Sparrows and Me

Going on a road trip with girlfriends can be a wonderful experience. Don’t get me wrong. I love traveling with my husband too; it’s just that he’s not as into laughing, talking, and taking side trips. Sure, I’ve told him that it’s the journey and not the destination that counts, but he’s a guy, one who’s all about getting there. I say that with love.

So this past weekend I went to Atlanta with some work chums, and we chatted all the way there and all the way back and all times in-between. Before the weekend ended, we had pretty much solved the education and healthcare issues in America (Why don’t the powers-that-be ask us for our opinions?), expressed much consternation over the appalling lack of civility in the United States (witness Joe Wilson’s latest outburst), and shared thoughts and memories about our families.

This morning as I sit waiting for my class to complete a test on D2L, I can imagine Lisa’s grandmother telling her to wash her hair until it squeaked. I used to hear the same thing as a child. I can see Nancy’s father standing on the front porch demanding that she come in the house instead of sitting in the driveway with her sweetie. Martha says her hair is like her mother’s…as are some of her gestures. And yours truly? All this family talk dredged up lots of memories from my past. I used to go to Forest City, NC with my paternal grandparents on a frequent basis, and I can still recall sitting in the back seat of their celery green Chevy and we wound around curvy two-lane roads.

All of the family talk must have still been on my mind Sunday morning. As I sat in Sacrament meeting, the thought occurred to me that only one person in the entire meeting even knew my parents. Only Mrs. C. knew what great people they were, she with her classiness and he with his lovable eccentricities. Saddened, I couldn’t let that thought go. How could it be that people who were so instrumental and influential in my life just pass on, unknown or perhaps forgotten?

After Sacrament, I left the room for a few minutes and was chatting in the hall when Lowrance approached. “I’ve got something I want you to see,” she said. She handed me a small black and white photograph of four young women, all smiling flirtatiously at the camera. From their attire and hairstyles, I could see that it was “vintage,” and Lowrance said that the picture was snapped sometime in the 1940s. “Do you recognize anyone?” she asked. Right away, I saw my aunt Polly smiling up from the foursome, black wavy hair framing her beautiful young face. Turning to Lowrance, I asked, “Did you know my aunt? What about my parents?” It turns out that she did know them, although not that well since my parents and aunt were older than she. Still, she did know them. She had seen them often, and they live in her memory just as they do in mine.

So what’s the point of this rambling post? As I was telling my son Paul about this story yesterday, I had a flash of insight. We’re all familiar with the scripture of God having His eye upon the sparrow, right? And we know that He’s aware of each of us, and that while He might not speak to us in a big booming voice, He is mindful of our needs. It’s often through another person that He makes us aware of His presence in our lives.

Maybe I’m reading too much into this incident, but you’ll never convince me of that. I have a great heritage, and I miss my parents and grandparents…sometimes more than others. Sunday was one of those days, and Lowrance was inspired (I think) to show me a little picture, a picture that brought solace to my soul. My heart too.

Finding Balance

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Mary and Martha verses in Luke. Although there are only two of them, they’re fraught with meaning. Exactly what is the better part that Christ chastens Martha about? Okay, I know what He meant, but I don’t know how to always find the balance I need. And how does one make time for it when there are people to feed, clothes to wash, floors to sweep, and provisions to buy? I have my quiet “soul time” early in the morning, but what about other times when the Martha traits creep in?

This weekend provides an excellent case in point…or two or three of them! My husband and I bought a duplex in Myrtle Beach so that we’d have a place to retreat to when the world got “too much with us.” And we also wanted a place for family and friends to gather and have lots of fun and fellowship. Labor day weekend was to be the celebratory weekend, and my daughters, son-in-law, and four grandchildren all gathered for our first holiday together there. We had dinner guests on both Saturday and Sunday evenings, with Sunday’s repast being the family feast. My brother Mike and his family joined us for Beaufort Stew, and it was fabulous to be sitting around the table basking in each other’s company.

So anyway, pretty much all weekend I was busy, busy, busy running errands, doing laundry, cooking, and so forth. Sunday rolled around, and we all went to church together. That’s a given unless someone is sick or seriously wounded. However, Elizabeth and I left after Sacrament to make a run to Wal-Mart for some final Beaufort Stew ingredients. We didn’t feel good about it, but nevertheless, we did it. Yes, we entered a place of business and bought something on the Sabbath.

Later that afternoon while everyone else was chillin’, Elizabeth was working on lesson plans, and I was working in the kitchen, doing things in preparation for the evening’s events. My little granddaughter Brooke walked into the room and announced to us that it wasn’t right to shop on Sunday and that we were supposed to keep the Sabbath holy. Knowing that she didn’t understand the ox in the ditch principle, I let it pass.

It reminded me of days of yesteryear when my former mother-in-law would leave church early to complete dinner preparations for a houseful of hungry people. Sometimes someone might “tsk tsk” her behavior, and even then as a young person without much depth, I could well understand that if she hadn’t left early, there’d be no food. Which was the greater sin? Leaving early to do a good deed or passing judgment on someone who was doing far more good than many who stayed for all three services? I might add that on most occasions, she would also prepare an extra plate of delicious food for a shut-in widow who lived close by.

Is there a way to be Mary and Martha too? If we are too much Mary-like, who will buy groceries, prepare the food, set the table, polish the silverware, sweep the floor, and change the linens? If we are too Martha-like, then we can lose our spirituality and risk becoming materialistic, worldly, and maybe even short tempered and impatient. In the account in Luke, she appears frustrated and angry.

I’m just saying it’s hard to find the balance. I’m also saying we need to cut others some slack when they’re doing the best they can.