Summer Journey-Day Two

It was an active Wednesday. We experienced much more than I expected. 

We  first visited Tybee Island for an early morning breakfast. Tybee Island is "Savannah's Beach".  Following breakfast we took a walk on the beach. It was low tide and the beach had yet to be populated for the day. It was indeed a peaceful time.

It was at breakfast Judy made the observation that we were actually at the eastern most point of U.S. Highway 80. This is a familiar thoroughfare because it passes through my hometown of Meridian. MS.  It didn't take long to find it. It was actually a few hundred yards down the road from where we were parked. The sign behind the monument says "my other end is in San Dieago". It was neat to find an unexpected landmark.

A visit to Tybee Isalnd would not be complete without seeing the Tybee Light House. The Tybee Island Light Station was a brief drive back up the beach. A present foot problem squelched my motivation to climb to the top of the light house. I had actually climbed it before so I wasn't "bummed" about it. Ghost Tie did get to see it. There seems to be something ever inspiring about a light house.

On the return trip from Tybee Island to Savannah we stopped at Fort Polaski. Fort Polaski has a "Titanicisk" history in the fact it was deemed an impenetrable strong hold for Confederate forces injuring the early days of the Civil War. It proved quite the contrary. It was afoot that fell in only a matter of days.

We then spent a good portion of the day touring Savannah. Savannah is certainly historic and beautiful. It is truly a city steeped in heritage with a byline of intrigue and mystery. Savannah can claim the largest historical district in the U.S. It is obviously not short of beautifully restored homes and buildings.

The later part of the afternoon we made the 45 minute drive to Beaufort, SC. Quaint. The only word I can use is quaint. Beaufort is a quaint bay front town with quaint shops and restaurants. It also is home to the quaint Beaufort Inn in which we registered into our quaint room. It is truly a picturesque inn with a fabulous bistro. Yes...we bistroed.

Beaufort is comfortable. After a phenomenal meal at our guest house we strolled down to the towns waterfront. A nice breeze was blowing off the water and from distant rain storms. It turned out to be one of those moments of one would languish in forever. However, we each know all good things come to an end.

Day Two Highlights

-20 minute drive to Tybee Island, 45 minute drive to Beaufort. 

-Many wonderful sights seen and interests experienced.

Summer Journey

I've been anticipating this trip for quite a while. Judy and I began to discuss it almost immediately when #screaminouida was planned. So for the better part of a year we've considered what all we might want to do.

With firm plans for the first Darsey Family Reunion in place, Judy and I discussed a visit with her dad and his wife. That broadened our journey greatly. While the number of travel miles greatly increased, we gained the opportunity to visit coastal Georgia, South Carolina and North Carolina.

Judy and I began to fill in the gaps with our own journey. However, we purposefully left our plans ambiguous. We have some definite things we want to see and experience. We also have left ourselves wide open to explore. We have always enjoyed an amount of spontaneity in our travel.

So it began today...our Summer Journey. Our trip includes anticipated family time. It also includes a few days for the two of us to travel alone. Our trip includes firm scheduling. It also includes days of impetuous adventuring.

I hope to be able to "report from the road". I'm not going to make myself any promises. I am looking forward to history and beauty. I'm looking forward to meaningful time and energy invested in things I find interesting.  Most of all, I'm looking forward to meaningful time with people I love.

Day One-Travel Day

-Winona to Jackson for Judy's post-surgery doctors visit

-Jackson to Savannah, GA. We left Jackson at 9:38 am. We traveled 10 hours and 22 minutes and covered 628 miles. With only two rest stops totaling less than twenty minutes, we were blessed with an abundant amount of windshield time.

Catalog the Catalog

In the course of the season I inventory my personal catalog of Christmas memories. My "snippets of the ages", memories that cover childhood to young adulthood to parenthood to life now in the middle-ages, is stamped with the promise that "some day i'll migrate that catalog to a medium 'less prone'" to deterioration".

(It is unfortunate that only one "road" is designated to be paved with good intentions. If other roads could be paved with good intentions, our paths would assuredly be flawless.)

