Toni emailed me this, and I had to share.
Maybe I’ll try this tactic in Walmart later this afternoon….
Archives for September 2006
Show The Preacher Some Love
7 September 2006 by
Okay, I just remembered something I’ve been meaning to tell y’all.
When I did the post about the big news at the new church in Tupelo – which, granted, was basically just a series of questions – Emma Kate called me the next day.
We talked for awhile, but she never mentioned the post, and finally I said, “Hey, I wrote about your church yesterday.”
She said, “OH! GOOD! I’ll have to read that. All I’ve seen are those questions.”
I started to laugh just a little bit and said, “Um, Missy? ‘Those questions’? THAT WAS THE POST.”
EK got tickled, too, and said, “WELL, it was real nice and all, but now you know there’s just a whole lot more to tell. You’re just not near finished, now are you?”
The thing is, I’m not. And I think one reason why I’m having such a hard time writing about it all is because I now that God’s not finished, either. He has way more work to do in Tupelo, and I almost feel like what I would write down now is nothing, NOTHING in comparison to what God will have done one month, one year, five years down the line. I don’t think, in my whole life ever, I’ve ever been privileged to witness God moving in such specific, deliberate ways. It’s been pretty cool, to say the least, and it’s also been hard to put into words.
And that’s part of the reason why I’m ever so relieved that our good friend Kevin – who, just in case you missed it, is now EMMA KATE’S PREACHER IN TUPELO and I put that in all caps because I want to make sure EK notices that I said it in the declarative and not in the interrogative – has come along and taken some of the pressure off of me.
Because he has a blog now! And I will be sending you his way in just a moment after I embarrass him completely and make his cheeks turn red.
Here’s the thing about Kevin: he teaches and preaches God’s Word faithfully. He doesn’t dumb down the message or The Message. He doesn’t water down the truth or The Truth. He loves people wholeheartedly – unconditionally – and I have no doubt that God is going to use him in big ways in Tupelo. And one of the main reasons that Kevin can function as effectively as he does in ministry is because he has sweet Traci by his side – she is such an encourager, so optimistic, so patient, so selfless in the way she takes care of their family. And while D. and I are sad that they’re leaving, we couldn’t be more excited about what’s down the road for them. The fact that they’ll be walking down that road with Emma Kate and Brad makes it all the sweeter.
So now that I’ve said lots of kind (and sincere) things about Kevin and his family, I think I’d like to rock his blogging world a little bit. I noticed today in his comments that he wondered if anyone was actually reading, and when I read that I thought, “hmmm…I know a few bloggity peeps I can send your way, Mr. Preacher Man.”
If you have a chance, please stop by The Church at Trace Crossing blog and leave Kevin and the folks in Tupelo a sweet comment. There are only a couple of posts, but Kevin’s a great writer – well worth the read. (AND – ohmygosh I just thought of this – he’s my first real-life friend who’s started a blog! Which makes me oddly giddy! Y’all know I’m not normal!)
All right. I’m done now.
I’ll see y’all tomorrow.
Faith Builders
7 September 2006 by
Shalee has written a a great post about God giving her the strength to endure a recent sacrifice, and she’s added a Mr. Linky so that the rest of us can participate, too. If you have a post – either new or old – that addresses (come on, now! TESTIFY! GLORY!) :-) God’s mercy at a particular point in your life, head over to Shalee’s and add your link. I can’t wait to sit down and go through every single one of them later today.
Also, Heather and Janice have teamed up to create a new devotional blog, Faith Lifts. They have lined up a great team of contributors, and it might be that you (yes, YOU!) might want to contribute, too. All the info is conveniently located on the Faith Lifts site – and pick up a button for your sidebar while you’re there.
Y’all have a great day!
Make A Joyful Noise
6 September 2006 by
When I was a little girl, I always sang in the choir at church. One of my first church memories is singing “Go, Tell It On The Mountain” at a Methodist church in my hometown. For some reason I had a solo, and I think that was mainly because I wasn’t shy and wouldn’t cry if forced to perform in front of a large-ish group of people. (By the way, I’m still not shy and still don’t mind being in front of large-ish groups of people, but at this stage of life solos require, you know, talent, something that’s in short supply with me.)
As I got older, I continued to sing in children’s choir. Every Sunday afternoon, from the time I was 8 until I was 13 or so, Miss Kitty Morris would sit at the piano and lead us through songs like “Ten Thousand Angels” and “Pass It On.” All these years later, I don’t think there’s a single Sunday when I don’t think about Miss Kitty. She served us so sweetly and selflessly, and it’s because of her that I know all the verses to “Amazing Grace,” “Blessed Assurance,” and so many other wonderful old hymns.
