The Eternal and the Personal

This week, I spent an afternoon at a continuing education event at the State Funeral Directors Association.  I am not a funeral director (but it was cool to see the new model hearses on display), but one of the general managers at Thompson Funeral Home invited me to an event for clergy.  It was a time with Thomas Long and Thomas Lynch, the authors of a new book entitled The Good Funeral.
It was a great time of discussion as the two Toms talked about funerals, dying, and how things have changed in the funeral profession and funeral ministry.

It is fair to say that often a funeral is a balancing act.  A funeral is not just an anonymous and ancient liturgy;  it is a holy moment of recognition for one who has journeyed through life.  It is a time to speak of things Eternal even as we claim a life that spanned only a few decades. What language do we offer that is authentic, pastoral, and honors the deceased while claiming the Eternal in a way that reflects the integrity of the one who presides?

The liturgy is there to remind us that we are not alone, that countless others have journeyed here before us.  These are words that ring true that reflect our hopes, doubts, and fears. These words, along with the scripture readings remind us of  the Presence of God with us in death and in life---we do not travel this way alone. As I walk down the center aisle of a crowded but silent church followed by a casket and a grieving family, I recite the words offered by pastors in that place before me and in a million other places and times: "Dying Christ destroyed our death..."  That page is well worn in my Book of Worship.

For all of the faithful, ancient elements of the funeral, we also seek the personal.  Who died?  How did they live and love and find meaning?  How will they be remembered? A good funeral weaves the Eternal and Personal into a tapestry of hope, love, and remembrance.  It connects the limited one to the Imminent and Transcendent Holy.  The person is not lost in that moment beneath the weight of God nor is the deceased magnified over God.  We need personal funerals, not personalized  "celebrations of life" that forego deeper meaning than whether the deceased never missed a Carolina football game.  When we personalize we make the funeral a social event rather than a meaningful moment that equips us to live lives of purpose.

I commend to you The Good Funeral by Long and Lynch.

Looking Beyond The Empty Skies

The first chapter of the book of Acts is the story of the Ascension of Christ and the faithfulness of the disciples in the ten days that followed.  As Christ ascends, the disciples watch him rise until he is out of their sight.  For a time, they stare into an empty sky.  Waiting, perhaps, for Jesus to come back or for their preferred version of the restored Kingdom of Israel that they asked Jesus to reveal to them before he ascended. It is then that two messengers dressed in white, two angels, asked the disciples why they stood there, looking to the sky.  Soon after this question, the disciples leave the Mount of Olives and return to an upper room in Jerusalem.   In that safe and familiar place, their waiting would not be idle or empty.  The eleven disciples, together with about one hundred and twenty more, would be about the work of Christ through prayer, holy conversation, and a discernment of the next steps for the new Christian movement.

In these days, this scripture offers us a good word. Perhaps it simply reminds us that we cannot stand idly and look to the heavens waiting for the kingdom we prefer, for things to get better, or for Christ to come again.  There is, after all, the work of the Kingdom of God to be done, even as we wait for the fullness of time. It is a scripture that is all the more relevant as we struggle with the issue of homosexuality as it relates to the ministry and doctrine of the United Methodist Church.  We are waiting for resolution of this pressing issue.  We do not know when or how resolution will come. Maybe it will come in 2016 and the next session of General Conference, maybe not.  It is the hope of the faithful that resolution happens in a way that reflects the will of God and not the convenient politics of the moment.

In our particular time of waiting we aren't simply staring into an empty sky.  There is a deep, unmistakeable line being drawn on the issue of homosexuality and the church. On one side of the line, there are brothers and sisters quoting scripture and claiming the new thing that God is doing and the new path we are called to take.  On the other side of the line, there are brothers and sisters quoting scripture and reminding us of the constancy of God and the ancient path we are called to follow.  With the deep and unmistakeable line, there is the alliance of the like-minded on "our" side of the line and the alienation of "those people" on the other side of the line---those who don't agree with the correct understanding of how the Kingdom of God should be.  Yes, there are people on the line itself, those souls who see both sides.  They too are often preoccupied with sides and outcomes, fears and futures. This is the way many of us wait in the 21st century for the next chapter of our life together in Christ; we work for the victory of our preferred outcome as much as for closure or for resolution.  We worry more for what may be different in our future rather than the missed opportunities of the present.

