Thinking About Rain

It seems like it’s been raining endlessly here in Starkville.  There is literally water standing everywhere, even across the road in some places.  Although I’m trying not to let it dampen (hee hee) my Christmas spirit, I am, at the very least, tired of the gray monotony.  Perhaps Little Drummer Boy said it best in our “good morning prayer” this morning:

Dear God
I pray the rain will stop.
And rain next week…

Hence, my lunchtime doodle above.  The gallery showing of dotted raindrops on my window against bare branches outside and the percussion concert put on by morning showers on my office’s metal roof have made for a visual and audio celebration of rain, despite the gray sky. Rain is such a dichotomy.  We blame it for the flood of gloom and dreariness that invades our spirits, but we are also thankful for the refreshing nourishment it provides in places where growth has become dry.  Both literal and spiritual rain are double-edged. I’ve been procrastinating and letting my mind trickle here and there this morning, somehow puddling around the idea of rain.  Here is a brainstorm of the first 10 rainy song references to pop in my head today:

1.  ”I’m just a little black rain cloud
hovering under the honey tree
only a little black rain cloud
pay no attention to me”
~ Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree, 1966

2.  ”It’s raining, it’s pouring
the old man is snoring
jumped in bed and bumped his head
and couldn’t get up in the morning.”
~ Wikipedia’d to find it’s about a meteorologist named John Dalton.  Who knew?

3.  ”Here comes the rain again
Falling on my head like memory
Falling on my head like a new emotion…”
~ Eurythmics, 1984

4.  ”Rainy days and Mondays always get me down”
~ The Carpenters, 1971

5.  ”Singin’ in the rain,
just singin’ in th rain
what a glorious feeling
I’m happy again”
~ Singin’ in the Rain, 1952

6.  ”Listen to the mandolin rain
Listen to the music on the lake
Listen to my heart break every time she runs away”
~ Bruce Hornsby,  1986

7.  ”Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head
and just like the guy who’s feet are too big for his bed
nothing seems to fit, oh …
~ Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, 1969

8. “It’s raining again
Oh no, my love’s at an end
Oh no, it’s raining again
Too bad I’m losing a friend.”
~ Supertramp, 1982

9. “Human kindness, it’s overflowing
And I think it’s gonna rain today.”
~ Randy Newman

10. “Drip drip drop little April shower
beating a tune as you fall all around
Drip drip drop little April shower
what can compare to your beautiful sound”
~ Bambi, 1942

Bonus Track:
“The sun’ll come out tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow
There’ll be sun”
~ the musical Annie, 1982

Let me just consult Mr. Weather Channel, and we’ll see!

Peace on Earth

Small Town Christmas • Macon, MS
I love the Texaco star above peace.

Did My Vote Count?

I cast my vote yesterday at Fire Station No. 3.  Election officials had raised the garage doors to a beautiful Mississippi day, and it made for a nice open-air exercising of my “right” as an American citizen.  It took me about 45 minutes, including the drive across town from work–and that was a long time for my neck of the woods.  I went during the lunch hour expecting some sort of a line, but there were only two people in front of me at the M-Z table.  Yes, I live in a precinct requiring only two alphabetical tables.  The reason it took me so long was that my name was not on the registered voter list.  

I’ve voted in this location before, but only by affidavit.  I had also failed to return the change of registration form I got in the mail after the last election, so the absence of my name was only a minor surprise.  The ladies checked my street name to make sure I was at the right polling station, and then called over an apparently more authoritative poll worker to find out what to do.  He decided to call the Chancery Clerk’s office to determine how best to afford me my one vote.  The Clerk confirmed that another affidavit ballot would be the answer, and I was ushered to a table for further instructions.  The table happened to be in full sun, and I was somewhat blinded by the ballot.  But, having come this far, I was eager to let my voice be heard.  After a brief disappointment that I would not get to use the new electronic voting machines (yes, further evidence of my rural setting), I grabbed my nubby Ebony pencil, ready to avail myself of my enfranchisement.  

