A few times a year I have to travel for my job. Sometimes the travel involves luggage and working my way through the gauntlet of an airport. Other times though it only means securing a car provided for me and driving up or down the road to a nearby town.
Recently, I had to take a half hour drive to a nearby town and attend a meeting one of my supervisors was originally scheduled to attend but could not. The reason for the meeting isn’t really important for our purposes now. I learned what I needed to know and passed the information on to those who needed it at my place of employment. The half day away was a nice change of pace from the normal routine. It was a sunny day and driving away from the traffic and hubbub of the city and into the slower pace of a small town was rather relaxing.
Not to sound too much like John Mellencamp but I was born and raised in a small town, educated in a small town, taught the fear of Jesus in a small town and had myself a ball in that same small town. And I imagine many from that small town today think I live in a big town, or a big city, and in some respects I do, especially compared to where I am from originally.
That said the trip to this town made me think about living a small town life. The actual purpose of the meeting I attended had nothing to do with this realization. It was more what I observed and felt while there.
I was an outsider to this group. It didn’t take much time or effort though to see and feel the camaraderie this group of thirty to forty people shared. Sprinkled in to the conversations prior to the meeting were comments and questions about neighbors and relatives and the community at large. Sitting there I couldn’t help but notice how all connected with one another they seemed.
Having spent parts of my life in a small town I came to understand many of the connections between people, how they were related to each another, how they worked side by side day after day, how they counted on each other for things great and small. I remember how not only the electrician on the edge of town sponsored the little league team you were on but also was the man your uncle worked for during the week. I recall how your third grade teacher was the sister to your next door neighbor. I remember how your arch rival in high school sports was the other high school on the other side of the county even though that was the school where your favorite cousins attended.
I understand I can get a similar experience in the community where I presently live, you know in the big city. And I know it’s similar but also I know it’s just different. It just feels more real in the small town, more genuine, less anonymous, like in some greater scheme of things you matter more because it’s harder to hide in a small town. In the small town, you have to pitch in and help out when it comes time to do so.
On the ride back to work that day, I could not help but think over some of these things. I couldn’t help chuckling how some folks can’t wait to leave the small town life behind while others dream of moving out of the big city and into a place where the pace is slower. And later while I slipped into the ambiguity of my suburban cookie-cutter neighborhood I thought of a small town not too far away where two old men regularly sit on a park bench outside the county courthouse and remember days gone by, where the lady down the road a mile not only is your wife’s Avon lady but also your children’s Sunday school teacher and where most of the citizens there look at living in a small town as the only way of life they have ever known or ever really want.
And as the day ended I knew deep down those idealistic thoughts of a small town might not be as realistic as I imagined. It is nice though to think that they just might be.
8.11.2009
8.03.2009
Really, I Like The Cake
Wax runs away from a flame and down a small candle. A thin rubber band, no longer shaped in a circle but as a line, finds itself stapled at both sides of a flimsy cone-shaped paper hat with celebratory designs. A rectangular cake resting on a piece of cardboard covered in aluminum foil is the center of attention as icing in colors of white and green and red and yellow tease onlookers with the promise of an impending sugar rush.
Every year it is a ritual. Family and friends gather round and celebrate the passing of time known as a birthday.
I like the cake. Actually, I probably like the cake too much. I also enjoy the time with family and friends. But, honestly, I really don’t care that much about celebrating my birthday. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m glad to be alive. I just don’t enjoy the fuss some wish to make over my birthday. I mean I don’t think I did all that much on that August day so many years ago. Maybe we could verify my exact role then with my Mom, my Dad and the medical staff on hand then, but I’m pretty sure I just sort of made an appearance. Maybe we should be throwing some of the praise to those who did all the work that day.
Despite my ambivalence, the party goes on.