This could have been the way the early Christian community chose after the eleven came down from the Mount of Olives.  Judas had to be replaced.  No doubt there were those in the community who wanted Barsabbas and others who wanted Matthias; lines could have been drawn and plans formulated to get one person selected over another.  Thankfully, that is not the course taken by the early Christians between Ascension and Pentecost.   The growing and increasingly diverse fellowship worked together and found a way forward consistent with their relationship to God even as they honored the deepening bond with one another.  Acts 1:26 says the disciples cast lots for the replacement for Judas; in other words, they placed full faith in the Christian movement as a whole and ultimate trust in the Providence of God.  What mattered was not who won or who lost, but how in that moment they were faithful to God in the context of the fledgling community of believers.
We cannot ignore the issue of homosexuality as it relates to the the ministry and doctrine of the United Methodist Church.  It is the proverbial elephant in the room.  We need our own holy conversations in safe places like that shared upper room in Jerusalem.  Yet, this needed conversation is not the full measure of who we are and what we do as a local church, an annual conference or as a denomination.  Diverse thinking around a single issue should not limit our work together or distract us from the fullness of our call.  Our Book of Discipline offers hopeful direction:

"In the name of Jesus Christ we are called to work within our diversity while exercising patience and forbearance with one another. Such patience stems neither from indifference toward truth nor from an indulgent tolerance of error but from an awareness that we know only in part and that none of us is able to search the mysteries of God except by the Spirit of God. We proceed with our theological task, trusting that the Spirit will grant us wisdom to continue our journey with the whole people of God."
From: Our Theological Task located in paragraph 105, page 87 of The 2012 Book of Discipline of the United Methodist Church

How will we work within our diversity while exercising patience and forbearance with one another? Where are our shared safe places for holy conversation and collaboration? With our divergent understandings about sexuality and faithfulness, what will we do together to fulfill our covenant to God and one another through our loving service to, with, and for the forgotten whole of humanity that Christ died and rose to save? Dare we trust one another in ways deeper than the lines that keep us apart?

Perhaps the long and powerful stream of history has worn smooth the rough lines drawn between the choices to replace Judas just as it has other controversies in the storied history of the church.  But perhaps the way through divisions and strife is not by watching the skies and plotting our preferred version of the Kingdom.   The way forward to wholeness as well as God's desired future for us all is to choose to follow Christ and risk crossing the deep, unmistakeable lines to those brothers and sisters on the other side, working together as we move forward in discerning our next steps together as the Body of Christ.  That was the blessing for the Christian community in Acts; may it be also with us.

Once again

It has been a few years since I posted on this blog. A great deal has happened in 5 years. I am no longer in Gaffney, two of my sons are now in college, Kathy has a new appointment. My family is now in Cayce, SC. Goodness knows, there have been changes in the world and the church since then. I am going to try and blog again. Facebook notes are good. My sons use snapchat, tumblr, and twitter to connect. I guess I am looking for more than 140 characters and 30 minutes to express myself. Here goes.

Going Down Memory Lane: the Burp Well Building

I remember those days well. My Wofford friends and I would walk from wherever our classes were that day to the Burwell building and the cafeteria (as I recall we called it Burp Well). It was a ritual, check your mailbox before going upstairs to the cafeteria. In the days before cell phones and email, the US Mail was it besides an expensive phone call. Back then, as we looked in our tiny mailboxes and nothing there, the response was "all I got was a rock" a line from one of the Charlie Brown/Peanuts Halloween television shows. The last time I opened my Wofford mailbox was 24 years ago before I graduated. I have no way of knowing how many people have had that mailbox in 24 years. I could not tell you how many locks, electronic devices, and other password or combination accessible items I have opened in that time.

I do know that memory and the work of the brain is a remarkable thing. Certainly there are chemical and electronic processes that happen that spark something here or there in our brains and trigger memories. What I don't understand is how it works sometimes and other times it doesn't. Why is it we can remember stupid song lyrics from 30 years ago and not our spouse's birthday?

Yesterday (from what I remember) was a good day. I had work and home responsibilities as usual. I realized in the afternoon that I forgot a parishioner's surgery yesterday morning---first time that has happened. Earlier in the day, I went to Wofford as part of my Board of Higher Education and Campus Ministry duties. The meeting was on the first floor of Burp Well. I went to the Post Office. I saw a sign that said mailboxes were free---had they always been that way? I walked to my old mailbox nothing was inside---"all I got was a rock."

I could not tell you what the combination was. Could I open the box? My fingers went to the combination dial...

Memories come and go. Some we cannot get out of our heads and others we cannot hold onto no matter how hard we try. Here's hoping your memories are good ones today.

