I took a seat near the center aisle for a fast getaway. I didn’t like Math, but I was early, waiting for class to start. I planned to stay not a nanosecond after the bell rang. A freshman in my first college Math class, I was sure I wanted a fast getaway. Dr. Moye gathered his materials from the lectern, making room for the next professor. As he shuffled down the aisle, he stopped at my desk. He could tell I was a freshman, for I was wearing the requisite  freshman beanie. 

He: “Well, young man, what is your Name?

Me: “Willis Moore.”

He:  “Mr. Moore, where are you from?”

Me:  “Sandersville”

He:  “Are you from the town of Sandersville, or from a nearby town, Riddleville, or Warthen, or Oconee?”

I knew he had my number, now. He knew these little towns in Washington County. So I spoke up.

Me:” I’m actually from Deepstep“.

He: “ Oh yes! Deepstep. I’ll bet you got Kaolin all over your britches, sliding down those chalk banks! ” He took an attentive pause, then said, “Mr. Moore, always say where you’re really from. It will help you identify yourself. It’s your hometown, so speak up for it.” 

I never forgot Mr. Moye’s admonition. Not only has it helped me identify myself, but also often prompts interesting conversation. When I say, “I’m from Deepstep!”, it is not unusual for someone to respond with a connection with, or knowledge of, Deepstep; a relative lived(s)there, they knew or know someone from Deepstep or they have worked in, delivered to, had business in, or was in college with someone from Deepstep.

Yep, college.  I can count among my relatives, natives of Deepstep, over a half dozen doctors, not to mention the number of teachers, and other folk who also went to college. And, there are numbers of others, just flat out good folks….like the smokers and chefs for BBQ dinners provided for the United Methodist Children’s Home in Macon, GA, or leaders in the Oconee Area Outreach Ministry. The Deepstep Methodist Church produced five Ordained ministers from its membership, and one ministerial student who died while in college. The population of Deepstep was 139 when I lived there; I left for college and the population dropped to 138.

More often than not, when you ask a person where they are from, they name the biggest or most recognizable town/city nearby as their hometown. Sometimes, just for fun, I tell people, “I’m not really from Deepstep; actually I’m from Goat Town. Most folks don’t know where that is, so I name the largest town nearby, which is Deepstep.” However you say your hometown, it seldom fails to be a conversation starter. I find it interesting that God calls people into service, often from small places; Gideon from the Tribe of Benjamin, the smallest tribe; The Prophet, Amos, a sheepherder and dresser of Sycamore trees from Tekoa, and—-from Nazareth, Jesus

So, I say, take note; however small, distant, or or apparently obscure you may think your hometown is, claim it. It uniquely, is yours. You are likely to find all kinds of-possibilities there. Just look! Your hometown produced you! And as Mr. Rogers said, “You are Special!”

I was home from college for the weekend; that night I drove to Davisboro reluctantly, to pick up my date, Sandra, a Senior in high school. I dreaded this obligatory date. My college classmate Jerry, a Navy veteran, was married to Sandra’s older sister, Janice; I knew Janice from my high school years, a beautiful girl; In college, Jerry and I had become good friends; we studied together for hours in their tiny apartment near the campus.  He had successfully fostered me through English Composition102, and made sure I also kept up in my other courses. Finally, he and Janice had succeeded in setting up this date with Sandra and me. When she came to the door,  I was astonished! Sandra was a vision! Not that plain, awkward ninth grader I remembered from my senior year in high school! I eagerly helped her into my non-air-conditioned 1951 Chevrolet —and we were off to the movie.

On the way to the theater I began feeling quite glad I had agreed to this date with Sandra. We even held hands during the movie. Afterwards, we went to the Bo Jo Drive-in for milkshakes, chatting like magpies. Sandra was so unlike what I had expected. I enjoyed taking the long way back to Davisboro, cruising along the two-lane highway; the windows were open, allowing not only a breeze, but also the delicious aroma from the peach orchards filling the summer air. I pushed open my corner window to draw in more cool night air—then it happened! Something bounced against my knee from my open window. It fell rattling around on the floorboard. I was terrified, and stomped it with my foot. I heard the crushing sounds under my foot; still it seemed to be moving. I stomped a couple of times more and all fell silent. I couldn’t see what had come inside. The car had no inside light and I didn’t have a flashlight. My mind raced; what was lying under my foot? It must have been dead, for all was silent. I left Sandra at her home and drove guardedly, to my house, angry that some creature had invaded what was becoming an unexpectedly pleasant date.

The next morning I went outside for sunlight to expose on the car floorboard my kill; wondering what had tried to attack me?  There it lay, in pieces, crushed to its horrible death on the floorboard——my Polaroid Sunglasses!The sudden gust of wind from that little vent-window had swiftly swished them off their perch onto my knee. In the suddenness, the noise, not to mention my need to appear Macho in front of Sandra, I managed to conjure up all manner of fears (not to mention ruining the evening!)