There are pictures somewhere on thin, yellowing paper that time tends to curl at the edges or pictures pressed onto the hard backing of a Polaroid of my birthday parties through the years. They begin with the early years as a child and progress through time into adulthood. Family and friends crowded around to get in the picture with the birthday boy. Years ago, the cakes were round but still colorful and loaded with icing and candles. Some were taken while we were around our dining room table, others as we were around our picnic table in the back yard. Maybe in the background a balloon floated through the air or a game of ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ was ongoing as a brief moment of a party was caught on celluloid to mark that instant in time.
The cakes became a bit more elaborate over time, maybe one was in the shape of a car or another in the shape of a guitar. I was fortunate enough to have an aunt who made a good living for several years as a cake maker and I was the recipient of some of her better cakes.
Some photos have a year written on the back, while others find me trying to determine a year by straining to count candles on a cake and doing a little math. As the dates on photos creep closer to today’s date, the photos show me growing older. As this happens, the photos become more posed, less spontaneous, more aware of the presence of the camera and maybe more cognizant of time moving forward.
The photos show other things. Places I once lived, people I once knew, people I have known longer than I can remember, times in my life when storms raged inside me or were battering my family and friends, times when it seemed nothing could bring any of us down, times before I met my wife, times since she became my wife, bad haircuts, poor fashion sense, questionable taste in furniture and gifts.
Those photos don’t show other things. Trouble at work, words spoken hours before in haste or anger at a loved one, what I was planning to do later that day, even the wishes made just before the candles get blown out, things that seemed like mountains to climb then but now fade into a place time has sealed shut from my memory. I can’t see those things in the photos. I can’t retrieve them by looking more intently at the photo.
Now the cake sits before me. Folks gather round and tentatively sing-song the words to “Happy Birthday”. Someone appears with a camera, so I stretch a smile across my face and give the camera my attention for a brief moment. I look at the cake and the flames from the candles momentarily run together in my line of vision. My mind races with all sorts of thoughts. As I stand, my eyes mesmerized by the miniature flames, I notice a drop of wax begin to slide down a candle so I bend down and blow out the candles before the wax drips onto the cake, thankful for another birthday and wishing for many more to come.
Every year it is a ritual. Family and friends gather round and celebrate the passing of time known as a birthday.
I like the cake. Actually, I probably like the cake too much. I also enjoy the time with family and friends. But, honestly, I really don’t care that much about celebrating my birthday. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m glad to be alive. I just don’t enjoy the fuss some wish to make over my birthday. I mean I don’t think I did all that much on that August day so many years ago. Maybe we could verify my exact role then with my Mom, my Dad and the medical staff on hand then, but I’m pretty sure I just sort of made an appearance. Maybe we should be throwing some of the praise to those who did all the work that day.
Despite my ambivalence, the party goes on.
There are pictures somewhere on thin, yellowing paper that time tends to curl at the edges or pictures pressed onto the hard backing of a Polaroid of my birthday parties through the years. They begin with the early years as a child and progress through time into adulthood. Family and friends crowded around to get in the picture with the birthday boy. Years ago, the cakes were round but still colorful and loaded with icing and candles. Some were taken while we were around our dining room table, others as we were around our picnic table in the back yard. Maybe in the background a balloon floated through the air or a game of ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ was ongoing as a brief moment of a party was caught on celluloid to mark that instant in time.
The cakes became a bit more elaborate over time, maybe one was in the shape of a car or another in the shape of a guitar. I was fortunate enough to have an aunt who made a good living for several years as a cake maker and I was the recipient of some of her better cakes.
Some photos have a year written on the back, while others find me trying to determine a year by straining to count candles on a cake and doing a little math. As the dates on photos creep closer to today’s date, the photos show me growing older. As this happens, the photos become more posed, less spontaneous, more aware of the presence of the camera and maybe more cognizant of time moving forward.
The photos show other things. Places I once lived, people I once knew, people I have known longer than I can remember, times in my life when storms raged inside me or were battering my family and friends, times when it seemed nothing could bring any of us down, times before I met my wife, times since she became my wife, bad haircuts, poor fashion sense, questionable taste in furniture and gifts.
