Category: thoughts

Summertime

This past week Ron and I and our boys drove through a town called Many, (pronounced man–ee) in west-central Louisiana. It is a town where I lived as a young girl. I was amazed at how some things had not changed and others were frozen in time. I showed Max and Zach my house, and the backyard where I made snow angels (the story’s on page 32 in my book). The yard still looked big to me. I showed them the stump of the former tree where I carved my name with the name of the boy I liked and wanted to kiss “Celia + Scott”. I showed them another huge tree that used to have a rope in it. I remember swinging out over onto the roof of an old shed until one of the neighborhood boys went through the roof. That incident ended our Tarzan reenactments. I showed them the hill that my friends and I rode our bikes down. It used to seem enormous. I showed them the old Sabine Theater where I used to watch John Wayne movies and the good old make-you-ugly-cry movies like Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows. We retraced the path where I used to ride my bike and buy a Richie Rich comic book and fudge ripple ice cream cone. I showed them the Baptist church where I played basketball and the water tower that sprung a huge leak one summer and the kids in our neighborhood all played in the water for hours. That tower seems to have shrunk. I showed them the Catholic Church that had an after school program. They had ping pong and pool tables and we would play every week there. I showed them the church that my dad served First United Methodist Church. It was where I learned “Hallelu, Hallelu, Praise Ye the Lord” and “If I Were A Butterfly, I’d thank you, Lord” and “Do Lord” and many other songs. It was where I attended Vacation Bible School with my friends and where my girl scout troop met. I showed them where the Middleton sisters lived and I know why I love old Victorian homes so much. They had a Victorian home across the street from the library and we drank tea on their porch and they had a basket of children’s books for me to read.

I remember my last summer in Many. It was summer of 1975 and I was on a quest. My friend Annette and I were working toward a pair of Icee towels. You had to save proof of purchase coupons clipped from the cups. You could earn a beach towel from Icee and we each wanted a towel. We had to mail in one hundred Icee coupons and three dollars for each towel. (According to Icee.com, the beach towel is now 500 points and $20). For weeks we rode our bikes around town looking and gathering coke bottles to redeem for a nickel each. We used the money to buy Icees and toward the $3. We had a system–we’d collect, clean and then trade them for our money. I can’t tell you how long this process took, but in the middle of that summer, our towels finally arrived. We would display them proudly at our local swimming pool or in my back yard with our slip and slide. I still have that towel today. I spent those summers with my best friends–Annette, Barbara, Sandra, Pam, Jill, Rebecca and I have fond memories of our time together.

At another recent stop in southwest Louisiana, I helped my boys catch green lizards with a friend Noah in his yard. Last week I smiled at their response after I caught one on the side of Noah’s house. Zach said, “My mom’s caught those guys before.” All I could do is smile as I put the lizard in their bug cage. “You bet I have guys … and it’s always fun!” (Incidentally, no lizards were harmed in the making of this newsletter. They were set free that evening to find their families and friends. We’re all about catch and release.)

A few days ago I received an email forward from Debbie, a friend in my book club. It was simply titled “do you remember when?” I rarely have time to sit and read email forwards and hardly ever take the time to forward them on, but this one was good and it got me thinking.

I remember … when summer lasted forever and I took my shoes off last day of school and didn’t put them back on till I had to go back to school after Labor Day, …lying on my back in the grass with friends and saying things like, “That cloud looks like a…” …eating watermelons, …snow cones (rainbow was my favorite flavor), …staying up late to watch a meteor shower, …playing tag until it was too dark to see, …making promises and keeping them, …sleep-overs, …homemade/hand churned peach ice cream; …climbing trees and riding on the handlebars of a bike with a banana seat, …shucking corn and shelling peas on my grandmother’s porch, …baseball cards in the spokes transforming your bike into a motorcycle, …water balloons fights, …catching fireflies for an entire evening.

As I reflect on summers gone by, the thing I remember the fondest is the goodness of it all–the simple blessings that I received. I enjoyed walking my sons down my memory lane and reflecting. As I recounted my memories to Max, Zach and Ron, we talked about what we are loving about our current summer. What made those times special and what makes today special are the people I am spending my days with and making time for simple things. Think about it. I’ll bet it’s true for you as well. Make some time to play today and make it a wonder-filled summer . . Celia

PS I had to pause in the midst of writing this devotional thought to retrieve a toad frog from under the couch, the adventure continues.

WHAT·NOT n.

WHAT·NOT n.
1. A minor or unspecified object or article.
2. A set of light, open shelves for ornaments.