Like many, my catalog of Christmas memories includes a catalog. The Sears and Roebuck Christmas Catalog was a magic cornucopia of goodies. It was a treasure trove of Christmas bounty. My dad worked at the "brick and mortar" Sears Store mere blocks from our house. The toy department of that store did not hold as much magic as the annual Sears and Roebuck Christmas Catalog.

While "us kids" were never mindful of the exact date "The Catalog" would arrive, the child lucky enough to discover it in the mailbox became a sort of prize winner. First, the "Prize Winner" was awarded a "head start" in Christmas discovery.

Every child in our cohort possessed the skill to rapidly and proficiently digest the massive amount of information about: a) what items "The Catalog" contained and b) the pertinent facts about the items. It was then that the "Prize Winner" became the possessor of highly valuable and relevant intelligence.

This intelligence became part of the prize. After all, it would likely be a while until "your turn" at "The Catalog". The possessor of such intelligence would immediately ascend to the top of everyone's popularity list. This put the "Prize Winner" in the honored position of dispensing the treasured intelligence.

A CIA analyst could not be more effective assimilating valuable intel and then disseminating that intel to the the most effective agent than did the "Prize Winner" of "The Catalog" on his or her first perusal of the season. The "Prize Winner" was awarded with the satisfaction of being the "dispense-or". The "dispensee" usually was grateful for any morsel not matter how incomplete or tainted.

Most of us who had our turn at being the "Prize Winner" today would likely be labeled a tyrannical despot. If one of our cohort might be brave enough to exhibit resistance to being "dispense-ed", then the "dispense-or" would in all likelihood load the disrespecting-of-popularity-non-conformist with the entire load of intel that personally pertained to them, thus completely impotent their attempt at delay of satisfaction.

A page from the toy section of the 1962 Sears Christmas Catalog

Thoughts of Christmas past flooded my mind when my sister forwarded the following link to

The Bees Knees Daily

You'll see the catalog page above is from this site. It's been a wonderful few days to reclaim memories surrounding Christmas. May the joy and peace of the Christ of Christmas be with you.

Blessings!

Mount Monadnock

This is a place I have never been. However, I received a blessing from having visited there in a recent reading. I felt compelled to share it in this forum. I am in the midst of reading “Practice Resurrection: A Conversation On Growing Up in Christ”. Eugene Peterson is a gifted and prolific writer. In this book he encourages the “saint” to maturity by drawing truths from the book of Ephesians. Peterson concludes one chapter by sharing a poem by his friend, Robert Siegel

“Looking For Mt. Monadnoc" by Robert Siegel

We see the sign, “Monadnock State Park”

as it flashes by, after a mile or two

decide to go back, “We can’t pass by Mondnock

without seeing it,” I say, turning around.

We head down the side road – “Monadnock Realty,”

“Monadnock Pottery,” “Monadnock Designs,”

but no Mt. Monadnock. Then the signs fall away –

nothing but trees and the darkening afternoon.

We don’t speak, pass a clearing, and you say,

“I think I saw it, or part of it – a bald rock?”

Miles and miles more. Finally, I pull over

and we consult a map. “Monadnock’s right there.”

“Or just back a bit there.” “But we should see it –

we’re practically on top of it.” And driving back

we look – trees, a flash of clearing, purple rock -

but we are, it seems, too close to see it

It is here. We are on it. It is under us

Then Peterson writes, “this resurrection-life, this growing-up-in-Christ life, this Christian life that some people talk about and many others read about is a Mt. Monadnock kind of life”. He goes on, “we read the words, we see the signs. We hear the talk, we read the poems, sing the hymns, pray the prayers”. “We never see the mountain”. Why do we never see Jesus? “Why” like Peterson asks “does He not advertise Himself?” Peterson concludes with “the short answer”. “God reveals himself in personal relationship, and personal relationship only. God is not a phenomena to be considered. God is not a force to be used. God is not a proposition to be argued. There is nothing in or of God impersonal, nothing abstract, nothing imposed. And God treats us with an equivalent personal dignity. He isn’t out to impress us. He is here to eat bread with us and receive us into his love, just as we are, just where we are.” Why do we not see God? He is here.

Affirming Trust

It is easy to find the solid truths of faith and life when looking back. After all, "hind-sight is twenty-twenty".