$12.50

Last night, the boys wanted to eat something before they went to the movies. We stopped at the Taco Bell here in Gaffney; I paid the young lady at the register and she gave me the change. I flipped the quarters in my hands as I have done for almost ten years. One was shiny, new...maybe it could be...

For almost ten years, I have been looking closely at the change in my hands. It started when I got this cardboard map of the United States in 1999. It has the states in different colors and a pocket in each state about the size of a quarter. You may have guessed by now that I worked to collect the state quarters that the US mint began to issue ten years ago. I showed my young sons the map at that time; here was their timeless response: "Daddy, we could buy a lot of Pokemon cards with that much money!"

I know some collectors went to the bank to get their quarters on schedule and others would buy them rolls at a time. That was not my method. I got my quarters from change I got in everyday transactions (all but one, thanks Mr. Bob). Each time, I would go home with my treasure and put it in the map. These quarters have been the only thing I have collected since I sold my comic book collection to help out with my seminary expenses a long time ago.

Last night, I got my change at Taco Bell. I flipped the shiny quarter in my palm over and saw it was the "Hawaii" quarter. The lady at the register thought I hit the lottery. She gave me another Hawaii quarter so I would put one in the collection and use the other. Nice lady.

I now have the 50 state quarters---$12.50.

I am not sure what I will collect next... Pokemon cards??

Small Towns, Large Values

The busiest intersection in Hemingway, South Carolina

This past Wednesday night, I went to Wahalla, South Carolina, to visit my niece, nephew, and sister-in-law, upon the death of Kent, my sister in law's father. This is a family that has seen more than their share of tragedy in the past three years with the deaths of three very special people. My brother, Eric, always liked Wahalla; I could see why at the funeral home Wednesday night. Wahalla is a small enough town where most people know each other and treat each other like family. There was a presence Wednesday that spoke to that. I feel comfortable that my family there will be cared for daily by their church and community in ways that would make Eric, Kent, and Joan proud.

I am finding Gaffney to have that same kind of atmosphere. It is a bigger town than Walhalla but the values of community are still present. I guess I am partial to small towns. I grew up in Hemingway, which shaped me a great deal into the person I am today. I have lived in Spartanburg, Atlanta, Baton Rouge, and Charleston; but in those places the school or the local church served to convey those community values. Small town certainly face problems today--- plant closings and economic challenges, the school systems aren't as well funded and sometimes attitudes are not open to healthy change.

South Carolina is a state of small towns and rural villages, but not for long. As less people farm, and more textile operations close, the children of the small towns flock to the larger cities for jobs and educational opportunities. My hope is that with these changes we can still find ways to relate and care for one another as it was done in the past in places like Wahalla, Hemingway, and Lowndesville.

How hard can it be to find an alarm clock?

Last week, I wrote about needing an alarm clock. Turns out Mamma Deacon needed one too; her alarm clock stopped working after the 1,000,000,000th time she hit the snooze alarm in five years. We go to Wally World to purchase alarm clocks---with battery backups. We got two with a strange neon blue glow.

Glow really is not the right word---supernova would be better. Twin blue supernovas in our bedroom. It looked like the police were testing their light bars. We passed one of the clocks off on Airman We. He has wrapped it in a t-shirt and put it on the other side of his room.

Yesterday, I went online and purchased an alarm clock. It is the Cadillac of alarm clocks---three daily alarms available, each alarm allows you to wake to a different radio station. It has a "declining snooze" which ought to make Mamma Deacon happy.

Time keeps on slippin' and its supernova bright.

Time keeps on slippin'...I think

We are trying to get ready for Advent and Christmas at church. That time of anticipation and preparation. Speaking of time, every time piece I own is malfunctioning or missing. I replaced the battery for the atomic clock in my office and for some reason it is stuck on California time. I have misplaced my watch (somewhere in the house, I think). This morning, by bedside digital alarm clock (with nice big numbers) is missing some pieces of the numbers. My boys and I agree, it now looks like some countdown clock from an Alien vs. Predator movie.

I am now dependent on the DVD player, my cellphone, the microwave oven and the computer for my time keeping. Which is interesting because none of those clocks read the same.

Time. We live and move by it. Advent is about that time in three tenses... what was, is, and will be. There will be other times to blog about advent. If I can find the time!

I am still here

Hello To all who bookmark this blog and those still looking for a triple bunkbed!!

