![]() There is an old southern tradition of publishing a wedding review following the ceremony and reception of young couple in town. We don’t see it much anymore- a robust report of wedding attendants, a vivid description of floral décor, and a recounting of each delicious morsel served. Let’s not forget the bride! Her hair, her radiant smile, and her dress… layer by beautiful layer of tulle and joy. So today, I just wish I were there to do it all again. I had the pleasure of witnessing my precious cousin marry his pretty lady last Saturday in Chicago. The only thing I feel obligated to report is that this very stylish couple were exquisite and our hours of dancing- simply fabulous. Bob and I made the most of it now that we especially appreciate a good wedding. We also celebrated our 18th anniversary as they were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Burns. What did a wedding in Chicago and wedding in Americus have in common? Mimosas. A stunning couple. And a commitment to one another. A love story. So allow me to indulge my silly romantic self for just a few words. ONCE upon a time, in an age of terrible plague that befell the land, the love of a man and woman transcended all chaos. This is no tale of ordinary love. It is the legend of a handsome man from the ville of Nash and his mermaid who swam in the Brook of Oak, near the city of Chi. For this romantic runner, as swift as any Colt, knew that it is only with heart that one sees rightly- what is essential, is invisible to the eye. Armed with his secret weapons- the courage of a spreadsheet and armor of perfectly folded laundry- this striking man stood under an arbor and gazed as His Pretty Lady walked toward him. A dream fulfilled. This is no typical bride. She is a true mermaid, her spirit is a duality of nature, the embodiment of sea. Her force is tender and sometimes powerful. Her movement unpredictable and captivating. She is fearless in her wanderings. She is a warrior for love and her desire to defeat the distance, relentless. On this exquisite day, the guardians of her childhood led her towards him. A proud father who taught her to sing and celebrate. An elegant mother who raised her with an undeniable legacy of her ancestry. She holds her head high. She glitters with diamond dust. A lovely Robyn-bird fluttered around them, protecting and lavishing her love. Our beautiful bride wore a magical dress who enchanted all who witnessed. It encircled the couple in orb of splendor as the sister of this handsome man wed them. The bride and groom placed seals over their hearts. His brood of southern magnolias sighed in happiness. His parents welcomed their new daughter because she treasured this man as he should be treasured. As we should all be treasured- with our weaknesses and in spite of our strengths. AND they danced happily ever after. Congratulations Adam and Ashley. I love you both. And thank you, Bob. For eighteen married years of everything it has brought us. I love you so!
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![]() If one more person tells me how stressed out I look, how worried they are about me, I’ll scream. Not really. But really. Maybe scream on the inside. Those statements don’t actually help a person in distress. I just felt guilty that others see my obvious lack of peace. I am extraordinarily grateful for people in my life who care about me. I value their feedback, but this statement ranks up there with what’s for supper… I am not simply stressed. I may have a lot to do or perhaps I do worry about something or everything. My heart is broken and I mourn for my friend. I might pray for peace constantly and ask for discernment, but I ironically go to great links to avoid what everyone around me now sees. When I know the peace of God deep in my heart, when I feel the comfort of it, I celebrate the joy of His plans and His direction for my life. In contrast, I falter when I feel difficult things pressing in, I feel distress and sadness. I can pray for peace. I also look for answers. For instance, I sought answers from my doctor, just to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind. My A1C is finally normal-Praises. Blood pressure normal- Praises. We won’t mention weight gain. Hormones? Kinda normal. Some of you laugh, but your time is coming. All in all, I’m in better shape than I was two years ago. I kept soul searching. Here’s what I have decided. I do not like to feel that I’m not in His will. I do not like to feel His gentle hand of correction because I know I’m screwing something up. Winter is coming and it is bringing my 50th birthday with it. That might be part of what is wrong because there are still so many things I want to do. That and watching a few wrinkles develop and deepen since Covid. Stupid Covid. I can admit now that in July, I tested positive for Covid. I got it from Bob- dear, sweet, precious Bob. I refused to let it slow me down so I didn’t stop. I stayed home of course, but I didn’t stop. I zoomed my way through quarantine. I was sick, but I pretended I was not until I started to feel better. It was just too scary to talk about with others. It was easier to try and push on through rather than stop and rest. I still don’t smell things, but that is ok. It’s a nice not to be super sensitive to the smells of our dog Fargo. I went back to work traditionally and virtually, and then just virtually. I think that’s the order. Too much change in too short a time. My personal slow covid meltdown pushed my limits. But Our God is awesome. God’s gentle hand of correction tells me I may have forgotten the golden rule of peace. In the span of 24 hours, I was reminded by a professor, dear friends, and Sylver Logan Sharp that I could not take care of others if I was not taking care of myself. I laugh because this is the woman who taught me lessons in taking the. best. selfies. Last summer in Rockville, Maryland, I met Sylver, a beautiful soul singer with Nile Rodgers and Chic. Her music was my childhood- Le Freak, Good Times, and I Want Your Love. I timidly asked for a picture so