One of my most relaxing moments in recent weeks was spent on Tuesday afternoon...driving to a funeral. Peter's great-uncle Raymond went Home on Saturday, so family and friends gathered to say farewell. He lived most of his adult life (over 80 years) in Bolivar, Tennessee, which is about an hour from Memphis and about 45 minutes from Jackson, TN, where I was at work Tues morning. My peaceful country drive evoked nostalgia for a simpler life, the kind celebrated in country music songs. I drove through one-stop-light towns, marvelling at the hand-painted political signs ("Re-elect Becky for Councilwoman!"), the trucks stocked with hay bales and rusty refrigerators, the full-service-only gas stations with pumps that did not take credit cards. I drove past a movie theater showing one film at 7:30 each night, the old-fashioned marquee announcing the popcorn specials for the weekend. I passed fresh local produce stands, lunched on watermelon slices and juicy peaches. American flags and yellow ribbons graced mailboxes for miles. My soundtrack was all country, since that was the only station I could get with any clarity: first, a twangy song about Sundays, followed by the quintessential country ballad about a guy who drives past his lady's house and finds something he wasn't expecting ("that's my girl, my whole world, but that ain't my truck!"). Bolivar's town center features a big county courthouse, tree-lined streets and homes with porches.
As I sat in the pew watching the photo slideshow of Uncle Raymond's life (teaching school, at the beach with his daughter, in his military uniform), I quietly relished this seemingly bygone era. I knew the next morning would bring back changing diapers, singing about teapots, packing sack lunches for summer camp, an office schedule full of patients to see, and a To-Do list three miles long. But for one afternoon in July, Uncle Raymond's final gift was to help me remember the things that matter: God, family and community. Happy 4th of July, everybody!
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