Okay, so there’s this song… but more about that in a minute.
If you haven’t discovered Animoto yet, you need to check it out. This online service can take your pictures and/or video clips and produce killer videos. You can do a 30-second piece for free, or for a modest annual membership fee, get unlimited full-song-length videos. The program generates it for you. You can upload your own music or choose from their impressive library. You can then share your masterpiece with friends and family, or, if you want to improve on it, click on the re-do button and let Animoto give it another whirl.
So with the birth of our grandson and our granddaughter coming to visit for Spring Break this week, cameras have been clicking left and right. So I started tinkering around with Animoto to see what it could do.
The house was profoundly quieter now. The funeral service was a sweet combination of faith-filled worship and fitting tribute. The dozens of family members, cousin-strangers, and delightfully helpful friends and neighbors have retreated back to dock with “normal.” All that remained this evening were my dad, my sister and me.
After thank-you notes, food rearrangement, guest dish collecting and sorting, and a pause for supper, my dad decided to start the process of going through stuff. Her stuff. While my sister began looking through and sorting out her desk, he emptied her purse. Inside was what I suppose is a typical example of a 71-year-old woman’s typical daily haul. A wallet with all the ID cards, insurance and AAA whatevers, and credit cards. A wad of keys. Pills – lots of pills. Fingernail and lip stuff. A comb.
And a receipt.
“Hey,” Daddy said, looking over the receipt. “You know what? I’ll bet she bought me a Valentine card.”
That’s sure what it looked like. A loose receipt in Mama’s purse revealed the purchase of a greeting card sometime early last week or the week before. But where was it hiding?
We started looking everywhere. The desk. Files. Closets. I asked about the car. Alas, no card.
“I sure wish I could find that card,” Daddy kept saying.
Finally, my sister found it in what should have been an obvious place, just above the workspace on her desk. And sure enough, he was right. She had bought him a card that was just waiting for her signature. And here is what it says: [click to continue…]
Carved into the side of one of my favorite places in the world – Deer Bluff, near the family farm in Alabama…
That brings up a thought:
Ever seen something like this carved in a rock or a tree (or written on a bathroom wall or somebody’s notebook)?
J.S. + E.J. = Tru Luv 4 Ever.
Without bothering to even ask whether you ever wrote something like that, I wonder where J.S. and E.J. are now? I wonder how “tru” their “luv” is today? I wonder if “4 Ever” really meant 4 days, or 4 weeks?
Then again, who knows? J.S. and E.J. may be J.S. and E.S. today, with four kids, three pets, two cars, and a nice mortgage. Maybe there was more than just “4” in their “4 Ever.”
Forever. Yet another of those charming words we overuse and undervalue. Often said in the extremes of emotion, for many of us “forever” only means until we calm down or come up for air. And yet we do live in a world of certainties, where words like “forever” and “always” really mean something. Trouble is, because of the ways we so often water it down, sometimes we lose the force of forever when it’s the real thing. [click to continue…]
Sounds charming, doesn’t it? The stuff of Hallmark cards and chick flicks, BFFs and boyfriends.
What if I were to tell you that the person who said this wrote it from a prison cell? That he (yes, he) was a time-hardened traveler who never could take “no” for an answer? That he once was a religious terrorist and murderer? A 63-or-so-year-old man who had argued his way in and out of trouble so many times, many of his closest associates had hit the road?
And yet from prison he wrote to a group of VIPs – friends who had been sources of great joy to him. And this is what he said: [click to continue…]
Priceless people, much younger than me, whose last visit I had with them was over a casket.
This is for parents and grandparents, girlfriends and boyfriends now long since somebody else’s spouse, little brothers and sisters who once were left as only children.
This is for Caden Trethewey and Elizabeth Rodes. Two children I will never meet in this life whose stories profoundly touched me, and I think will touch you.
This past Saturday, Elizabeth was born in South Carolina. Both her parents, Will and Kelly, are on staff at Newspring Church in Anderson. She was nine inches long and weighed 8 ounces – a victim of anencephaly. Without asking for it (who would?), Will and Kelly discovered what so many before them have – that Jesus Christ came to heal the brokenhearted.
Here’s Will in his own words:
I wish that I could describe the presence of God that was with us in that hospital room, but I can’t. Even if you know Jesus, it would probably defy your comprehension, like it still does mine. It is just one more thing in life that I don’t understand, but I do know that God is sovereign and He reigns over all of this and all that is to come.
This is not the end of the story, but rather the beginning of a great work.
You can (and should) read his entire reflection of the story here.
The Tretheweys tell their own story in the remarkable video below. [click to continue…]
I was attending a nifty goal-setting seminar, sponsored by a local business. The two presenters were carrying us through a series of exercises to help us clarify our highest priorities, so that we could prioritize our time consistently with our deepest passions. Think of it as a LifeVesting seminar where Jesus was welcome, but not necessarily the host or guest of honor.
Anyway, the presenter asked us to reply to the following:
“(Your name) was known for…”
But this was no press release or publicity sheet. I had to assume the ultimate. [click to continue…]
Okay, so there’s this song… but more about that in a minute.
“I have you in my heart.”
I’m really glad you’re here.
This is for Larry Chastain.
Write your epitaph. That was the assignment.