she could raise my cool factor a few notches. Her awesome response still makes me smile. “Girl, you are cool!” (We know I am not.) Last Saturday, I jumped at the chance to participate in Jeni Stepanek’s fabulous monthly event- the online Toast to Peace. Sylver was the guest toast master and led our discussion about Mattie’s legacy. She described Mattie’s incredible influence on her life as she created conversations about living in peace with others. She spoke of faith and future, kindness and compassion, generosity and grace. This woman! She can sing it, bring it, and shine it even through a zoom. Her inspirational words made me smile and this smiling helped me retrieve some much-needed perspective. Her faith inspired me. This is also the same day that I finally bought a decorative goose. It’s a preciously overpriced reminder to shift my energy, time, and heart towards Him. To rediscover His path for me. To think about things that matter. I am gently reminded that when I am uncertain, stressed, and ready to scream, I should… Act Justly. Choose Mercy. Walk Humbly. Maybe then my praise will rise to the surface and I can declare “Here I am Lord, desiring to do Your Will.” And I will honk like I mean it as I claim my Sylver linings to a rough couple of months. ![]() I wonder if Facebook will let me mark myself **SAFE BY THE POOL** after our first week of virtual learning. Kind of like when a person is safe from a hurricane or tornado that rolls through town. Virtual learning does not compare to in-person instruction. My personal stress and the stress of my teacher friends comes from trying to figure out all the moving pieces and wanting to do it all at a high standard. I have accepted and well documented that my technology skills like my cooking skills are sad. My brain has expanded in mighty ways this week. I learned just how many ways I can miscommunicate a simple idea- just how many mistakes I can make in a work day. I learned how many ways I can redo an instructional video while remembering to smile before I push record. I learned how many times I call on my best tech friends to help. I learned how many times I can encourage my kids, their families, and our team. I even discovered that our platform is not Google Meets – with an “s”- it is Google Meet (GM). Do you want to know how long it took me to go back through my online classrooms and correct that mistake? I did it because that is who I am. Tell me I made an embarrassing mistake, and I’ll do what I think I need to do to correct it- if I can. I can send out one of those little messages to all my google classes at once, but I must correct a mistake individually. I must go through classroom by classroom. I bet some brilliant person is about to message me and explain that I could in fact change it all at once… There were many beautiful GM moments this week as well, but the hands down the best moment occurred when a cute kid logged in, saw my face, and immediately said, “Hey My dam* Arnold. I’ve missed you!” My dam* Arnold. Madame Arnold... French class meets a Southern accent. I’m from Cordele, Georgia, so I know all about Southern accents and speaking French. I make a point to correct this mistake as quickly as possible when kids get it wrong, but it always makes me chuckle. Always. Especially, when one of my favorite administrators of all time said this over the intercom while I was teaching a class full of kids. It took me a while to get them to stop saying it too. In reality, it doesn’t happen much, but when it does, I remember Chris. Chris, the only student in my teaching career who ever got away with intentionally saying it to me. Chris- my 10th grade French student in Alabama- with his mischievous grin. As he was leaving my classroom headed out for the Labor Day holiday weekend, he stopped, turned around, and waved goodbye: “Have a good weekend, my dam* Robinson. See you later.” He was poised waiting on my reaction and ready to run from me. All I could do was laugh. Well, he was using his French- just with really bad pronunciation. Intentionally. I didn’t get to see Chris again. His family was in a terrible accident that Labor Day weekend. The morning he died, I woke up to the alarm playing the song, In The Arms of an Angel. Most folks think of this song and rescue animals. I think of Chris and his infectious grin. From My dam* Robinson to My dam* Arnold and all the dam* names I’ve had in between... JoJo Juanita, Johnna, Johannah or Joanne My first name is Marjorie. My maiden name is Powers and so my middle name literally became P- “pee”. I was Robinson for quite a while until Bob agreed to marry me and all my names. Thanks to good ole Bob for bringing me from the back of the alphabet straight to the front. No more waiting in line. I’m just Jo to my family. I love how each of my brothers in law call me this and it sounds so unique when they say it. My mom calls me Miss Jaws and has put it on all my cards since I was a baby. Blessings of a round face. On the other hand, Daddy uses all these names, but somehow it usually comes out “JoAmy”- a lovely combination of my name with my sister’s so that one of us is certain to respond. Sandra Cisneros wrote a beautiful vignette about the nuances of names. A girl can dream. Cisneros is one of my favorites. Yes, I think I can mark myself **SAFE** today. Safe according to God's word. This idea of God keeping me safe showed up in my devotion yesterday, in a book I’m reading this morning, and in a conversation last night. I’m safe – no matter what my name is - because that is what God promised me. Safe anywhere with Him, but today safe by the pool with Two cats An old dog A few blowing deer 4 angry green frogs (because I opened the umbrella) A fluttering hummingbird One beautiful orange butterfly and Cicadas in the trees Safe in His word-helping me remember to play after every virtual storm. His Word- helping me be willing to be willing to surrender to Him when I don’t feel safe. |
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JoAnna Arnold
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