By the time I got to high school, I wasn’t so much interested in hymns, though I did wear out a couple of cassettes of Amy Grant: The Collection. I spent the next fifteen years or so wrapped up in “my” music – Blues Traveler, Shawn Colvin, James Taylor, Billy Joel, Hootie and The Blowfish (and I still LOVE ME SOME HOOTIE, by the way).
But once I hit my 30’s, something happened. Maybe it was hormones, maybe it was pending motherhood, maybe it was just where I was spiritually – but I could not listen those old hymns without going into the ‘bout-near-ugly cry. I’ll never forget one particular Sunday when I was about six months pregnant with Alex, and we sang “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” in church. There was something so sweet about feeling Alex kick as I sang words I’d known since childhood, and I cried so hard that a lady who was sitting near us took pity on me and passed me some Kleenex. Don’t get me wrong – I do love contemporary music, but the Holy Spirit stirs something deep in my soul through the words of the old hymns, through the words that have been sung by generation after generation of believers.
About a year and a half ago, after an almost-20 year hiatus, I decided that I wanted to sing in a choir again. At our church you have to audition to be in the “oh-they-can-really-sing” group, but there’s another group called Celebration Choir that sings about once a month – no audition required. My neighbor E. and I decided that we’d go together, and I’m pretty sure that D thought I’d lost my mind just a little bit when I told him I was joining. He knows my singing “limitations” better than anyone since he has to stand next to me every week in church, but he encouraged me, thought I would enjoy it, and then worried, I’m sure, that I would bring untold shame and degradation to our family with my off-key song stylings.
I wish I had the ability to explain why, but going to choir that night was like going home. For all intents and purposes, I was 8 years old again – singing along with Miss Kitty in the choir room at my hometown church. We sang some newer songs at “choir practice,” but we also sang “Oh, Happy Day” and “The Blood Will Never Lose Its Power.” And if you ever have the chance to sing either of those songs with about 150 people, I highly recommend it. It probably won’t change your life, but it’ll flat-out bless your heart.
Tonight, at 7:00, our Celebration Choir starts up again. For two blessed hours I’ll sing to my heart’s content and probably get in “trouble” a time or two for cutting up too much with the other altos. I’ll hit lots of wrong notes, sing in places where I’m supposed to be quiet, and pretty much make a mess of everything we work on – at least the first time through.
But I’ll make a joyful noise – though it may not be joyful to human ears – and I’ll treasure every single second of it. And when we sing an oldie but goodie – something like “Jesus Paid It All” or “Holy Holy Holy” – I’ll sing through tears, no doubt about it.
I think Miss Kitty would be proud.
WFMW – Breakfast Casserole
6 September 2006 by
My friend Norma gave me this recipe a couple of months ago, and I’ve made it at least six or seven times since then. It’s perfect for breakfast when you have company or for a wedding or baby shower where you’re serving brunch. It’s great with orange rolls and fruit – and so, so pretty when it comes out of the oven.
Crescent Roll Breakfast Casserole
1 12 oz. package bacon, chopped and fried (reserve about 2 Tbs. of bacon grease)
2 packages fresh sliced mushrooms
2 packages crescent rolls
8 large eggs, beaten
2 cups Pet milk (Pet milk is a brand of EVAPORATED milk that we like in the South):-)
2 cups milk
2 cups shredded Swiss cheese
Cook bacon pieces. Drain on paper towels. In reserved bacon grease, saute’ mushrooms until they lose their firmness (about 8 minutes). While mushrooms are cooking, press crescent roll dough in the bottom of a large (around 10 x 13), greased casserole dish, making sure that you press all the seams together. Depending on the size of your casserole dish, you may have a little bit of dough left over.
In a separate bowl, combine eggs, Pet milk, milk, and cheese. Set aside.
Scatter bacon and mushrooms on top of the crescent roll dough. Pour egg / milk / cheese mixture on top.
Bake 15 minutes on 325, then 35-40 minutes on 300.
You won’t believe how good this is. My husband even likes it – and he’s not a fan of breakfast casseroles (he thinks anything I would serve for brunch isn’t “real” food). And if you don’t like bacon and mushrooms, you could do sausage and onion, ham and spinach – any combination would work.
Y’all enjoy!
And for more great Works-For-Me Wednesday tips, go see Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer.