I do still live and breathe. Sorry for the long break from blogging, but I have been getting my schedule balanced. When I am not doing the church thing, I am still keeping up with Mamma Deacon, Lt. WE (he got an ROTC promotion), The Athlete, and LPCoolJ. There has been football, cross country, and church youth groups added to the schedule. Mamma Deacon is now on the border between the Rock Hill and Spartanburg districts and her distance driving is not quite as bad.

The Athlete and I are serious Wofford football fanatics---to the point where Mamma Deacon would prefer to not be in the same room as we are when we watch Wofford on TV. The T-Dogs are having a good year with a possible spot in the playoffs (yes, Wofford and the FCS are not part of the fickle sportswriter and computer selection bowl championship series that name their champions on the sports page rather than settling it in a playoff format). LPCoolJ is trying his skills at wrestling, so that will be fun.

I went to an Order of St. Luke convocation in October and I have started to pray the daily office which has helped me balance what is important. I have been walking and watching what I eat, to some benefit I might add.

The key to getting my balance seems to be figuring out the rhythms of Buford Street UMC where I pastor. The church has had some staff issues as well as breaking ground on a new family life center since I got there. We had a full staff for almost a week until the unexpected death of our minister of music. Learning the people and the system in the midst of all this has been a long adjustment. But I am getting there.

Thanks to all who have been patient as I have gone through this process and understood how my blog couldn't be a high priority.

By the way, if you are one of the three dozen people a week who come to this blog via a google inquiry for triple bunk bed (and you have read this far today): the bunkbed was sold.

Peace.

Something some of us knew all along

Wofford played USC last Saturday night. I took the Athlete to the game. It was fun being the only Wofford fans in the entire section. The silence of the 70,000+ Gamecock faithful after Wofford takes the lead was memorable (and awesome). Unfortunately, Wofford lost 23-13.

I take some consolation in this quote Coach Spurrier made after the game.

“Coach Ayers never has to worry about the effort level of those kids. They all play their hearts out every play. It’s fun to watch them play, to tell you the truth. We’re trying to get to that level. We’re trying to play like Wofford around here.”
Coach Steve Spurrier, The University of South Carolina

I am still here

Sorry for not posting anything in a month, but I have trying out a new routine. I know a few of you have checked in regularly, plus the numerous hits of those who google "triple bunk beds." That was a post I covered back in May--- I wish I had sold the thing on ebay now!

At any rate, I found something on the Wofford website that I think is a great idea. Got an extra $100?

A Tree Grows Through It

I apologize for not blogging any more than I did in July, but getting my feet on the ground at Buford Street has been more time consuming than I imagined. There are plenty of good people and a dedicated staff, so my adjustment time should not be overbearing.

Yesterday, Kathy and I went to Asbury Hills to pick up two of our sons. In addition to a wonderful summer camp for United Methodist Youth, it is a great place for a family reunion or a personal Sabbath retreat. One of my most endearing memories of Asbury Hills is from Thanksgiving 2006 when our family gathered there for the holiday. Although we did not know it at the time, that was my brother Eric’s last Thanksgiving and really the last time our entire extended family gathered in one place to share a traditional family holiday. It was a cool Thanksgiving morning, but warmed as the day progressed. Eric had just been discharged from the hospital the previous day and was not quite at a 100%, but he made the most of the day and our time together.

Many of the family went down by the stream to throw rocks in the water or just hear the roar of the mountain-fresh stream. Most family gatherings involve a camera, and that day was no exception. Eric and I made our way to a nearby bridge and posed for a picture there. That picture is found to the right of this column. It is a wonderful moment for me digitally frozen in time. Unfortunately, that moment would not last. Eric held his own for a while but steadily declined by Easter. On May 6, 2007, Eric died from complications of lung cancer.

Going back to Asbury Hills brings back memories as well as hope for the future. Yesterday, I passed by the bridge in the picture. Things have changed in the 20 months since the picture was taken. It looks like a small tree is growing between where the camera was and where Eric and I stood on the bridge. Time does have a way of moving forward.

Seeing the bridge and picture site reminded me of one of my favorite movies of all time A River Runs Through It. It is the story of a Presbyterian Minister and his two sons in the beautiful scenery of Montana. As the story moves, and the three men move through life (often in different directions), it is the fishing along the river that unites the three. Ultimately, the river and the fishing are not enough to keep life from moving forward to the tragic end of one of the sons. As the movie closes, the surviving son fishes the river in his old age, remembering his dead loved ones but living forward.

