Precious Pilgrim, You've Got Mail: Letters and Cards of Christian Encouragement

By Lucy Dunn Blount and Mary Barwick

I believe with every fiber of my being that our Lord Jesus Christ is aware and does care.

Divorce, loneliness, remarriage, joy, widowhood, grief, marriage once more Lucy Dunn Blount experienced all of those within a five-year period of her life.

In Precious Pilgrim, Youve Got Mail, she shares with honesty and imagination the truths from God she learned through her struggles and also through everyday delights and trials.

The reason for my writing is to encourage, Lucy says. She offers readers, fellow precious pilgrims, the chance to discover real faith and hope and love in her story.

Take a look at many resources, letters and podcasts on Lucy's website:
http://livingtreasure.org/

Click here to see Lucy's other book:
http://bookstore.authorhouse.com/Products/SKU-000623499/I-Love-You-Greater-than-Space.aspx

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496917072

Lucy Dunn Blount

Lucy Dunn Blount lives in Decatur, Alabama, with her husband, Dr. Paul McCain, a retired obstetrician/gynecologist. They are “Goo-Goo” and “Docs” to younger members of their extensive family. A native of Birmingham, Alabama, she has written Letters to the Precious Group and other books and has a radio and online ministry, “Living Treasure, Precious Pilgrim Ministries” (www.livingtreasure.org), which is delightfully packed with blogs, artwork, Bible recordings, devotionals, letters and more faith-filled offerings from Lucy and her friends. Mary Barwick, of Wetumpka, Alabama, wrote and illustrated The Alabama Angels and other books. She also illustrated Letters to the Precious Group, Lamkins J. Flock, and other books by Lucy Blount. Like Lucy, she is a wife, mother and grandmother. She believes her creative work is because of God’s grace. More of her paintings may be seen in the art gallery section of www.livingtreasure.org.

Book preview

Precious Pilgrim,

You’ve Got Mail!

Letters and cards of Christian encouragement

Heart%20%26%20flowers.jpg

From Lucy Dunn Blount

and Mary Barwick

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

©

2014 Lucy Dunn Blount and Mary Barwick. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/26/14

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1706-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1707-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014914181

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Contents

Introduction

My Name Is Lucy

Love Is in the Air

Close Your Eyes

Newcomers

Carrying the Olympic Torch

Lurleen Wallace

Saints

I Write Under Obedience

Mind Mush

Should We Go or Not?

Ausculta… Listen

John the Clown

Put Your Shoes On

In My Household

Enlarge the Place of Your Tent

20th Century Club

My Mother

Mary the Handmaiden

Two Interesting Happenings

Daisy Abigail MacPhearsom

Simplicity… Challenging

A Prepared Broadcaster

A Working Family

Ronald

Pilgrim Tentmaker

A Stretching Exercise

My Soul Is Quieted Within Me

Self Control

Truth in Weight

Building in Progress

Amazing Grace

Goo-Goo, May I Have?

Rock-a-Bye

Isle of Patmos

Rembrandt – Holy Spirit

Labyrinth Walk

On a High Horse

Reconciliation

Jud Jr.

Brokenhearted

Trust

Emerging

Butterfly

A Mixed Bag Moment

Bride of Christ

Kingdom Dwellers

M.K., I Love You

You Come Get Me

The Velveteen Rabbit

One of Mama’s and My Best Friends

Birthday at the Farm

Jud Jr.’s Birthday

A Family Chapel

Family Beach Time

Homecomings

His Banner Over Me Is Love

Banner Over Me

Love Story

Hugs

Unity

Beating of the Boundaries

Lost

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Friends

Lightbearers Carry the Rainbow

More Like Nehemiah

I Am Joy

An Olympian

Wrapped in His Love

An Abiding Lady

Duncan Doodle Dog

Duncan Doodle Dog to the Rescue

Monteagle Letter

This Is the Day

Haiku #1

Haiku # 2

I Will Change Your Name

Victory in Jesus

Singing in the Reign

Who, Who Are You?

A Springing Took Place

Easter Basket

I Miss You. I Miss You, Too.

Overflowing Hospitality

Fallen Trees, Wounded Soldiers, a Healing Wholeness

Lord of the Dance

Bouncy, Bouncy

Mouse in the Manger

Remember the Alamo

May Day – Play Day

Cat Is Out of the Bag

Getting to Know You

Lamkins J. Flock

Strange Bedfellows

It’s Not the Item, But the Individual that Counts

A Time to Be Born and A Time to Die

Strong and Soft

Christ Is Risen, Truly, He Is Risen

It Is What It Is

A Must Go – A Rocky Mountain Vacation

Sahalie

Lucy, You Didn’t Say Goodbye

So Long, Farewell

A Place in the Sun?

Oh, Boulderdash

Moses … Footwashing

The Whisper of the Holy Spirit

An Abundant Wedding Feast

This Walk Is Brought to You by God

God Will Make a Way Where There Is No Way

Honey, What Are You Doing?

What Is It?

A Large Tent – The Gathering Place

I’ve Just Seen an Amazing Thing

Epilogue

Christmas Trio – Love, Peace & Joy

Bible References

The Holy Bible: International Standard Version® Release 2.1, Copyright © 1996-2012 The ISV Foundation, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED INTERNATIONALLY.

Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright 1952 [2nd edition, 1971] by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, