It was a cold, rainy night before Christmas and I was waiting in a Wal-Mart parking lot for someone I’d only talked to on social media. It sounds awfully shady, I know. The windshield wipers were keeping the beat with my radio as I looked for a car fitting the description. A vehicle pulled up next to me and we looked quizzically at each other through the rain splattered windows, wondering if we were looking at the one we were to meet. After a nod and wave, I grabbed my things and got into her car. A stranger’s car. And we were about to go walking around in a wooded area…..on a rainy night. The only way I could’ve broken any more of my mother’s cardinal rules at one time would’ve been if I could’ve also worked in giving out my social security number, going to an ATM in the dark, and sitting on a public restroom toilet seat. Anyway, I was decked out in my rain boots, baseball cap, and rain jacket and was ready to face the elements with someone I’d just met. This is the first my mother has heard of any of this, so she’ll be calling me in 5, 4, 3, 2…..

The story started a couple of months earlier when I was driving home at night and saw a beautiful hound dog in a commercial area. Obviously out of place, he looked lost and scared and, if I have a soft spot for anything, it’s any dog from the hound family that needs help. Just ask Ruby. I’m a sucker for long ears, big feet, and droopy eyes. In a dog, at least. So, I rolled my window down and tried to talk to him, but could tell he wasn’t going to have anything to do with me. He was scared and ran away. His hangout spot is on one of my beaten paths and not too far from our house, so he was impossible to forget. When I’d see him during the daytime, I’d get out and talk sweetly to him. He’d stop and listen, but wouldn’t let me get close. After a few more encounters and getting nowhere even with food, I posted him on a lost and found pet page. I know when I’m in over my head. I was sure there were people who were well-versed in how to capture a stray dog. That’s when Amber messaged me and that’s how I was introduced to the the world of dog rescue. 

I certainly wasn’t the only one concerned about the dog. There were multiple people leaving him food and attempting to coax him into their cars with the same results. So, it’s a few days before Christmas and we pick back up where I met my new friend, Amber, in the dark parking lot. We were going to try to capture the sweet hound before that arctic blast was to come through our area. We had three days before the weather was predicted to plummet to 11 degrees with winds up to 35 mph. For two nights, we set a box trap with tempting, smelly treats as bait and would wait nearby. A canine stakeout. Sardines, hot dogs, rotisserie chicken. Apparently, those are some of the tricks of the trade. On the third night, a professional trapper came and set up his fancy contraption to try to help us. Over those three days, I learned a lot of things about dog rescue besides the fact that it’s terribly frustrating. First, I learned when one’s phone is submerged in rotisserie chicken juice, everyone who calls the said phone from then on will sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Secondly, when canned sardines touch any surface whatsoever, the said surface will retain the smell of sardines until time is no more. After three wet and muddy nights of bad smells, we failed to get the dog we’d all come to call Otis. 

At the beginning of the week when the weather was mild, our spirits were high and optimistic, but the night before the weather front, I commenced crying. I couldn’t stop. Davis had been helping our efforts and he was trying to reassure me with talk about instincts and undercoats and dens, but it wasn’t helping me. A posse had formed to try to help this dog and we took turns leaving him more food for extra calories. One of the ladies left a dog house in the area and others added a tarp, hay, and blankets for him. We’d done all we could do and I had to find a way to get peace with it or my family would have a miserable Christmas watching me blow my nose and my mascara run. 

When my prayers to catch Otis before the cold front weren’t answered, I changed them to asking God to protect Otis from the cold. When I shifted the care of this sweet dog from our responsibility to God’s, I finally felt a peace about it and was able to enjoy Christmas. It wasn’t what we could do to save him but what God could do to protect the creature He, Himself, had created. Our attempts failed and continue to fail even with five different visits from the professional trapper trying three different traps. But, God’s efforts didn’t. Otis survived the multiple nights of sub-freezing temps without even sleeping in the dog house and he’s still staying one step ahead of the network of people who continue to try to rescue him. He is the Road Runner and we are Wile E. Coyote with all of our fancy Acme gadgets. Otis is no dummy. 