This is a thought that has personal application. It is usual that I come to discover God's grace and provision in the above manner. It is easy to trust His grace when I can comprehend it and the warmth of His assurance when storm has ebbed. His  presence can be affirmed by tracing where His hand has been.

The poem "Footprints" reminds me that the grace and provision of God are realized when the believer views life in retrospect. He or she can find the evidence and testimony of God's sustenance.

The work of God viewed in retrospect is affirming, but does this equate to trust? Yes, affirmation is an essential part of God's redeeming work. Affirmation strengthens the potential of trust by mooring us to the faithfulness of God. However, affirmation and trust are not the same attribute.

In light of this, how capable am I to arrive at complete trust? Does my heart truly "trust God" in wilderness days? Do I only endure until the time I can "look back" with clarity and am able to "trace the hand of God". When the storm rages, do I trust?

While this thought is personal, I apply it corporately. I believe "a challenge to trust" is something that rings true in the life of most every believer. My journey with fellow believers sustains this proposition. Many, me among the first, know affirmation but have not yet found a distinction between it and trust.

Why draw a distinction? Why not allow trust to stand in general harmony with affirmation?

There is a reason I consider a distinction between affirmation and trust. It seems likely I have completely misunderstood what it means to trust. It has been my thought that I needed to trust God to provide peace. Recently I have been challenged to consider a different perspective. I'll attempt to develop this thought further.

I'll use the miracle of Jesus calming the storm as an example. In this miracle fear of the disciples was assuaged when Jesus calmed the storm. He removed  the obstacle that drove their fear. Jesus calmed their fear by calming the storm.  This is reasonable interpretation.

It seems reasonable that if Jesus calmed their storm He would calm mine. My reasoning says I should trust Jesus to calm the storm that might rage around me. If Jesus calmed the fear of the disciples by calming the storm then I need to trust in God to calm my storm.

Then comes the poignant statement Jesus makes. He asks, "where is your faith?" Like the disciples I stand amazed at the miraculous work of Christ to calm the storm but what have I done with His question, "where is your faith?"

I have long realized that faith is not measured by whether or not the storm is calmed. Trust is not measured by the presence of suffering. Faith and trust do not dictate the metaphorical weather.

I can trust God to be "the provider of peace". God is provider but if I trust only for provision, peace will be absent. God calms the storm, but if only trust Him to control the weather then I'll know calm, but not peace.

I must trust God to "be peace" not just provide it. The finiteness of this world compels it to chaos. Perhaps if I trust God to "be peace" instead of "trusting in God to bring peace" then "that peace that supersedes all of my understanding" will be cultivated.

Just a though.

Christmas Past

To speak to memories on this Christmas Eve is somewhat overwhelming. I'll let the "1,000 Words" each picture is worth speak.

Happy Advent

Over the past several years I have been in a habit of wishing those I pass a “Merry Christmas”. Your immediate response might be “so...what’s the big deal”. “Merry Christmas” is a staple during this season. But......

It is not uncommon for me on January 9 or March 23 or some other arbitrary day to say “Merry Christmas” to individuals I encounter. This is atypical. My out-of-season “Merry Christmas” often evokes the response of...”aren’t you a little late for that”. My usual response is “no...I wanted to be the first to wish you a Merry Christmas for this year”.

Anyone who has gone through this script (at least has gone through it for the first time) almost always responds with a smile. With the smile comes an affirmation that this is indeed their first “Merry Christmas” for the year. My intent with this exercise is to offer levity and encouragement. I certainly have no intent to treat the holiday flagrantly.

This exercise was recently turned “on its head”. Earlier this fall a new friend emailed me an innocuous question. He was in need of some pertinent information. I recall I did not have the information but referred him to someone who might have it. I added to the email something to the effect “that if no one has wished you a Merry Christmas this year, allow me to be the first....Merry Christmas”.

Until earlier this fall I had only known this friend through business. It was business that provided the opportunity for us to become more acquainted. Through business I found a friend who dwells in a genuine and profound Christian faith.

My friend responded to my forwarded recommendation with “thank you”. He responded to my “Merry Christmas” with a wish for the blessing of a Happy Advent. His response was gracious and intended.