William Golden’s book, Lord of the Flies, describes the haunting fear of the unknown. A surviving group of boys was being flown out of wartime England in order to save them. The airplane crashed on a deserted island with no survivors but the boys. They struggled to organize in order to survive. A great fear grew in them from the apparent “Monster” they saw far across the bay; it’s chest  rhythmically billowed mightily. For a long time, they avoided the Monster fearfully. .  One day, through a strange coincidence, they were approaching the Monster from a new direction; From this new perspective, they found it; the rhythmic billowing was caused by wind blowing the pilot’s parachute hanging from a tree limb on the cliff; the dead pilot’s bones spread on the rocks below.

Fear of the unknown can nearly drive a person mad. Sometimes it succeeds. The absence of substantial facts can dramatically skew an outcome . Jumping to conclusions without substantial facts happens too often. The story is told of the Duke of Wellington and Napoleon at Waterloo, in Belgium; communication was painfully slow using only visual signals. In reporting the victory the words began etching out the message …… “W-e-l-l-i-n-g-t-o-n….. d-e-f-e-a-t-e-d ….” Instantly news went out that Wellington had been defeated.  It was only until the complete message came —“Wellington defeated Napoleon” that true victory was celebrated”

Accurate facts that undergird truth are dramatically clarifying! Jesus said, “… you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”(John 8:32 ) Y’all may not be old enough to remember the famous remark attributed to Jack Webb; “The facts!. Just the facts, M’am!” (Apologies to Dragnet). And now, who knows how things might have turned out for me, that summer night,…if I could have known for sure what had fallen into the car!?

I don’t mean to bust your bubble, but Lightening Bugs (or fireflies, or glowworms) are not, well, bugs!   According to the Smithsonian Magazine, they are, —wait for it—-Beetles. But I digress. Lightening Bugs are a thrilling herald of Summer. Do you remember as a child, how excited you were!? School was out! Now for the lazy days of summer, sleeping late mornings, staying up late evenings, finding glistening, delicious wild plums (red or yellow)—and at night—- Lightening Bugs! darting here, there, over  here, over yonder; their silent twinkling in the unhurried twilight adding joy and excitement to a delightful, carefree evening; They provided silent, kaleidoscopic, celebratory, fireworks. And it was a free show! Still is.

As children, Melanie and Jennifer, our daughters, would find a Mason jar with a metal Ball lid, poke holes in the lid; putting just enough grass blades inside “So the Lightening Bugs would feel at home!” In their hands they held a joyous, fun fascination.  I’m pretty sure they had not read in a scientific journal how to keep Lightening Bugs; but they were careful to release them after a couple of days of activity; in their compassion for living things they didn’t allow their treasures turn belly up by keeping them contained too long

One evening recently, while sitting on our deck in the encroaching twilight, I noticed a Lightening Bug.  Just one. Or maybe two. But no more, I think. I couldn’t tell—he or they, wouldn’t stay still! Now, there are a few ——very few— flashing around early in the evenings. They float among the Leyland Cypress trees beside our deck and in Kudzu vines below our fence.  There is scientific evidence that there are fewer Lightening Bugs these days. Their decline could be from loss of their habitat, pesticides, and Commercial harvesting of Lightening Bugs—for the special chemical, luciferase, extracted from them; these factors could contribute largely to this current decline of Lightening Bug populations. Someday our grandchildren may be able to learn about them only in a museum.
    On a more cheerful note, the Mills Brother’s’ song; is true! —  “Shine little glow-worm, glimmer, glimmer,  Lead us lest too far we wander,  Love’s sweet voice is callin’ yonder,” — Their light is, indeed, a love call! The males flash their blinkers to attract females; these dudes have crafty ways of enticing a mate. Now, next time you capture Lightening Bugs, punch holes in the jar lid for air;  put a wet paper towel in the bottom for moisture; (a few grass clippings would still please my now-grown-up daughters). And, after no more than 36-48 hours, release those love-sick critters. Let them continue their mission to find the light of their life!

Paige helped me discover gratitude for blessings in whatever journey we may enter; it was an early fall camping trip. We hitched our Nimrod pop-up camper to our little blue Rambler station wagon; we bedded down our two pre- school girls for the trip and headed for Vogel State Park in the North Georgia mountains. We were leaving middle Georgia on a hot September afternoon in heavy traffic, just as 12,001 (approximately) Robins Air Force Base employees were leaving work for home. We were already five hours late departing. Just outside of Macon, GA the camper blew a tire. The jack and tire tools were under the floor of the girls’ makeshift bed in the back of the Rambler. We roused the girls, who not yet had even thought of asking “Are we there yet?”