You may or may not be an animal person. You may not even like dogs. But, God reminded me of a simple truth through that elusive hound to whom I’ve grown so attached but never even touched. A truth I seemed to have forgotten in some other areas of my life. Whatever the troubling situation- whatever problem I wish I could fix- there’s peace when I release the responsibility of solving it and just give it to God. There are many things that are too big for us. The weight is too heavy. The odds are too low. The need is too great. The solution is too far outside our ability. But, when I’ve done all that I can humanly do- all that God has led me to do, I can leave it in His hands and let Him take it from there. When I frantically work and worry about solving something, I’m acting like He’s not capable and that the outcome totally depends on me. Thank God that’s not the case. There are situations in my life- bigger, deeper, more personal situations- where I have taken the lesson learned from a stray hound and am trying to apply God’s reminder to those places as well. I should do what God has purposed me to do and leave the rest in His capable hands. 

I can’t sign off without acknowledging the amazing network of animal rescuers that are out there. They’re people with regular jobs who spend much of their free time and money on helping animals who find themselves in desperate situations. I had no idea that so many people were involved in this until I reached out for help with Otis and met Amber and people like her. Teresa, Tracie, James, Pam- just to name a few. I’m not sure how they see the situations they see and keep at it. The day before the horrible cold, they were out and about leaving storage tubs and cardboard boxes filled with hay in areas where they’d seen stray animals or animals who weren't cared for properly. Anything that would help them survive what was coming. It’s definitely a calling and not for everyone. I admire those who are willing to put their emotions on a roller coaster to help God’s creatures. 

We’re not giving up on Otis even though we’re way past plan B. I believe we’re somewhere around plan J or K, but not giving up on this beautiful boy. The next step is in motion and we’re determined he will know the warmth of a loving home soon. 

Y’all have a great day! Next week, we’re going to the mountains but I still plan to come by here and say hello. See you then! 

JONI 

Well, we’re home and had a great trip. Started in San Antonio and made our way north to Dallas with a family wedding in the middle in Round Rock. We ate a lot of bbq and Mexican food, of course. Toured all the San Antonio missions. We’re not usually Christmas time travelers, so it was nice to see the San Antonio Riverwalk and even the Alamo all aglow. We attended a beautiful family wedding outside of Austin and it was just a lovely evening. Poor planning on my part landed us in Waco on Sunday and the silo stuff was closed. I didn’t even think about that. It was reminiscent of Clark Griswold and Walley World being closed for maintenance. Dallas really had on her holiday glitz and glam and was so festive with Christmas music playing in the streets. Our hotel was across from Neiman Marcus and the window displays were amazing. We darted in there to buy a gift, one afternoon, and Davis was on my heels the whole time. It was as enjoyable as when a state trooper gets behind you on the interstate. We did a lengthy JFK tour with a historian and he taught us so much we didn’t know. It was really a nice trip. 

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 Blair attempts to do her daily devotional with some obvious distractions. 

Whenever I visit big cities, I’m always happy to get back to my quiet corner of the world. Mississippi is a pretty tranquil place. Sure, the lights, sounds, and activity are fun for a while. Some of us are drawn to the big crowds of nameless faces and the constant whirl of activity and noise. There are those who can’t imagine anything else. And there are those of us who prefer to be among those who can call our names with room to spread out and enough quiet to hear the sound of the crickets. Whatever we’re use to is home to us and when we’re weary from our travels or needing comfort or frightened by the world, it’s where we long to be. 

