Tennessee State Line (Photo credit: J. Stephen Conn)

First, the lady I gave the $5 to last week for health care paid it back today. She looked happy.

It feels good not to owe anybody any debts. Christians are supposed to owe people a debt of love, but we get tired. We are human. Still, many try.

Jesus wondered if He’d find any faith when He returns to Earth. No wonder He wondered.

Today in Cleveland, there’s a prominent story, on the front page of the Cleveland Daily Banner, saying that a really rich man has donated a whole lot of money to Lee University, which is expanding property lines into “historic downtown Cleveland.”

But last night, at Lee University’s School of Religion, I went to a meeting in Room 247. The room was filled almost to capacity with people, mostly students, who are trying to help stop human trafficking in the Cleveland area, which is a corridor for sex trafficking because of its proximity to I-75, I-24, Nashville and Atlanta.

Dr. Daniela Augustine, a professor of Christian ethics at Lee, attended and helped lead the meeting, where around 30 to 35 people tried to find out what they could do to help stop human trafficking in this area. We were told, by a speaker from Second Life Chattanooga, that sexual slavery is right here in our own neighborhoods, or nearby. It’s horrible and hard to imagine.

But I remember those young people, in room 247 last night. They do not have huge sums of money to help them help others.

It looked to me like those young people are running on all heart, hearts as big as God‘s. That’s why I have to keep faith that God will help them (maybe us) pay that staggering debt of love, to help humans who have nobody else to help them.

Earlier today, on a car in the Lee library parking lot, I saw a bumper sticker that said, “Find Your Strong.“

Last night, I saw all those young people, finding their strong, off the front page.

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Sunlight Feed (Photo credit: kennytyy)

It was my good fortune, in Cleveland, Tennessee just a short while ago, to walk by the Lee University soccer field, where the women’s soccer team practiced running, about half-way down the field, to the blue markers and back, then again.

Nearly every young woman had hair long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail, the sunshine bouncing off their clean pulled-back hair, like mirrors held out, reflecting.

The women formed a line, at the starting line, then each ran at her own pace. They ran fast, sprinting. I could hear them breathe while I sat in the stands. This was practice, so there were no distracting crowd sounds, so I could hear the runners breathe.

It’s a privilege isn’t it, to hear someone breathe? It’s the breath of life.

Those young women, so free and strong and living bright and trying to do so well. They breathed strong breaths, catching breaths, all at their own speeds, except two girls finished side-by-side, crossing that finish line for today. They all finished for the day, those sprints.

One young woman finished her sprints and was flat-out in the green grass, catching her breath. Her teammate, who was standing up, grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her up. The whole team still stood at that line when I left their practice.

It was such a beautiful sight, seeing all those strong women, running free and clean and strong in the autumn air on the green grass, on a beautiful day that graced us all.

I haven’t forgotten about the people hurting because of the storm. But, for a few minutes, it was wonderful to see, that team of brave women, running, chasing sunlight, catching sunlight, giving sunlight back.

Have you ever seen something so beautiful it hurts? My chest hurt seeing that innocent scene on the soccer field. It was like a weight, the weight of glory, pressing down like you press wildflowers inside pages of books.

There are so many gifts from God, to be treasured and cherished and pressed to the heart, our weights of glory, which move us forward.

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English: Old Magnolia Petroleum gasoline station on 4th Street along the original Route 66 in Barelas, Albuquerque, New Mexico (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Over at one of the gasoline stations on 25th Street in Cleveland, Tennessee, a beautiful woman works. She sells gasoline and convenience store items and she gives away warmth.

She’s around five feet, four inches tall, medium-build, and often wears T-shirts in different colors and nearly always with jeans, faded and worn and soft-looking and blue. I haven’t noticed exactly what kind of shoes yet, but probably shoes that are practical and comfortable, for work.

The other day, the woman at the gasoline station, and one other woman, were outside near the gasoline pumps, but not right up close. Still, I worried, because my acquaintance was near enough, smoking a cigarette. The cigarette fit the woman and the situation, because she was trying to take a break from inside. My inclination was to say, “Please don’t smoke near the gasoline pumps. Something might happen. You might get hurt.”