January 7, 2006 – My flight was early. We were scheduled for a 6:46 AM departure and for me, that’s early. I had already had a half a cup of coffee and had been up since 5:04 am. I was staying at a hotel located literally feet from the airport. As I entered the lobby, there was an airline crew sitting on couches. My best guess is that they were two pilots and a flight attendant. As I loaded my bags into the hotel shuttle, I saw them walking to the terminal. It was a cool morning and I was glad to be sitting in a warm van. Ricky was our driver. By 5:30 my friend who was traveling with me playing guitar, Thad and I were on our way. We were 50 feet from the American Airlines terminal. Ricky was friendly for 5:30 am. He said you stay over at our hotel again. We not only offer rides to the airport, but to shops, fast food restaurants and whatnot. I smiled and said the whatnot is probably where I’d want to go.

What is whatnot? I’ve often heard that term, but have never been sure what it was. I guess I’ve always thought it was the extra stuff after the important stuff. Once on a visit to Nashville before Ron and I moved there, I visited an area near music row and near downtown. It was a strip of tourist shops. I wish I could remember all of the names of the shops. As I meandered my way from store to store killing time before I met with someone to talk about what I needed to know about the “music industry.” Sometimes I’d meet friends of friends asking me about my writings songs, singing on the road, selling music. Those first years, I’d travel to Nashville and like a good student, I’d learn what was working and what wasn’t working for others. Many people assisted me as I journeyed this road. Funny I might have a meeting at 10 and then nothing until 2 PM. I hung out at a few places. Long before Starbucks, I went to the “Slice of Life” a quaint coffee shop / restaurant near music row. They had great tea. I’d sit for hours writing songs and reading the newspaper. And sometimes I’d visit the string of souvenir shops. My favorite was the Elvis Presley Museum. Every time someone entered the door, the young lady from behind the counter beamed and faithfully recited her speech. As I remember it, “Welcome to the Elvis Presley Museum. It is our pleasure today to offer you private pictures, personal possessions and never before seen items of Elvis Presley. Before you is an array of items to purchase, signed autographs of Elvis, his very own Driver’s License, tee shirts, music, videos, books written about Elvis, Love me Tender Lotion, whatnots and such.”

I would wander around to pass time. It seems there was also a car in the lobby Elvis had owned. I might be the only one entering the store and about the second or third time I’d drop by, I’d just wave her off and say, it’s okay, I’ve heard it. I kept thinking I’d write it down, I have not done it justice. She was much more thorough and chipper. She made most greeters seem pretty somber. And always dressed with a southern smile. How do they find these wonderful people? Especially with repeat customers, I’d be like a whatever — helps yourself to the whatnots and such.

And I’m back where I started at 5:30 AM, the extra stuff. I get distracted by the whatnot, I’ll be honest. I’ve gone in to the grocery store for milk and left with a bag of whatnot and no milk. I guess my new years resolution is to do better with the whatnot, to not lose sight of the big, real, vital things in my life. To name them, give them my time, attention, prayer, efforts and let the whatnots and such fade out of my vision. How can I do that? My only road map like many of you is to stay focused — for me, it’s to stay focused on Christ. I want what matters to Christ, to matter to me: what I should be doing, who I should be reaching out to, where my treasure should be. I want to make an effort to line myself up with that this year, this week, this day and this moment. The whatnots often seem appealing, but when I get them or focus on them I later discover they were neither as important nor as sustaining as their initial appeal.

Mind you the “love me tender lotion” along the with house slippers with Elvis head attached above the toes, had their lure–but their appeal wasn’t abiding or lasting. And the next time I visited there, I’d always be on the lookout for a new whatnot.

Coming to Nashville on these early trips, what I spent my time on then, I know now, still hold its value. The relationships I built and the people I met, as we each heard God’s call and followed those paths somehow we bumped into each other along the way and the same is true today. There a lot of whatnots out there. Places to go, things to distract us, agendas to seek, goals to meet and this next year, my prayer, my deepest desire is to find those that are the truest, that are aligned with Christ — my faith, my family and my purpose. I’m gonna focus on those and pray somehow they are the ones that matter. As Ricky dropped me off curbside, I thanked him for the ride. I asked what he was gonna do, when he’s off at 6 am. “Oh I have a 13 year old daughter and that’s my first priority each day.” “Have a good day with her and God Bless you both,” I said. He doesn’t seem interested in the whatnot and I shouldn’t be either.

On seeing and witnessing

On December 17, 1903, the Wright Brothers made the first successful powered flight and entered the history books for years to come. They flipped a coin to determine who would go first on the flight. Several failed attempts were to follow until that morning. Orville Wright flew their 1903 Flyer 120 feet in twelve seconds and a dream was realized.

One of the things that intrigues me is that as bicycle mechanics, beyond wings, they were familiar with wheels and so were also aware of what it took for a safe landing. I becomes about looking at the same situation from a different angle. These creative minds were focused on seeing the critical issues and resolving them. It was about the seeing. Like the innovators, the witnesses who realized what was actually happening, were the ones who had eyes to see. There were only a few witnesses on that sandy hill on Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina. Most of them firemen and other locals who had watched from afar – why they came out that day, no one knows. But they witnessed something. I wondered how it affected their lives.