Those photos don’t show other things. Trouble at work, words spoken hours before in haste or anger at a loved one, what I was planning to do later that day, even the wishes made just before the candles get blown out, things that seemed like mountains to climb then but now fade into a place time has sealed shut from my memory. I can’t see those things in the photos. I can’t retrieve them by looking more intently at the photo.
Now the cake sits before me. Folks gather round and tentatively sing-song the words to “Happy Birthday”. Someone appears with a camera, so I stretch a smile across my face and give the camera my attention for a brief moment. I look at the cake and the flames from the candles momentarily run together in my line of vision. My mind races with all sorts of thoughts. As I stand, my eyes mesmerized by the miniature flames, I notice a drop of wax begin to slide down a candle so I bend down and blow out the candles before the wax drips onto the cake, thankful for another birthday and wishing for many more to come.
7.22.2009
Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition
Hardly any other time of the year makes me recall my childhood more than summer. For some reason I seem to recall more about the summers of my youth than any other season, whether those memories are good or bad (for now we won't mention the summer bike ride accident that I am convinced paid for college for my dentist's children). Recently, one of the most special rites of my past summers, Vacation Bible School, came to mind, in the form of a plain cookie, a cookie I like to refer to as a Vacation Bible School cookie.
What exactly is a Vacation Bible School cookie? The answer is a bit more involved than just a simple answer in a handful of words, so bear with me while I try to explain. To do this, we need to talk a bit about Vacation Bible School.
For the uninitiated, a quick review of Vacation Bible School is in order, and for those very familiar with Vacation Bible School, maybe a quick trip down memory lane will make you smile. Vacation Bible School is a time a church sets aside during the summer vacation from school for kids to have an intensive time of Bible school. Think of it as Sunday school on steroids. I remember we usually had it one week during June or July, during evenings Monday through Friday. I recall once or twice we had it during the day but as more and more moms joined the workforce that seemed to disappear. I even know some churches get all fired up and do the whole thing in one day.
Usually there is also a theme to the week. This year, Crocodile Dock seems to be popular, which I am sure thrills Elton John (“Crocodile Rock”, 1972) to no end. And of course, since one generation called a thing one thing another generation comes along and decides to call that thing something else. I realized Vacation Bible School wasn’t exempt from this form of rebranding a year or two ago when I saw a church near where we live proudly proclaiming one upcoming summer week as Neighborhood Bible Time. Well, okay, all righty then. Maybe it's me, but Vacation Bible School still sounds cooler to me.
Anyway, Vacation Bible School, or VBS, as it is also known, usually is geared for the kids of a church. But it is also geared to the friends of the church kids as well as the grandkids and nieces and nephews of the rest of the church who do not attend this particular church or any other church regularly. So, during VBS, you see not only the usual kids you would see on any given Sunday there but also the neighborhood kids and the kids of relatives of church members. So it really is one time of the year at a church when a future generation outnumbers the present generations. I suppose you could stand at the back of the church auditorium and get a good glimpse of what your community will be in twenty or thirty years just by watching how these young ones act and react with one another.
At VBS, kids get divided by age or school grade. Someone in the church has located the most patient women the church has and during this week these women become the teachers of these kids. Church pews are sectioned off for each group so kids in the same grade or the same age can all sit together. I can recall feeling a form of solidarity and empowerment during VBS week when I was a kid just because there were ten or eleven of us third-graders. Add a theme like “Warriors for God” and, hey, we were ready for battle…praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Also, at VBS, songs are sung which do not see the light of day during regular church services. Nothing raises the roof of a church building quite like a rousing version of “Booster! Booster! Be A Booster!” Segue way into “This Little Light of Mine”, followed by “The Wise Man Built His House” and the rousing “I’m in the Lord’s Army” and suddenly the singing in the building rivals the singing on Easter Sunday morning. And while the kids sing “Jesus Loves Me” and “Jesus Love the Little Children,” you can’t help but wonder why we don’t sing these songs more often since the songs are so simple, yet so loaded with meaning or why we don’t sing with more heart like kids do.