The latch to the under-compartment was stubborn. Paige walked up behind me, and in her sweet, quiet voice said, “Maybe we can find the blessing in this!” I wiped sweat from pouring down into my eyes; I did not hit her. I am not a violent person. Just before I opened my mouth, to say whatever I was going to say, I discovered it. The spare tire for the Rambler was flat. I stopped. I turned to Paige and said. “Here’s our blessing! If I had not discovered this flat spare tire we would head into the mountains tonight. We do not need it right now, but a flat tire in the mountains, in the dark, would be real trouble.”

We settled down. We regrouped. We had tires fixed for both the camper and car . We left the Goodyear place and went to the air-conditioned, Davis Brothers Cafeteria. We relaxed with a calm, delicious family meal. We even went next door to Shoneys for Fresh Strawberry pie and ice cream. (Did I mention, it was this Shoney’s where I took Paige for Fresh Strawberry pie on our first–kinda—date?) Rested and refreshed, we packed the girls into the Rambler—again. And refreshed, drove into the night and to the mountains. That journey is one of our most memorable, happy journeys. I still thank God for that day.

Almost as if he were giving a prescription for curing ingratitude, Bernard of Clairvaux the 11th century Mystic said:

Ingratitude is the soul’s enemy… Ingratitude is a burning wind that dries up the source of love, the dew of mercy, the streams of grace.“

That’s somewhat like tagging “ingratitude” with the Skull and Crossbones; warning, “deadly! do not enter!” In a more positive vein, it is important to find things for which to be grateful. It is not that difficult. For example, start with your hand; look at your thumbs . Human beings are the only primates that have opposable thumbs. How would you manage without your thumbs? See. Already you have something for which to be grateful!! And. You’ve barely gotten started with gratitude! Miriam Webster describes gratitude as “thankfulness.”

In many of his letters the Apostle Paul said “Be Thankful.” He was specific to say “in all things,” not for all things. He found reasons and ways to be grateful even while in horrible circumstances. The late Rev. Joe Matthews of the Chicago Ecumenical Institute took gratitude to the extreme. He said, “The most important thing you can say in any circumstance is, ‘Thank You.’” Kinda reminds me of that flat tire on the camper.

I like the way Andrae Crouch expresses gratitude;

‘How can I say thanks
For the things You have done for me?
Things so undeserved
Yet You gave to prove Your love for me;
The voices of a million angels
Could not express my gratitude
All that I am and ever hope to be
I owe it all to Thee”

Gratitude is a choice. It can also be a way of living.

Do you also find it interesting to discover a church named “Harmony?” There are many churches with that name; in a variety of denominations. I have known a few that were anything but harmonious. Merriam Webster defines harmony as a  “pleasing arrangement of parts.” The Apostle Paul, speaks of the Church in Romans 12 . Suggesting a “pleasing arrangement of parts,” he said:

We have many parts in the one body, and all these parts have different functions. In the same way, though we are many, we are one body in union with Christ, and we are all joined to each other as different parts of one body. So we are to use our different gifts in accordance with the grace that God has given us.

Key word: “Different” gifts.

In the same cluster of definitions for harmony,  Merriam Webster also defines harmony as  “the combination of simultaneous musical notes in a chord.” I find a lesson there; music can take many combinations of musical notes to create harmony. There are high notes and low notes, quarter and whole notes; staccato notes and full-count notes. And. There are no notes; in a rest, there is no note. Multiple instruments play at the same time, or in solo, or groups. Every note is counted. Sometimes different tempos are included in the same composition.

Counting is a big part of harmony, choosing when and where each tone is needed. Dynamics play a huge role in harmonious music.  Paige and I were in the college band together. One of our band members, Nino, sometimes had to stand motionless, counting, in compositions just to come in on time, with a flurry of loud Timpani beats! It was necessary to wait; then he was supposed to come in with his spectacular strokes. In fact, once well before a concert, our band director became frustrated; Nino would not pound the timpani heads hard enough.  So he left Nino alone in the band room with his Timpani; he said, “Beat those heads REALLY hard!  Don’t come out of that room until you have busted the head.”

It was the kind of precise harmony that particular composition needed; every member playing when, how, where, and with appropriate dynamics to be, well, harmonious. Each had a role to play to produce true harmony. Which brings us back to the Apostle, Paul:

“Live in harmony with each other. Don’t become snobbish but take a real interest in ordinary people. Don’t become set in your own opinions.“

And. Paul’s appeal is exalted by the Psalmist in 133; 

“How wonderful it is, how pleasant,

    for God’s people to live together in harmony!“

I think both the Apostle and the Psalmist would balk at any suggestion that they are appealing for every person to be just like every other person. Both metaphors, music and the body. call for harmony; not troubadour Pete Seegar’s “Little Boxes.”

