If...then

September 20, 1964

48 years have passed.  Friendships have blossomed into love and hearts have been broken.

My heart.

48 years.

You would think that when I see the date, September 20, that I would just see it as a normal day.  None of my children or grandchildren were born on this day; no wedding anniversaries or any other special events - so why do I still get just a little twinge in my chest when I see that date?

Because it was on September 20, 1964 that I first began to understand how it feels to have a broken heart.

David Winkles was my high school sweetheart.  It was the beginning of our senior year.  As you might imagine, I was dreaming Homecoming, Senior Prom, Graduation . . . and on September 20, David Winkles broke up with me.

I did not think I would survive.  I cried and cried and finally my mother sent me to talk to our pastor's wife, Othella Elliott who told me the same thing my mother had been saying.  God had a reason, God had a plan.  Everything was going to be all right.

Obviously Mrs. Elliot and my mother were right.  I went on to marry a preacher boy and become a mother.  That marriage did not survive, but the children that came from that marriage have given me such joy!  I married again.  That marriage lasted only a short time because of Rich Suhey's death, but the effect he had on my life remains as one of my greatest blessings. God had a reason; God had a plan.

And now there is another man and he is good and kind and his desire is to serve the same God I have loved and served since I was a young girl.  Does God have a plan?  I mean a long-term plan?

Only God knows that answer.

However - if David Winkles had not broken up with me 48 years ago...then I would have missed ... so much.

Yep.  God has a plan!

" 'For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future' ". Jeremiah 29:11

Red Gap before Sundown

I drove too fast.  I talked to fast.  I ate too fast.

You name it.

I did it too fast.

At least that's what my daddy thought.

"You don't have to make Red Gap before sundown."

I have no idea how many times I might have heard daddy say that.  I can tell you - it was a lot.

And on Wednesday, September 16, 2009, I had an opportunity to throw those words right back at him.

We knew the time was near for daddy's passing.  I think he knew, too.  At least it seems that way today as I remember that he kept asking me when I was going to work.  (I had said I didn't want to be here when daddy died - I was afraid I would not know what to do.  He knew that.  What he didn't know what that the Hospice nurse had given me some instructions and I was more comfortable with what I thought the situation might entail).

I did go to work and had been there only a short while when my cell phone rang.  The voice on the line was my son.  Tray came three times each day to turn his granddaddy so that he could breathe comfortably and would not develop any blisters on his body (I know those blisters have another name.  I just don't like it).

"Granddaddy's not doing so hot," Tray said. 

I hurried home and as I neared his bedside, I saw that he was taking deep and rapid breaths.

"Just take little breaths," I told him.

"You don't have to make Red Gap by sundown."

The Hospice nurse gave him something to help him relax, but I like to think he had already heeded my advice.

The breathing slowed down.  He began to have a very far away look in his eye.  He listened as his minister personalized the 23rd Psalm and then at around 5:00 in a manner that very much suited his calm and gentle spirit - he just sort of wafted out the window.

Sundown would be a couple hours off.  He wasn't on the way to Red Gap.  He was on his way to be with Jesus.  A few days before he had told Tray that he had heard about Heaven all of his life and he was curious to see what it was going to be like. 

Our family stood by his bed.  We believed his curiosity was about to be satisfied.  That might be good for him, but it made us all sad.

There have been three years of sundowns since that afternoon. 

Even though I know that no one lives forever (at least on this earth) and that my daddy had lived a good, rich and full life, I am still sad and I still miss him.  AND I still drive too fast, talk too fast, eat too fast.

And sometimes when I do I can almost hear my daddy - "you don't have to make Red Gap by sundown".

Lost and found

She was a small framed woman.  Her face and her body showed signs of aging. She pushed a cart through the Walmart parking lot slowly, her head turning from one side to the other. 

"What color is it?" I asked.

"Silver with a 'salt life' sticker on the back windshield.  I thought sure I parked on aisle 5," was her reply.

I could easily empathize.  More and more I leave my car, absolutely sure that I know exactly where I parked only to make my way back and find myself in the same predicament. 