But, she’s a grown woman. It wasn’t my place. Besides, where else could she go, to take a break at a convenience store? Smokers smoke, often to relax, then the nicotine addiction happens. But that doesn’t mean smokers aren’t decent and lovable and honorable people. You’ve probably read how difficult it is to quit cigarettes.

Usually I stop by this particular gasoline station for a newspaper and snack crackers and maybe a Dr. Pepper and once in a while, gasoline.

This woman’s blonde hair, sometimes pulled back and sometimes not, is long and soft and wavy, almost like Rapunzel‘s hair. The woman never fails to warmly greet whoever is in line at that convenience store. She never treats us like inconveniences. She treats us like privileges.

The woman at the gasoline station seems to have some kind of sixth sense, like she knows we all need warmth instead of coldness, all year round. I haven’t yet noticed the exact color of her eyes, but they are the color warm. Remember, back in the late 1960s and early 70s, when Rod McKuen read his poem, “Listen to the Warm?”

It’s like that. When you hear the woman at the gasoline station speak, it’s like listening to the warm. Every single time she’s there, we exchange greetings and pleasantries, which warm people inside, like a cigarette lighter flicked on and held out from a little distance, to keep somebody else’s hands warm, just for a few minutes…or to help people see, for a few minutes, from a little distance.

The whole transaction just takes a few minutes, maybe less, but it’s more than just business. It’s humanity. The woman at the gasoline station means it. When I say, “Have a good day,” she says back, “You too, baby.” She means it with her whole warm heart.

That was awful, the way I almost blew off my blog today. It hurts so much to be dismissed, to have the door closed in your face. So here we are, hopefully together again, for a few minutes of the day. Please forgive me for almost not writing for you today, like I usually do on weekdays, except Fridays. I’ll really try not to do that again.

It’s Wednesday and mid-week church night at some churches. Some of the church members had asked me to help stir and serve food tonight, which I did last week. But today the day got away from me, because I didn’t plan well and this and that happened and it was difficult. Haphazardly, I went from one place to another.

So, I almost wrote about something else, but decided to write about beauty on the back roads instead. Earlier today in Cleveland, Tennessee, when I was driving from one place to the next near the Lee University campus, I found such gloriously beautiful flowers in so many colors again, this time around Clemmer Street and Joy Street and Brown Stove Works and Carolina Avenue.

The weather is just about as perfect as it can be today, cool and breezy and colorful in pink, green, yellow and you should have seen those deep purple Morning Glories. lush on vines. Later, I learned these deep purple flowers are Star of Yelta Morning Glories, according to onalees.com, which sells home-grown seeds and plants. What a gorgeous color deep purple is, just begging people to look and feel something deep and affectionate and appreciative.

There’s quite a history behind the song “Deep Purple,” another song about lost love. There are probably many songs about finding love, too. Let’s go look for one of those love songs. Meanwhile, my hope is that you can accept my deepest apology. I shouldn’t have run off like that. You mean more to me than church. Please stay.

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URBAN-HUMAN-3 (Photo credit: Community Photography ‘now & then’)

Urban blight is the run-down area of any city, according to Answers.com. People don’t like to look at urban blight, with its run-down houses and iffy apartments and broken-down businesses and dirty-looking warehouses and sorry-looking people. We hope to develop the city out that way, not this way, not on that side of the tracks. Let’s not look at the other side of the tracks some say, but here the rest of us must dwell.

It happens here in Cleveland, Tennessee. Today I took my old car over to Roy‘s Alternator service on Inman Street, because that 1994 Volvo (the one my friend gave me out of mercy) needed help. Roy’s looks old and worn, but those people were skillful and gracious and fixed my car for a fair price, a price a family member was gracious enough to pay. Besides fixing the car, one mechanic fixed some of my worry. I’d been worried about that old Volvo, but that thoughtful mechanic told me just to keep oil and water in that car and it could last 400,000 miles or so. That gave me hope for the future. A newer car is not something people this side of urban blight can always afford.

That old car with its chipped paint and sad dents and missing parts looks like an urban eyesore, but it helps a person keep a little dignity and a little sense of freedom to at least have a car, even if it’s junky. Not everybody is so lucky, so let’s all give each other an urban break.

It was a good idea to check the water and oil, so I drove to Collins Oil Co. on South Lee Highway, one of the few places in the world that still offers to check the water and oil for customers. The man checked and the oil was okay, but the car needed water, which he poured right in and I gave him $3. Money must flow.

