Sweet Grass Mornin'

I have often lamented the fact that we as a society have seemingly lost the ability to saunter. We can run, dash, and skedaddle all day long without breaking a sweat, but taking the time to amble down a country lane on a hot afternoon or a peaceful evening for that matter, has gone out of style. It is downright upsetting to think about and depressing to witness; and I don’t think it’s good for us.
           
I’m just old enough to yearn for the Andy and Barney days when an evening’s entertainment consisted of sitting on the front porch in a nice old rocking chair, drinking sweet iced tea, swatting flies and counting out of state license plates.

These days if somebody has to wait for more than a millisecond at a stop light or a microsecond at a computer, they think their world is coming to an end. Today’s folks seem to think that unless they are doing something every minute, shoot make that every second of the day then their life is passing them by. Well, I contend that with that kind of hyperactive attitude, life isn’t passing them by, they are passing life by; and they don’t even know it.

It is refreshing when you come across a person who has things in perspective though isn’t it? You don’t find them very often, but every now and then someone, usually someone older than Methuselah, knows the value of peace and quiet and rest. To be around such a person is a tonic for the mind and a blessing for the soul.

            You find this wonderful attitude in other parts of the world, usually third world countries, much more readily than you do in the good old US of A; but if you look hard enough, you can still find a remnant or two scattered within some hidden pockets of the South. Now, you can learn a lot if you have the courage to step out of the stream for a moment and listen.

I remember several years ago I was down in Charleston for an early morning doctor’s appointment. This particular doctor was gifted at his trade. His agile mind and skillful hands had gotten me through some difficult surgery and started me down the path to wellness after my cancer diagnosis. With that being said, as gifted as he was, it appears that he couldn’t tell time or read a calendar. Nor could his staff make a phone call, because upon my arrival that morning I was told that he was out of town and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.  

First of all, I fumed relatively quietly; and then in an unusual moment of maturity, I decided that it was a pretty day and a walk was in order to prevent a scene. You see I am just self-aware enough to know that under the proper set of circumstances, I can indeed be a little difficult and a certifiable pain. So I decided to make my way down to the marina and envy a boat owner or two for awhile as entertainment.

As I meandered my way toward the marina, I happened upon a nice little brackish pond with live oaks all around. It was beautiful. It was midsummer, as I recall, and early or not it was hot as blazes, and the shade of those live oaks reached out to me in a gesture of friendship and camaraderie. Around the pond were stationed a few park benches for folks to sit upon and enjoy the day. As could have been expected, they were empty; but they held a certain appeal to me. So I located the shadiest spot and laid down on one of those lovely benches within it to take a nap.

It was quite windy that day, and as I lay down, the noise of the wind working its way through the live oak branches above wrapped me in a little cocoon of sound where the echoes of the city could not enter. It was wonderfully peaceful, and I quickly succumbed to its charms. 
As I lay there drifting in and out of the world however, I was at one time troubled and quieted by a faint melody that appeared to come from nowhere and everywhere. It wandered on the wind, sometimes there, sometimes not.

Concerned for my mental state, I sat up and looked around in an effort to locate the source this unearthly sound. It was then that I noticed that on the other side of the copse of trees that shaded me, there was another bench and another tree and in the shade of that tree sat an elderly Gullah woman weaving some traditional sweet grass baskets. Though her lips never moved, it appeared that she was humming some old gospel hymn in her deep contralto, and it was this melody that had haunted my dreams. 

Had it been dark, what with the ever present Spanish moss hanging from the branches above, it would have been downright spooky. As it was though, it was beautiful.

There was a bench opposite her on the other side of the walkway, so I got up and made my way through the trees to the other side and asked her if she minded if I watched as she worked her magic. She looked up, gave me a noncommittal but cordial grunt, and nodded toward the other bench. I sat down to watch her work.

Gnarled as they were, her old hands were nimble as they turned those bunches of saw grass into beautiful works of art. It was indeed enchanting to watch her.  

I sat there for over an hour watching and resting. The old woman never said a word, and after my initial greeting, neither did I. She just kept humming.
I cannot recall a more peaceful hour in my life.
 
It is a shame and a pity to me that so many folks don’t take the time to listen to the haunting melodies in the air or witness the simple magic that surrounds them in life.

We rush this way and that and miss the blessings and the little miracles that the Lord above provides so that our lives can be full and meaningful. We focus on the future and miss the magic of the now. We focus on ourselves and miss the company of one another. What a shame.
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You have the power in your life to change that, if you wish. Slow down and rest a while. You will be better for it as will those you love.
 
Happy New Year,
Pastor Tony.   
 

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