My initial response to his return email was a quaint nod, inward smile and quick dismissal. I recall a brief thought that “we expressed a mutual wish”. Merry Christmas and Happy Advent are the same, aren’t they?  With that I archived the email and marked our business complete. I moved on to other tasks. I gave no further thought to the comment.

It was  few days later in the course of my morning routine I heard the echo of “Happy Advent” and my immediate thought was “Merry Christmas is insufficient; it’s  incomplete”. Merry Christmas and Happy Advent ARE NOT NECESSARILY same.

Southern Baptists generally are not acquainted with the Christian Liturgical Calendar. Its cycle is not familiar and its symbolism and meaning are generally avoided.It was not too many years ago that I developed even a minimal understanding of Advent and the Christian Calendar in general.

I can blame my lack of liturgical heritage for my ignorance and subsequent lack of regard for the great celebration that is the season of Advent. I desire to no longer confine my remembrance and celebration to the birth of Christ only. I pray my remembrance encompasses His coming.

Like the prophets, may I anticipate the redeeming work of Messiah.
Like the angels, may I proclaim His coming.
Like the Shepherds, may I kneel before HIm.
Like the Wise Men, may I worship Him.
Like Mary, may I surrender in obedience to the will of the Father.

Emmanuel---God with us!

Happy Advent.

I Will...

...Always Be the Baby!

From Left to Right Dede (Darsey) Holden, Steve Darsey, Rusty Darsey, T.R. Darsey

From Left to Right Dede (Darsey) Holden, Steve Darsey, Rusty Darsey, T.R. Darsey

Deliberate Pause

When a child is given a piece of candy or has kind words spoken to him or her or is given a gift, the parent might well say “now what do you say to the nice person?” The child, following script, says “thank you”.

This is not an unfamiliar script. Most of us, whether child, parent, teacher or significant adult, have more than likely played the role both as child and adult.

This script provides a “deliberate pause” in the child’s agenda. It is a “deliberate pause” that is designed to encourage the child to “thanksgiving”.

Thanksgiving Day brings a “deliberate pause” in schedules and lives. It is a time afforded to“give thanks” for abundance and blessings. Thoughts and voices will speak this day to bounty and provision.

The United States government established “Thanksgiving Day” as a legal holiday. It was established to “prompt” Americans to say “thank you” to “the nice person”.

“When I was a child, I said thank you as I child, I was grateful like a child, I was limited in my understanding of gratitude like a child. Now that I am grown, may I put away childish thanksgiving and ‘give thanks’ from a heart that is a ‘grateful heart’”

From a heart that is at this moment filled with gratitude I say “Thank you Heavenly Father. Thank you for your bounty and provision. Thank you for heavenly relationship with you, with family and with loved ones.”

Echoes

There are a few things I remember about the lake. I recall there was a water well with a hand pump. There were two reasons a very young boy would be attracted to well pump.


First, it was fascinating to figure how this mechanism could cause water to come out. Second,...I was constantly being told to “leave it alone”. Those are the real magic words to make it irresistible.

I remember the lake because Rusty found a “snapping turtle”. He put it on top of a “coke can”. I step away for a moment to share this editorial. Just as we do in the south today “coke can” was generic. It could have been any flavor soft drink. For all I know it could have been beer can. “Coke” meant any beverage.

In my early years drink cans were made of “tin” instead of recyclable aluminium. It was opened by a removable “pull tab”. Some purported to have actually collected “pull tabs”. This may be true but I never believed it.

The “utility” or “multi-function” of the “coke can” is what is called to attention. Rusty was able to put the turtle on top of the can. Once again, two things were accomplished. First, it kept the turtle from escaping. Second, it created the penultimate platform for “close-in” turtle observation. The “close-in” part is what established this turtle to be a “snapping turtle”. Nuff said.

I step aside from the narrative again. The "turtle on the can" reminds me of an idiom I heard several years ago. “If you see a turtle on a top of a fence post, you can bet he didn’t get there on his own”. This is a truth I have stated in other conversations on a regular basis.

