CHRISTMAS 2020

Dear Emily, Christmas Day 2020 certainly will be a memorable day for many people for one reason or another – some good – some not so good. I am quarantined. On Monday, I went with a friend to Murfreesboro. On Wednesday, she tested positive for Covid and for flu. Since my contact with her fell into the forty-eight-hour time period, I am possibly infected. So, like thousands of other families around the world affected by this pandemic, our family was not able to celebrate Christmas Day in person. We will do that on New Year’s Day when I am safely out of quarantine. Another reason that Christmas Day 2020 will be memorable is that Christmas morning about 6:20, a truck bomb exploded on 2nd Ave in downtown Nashville near the AT&T building. At first, the law enforcement thought no one had been killed, but now the authorities have discovered human flesh near the site. Where it came from remains to be discovered. Second Avenue is a popular tourist street in downtown Nashville. It intersects with Broadway where all the country music venues are and has lots of neat eating places like the Old Spaghetti Factory. Right now, the street looks like a war zone. As I watched the constant stream of news footage of the bombed-out street on T.V. Christmas Day, I was reminded of the 2nd Avenue that I remember from my childhood over sixty years ago. Second Avenue was where the Dobson-Hicks Seed Company was located in an old building that looked a little scary from my young point of view. Daddy was a traveling seed salesman for Dobson-Hicks for several years. His territory covered an area from Nashville to north Alabama to Cookeville and all points in between. Every small town had a feed store back then. Daddy called on all of them. Every year he made a special trip to 2nd Avenue in Nashville. Dobson-Hicks was located somewhere along the middle of 2nd Avenue. It was in an old building with huge double screen doors on the front. I was there only a few times, but those huge screen doors still stand out to me. I rarely ever went inside the old warehouse, but during the Christmas holidays, Daddy would take our family to Nashville to see the decorations and to pick up his bonus from the company. While Mama, the boys, and I sat in the car, patiently waiting for him to hurry up and come out so we could go to Harvey’s Department Store and ride the escalator, he would visit with his employer, Mr. Howard Dobson. After what always seemed like an exceptionally long time, he returned to the car carrying his “bonus” – a “spiced round” and a white bank bag with twenty-five silver dollars. According to Google, a “spiced round” is a Christmastime beef specially sliced at the Porter Road Butcher in Nashville, Tenn. The specialty meat, reminiscent of corned beef, has all but disappeared in recent decades amid changing tastes and the steady decline of local butchers to prepare it. All I know is that it was a delicious rare treat! Not everyone liked it. Some of the family would rather have had ham, but I thought it tasted wonderful, and I looked forward to the specialty every year. The bag of silver dollars in that white canvas bag tied with a string was also exciting – I thought we were rich! Daddy always carried one silver dollar in his pocket – I suppose for good luck – but he took all the rest of the booty to First State Bank “…for Mr. Rob Stammer to take care of for him.” I was such a naive child. It was years before I realized that those silver dollars were not on a shelf at the bank just waiting for the day Daddy would go back and get them! No, of course they were deposited and used, I’m sure, to pay for our Christmas. I am sad to think that the historic buildings, including the old Dobson-Hicks building, on 2nd Avenue are now structurally damaged from a senseless act of violence; however, God sent me a blessing: a trip down the memory lane of past Christmases: Daddy, Dobson-Hicks, a bag of twenty-five silver dollars, and a “spiced round.” Love, BB

THE NAME CHANGES EVERYTHING!!

Dear Emily, In spite of the challenges of the pandemic has caused, eight choir members presented a musical celebration for the congregation of the Caney Spring UMC. Here is the opening story that I used. INTODUCTION TO “JESUS THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT THAT NAME” CHRISTMAS 2020 “It was the name that changed everything!” A few weeks ago, I received a text from a lady who is a friend but not a close friend. I had her son in class several years ago and that’s why her name is in my contact list. So when a text popped up with her name, I wondered what in the world she could be texting me about. Her husband loves yard sales and auctions. All year long he stops at yard sales or goes to auctions and buys things, brings them home and stores them in a building in his back yard. Then on tractor pull weekend when visitors come to Chapel Hill from towns and states far and wide, he pulls out all the things he has bought over the year and has his own big yard sale. Her text read “Mrs. Brown, my husband found this vase in a box of things that he bought at a yard sale, and we thought you might like to have it.” If you know me very well, you know that I’m definitely not the first or second or even third person one would think of when looking at a vase. I’m just not a vase person. Then she sent me a picture of the vase. Here it is.