One who was instrumental in that historic day was William Tate, postman, fisherman and jack of all trades. With the encouragement of the chief weatherman of the Outer Banks, William had written a welcome letter years before that day that said to the Brothers not only is the weather right and the terrain perfect but the best reason to come to North Carolina is the people. They are most hospitable and would welcome you here and make their stay a pleasant one. The brothers even housed with the Tates until their housing was established. His wife used her sewing machine to make the modified wings for the 1900 gliders and Wilbur and Orville used Tom Tate, his 6 year old son to fly several gliders due to his light weight. This welcome letter swung the deal..William Tate’s biggest regret is that on that day he was not to see them fly. He thought it was too windy that day and really never got over not being present, but it wouldn’t have happened without him

Among those present was a young man, John T. Daniels who snapped the famous picture of that first flight with Orville’s camera. The funny thing was he wasn’t sure he even did it correctly. Not only did he capture the flight perfectly, but they learned much about the flight because of the detail of his pictures. It amazes me is that he didn’t know for sure, he just took the picture and trusted what he got was what they needed. I’m not sure he understood how important it was that he was the one who took that picture and his part though he was unsure was more than right … it was perfect.

The person I am most intrigued by who was there that day was Johnny Moore, a 16 year old boy who skipped school to watch the flight. I’ve thought since I heard that story that Johnny, the boy who skipped school on that day of all days, would do something great, that he would go on to make an extraordinary contribution. Maybe he was just like most of us. Yes, he witnessed something great but didn’t really know how that translated to him or what he would contribute that would be considered history changing. Not much is known of Johnny Moore’s life. He lived a long life into his 80’s and was the life of the party every where he went and of course he told everyone he was one of the ones who was there. Ron and I walked through the memorial on the coast of North Carolina. We stood on the hill and walked on the very sand they flew over.

A couple of weeks ago, in my Sunday School class, we talked about our faith with regard to Christ’s miracles and the miracle of the resurrection. I spoke about the cross and I realized how overwhelmed I am by the thought of my witnessing that sight even secondhandly. Even the thought of that kind of love is unconceivable to me. I’ve always thought of the birth and death of Christ. What would it have been to be in the midst of that crowd or would have seen those miracles? How would my life would have been changed if I had been on the hill when the little boy offered his loaves and fish and through Christ fed us all? Or what if I had, like Thomas, put my hands in Christ’s pierced side and touched his pierced feet and hands? Would I believe differently if I had witnessed these things first hand? Would I get my role in these events? Or would I be the one who had gone about my business or maybe at a party with my friends said I was there–boasted for boasting sake? How many times like Tate have I thought I missed it the biggest part on have not realized what I did.. the small thing was the biggest part!

What if my life where changed and I didn’t need to say anything.–my life said it all. The sureness of my doing what I am suppose to be doing and being where I’m suppose to be, says it all. I’m not saying I’d have done it any differently. How many times have I finished singing and wondered… was that right.. oh if I had only done it this way.. I wish I had sung this song instead of that.. or said this instead of that. Then there are moments I’m simply caught up in God’s grace and I am so assured that I am where I am suppose to be doing just exactly what I am suppose to be doing. The second part is just as important–how my life is changed after that encounter. I know that I am meeting people in the presence of God’s love, grace, forgiveness. Daily I am given opportunities like Johnny Moore that have such grand potential to change my life and others, if I’d let it–if I’d grow from it–if I’d not be afraid–If I’d not make it about me, but make it about God’s using me. If I’d make it about letting the spirit come through me and about trusting that I am doing it right. Like John T Daniels, I’m sometimes not sure, but I’m faithful and I show up. You and I have a chance today to get it, to do it all differently, to offer something small with hopes that it will make a big change, for the kingdom of God, to let go of regret , to be faithful, to experience God’s presence and become a witness to it. Because of the life of Christ., I cannot-not be changed and seek to give all I have not knowing the outcome. I’ll leave that up to God today. I love the vision of the kings leaving Bethlehem and going home a different way.. I’ve always thought that didn’t just mean a different route, but maybe a different life as well. They were different and nothing would ever be the same, because of what they had seen. Day after day Christ is new every morning, and today I want my life to be a reflection of my witnessing that story.

Be on the lookout and let your life be a reflecton of the miracles you see. Fly your own way today and change history.

Your friend, Celia

P.S. Thanks to the park rangers at the Wright Brothers National Memorial, Kill Devil Hills, NC. and especially Lynn Nashom who was working at the information desk. If you haven’t visited it’s great. lots of cool vintage planes and kids love it. They have kites, toy airplanes and model airplanes of the Wright Brothers‘ plane.

Cherish What is True

Cherish what is true. Be about that which is eternal. Be able to name it both when life is easy and when the going gets tough. Some questions I have asked myself recently are: Does what I am doing have a purpose? Will this matter in 5,10 or 20 years? Do I spend my resources–time, energy and money–on things other than myself and is what I am doing worthy of my efforts? Do I surround myself with those who edify me–who lift me up and do I in turn lift up others? Am I sharing God’s love in all I do and say each day.

