

I went to a funeral on Sunday. It was for the sweet mother of one of my high school friends. She was a most precious woman and I have a lot of sweet memories of her through the years. She was a true Southern lady and it was always a special treat for me to run into her and get to catch up and visit. There’s just something so dear about those friends’ mothers from our younger days, who looked after us like we were their own. There were even those who teetered on qualifying as emergency contacts because of how often we were at their houses. They were our other moms and it hits the heart hard when they leave us. 

The minister did a beautiful service and, in keeping with tradition, we stood as the family left following the casket to go to the cemetery. As we were standing quietly- respecting the family’s loss- my little Mama reached over and put her arm around me. Her arm doesn’t seem like it comes up as high on me as it once did. We didn’t make eye contact, but I knew we were both thinking the same thing as we watched my friend and her sister leaving with their mother, one last time. One day, one of us will leave the other. We never know how life will play out, but if things go in natural order, she will leave me. And there I’ll be- without a Mama. I wasn’t ready to think about that yet and my eyes teared for my friend and also at the thought of losing the little woman who was hugged up to me. 

I’ve had this quote on my camera roll for a while. I’m not sure who Chelsea is, but her words touched me and I wanted to save them. While I can’t relate to them yet, I’m sure some of you can. 

Shifting gears. 

I’ve been to a plastic surgeon’s office, a couple of times, in the last week. I wish I could tell you that it was to have my eyelids done or my neck tightened, but it wasn’t nearly that glamorous or beneficial. I just had a little harmless cyst removed from my scalp that was bothering me. It was really probably more along the lines of an episode of Dr. Pimple Popper than The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Anyway, as I sat in the office waiting to get my stitches removed, a poster on the wall caught my eye. You can see all kinds of enticing products being promoted at the plastic surgeon’s office- treatments of much greater interest than those statin drug posters over at the GP’s place. 

Well, this one was an advertisement for fillers to support your natural expression or resting face as it’s more commonly known. Well, this really piqued my interest, because I’ve known for quite some time that I have a very unwelcoming resting face. Not unlike a rabid Doberman. I became keenly aware of this flaw when I’d watch our church service, after the fact, on Facebook. I sing in the choir and, while certainly not meaning to, my resting face has the warmth of a death row prison guard. I guess I can’t help it- it’s just my natural expression at rest. At least, I know that treatments are now available. Just look how much more pleasant these people look. I’ll be working this into my conversations with Davis to see how he takes to the idea of paying for me to look like a more likable person. 

I feel like maybe all of our resting faces have become a bit more droopy as of late. There’s just a lot going on that can weigh our faces down. Personally, I have so many friends who have some really heavy things going on in their lives. Serious surgery, Covid, grief, cancer, divorce. And I have teacher friends who are going back to school in this crazy confusion. Nurse and doctor friends who are exhausted in every way a person can be exhausted. Parents are frustrated. Citizens are frustrated. Employees are frustrated. It seems like a lot of us are on edge- on the brink of either tears or a tantrum. We could probably all use some intervention with our resting faces about now. 

If the world has ever needed to see our fruit of the Spirit, it’s now. Everyone is so desperately hungry for just kind, simple words and a little grace in this confrontational and super-critical place we find ourselves. Where there is hate, we should be that voice that speaks with love. Where there is despair, we should share the flame of joy. Where there is conflict, we should be the representative for peace. Where there is impatience, we should demonstrate patience. Where there is cruelty, we should bring the warmth of kindness. Where there is evil, we should counter with goodness. Where there is disloyalty, we should stand strong in faithfulness. Where there is viciousness, we should offer gentleness. And where there is indiscipline, we should model self-control. I know that’s what I should do, but I’ll be the first to admit that’s not always my “natural expression.”  Lord, help me do the hard things. 

Y’all have a great weekend! Stay safe! 

JONI 

For the last few years, I’ve had this same number in my head. I don’t really know how I came up with the said number, but I try to keep my weight at or under it. It’s the number that I don’t want to let myself cross. My line in the sand- well, for right now, at least. When it requires me to start spending 5 hours a day on the treadmill and eating mostly watercress to maintain it, well, we’ll likely have to revisit.

