The Land Of Cotton

There's no delicate way to say this. I'm a Yankee. The worst kind of Yankee—I married a Southerner and came south in a U-Haul.

Folks around here are still fighting a civil war of sorts: school mascots (rebels) and Confederate flags are challenged; each high school has a black prom court and a white prom court; even churches of the same denomination are racially segregated. Foreigners, pronounced fariners, and loosely translated as anyone not from the south, quickly learn how things are. Change is not welcome. It reminds me of the tune, "Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton. Old times there are not forgotten...." Rarely a truer statement has been spoken.

Constancy is not so bad in other ways, however. The countryside is still awe inspiring. I live in a beautiful place with rolling hills, forest, lakes, an extinct volcano, and fields of soybeans, corn and cotton.

Here's a few pictures of the field across the road from where I live. This field is lovely in all its seasons. Right now it's cotton. Soon it will be harvested, and the land will rest. When hunting season rolls in, the field will come alive with herds of deer.

This place may be dragging its feet into the twenty-first century, but, thank God, it brings with it natural beauty. I think of these things every day when I open the front door and look upon the rolling field of cotton across the road.

Kory's sister, Shevelle.

Roughing It

We had no water for some time today. That's because a friend, who was trying to snake a clogged drain under the house, accidentally broke an old water pipe. He had to turn off the water and go buy more parts.

Ironically, we had too much water yesterday. It flowed out of my dishwasher and onto the floor, because the drain was clogged under the house.

To top it all off, the central heat/air has been out for several weeks. The contractor is supposed to come this week and put in a new unit...that is, if he doesn't get delayed AGAIN. So, we struggled through the summer's end with no air conditioning, and now we think we're freezing in our unseasonable cold weather. (Tonight's forecast is 28° Fahrenheit.)

I was just telling my sister today how we have no heat, and no running water. She said, "You might as well stay in a tent." I gave it some thought, while I hovered near the space heater.

Well, at least there's that—a space heater! And the water came back on in time for a rush to the bathroom. Tomorrow may be another story. For now, I'm going to bed, to bask in the warmth of the space heater.

Rumors

Three little country boys were outside playing, when a kitten was strangled to death. Two of the boys, better talkers, said the third boy did it—my foster nephew, Kory.

Kory vehemently denied it. He had no history of harming animals. By all accounts, he loved animals and was always gentle toward them. But, Kory, with a diagnosis of ADHD, a record of violent temper tantrums, and who had other problems, was assumed to have been the culprit. Neighborhood consensus was established.

The kitten's owner called the Department of Social Services, reporting that Kory had killed her kitten. The boy's mother was called in. She was threatened with losing both her children. Kory was sent to a psychiatrist for evaluation. The doctor didn't believe Kory was guilty. Eventually, the family's DSS anal exam ended.

Kory, himself, was not so lucky. When he came around the neighborhood, he was called "Kory the Cat-killer." Even the adults teased Kory, asking him to "take care of" the stray dogs and cats that came around. Kory calmly maintained his innocence.

Guess what happened? The other two boys finally admitted to killing the kitten! After all that my foster nephew and his family went through! So the lady who called DSS apologized to Kory's parents. She's promised to call DSS on Monday and report her error.

But, once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it's hard to get it back in. Can a family's trauma from being investigated be undone with an apology? Can a child's mandated visit to a psychiatrist be taken back by an apology? Can the self-esteem of a little boy who was unfairly ostracized be restored by a simple apology?

How aptly the writer defined the power of the tongue in James, chapter 3:

[5] Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!
[6] And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell.

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Kory feeds the gazelle at Lazy 5 Ranch

It Is Well With My Soul

Once upon a time, when I couln't handle my problems, I crawled into a bottle of pills. When I miscarried, after years of trying to get pregnant, it was Atavan. When my husband stroked out, it was Xanex.

But I can't do that anymore. I'm reaching for higher ground, trusting God to carry me through. How blessed is that sense of calm that caused the writer to say:

When peace like a river attends my way
When sorrow like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot
Thou hast brought me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Boundaries

After my mom died, I would sit up all night long wishing someone would tell me it's time to go to bed.

I think of this whenever I'm reminding my son to do his homework, clean his room, take out the trash, and yes, go to bed. He needs to know that I have expectations for his behavior and comportment. Whether he understands it now, or not, he needs limitations. He needs boundaries.

I know good child rearing is complicated, and cannot be reduced to one principle. But when I see a child out of control—one who cannot control his anger or his desires—I cannot help but think of my own mother reminding me of bedtime; or standing in my bedroom door with a switch in hand and demanding that I clean my room; or taking me to the mirror and proclaiming, "Look how beautiful you are! Why would you want to ruin that with make-up?" when I wanted to look like other girls.

While I don't believe in clipping a child's wings, or hindering them from finding out the hard way, I do think ample guidance is needed along the way. It's important to teach kids how to think, not just what to think.

The Poor Little Paper Boy

When my mother was a child, she read and memorized a poem found in her local newspaper. The writer unknown, my mother adopted the poem for herself. She and a neighbor girl set it to music, and thus a lamentable tune was born. She later sang it to her children. I wish I could record it for posterity, could convey the feeling behind the bluegrass sound my mother had. Until then, I'll just have to play it in my mind. Here's the poem, however one-dimensional its presentation:

Please buy a paper from me
So I can get me something to eat
His clothes were all ragged, no shoes on his feet
The poor little paper boy there on the street

Early one morning, the people passed by
They wondered why the little boy wasn't there
They searched and they searched, and found him dead
He died with a newspaper under his head.

--author unknown

Wash and Wear

Christmas Eve Day, 1999 - Nephew Nicholas is in the dryer, while Jessica closes the door. Nichole (standing) and Jackie look on (only the top of his head shows). While the adults prepared for the holiday festivities, nephews and nieces took care of the really important stuff, having fun.

My first inclination was to fuss at them. (I channeled my parents, scolding me for such shenanigans.) Didn't they know how dangerous it was to hide like that? What if Nicholas couldn't get himself out and nobody found him? He'd die!

I realized, then, how many of us were looking at him...no danger of him not being found. I decided to enjoy the moment, to laugh with the children. I'm glad I did.

Psalm 23

I received this by email today. Thought it was worth repeating:

The Lord is my Shepherd - that's Relationship
I shall not want - that's Supply
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures - that's Rest
He leadeth me beside the still waters - that's Refreshment
He restoreth my soul - that's Healing
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness - that's Guidance
For His name sake - that's Purpose
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death - that's Testing
I will fear no evil - that's Protection
For Thou art with me - that's Faithfulness
Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me - that's Discipline
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies - that's Hope
Thou annointest my head with oil - that's Consecration
My cup runneth over - that's Abundance
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life - that's Blessing
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever - that's Security

Time and Memories

Christmas 1999 - The end of a century, marked by my niece Nichole and I baking cookies. That's what I remember first, when I look at this picture. Yet, it tells me so much more: it reminds me that I was pregnant when this shot was taken, and that I miscarried only weeks later; that I was an aunt in this picture, but I was also a mother.

It reminds me of my own mother, camera in hand, chronicling the every move of her children. As a kid, I dismissed it as her hobby. Now I see how important photographs are to a family.

Pictures spark memories, they enshrine a bit of our history. Like milestones, they tell us where we've been. Like memorials, they evoke feelings of pride and joy, of sadness and loss. They help us count our blessings, to thank God for every day shared with our loved ones.