When I was in eighth grade, I liked a boy–okay I probably liked lots of boys in eighth grade–but I’m thinking of a particular cute cajun boy from Golden Meadow, Louisiana. His name was Jacob and he played eighth grade football. We had maybe three conversations and he let me wear his ID bracelet with his name engraved on it. I remember having it on, as my dad and I drove from our church in Golden Meadow to our other church in Grand Isle after school one day, my dad asked about the bracelet. As a parent, I am shocked that my dad even noticed it on my wrist, but I was probably paying close attention to it. I remember the loud silence in the car before I finally said, “I like him–I really like him.” My Dad smiled and said, “tell me about him” and I had nothing. After lots of “wells” and “ughs”, I said “he’s cute and well, ugh…” I realized I knew little about this guy. Within a week Jacob asked for his bracelet back and that relationship with that boyfriend ended. It wasn’t a true relationship–it wasn’t real. I loved the IDEA of a boyfriend, I didn’t love him. I loved the idea of his getting to know me–not that he knew me. As I reflect on it today, I’m reminded to cherish what is true, not what you wish were true. When the real deal came along, I could tell.

On a recent Sunday evening I sang at a youth gathering and I noticed a young couple near the back sitting with their arms around each others shoulders. As they left, I asked how long they had been dating. They laughed and said, a week. When I asked, “what do you love about each other,” he quickly looked at her and said, “she’s kind,” and as he looked into her eyes, I knew he knew. She looked away for a moment and thought, “well, ugh, I never thought, well, he…” I stood there. Finally she said, “I never thought about it, but he’s great.” I’m not saying that they are not a match made in heaven or even predicting that I won’t receive a wedding invitation in years to come, I hope to. I was struck by his quick response–he knew the answer, could identify it and embrace it on the spot. Like him, I love that I know what is true about the relationships in my life.

I remember having Max and thinking now that is eternal… that is real love… something true. I spend time and energy with things that do not really matter, but when I run into something that matters immensely–well I’m able to see it clearly. That is what I want to spend my life on–the real stuff. When you meet someone and they have IT–you might not know what it is, but you know it when you see it. When you find yourself in the presence of real–cherish it, soak it up, swim yourself in it, have a hefty dose of it, so that when you find yourself in a shallow, superficial, situation there will be no comparison–kinda like the prodigal son coming to his senses in the pigpen. I want to be about the light, about truth, about what is real. I am blessed to have experienced such a wide variety of situations where I have encountered real–where truth lights a single candle in the midst of darkness.

Recently, I experienced the real stuff–I was privileged to sing for some ladies from New Orleans who had been displaced by hurricane Katrina. I wish you all had been with me and with those ladies in the parlor of First United Methodist Church, Arlington, TX. We shared smiles, stories, music, tenderness, and love — an outpouring of love — we were sisters in the truest sense. I listened as they told stories of searcing for loved ones and of being far from home. I told them of the churches my father had served in their area and I sang a few songs for them. Several closed their eyes, sat very still and just listened. I gave them each a CD. One of them turned to me, held up the CD and said, “well, Celia you’re my music collection. I lost all my gospel music during the storm and am so thankful to have this music.” I felt like the boy with the loaves and fish. I wish I had more to give them, but the love seemed to be enough. I am so thankful for eyes to see and an awareness to recognize the people and the moments–the revelations where God shows up. To be honest I could’ve missed it. On that particular Sunday those ladies were the seventh group that I sang for. I started at eight o’clock that morning and I met these ladies in the parlor at eight that evening. I could easily have missed it something so true, so real and as simple as the 9 of us basking together in God’s presence. That evening, I could name real and claim real and claim what makes it real. What made it real, I believe, was God’s love.

I was once asked by a marketing person at a record label what size group I wanted to sing for. I thought for a moment and said, “anywhere there are people.” It was not the answer he was looking for, but it was my answer. He wanted to know if I really wanted to sing for arenas or for great big churches, but it was my honest answer. I have sung for 25,000 and it’s great; but some of my favorite concert memories are doing a concert for one person in a hospital room or for eight in a parlor or for ten in a juvenile center. I enjoyed the 25,000, but I wouldn’t want to miss the eight, either. So, I’m staying with my original answer–“anywhere there are people.”

Blessing friends. May our paths cross soon and until then may you recognize God’s presence in your life. Celia

It’s not really about the coffee. . .

I love Starbucks – I have journeyed through many a Starbucks and have landed at the quintessential drink for my taste — chai tea with soy milk, no water, no foam with nutmeg on top. It’s heavenly! Thank you, Jamie, for the recommendation. No matter where I am I can order that drink and all is right . . . OK, some things are right.