Another poll worker showed me the parts of the ballot envelope to complete with my personal information and after a few “hey theres,” “hellos,” and “I’m retired nows” in response to passing voters, he demonstrated how to fold the ballot so that the poll worker initials were in the right spot.  Interesting that no one requested to see any identification, but I suppose Starkville, Mississippi is not a hot bed for over-zealous ACORN voter registration volunteers.  The poll worker signed his name below mine on the completed ballot envelope and gave me a sheet of paper explaining affidavit ballots.  He pointed out the telephone number that I could call “not less than 10 days from this date” to find out (in his words) if my vote counts.  Hmmm.

After a few more reiterations of how to insert my folded ballot (apparently the location of the initials is crucial), I was left to my own voting devices.  When I had finished blackening circles for president, a senator, a representative, a few judges and a hospital bond issue, I inserted my ballot appropriately into the envelope and called over the poll worker.  He again reminded me of the phone number determining if my vote would count and directed me to the ballot box.  It was not the rough wooden ones I’d used in previous years, but a nice, blue canvas one with a seamed slit in the top.  I dropped the envelope in, said my thank yous, and voting was complete.

After what seems like years of campaign coverage, the election is over.  Regardless of which camp you favored, we now know the next president of the United States (and not just because CNN said so.)  Barak Obama has already been declared the 44th president, and I’m still left to wonder (and wait ten days to discover): did my vote count?  

This election was different, somehow.  News reports and candidate speeches indicate that there was a healthy voter turn-out, particularly among younger voters who haven’t been as engaged in the process in previous years.  The sheer months of constant news coverage has given the impression of greater interest this time around.  We’ve been trained by the last two presidential elections to monitor electoral votes, and cable news has been sporting the maps for weeks now.  I noticed that even in my small town precinct there was fallout from voter fraud concerns.  My polling station offered a tabletop display of voting “rules”, the reasons voter identification might be required and the appropriate documents or cards that might qualify.  I haven’t noticed that before.  There was also a huge stop sign printed with a warning that state law prohibits campaigning of any kind within 150 feet of the polling station.  That’s always been the case, but given the overload of media coverage, ad spots and road signs we’ve seen for almost two years now, that 150-foot campaigning-free zone around Fire Station No. 3 was a welcomed relief.

Still,  I’m left to wonder:  did my vote count?  A winner has been announced in most races.  Mississippi belonged to John McCain for the night, and not by a close margin.  News anchors had all but declared Obama the next president before the polls had even closed in California.  The final word on whether my ballot was thrown out will not be determined for 10 more days.   So, did my vote count?  Was it worth the time if my state’s six electoral votes are only a drop in the margin of victory bucket?  Was my trip to Fire Station No. 3 important even it had little to no effect on the election’s outcome?  

The answer:  Yes.  My vote does count.  It may not be the one vote that moves the ticker to 50.1%, but it counts.  Even ten days later, it counts.  It counts when it motivates me to form an opinion.  It counts when it makes me consider how government will effect my life.  It counts when it engages me in debate over where our country is and where it’s going–even when I’m only debating the tv screen.  It counts when it entwines me in an historic moment–for African Americans, women and elder statesmen, nay, for all Americans.  It counts when it attaches responsibility to my citizenship.  It counts when it inspires me to write a post.  

In our great country, voting is a “right” of birth and the completion of a few forms.  In a generation when we, as United States citizens, have become numbed by our own entitlement to speak and be heard, my vote still counts.  It counts because it can impose a term limit that dictators around this world dread and war against.  It counts because it celebrates a “right” that many of the poorest, sickest, most uneducated and displaced citizens in this world would consider a “privilege.”

I’m marking my calendar for Friday, November 14th.  I’m calling the number.  I’m going to find out if my ballot was accepted.  Because my vote is my privilege.  And, it counts.

