![]() I can read. It’s my mom’s fault. She made me do it. My name is Marjorie JoAnna. My sister is Amy Elizabeth. Mama managed to convince grandmothers we were their namesakes when in fact we are actually Marge Jo Amy & Beth. I think I should at least name a cat Louisa May before I die. Or maybe it was Gran Jan’s fault. She gave me that awesome box set of Nancy Drew mystery novels when I was eight. The Secret of the Tapping Heels is the first official book I read by myself. She introduced me to Eugenia Price. Gran Jan also gave me a Bible. Jesus and grandmothers—a powerful combination. I try to read His word each day, searching for discernment and strength to face our world. From Luke, I think about what kind of teacher I want to be. From Psalms, I learn what kind of wife and mother I am still becoming. From Acts, I remember how lay down my many faults at His feet or nurture my heart’s desire to travel the ends of the earth to tell of His glory. I read all of it and then a few things others might find crazy. Like French literature. In French. Or novels, plays, and short stories in Spanish. I’ve stored up memories- the tragedies of butterflies by Julia Alverez, bitter narratives of Sandra Benitez, and the magical realism of Isabel Allende. I adore the romance of British authors, and I’ve enjoyed more than my share of Scandinavian titles about dragon tattoos and men called Ove. Keep on writing Backman. Please. Thanks to your well-written words, I now know what kind of grandmother I want to be one day. My beloved American authors fascinate me with their style and storytelling. Conroy and the dog food scene in Prince of Tides still makes me laugh out loud. (Be careful, Bob.) There was the infamous fishing trip with Elise, Dallas, and an old man in the sea who fished with his hands wrapped around line. Who battled sharks. Infamous? Elise caught a hook in her hand. Below the barb. Only two books have given me nightmares, really awesome nightmares where I was trapped in the novel with characters. That’s powerful imagery from Shelly’s Frankenstein and a bizarre novel, Thunderhead. I love thrillers by Preston and Child who deliver something simultaneously unique and predictable, yet gripping with every plot. There. I’ve said it. I’m a Pendergast addict. I’m also not ashamed to admit I’ve read Outlander series three times. Just saying. If you haven’t met Jamie… Because I read, I can nurture empathy and sympathy as well as telepathy. It took Sarah Dessin to help me predict Elise’s next moves. Dallas took me to My Side of the Mountain. I cried with Ella as We Walked Two Moons. I sometimes steal lines from To Kill A Mockingbird- just to comfort my kids. I’ll tell you when it’s time to worry. I’ve discovered from Mattie and Jeni how to forgive, let go, and move forward seeking just peace. To pause. To respond in love. I sigh at the simple beauty in The Same Kind of Different as Me. It simply changed me. Salvage the Bones, So Long a Letter, Kiff Kiff Tomorrow- these are the stories that open the eyes of my soul, showing me beautiful perspective that I find lacking in myself. Book clubs. There have been 4 in my life. 1st- middle school. I read whatever Ada told me to read. Thank you, friend. 2nd- my Alabama girls. I don’t remember what we read, but they saved me as I walked through the valley of the shadow of divorce. 3rd- Ok. We never really read a book. We only told the men it was a book club, but we were fabulous and we had fun! 4th – This group nurtures my soul and challenges my tastes in literature. Three years and I’ve devoured every word, delicious dish, and prayer during our conversations. I sometimes wonder if Bob likes for me to read so I will hush every now and then. The first book he ever gave me was after three weeks of dating. A Walk to Remember. Yes. Yes, it is. I don’t remember falling in love with reading. I just read. Anywhere. Thanks to Kindle, no one even knows when I’m reading- they think I’m on Facebook. Just imagine what I could do if I ever decided to pick up a cookbook! A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies… the man who never reads lives only one. --George R.R. Martin
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![]() I'm trying to tell you something. - Samuel A. Powers, Jr. When I was 13 years old, my family planned an incredible winter trip to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. We went with several families, overtaking the ski in/ski out hotel at the base. My dad didn’t just teach me to ski. He taught me to ski the summit of Storm Peak. He showed me how to maneuver without fear in fresh powdered snow. He imparted wisdom about working hard and having fun, but he wanted me to realize that I am capable, resourceful, and intrepid- attempting what others might not dare. I could celebrate my achievements. I learned to ski the trees. My dad got it right. It was his personal recipe for a kind of success that is sweeter when it is shared with someone else. He believes in rewarding hard work. We call it making an A- but that doesn’t necessarily mean a grade on a paper. Well, one time it did. For my second paper in college English, I wrote about our Duck Pond, my father’s favorite place on earth. The professor gave me an A, Mama laminated it to keep at the family cabin, and my dad bought me a ticket to Key West. They were headed to a convention, and I was suddenly invited to join them. I drove to the airport for the first time and flew unaccompanied to Miami, changing planes for Key West. I crashed Jana and Sam’s romantic getaway- with their blessing- in style. Is it any wonder I am who I am today? I live to work hard then take a trip. I know I have made my father proud, and I know I have hurt his heart a time or two. I haven’t always taken his advice. My dad will preface all meaningful conversations with I’m trying to tell you something. This time I was nineteen and I wasn’t listening. Ironically, we were also back in Steamboat. Before he skied off not realizing I wasn’t behind him, he warned me. I’m trying to tell you something- Do NOT go that way. Follow me. You see, riding the gondola moments before, an arrogant but very hot cowboy of a skier boasted that no woman was stupid enough to try Vertigo- the black diamond run that stretched beneath us. But he was wrong; there I was, at the edge of a mistake daring life to teach me one lesson that I would not accept from my father. Moguls hammered my shaking legs as the sheer steepness stretched every muscle I never knew I had. I was possessed, and I dared not glance up to enjoy the face of Steamboat; my eyes were cast down in profound concentration. Exhaustion reigned, but I burned with insolence, defiance and yes- dammit- success. I made it to the bottom of the run. Filled with satisfaction that comes with victory, I relaxed. I had broken all my dad’s rules and still succeeded. That was the moment I fell. Hard. My left knee mocked me with twisted shame. During the long, agonizing process of untangling myself, I saw my dad hiking towards me. I was trying to tell you something. He also glimpsed how this lesson would cost me dearly as rescue skiers fastened me to one of those deplorable sleds. Don’t go that way. Follow me. I wish I had listened. I wish I had skied the trees with him instead of choosing the hard way down without him. More than thirty years and six surgeries later, this knee still aches every day. Since that incident, he now emphatically asks me, Will you listen? My dad still councils me with hundred percent of everything he knows. He doesn’t claim to have perfect solutions, but he has perfect answers. When I ask for insight, he will tell me how to choose kindness. When I ask for advice, he will tell me how to walk away from drama. When I ask for help, he will tell me how to stand up for myself – quietly or loudly. When I ask for motivation, he will always remind me of what is important. He doesn’t tell me what I want to hear; he tells me what I have to hear. The truth. If I want something, I have to work for it. Not work harder, but work smarter. I began working at Furlow just after Memama, his mom, passed away. I think maybe he needed my voice just as much as I still needed his. I began calling him on my short drive to work each morning for pep talks, just to hear that I’m not screwing it all up. I love to hear him laugh. What does he ask of me? Of my sister? To respect him and to honor what he loves – his family. It’s the small things that make a difference to him. I am also under strict instructions not to make Bob crazy. I received my notice yesterday that I have been accepted into graduate school. I am going back home to Auburn (War Eagle!) to begin a specialist’s degree in Foreign Language Education. I called my dad to let him know. I’m on my way again. I still need his advice. I need him to answer the phone when I call. For Bob’s sake. I’ll never be as smart as my dad, or as devoted to others as he is. I am certain I will never be as energetic or determined like he is. One thing is for sure. I will ski the trees. Over the last year, I've heard wedding stories, wedding advice, and more than a few wedding woes. Here is our story.
When Elise married last autumn, my mind constantly recalled Steel Magnolias. Bob and his gun would set off to rid the yard of armadillos. Elise and I taste-tested red velvet cake. Some days, I couldn’t decide if I was M’Lynn, Truvy, Clairee, Ouiser, or Annelle. Sometimes, I was all five in one. Elise has always been my Shelby. She would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special. Elise knew what she was doing as she planned her day to the last incredible detail. I on the other hand didn't have a clue about what I was doing, so I began praying and looking for scripture that would wrap my family in a bubble of God’s grace. I made really bad jokes about my spiritual life being renewed until a friend from church challenged me. Ruth told me if my only wish was to simply survive it all, then I was going to miss the party of my life. She described how she savored every moment with her children as they married. This lady made an incredible impact on my perception of what should be important. I continued to stumble through it, but my daily prayers for God to help me celebrate with my family became a priority. Another dear friend, Jeni, talked with me about responding to situations rather than reacting in panic, fear, or anger as problems arise. She reminded me how to seek peace when I needed it. The Thursday morning before Elise’s wedding, I found myself kneeling at the altar of the church where Elise would stand with Matt. I was exhausted. I surrendered. I acknowledged that all my planning and all my determination were insufficient. Rain was coming Saturday, and the reception was outside. Because I had not specifically paid to reserve the big tent in case of rain, the company thought I no longer wanted it. They rented their last tent just hours before I called. In fact, there was only one tent available in or around Georgia. It only cost $18,000 and came with a choice of chandeliers. Not an option for the Arnolds. On my knees, I didn’t ask God to provide a tent or stop the rain. I prayed that He would be glorified no matter what happened. I prayed for Him to help me let my daughter go and become the incredible woman she was meant to be. She was slipping through my fingers to be with Matt, a truly great guy. Because I wanted to celebrate my daughter’s marriage with her, I prayed for His peace. Bob will tell you that we witnessed miracles that weekend. I watched my precious daughter marry a precious man. During her life, I have seen Elise reflect God’s light. Many of her ceremony plans revealed what she gained from