Category: gratitude

::Life Its Own Self::

I did not want to write this, but it won’t leave me alone. This is life its own self. 

Come March 21, 2026, I will have lived it seventy and nine. Looking back, the road I’ve traveled is so long I can’t see clear to the beginning anymore. Yet it’s puzzling. I’m still eager, and curious, and filled with ideas … and, generally speaking, I have the energy to accomplish tasks that come to me, through desire or necessity. For example, after Christmas I’m gutting the powder room for a redo. My Christmas wish list is power tools. 

How is that possible? There are moments when I find a thought chasing at the edge of my brain:

“Will the old woman slip in and take over today?” I like Clint Eastwood’s attitude. When asked how he stays so youthful and sharp, he said, “I don’t let the old man in.”

I don’t wish to be cruel to the old gal. But I have way too much road to travel, things to do, family and others to love and interact with. 

Yet I do wonder. I wonder about “next life.” In our song ‘Glorious’, we wrote that our dreams are just a whisper of what heaven’s gonna be. I’ve watched NDE accounts where people share what they’ve seen, and it’s generally that there’s no way to actually describe it … the beauty and the splendor is beyond our limited understanding.

I accept that. I believe it. I hope and I pray that when my time comes, I will be there, and see it.

But not yet. 
I thought, about thirty three years ago, that God was through with me. My children were grown, and my marriage had crashed. I was, I thought, done. But what came after that was a human and a spiritual growth that could only be described as driven by the Almighty. He took all my broken pieces and put me back together. An author said, and I sadly cannot remember who, but he said, “Until your heart has been broken to grains of sand, you will never really have loved at all.”

I know now what that author meant. And I see that God could only have His way with me once I was fully His. I’m not perfect. But He is.

And He’s let me know that my daily surrender is enough to keep the old woman out, if only for one more day

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::Where Jesus Flang It::

Leave it Lay Where Jesus Flang It

Yes. Do that.

Do not look back.

Don’t masticate the past.

It is the trail you’ve left, the one you’ve taken

Over insurmountable odds.

That path is made up of happiness, 

Confusion, glitter, strife, untapped potential,

Broken hearts, broken dreams, unwavering faith, 

Resolute determination.

Never forget how resolute you’ve been, even in your

Darkest, most hopeless hour.

Where did you get it? That determination?

Your faith stood firm, it brought you here.

And here you stand. 

Not “Here you sit,” or

“Here you crawl.”

You stand. 

There were times when you thought you’d never

Get here from there.

But you did.

Here you are.

Well done, you.

Carry on.

Best foot forward.

As for the past?

Leave it lay where Jesus flang it

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::About Jean::

I’ve been ruminating the past few days, over friends and family members. Some who are still here on earth, and others – too many for my liking – who have passed on.

Today this is about Jean.

Jean’s funeral was last week. I drove in to Fisk Chapel from Franklin, where I was shepherding my grandkids while their parents were away.

I parked and went into the beautiful little chapel at Fisk University. I hugged a dear friend in the vestibule, and signed the guest book.

I found my seat, and held the silence for a moment. Then I looked up to the front, and realized the casket was open. Jean was lying there. Not Jean. The body Jean inhabited during her time on earth. I lowered my eyes, and the tears came as memories of our times together flooded my mind. 

A few years back, Jean and “Sheila the Wonder Dog” lived with me. We’d been talking on the phone, and she casually mentioned that she had no place to live. I stopped her:
“What?! Yes you do. Come live with me.” And she did. They did. For about six months or so, Jean and Sheila were here in my house. Slept in the guest room. Cooked, ate, did laundry, took showers … those were some of the best “friend-and-roommate” months of my life. 

Robert Wynn had introduced us, back during the days when I was studying under Ruth Sweet. 

“Celia, dahling, you and Jean are sisters. You just don’t know it yet!” Robert was right.

From moment one, we were sisters. Spiritual, musical, comical, creative, philosophical sisters. 

Lord, how we laughed.

The last time I saw Jean, it was at S.I.R. She was staging a listening party for an artist from Texas. She’d called me to see if I could watch the door, welcome the attendees. I said yes. I always said yes to Jean. 

When I got news of her passing, I cried. I didn’t shed one tear when my mother died. But I cried over Jean. I still have moments when I tear up. Her absence is felt as profoundly as her presence was, maybe more so. Because that hole is huge. She was a light. An encourager. Jean was one of the few in my life who poured into me the truth of who I am, and what my talents are.

She believed in me, and it always humbled me that she did. Because in my life there was too much time, and there were too many people, who did not. People who claimed to love me and who declared me untalented, marginally smart, and more trouble than I’m worth. 

Jean saw me. She “got” me. And God knows, I loved her for that. 

Life goes on, Jean is now at peace, and I’m still here on this planet waiting for my number to be called. 

Until then, I’ll strive to remember what Jean saw in me, and to live each day with all of it exposed to the world. That’s the best thing I can do, for both of us.

Love you, Jeannie. See you when I get there. 

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::Grateful::

Gratitude. People usually say thankful. Like, 

“I’m thankful it didn’t rain today, we’da missed our last game.” 

Or, “I’m thankful they started using skim milk in my latte, last thing I need is the extra calories.”

Being thankful is good, of course. I’ve been thankful most of my life … ever since, I guess, the Methodist minister’s wife picked me up at the gas station where she found me. I’d run away from kindergarten after daddy dropped me off, I was so afraid of being late again.

But now, in my dotage, I’m pretty much always grateful. 

Grateful I can hobble to the bathroom in the morning. 

Grateful I can plant my foot against the shovel, and heave piles of dirt in the garden. 

Grateful for clarity of mind, and the continuing passion for learning more, about everything.

Grateful for friends who take me, love me, and support me as I am.

Grateful for sunshine, and rain, and every season under God’s heaven — even this week in February, 2021, when we’re iced-and-snowed in. At this point, they all have a poignancy I’ve never experienced before. 

We never know when our last breath will be drawn, our last hugs given to those we care about, our last expression of love, however large or small. 

My most recent experience of love expression was the cleaning out of my garage. My son and grands helped, and we filled a dumpster with stuff that, had I not done it then, they’d have had to face it when all my “lasts” were done. 

I think about that a lot. My home, which I’m grateful for, is an estate sale in waiting. I know that, and it helps me take things a little lighter. 

We’re all in this big parler game called life, waiting for our number to be called. And while we play this game, let’s be grateful for the brilliant, heartbreaking, surprising, messy, beautiful life we’re living.

And may we never forget … there’s a last time for everything. 

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