Lilting Voices, Genuine Hugs, and Legacies Left Behind

The past twenty four hours have been wonderful. The kind you wish would never end. I spent the early afternoon Saturday with my mom at our family cabin. EVERY family is incorporated and has a family cabin owned jointly on sacred ground, right? We cleaned and laughed and solved all the world's problems while waiting for the rest of our family, our gang, our tribe to join us for our SOUPer Thanksgiving Celebration. Upon others' arrival the little cabin filled with joyous sounds of loved ones who have been away from one another far too long. Laughter and smiles dominated and all "guests" were {hopefully} made to feel welcomed. The cabin is a labor of love that has morphed over time beginning with our parents and the thought that we might need a "little shed to gather under." With ten siblings and their offspring no business made the fatal mistake of hosting us for a second event, thus the shed idea was scratched for a cabin instead. Once upon a time, the cabin {affectionately known as The Hub} even had outdoor Johnny houses and no running water. These, too, offered good times albeit terrifying to this little "city girl" with a potty urge in the dark, dark country night. The decibel level of the cabin is probably around a mere 140+ or so. None of us are quiet and ALL or us are talkers. You understand. At the end of the evening, everyone pitched in to clean and put things away while discussing "when's our next event?" While already determined at our annual meeting each May, the sentiment is "dear one... when will I see you again?" The bear hugs that somewhat resemble the compression found in a mammography machine are truly soul stirring. They say nearly as much as the lilting voices of greetings or the all too quickly uttered "see you soons." When I returned home, my house was filled with men friends of my sons and husband who actually let me tag along too. They laughed, played chess, had drinks, and genuinely made the evening more perfect. I had to go to bed around midnight but their laughter and conversations heard through my closed bedroom door were perfect lullabies for this momma. Fast forward a few {very quick} hours to 6:00am. I awoke and made my way "up the mountain" to my hometown of Wilkesboro. My home church, First Baptist Church- North Wilkesboro, celebrated its 125th Anniversary. This place too is sacred to me. It has changed, weathered difficult times, and truly is a huge piece of the person I am today. As I listened to a variety of church members recall their memories of the church the one thing that stood out was the familial attitude of the congregation. Mission mindedness, true relationships, and persistence were also echoed. After a two hour service that I really did not want to end, the masses gathered in the fellowship hall named for the first person I remember being a minister, Dr. John T. Wayland. As a kid, you don't really care WHAT a person does. It matters far more WHO they are and how they treat you. Dr. Wayland was mysterious and wonderful and certainly a joy spreader. Other memories of First Baptist include: Vacation Bible School; eating homemade playdough; Kum ba Ya; Mrs. Betty Shelton, Mrs. Sean Kerbaugh and Mrs. Carpenter and their careful instruction during Sunday School; Mr. Bud Kilby and his delivery of ice cold, bottled sodas that indicated "our mommies and daddies would be there soon"; Mrs. Ruby Foster and her love of music as she rewrote countless familiar songs to help us learn Bible Truths; Steve Bentley and Ann Fortuna in children's choir and the song, Pickles; youth group with Alan Ritchie and so many "church friends" who helped me (perhaps unknowingly) deal with a difficult time in my life; Mission Trips and Camp Caswell where we weren't allowed to stay on campus {see previous paragraph about being LOUD and TALKATIVE-- seeing a trend here, aren't you?); Sunday School with Betty Foster and her willingness to help us find answers to the tough teenage questions; youth choir; handbells; returning after college to find many of those same welcoming faces who never lost faith in me... even when I lost faith in myself; leading Mission Friends; marrying the one I've called mine for 20 years; dedicating our first born, and as goes with life, attending the funerals of many highly revered and well loved people. 125 years and sacred land. These concepts weigh on my mind and force the question "what will I leave behind?" Each day I try to be better and not lose sight of what is really important. ALL these people selflessly invested time and energy in me. They loved me when I was good and loved me more when I was not. My only option is to pass on the mercy, love, kindness, joy, and PATIENCE I have been blessed with. If I can do these things, my legacy and more importantly THEIR legacy is one I believe our Savior will smile over and utter, "well done, good and faithful servant."