I don’t know what your taste in a vase is but this is definitely not mine. There is nothing about this vase that appeals to me. It’s pale yellow—not a bright eye-catching color. It’s not a bud vase. You can’t just drop a buttercup or a single rose in it and call it a day. No…if you use this vase for flowers, you have to “arrange” the flowers, and let me tell you - one of the gifts that I did not get is “arranging” flowers; so I’m sitting there staring at my phone trying to think of a nice way to say “Thank you for thinking of me, but I believe I’ll pass on the vase” when she sent me a picture of the bottom of the vase, and on the bottom of the vase, written in a handwriting that I recognize, it says “Mrs. Jim Ogilvie’s vase.” And the name changed everything!! Mrs. Jim Ogilvie was my great Aunt Annie. She was the kindest, sweetest, most gentle soul you would ever meet; and she was kind and gentle and sweet and sharp as a tack until the day she died at 98. I loved her! And I immediately texted back “YES!! I do want that vase! How much do you want for it?” My friend returned “Oh Mrs. Brown. It’s a gift. We just want you to have it.” And I do because the name changed everything. Two thousand years ago, God sent us a gift. Why? “For God so loved the world,” he just wanted us to have it. But the thing about this gift is that at first glance, it is not very appealing. The gift came wrapped in a flesh and blood baby, born in a cave doubling as a stable to an unwed teenage mother. He was raised in an obscure town called Nazareth where he apparently lived at home until he was thirty and started his career. When he did start his career, his friends and religious teachers tried to fling him off a cliff so he traveled the country side, followed by a bunch of rag-tag fishermen and other questionable characters, teaching about love and peace, turning the other cheek and washing each other’s feet! Really! He was ridiculed by the religious authorities, arrested, nailed to a cross where he died an excruciatingly painful and humiliating death between two thieves. Who wants a gift like that? But then we hear the name of the man. It’s Jesus!! Jesus!! And the name changes everything. Jesus – the name that can change chaos into calm, fear into peace, doubt into certainty. Jesus – the name that in itself is a prayer when there are no other words. Jesus! Who wants that gift? I do!! I want that gift and you do too! Jesus! – because there really is something about that name! And the name changes everything!

CORONAVIRUS TIME

April 2020

Dear Emily,

            Today was another Sunday without going to church for a worship service.  Another Sunday that our family has not gathered for our regular Sunday lunch.  Another Sunday full of reports of more people dying from Covid19, and even more people testing positive for the virus.  Another day of quarantine for families and for individuals.  Businesses and schools have closed, restaurants offer take-out only, and grocery store shelves have been raided of staples like eggs, flour, potatoes, and toilet paper.  The entire world is in the middle of a pandemic caused by some man eating a diseased bat in China back in November. I wonder at how that one sad little mistake could affect the Brown households – yet here we are. 

            I have seen the world staggered by sadness and fear several times throughout my life.  I was in the 8^th Grade the November day that President Kennedy was assassinated on a Friday while riding in an open convertible through the streets of Dallas, Texas.  The weekend was quiet and solemn as the country adjusted to the devastating loss, grieving for the President and for the husband and father of two young children. 

            Fast forward to January 28, 1986 – the day the Challenger exploded.  The Challenger was a space shuttle that had been scheduled to lift off days earlier, but the flight had been delayed because of weather and technical difficulties.  This flight was not the first shuttle flight, but the entire country, especially educators, were excited because Christy McAuliffe, a thirty-seven years old social studies teacher and the first private civilian to travel to space, was slated for the trip.  She had trained for weeks and was planning to send all kinds of information about space to students back on earth.  On the day that the launch was cleared as a “go,” teachers all over the country wheeled televisions into their classrooms so that students could watch the historic event.  Seventy-three seconds after the launch, with millions of people watching, the Challenger exploded in mid-air.  I remember crying myself to sleep that night. 

