Don't Whup Me With Your Bible Belt

I would like to say at the outset that this post is probably going nowhere good and at an alarmingly fast rate. I will blame a few people during the course of it and they can call me out for a showdown if'n it will make them feel better. I realize that some of y'all don't cotton to these types of blog posts, so you can just move along. If you haven't yet figured out how to navigate away from an objectionable web page, then you might deserve this. (wink, wink)

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The first two blame-ees are Jennifer and masked man who goes by the name of Radical Believer (or RB for short). It could very well be that we would not be here having this experience if these two had not crossed my path at about the same time today. And when I say "crossed my path" I do mean on Facebook (or FB for short). You should know by now that it is not in style to actually see people face-to-face these days. 

Many of you might know Jennifer from her blog "Getting Down With Jesus" (which you would think would mean that we have some video of her boogie moves, but alas, I have not seen any). She is also a Contributing Editor at The High Calling. There's also something about Iowa and corn going on in her life, if memory serves.

Now, RB - he may or may not be known to y'all. Depends on what patch of internet real estate you've been hanging out on, I suppose. He has a blog called "Grappling With Grace". You see, "grappling" is not a word that I hear all that often, unless it is followed by the word "hook". However, RB kindly gives us a definition of the word "grappling" in the header of his blog. It means "wrestling" or "coming to terms with". On a day like today, I can't make it much farther than the word "wrestling". And though it is a true story that I was once a body guard at a pro wrestling event (even met Lou Albano), what I first think about when I think of wrestling is this:

Granny

Granny actually out of the kitchen and me in need of some color coordination assistance.

My Granny – Myrtle Copus Shaw – raised nine children (including my father) with my Grandpa Ben. I hear stories about Grandpa Ben being a harsh man. I was not yet two when he passed on and I’ve only seen one photo of him – he was smiling – so I have to take everyone else’s word for it. He and Granny made what life they could out of being tenant farmers, surviving the Great Depression, living in a three-sided barn, and moving from one end of Texas to the other, if all the stories are to be believed. Granny never seemed sad or bitter, so all that hard living must have settled well enough inside of her.

I've always wondered if Granny had been taller when she was younger. I only remember her short and somewhat stooped over. I've been trying to summon other memories of her, but all I can recall is a short, white-haired woman bustling around in the kitchen. Surely she left that room often, but other than the parks we visited for family reunions, the only setting I remember her in was the kitchen.