Last week I was in a Starbucks in Memphis and the girl at the counter asked my name. Then she said, “Chai soy, for Celia no water, no foam.” When my drink was ready, I heard “here’s your chai tea, Celia.” They got it right. They called me by name and instantly I felt connected to them. One of the things we want most is to be remembered (as my friend Billy reminds me).

I was visiting the Starbucks location in my hometown. (If any Starbucks is going to know my name, it should be this one.) I have been in here several times since they opened (I actually got there first — I ate at the meat and three in that location, BEFORE Starbucks even looked at the place.) Once again they asked my name and I waited for my drink. They also asked the name of the guy behind me–it was Bob and he was having the coffee of the week. While he and I waited, I said hey to Bob. Then the server said those words I love to hear, “Chai Tea for Celia” She handed me my drink, but she did not look me in the eye. OK–it was a little gesture, but it represented something much bigger. People who really know me, look me in the eye. I was ushered back to reality by that small, negligent act. They don’t know me! They don’t remember me. No matter how many times I show up and they call my name, they just don’t know me. Starbucks can use my name, but they don’t know me. Of course I’ll keep going to Starbucks; but make no mistake, it’s for the Chai tea.

Merridees, the bakery down the street also serves coffee. The minute I walk in the door, I could be on the Cheers show. The guys from the telephone company are there and I know their names. They gave Max a hard hat with his name one it. These people not only know my name, but also my children’s names. Folks there ask where I have been, where I am going and how I am doing. The manager comes from behind the counter and hugs my neck as she wipes down tables. She smiles like an angel. As I sit with my friends, we talk about life — basketball, music, the weather, news from the front page and things we should’ve invented. When I am not there, I miss them. I could go on, but you get the picture. More than my name, they know me.

When I am home on a Sunday, my church reminds me why I belong there. People call my name because they know me. I am re-member-ed (put back together), when I am in community. I need that, maybe we all need that. I sometimes believe what I am sold, but I know the difference. I am fed by real connections. There is something so simple and pure about a name. It is even better than perfect every time chai tea. You cannot beat plain-old feed-your-soul rich connection. Be on the look out and when you find it — drink it up. It is Holy (set apart) and God is there.

Isaiah 43:1 But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

On being there for a friend

We have been journeying with a friend. We (Celia and Ron) are both on the preschool board at our church. One of our fellow board members Meg unexpectedly lost her husband 3 weeks ago. One of her daughters and our son Zach are in class together at preschool (she calls him Whack). Meg’s husband Jack had an accident near Memphis and was rushed to a hospital in Memphis, where he died about a week later. Our family was driving home from Louisiana when we received news of the accident. Our trip took us through Memphis, so we stopped and spent an evening with the family at the hospital. We have learned so much in the last 3 weeks. There are so many stories and lessons we could include, but we’ll keep it to a few.

Lesson 1: Make time to stop. Being there for each other is paramount. It’s not about knowing how to be there, it’s about being willing to risk awkwardness and the unknown. Had we driven through Memphis without stopping, we would have saved some time. Maybe the family would have missed our support. We certainly would not even be aware of the enrichment and the experience of God’s abundance that we would have missed. Being there was the first step on the journey of growing together. Your friends become family when you walk through the fire together.

Lesson 2: The church is a big family and a small family at the same time. When we returned home from Memphis, we talked about what else we could do to help. We have a list of people who have heard Celia sing. You are receiving this email because you are on that list. We called several churches in the Memphis area from our list. Of course, the church showed up with visits, food, prayer and support. Crisis is one of those times when we are at our best as a community of faith. Part of what we love about our lives and our line of service is that we often get to experience the connection that is ours in faith.

Lesson 3: There is ALWAYS something you can do–be creative. We talked about what else we could do beyond praying and calling friends in Memphis. We knew the family was staying at a hotel, so we got the number of the fax line at the hotel (there was no charge to receive faxes). Celia sent a daily inspirational thought to the family via fax, knowing that it would be left under their hotel room door. No phone to answer, no extra errand–a supportive thought just showed up. At the funeral visitation, Ron went through the line and introduced himself. He was just another supportive visitor until he was introduced as being the fax lady’s other half. One of the family members said to Ron, “You’re married to the fax lady?” The faxes and the thought made a difference.

Lesson 4: Get to know your acquaintances. They have a life and a story beyond your limited contact. We sat together through several preschool board meetings. We shared both good and routine moments as we have talked about the details of running a quality preschoo, but we didn’t know much of each others lives before this loss. By not intentionally carving out time together, we missed some joyful times with a delightful couple.

Lesson 5: Cherish the people you love. Your time together is a gift. Meg has since told us many things about her and Jack’s marriage. They really liked each other and had fun together. She has said that she would rather have had only ten years sharing that kind of love, than a whole lifetime of “average.” That is an easy statement to comprehend. They crammed a lifetime into ten years. MAKE your relationships great.

