White Lace and Promises

It's been a couple of months since I've posted in this blog. I normally try to post something new at least every month but it's been a very busy last couple of months.

My youngest child, a 23 year old son married his high school sweetheart on June 13. She is so precious and we are so happy to have her become a Michael! Bless their hearts, things changed for them nearly every day.

Last fall when they got engaged, they started planing for a normal wedding--you know, the kind that has bridesmaids, groomsmen, and guests sitting in the audience. But then came the pandemic. They sort of put things on hold in February-March when everything in our city, state, and nation shut down and closed up. My son and many of his groomsmen had chosen to wear the same suits they had worn in another friend's wedding the year before. My son attended a Christian school from kindergarten to 12th grade and because of this, he has a close-knit group of friends. But of course, my son's groomsmen differed by a few from the friend who marred the previous year. I had just received my grandson's matching suit but the two college friends had not purchased their suits when the stores closed. No problem, since my son and bride-to-be were then told only 10 people could attend their wedding.

They canceled the reception and planned a drive-by where their friends could drive through the church parking lot to say hi to them. Then just two weeks before the wedding, the wedding planner decided to call the wedding a church service and as such got permission for 1/3 the building capacity, which came to 100 people who could now come as long as they maintained social distancing. Bridesmaids and groomsmen were back on! I had made the gesture of offering to provide the bow ties for all of them as my son's gift to them. Now suddenly, I found myself going to four different Kohl's locations buying one bow tie here and two there trying to match the one my son had already bought. Kohl's hadn't gotten a truck in since March and there was no time to order these. I drove about 30 minutes in one direction from my house and then 30 minutes again in the other to four different Kohl's that had whole sections boarded up from the protests and riots the night before, all the while wearing my mask.

The once canceled reception now was going to be a small family-only occasion in my backyard and we were scrambling to figure out the rehearsal dinner, which was back on too. In a flip of tradition, the bride's parents arranged the rehearsal dinner while I planned the reception.

It was a whirlwind with the winds changing every day, and surprises every minute, including when just about two hours before the wedding, two college friends discovered their suits were not the same color blue as all the other groomsmen. Remember that previous wedding? Well, the brilliant best man thought to call a couple of the guys who had been in that wedding but were not in my son's. He ran out and rounded up two more matching suits about one hour before the wedding started. In the end, though, it all turned out about as beautiful as if we had planned it all to go just the way it did--church wedding with attendants and guests, outdoor catered rehearsal dinner, small family-only outdoor reception and still a drive-by to greet the guests individually who'd had to keep their distance at the wedding ... and since the reception was in my backyard, Ty's beloved dog got to don a bow tie and show up for a picture too.

It was a beautiful time, a precious time, and certainly a wedding we will all remember!

Moon Landing

July 20, 1969 I was a little girl who had finished the fifth grade a month earlier. I had spent the year before trying to get adjusted to America, since it seemed my family was back from the Nigerian mission field to stay. Late that evening, my dad called me and my siblings to the family room and insisted we watch the moon landing. I didn't want to. I wanted to continue playing but he insisted, so begrudgingly I came.

Fifty years later, I am soooo thankful my dad made me see that piece of history live! Had I still been in Nigeria, where my heart longed to be, I would only have been able to listen to it via the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) or the Voice of America (VOA) across the radio waves.

The week before July 20, 1969 a little boy just out of seventh grade went fishing with his family on Summersville Lake, WV. His line caught in some bushes when he cast it and he could not pull it free. So, he pulled back with all his might. The line snapped and the lead sinker came flying back at him smashing his right eye. His incredibly painful hospital ordeal lasted 17 days.

On July 20, he lay in that hospital bed with patches over both eyes. Since eyes track with each other, the doctors decided to put patches on both of this little boy's eyes so as to take stress off the injured eye. But on that day, the little boy's father insisted he be allowed to watch the historic moon landing, so they gently lifted the patch on his good eye just enough that he was able to watch Neil Armstrong step out onto the moon.

That little boy grew up to be my husband, John Michael. His eye regained some sight though the eye had been damaged so it could never focus again. Through the years, he had to have several surgeries. Finally, after the eye began to lose its structure and developed painful corneal blisters, at the age of 60, he opted to have it removed.

His accident took a lot from him, but thanks to his dad, it didn't take away the ability to see men land on the moon. Thank God for fathers!

Swimming Lessons, Life Lessons

A few days ago, on Memorial Day, I went to the neighborhood pool with two of my adult sons and my twelve-year-old grandson. These three enjoyed interacting in the pool, in
spite of their age differences and as is normal for a group of males, they decided to compete in a swim race which my youngest son won easily, every time.

I watched these three swim back and forth across the pool and it became apparent to me that though my older son and grandson could swim, their form were not as good as the youngest. He had strokes that looked like what one would see from a competitive swimmer. This surprised me because I knew I had never invested in swim lessons for him.

