Got it

Swish; Bam, Swish

Got it.

What?

The baseball leaves the pitcher's hand; the batter hits the ball; the fielders see it coming and at least two of them watch it as it descends ...

Got it!

Or

Brrrring; Brrring;  and someone says -

Got it

Or

After trying to find the answer to a math problem, pulling up a zipper that is stuck (or the outfit is too tight) or finding something that we thought was lost ...

Got it.

Long introduction to something I am thinking of. Only I'm going to add a word -

God's got it.

Most every morning one of the things I do is read an on line devotional thought that comes from The Upper Room, a United Methodist Church publication.

I read one recently that made me think of where I am today. It was written by a nine year-old boy. He said that as he was playing soccer, a game that he doesn't feel like he is good at, he realized that a good soccer player is willing to pass the ball away to his teammates even when that means he won't get the goal so that the ball is kept away from the opponent.

No doubt the boy had help with the devotional, but here's the sentence that I liked:  "God knows exactly where to direct me to help me to overcome life’s obstacles and reach my goal",

There is always a scripture reference and this time it was about David when he was getting ready to meet Goliath.  The Bible says that he told the giant what he was planning to do - including making a statement that "the battle belongs to God" and then he did it.  Later in the same passage are the words "No sword for David".

This tells me that David knew what I need to learn.

In my quest for discovering the next steps in my life, I have shared, prayed, read and listened.

One person who I listen to is my friend, Virginia Pillsbury -- She tells me "God's got this".

And like the little boy in the Upper Room story, like David who went on to be called a 'man after God's own heart' and like those fielders in a baseball game  -- I can say - "got it" or at least

God's got it!

PS Knowing that God's got it, does not take away my responsibility.  David had to pick up that stone and put it in the sling.





  

How 'bout a little bowl of grits?

What do you do when you are worried, sad, or just feel out of sorts?

When I am worried, I clean.  My children always knew there was a problem when they smelled Wrights Silver Polish.  I could rub that heirloom silver service with such a vengeance that sometimes one might fear I was going to remove the patina.

Or sometimes I bake or write in my journal or meet a friend for coffee.

If you know me - you are probably saying - are you always worried? True, my silver almost always looks shiny, I am often putting some thought on a page or the computer screen and I certainly am known to meet my friends for coffee OFTEN.

And now that it's just me, I don't bake unless it's for some sort of gathering.

And when I am sad?

I eat grits.

Grits are my comfort food.

I have written before about the mixed emotions I felt when my son, Tray and his wife, Kristen, moved to the Washington, DC area in 2002.  I was very happy for the prospects that lay ahead of them.  However, he's my baby and it was really hard to see him leave.  Actually, every time he left it was hard. When he went to college and came home for his first visit, I cried and said "please don't go".  Remembering that afternoon still brings a lump to my throat.

Bless that poor child's heart.

Back to the day they moved to Washington, Tray came to my parents' home to say goodbye to the three of us.

I'll never forget walking back into their apartment and hearing daddy say "how about a little bowl of grits?"

Four years ago today I wrote an I've been thinking that I called "How 'bout a little bowl of grits?"

A Hospice bed was home to my daddy.  He was drifting in and out of sleep.  Our family and friends were coming to say good bye.

I was very sad.

And I imagined that if he could he would be saying to me "how bout a little bowl of grits?"

The next afternoon at around 5:00 PM with some of us (including his pastor, the Rev. Kevin Pound) standing by his bed, daddy took his last breath.  I've often recalled that it seemed like he just sort of wafted out the window.

And when I am out of sorts?

Well, I'm a bit out of sorts these days. The memories of daddy just continue to flood my mind and bring tears to my ears (football season is a major culprit).  Realization that my mother, while healthy, is aging.  I'm not sure what direction my life is really going in.  In some ways I feel like Alice looking down that rabbit hole.

And what am I doing about that out of sorts feeling?

You are reading it!  Stay tuned.