Holding the numbers down has gotten harder as I’ve gotten into my 40’s and 50’s. You, ladies, know how our metabolisms seemingly hand in their notices about this time in life. With a little arithmetic, I figured my weight is now 38% higher than it was in high school. I suppose that’s about the equivalent of me at 18 with a kindergartener strapped to my back- well, actually, strapped around my waist. 

When I graduated from high school, I was a wisp of a girl. I didn’t even weigh enough to donate blood. One of my many nicknames was Bony Joni, but that one has since fallen by the wayside. When your hip bones no longer protrude almost through the skin and your knees and elbows don’t bulge out like knots on a log, the name kind of loses its relevance. 

Just so you know, this isn’t a post about weight or weight loss. It’s not about the number on your scale versus the number on mine. I just felt drawn to write about something and this was the first example that came to mind. 

So, a couple of weeks ago, the scale went above my line in the sand. Not by much- just a pound. And you know how we do- I stood there and thought about what I’d eaten unusual in the last week to see if I could find an explanation. Then I wondered if I’d just been consuming more salty foods than usual and thought drinking more water would probably help. Then I went to the most comforting explanation that I’d been walking longer on the treadmill, as of late, and it could just be that “muscle weighs more than fat” thing. Anyway, I rocked along a few more days and that number came up again and again and all of a sudden- it wasn’t as startling as it had been just a few days prior. I was almost used to the new number like it was becoming my new line in the sand, but I knew deep down it wasn’t. 

What the heck are you talking about, Joni? Are you in some kind of pyramid scheme of diet supplements? No. But, we all have lines in the sand in every part of our lives. Sometimes, we move those so gradually that we don’t even realize the change until we look back and see the difference. Sometimes, we can see an alarming transformation- for better or worse. 

It’s like when we see someone on a regular basis or when they see us regularly, we don’t notice the changes in each other physically. They happen so slowly and gradually. We’re fed the change in indiscernible increments. But, when we see someone after a long separation, that’s when the changes are most obvious and sometimes jolting for us and them- Joni certainly has aged! 

If I’d been in a coma since I was 18 and woke up today- boy, would I be surprised! Having to digest the changes all at once would be too much for anyone to bear. For starters, I’d be horrified when I went to put on my red and white striped bikini to head to the pool. I’d wonder what the heck happened to my rich coffee brown hair. I’d be beyond disturbed as to where my deep, dark golden tan had gone. I’d have to get an explanation as to how these lines got on my face and why my eyelids are drooping. And what this fur is growing on my chin- that, I’d demand to know. 

But, more important than those kinds of changes, I’d probably be most dumbfounded by other things. Why churches are only half full. How patriotism and history became bad. Why radical ideas are normalized and given so much credibility. How families got too busy to enjoy life. Why so much corruption is tolerated. Why Americans have turned on each other. How government got so big and powerful. Why God has been removed from public places. How right became wrong and wrong is celebrated as right. Why people are more interested in their phones than the people around them. How people with so much can be so unhappy. How simplicity was swallowed up by excess. 

Things like that didn’t happen from one day to the next. Those kinds of changes don’t occur overnight- on the bathroom scale or in life. They happen by accepting a small change- one time and then again and then again and again and again until we don’t even recognize what we once were. Compromising the line in the sand over and over and over. 

As Christians, women, mothers, wives, citizens, and all the other titles we might hold, we have to stand firm in our convictions. I’m talking to myself here and really just letting you listen. Using God’s word as the guide, I need to redraw the lines, readjust the scales, and reset the boundaries wherever they’ve been compromised. Through the years, I know I’ve let my scales get out of whack- in more ways than one. May God give us courage to fight for things that are right and noble and true. Even when right is made to seem wrong and what is noble is a source of ridicule and the truth is made out to be false. Then, more than ever, is it important to plant our feet and hold the line. Taut. 

I may talk to you before week’s end. Y’all have a good one! 

JONI