Rite of passage: Sew ‘n go
They slowly gather in a room every Wednesday morning, with no pomp and circumstance. Once, these women were young and strong. They raised families and ran businesses, but life is like a river, with many bends and turns to negotiate along the way. Now, the women of this group are moving on up in years. Many have retired; their children and families have moved away, and even their husbands have passed on. But these women have resolved...
Rite of passage: Only the best
Last week, Grammy and I had the privilege of having Titus the Honorable and Cohen the Goodhearted spend the afternoon with us. It was one of those days when it was warm enough to go outside but still had a tinge of winter lingering in the air. My grandsons love being in our backyard, but not because they have room to run or trees to climb. No, they love the backyard because that is where the water spigot resides. There is something...
Rite of passage: Snakes in the church
I have never been afraid of snakes. They were just a part of everyday life for a boy growing up in the country. There, I was taught that snakes were good; they ate the rodents that would destroy the crops. When I was in fourth grade, a large glass box sat in the corner of my classroom. Inside lived a full-grown Western rat snake. Most of the time, we called snakes like this “blacksnakes.” Every farmer in my part of the country knew...
Rite of passage: Spam alert
When I hear the word “spam,” my first thought is of the meat. I grew up eating Spam. For a long time, I thought everyone ate it, and now I realize that, back then, it was for poor folks. I still eat Spam, but these days, I tend to think of it as a health food (at least that’s what I tell myself when I’m eating it). I know it contains the vitamins E-I-E-I-O. The rest of its ingredient list should probably read, “Contains an oink, oink...
Rite of passage: The power of a book
It was a Sunday night in Georgia. As usual, I was sitting on the front row of the church. I don’t know what it feels like to sit on row three or four. Most of you can identify each other by the back of your heads; I can’t. This particular evening, a young lady came up to me and asked, “Can I tell you my story?” “I would love to hear it,” I said. So she began to share with me about her life, growing up in foster homes and being moved...
Rite of passage: ‘The Kid’
I was flying into Orlando, Fla., where I had been invited to speak at a local church. The Orlando airport is different from most airports I fly into; it is a city unto itself. You get off the plane and follow the herd until you find a shuttle filled with excited children and weary parents. Most of them are on their way to see a mouse and a duck. As you exit the shuttle, a crowd awaits that is bigger than some of the towns I have lived...