If It Weren’t My Life I Wouldn’t Believe It, Either
5 September 2006 by
This past weekend D and Alex went to see D’s mother, Martha, and grandmother, Sissie, who live together in the house where D. grew up. Martha, has never met a retail establishment she didn’t like. On the other hand, Sissie abhors anything remotely related to shopping, but she does hold a special place in her heart for grandchildren and chocolate, both of which she adores. Martha is 75, Sissie is 96, and together they’re 171 years-o-fun.
Sissie likes to tell us that she can’t see. However, based on the fact that Sissie, sans glasses, loudly announced in Steinmarts one afternoon that Martha shouldn’t buy a certain sweater because “it says right here on the label that it’s DRY CLEAN ONLY,” we know better.
She also likes to answer the telephone and say, “WHO IS THIS? WHAT, SUGAR? OH! YOU KNOW I CAN’T HEAR!” D. and I contend that maybe one reason she can’t hear very well on the telephone is because she holds the mouthpiece to her ear and as a result buries the earpiece halfway around her head in the center of her freshly-coiffed white hair, which for whatever reason tends to make the speaker’s voice a bit, you know, muffled.
And this seems like as good a time as any to point out that the ability to whisper completely eludes Martha and Sissie. They think they can – but I know better since I have gotten up from the dinner table on more than one occasion and heard Sissie say, in her whisper-that-is-a-scream, “Martha, did she HAVE to give me so many potatoes?” or, even better, “Has she gained some weight?” Inevitably when Sissie “whispers,” Martha replies, in her own unique whisper-scream, “Mother, Sugar, this is NOT THE TIME to talk about that. We’ll talk about it LATER, sugar. Darlin’. Mother. Sugar. Darlin’.”
They’re quite the pair.
By now you’re no doubt wondering where this long-winded tale is heading. That makes two of us. I think what I planned to tell you was this: last weekend D called Martha and Sissie to remind them that he and Alex were going to be in town, and he asked, as he often does, how things were going with them.
Sissie replied that her tooth hurt and she couldn’t remember anything (side note: Sissie remembers what she spent to tile her bathroom in 1956 as well as what the most recent kilowatt reading was on her power meter). She went on to say that Martha’s toe hurt and might need surgery and Martha couldn’t remember anything, either (side note: Martha could tell you the current prices – regular AND sale – of each piece of the Harve’ Benard collection at Steinmarts, as well as seventeen different pound cake recipes that she has memorized just for kicks).
Anyway, D asked Sissie if anything else was going on, and she said, “Well, we’re both just miserable.” And then: “Don’t you and Alex want to come to lunch when you’re here?”
D replied that, given the all the upbeat news he’d just received from Sissie, he couldn’t think of anything that would possibly be more fun unless it was a root canal without the aid of anesthesia. Oh I’m kidding. He said they’d be delighted. Because seriously, it’s perfectly fine with us if Sissie says she can’t hear or see or remember, even if she can do all three. I mean, when you’re 96 you pretty much get to complain about whatever you want whenever you want. It’s one of the perks of being four years shy of a century.
So D and Alex went to lunch, and it was mighty entertaining in the way that trips to Martha and Sissie’s always are. Martha wanted to show off the latest fun, cropped jacket that she found at Steinmarts, and Sissie wanted to talk about how they “TRIED to get the house cold” before D. and Alex got there because, under normal circumstances, they keep the thermostat on a refreshing 84 degrees and still wear a sleeve. D picked up some fried chicken from KFC, and Martha and Sissie ate their usual: one chicken tender, half a biscuit, two tablespoons of cole slaw and a quarter cup of sweet tea.
For the record, Alex ate more than that when he was 16 months old.
While they were visiting, D took lots of pictures, all the while listening to Sissie say, “You’re going to run out of film! Don’t waste the film! OH, you’re using too much film! Do you have enough film to take all these pictures? Isn’t this going to be expensive?” She was not at all consoled by D’s explanation that the camera was digital and he could take somehwere around 300 pictures. She just looked annoyed and said, “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Some of the pictures were your standard child-with-grandmother-and great-grandmother fare, like this one:
Or even this one:
But this next picture. OH, this next picture.
When I saw it I squealed with glee, because it captures the very essence of an afternoon with Martha and Sis. If I were a fiction writer, I could look at this picture for five minutes and develop a rough plot outline for an entire series of novels set in the South.
I think it’s my favorite picture ever, so I happily share it with you.
Welcome to my world.
I’m not leaving it and you can’t make me.
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