I once remember swimming in the lake. I repeatedly opened my eyes under water and developed “pink eye”. (Yes..I actually remember opening my eyes under water)  By the time we got home I would not open my eyes. I remember how sensitive my eyes were to the light. Mama and Daddy had to literally force my eyes open to treat them with medicated drops.

There are facts about the lake that remain unclear. I cannot recall who owned the property. “Uncle Earl”?. There was a second man who would come to the lake. Perhaps he too was an owner.

I recall this second man because he always had mints, gum or a bag of Funyuns in his car. They represented a potential treat for me. He kept them “to eat to cover up the smell of drinking if ever stopped by the police”. Funny how I remember that detail.

I seem to recall a structure on the other side of the lake. Maybe it was an old rail car or something unique that had been moved to the property. Daddy spent time there working. Once he was  was using a welder or cutting torch. Something happened and the structure burned.

Early memories for me are generally impressions. Details and specifics are limited.The integrity of details is “up for grabs”. However, there is one vivid and irrevocable memory I have about the lake. It is the first memory I have of an echo. I can see the lake and vista spread before me. I can hear the return of the voice. It is one of my most fascinating memories.

Over recent days I have been plagued with the “sinus crud” suffered by others; the runny nose, the sneezing, the coughing and hacking....the coughing and hacking...the coughing and hacking. Daddy must have it too because I’ve heard him coughing and hacking....or is there an echo in here?

Grown Ups

It's easy to see from the photos how the years have made their mark. I thought these photos might serve as a reminder of our many blessings as the 2011 Holiday Season begins.

Mountaintop Experience

I've been away for the past several weeks...at least I’ve been away from “Hidden Lunch Boxes”. Several things have been going on. I’ve been helping acclimate our (new) pastor to his service at First Baptist Church, Winona.

My siblings and I also continue the “process of processing” our parents earthly belongings. That continues to be a “process” that “keeps on getting...”. I encourage you NOT to make an assumption about this statement. It has several meanings for me.....

The past several weeks has also held a “mountaintop” experience”; literally and figuratively. I mentioned in a previous blog my involvement with the Mississippi Singing Churchmen. I joined this organization when Judy and I returned to Mississippi almost twenty-two years ago.

The Mississippi Singing Churchmen are about singing. The Mississippi Singing Churchmen are also about missions; missions support and missions action. Its missions action includes sponsoring international mission efforts. The most recent international work was a few weeks ago to the country of Peru. Our group had worked there previously and this was a continuation of that work.

Several of us from the larger group departed a couple of days ahead so we could visit various Inca ruins in Peru prior to the beginning of our mission work. The “pinnacle” experience was a visit to one of the “wonders of the world”, the ruins of Machu Picchu. It was truly a wondrous experience.

Our guide was educational and communicated clearly. The design and engineering details of Machu Picchu were fascinating. The work of the ancient Incas would rival that of other ancient civilizations such as the Egyptians.

However, my visit has left me with larger questions. My questions are the same questions that visitors to Machu Picchu have asked and continue to ask. First, why did the Incas build it? Scholars can strongly speculate the reasons why Machu Picchu was constructed. It obviously was a sacred site for the Incas. Although that sacredness is understood there is still question as to why it was built.

The setting of Machu Picchu brings another question. To reduce the journey to Machu Picchu with the lone description of “scenic” is a massive understatement. It’s like saying the Pacific Ocean is a big lake or the Grand Canyon is a big hole in the ground. Description is inadaquate.

Machu Picchu is atop a mountain in the Peruvian Andes. It is a single mountain among scores of mountains in the same area. The mountains are similar and the one on which it is built is not the highest. So the second question is “why that particular mountain top?” “Why out of all the possible mountains was that particular mountain designate for Machu Picchu?

For me these questions will remain unanswered. It is not the purpose of this post to answer these questions  much less exhaust the considered responses. However, part of my mountaintop experience at Machu Picchu is searching these unanswerable questions and taking on their challenge to my thought.

Another reason my journey to Machu Picchu was such a “mountaintop experience” was because it was my 50th birthday. It was totally coincidental that we visited Machu Picchu on this particular day. It proved to be most memorable. My only stated regret was that I was not with my family. However, I was with a great group of friends.