"Where in the world did I park?"

Or where did I put my keys, or my cell phone, or my sun glasses?

My most common response to this problem is to whisper a little prayer.  It's something that was instilled in me as a child.  I might say something like "Lord, you know where what I have lost is - and I would appreciate it if you would lead me in that direction".  Not much depth in my prayer and yet I believe...and most of the time I'll find what I am looking for.

I served communion at a memorial service recently.  Although I was not late, I still dashed into the sacristy (the area where I would vest - don the white alb of a chalice bearer).  I tossed my keys on a counter.  It's what I always do.

The service ended.  I had been asked to toll the bell.  After the 76th dong, I hurried to get my keys and be off to the next project.

No keys.

The sacristy is a small area.  Nothing like a parking lot.  And yet I felt as bereft as I do when I can't find my car. 

The two altar guild ladies, Dandy and Carol,  helped me look.  Where in the world were those keys?

A couple of projects were waiting on me. I really needed to get back to work in my home office.

I knew the keys would show up at some time so I made arrangements for a ride home.  Fortunately I remembered the key pad entry that unlocked my car.  I waited patiently.

Dandy's husband, Ted appeared.

"In Dandy's handbag," he said with a grin.

I canceled the ride home, put the key in the ignition and headed home.

Once more something lost had been found.

And the lady in the parking lot? I told her I would take a ride through the aisles and if I saw it I would come back to tell her. I looked briefly but I did not return and I have felt a bit guilty since that afternoon.

What if my friends hadn't helped me find my keys?

What was the best part?

My friend, Sarah Singer, and I were enroute to Tallahassee.  Everyone knows that is a long and boring trip.  However, it was a trip we knew was necessary as we continue to plan the 170th Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Florida which will be held at St. John's Episcopal Church in January.

We stopped for supper at the Texas Roadhouse Grill in Lake City.

We had already been a bit surprised.  The parking lot was filled. Our wait would be about 15 minutes. This was on a Wednesday night. Must be something special going on.   Our buzzer signaled it was time for us to be on the way to our table.

The server smiled as she reached into a window and retrieved a plate of hot rolls and cinnamon flavored butter and asked us a question.

"What was the best part of your last visit with us?"

"First time here," was our response.

We had chosen our entree and were chatting when a man appeared  holding a plate that held two ribs - each looking more like a slab of meat that just happened to have a little bone attached than a rib.  They were drenched in bbq sauce.

"Just a little extra treat for all of our first time guests", the man, whom we assumed to be the manager  said. 

The ribs were outstanding.  Our dinners arrived.  We almost wished we had ordered ribs rather than sticking with out diets and ordering salad with grilled chicken. 

Next time we would order the ribs.

As we continued to enjoy our dinner, more than one server stopped by to asked if everything was good etc.

Not only was it good; the service was incredible.

Who knew that in a little town like Lake City we would feel like we were at a Ritz Carlton?

And why do I reference the Ritz Carlton?  Because they are known for outstanding customer service.  I learned this last year when I was interviewing physicians and practice administrators for Florida's Pioneer Medical Society, A History of the Duval County Medical Society & Medicine in Northeast Florida.  A few years ago the staff at the Borland-Groover Clinic, Northeast Florida's 60 plus year-old gastroenterology clinic went for training - at the Rita Carlton headquarters.  My interview with Vicky King, the practice administrator, told me that the training at the Ritz had been one of the keys to the reputation that Borland-Groover enjoys.

My point in all of this?  Customer service is of utmost importance today's economy.  We've kind of gotten away from that.  When we need something we often talk with someone who speaks a different language and additionally we often hear - sorry we just can't "fix" that.

I'm not naive enough to think that our economy will afford us the opportunity to be treated royally at every juncture.  I am simple enough however to recognize it when it happens and to take an opportunity to share the goods when it does.

If you want a good meal and have time, go to the Texas Roadhouse Grill in Lake City; if you want a nice place to stay, save your money and go to a Ritz and if you need some gastroenterological assistance, my money is on Borland Groover.

It's all about the way they make you feel!