Tag: family

Ode To Joy

The date was June 3, 1997. Nineteen months earlier, my life had fallen apart (that’s a story for another time). I was now living in the rural community of Oswego, SC, serving a church and healing up. As I rode from the parsonage on Red Apple Lane to the church on the corner of Lodebar and Leonard Brown Roads, I saw a couple of my church members out in their farm fields, taking care of the land. On my left was Billy McCoy, on a tractor, doing something to keep the crops growing. Across the street was his brother, Sam, baling hay. Billy and his wife Stella were leaders in the church and were very supportive and helpful to me. If you rode by their home and saw the front door open, you were invited to stop by. A glass of water or tea awaited you, maybe a snack, but most of all a listening ear, an open heart, and a wise mind if you needed any of them.

When I saw Billy and Sam working, an idea hit me. I called Billy. He answered. “Billy, do you know what day it is?” “Not really,” he replied. “It’s not your birthday, is it?” “Nope. What’s the date?” He thought and said, “It’s the third of June…” and I broke into my best Bobbie Gentry, singing “another sleepy, dusty, delta day…” I slid into those notes like I was sneaking into my house when I was a teenager. “It’s Billy McCoy Day!” I shouted, then resumed singing, “I was out chopping cotton and my brother was baling hay.” Although it was not cotton season yet in Oswego, or down in Mississippi, Billy got it immediately.

Since then, I have called Billy every June 3 and sung part of that song to him. Usually, I get him early in the morning while he is out on the porch with his break-of-day coffee. We catch up with each other, share news of our families, always laugh about things, and promise to keep each other in our prayers.

Today, June 3, 2025, is the 28th time I have called and sung to him. Twenty-eight years of love and support, friendship, and laughter. After I hung up the phone, I realized I was smiling.

Music often expresses the joy we feel. The words may say something meaningful, but the tune frequently speaks in more profound ways. One of Ludwig van Beethoven’s final works was Symphony Number 9, which concludes with his powerful “Ode to Joy.” We often sing that tune in church, saying, “Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee…”

People have different songs to express joy in their lives. Some sing hymns, like “Amazing Grace” or “This is My Father’s World.” For some, it may be an old pop song, like James Taylor’s “Country Roads” or “It’s a Beautiful Morning” by The Rascals. Chris Stapleton’s “Joy of My Life,” Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations,” and Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” all come to mind. For me, today, it’s “Ode to Billie Joe.”

The song itself is not that joyful. It’s rather tragic. Billy Joe MacAllister commits suicide. Something…or someone…was thrown into the Yazoo River. Brother gets married and moves away, Papa dies, Momma doesn’t want to do much of anything, and the singer spends her days dropping flowers off the Tallahatchie Bridge. Have a nice day.

But the song brings back memories of people who loved me, helped me heal, laughed, and cried with me, and a community where I found my wife. Oddly enough, “Ode to Billie Joe” has become my Ode to Joy.

Longest Night 2023

(Note: I am writing this on December 21, 2023.)

I love the neighborhood I live in, and especially my street. If you are ever in Florence this time of the year (December) take a ride through Forest Hills and especially down Iris Drive. Our street is decorated with every house having a small tree with the old-fashioned C-9 bulbs, and a plywood snowman with the family name on it in every yard. Some have a few other lights hanging from trees, and you can see our Christmas tree through the front bay window of our living room. None of the houses are in the running for the Griswold Award nor would we be on any of the tv shows with homes competing for the best lights. But every home contributes to the atmosphere of the season.

I like the street for other reasons, too. We have a mixture of families. Several years ago we had few families with children on the street. Now we have a lot, so many that we watch out for them all up and down the block. We have a few older retired families (like ours), and middle-aged families doing their best to get by. The yards are kept nice, and the neighbors know each other. At least on a first name basis. And while we care about and for each other, no one is intrusive. We just watch out for each other.

Which brings me to tonight. It is the winter solstice, the longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere. Where I live the sun will set at 5:13 p.m. and rise tomorrow at 7:21 a.m. Which means that we will have 14 hours 8 minutes of darkness and 9 hours 52 minutes of light. For some people, that is a long night.

It has been a hard year for a lot of us. Like many of you, I have lost some dear friends this year. A few to death, a few who moved far away, and a few in relationships that have died. I find on the long night I miss them all.

For some it has been a hard year financially. Though that is not true for Cathy and me, we have some close friends who are really struggling. We do what we can to help them through this tough time, remembering when family and friends helped my mother, my sister, and me in our dark nights.

For some of us, me included, it has been a hard year healthwise. Though my cancer treatment seems to have slowed the growth of my cancer, the treatment itself saps me of energy. And while I can get around okay most days, I often find myself exhausted from normal activities. Not quite what I thought when I retired and planned to walk across the state. Still, I am here.

And many of us are worried about the state of our nation. Living in a democracy is hard, and it appears that many people are ready to turn to a dictatorship. Seeing the possible end of this great experiment in a new way of living is wearing on us all.

And there are those who are fighting things spiritually and emotionally. Loss of faith, loss of hope, loss of vision for our future causes great depression. Suicide rates in the US are the highest since 1941, and suicide is now the number one killer of teens.

All this is on my mind when I wake up at 2 a.m. to go to the bathroom. (All you older guys know what I am talking about.) Before going back to sleep, I go sit in our living room and look out past the Christmas tree and see the lights from all the trees on the street. They somehow seem brighter in the late-night darkness. And I think of the lights in the world around me. Friends who have stuck close and continue to get closer. Those who are following Christ in the United Methodist Church and are open to people with different opinions. The fact that I have all the things I need, most of the things I want, and am able to help others in this time. My doctors, nurses, pharmacists, and therapists who not only treat me like a patient, but more like a friend. Having Cathy to help me through all these days, and sticking by me in long days and long nights. And the people who are working, striving, praying, voting to keep our country united. And those who are there for the ones who are struggling deep down, who have listening ears and open arms for the neediest around us.

And I remember, as I continue to look at the lights down the street, that as we focus on the fact that all of us live together on this little blue ball, we can make through. We just need a reminder of the light that lives within each of us. And eyes to see it in the darkest of times.

So, my friends, on this dark night, may you see the lights around you, and find the light within you.