Camp Cosby and Walk to Emmaus- her of love for Christ. On her wedding day, Elise was beautiful, content, and confident. I saw God’s light shine through her. She radiated His Love and accepted blessings He offered. She was happy because she had found her home in Matt. That night, we danced. We celebrated. It didn’t rain. When Ashleigh and Dallas began to plan their big day, I swore I would not make the same wedding mistakes. They chose a gorgeous venue with perfect back up scenario in case of rain. We just weren’t prepared for Covid-19. I was on my way to making all new wedding mistakes. I talked with Bob about praying for the upcoming wedding, but I never gave myself over to it. I would pray for many things, but I didn’t know what I needed to pray for exactly. God did. In May, wedding questions and problems came as we were forced to change venues, but I had few answers. Our new venue was also outside so we could try to stay compliant with Covid-19 restrictions. I could only offer Dallas and Ashleigh confidence that his glowing bride would walk to her handsome groom. That is all I knew. On June 6, 2020, they would get married, and she would be beautiful. That and we needed tents. The excitement in Ashleigh's voice as she greeted me in our kitchen the day of the wedding was genuine. I'm gettting married today, JoJo! For the entire morning, she glowed. She was even able to have incredible photo sessions with her bridesmaids and parents. One by one her wedding dreams were coming true. June 6 was actually a sunny day... until it wasn't. When torrential rains showed no sign of ceasing at 4:30 last Saturday afternoon at Sumerford Farms, groomsmen huddled up with Dallas. I watched them pray for the ceremony, for our bride to be sustained with peace during this quick change of plans, and that God be glorified in all of it. The groomsmen blindfolded Dallas and walked him over to the cottage for the wedding. Ashleigh’s one wish was for Dallas to first see her as she walked down the aisle. We had no idea where she was waiting. We had a new plan, and I suddenly became a lovely combination of Reese Witherspoon and Mary Poppins. At 4:50, I stood in front of a small but bewildered crowd of family and friends huddling ankle deep in puddles under reception tents. To my amazement, I heard my best Melanie Carmichael southern accent as I yelled out over the pouring rain- Hey Y'all! We’re gonna have us a wedding! Mary Poppins? Just imagine me in that moment smiling brightly and holding an umbrella as blowing wind tried to carry me off. I was also trying to pull miracles out of a bag. The wedding was in fact practically perfect in every way. Our miracles had nothing to do with me. Ashleigh amazed us all. She walked toward Dallas with grace and confidence, waiting for that first look. Dallas amazed us with his sincere reaction of awe and love. They married in the rain, under a small tent, in an unforgettable ceremony. The bride was happy. We celebrated. We danced. The storms passed. The incredible sunset summed up what I cannot quite put into words. That's how three became five. I prayed through it all. I chose to celebrate. ![]() As our world is erupting in confusion and pain, I look at my step-son Dallas as he gets ready to celebrate his wedding tonight and tomorrow. Ever the teacher and mom, I wonder how do I explain to him the importance of choosing love. There is so much to the contrary at first glance- sickness, storms, and political upheaval. This weekend, we want to celebrate these two precious people and their wedding- this much smaller affair than was originally planned. Then, I realized that my voice in all of this chaos is to choose love. To surrounded them in it. To pause and rejoice in their decision to marry. 1 Corinthians 16:14 tells us, Do everything in love. Dallas has a wonderful mom, Angie. She has affirmed me from the very beginning. She has encouraged me and shown me an unbelievable gracious spirit of generosity. For nearly twenty years, she has shared Dallas with me without bitterness or possessiveness. Angie did not have to, but she did. She chose love. Elise and Ella have showered Ashleigh – their soon to be sister-in-law – with attention to every glittery detail. They might have shown polite indifference to the bride. They might have leaned into jealousy over giving up time with their brother, but they never did. They chose to embrace Ashleigh as family. My girls chose love. Ashleigh was forced to redefine her wedding dreams and marriage plans over and over. She could have become eaten up with bitterness and pouty laments. Instead she walked through this as best she could. She chooses to marry Dallas during sickness or health, rain, or shine in the most literal sense of these words. She chooses love. I have special prayers for all of us during this wedding weekend- whether you are able to join us at the venue or join us in prayer from your homes. That we would keep our Lord in front of us. That all our words and actions be to His Glory. That we be instruments of His Peace. That there is healing where there was pain. That there is understanding instead of offense. That there is patience (with weather) when we need it. That there is kindness and joy in our voices. I am deeply blessed to have had a part in raising Dallas- even the days when he brought me a trash sack full of squirrels he killed. He would look up at me so seriously, asking me to cook them if he cleaned them. We laughed, skied, swam, and danced. We traveled a lot and fished a little. We sang, worked, cried, and watched our favorite movie over and over and over. Thank you, Lord, for Your blessings. I have chosen to love my little dirt magnet Dallas as my son and he has chosen to love me as his JoJo. |
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JoAnna Arnold
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