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.