            September 11, 2001 – the events of that day touched the life of every American and changed so many things about the way we live.  We had felt safe on American soil – much like the sleepers in Herot until Grendel attacked.  That day planes flew into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.  Another plane headed to attack the U.S. Capitol building was forced down by the brave passengers who overtook the terrorists and crashed the plane into a field in Pennsylvania.  The world was stunned.  It was a beautiful day – clear blue skies – the air was crisp – just a hint of coming fall.  It was a day that nothing bad could possibly happen, and then evil fell out of the sky.  When I turned on the television in my classroom, it was early in the chaos.  Only the first tower had been hit. We were confused.  How could a plane get so far off course?  And then, as we watched in horror, a second plane flew into the second tower and both towers began to topple. We realized with disbelief that the United States was under attack.  Peter Jennings was the ABC anchor that morning.  He reacted in stunned silence as people began to jump from windows high in the towers.  Then, after a quiet few seconds, his voice breaking with emotion, Peter Jennings quoted the memorable words of Thomas Paine: “Ladies and Gentlemen – ‘These are the times that try men’s souls.’”

            In between these times, history has been punctuated with school shootings – Columbine, Richland, and on and on.  Sadly, these horrific occurrences have become so common place that we hardly blink an eye when and if we even hear about them – they usually are not the lead story on the nightly news anymore. 

            Now, we are in a season for the record books.  The entire world is under siege by this mysterious and deadly coronavirus.  The enormity of the ravages left in the wake of this virus cannot be measured by my feeble brain.  As of yet, the virus has not reached Caney Spring, and we are all doing our part to hold it at bay.  We are staying at home unless we have to leave the house for essential needs – the grocery store and pharmacy, possibly the Co-op so that the animals can eat too.  The state parks have closed so that has stopped me from walking there each day, but fortunately, we live in the country.  I have lots of places to walk.   I haven’t hugged you in a month – and it looks like it will be at least another month before I can. I miss you!!   And yet, I see so many blessings for which to give thanks. 

            Mainly, I am thankful for the memories that you will have of the Spring of 2020.  All of this crisis simply swirls above your head.  You are eight years old, and for the first time in your young life, both of your parents are at home together with you and Simon almost every day.  Being administrators, both have had to go to school a few times, but for the most part, their days are spent, not only being at home, but also doing things with you that they would hardly have had the time or energy to do if this virus had not closed school indefinitely.  You and your mother have watched movies, made crafts, painted each other’s nails, and when the boredom has gotten too much, you’ve headed for Sonic.  One warm afternoon, all of you put up tents out behind the garden where you and your daddy planned to sleep that same night.  The next day you told me that you would have been fine, but his back started to hurt so he woke you to return to the house to spend the rest of the night in your beds.  But what a memory!  One afternoon you Face-timed me to show me that you were peeling carrots and potatoes because your daddy was making beef stew, and he had assigned you that job. Your mom and Simon were sitting at the kitchen table playing cards. Everyone was laughing and talking at the same time.  You were having a ball!    Another day I took horse feed to your house.  When I pulled in the driveway, there were you and your daddy.  You had a 2 x 4 board braced across one of the raised garden bed dividers.  Your foot was holding the board still while you sawed back and forth with both hands and the determination of a master builder – ponytail bobbing from side to side.  When that job was done, you took the tape measure, measured and lined off eighteen inches, and started sawing again.  You said you were making “frames.”  Actually, you were making memories. 

            I am reminded of one of my favorite lines from “Snowbound” –

                                    “What matter how the night behaved?

                                    What matter how the north wind raved?

                                    Blow high, blow low, not all its snow

                                    Could quench our hearth fire’s ruddy glow….”

Like the young narrator in the poem, you too are enveloped in the security of home and family.  This virus which raves and blows all around us in the outside world can’t “quench” the love that warms and shelters you.  Eventually, this crisis will pass, and life will return to “normal.”  I look forward to the day when I can spend up close and personal time with you!  But until then, you are with parents who love you and love each other.  They are doing an awesome job! You are healthy and happy and having a wonderful time just being together.

            And for this blessing, I most thank God.   

BB