“Little boxes on the hillside Little boxes made of ticky tacky

Little boxes Little boxes Little boxes all the same 

There’s a green one and a pink one 

And a blue one and a yellow one 

And they’re all made out of ticky tacky

 And they all look just the same

 And the people in the houses all go to the university.” 

The closing verses of Acts 2 describe harmony among people in a remarkable, visionary way; that “pleasing arrangement of parts.”

“The believers devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to the community, to their shared meals, and to their prayers. A sense of awe came over everyone. God performed many wonders and signs through the apostles. All the believers were united and shared everything.”

 Atul Gawande wrote:

Better is possible. It does not take genius. It takes diligence. It takes moral clarity. It takes ingenuity. And above all, it takes a willingness to try….

...and, I might add, it takes courage. It is not the courage of the mighty warrior, or the one highly trained in battle. It is that moral compass that draws one to the high road. The road of persistence. Paige, my late wife, kept a placard on her desk. It read:

Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day, saying, “I will try again tomorrow.”

You and I both know of folks like that; at the end of every day, they go to bed tired, often empty, and/or weary of their circumstances–broken dreams, vocational concerns, dealing with health issues (their own, or those for whom they are caretakers)–yet they rise with the sun to take on the new day. 

As Atul Gawande wrote, “Better is possible,” even though it seems impossible. All it takes to see that truth, is to look around, from the beautiful lily emerging from the messy mud of a pond, to the frail nest of twigs holding an eaglet, to a magnificent cathedral. Impossible?  Looks that way, but my,  what a result!!  The words of the Frankie Lane song ring in my ears; 

I believe for every drop of rain that falls
A flower grows
I believe that somewhere in the darkest night
A candle glows
I believe for everyone that goes astray
Someone will come to show the way

As poetic as it is, there sings a truth that surpasses the senses or intellect. What we often call the “real world” often cries in protest that better is not possible, saying “We’re going to Hell in a Handbasket!”  An old political quote, that is funnier than it was helpful back then complained of the “Nattering Nabobs of Negativism.” We do, of course, often face the naysayers. But more from Frankie Lane, lifts our spirits:

Every time I hear a newborn baby cry
Or touch a leaf
Or see the sky
Then I know why
I believe 

Although the words stop short of saying “…in God.” it is implicit. Of course many of us—I would hope—all of us know that belief in God does make “Better Possible.” Not long ago, Mayor Bottoms of Atlanta told the crowd, in the face of some horrors, “We are Better than this!” It was echoed often by other leaders, official and non official. Better is Possible.

I have a book, DON’T SING SONGS TO A HEAVY HEART, by Kenneth Haugk PhD. Our church used the book in training Stephen Ministers to care for people who are hurting.  In a nutshell, the book says lay off platitudes (Paige hated platitudes) and listen to the person who is hurting. Haugk is not opposed to songs. It is a metaphor he uses for the gleeful attempt often used to cheer up a person so we ourselves won’t feel gloomy. King David had a raft of troubles in his lifetime (Yes, I know, he brought on some by his own doing.) But he loved music and songs .He wrote 73 of the Psalms and in the Bible, and a few more are attributed to him.  

We Methodists have a reputation as “Singing Methodists.” Charles Wesley wrote a boatload of hymns. The Hymnal has only a few dozen of his, and some of those are even shortened so they could be put into the Hymnal. Oh, and brother, John Wesley, wrote some fine hymns as well.  And. As you know, secular songs flood the airwaves ;  in 1976 B. J. Thomas made this song famous; “Hey Won’t You Play Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song.”

“A real hurtn’ song About a Love, that’s gone wrong’Cause I don’t want to cry all alone… Hey, won’t -cha’ play, anotherSomebody done somebody wrong songAnd make me feel at home…”

The song is so  melancholy you wouldn’t think of it as a go-to entertaining song; Yet, in 1976 it was the longest titled No. 1 hit ever on the Hot 100.Songs can create moods all across the spectrum; happy, sad, cheerful, macabre—even  satiristic, like, “Lets Go to Georgia and Bowl.”  YouTube is awash with them. People love songs—of all types

Paige, my wife, couldn’t carry a tune in a ZipLoc bag, yet she loved what she called “making a joyful noise” in church; a thrill of her life was hearing Victoria’s voice, especially in the Hallelujah Chorus. I recently heard a recording of “The Singing Blind Boys of Alabama”–some of their songs hark back to the Gospel songs from Black culture; Songs that helped lift the spirits of tired, weary, working folk. Songs are the “leaven in the loaf” of life. Maybe that is why Haugk used songs as a contrast metaphor for platitudes. Kinda like “Whistling in the dark?” John Wesley, took a different approach to songs: in his “Rules for Singing; (there were seven) one of the rules is:

“Sing lustily and with a good courage. Beware of singing as if you were half dead,  or half asleep.”

Now, there’s a man who appreciates a good song, sung well.