Then the tires needed checking because they are going low again. You know about it. I’m not good at puttin’ air in tires. More air gets out. Over in the parking lot near Pathway Press, I leaned against my old car and thought, where should I go to get somebody to put air in those tires (will I ever get it right?) Who knows? I just got in the car and started driving. I drove over two sets of railroad tracks, which scares me. Maybe they were the same tracks, from different angles. So much of the neighborhoods looked bad, with everything around me looking dirty and old and feeling sticky and miserable, out there in this muggy heat again.

But there it was, right out there in the urban blight, a tire center called Elliot’s. A woman came outside that old-looking building and you learn that wherever there’s a car, there’s some old dirt and tire dust and honest sweat from workin’ people. That gracious lady at Elliott’s heard my story because she listened. She didn’t look at me like I was stupid either. She heard how I cannot afford new tires right now, but I needed air and asked her how much. She said, “We don’t charge for air.” (Some do).

A strong man who’d been workin’ and sweatin’ all day came out and put air in those deflated tires and said, “There you go” real gentle-like. I couldn’t help myself, I gave him a little tip, what I could spare. He said “thank you” and guess where I’ll buy tires if I ever get the money.

Then over at Lee University, a young man stood outside with his cell phone. He encouraged me to get inside the library where it’s cool. He understood about this muggy miserable weather. Sometimes it’s good to stand amazed at the kindness of people. There’s urban blight everywhere, but look again. Right there is a ray of light, piercing the darkness.

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Cheddar cheese from Bravo Farms, Traver, California (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

These Frito-Lay cheddar cheese crackers sure are good right here in the Lee University library in Cleveland, Tennessee. It says on the little clear and brick-colored wrapper that these are officially “Cheddar Cheese Flavored Filling on GOLDEN TOAST (trademark sign) Crackers.” Also, the cheddar cheese is “Cheetos” brand and it feels kinda happy (or not miserable) just to eat these buttery-cheesy crackers this afternoon.

It would be easy enough to dwell on the little bad things, in addition to the deeply painful tragedies we endure. Sometimes we can’t help it. It can all add up fast. But I won’t make a long list of annoying little things, but you get it. You know what it feels like when somebody annoys you or hurts your feelings or worries you first thing in the morning or last thing at night. What did that woman mean, waving me out of the way in the post office parking lot, like I’d done something wrong? But maybe it was me, not paying attention. Good grief!

Here are some good things to think about. I’ve already mentioned those good crackers, which I already finished and threw the wrapper in the garbage can. Garbage cans are good. It’s good to have a place where we can throw our junk and not litter up the whole world any worse than we already have.

By the way, the other day I was driving behind a big garbage truck and traffic was slowed down behind the truck while two men ran back and forth, from the street to the truck, running and hefting and lifting those heavy and full plastic garbage cans while everybody was looking and waiting. I wanted to get out of the car and thank those men for the work they do, because it’s hard work—and probably harder when people are waitin’ and starin’ behind the truck. There must be a way to thank people who do the “dirty jobs,” like that show on television.

It wears me out just to think about it, about all the dirty jobs and all the other jobs, about how to be grateful and say or feel “thank you” for all the people doing the dirty jobs and all other jobs that help keep the world up and running or limping along.

We’re all inter-connected and inter-dependent and just like President Obama said, we didn’t build anything all by ourselves. Somebody thought of cheddar cheese and buttery crackers and putting those two things together and somebody had to make the good crackers and make the good cheddar cheese and somebody else had to take care of the dairy cows and somebody else drove that dairy cow’s milk to market and so on and so forth.

It won’t work to dance with the devil and none of us should even try, for our own good and everybody else’s. But whenever possible, it soothes the soul to be glad for the good little things people do or that we take for granted. Have you ever thought about being glad about the goodness of a bath or a shampoo? This morning a woman who’s in her 70s told me she cannot take a whole bath or full shower, but only sponge baths. She has health problems and said the water sometimes causes her to have seizures. She lives alone, with nobody to help her. But this woman was so glad today, because she had been able to wash her hair without having a seizure. Her hair looked so soft and pretty. Imagine that. Imagine having to risk your life just to wash your hair.

