This morning dawned full of promise for a great day. The plan was to go to Chickamauga Battlefield, take lots of pictures, go to the town, have lunch at a quaint spot, do a little antiquing and end the afternoon with a train ride. Perfection!
I have driven to Chickamauga before. In fact, I have driven there from the very spot from which I departed this morning. There were a few steps I must have forgotten along the way, like BOTH right lanes at exit 178 dump one off the interstate. Not to worry, there must be another on ramp close by. Not really. Finally, after several turns, I am back in business. There is even a sign that says " Chickamauga Battlefield exit 180. No problem...is that 180A or 180B? Well exit 180A is first so that must be it. No, no, it is not. No problem, there must be an on ramp very nearby. No, there is not. Okay, so I have gone East, then North, then West, so South must be the proper direction. Of course it is. I am going to Georgia from Tennessee after all. A few twists and turns, I am back on I24, headed West, take exit 180B and I am cooking!
Everytime I worried that I was lost, I would see a confirmation that I was on the right path to the battlefield. And, sure enough, after about 20 minutes or so I am there. The park rangers were lovely. I watched an excellent film on the battles for Chattanooga. It just reiterated the futility of war...the fighting and killing of people that if known personally would probably be friends. I set out for a marathon picture-taking morning. After about 6 pictures, my camera just cut off, and would not work at all. I knew I had fully charged the battery, but a $1,000 18-month-old camera could not just stop working, could it. Apparently, it can. To say I was not happy is a huge understatement.
Nothing to be done but return to the hotel, try to charge the battery, and see if I can get it working. I'll be dadgum if those 2 right lanes at exit 178 don't dump you off headed West too. I could not get my camera to work, so I called the manufacturer, but they were not willing to overnight me a new one (seriously, I did not ask) so what should I do. I mean I take pictures every day. I love that camera. I understand all its eccentricities. Almost every picture I have taken of Simeon and Max, all approximately 3 million of them, have been taken with that camera. So, I did what any upset person would do. I went to Sonic to contemplate my next move. The decision was made to go to WalMart nearby and buy another camera....a cheaper, but not cheap camera, and to figure out what to do about the other one when I get home.
So, off I go to get my day back on track, just several hours later than planned. Chickamauga is very moving. Dozens of monuments representing thousands of men who served, including a monument to Abraham Lincoln's brother-in-law who was mortally wounded. I got my pictures, even though I do not love this camera, and will have to figure out a way to repair or replace my good one.
The little town of Chickamauga, GA is lovely. I bought 2 vintage/antique/new-but-dirty vases (?) for the grand total of $7.00, passed a shop called "chocolate therapy cafe." Yes, please. I walked all around town, and even though it was warm, there was a lovely breeze. The train come through...the train I hoped to ride today, but, alas, that did not happen. It was a day of ups and downs, of back and forths, but it is a day about which I will not complain.
Favorite signs seen on my travels today: on stone entrance - "welcome to historic Ft. Oglethorpe, established 1949" I must be bordering on 'historic') on the Chickamauga church of Christ - "if little
ears shouldn't hear it, big mouths shouldn't say it!" On the front of a secondhand store - "too good to be threw" seriously. And my favorite of the day...ta da....on the sign at a hair salon - "Gelus Hair Designs, " I promise.
So now after having had my "earlybird special" for the second night in a row at Cracker Barrel with all the other old folk, I am safely ensconced in my 55 degree (how I like it) hotel room thinking about my plans for tomorrow. What adventures await, I wonder.
For today, I wish you minor frustrations, good times, and I wish you
Blessings
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Day one
As I suspected, not a lot of excitement today. I got away from town later than I would have liked, but earlier than I anticipated. Some observations from my day in no particular order.
Going 41A to Monteagle Mountain adds about an hour to the trip. By the time I arrived at Lookout Mountain, in my head I was hearing the "melodious" voice of Jean Eisenhower who had a colorful way of expressing the fact that she had been sitting too long. I was ready to get out of the car.
Tennessee is a beautiful state, and there is a lot of country on the back roads. When driving the less traveled road, one wonders about the cry of overpopulation.
Getting over Monteagle Mountain the back way is much, much curvier than the interstate. Whew, almost enough to make even the driver carsick.
I am glad that I do not live in Rover or Estill Springs, but I can see why people might love their small towns.