Thanks you for what you do for each other and for how you’ve enriched our lives. Merry Christmas–may the Christ child be re-born in your hearts this season. God’s peace . . . Celia and Ron Whitler

PS visit “in the neighborhood benefit” to learn more.

The one that got away…

Last month I had the joy of spending a day fishing with my cousin Paul and his fishing-guide buddy, Allen. We were in South Louisiana near the Gulf of Mexico, (we could’ve been in the gulf for all I know.) When I say joy, I mean “opening presents Christmas morning” joy; “lose 20 pounds” joy; or “find your keys after looking for hours” joy. The remembrance of that day brings a smile to my face.

Stay with me on this story. That morning, I walked out the door at 5:30 AM. I was dressed for the day and ready to go. We stopped by a local store to pick up our lunch–2 containers of fried chicken–which tasted much better than your average fried chicken and we picked up my fishing license (I’m not a poacher). When I tell you they want all of your information to give you a Louisiana fishing license–I mean ALL of your information. They want color of eyes, color or hair, current phone, SS#, address. I don’t remember giving the state of Louisiana that much information when I registered to vote the first time. (I’m from Louisiana, so I can say that.) With my 3 day license in hand, off we went. We had live bait, we had chicken, we had a cooler of water & Gatorade and nothing but fishing on our to do list.

We arrived at the marina, put the boat in the water and were on our way. I love watching the sun come up, watching egrets fly overhead, enjoying the stillness of the water, or watching dolphins playing. It was a great day. I was thinking, “what I great life.”

Allen took us to our first spot. He handed me a pole and baited my line. I quickly told them I wanted to learn how to bait my own line–how tough could it be to put a little shrimp on a line? I didn’t know much about fishing–I was pretty much a clean slate. You tell me what to do or what I’m doing wrong and I’ll learn. I’m fairly teachable, when I want to learn—(there’s a golf story from New Mexico that could be inserted here, but I’ll save that for another devotional). After a few lessons on casting, I was a seasoned veteran, almost. I watched them catch one fish after another. They continued to coach me… “pull your line in slower, Celia” or “when you feel that tug, your bait’s probably gone”.

I would switch hands, I’d try to reel more slowly. Finally it happened. I caught one. Not a big one, but it was a fish. My first few fish were pretty small. Paul helped me unhook them and release them. I remember thinking, “he’s gonna get tired of this”, so I just started grabbing those fish myself. There are times in our lives when we’re not sure how to do something or we’re not sure if we’re doing it right, when we have to “gut it out”–just bear down and try. There have been times when people have said to me, “how do you do that and look so confident?” I guess I just say to myself, “I can do it.” Then I BECOME the thing I’m striving for. That was my approach that day. Finally I was fishing! I caught trout, red fish, and even a shark! My largest fish was a red fish about 28 inches long and around 10 to12 pounds. I was screaming and having a grand old time. Allen & Paul were laughing that laugh–like you’re killing us and you’re killing the fishing for all of the fishermen who can hear you and are trying to catch something.

Reeling those fish in is a job, but what a sense of pride when you do it. A couple of times I know I blinked and said, “hey guys, how I am doing?” My intent was to communicate the thought, “can either of you help me reel this in?” They’d smile and say; “you are doing great. Lift up your pole and bring it down and as reel.” It was my fish and it was my job to do.

THEN IT HAPPENED—it was about mid-day and we had fished in several different locations. I was casting, when all of a sudden, my line started going out like crazy. This got the attention of my fellow fishermen. They told me “that’s a big one, Celia. The biggest today, by far.” Finally my line broke. As we fixed it, we talked about the one that got away. We talked about how big it probably was, what it could have been–maybe it was a shark, they listed a slew of fish names that I had never heard of. We continued to fish and I thought, I’ve got two option–I can dwell on the one that got away and think I’ll never have another one like that OR I can choose to think there’s a better one and a bigger one out there. I know why folks love fishing. Some of the fun of fishing is knowing that next time might be the time when you will catch the big one or the one that got away.

Well, the day ended and the fish were cleaned. We readied the boat for another trip. I wanted to beg them to take me the next day, but I had a life to return to in Franklin. I had a singing engagement the next weekend. I had Ron, who lovingly and patiently kept our sons while I fished. I had two sons, Max and Zach, and I had stories to tell of Mama fishing on a boat.

The original purpose of my trip was to attend Paul’s father’s memorial service. He died from complications after a long-awaited liver transplant. I flew from Nashville to Houston and drove to Lake Charles to meet my family, many I hadn’t seen since the death of my own father. As I drove, I wondered what I would feel–sadness, connectedness, sense of loss, sense of belonging. I kept coming back to the thought that life has a way of moving on. I remembered good days and I believe that better days are ahead. When I saw my family, I didn’t have any words of wisdom about their loss. We shared something unspoken in our togetherness. It was a silent exchange—rooted in our common experience of the loss of a parent. No words were needed–being together was enough. In the silence, I felt right with the world and right with myself. At the memorial service, my Uncle Billy squeezed my hand during the closing song. Instead of feeling flooded with loss, I was reminded of all I have and all that is ahead–the overwhelming blessings. I was also reminded that my best days are ahead.

