Birthday Musings

When you turn 84--what? 84. That's right. 8...4. Hmm. What do you say? You look back 
all the way.  To that Tuesday morning when I came into the world . Looking around I saw my Mama and Papa proud, after years of trying for a baby. And it was me. Lying there in that four-toom house across from the mill--with the train tracks in front of the house. I never did learn which side of the tracks we were on. Dirt poor. But not even knowing it--maybe that one one of the many gifts my parents gave to me. 

Out of their poverty they held and diapered me and did what they could. In my early years some days I wished I had other parents, another life. But one day I wisely woke up to know that other parents and another life was just some myth. I got all I needed and more. Later a brother whom we lost months ago. My parents also gave me a church.  And staring down from over the pulpit was the picture of the kneeling Jesus. He stayed with me all these years. Wherever I went and whatever I did--Jesus knelt in the garden and loved me and cared for me on good days and especially on the bad days--many self-inflicted. And all those Sunday school teachers and scout leaders and camp counselors and visiting preachers. They left their fingerprints all over my life. 

And there were friends. Like my parents, I think I just took my friends for granted. Not 

knowing that they would grace my life from then until now. Edward and Ronald--both dead. And teachers that opened the door to a bigger world that I did not even know was out there. Miss Beggs...first grade teacher I can see her to this very day. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was the first of so many. 

And the tiny world in that tiny house things kept getting bigger. There was a President named Roosevelt. And soldiers from Fort Benning. And Hitler, too over there somewhere. I had no idea how much damage he would do to so many. And even today the hate he taught is still with us at the margins. But there was

black Nancy our maid that taught me that folks that didn't look like us were just as important as we were. I remember Doug the adult shoe-shine man who stood at the corner scary and taught me even then that maybe

he had a heart and feelings and needs. And there was Tempie up the street that started working in the mill when she must have been eleven. And so they poured into my life a concern for the underdog whoever they were. And even now I look back at all the injustice I have seen and all the unfairness in the lives of so many. And I haven't done much to help or change this picture but I have tried every step of the way. Everybody counts.

College stretched me. And the friends I made and the teachers I had kept shaping me. And back home there was a Mama that would send me fifteen crumpled up dollars every week so that I could stay

in school. I learned about books and ideas and what was happening in the fifties in Montgomery would change the world and me, too.


There was Seminary and more books. But most important a girl. Beautiful and talented that slowly began to love me and one day marry me. How long ago? 58 years. And I have been blessed in ways I cannot even begin to describe. But simply 
t

this: she loved me and stood by me and believed in me especially on those days when I did not believe in myself. When I am gone if they opened me up there would be one name written large across my heart and that name would be Gayle. God knows, I have-not deserved her and I have dragged her all over--and yet she has stood by always. And so there came to us two children--red heads. A girl first and then a boy. And there is no way I can even begin to say how much I love them and how proud I am of them. How different life would have been without them and my two granddaughters.

Add to these all these the six churches I served. They were as different as any churches could be. And after my retirement I served eight other churches as preacher and interim pastor. And like my family and friends they stretched me and taught me about faith and hope and love. They opened up their arms and took me and my family in. And even if they did not listen some Sundays they accepted me and cheered me on. 
.

When Raymond Carver, very sick with cancer, he wrote this poem about: "Gravy." He wrote: "No other word will do. For that's what it was. Gravy."

I think Mr. Carver was right. Despite all the ups and downs and the old black dog of depression that has dogged so many of my days--it really has been gravy. And so at 84 I may be not be able to blow out all my candles--well, maybe I can. But this I know I lift up my heart with thanks. I am a lucky man.    

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com