It’s amazing, isn’t it? It’s amazing.

So, if nothing else (and sometimes that’s all there is) we can try to be kind to the next person and so on and so forth, as much as it’s up to us. Right now we all live together here on Earth. We can’t think of and thank each other enough. But it’s still possible, when it’s safe and sane, to fill out the flavor for somebody somewhere. That way, hope springs eternal in the human heart. I hope we all have a good Monday night and hope to see you Tuesday!

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On March 17 at Ms. Vickie’s Flea Market in Cleveland, Tennessee, a lady wearing a St. Patrick’s Day hat walked up to a vendor’s table and found comfort for her aching feet for just $2.

God helps those who cannot help themselves and also those who can.

Jesus said, “What do you have? Let’s use that.”

Sitting on top of a hill at 2051 South Lee Highway, Ms. Vickie’s (msvickiesfleamarket@hotmail.com) is a neat and clean arrangement of storage booths and vendor tables. Ms. Vickie can be reached at 423-650-1879.

On that one day, vendors offered glassware; birdhouses; sports gear; Barbie dolls; a small flat-screen television set; a stroller; dream-catchers; clothing; socks; a baby bed mattress; a fanny pack; a Kate Smith cassette tape of inspirational favorites; teddy bears; a turquoise backpack and clear angel ornaments trimmed in gold-colored paint. You get the idea. There’s just about anything and everything.

“Everything on that rack is 50 cents,” a lady vendor said, encouraging folks to stop by her table.

One gentleman bought a hand-crocheted afghan for his sick wife at home and he spoke out about how much precious time someone had spent on crocheting that covering.

A woman who joyfully reported she’d lost 100 pounds bought a size 12 dress for $3 in flowing midnight blue and green with gold. She looked happy.

One vendor thoughtfully picked up a pink blouse that was about to fall to the ground. “I think it was there by imagination,” she said. “It was barely hangin’ on.” Don’t we know.

A blonde lady with long legs like the actress Melanie Griffith floated through the tables wearing a red satin blouse and slim black pants. How did she manage that? How did she look bold and shy at the same time? She looked gorgeous.

A small dog barked, people sashayed through the tables and booths and rainbow-colored streamers on a girl’s bicycle whispered in the breeze on that bright blue day at Ms. Vickie’s.

The sun was hot enough for sunburns and shades. For $1, you can buy soft drinks from a cooler packed with ice at Ms. Vickie’s. Nobody got perplexed. Vendors walked or talked or relaxed in fold-out chairs.

At first, the soft-spoken lady who got the soft beige shoes looked hesitant, but her husband or partner (maybe both) said, “Try them on” in a protective voice.

“Oh, yes,” the lady said. “That’s my size! The shoes feel good.”

English: Barbecue grill sideview in Czech Republic. Česky: Boční pohled na gril. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The sweet smoky taste of barbecue, cooked on a steel drum grill by Bill Murray (not the actor, but the preacher) is very, very good.

Barbecued pork and chicken, along with a considerable variety of other foods, are featured Monday through Saturday, 7 a.m. until 7 p.m., (but not on Sundays) at Murray’s barbecue place on South Lee Highway in Cleveland, Tennessee.

I tried the pulled pork one recent Friday with sides of coleslaw and sweet baked beans. Texas-style fresh bread goes with the barbecue, too.

To find the outdoor eatery, look for a navy blue concession stand, sparkling clean inside and outside, sitting near and nearly next to Ms. Vickie’s Flea Market (www.msvickiesflemarket.com).

Be careful driving by, but look for the barbecue grill that sits near the concession stand. Murray, a former construction worker, built the grill out of scrap metal and he also does maintenance work for Wal-Mart.

If you hear a little about this man’s story, you’ll know sacrifice and sorrow somehow brought him to sharing good food and God’s grace in this southeastern Tennessee city. Murray’s expansive vision already sees hungry souls being fed along with hungry bellies. He wants to feature gospel preachers and gospel singers as well, right there on the paved surroundings next to the grill and concession stand.

From inside the stand, the preacher-cook took out a CD of “God Sends the Rain” and I don’t remember which singers sing the songs, but I recall the generosity of spirit shown that day by Murray and his friend, Bill Carroll, a former United States Navy cook and current owner of real estate at B & B Marina in the Cleveland area. Carroll prepared that Friday’s coleslaw, which was also very, very good.