I go to churches and sing for youth groups. Occasionally, I meet a group or a church that dwells on days gone by. They are stuck with the notion that their best days are behind them. Of course, I am not talking about your church. This mindset is about living from a sense scarcity rather than living with an understanding of God’s abundance. Ultimately, the confidence to live this way comes from a trust that God holds the future.

Life is different when lived with the mindset that my best days are ahead of me–my best ideas are yet to come, my marriage grows better and stronger with time, my best songs are not yet written, and my biggest fish is still swimming. The day I spent fishing was a wonderful reminder of this truth.

**Here is the rest of the story and the real-life true story about the ones that got away. — Paul packed my fish on ice so I could fly them home. When I got to the Southwest Airlines ticket counter in Houston, the ticket agent smiled and said, “Ma’am, can you tell me what’s in your ice chest?” Proudly I answered, “fish I caught today near the Gulf. You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” I watched as she cut open my duct taped Styrofoam ice chest with a box cutter. As she worked, she muttered, “no, no, no. You can’t fly with this kind of ice chest, you can’t fly with loose ice, and you can’t fly with fresh fish–it has to be frozen.” So I left my fish and passed through security and flew home with only the things I had brought from Tennessee.

There is an end to this story in my mind. I have a vision of those airline employees and all their friends, gathered for a fish fry that night. It brings a smile to my face, knowing that they really might have had a party with MY fish. Those fish were the real ones that got away. I am left with the memory of an incredible day. My best trip is STILL in my future and I am ready to go.

A personal thanks to Paul and Allen, who were great sports to risk their day of fishing to take a girl like me out and teach me how to fish. You guys are great!

Jeremiah 29:11 For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.

This summer I had the privilege of singing …

at the memorial service of Lillian Marie Harron. Lillian was the mother of a friend of mine at church. Marie, as her friends and family called her, was born the same year as my dad–1923. As I sat there and listened to our pastor tell the story of her life, I felt sorry I had not know her. It was a wonderful tribute. Friends and family stood and talked about Marie.. how kind…how fun… how loving… and how creative she was. At age 70, she could still do the splits–her grandchildren learned how to do the splits from her. In the lobby the family had assembled a collection of pictures of her that spanned her lifetime. They also had her senior yearbook. One autograph included a phrase that caught my eye, “You’re Plenty Ok.” What a simple concept.

From what I heard about Marie, she lived her life like she was plenty ok. She treated others that way as well. She shared her faith dailly. Marie embraced each challenge with dignity and perserverance. She was not afraid to go against the grain–in the sixties, when her children noticed “whites only” signs, Marie would quickly say to her children, “just because it’s a law doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.” Her children learned to value everyone and everyone was their friend.

“Plenty Ok” . . . what if every morning we woke up and thought, “today Lord, I embrace this day as a gift… right where I am … both the good and the bad… the hard and the easy. Help me change those things you’d have me change. Lord, help me live my life as you would have me to… my life is plenty ok and I am plenty ok.” Listening to the story of her life I thought I would like to have known her AND that I would like to be more like her.

Try it for the rest of today, believe that you’re plenty okay, just the way God made you. And if you find yourself doubting or second guessing, or replaying or regretting the past, or worrying about the future; forgive yourself and remember… you’re plenty okay! … Celia

P.S. if you’ve given up on learning to do the splits, maybe it’s not too late.

Commencement

Recently I was sitting in an auditorium at the Commencement Exercises of a class of 2004. The service started a little late. Parents and friends eagerly waited for the moment their loved one’s name is read from the podium. There I was, sitting with my family, doing the same. The speeches had been made and I thought back to my own graduation ceremony. I remember saying to myself, “Ok Celia, when you go to receive your diploma—smile, don’t trip, enjoy the moment.” Well, I didn’t trip and the moment breezed by. Back to 2004… as the names were read to recognize this year’s graduates, people began clapping for their graduating senior. I found myself clapping as well. I really wanted to clap for each name that was read, even though my nephew’s name was a little down the line. Then, I noticed something–some folks had big cheers, loud shouts of encouragement and other people had only a few cheers. Sometimes it seemed that I was the only person clapping. There were about 250 names read that day and once I started, I was committed to finishing. After about the first 100 names, Ron asked if I was going to clap for every name. I thought, you know what? — yes, I am. I know God is like that in my life—present, clapping, sometimes I’m not even aware of how God is there, but I believe God is always present, always encouraging and celebrating.