In the days leading up to our departure I asked myself several times, “I wonder how many people have celebrated their 50th birthday at Machu Picchu”? I am aware with the masses that have visited any number of individuals might have celebrated significant birthdays at Machu Picchu.

I do know of one other individual who celebrated a significant birthday at Machu Picchu. Our group was standing on the sidewalk in front of our hotel in Aguas Calientes. One of our group pulled out a bag of “50th Birthday Stuff” my family had asked him to smuggle. I adorned the various paraphernalia and our group begin to take pictures.

At this point II saw a lady cross the railroad track/street. (Yes..the street has a train that runs through it.) She walked up to our group, and addressed me. “Is this your birthday?’ “Yes it is” I responded. “And you are going to Machu Picchu for your birthday?” “I am” I responded.

This lady, whose name I don’t recall, stated how the previous day was her birthday and she and her husband celebrated it by hiking into Machu Picchu for a sunrise visit. I certainly was elated at the coincidence.

She then asked my age. I responded I was turning 50 years old. It then became a great coincidence that she had turned 50 years old the day before at Machu Picchu. I remembered asking myself about others celebrating significant birthdays at Machu Picchu and I rejoiced at the coincidence. It added to my “mountaintop experience”.

“Mountaintop Experiences”. A great blessing! They should be counted as such. “Down in the valley”. A great blessing! Yes, the valleys are low. However, the valley is where you find the river. Perhaps I will learn to always take peace that no matter where I am, God remains.

Mama Beehive

Music is a tool for ministry, at least for me. I am a music minister in a local church and have been for over thirty years. I also participate in music ministry that is an extension of the local church.

My extended ministry is through the Mississippi Singing Churchmen. This is a statewide men's choir whose membership consists of music ministers from across the state. It has been my privilege to be a part of this group for more than twenty-one years.

This organization meets periodically throughout the year to rehearse, sing, minister and fellowship. There are times in the course of rehearsals or concerts our group can be enveloped by a phenomena. It happens when very familiar selections are being sung. Our director makes us aware of it by announcing, “you guys are in auto pilot”.

I think for the most part my parents adored the “auto pilot switch”. Our family had some simple yet meaningful rituals. Some of these rituals were annual. Each October when the fair was in town, my father would take us. We would go on Tuesday afternoon as soon as we got home from school. Why? It was his day off and I think my mother despised the fair.

Like most, Christmas eve had its rituals. In the afternoon we would visit extended family on my mother’s side and would ride to look at Christmas decorations after dark. We would also spend MUCH ENERGY trying to go to sleep.

My father was much about ritual. He seldom varied from his wake-up time. He was usually up at 4am, drinking coffee and armed with HIS pertinent reading material. I’m not convinced my mother was as attached to this routine. but she was usually not far behind him in the activities that heralded the new day.

Sunday morning...Sunday mornings were a ritual unto themselves. We did attend church as children. Our parents did not attend with us until we were a little older. Church was an important part of the life of our family, but the focus of this memory is not church. It was the activities before church.

Pancakes...pancakes were an important part of Sunday mornings. Sunday morning breakfast might also include grits, scrambled  or poached eggs and bacon or sausage. Breakfast was a memorable Sunday morning ritual, but it isn’t what stands out the most. What stands out the most about Sunday morning? Music!!

Again, my father had some “very clear” rituals and Sunday morning music was one of them. I wonder to this day if we would remember how to chew and swallow our food if the Sunday morning music had not been playing.

I cannot recall an “established order”. There may not have been one. However, the same “players” were always present. Each Sunday morning we could count on the likes of Patsy Cline and Floyd Cramer to join us for breakfast.

We were in “auto pilot” as the Sunday morning music played. “We knew every part by heart”. We could find the key before the next song began to play on the old LPs. “In the misty moonlight, by the flickering firelight”, Jim Reeves would serenade each Sunday.

The television was also part of the Sunday morning music repertoire.. My father would turn on the television at the appointed time and we would hear:

Jubilee, Jubilee, you’re invited to this happy Jubilee

Jubilee, Jubilee, you’re invited to this happy Jubilee

Our Sunday morning was also filled with “The Florida Boys” and “The Blackwood Brothers”. However, this dimmed in comparison to the group we hoped would be on for the week....you guessed it...”The Happy Goodman Family”. We anticipated them the most because of their beloved matriarch, Sister Vestal Goodman.