At some point, class takes place. The kids march off to their classrooms usually by grade or age. During the class time, there’s often a crafts event or some other activity occupying the attention of the kids for a few minutes. The adults usually have some similarly themed class while the kids are off in their class. There are some adults though, hard at work, in another part of the building, preparing the night’s finale. For the kids, the payoff at the end of each night at VBS is cookies and Kool-Aid.
This brings us back around to the topic of cookies and defining a Vacation Bible School cookie. Here is my take. Recently, my wife and I were leaving our church after services. As we passed by the kitchen, we noticed some cookies and cake on the counter that had been left behind following an earlier gathering. I picked up a cookie, looked at it and declared, “that is a Vacation Bible School cookie” just before I bit into it. I knew it was a VBS cookie from all my experience at eating them.
If you are a VBS veteran, consider this. Usually VBS cookies weren’t fresh baked cookies just out of the oven. They weren’t Rice Krispy treats. They weren’t lemon bars. They weren't slices of fruit. They were cookies.
They were usually a white cookie with white cream or a black cookie with white cream or even sometimes, one white cookie and one black cookie with white cream in between. The actual cookie part would have some intricate design on top of it with maybe three or four small holes around it. I have placed a photo accompanying this post of what I am trying to describe so you can better visualize what I mean. I think when you see it you will understand.
Beyond the physical appearance, a Vacation Bible School cookie is one that you bite into and you automatically think your teeth will break into pieces. VBS cookies are also fairly good size cookies, they aren't wimpy size cookies the size of a quarter. These cookies could probably crowd the edges of the palm of your hand comfortably. They are also usually packaged under some generic sounding name like, ‘Cookies’. You know the kind; you can buy a package of them at the grocery store for one dollar. These cookies come in a plastic pack that holds one hundred cookies. These are not "name brand" cookies.
Think about this. These cookies become VBS cookies because the ladies of the church are trying to feed all those kids, the regular kids and their friends and the other kids just along for the ride this particular week. It’s much easier and cheaper to buy a couple packs of VBS cookies than to spend a lot of time, effort and money to home bake 200 cookies or buy the overpriced name brand cookies. Maybe this is why some churches also have potluck dinners. Maybe it keeps many of these women in practice for preparing large amounts of food for a hungry group of people. “VBS is coming in three months...time for a potluck dinner this week.” Is it for fellowship? Sure, but maybe it also is a trial run to see how the women of the church do preparing large amounts of food for a large number of people. No self-respecting VBS cookie-provider wants to be remembered as being part of a group that did not have enough cookies during the "Hungering and Thirsting for Righteousness" themed Vacation Bible School. Jesus feeding thousands with a few fish and some bread was truly a miracle but forty women feeding 200 kids with Hydrox and vanilla cream cookies for five straight nights only comes about after precision planning.
I recall the VBS cookie being paired with another cookie or two and placed on a plain white napkin. Then you are handed a cup of Kool-Aid. VBS cookies must be washed down with something. And let’s set the record straight, VBS cookies must be washed down with Kool-Aid. Let’s briefly mention the VBS Kool-Aid. It's Kool-Aid. It's not a drink box. It's not iced tea. It's not a soft drink. It's Kool-Aid. It's Kool-Aid made in Meemaw's kitchen earlier that very afternoon. She mixed it out of a packet, stirred it up, poured it into a clear plastic milk jug that she washed out with scalding hot water then saved for weeks with this very moment in mind. Once mixed, she probably even capped the jug, picked it up and shook it for a few seconds before setting it in the refrigerator until church time.