Evidence of Spring

It’s late October and in Mississippi, just today, we’ve started to get a touch of truly Fall weather.  I believe it’s the first day that the temperature is expected to stay in the mid-sixties with a low in the lower forties tonight.  It’s cloudy and a little drizzly.  My boys are excited to have our pumpkins and scarecrows out on the porch and throughout the house.  I’m one of those decorate-for-every-season types, and I love this time of year.  My birthday is October 28th, so the month has become almost like New Year’s Day for me. Internally, it represents family celebrations, the start of a season of evaluating the year, a relief from the oppressive doldrums brought on by summer’s heat, and a renewed, crisp attitude toward the tasks at hand. Although the rest of the world outside may be preparing for a season of dormancy, Autumn always seems more like a fresh start for me–sort of like Spring in October.  

This October, however, there has been a dampening of my enthusiasm and spirit.  I’ve been a little down-trodden, wrestling with my insides and trying to navigate a challenging time for our family.  An amalgamation of overwhelming financial and work concerns, confusing parenting concerns and the upcoming bittersweet end of my maternity leave has shaken my defenses against discouragement.  I can normally readily find hope and faith despite the challenges, but this October I feel shaken.  We are at a time when it is hard to discern what God is doing in our lives, where he is taking our family.

This morning I read a post from a friend and fellow-blogger that was like rain for me.  It brought fresh evidence of God’s hand and reminded me of one of my favorite re-aligning, faith-building verses:

“So, let us know, let us press on to know the Lord.  His going forth is as certain as the dawn; and He will come to us like rain, like the spring rain watering the earth.” (hosea 6:9)

Kristi writes a blog called To Walk on Fertile Ground and has also published a book with the same title about her walk with God through cancer and infertility.  The post marks the 5-year anniversary of the day she found out she had cancer on the heels of a molar pregnancy.  Her walk through the experience has truly been inspiring.

Three astounding sentences produced a shower in my soul:

It’s been 5 years ago today that cancer entered my life, which took me on a new path of unexpected joy, peace, and grace.  And today, I am thankful for that unexpected time in my life.  That’s when I began planting a new garden that daily teaches me how to live a fertile life through my infertility.

What a powerful and rare statement.  In it, God came to me like rain, just as the verse said.  It was an encouragement to look for a path of joy, despite the confusion, conflict or worry around me.  It was a challenge to embrace even the unseen path with the full understanding that our Creator and Savior is certain–as certain as the dawn.  Rain brings about hope, refreshment, growth, and bloom.  Even those of us with children have glaring areas of infertility in our lives.  They are areas where we feel stifled and stagnant, or where the hope of beautiful blooms has been choked by weeds of despair, uncertainty, sorrow or confusion.  Facing that overgrown ground, I must press on with God, even if it takes a little convincing and arm-twisting.   There is hope.  Those areas can be cultivated into abundant, fertile gardens for His glory.   Only He can provide the nourishing rain necessary to sprout the blooms.  And, He will.

One Way

Noted without comment — Greenwood, MS

In Greenwood It’s BarBEque

Vernacular Signage: Spooneys Bar-Be-Que • Greenwood, Mississippi

Bar-B-Que

Vernacular Signage:  Corner of North Street and Washington Street • Macon, Mississippi

In Mississippi, there are lots of ways to spell “Bar-B-Que”.  I suspect the spellings might reflect some underlying taste qualification, but I don’t know for sure.  I think it’s “Mae’s” but even up close it’s hard to decide.  Luckily, we can call and find out.  I wonder which came first, the “Bar-B-Que” or the light’s wiring.

Honor Among Thieves

Macon, Mississippi

This photo of a veteran’s memorial monument and downtown Macon was taken from the upper story window of the restored 1907 Noxubee County Jail. The structure now houses the Noxubee County Public Library and is on the National Register of Historic Places.