Moving through the months since Eric’s death has not always been easy. The picture has been a reminder of him and of that special time. There have been months of moving on and past his last days (a time of living forward), punctuated by days of remembering all that was and mourning all that might have been. The new tree next to the stream at the picture site reminds me that time does move on, leaving us with memories and no way to freeze the past to re-live again, but also with a growing, emerging hope. It is the special hope for all of us who mourn loved ones and lost futures that a tree does grow and that we too can also grow past our brokenness with God’s help.

A tree grows in that special place now. A tree which grows stronger as it moves farther away from a sunny day of a certain November. May God bless us as we grow in similar ways.

The Anti-Thesis of Mamma Deacon's Quiet, Sunny Place

Mamma Deacon wrote about her nice, quiet place in the house last week. It is nice if you like sunshine and a view of the outdoors. The basement downstairs has been deemed the Mancave and the James boys are making it a comfortable place. Since Mamma has taken the boys to the beach this week, I have had time to prepare my side of the ManCave.

As you can see by the pictures above, I do have a single window! It allows me to see outside from below ground level the kudzu growing in the field next to the parsonage. The room is done in early American Bomb Shelter with authentic cement blocks. When I sit in the chair I can see how the washer and dryer are coming along. Notice my own personal unique kindergarten artwork hanging on the wall; I think it would bring top dollar on EBay. I think the ascetic look is in for the contemplative crowd this year... maybe I will start a trend. For the record, those are not Steve Taylor's sermon files on my desk!!

In all seriousness, I like my quiet spot too. There are few distractions (except when the dryer is finished) and in the still of the early morning it makes for a worshipful space. Our home is quite comfortable and we are blessed to be here.

Daddy's got a New Crackberry

This past week I had a cellphone upgrade due and I got a new blackberry. I have had fun trying to figure out how to work it. Pictured above is the Athlete goofing off over his dinner at a local Gaffney pizza place. I also have taken pictures of my feet, a wall, and the back of my hand trying to figure this thing out.

Ringtones are also lots of fun. Trying to find the perfect ringtone for those people in your address book has been a challenge. Ringtones these days are recordings from TV shows, movies, music and popular culture. Finding my incoming call ringtone was a hoot. I found lots that I would have liked to have while I was in college---but wouldn't dare want ringing while I was in a church meeting or with the district superintendent (by the way, his unique ringtone on my phone will be "Hail to the Chief"). I settled on "Soul Man" by the Blues Brothers as my general call ring tone. I haven't picked out LPCoolJ's yet (I want his input), but I have the "NFL on Fox" for the Athlete and the " James Bond" theme for the Cadet Airman. For my cousin, Danny, I chose "As Good As I Once Was" by Toby Keith... which I could have also used for myself.

Now for Mamma Deacon, I had lots of choices. I thought about the "Imperial March" from Star Wars or "Happy Wife, Happy Life." I went instead with the first song that I remember after we started dating--- "She Drives Me Crazy" by the Fine Young Cannibals... good (better) choice, don't you think?

I am still working through my address book--- what is your ring tone?

Of Silverware, Hospitality, and the Mancave

We are now at home in Gaffney. We got here about noon on Wednesday. It has been like Christmas, opening boxes and discovering what is in them. We finally found the silverware. Hopefully, flimsy plastic spoons will not serve as serving spoons ever again. I was able to go to the office and unpack the boxes there. But home is the first priority.

We have been overwhelmed with friendly people. The church gave us an old-fashioned pounding (stocked our food pantry) and they have given us a meal each night we have been here. I think it says something when people offer such hospitality to the newcomers in their midst.

The boys and I set up the Mancave last night. They have a place for their X-box and drumset and I have a place for my quiet time. Needless to say, I won't be having my quiet time when Halo 3 is blaring and the drums are beating. There is space, however, for all of us to feel at home.

Now it is time to work (again) on my first sermon...

Almost There

I told my family that the best Father's Day present this year would be to have 99% of the packing done by the end of Saturday. We will be close. It looks like we will have most of the boxes headed to the basement/mancave in Gaffney. It will probably look like a Costco storage room.

The Buford Street Parsonage Committee has been gracious and cooperative with helping us get acclimated. The parsonage is getting new paint and a room of new carpeting. They even went along with The Athlete's request for his room to be painted Georgia Bulldog Red. Perhaps it is a good thing Cadet Airman is away at JROTC Leadership camp; he might have wanted his room complete with camouflage paint and mosquito netting. Mamma Deacon didn't ask me what color I wanted for the basement/mancave (where all the boy's x-box equipment and daddy's desk are going). It probably wouldn't matter anyway... U-Haul box Brown is such a delightful color.