And one parting thought on VBS Kool-Aid, no matter what you think, the best Kool-Aid flavor for VBS is red. Mind you, red could cover a lot of different flavors, but during VBS, the best and most popular flavor of Kool-Aid is, and always will be, red. You can have your grape Kool-Aid, you can have your orange Kool-Aid but if you ask most kids what kind of Kool-Aid do they want with their Vacation Bible School cookies and the overwhelming answer will be red.
This summer is slipping away. School will be opening soon for another year. The time for Vacation Bible School will also be gone for another year. It seems as if everything moves so fast these days. Maybe it’s time to slow down and take a few minutes to reminiscence about this time of year from many years ago. Summer nights spent singing “The B-I-B-L-E” and hanging out with others my age just knowing that at the end of the night waited Vacation Bible School cookies and red Kool-Aid.
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition indeed.
What exactly is a Vacation Bible School cookie? The answer is a bit more involved than just a simple answer in a handful of words, so bear with me while I try to explain. To do this, we need to talk a bit about Vacation Bible School.
For the uninitiated, a quick review of Vacation Bible School is in order, and for those very familiar with Vacation Bible School, maybe a quick trip down memory lane will make you smile. Vacation Bible School is a time a church sets aside during the summer vacation from school for kids to have an intensive time of Bible school. Think of it as Sunday school on steroids. I remember we usually had it one week during June or July, during evenings Monday through Friday. I recall once or twice we had it during the day but as more and more moms joined the workforce that seemed to disappear. I even know some churches get all fired up and do the whole thing in one day.
Usually there is also a theme to the week. This year, Crocodile Dock seems to be popular, which I am sure thrills Elton John (“Crocodile Rock”, 1972) to no end. And of course, since one generation called a thing one thing another generation comes along and decides to call that thing something else. I realized Vacation Bible School wasn’t exempt from this form of rebranding a year or two ago when I saw a church near where we live proudly proclaiming one upcoming summer week as Neighborhood Bible Time. Well, okay, all righty then. Maybe it's me, but Vacation Bible School still sounds cooler to me.
Anyway, Vacation Bible School, or VBS, as it is also known, usually is geared for the kids of a church. But it is also geared to the friends of the church kids as well as the grandkids and nieces and nephews of the rest of the church who do not attend this particular church or any other church regularly. So, during VBS, you see not only the usual kids you would see on any given Sunday there but also the neighborhood kids and the kids of relatives of church members. So it really is one time of the year at a church when a future generation outnumbers the present generations. I suppose you could stand at the back of the church auditorium and get a good glimpse of what your community will be in twenty or thirty years just by watching how these young ones act and react with one another.
At VBS, kids get divided by age or school grade. Someone in the church has located the most patient women the church has and during this week these women become the teachers of these kids. Church pews are sectioned off for each group so kids in the same grade or the same age can all sit together. I can recall feeling a form of solidarity and empowerment during VBS week when I was a kid just because there were ten or eleven of us third-graders. Add a theme like “Warriors for God” and, hey, we were ready for battle…praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Also, at VBS, songs are sung which do not see the light of day during regular church services. Nothing raises the roof of a church building quite like a rousing version of “Booster! Booster! Be A Booster!” Segue way into “This Little Light of Mine”, followed by “The Wise Man Built His House” and the rousing “I’m in the Lord’s Army” and suddenly the singing in the building rivals the singing on Easter Sunday morning. And while the kids sing “Jesus Loves Me” and “Jesus Love the Little Children,” you can’t help but wonder why we don’t sing these songs more often since the songs are so simple, yet so loaded with meaning or why we don’t sing with more heart like kids do.
At some point, class takes place. The kids march off to their classrooms usually by grade or age. During the class time, there’s often a crafts event or some other activity occupying the attention of the kids for a few minutes. The adults usually have some similarly themed class while the kids are off in their class. There are some adults though, hard at work, in another part of the building, preparing the night’s finale. For the kids, the payoff at the end of each night at VBS is cookies and Kool-Aid.
