GOOD MORNING, FRIENDS

A REMEMBERAMBLE, OCTOBER 11, 2025

I bid you a cool weather, warm hearted Saturday in its infancy. As the day grows, may it be kind to you, and serve you well until the Sabbath. I love these cool mornings, I always have. The saying goes, "youth is wasted on the young, but it sure has its advantages. I recall a Saturday morning long ago when I was in my early teens, and the cool came upon us suddenly, warm days had led to a sudden cooling over a Friday night.

I walked outside and the cool air seemed to be waiting for me, to greet me, because never before nor since have I experienced such a deep immersion in sensory delight from nothing more than the invisible greeting of that singular morning. It is impossible to explain, but maybe you have had your morning long ago that embraced you as I was that morning, if so, you know.

It was the same with a Christmas of my youth, not my childhood, but as I emerged into young manhood. People spoke often of the "Christmas spirit," but I had never been privy to it, as it was words only. I discovered it once, and felt to my bones, a sense of true joy and goodwill, it was indescribably satisfying. I caught a glimpse of it, and it was well with my soul.

Not Santa Claus, not gifts, not food, not smells, it enlivened my senses beyond those things, it was a connection to the birth of Christ. It was fleeting, it did not last, but the memory of it will last forever in my mind. Now, if you are thinking that I equate the goodwill feeling generated by that first cool Saturday morning that I just spoke of, with that brief ownership of the "true spirit of Christmas," please disabuse yourself of that notion.

It was simply that recalling the one triggered the recall of the other. It brings to mind things such as, "A Charlie Brown Christmas," where they seek the "true meaning of Christmas." It is odd that non-Christians now feel as if they have joint ownership of Christmas. They dance around that phrase, "true meaning of Christmas," so very carefully, so as to never credit Jesus nor the Father as having been a part of it.

Peace, joy, goodwill, good food, gifts, and celebrations, along with Christmas sales, are juggled and tossed about, devoid of meaning. Sort of like the yadda, yadda, episode of Seinfeld. It is somewhat like television shows that have episodes where the scene takes place in the local church. Be it Little House on the Prairie, the Andy Griffith Show, or Peyton Place, if a preacher giving a sermon is to be portrayed, of course they are not going to have actor preach on the blood of Jesus.

Nor on salvation, or even the deity of Jesus Christ. Of course not, they will talk quietly about peace and love, like a Miss Teen USA gal from South Carolina. I will wind this one up with a couple of stories of the Amish folks in Ohio that I used to haul cottonseed to, for dairy cow feed. They are good folks but they sure are different. They also do not really understand how big this country is, as they do not travel far, not read of things outside of their purview.

Once, while operating my walking floor trailer unloading an Amish farmer's load at his dairy, he was rocking back and forth on his heels, with his hands behind his back, as they are want to do. They really don't know how to make small talk with "English," as they refer to us. The silence was evidently making him nervous, so he asked, "so-o, where are ye from?" I said, "Georgia."

He considered that for a moment, and stopped rocking on his heels, looked pleasantly surprised, and said, "Georgia, yes, Georgia, I have an uncle in Tennessee, you might know him." If I have to 'splain why that was hilarious, never mind. Another time, I was unloading at an Amish dairy farm near Newcomerstown, Ohio. The weather was bitterly cold. Snow a foot deep with ice on top, the temp was about six degrees.

The wind was howling at about thirty miles per hour. Now, mind you, ever since I got old enough that my mama could no longer make me wear a coat, I never wore one again. The Amish farmer and his son were watching me unload the trailer, and they were wearing more wool that a flock of sheep. Me, I was wearing a long sleeve shirt with the cuffs rolled back.

The old man stood the silence as long as he could, and asked their standard question, in that sing-song voice they use, "so-o where ya fru-um?" I said, "Georgia." He was silent for a moment and then said, "ya, you must be from north Georgia." Ya gotta luv'em. As the great Dr. J. Vernon McGee would say, "may God richly bless you, my beloved."

..... NUMBERS 6: 24-26 KJV

..... we boyz three, babee conway, lil merle, & me