Traveling at Christmas had me thinking about Mary and Joseph and how homesick they must have been. Tired and scared and not one familiar face in the crowd. There was nothing that offered anything close to the comfort of being in the arms of home. Whatever I do this time of year seems to bring me back to the first Christmas story. The holy season pulls our minds out of the ordinary grind and to the miracle of that night and that Gift. Jesus left the comfort of His own home that night to come live with us in order to save us. He’d experience what it was like to feel sadness and rejection- to be cold, hungry and tired. It was part of the gift-“For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses.” (Hebrews 4:15) If we accept His gift of salvation, our home will forever be with Him. Yeah, we’ve all got a spot where we’ve chosen to bed down here on earth- a place that suits us, but it’s just a temporary nest. In the presence of God- that will be our ultimate place of comfort, peace, and rest. Our home sweetest home. 

My mother is almost halfway done with her radiation treatments and is doing really well. She’ll be done before Christmas and we’ll be glad to put that behind us! And I know you’ve probably heard about Mike Leach, Mississippi State’s football coach. Things seem very bleak and all of us, fans, are just stunned by this. Remember him and his family in your prayers. There just seems to be so much sadness in the middle of this joyful season. In times of merriment, sorrow seems amplified and the low-spirited feel more alone. Let’s look out for each other and prop up those who need it. 

This will be my last post of the year. The holidays have started to pack my calendar and I’m sure the same is true for you. I hope you all have the most wonderful Christmas season. I wish I had all of your addresses and could send you a fruitcake or something. Well, nobody likes fruitcake anyway. Maybe a card, at least, but I didn’t get around to those this year. Just know that I appreciate you and feel like you’re part of my family. Whether I know you personally or we’re friends who’ve never met, I can’t tell you what it means to me that you stop by here to see me. I know my menopausal brain is more befuddled, my attention span is almost nil, and my posting is quite sporadic, but y’all are some good people to not leave me. May God bless you and your families this beautiful holiday season! 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! 

JONI 

It was the best Thanksgiving weekend! Really. We ate the same foods at the same places with the same people and the same traditions, but something about it was just extra good. Mississippi State beating Ole Miss certainly didn’t hurt, but that wasn’t it. It was just sweet. There was one new thing. In my 54 years, this was the first year that food assignments were given out for Thanksgiving. I’m not talking about ice and cups and rolls. I’m talking real assignments. Not that we, the “next generation,” haven’t ever offered, but we’ve never been taken up on it. We can only speculate on the reason. Well, this was our year. After 54 years of coming in with nothing but our purses, we were called up for service. It was like the draft and we reported for duty. 

I was to bring sweet potato casserole and butter beans. For 43 people. Nothing like throwing us in the deep end to see what would happen. I’m use to cooking for four people and, most recently, two. How does one estimate how many sweet potatoes to peel for 43? What is the equation for figuring out how many butter beans 43 people can eat? I just don’t deal in such large increments in the kitchen. But, sticking with my belief that I’d rather have too much than not enough, I got pretty close on the sweet potatoes, but I overshot the butter beans by about 39 servings.

I do think the “next generation” nailed our first attempt at Thanksgiving assistance. No hospitalizations for food-borne illness were reported so yay for us. I’m pretty confident in my basic, weekday culinary skills, but something about cooking for Thanksgiving had me guessing, second-guessing, calling Mama, looking on Pinterest, and googling. I mean, nobody wants to be the generation that drops the Thanksgiving baton. If my grandmother, mother, and aunt hadn’t set and maintained the bar at such mouth-watering heights, it wouldn’t be so unnerving. The real test comes when we inherit the making of the dressing and the caramel cake, but I can’t even think about that yet. 

Well, my favorite time of year is passing like a speeding train, while summer sputtered and crept through here like it was running out of gas, burning oil, and riding on its rims. Halloween has already come and gone and we’re well into November now with Thanksgiving only a couple of weeks away. Please. I want to slow down this ride that I’ve been waiting in line for since May! 

