A Dixie Carpetbagger

The are times in all of our lives when we have to acknowledge that things around us have been set up just so.  The majority of those times, it’s because we have just walked into a divine ambush, and the deer-in-the-headlights look on our face perfectly mirrors our inward surprise.  We all know a situation we’ve been in that fits the bill– you make a snap decision to go to a new restaurant, and you run into an old friend you haven’t seen in years.  Or you decide to take an alternate route and enjoy the scenery, and you come upon a motorist that needs your help.

I’ve been in two of these situations recently.  First one was all related to my getting back into dating– I was having second thoughts.  I’m busy, I don’t want to go through this rigmarole again, and… then every single song relating to dating begins playing.  The old country songs that deal with bad breakups and ex-girlfriends and new relationships, pop and rocks songs… all of them, in strings.  Some of these songs haven’t been on the air in years… and suddenly, they’re on the radio constantly.  Message received– get out there, or you’ll never get back out there.

Then I read where Miguel lost his Feline Overlord and companion of 18 years.  That got me to thinking about how long it’s been since I was oppressed under a little furry paw.  So, just to look, I went to Petfinder and typed in my zip code… and the first two kittens were named Ruger and Sig.  Yep, not exactly subtle, but pretty certain that’s a bit of a sign The Wolf’s Lair is about to have small feline paws scampering about.

Well, at least I’ll have someone to cuddle with, one way or another… (chuckle)

I love to tell the story
of unseen things above,
of Jesus and his glory,
of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
because I know ’tis true;
it satisfies my longings
as nothing else can do.
Refrain:
I love to tell the story,
’twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.

Weer’d's wife will be going into surgery sometime tomorrow– give her your prayers and thoughts.

A country song and an old hymnal– connected to the casual observer by only a shared verse.  To a person who’s been in that dark moment when they saw the lonely valley in front of them, they become intertwined– one feeds on the other, and their meanings blend.  One is mourning the loss of loved ones to the grave, the other mourning the loss of a loved one to the wanderings of the heart.  The outcome of both losses is the same, though– “… we’ll never meet anymore / ‘Til we gather in heaven’s bright city / Far away on that beautiful shore…”

Note: If you haven’t already, go visit Lance’s YouTube channel. The man has a true gift for music.

I had to do something this weekend I hate doing.  I had to bury a family member.

Coming from an older family, I have to do this every so often.  My maternal grandmother, then my father’s father, then his mother, then two of my uncles, with other family members sprinkled in between.  I swore off funerals, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I would send a card, flowers, and visit the family, but I couldn’t bear another funeral.

Then my dad died.  Not exactly an optional funeral.  Not only did I have another funeral to visit, I needed a suit– which isn’t “off the rack” for a guy my size.  So, in the middle of all the preparation, I had to visit a tailor.  I was looking for something I probably would never wear (or want to wear) again.  What I came out with was the most perfect suit I’ve ever worn… for one dollar.  You see, I took a paid week of vacation off from my job, and they– without me knowing it– gave me back the vacation time on the sly.  One perfect suit– one dollar.

This weekend, I pulled The Suit out of the closet.  Oh, I wear parts of it (usually just the slacks and shirt) every now and then, but only for funerals do I wear the entire thing.  Pulling it on is almost a ritual– from the dress dress hose (calf-high like are worn with kilts) to making sure the handkerchief is tucked into the breast pocket (and make sure another one is tucked into the right hip pocket…) to the dress boots I always wear.

The Suit came out of storage for my cousin.  The son of a Baptist minister, he was a WWII SeaBee, who would not speak of his time in the Pacific.  The only thing missing from his service was a reference to the Navy’s prayer for burial at sea.

“… looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at Whose second coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the sea shall give up her dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto His glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby He is able to subdue all things unto Himself.”

——-

Other families are pulling out their suits today.  One of the pro-liberty crowd is absent– straightarrow has passed on.  The man was almost ever-present on gun blogs, always sharing a bit of his wit in every comment.  To some, he was blunt– I just thought he was honest.  Allow me to quote something that was quoted over at Weer’d's–

…our concept of freedom and liberty, not exactly the same things, has been so diluted in our modern citizens that they really have no mental capacity to deny their emotional training, at the hands of government, to see clearly what has been lost.

Even though the intellectual capacity may exist in its raw state, the spirit needed to question oppressive authority is all but dead in a great many of our people. Many of them being too young to remember liberty are not aware that what we now have hasn’t always been so. By the time they gain enough wisdom to listen to their elders, their elders have died, taking with them the ideals of liberty and rugged individualism that made and kept this country great for many many decades. Until modern media simply overwhelmed truth and history. –Straightarrow

Here’s to absent friends.

Via Jennifer, a prayer request.

Later on today, I have posts coming up about Elena Kagan and the MacDonald case.

For now, just keep Brigid in your prayers… she has pneumonia.

I grieved my Lord from day to day,
I scorned His love so full and free,
And though I wandered far away,
My mother’s prayers have followed me.

Refrain:
I’m coming home, I’m coming home,
To live my wasted life anew,
For mother’s prayers have followed me,
Have followed me the whole world through.

O’er desert wild, o’er mountain high,
A wanderer I chose to be;
A wretched soul, condemned to die,
Still mother’s prayers have followed me.

He turned my darkness into light,
This blessed Christ of Calvary!
I’ll praise His name both day and night,
That mother’s prayers have followed me.

——-

One of the verses that ties to this hymn is… touching to me.  “When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also.” (2 Timothy 1:5)  I can imagine Timothy reading this letter and reflecting back on his mother and grandmother, tearing up a bit as he did so.  I know I did while reading that verse, and reading the words of the hymn.  Oh, thank You, Lord, that mother’s prayers have followed me…