Early last week, I was moving my credit/debit cards, health insurance card, and driver’s license over to my travel wallet. It was mid-afternoon and we were flying to D.C. the next morning. I was trying to think through everything I’d need and that’s when I noticed my license had expired. Not wanting to take any chances at the airport with an expired ID, I looked at the time and panicked. I’d been at home all day packing and cleaning the house for the dog/house-sitter and my appearance suggested as much, but I couldn’t worry about that. I had to get to the highway patrol office before they closed and get this delinquent matter taken care of in case it would cause a travel problem. I looked in the mirror and realized just how bad it really was, so I smeared my face with powder and swiped my lips with some color and applied a little defining eyeliner. If anything makes me feel sickly, it’s no lipstick or eyeliner. 

I made it to the highway patrol office, where I was given a number and told to sit down. The last time I was there, I’d waited for 3 hours and, frankly, I didn’t have 3 hours to spare on this day. Surprisingly, my bottom hadn’t hit the chair good before they called my number- B344. Woah, that’s me, I realized! I wanted to yell BINGO as I jumped up looking for the station assigned to me. 

Now there are a lot of good things to be said about the Mississippi Highway Patrol, but their emphasis and commitment to friendly and personable service in their Driver’s License Department is not one of them. Most of the workers there are women and they look as if they wish they could just taze you and move on with their day. Their natural gifts of being snippy and degrading are really wasted at their desk jobs. Their personalities really could better shine at, say, death row of a maximum security prison. So, that’s why when you walk up to their desk, you better have your stuff in order unless you enjoy public humiliation. Clearly state what you need, have the proper paperwork in your hand, and follow commands quickly and completely. Don’t make them repeat themselves. They don’t play and nothing is funny to them. It’s a good time for sure. 

Anyway, I told her what I was there for and she asked a few questions and then told me to stand in front of the blue backdrop for my picture. This is where things got awkward. It’s hard to smile or look natural when the photographer is so ornery you’re trying to watch her hands for any moves toward her holster. “Look at the blue circle,” she said in her gruff, monotoned voice. No warning or countdown or prompting to smile- just click. I waited nervously for the big reveal. I’d been cleaning toilets and folding laundry until 30 minutes earlier and here I was waiting for the picture that would go everywhere with me for the next four years. She handed me the final product and it was worse that I could have ever imagined. It made me wish the mugshot photographer had been available. I looked like a deer in headlights- a pale, sweaty, terrified deer who was being photographed by an armed hunter. I don’t care what it costs. I will be going back for a remake. You know, like picture make-up day at school. I told Davis if something happens to me before I get back down there, he is not to let them flash my license photo up on the news while they tell about it. 

So, before I go on to the rest of our trip, there was a redeeming twist. We were in the endless security line at Reagan National about to head home. The guy who’s checking facial recognition and ID is passing everyone through after a quick glance…. except me. No, after looking at me and then looking down at the license, he told me to step aside. He asked for additional proof of identification and what music that was to my ears. I didn’t care how long he detained me or if Homeland Security was en route. Just knowing he didn’t think I looked like my license photo was a real morale booster. 

We had a great time on our trip. We met up with American Family Association/American Family Radio on one of their Spiritual Heritage Tours. Stephen McDowell was the historian who traveled with us and we learned so much about the providential beginnings of America. In a group with fellow Christians, we got the history including the spiritual foundation of our nation- the stuff the local tour guides omit. The AFA, based in Mississippi, was founded by Tim Wildmon who was also on the trip and a whole lot of fun. They do annual trips to D.C., Colonial Williamsburg, Boston, and the Holy Land. You can click here if you want more information on those. 

When we met up with the group at the Arlington hotel, we had no idea what to expect. Having never been on one of these kinds of trips, we didn’t know how large the group was or how old they’d be. Honestly, we thought we might be the only ones not on Social Security and blood thinners. What we found when we got there were around 120 people of all ages from Iowa to New Mexico to Pennsylvania and everywhere in between. There was a mom with her young sons, parents with their teenagers, couples, moms with their grown daughters. There were young adults all the way up to senior adults and we fell somewhere in the middle. I can honestly say we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and would recommend it for anyone who loves history. 

