God's Amazing Grace

After I posted Burkett Street Revisited I remembered posting No Place Like Home. Perhaps a little explanation is needed, and maybe I see a trend emerging. BSR describes the home of my maternal grandparents in Jackson, Tennessee, where they lived for most of my childhood. NPLH describes my parents white frame home in Crockett County where I grew up. BSR's original version was written in 1989--NPLH, 2001.

The motivation for both stories was to provide something tangible to hang my memories upon. I watched my father die young with a disease that affected his mental capacity. Sometimes he recognized us; sometimes he did not. Sometimes from his ramblings you could decipher that his mind had traveled back in time to another decade. I wanted to have both stories down in print, so that, God forbid I ever lose my mental faculties, my child or heirs would have something concrete to add to their histories.

I'm sure there are photographs of these homes in some of my belongings. But sometimes you just have to dig a little deeper and capture details that the camera cannot see. No, my childhood was not picture perfect. There were some obvious trials that could have been included in my stories. But I chose to remember the precious. I chose to ignore the pain.

Some day, when I have the courage, I may begin to delve into the darker side. I'm sure that there is grittier stuff, more realistic material to draw from. I haven't been able to address most of it. And sometimes it is better if you just leave the past alone. Let it die. When my mother died, I began to write to deal with the grief. The words haven't stopped coming yet. The grief hasn't abated. It may never.

My father's alcoholism is an issue that I probably should have written about years ago and gotten it out of my system. A year or so before he died I wrote a letter to him, even though he obviously could not read it. I keep it tucked away in an old family Bible. I took it out recently and reread it. And for once, I was able to read it without crying. So time, may in fact, heal all wounds. But I know that it is God's grace more than anything that has the power to heal our broken hearts. Remember that when you face those difficult situations. I have had to trust Him for so much in my life. And when I get down, there is always someone somewhere that He sends my way to lift me up--and keep me going just one more day.

Thanks for being here friends. I love you all.