Decherd has cheap gas.
Tullahoma has a WalMart with a bathroom that was a glorious sight.
Rose's is not a grocery store with fresh apples. I am not sure what it would be called. Sort of a combination of Aldi's, Big Lots and a Vanity Fair outlet store. Also, Rose's does not have a bathroom.
Lynchburg actually has a sign on the highway that says, "Entering the Metropolis of Lynchburg, TN." Talk about hyperbole!!!!
I saw a truck speeding, and I do mean speeding down I24 (I caved and got on the interstate at Monteagle since I had already been driving 3 hours to get 1 1/2 hours down the road) that had "Even a brick wants to be part of something." I thought that a very fitting metaphor for life. I think we all want to be part of something. Actually, we all are or will be part of something. I guess we need to be wise about what we choose. I assume the driver of the truck was either a maker or layer of bricks.
I really can eat a meal by myself in a restaurant. Perhaps, there were people who noticed me there alone and wondered about my story. They might have been surprised at the wonderful life I have at home. Most likely, no one even took note of my presence.
Some things that are humorous are also quite sad, like the loud middle-aged, overweight, bespectacled, balding man on a date at Cracker Barrel with a beautiful younger woman. It seemed as though he was trying desperately to impress her with his refined gourmand palate that was insulted by the undercooked grits, and his periodic poorly executed Italian accent.
That blogger does not seem to work as I wish on the iPad, so I have no idea how this is going to turn out.
For today, I wish you safe travels wherever you may go, a family who loves you, and I wish you
Blessings
Going 41A to Monteagle Mountain adds about an hour to the trip. By the time I arrived at Lookout Mountain, in my head I was hearing the "melodious" voice of Jean Eisenhower who had a colorful way of expressing the fact that she had been sitting too long. I was ready to get out of the car.
Tennessee is a beautiful state, and there is a lot of country on the back roads. When driving the less traveled road, one wonders about the cry of overpopulation.
Getting over Monteagle Mountain the back way is much, much curvier than the interstate. Whew, almost enough to make even the driver carsick.
I am glad that I do not live in Rover or Estill Springs, but I can see why people might love their small towns.
Decherd has cheap gas.
Tullahoma has a WalMart with a bathroom that was a glorious sight.
Rose's is not a grocery store with fresh apples. I am not sure what it would be called. Sort of a combination of Aldi's, Big Lots and a Vanity Fair outlet store. Also, Rose's does not have a bathroom.
Lynchburg actually has a sign on the highway that says, "Entering the Metropolis of Lynchburg, TN." Talk about hyperbole!!!!
I saw a truck speeding, and I do mean speeding down I24 (I caved and got on the interstate at Monteagle since I had already been driving 3 hours to get 1 1/2 hours down the road) that had "Even a brick wants to be part of something." I thought that a very fitting metaphor for life. I think we all want to be part of something. Actually, we all are or will be part of something. I guess we need to be wise about what we choose. I assume the driver of the truck was either a maker or layer of bricks.
I really can eat a meal by myself in a restaurant. Perhaps, there were people who noticed me there alone and wondered about my story. They might have been surprised at the wonderful life I have at home. Most likely, no one even took note of my presence.
Some things that are humorous are also quite sad, like the loud middle-aged, overweight, bespectacled, balding man on a date at Cracker Barrel with a beautiful younger woman. It seemed as though he was trying desperately to impress her with his refined gourmand palate that was insulted by the undercooked grits, and his periodic poorly executed Italian accent.
That blogger does not seem to work as I wish on the iPad, so I have no idea how this is going to turn out.
For today, I wish you safe travels wherever you may go, a family who loves you, and I wish you
Blessings
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Walkabout
In 2 days, I am going on a "walkabout." Actually, since I am neither Australian nor will I be walking, perhaps a better moniker would be "driveabout." I have a vague notion of where I will be going. No reservations for lodging have been made. The interstate will be avoided as much as possible. Back roads will be my friend.
In the almost 61 years of my life, I have never done such a thing. I have gone to places with Mr. Lincoln, and while he ran a marathon or attended a seminar, I have explored cities on my own, but I have never actually traveled anywhere for any length of time by myself. But, I need some time to myself, and with Mr. Lincoln's almost frighteningly enthusiastic encouragement, I will travel to find it.