PS- It is amazing how many google hits my blog got with the words "triple bunk bed."

Connection and Continuity

This past Sunday, I led worship at India Hook as the pastor for the last time. It was a very special worship service: we had a baptism, we celebrated Holy Communion, and we had a closing litany to lead us to forgive, affirm, and release both pastor and people. We celebrated five years of ministry together with Sunday dinner and plenty of hugs.

As part of the final service, I wore an elder’s stole that was not bought for me, and I doubt I will ever wear it again. Remember that the stole worn by pastors in worship symbolizes our authority and our service as they are given to us at our ordination. The stole I wore not only symbolized the authority given to me to preach and offer the sacraments, but it also symbolized the continuity and connection of the clergy who serve the churches of this annual conference. I wore the stole of India Hook’s next pastor, the Reverend Steve Gaither. At the conclusion of Sunday’s service, I removed Steve’s stole from my shoulders and placed it on the Lord’s Table. On June 22^nd, Steve will place that stole on his shoulders. We as clergy are connected not only by the covenant we share, but by the people we serve.

The line of pastors at India Hook continues forward as it has for over 150 years. Steve will lovingly and passionately live out his call as he serves India Hook as I have had the honor of serving that church for the past five years. The continuity of the itinerant system is one of the strengths of the United Methodist Church. Long periods of time do not pass for a church to be without clergy leadership. Bill Heustess left India Hook on the morning of June 11, 2003 and I moved into the parsonage that afternoon. I was here for the unexpected death of a parishioner less than a week after Bill left and I arrived. On June 18, 2008, Steve Gaither follows me as the new pastor here, while I follow Scott Wachter as the new pastor at Buford Street in Gaffney.

That is if I can finish packing…

Triple Bunk Bed: $100 Memories: Priceless

This morning, we had our pre-moving yard sale. We had a bunch of stuff and most of it sold, thankfully. One of the items for sale was the boys’ Triple Bunkbed. When we lived in a parsonage in Charleston and space was at a premium, we found a gentleman who made bunkbeds in nearby Goose Creek. It was made of solid wood and we spent most of a Saturday putting it together; I think I know where all the wood from Noah’s Ark went! That thing was sturdy. It was real fun watching the movers disassemble it and carry it up the stairs at the parsonage at Rock Hill and reassemble it.

When I saw it today, the memories of the boys using that bed came flooding back. They were much younger then, and we stacked them in that bunk like a cord of wood. They put their names on the bunk (in permanent ink--- which I saw again today) and we installed shelves on the end for each of them. I remember telling them nightly bedtime stories as they all three got in their places.

We sold the bunk to a young couple with three kids under seven years old. It felt good that someone who would get some use out of it was able to get it at a very good price. The memories of my family’s time with that bunk, however, are priceless.

I also got to experience a new memory that brought back very old memories for me. My youngest son, LPCoolJ, enjoyed the yard sale. He enjoyed talking with people, haggling with them, and trying to convince them that they really needed to buy “this special homemade bubblegum machine.” He finally sold it. I enjoyed watching him this morning working for a sale.

LPCoolJ and his Yard Sale adventures reminded me of my brother Eric. Eric could sell ice to Eskimos and he enjoyed it all the while. As I saw LPCoolJ work the yard, I remember Eric haggling over prices with the guy at the clothing shop when he was about my youngest son’s age.

It has been a year this month since Eric died, and I still think about him everyday. Today was another happy memory of Eric lived out in the next generation as LPCoolJ discovered the flexible price below the number on the sticker.

All sales are final.

Honey, I think I taped one of the kids in a box

We are in the middle of the packing process here. There are boxes scattered here and there. Barrels full of china stand next to a box full of Star Wars toys… I hope I put the “fragile” sticker on the right container. It is amazing how much stuff there is to pack. Our yard sale is this Saturday (come one, come all). What we have not used in five years (since the last move) as well as some furniture is going to the yard sale. Although I have a feeling that yard sale is a fancy term which means “junk rest area” in French----- the place it sits before you finally move it to the big green box with flies.

Seriously, we are doing well with the move. LPCoolJ is happy to get his own room; the Athlete is extremely happy to go to a place with such a great football legacy as Gaffney; Cadet Airman is probably happy that we are not moving too far away from his friends in Rock Hill. Mamma Deacon and I look are trying to figure out how it will all get done by June 17.

I will post more later…if I don’t pack the mouse.

OK, can you guess my next appointment?