He was born late in life, many years after the other three children. When I was a young mom with the other three as preschoolers (they are very close in age) I had enrolled them all in swim lessons. But this youngest one always had an older sibling to watch him in the pool and I was an older, tireder mom, so he never benefited from lessons. Yet, there he was, now as a 22 year-old, swimming like a pro.

I asked him how and where he ever learned to swim so well. His reply grabbed my heart. He said, "Much of my swimming as a kid was done with my best friend, Zack who was on both the swim and dive teams. I learned by watching him and I had to learn just to keep up with him."

Zack and my son met in kindergarten and were best friends all of their lives … right up until the day Zack died. When he was only 15, he was struck by a car crossing a busy street and died at the scene. My son served as a pall bearer as well as one of the handful of friends who shared how much he had meant to them. Zack has been gone over five years now but his influence lives on.

Funny how one person's life impacts another.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving has rolled around again. Time seems to fly these days and frankly, that's one of the many things I find myself thankful for. I have seen days that drag; seasons in life that seemed desperate and I wondered when things would get better again. I'll take happy, busy blessed days that fly by instead, every time.

This year, like most years, I find myself looking back at Thanksgivings of the past. So many memories flood my mind from my childhood Thanksgivings in Africa, to the years my young family would drive to my mother's for Thanksgiving to the years I have cooked a turkey at my house.

Often others join me and my family for Thanksgiving dinner. How I treasure the years my friend and now co-writer in many of my books, Shirley Crowder and her precious mother whom I called Aunt Jeannie, came to my house to join me, my parents, and another missionary family for Thanksgiving. They did this a couple years in a row and shortly after the last time they visited, Aunt Jeannie passed away. I no longer have her in my life but I have those sweet and funny memories of her.

This year, a Nigerian family who attends church with us will come to my house and share the meal with us. My family has grown close to this family in the two years we have known them. They are here to gain a seminary education at Southern Seminary. Their little boy, about four years old, always runs to me when he sees me exclaiming, "Grand Ma!" He wraps his arms around me and then asks, "When can I come to your house again?" Well, Evan, the answer to that right now, is next week at Thanksgiving. :)

Happy Thanksgiving ya'll!

Life as I Knew it

With high school football season gearing up, I am reposting something I wrote for another blog last fall. It will run in two parts.

"High School Football in the Age of Innocence" Part One:

On a late August night, the temperature still sweltering and people still sweating even as the sun went down, I stood on the field with my fellow cheerleaders. A harvest moon rose over our heads and our hearts filled with hope as we eagerly awaited the opening game of what should be a great season. We had most of our starting players returning. I was the co-captain of the cheerleaders. The outlook for this season, my senior year, was promising.

It was the fall of 1975–many years ago. Much has happened since that warm August night. Karen, the captain of the cheerleaders, and my close friend, died just three years later in a double murder which is still unsolved. Her death shattered the innocence of the sleepy little mountain town in southern West Virginia where I lived. Other members of that team have passed away as well but we have a few success stories. Donnie, the offensive captain, played football at Wake Forest University. He is now the CFO of an Atlanta-based business. Wayne, a junior that year, also played football at Wake Forest, setting some Atlantic Coast Conference receiving records while there. Joey, the quarterback, is a tenured professor now. I married, moved to Louisville, raised four children and eventually became a writer. Those of my classmates who remain see each other once in a while at class reunions.

Reunion weekend always starts with tickets to the Beaver-Graham game. It is tradition for my high school, the Bluefield Beavers, to start their season playing cross-town rivals, the Graham G-Men. This annual match up in the same stadium we used in 1975 has much the same feel as it did back then. There is still the cracking of helmets, enthusiastic cheerleaders on the sidelines, excited fans, and the hot August night skies still boasts a harvest moon.

Young Again

As I sat in the stands on such an August evening a few years ago, my mind could not help but wander to bygone days and I was once again on the field next to my friend Karen cheering our team on. We lost only one game that year. But our hopes faded as our team dropped into fifth place in the statewide poll. Back then, only the top four teams in the state earned the privilege of moving on to post season play-offs.

However, in the middle of the last game of the season, our luck changed. Over the public address system, the announcer loudly proclaimed that George Washington High School was beating Charleston in their season’s last game. A cheer rang out, first in a low rumble then building to a frenzy as the impact of the news sank in. If George Washington could pull out a win against #4 Charleston, it would change the ratings. Charleston would fall to fifth and we would move up into that much coveted fourth place position, gaining a right to post-season action.

As the second half of both games progressed, forgetting our own game which we were handily winning, we waited with bated breath for each update on the other game, several hours away. Finally, the last announcement came–Charleston lost! Our own win a few moments later was rather anticlimactic. We were flying high just the same because we knew we were headed to the state football play-offs!