Life is wonderful. My children and grandsons are great lights in my life. My mom is recovering well, although slowly, from her surgery. Mr. Lincoln and I get along famously. I have wonderful friends. But, my head is not on straight. I find myself more easily frustrated with people and things than I normally am. I find myself on the receiving end of others' anger, and I find it confusing. I say I love the quote, "what others think about me is none of my business," but I find myself in my head giving people "what for." I do not like it.
So, I will leave the familiar surroundings of home for a few days. I have as many as 6 days that I can be gone, but I do not see that happening. I am certain I will miss family, home, my wonderful Egyptian cotton sheets, and will make my way back in a couple or three days; hopefully with my head on a little straighter.
I may blog about each day. I may not blog about each day. I suspect they won't be all that exciting. I hope they will be spent communing with nature and God. I hope that I will return home filled with the Spirit, and exhibiting the fruit of the Spirit a bit better than I have been recently.
So for today, if you are a praying person, I solicit your prayers for safe travels and a successful "straightening of my head," and I wish you
blessings
In the almost 61 years of my life, I have never done such a thing. I have gone to places with Mr. Lincoln, and while he ran a marathon or attended a seminar, I have explored cities on my own, but I have never actually traveled anywhere for any length of time by myself. But, I need some time to myself, and with Mr. Lincoln's almost frighteningly enthusiastic encouragement, I will travel to find it.
Life is wonderful. My children and grandsons are great lights in my life. My mom is recovering well, although slowly, from her surgery. Mr. Lincoln and I get along famously. I have wonderful friends. But, my head is not on straight. I find myself more easily frustrated with people and things than I normally am. I find myself on the receiving end of others' anger, and I find it confusing. I say I love the quote, "what others think about me is none of my business," but I find myself in my head giving people "what for." I do not like it.
So, I will leave the familiar surroundings of home for a few days. I have as many as 6 days that I can be gone, but I do not see that happening. I am certain I will miss family, home, my wonderful Egyptian cotton sheets, and will make my way back in a couple or three days; hopefully with my head on a little straighter.
I may blog about each day. I may not blog about each day. I suspect they won't be all that exciting. I hope they will be spent communing with nature and God. I hope that I will return home filled with the Spirit, and exhibiting the fruit of the Spirit a bit better than I have been recently.
So for today, if you are a praying person, I solicit your prayers for safe travels and a successful "straightening of my head," and I wish you
blessings
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Hell
It is interesting to me that I woke up early this morning contemplating Hell. This afternoon, after skimming through FB, I saw that our teaching minister blogged about Hell. I have not read his blog because I want to neither plagiarize nor seem that I am somehow passively aggressively disagreeing with him. So, I will wait to read it until I am finished. There is one thing I know for sure, and that is whatever he has written, it will be much more intellectual and well thought-out than this little blurb.
There was a time in my life when I was often reassessing what hell would be. I once was convinced that it would be the late Saturday night show at the Grand Ole Opry with Hank Snow on stage. If you have experienced that event, you know exactly of that which I speak. Once on a tour someone asked me if Hank Snow was dead. My less-than-gracious reply was, "yes, but no one has told him so you will be seeing him at the Opry tonight."
One evening years ago, I was fairly certain that hell was the tiny nursery at church filled with babies of all ages on a hot summer night during a thunderstorm with no power. I still get the shudders and consider how seriously I need to straighten out my wicked ways in order to avoid such an eternal fate.
When I was twelve years old, about six months after my baptism, our preacher offered up a sermon on hell. He was very graphic as he told us to go home, turn the burner on the stove and set our hands on it. He described the gradual heating up of the burner, how the flesh would begin to smoke and how the blood in our veins would begin to boil. He had a way with words as he described the smell of burning flesh and the complete agony that accompanied such a deed. Then, his denouement...he said that was only a fraction of what hell would be like. Holy cow, I could not get out of my pew and down that aisle to ask for the prayers of the church so I could be "restored" fast enough. I did not want to go there, and if staying out of there meant being "restored" every church service, then I was prepared to comply.
Frankly, I think there are very few of us, no matter what heinous acts we have committed, who would ever think we deserved such a hideous eternity. If sent there, we would not be contrite and broken hearted, we would be furious and self-righteous and looking for someone to blame for this terrible injustice we were suffering.