The places where God, scripture, and Christian faith are mentioned in our nation’s capital are almost innumerable. It’s also in inconspicuous places I had no idea about until last week. It’s etched in marble, inscribed in bronze, engraved on brass, stamped in aluminum, woven in tapestry, painted on canvas, chiseled in stone, and handwritten on parchment and still a growing part of our nation today believes God had nothing to do with our country’s beginnings or success and that He has no legitimacy or bearing on our modern lives. There have been miracles in battles that can be explained no other way except God’s protection and favor on our young nation. He spared our forefathers so they could set the foundation of America. In different battles, George Washington is said to have had his hat shot off of his head, four bullet holes shot in his clothing, and two horses shot and killed underneath him, but he was unharmed. He lived to win the American Revolution, become a key figure in creating our Constitution, and was, of course, our first president. He credited God’s providential care for his survival. To be reminded of the unedited, untwisted version of our American history- the good and the bad- from a Christian perspective was an inspiring and timely reminder of the gift we’ve been given and the responsibility we have as God’s people to be engaged in order to preserve it for our children and their children. You know what they say about silence and consent. American Family Association/American Family Radio also have apps and newsletters which are great ways to stay informed on issues that we may not even realize are happening and gives us convenient ways we can voice our support or opposition to things going on in our government and country. 

It’s election season and we know what a loud and dreadful time that always is- no matter your party. We just have to make it 41 more days. We can do this, people! Let’s just be kind to our fellow citizens and don’t forget to vote! Four years is an awfully long time for a bad president…..and a bad driver’s license photo. 

Y’all have a great week! 

JONI

“The more thoroughly a nation deals with its history, the more decidedly will it recognize and own an over-ruling Providence therein, and the more religious a nation will become; while the more superficially it deals with its history, seeing only secondary causes and human agencies, the more irreligious will it be.” -A.W. Foljambe

It was the 6th day of September- only 6 days since she’d dragged herself over the finish line of another miserable southern summer. As was always the case with her, it was an ugly and pathetic finish, but it was indeed a finish, and that was all that mattered to her. Another Mississippi June, July, and August were in the books and, while she didn’t like to wish her life away, it seemed like the only option in those hottest, most humid, and unbearable months. For 92 days, she’d sweated, perspired, and sweltered which had caused her patience to sink to dangerous levels and her mood to descend into the crotchety range. She didn’t know why she felt this way about summer, but she always had- even as a child- and the hatred had only intensified as she traveled deeper into the weeds of menopause. After 56 summer endurance competitions, she was well aware that September does not the cool weather bring when living in the Deep South, but September 1 was always a psychological victory for her. She took comfort in knowing that the worst was behind her even as sweat rolled down her back and her pulse pounded in her flushed face. - excerpt from Joni’s memoirs, Hell’s Not For Me

We’ve all made it to September and I’m just completely giddy about it. I’ve even felt this strange movement of the air already. It’s been a long, long time, but I think I remember the phenomenon being called wind. It was hot wind- like a convection oven, but moving hot air is a modest improvement to still hot air. I’ve filled my pumpkin jar with candy corn and have my fall candles doing their thing. The sound of college football on TV, the azure blue sky, and the smell of pumpkin-apple-vanilla-maple-clove-cider-spice all in the air at once have awakened a part of me that dies each summer. I realize we’ll have many ups and downs in temperature yet to traverse. There will be many “fool’s fall” days where we’re tricked into thinking the heat has finally passed, but all southerners know that Santa will come and go before we can really be sure. We’ve experienced enough Thanksgivings in shorts and Christmases with the AC running to know the war has not been won. We’re not naive about what stage of fall we’re in- but we can pretend, can’t we? 

This last month leading up to fool’s fall has really been fun….and exhausting. We’ve had a busy few weeks and three BIG Saturdays in a row. We had the gender reveal for the expectant parents and found out we’re getting a grandson, Jack! That was all the information I needed to start picking up little things here and there. Punkin is just beside herself. The next weekend, we moved into a townhome we bought in the area where both of our kids live. I guess you could call it the grandparent starter kit. We’ll have a home away from home for when we go visit or help with the baby. We’ll be 15 minutes from one of our children and 20 minutes from the other. We have no interest in moving. Let me repeat- no interest in moving. Our life is in Mississippi and that’s where we’ll continue to live, but it’ll be nice to have a place of our own to stay since we’re sure our desire to see Jack will be stronger than their desire to see us coming. And, finally, last Saturday, we went to the first Mississippi State football game (got soaking wet) and we met Carson’s girlfriend’s parents for the first time. It was a great day and we loved them! We’re 2 for 2 in the category of significant others’ family compatibility and likability. You hear horror stories where that’s not the case, but I’m happy to say our kids chose wonderful families to bring into the fold.