Why her? Was it the music? It really was quit simple...her hair. My mother’s routine had her at the hairdresser two days a week. Saturday was “wash and set”. Tuesday was for a “tease”. The occasional “perm” always led to a residential exodus until the “perm odor” had subsided. My mother had “BIG HAIR”. My mother was no match in the hair department to “Mama Beehive”.

Certainly ours is not the only family to tag Sister Vestal Goodman as “Mama Beehive”. It is for us a moniker that recalls a picture of “large hair”. It is also a moniker that recalls a wealth of routine that is now a crystallized heritage.

"The Help"er

“Read the book, don’t wait for the movie”. Presently both can be experienced with “The Help”. The book and the movie are popular, especially in our “neck of the woods”. The book was set in the Greater Jackson area and the movie was filmed in the Mississippi delta community of Greenwood.

Set in the mid-twentieth century, “The Help” is a story of the racial and societal tensions and dynamics that have haunted the American landscape, particularly the deep south, for generations.

“The Help” is a story of what might be identified as a generation of secondary slavery. It is also a story of resiliency of the human spirit. It shows that the heart will seek to rise above adversity and oppression with which it is sometimes bridled.

My parents were not of substantial fiscal resources. My mother and father were both in the work force. However, my parents found it necessary provide child care and household support throughout my early childhood. Although memories are sparse, “The Help” in my family has given me images and experiences that are vivid in my mind’s eye.

Maggie “helped” my Mom and Dad. I have not thought to ask when Maggie started “helping” my family. She was present in my earliest memories. Memories of her remain into my early elementary years. She performed household duties such as cleaning and laundry. She also provided childcare. As the youngest of four children I was its most direct recipient

My memory of Maggie is immune to the drama and dynamics of adulthood. I know that her time with my family was not without some tension and conflict. However, she is now frozen in my “childhood eyes” and has coalesced into figure that remains above reproach. She remains as a mother figure to me.

In birth order and character I have served well as “the baby”. If memory serves me correctly Maggie regularly referred to me in some derivative as “the baby”. Growing up being “the baby” was not cherished. My life is now at mid-point and I wear the moniker “the baby” as a badge of honor.

Maggie, whether knowingly or unknowingly,  served as an integral part of my defense strategy in my sometimes misguided role as a “sibling terrorist”. Younger siblings sometime employ covert and subversive actions to counteract the regime of oppression that the “cast system of birth order” brings.

I waged guerrilla warfare on my siblings. My siblings were older and bigger so I took it upon myself to address this environmental discrepancy by provoking them to adverse and counter-productive responses. I’d “drive them to the brink of their endurance”. (see “Brink Driving”)

When they would get to their “brink”, my siblings would retaliate. I would then retreat to “The Help”, fall behind the defensive line of her behind, and watch as she would defend the injustice of the “bigger-older” attack on the “younger-smaller” innocence. At the time it felt wonderful.

I am still amazed at my stubborn short-sightedness and even rank stupidity. Maggie was not always present. I could not always retreat behind the “behind”. I paid and sometimes I paid dearly. You know...it taken years for me to realize my siblings were not necessarily mean, I was however necessarily obnoxious.

I have novel memories of “The Help”. Maggie was not to be disturbed when she watched her “soaps”. She regularly needed a “BC Powder” and I was sent to fetch one from the store on the other side of our block. Yes..I would go as a young child...by myself...around the corner...out of sight... to the store to purchase Maggie a “BC Powder” and “pop”.

I recall how Maggie would iron clothes with starch. She would mix the starch in a 12oz Coke bottle. It had a top that could be inserted and the top would sprinkle the starch water on the clothes for proper ironing. I recall her need to “warm” during the cold months. She would back up to the spot heater in our living room, hike her skirt just a bit, and warm herself.

I still feel the security. I now realize her security was fragile. Truth be known, she was probably as scared of life as me. Yet, for me, I was sheltered. I had physical and emotional shelter provided by loving parents. Part of their provision for their “baby” was “The Help”.