Sometimes, God encourages us through another person reaching out. I can remember specific times when someone reached out to me. They might not have even known the impact it had on my life. My gestures of encouragement often come on the spur of the moment (this is no surprise if you know me at all). Even when I’m certain that someone has received plenty of attention over a tough situation, I go ahead and send a card. Yesterday I asked a friend (who I know has had a really tough year) how he was doing, I really wanted to know and I really took the time to listen. Sometimes it is the little nothings that we do that become the somethings. This morning, I got a call from a close friend whose dog had been it by a car… (the dog is ok… bruised up and resting at the vet’s). For the several years of marriage before I had children, our dog Smokey was our family. Losing him was losing a family member. This morning I jumped in the car and sat with my friends as they waited for word for their dog. I told my friends, “I’m gonna try to NOT be like Job’s friends.” If you remember the details of the story—Job’s friends are doing a great job supporting Job, UNTIL they open their mouth and start talking. It was good just to be with my friends.

It makes us feel special if we know that even one person is clapping for them. Everyone deserves to be recognized for a job well done, to have a pat on the back, to have someone pulling for them, even if person is be a stranger. So I clapped for everybody that day and when the last name was read, I felt like I had made a difference.

I have to wrap this up, I am off to swimming lessons. Max and Zach are taking lessons with 3 other little people. The parents are all cheering for every little thing that each of them does. Each day… you have the opportunity to help someone hold it together. So like we learn in swimming, don’t forget to reach and pull. Your encouragement will make a difference in the lives around you. It has made a difference in mine.

Weddings

I am looking at a wedding invitation on my desk and my thoughts drift toward weddings and ultimately toward wedding cake. What is it about wedding cake that I love? It is by far the best cake in the whole universe. (Except when my friend Marilyn made a red velvet cake for my dad’s 80th birthday, now that was a cake!) I can honestly say I can’t remember ever tasting bad wedding cake.

I love going to weddings. There is something so wonderful about weddings–the joy, the friends and family gathered, the food, and did I mention the cake. When I started singing, I sang for several weddings. Most of them were for friends and folks who had been in my husband Ron’s youth group throughout the years. There is something very wonderful about singing at a wedding—especially the ceremony of someone you love. When you sing, you are incredibly close to the action and it is holy ground. There is something so sacred and so special about seeing someone look into the eyes of the one they love with all of their heart and saying… with God’s help, we are one–we leave this place united to face everything together and we will hold on to each other.

Well it is that time of year again–spring is in the air and invitations are in the mailbox. Singing at weddings also makes me crazy. (Unless of course you’re reading this and I sang for yours, it was the exception). Most folks are nervous, wanting everything to go hopelessly perfect. That creates stress. And of course things seldom go perfectly, because someone is late, etc. Weddings, like marriages and the rest of this life, are simply not perfect.

I have sung in two weddings when I was several months pregnant. Try to find clothing to help you blend in when you are very pregnant, ugh; but I smiled and sang anyway and was thrilled to be included. Of course videotaped those ceremonies.

My favorite experience was the one where the grandparents had been forgotten at the hotel. The mother of the bride asked me if I could stretch my song. There was no way to stretch that song, so I smiled and said, “Ummm no, but thanks; let’s just have an instrumental moment.” So the organist went around one more time.

Another favorite memory is my brother-in-law and sister-in-law’s wedding. It was held on the steps of a beautiful house on Calumet Horse farm in Lexington, KY. A video camera was set up and I sang a song, while in the background my energetic eighteen-month-old son Max is running laps around the small ceremony. Somehow we had the moment! It is a great video to watch now. I could tell more stories about other weddings, but I am getting to the stories where I begin embarrassing myself.

Back to cake, I remember wanting my own wedding cake to look perfect. I had the ladies of an art class at my church, touch up a small statuette of a bride and groom that my parents had used on their wedding cake. The couple on the statue looked a bit tired, but I loved it. I remember when the baker brought the cake. I had this vision of a lace arch over the bride and groom standing proudly on the very top of the cake. I turned to the baker as she placed the cake on the table in the fellowship hall and asked her about the arch. She said she had forgotten about my arch and so the couple stood proudly, but unadorned by the beautiful arch from my perfect vision.

Sometimes we have to choose between letting go of a vision or letting go of the moment. If you cling to the vision, you miss the moment. The only way to embrace the moment is to release the vision, in order to see what is perfect about what is right in front of you. The real perfection that day was in our love for each other. That love has carried us this far. We don’t do it perfectly everyday, but I’d choose us again. I am so thankful that Ron is in my life and that I get to be Max and Zach’s mom.

Back to the wedding invitation on my desk. I am planning on attending, not just for the cake (although what more of a reason do you need), but to experience the love again–the love that is perfect–the love among friends and family and the love that I feel from Christ at weddings. Jesus was a wedding go-er. It seems he too loved to attend, and to celebrate. He even eased some stress by saving the party when they ran out of wine at Cana. We’re not told, but who knows, maybe he enjoyed some wedding cake, too.

I hope you find yourself among a party this spring, having wedding cake. Please remember how special you are, whether married, single, with family or alone–celebrating the best part of relationship–the love we have to share…and by all means, enjoy the cake!