Last week, we watched It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown with our Halloween dinner guests. It’s a nostalgic must. A night of kids in costumes, doorbells, Sugar Babies, and Linus all reminded me of some old times. When my brothers and I would get home from trick or treating, we’d pour the contents of our plastic pumpkins out on the floor. We’d inventory it and organize it all into piles of likes and dislikes and then start our trades. Those peanut butter things, wrapped in orange and black, tasted like mud, but my brother liked them so I’d trade them for something fruity out of his stash. Bit-O-Honey, Three Musketeers, Milky Way, Red Hots, cinnamon discs- those were other confections you’d find in my cull pile. I was always ready for negotiations as far as those were concerned. 

After we’d do our bargaining and eat some of the loot, we’d put everything else back into our buckets to be enjoyed over the next week or so. At risk of sounding like I’m 87, we didn’t get candy all the time like kids do now. There wasn’t a treasure chest at school for rewarding good work or a candy jar at home for accomplishments like potty victories. No, your prize at school was maybe a gold foil star licked by your teacher- you didn’t even get to enjoy the minty adhesive. And, well, parents thought achievement in the bathroom at home was its own reward as you got to walk around with dry pants and a little self-dignity. That was your prize. It was a harsher world then, kids. Well, I didn’t mean to chase that rabbit so far, but the point was that candy wasn’t an everyday thing- it was a treat. 

So, the days after Halloween, we’d get home from school and head straight for our candy. Each afternoon, we’d dig around and find the best options available to us in our plastic pumpkins and enjoy and savor a few pieces. On those first few days, it was an embarrassment of riches with just too many good choices. As the week went on, there were more and more wrappers and less and less candy. Each day, we’d go and look for the very best that was available to us that day. As time went on, the best available got further and further from our top choices, but we were still happy to have it. About a week past Halloween, like we are now, we’d get home from school and run our hands around the inside of our buckets. We’d feel a bunch of balled-up foil wrappers and wax papers and empty cellophane sleeves- all holding only the smell and memory of all the wonderful things we’d enjoyed- until finally, we’d find it! That last piece of candy that hadn’t been chosen until then. Sure, whatever was left in there wasn’t our first choice or even our 20th  choice, for that matter, but we were so glad to have found it among the growing pile of disappointment. 

I thought how that memory is a good metaphor for life. Some days, we feel like queens with our buckets full of so many good things, good events, good blessings, good relationships, good news. We’re talking Milk Duds, Now and Laters, Fun Dip, Sugar Daddy, Whatchamacallit bar. We don’t know where to start with our thankfulness, our excitement, our enjoyment. We all have times like that when we feel overcome with gratitude and so undeserving of the graciousness of God. And then, there are a lot of days when we may realize we have a lot, but it feels like routine or average goodness to our human-natured minds. You know- the Smarties, Dubble Bubble, Pixie Stix, wax bottles. Nothing too exciting but certainly nothing terrible either. Maybe we live most of our days here. We’re definitely not complaining, but we’re more likely to take the generosity of God for granted there in the middle of the road. And, from time to time, we all find ourselves rifling around the bottom, desperate to find just one piece of goodness in the empty wrappings of what once was. In the heap, there sits a peppermint ball or a green sucker like they hand out at the bank. On a normal day, we might not even recognize it as a gift but, against a dark backdrop, it’s easy to see it as the glimmer of God’s goodness. Maybe it’s here we’re most aware of His provision. 

It’s Thanksgiving month. We like to think we’re always grateful for what we have, but something about the holiday season makes us even more sensitive to the presence of goodness in our lives. I have times when I feel like my pumpkin is full and I’m overwhelmed with gratefulness. But, I also know the feeling of having my gratitude and wonder wane during long stretches of average and ordinary days. Times when I know for certain that I’m blessed, but my thankfulness gets swallowed up by the routine familiarity of it all. And I know there a lot of people who are struggling to find any good in their situations right now. We’ve all found ourselves there in desperate times and on our worst days when we’re tempted to wonder if God has anything good left for us. No matter where we are, I hope we can wake up each day and look to find the best that God has given us for that day. And celebrate that. Enjoy that. Thank Him for that. No matter how extravagant or how small- no matter how obvious or how much we have to sift through just to find it, it’s in there. God’s goodness is always in there somewhere. 