This brings us back around to the topic of cookies and defining a Vacation Bible School cookie. Here is my take. Recently, my wife and I were leaving our church after services. As we passed by the kitchen, we noticed some cookies and cake on the counter that had been left behind following an earlier gathering. I picked up a cookie, looked at it and declared, “that is a Vacation Bible School cookie” just before I bit into it. I knew it was a VBS cookie from all my experience at eating them.
If you are a VBS veteran, consider this. Usually VBS cookies weren’t fresh baked cookies just out of the oven. They weren’t Rice Krispy treats. They weren’t lemon bars. They weren't slices of fruit. They were cookies.
They were usually a white cookie with white cream or a black cookie with white cream or even sometimes, one white cookie and one black cookie with white cream in between. The actual cookie part would have some intricate design on top of it with maybe three or four small holes around it. I have placed a photo accompanying this post of what I am trying to describe so you can better visualize what I mean. I think when you see it you will understand.Beyond the physical appearance, a Vacation Bible School cookie is one that you bite into and you automatically think your teeth will break into pieces. VBS cookies are also fairly good size cookies, they aren't wimpy size cookies the size of a quarter. These cookies could probably crowd the edges of the palm of your hand comfortably. They are also usually packaged under some generic sounding name like, ‘Cookies’. You know the kind; you can buy a package of them at the grocery store for one dollar. These cookies come in a plastic pack that holds one hundred cookies. These are not "name brand" cookies.
Think about this. These cookies become VBS cookies because the ladies of the church are trying to feed all those kids, the regular kids and their friends and the other kids just along for the ride this particular week. It’s much easier and cheaper to buy a couple packs of VBS cookies than to spend a lot of time, effort and money to home bake 200 cookies or buy the overpriced name brand cookies. Maybe this is why some churches also have potluck dinners. Maybe it keeps many of these women in practice for preparing large amounts of food for a hungry group of people. “VBS is coming in three months...time for a potluck dinner this week.” Is it for fellowship? Sure, but maybe it also is a trial run to see how the women of the church do preparing large amounts of food for a large number of people. No self-respecting VBS cookie-provider wants to be remembered as being part of a group that did not have enough cookies during the "Hungering and Thirsting for Righteousness" themed Vacation Bible School. Jesus feeding thousands with a few fish and some bread was truly a miracle but forty women feeding 200 kids with Hydrox and vanilla cream cookies for five straight nights only comes about after precision planning.
I recall the VBS cookie being paired with another cookie or two and placed on a plain white napkin. Then you are handed a cup of Kool-Aid. VBS cookies must be washed down with something. And let’s set the record straight, VBS cookies must be washed down with Kool-Aid. Let’s briefly mention the VBS Kool-Aid. It's Kool-Aid. It's not a drink box. It's not iced tea. It's not a soft drink. It's Kool-Aid. It's Kool-Aid made in Meemaw's kitchen earlier that very afternoon. She mixed it out of a packet, stirred it up, poured it into a clear plastic milk jug that she washed out with scalding hot water then saved for weeks with this very moment in mind. Once mixed, she probably even capped the jug, picked it up and shook it for a few seconds before setting it in the refrigerator until church time.
And one parting thought on VBS Kool-Aid, no matter what you think, the best Kool-Aid flavor for VBS is red. Mind you, red could cover a lot of different flavors, but during VBS, the best and most popular flavor of Kool-Aid is, and always will be, red. You can have your grape Kool-Aid, you can have your orange Kool-Aid but if you ask most kids what kind of Kool-Aid do they want with their Vacation Bible School cookies and the overwhelming answer will be red.
This summer is slipping away. School will be opening soon for another year. The time for Vacation Bible School will also be gone for another year. It seems as if everything moves so fast these days. Maybe it’s time to slow down and take a few minutes to reminiscence about this time of year from many years ago. Summer nights spent singing “The B-I-B-L-E” and hanging out with others my age just knowing that at the end of the night waited Vacation Bible School cookies and red Kool-Aid.
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition indeed.
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