Decorations upon the heart

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I crawled up the ladder into the attic and pulled the string illuminating the surroundings.

Only a small area above the attic pull door was floored, and it was covered in cardboard boxes, as were the rafters, except for a space to move around the door.

I knew where I was going. It was my job as a boy to bring down the Christmas decorations which were all stored near the heat exhaust fan in the hall ceiling.

Generally, there were about six boxes including lights, Christmas ornaments, a faux fireplace, our artificial tree, and the exterior lights.

The first week in December was always a time that I looked forward to, because over a couple of days all these items would go up.

We would put the Bing Crosby or Elvis Presley records on the player and start working. Bill Monroe’s “Christmas Time’s A Comin’” or Jimmy Martin’s Christmas album would always be in the mix too.

Our tree went up in front of the living room windows, so the curtains could be pulled and any drivers by could see its lights. We chose the artificial tree beginning the year that I was diagnosed allergic to the trees. Despite losing the smell of the fresh tree and me eventually helping sell them with my Boy Scout troop. I still enjoyed putting the tree together. That was my job. Then mother would guide me placing the ornaments and icicles. The round ornaments included a mixture of red, green, silver and gold colors. There was a sparse number of off shaped smaller ones used in the upper areas of the tree. Most of these ornaments, my folks accumulated in the 1950s and 60s. On the top of the tree, my dad, when I was small enough would lift me up and we would place an angel with a light.

On one wall, near the front door, we would put together the faux fireplace with the electric lights behind the logs, and upon it would go our stockings and the Christmas cards that would come in.

Each window in the front of the house featured an electric candle. While every table in the house was swapped to seasonal doilies, candles, and decor.

On the exterior, that was dad’s domain with my help. All the bushes along the front of the house would be covered with lights, as was the trellis by our door. On the trellis near the door, we placed a two-foot lighted face of Santa. Plugging in one plug would light up the outside.

Once complete, the look and sounds for me meant Christmas was coming. While nobody’s life is all roses, these Christmas traditions helped me as a boy to have a blessed memory to grow upon each year.

Adulthood for me, unfortunately, didn’t bring the pleasant Christmases that were there in childhood. Instead after a certain point of not successfully finding that, I realized my way to create new traditions was by helping others have an amazing Christmas by helping meet the needs of those less fortunate.

Seeing the smiles on children’s faces when they receive a special unexpected gift. Filling a fridge and cabinets with food when a family doesn’t have money for that purpose. These were traditions that I also saw my parents quietly do when I was a child.

Those actions weren’t to make my Christmas better then. But today as I think fondly upon the decorations of old, it was the quiet service to others that I saw my parents do, that’s what really sunk into my memory and resurfaced as what Christmas is really all about.

For this Christmas, continue your family traditions, but add a new one for your young ones to see. That is, if you don’t already, why not help folks in need and let your children take part, maybe those actions will stay within their hearts for years to come.

Special places can connect the decades

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Have you ever stood in a particular place, scanning the horizon taking in all that is in sight?
For my exercise I stepped upon the front steps of the Ringgold Depot in Ringgold, Ga. looking northwards along the route of the U.S. Highway 41.
As you recognize all within your purview, could you imagine how many have stood exactly where you do seeing the same view through history?
The Ringgold Depot was completed in 1849, two years after the founding of the city. Upon its dedication by the Western & Atlantic Railroad, I can imagine the new city commission standing in front of it looking out upon Ringgold.
My cousins George Anderson and Michael Dickson, who were on that commission, may have stood there imagining what their community would become now.
A decade earlier, Cherokee Assistant Chief Richard Taylor stood looking out upon his former domain as 1,000 people began the long journey to the Indian Territory on the Trail of Tears. Among them were some of my cousins who would marry his daughters.
Twelve years later in January 1861, two more cousins Joseph T. McConnell and Presley Yates would stand there looking out before stepping up on the train to travel to Milledgeville. Their trip in the coming years would change the vista from the Ringgold Depot. They were sent to vote in the succession convention. One would vote for and one against. The majority chose to leave.
A year later, the stationmaster would stand there watching the General, the Texas and the Catoosa speed by as part of the Great Locomotive Chase brought about by Andrews Raiders.
One more year would pass and the future President Ulysses S. Grant would stand looking out at the town of Ringgold as shots fired down upon him from White Oak Mountain behind the station as his army was trying to beat the retreating army.
In the 1898, thousands of soldiers would stand looking upon Ringgold on their way to Camp Thomas in western Catoosa County to train for the Spanish American War. Seven hundred and fifty two of those soldiers would not look out on the view again for their return trip. They perished from camp diseases.
For years to come, the soldiers would stand and look out one last time at their childhood town, as they would leave for WWI, WWII, KOREA and Vietnam. Many would hold on to that view and the partings with their mom, dad, wife or girlfriend throughout their journey hoping to see it and them again.
With the abandonment of passenger service to the area, the Depot only took on occasional cargo shipments but it soon became simply a fading memory of the past until the city businessmen turned it into a concert venue.
For me I stood there and welcomed thousands while hosting monthly gospel concerts for over a decade and as a council member I helped ease the building into its role as a community center.
One place to stand, one ever-changing view with unchanging elements, thousands of eyes, thousands of stories, 18 decades, I have reflected back upon.
Is there a similar place that you are in daily, weekly, monthly in your hometown? Do you know how it touched people’s lives or do you take it for granted. Does it need some attention, some love, some recognition, or some signage? Maybe you could help make that happen.
Even the simplest place can reach across the years and connect us.  