Keep our eyes open to Your goodness, God. 

Well, it’s been an eventful week. I told y’all about my mother turning 80 and all the hoopla surrounding that milestone. What I didn’t tell you was she was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. It was caught early and the doctors are very encouraging so we have no reason to feel anything but positive about her prognosis. She had surgery this week and, after some radiation treatments, we hope to leave this bump in the road behind us. 

I’ve told y’all before that my mother is a natural-born caretaker. I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to be a caretaker for a caretaker. I was getting confused on who’s really in charge of who. It’s hard to take care of someone who keeps listing all the things she could make you to eat. “Do you need a blanket? Aren’t your feet cold?”…. “Um, I don’t think you understand how this works, Mama.” I suppose a caretaker’s gotta try to caretake, but they sure make it hard for a person to look after them. 

She went for her normal mammogram. Went back for a repeat. Went for a biopsy. Went for an MRI. Went to the oncologist. All before finally telling her children just a few days before her birthday. All I knew was she’d cancelled our Tuesday outings for a couple of weeks, saying she just had a lot to do. We can’t really knock her though, because we do the same thing to her. We’ll tell her things after we have all the facts or after the worrisome event is over. It’s a family game we play. Maybe you’ve heard of it- it’s called Don’t Tell Mama. Perhaps you and your siblings have even played it before at home. It’s a game for 2-6 players and the object is to keep the other players from unnecessary worry or stress for as long as possible. Apparently, there’s also a version called Don’t Tell the Children, which is sold separately, and that’s the one we’ve been playing here, recently. It’s just good, clean fun for the whole family with no assembly required. It’s probably where I get my love for ignorance and its accompanying bliss. 

So, two quick takeaways from these last couple of weeks. One- October is breast cancer awareness month and we’ve talked before about the importance of getting mammograms here on M&M. When my mother got diagnosed, she and I started naming all the people we knew who’ve had breast cancer. It was an astonishing number of names we listed. Young, old, in-between. Most survived- sadly, some didn’t. We all know the best ways women can try to stay on top of their health are self-exams, checkups, and yearly mammograms. Yes, it’s like running your breasts through a printing press or a pasta machine. Yes, you’ll think they’ll never reinflate again. Yes, you’ll feel like you and the technician have gotten to know each other a little too well. Yes, she’s going to tell you to lean in closer even if it feels like the upper lobe of your lung is already in there. But- we are women and we’re made of tough stuff and uncomfortable things are what we do best. The ten minutes a year is so worth it if it can possibly save our lives. 

The second thing I was reminded of is how we can get lulled to sleep by life cruising along in its usual rhythmic pattern. When one day is like the one before it and the four dozen before that, we start to assume we can expect more of the same up ahead. But, every now and then, we hit the rumble strip and get startled- realizing that life can change in a hurry. Lately, if my thoughts have seemed scattered and I’ve come across as distracted, it’s because, well, I have been. The good, the bad, and the busy can divert our attention for a time. We all go through patches like that. I do thank God that my mother’s problem was caught early on a routine test. And whatever you may be going through or whatever is coming up around the bend, I hope we can all trust God to carry us. Through the smooth and the rough places. 

Have a great Thursday and we’ll talk next week! 

JONI 

Well, the air is finally cool and crisp and a breeze is blowing in the very earliest signs of the loveliest time of year. With the fall air has come my mother’s birthday today and it’s a big one, so everyone has been here to attend Grandma’s 80th Birthday Palooza Extravaganza Jamboree Weekend. All of the fun couldn’t be contained in just one day so it was an ongoing weekend event. Really, the only thing we were missing were armbands and commemorative t-shirts. 