I think all church goers have heard the story about the people in hell starving to death at a table laden with food because the spoons they were given had handles too long for them to feed themselves. Heaven had the same circumstance except the people were happy and well-fed because they fed each other. Perhaps, this is getting a little closer than a horned, long-tailed, pitch-fork carrying demon to whom God, the Father has sent all of us who have more black marks than stars in the Lamb's Book of Life.
Perhaps, this last view is a bit closer to what hell is. I have come to think of hell as where God is not....in our need to be angry at our fellow man, in our addictions, in our hatefulness, in our selfishness, in our need to exact revenge on those whom we perceive have slighted us, in our lack of sympathy and empathy, in our sense of entitlement, in our looking for a fight, in our enjoyment of the base and obscene, in our prejudice. These things are not of God. These things lead to a burning hell in our hearts in our minds and in our relationships. And, when, in honesty we look at ourselves, and know we are guilty of such behavior, our hearts are broken, we understand our culpability, and then we are ready to accept the saving grace of Jesus, not as something to which we are entitled, but rather as the gift that it is.
So, hell...is it a place? I do not think so. It is so much more than that. Is its landlord a despicable red man? I do not think so. I am the landlord of my hell. I do not profess to know where a spirit or soul goes after the body has died in this realm. It is all too wonderous and mysterious for my feeble mind. So, I choose to trust God, to accept Jesus's sacrifice, to try and fail and try again to live my life in a way that reflects those choices.
For today, I wish you blessings
There was a time in my life when I was often reassessing what hell would be. I once was convinced that it would be the late Saturday night show at the Grand Ole Opry with Hank Snow on stage. If you have experienced that event, you know exactly of that which I speak. Once on a tour someone asked me if Hank Snow was dead. My less-than-gracious reply was, "yes, but no one has told him so you will be seeing him at the Opry tonight."
One evening years ago, I was fairly certain that hell was the tiny nursery at church filled with babies of all ages on a hot summer night during a thunderstorm with no power. I still get the shudders and consider how seriously I need to straighten out my wicked ways in order to avoid such an eternal fate.
When I was twelve years old, about six months after my baptism, our preacher offered up a sermon on hell. He was very graphic as he told us to go home, turn the burner on the stove and set our hands on it. He described the gradual heating up of the burner, how the flesh would begin to smoke and how the blood in our veins would begin to boil. He had a way with words as he described the smell of burning flesh and the complete agony that accompanied such a deed. Then, his denouement...he said that was only a fraction of what hell would be like. Holy cow, I could not get out of my pew and down that aisle to ask for the prayers of the church so I could be "restored" fast enough. I did not want to go there, and if staying out of there meant being "restored" every church service, then I was prepared to comply.
Frankly, I think there are very few of us, no matter what heinous acts we have committed, who would ever think we deserved such a hideous eternity. If sent there, we would not be contrite and broken hearted, we would be furious and self-righteous and looking for someone to blame for this terrible injustice we were suffering.
I think all church goers have heard the story about the people in hell starving to death at a table laden with food because the spoons they were given had handles too long for them to feed themselves. Heaven had the same circumstance except the people were happy and well-fed because they fed each other. Perhaps, this is getting a little closer than a horned, long-tailed, pitch-fork carrying demon to whom God, the Father has sent all of us who have more black marks than stars in the Lamb's Book of Life.
Perhaps, this last view is a bit closer to what hell is. I have come to think of hell as where God is not....in our need to be angry at our fellow man, in our addictions, in our hatefulness, in our selfishness, in our need to exact revenge on those whom we perceive have slighted us, in our lack of sympathy and empathy, in our sense of entitlement, in our looking for a fight, in our enjoyment of the base and obscene, in our prejudice. These things are not of God. These things lead to a burning hell in our hearts in our minds and in our relationships. And, when, in honesty we look at ourselves, and know we are guilty of such behavior, our hearts are broken, we understand our culpability, and then we are ready to accept the saving grace of Jesus, not as something to which we are entitled, but rather as the gift that it is.
So, hell...is it a place? I do not think so. It is so much more than that. Is its landlord a despicable red man? I do not think so. I am the landlord of my hell. I do not profess to know where a spirit or soul goes after the body has died in this realm. It is all too wonderous and mysterious for my feeble mind. So, I choose to trust God, to accept Jesus's sacrifice, to try and fail and try again to live my life in a way that reflects those choices.
For today, I wish you blessings
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)