Adversity can drive a life

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While much of my childhood seemed idyllic in a “Leave It to Beaver” kind of way, there were days when I had Eddie Haskells making my life unpleasant.
My Haskells tended to be more than just jerks; in some cases, they were downright difficult.
When I started high school, I dreaded the bus ride to school. Those solid sitting seats were where those with ill intent often began their mischief. And sure enough, for me that is where I often found myself between the cross hairs of their disdain.
I was short and stout and due to my lack of athletic ability; I was the object of those with bullying tendencies. Let’s say, I was an easy mark.
Whether it was a group of jocks using my violin case for a football, a tough guy spitting in my hair or flicking my ears, the daily dread of anticipating those experiences made going and coming from school a less than pleasant experience.
Some days, ridicule was a consistent companion from those who had to tear others down.
I was raised that you didn’t bellyache over one’s plight in life. My dad taught me to stand up to bullies wherever possible, choose the battles, know when to fight and when to walk away to fight another day. My mother was a warrior who always stood up for the underdog.
While bucking up to my experiences, they inspiration became a solid part of my make up. But within my underlying drive, those times planted a mission statement that pushed me forward through my 20s – “I will show you.”
It took me some time to change that mission, but I did. I no longer desired to show anyone. I just wanted to fulfill whatever God’s path for my life was to be.
Adversity in our days, bullies in our lives, no matter the time or place when we face such, we must handle it with grace. My father’s teachings and my mother’s grit forge how I react when I encounter adults who never grew up and chose to bully others. I have always stood up protecting those within their aim. I have taken on slings and arrows thrown to protect others but thanks to all I endured early in life, I have strong shoulders upon which to carry those. God placed below me solid legs upon which to stand my ground in the face of those who wish to bulldoze others.
While I wish that I could have enjoyed a youth free from those experiences, and I would not wish them upon anyone, I would not be the man that I am without them. All those God has allowed me to help, would not have had the champion those created.
If life brings you adversity, chose the battleground, and use it to fight against what may come your way, with the ultimate goal to uplift and encourage others.  

Waiting for judgement

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As I place these words to paper, the outcome of the 2022 mid-term elections is yet to be decided.
I would like to join the throngs of those saying the rhetoric has made this a terrible election season.
I know as a student of history, many before were worse.
When the votes are in and tallied and the winners are declared, it is time for our country to come together and heal from the political turmoil.
Whoever are the victors, whoever are the losers; ultimately what is important is we are Americans. We are all Americans and as that we should rise to a higher standard and treat one another with the respect that our forefathers and mothers would expect.
Generations struggled, fought and died so that we may enjoy the fruits of their labor and sacrifice and build upon their shoulders. We owe them and ourselves the effort of reaching for the stars and walking a path to make our country a place where we see each other through the eyes of understanding.
We should be able no matter where our hometown is, to walk down our streets safely, enjoy the opportunities to pursue our dreams, whether that means, raising a family, working a job, or running a business, possibly providing jobs for others.
We are Americans, in the wake of this election that is what we are first, no political ideology should have precedence over whom we are because that one element is what has provided the strength that has allowed our country to prevail throughout our history.
If we spend our time fighting amongst ourselves, we will never notice the threats aimed at our republic from outside or within. We will miss those individuals on the inside with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar wishing to do harm at home.
Assuming as I write, that there are no post-election revelations that upturn our elections, I encourage you to pray for our country, pray for our new leaders, but most of all pray for the healing of our country and its people.
We are better than what is seen on television, in newspapers and on the internet. So, remember what America is and will be is up to us. Don’t disappoint, start by loving your neighbor as yourself. One person at a time, that will be a legacy, we should build upon.

Lifting the burdens of others

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Have you ever known need? Have you ever been hungry and not known where your next meal is coming from? While I have been blessed not to know this sense of desperation, I have seen the face of despair in many and heard stories of desperation from years past.
I was recently standing at a gasoline pump filling my tank. When a car pulled in next to me. After hearing the engine, I immediately thought, they are lucky to be going anywhere.

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