Of course, when there’s a celebration of any sort, someone has to plan it. They don’t just plan themselves. As you know, I’m the only daughter in my family and, while that distinction comes with its own unique powers, it’s also saddled with a set of unwritten responsibilities as well as tribulations. If you and your siblings are like mine, we all fit the general birth order molds and typical roles. Typical middle child people-pleaser, peacemaker, diplomat, here. However, being the only girl adds a list of duties which are heaped on top of the normal birth order roles and you don’t find out about those until you’re much older. 

When the oldest child is a son, I’ve read that the oldest girl will usually take on the role of sibling organizer and I have found that to be true in our family. That’s just a fancy way of saying that for the rest of her life she’ll be telling her brothers where they need to be, at what time, and how much they owe her. She will be in charge of planning gatherings, notifying participants of details, buying group gifts, making food assignments and reservations, and, most notably, finding a date on which all 17 people in her family have no conflicts- even unto her death.

We did some fun activities together, went to church with her, and ate at some good restaurants. But, the real fun started when we met a photographer friend at the lake for some family pictures on Sunday afternoon. I’m not sure what it is about the men in my bloodline and pictures, but I could have just as easily arranged to have 17 orangutans photographed together with similar results. It would have likely been preferable for the poor photographer. I can’t wait to get the proofs. All that to say, I just want all the only daughters out there to know that I am here for you. If anyone needs a support group, it is us. It has fallen our lot in life to help our brothers appear thoughtful to our mothers and that is not a task for the faint of heart. This night owl collapsed in the bed last night when everyone left and was asleep by 10:00 if that tells you anything. 

No, really, I just enjoy giving my brothers a hard time. No amount of fuss is too much for our Mama. She’s spent every one of her 80 years making a fuss over other people. She’s the one who slept with us in the recliner when we’d have stomach viruses, doling out Sprite by the tablespoons through the night. She always pretended to be the customer when my friends and I were playing store. She taught us songs and we’d sing them while she pushed us in the swing. She made blanket forts and quilt pallets and told stories with theatrics that would keep us mesmerized. She regularly gathered us up to work on little art projects together at the kitchen counter. She always found something my little hands could do to help her make all the Christmas goodies. We had scrumptious homemade meals and delicious desserts with mountain high peaks of meringue. She taught me to play duets on the piano with her. She found each of her children’s gifts and nurtured and encouraged them. She made our childhood holidays so magical. She stopped in our rooms every night and read the Bible to each of us and prayed for us specifically. She taught the mostly disinterested young me about cooking and setting tables and other “things you’re going to need to know one day.” 

As a grandmother, she’s done all of those things for our children, too. She was a lifesaver when I had newborns. She can’t ever come over and just be a guest without finding something she can help do. Laundry that needs folding or someone’s clothes that need ironing and I mean dry cleaner’s level- you could hang it in a clear bag and staple a ticket to it. She always asks how she can make my day easier. She prays for each of us daily. She knows each of her grandkids’ strengths and struggles and ministers to them in individual ways. She takes time to call them weekly or be with them one on one and encourages them in the places where they have need for it. She never misses a chance to share Godly wisdom with us all in conversations. There’s nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice, nowhere she wouldn’t go, not one thing she wouldn’t do to help any one of us. Whatever our hearts are longing for, hers is hoping for it even more on our behalf. Whatever we’re burdened with, it’s weighing even heavier on her. Whatever we’re praying for, she’s praying even harder. She is a mother and a grandmother in the purest and most beautiful and sacrificial form. 

We are blessed by her life. 

Happy Birthday, Mama. 

“When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instructions with kindness. She carefully watches everything in her household and suffers nothing from laziness. Her children stand and bless her. Her husband praises her: ‘There are many virtuous and capable women in the world, but you surpass them all.’ Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last; but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised. Reward her for all she has done. Let her deeds publicly declare her praise.” Proverbs 31:26-31