Everything about Murray’s barbecue stand soothes the soul, from the colored Christmas lights designed to shine in the darkness to the old-fashioned comfort foods like biscuits or fried potatoes or fried bologna and egg with several other selections and soft drinks, all served with such cleanliness and kindness it would be difficult to go away feelin’ lost or hungry.

You may not believe this, but early that night when I walked to my car with my take-out barbecue plate, it started rainin’. Maybe it was a sign of blessings on the way…drop by drop, plate by plate, song by song and soul by soul. Stop by the barbecue place on the hill. If nothing else, you’ll be blessed by real good barbecue. (Update: I drove by this particular outdoor barbecue place just a few weeks ago. It wasn’t there anymore, that I could see. Don’t know what happened, but didn’t want to send you on a wild goose chase).

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Whether it’s good music, good food or good people, there are some things in life we want to enjoy right now and today I craved lemonade.

I was so thirsty this afternoon in Cleveland, Tennessee, where temps hit around 80 degrees Fahrenheit, I thought about Chick-fil-A lemonade and suddenly I just had to go buy a cup full of refreshment. I rarely drink lemonade, but Chick-fil-A lemonade is a treat to try if you want to, especially in summertime.

As lemonade goes, this was perfect lemonade. Just the right amounts of lemon juice, water, sugar and crushed ice to make your heart glad while you sit in a hot car or even a cool car or at a library or wherever you want to just relax a little. The young lady who waited on me at the fast-food restaurant drive-through was one of the sweetest and she wished me a good day and I wished her one back while we took part in a little lemonade ritual.

The refreshment sat in the cup holder just waitin’ for me to take a sip. I tore the paper off the straw and what can I say? The icy sip of tart sweet drink just made my day. I drank it all down to the last cold wonderful drop.

Chick-fil-A goes to lots of trouble to keep its customers happy and the lemonade is an example. According to the restaurant’s website, it takes four pints of freshly-squeezed lemon juice to make one urn full of Chick-fil-A lemonade.

If you want to learn more about lemonade in general, go to Clifford A. Wright’s website, a “premier source” of food facts. At the site, I learned the first uses of lemons were as ornamental plants in early Islamic gardens. The earliest written evidence of lemonade comes from Egypt. There are records of medieval Jewish communities where lemonade was enjoyed and exported.

Lemonade was brought to America by European settlers and markets expanded for cold drinks when the ice trade started in the mid-19th century, according to www.foodtimeline.org. Lemonade was a special treat in America during the Temperance movement that outlawed alcohol.

The food timeline goes on to quote from The Grocer‘s Companion and Merchants Handbook New England Grocery Boston 1883: “Lemonade is a beverage made for the purpose of allaying thirst.”

That’s an understatement if I ever heard one, because today’s lemonade not only quenched my thirst, but blessed my soul. I hope you can enjoy a nice cold glass of lemonade soon, with plenty of ice and maybe an elegant slice of bright lemon. Ahhh…nothin’ quite like it on a balmy day.

Mexico City – Diana Fountain near El Ángel de la Independencia (Photo credit: Anirudh Koul)

Some people want to see different parts of the world.   But traveling is costly.   Sometimes we just pay the bills and stay home.

But we can walk around nearby and see and hear things.  Today Michelle and I walked around the neighborhood.  

We heard a few city sounds like the train when it made a loud clanging halt on the tracks and like a lady opening the door to get out of her late-model SUV.

We talked about ways to save money.

“What do you do with those slivers of soap that are left?” I asked.  “I have slivers of white, pink and green. What would happen if I put them in the microwave?” 

“When it gets down to the little,” (wonderful phrase!) Michelle said, there are many ways to make do.  She said her mother takes slivers of soap and puts them in water until they’re liquified, then puts that liquid into empty liquid hand soap containers.  The substance isn’t just right but it works.

Before we got back home we took phone pictures of an old beige building with a black wrought iron balcony that reminded me of Mexico.  Those elegant simple arid but inviting intriguing mysterious places with balconies I’ve seen in pictures of Mexico. 

A heart can ache not being on a balcony in Mexico.  It can hurt not to look out at the night while a soft breeze and an acoustic guitar lull me faraway.  Maybe someday.

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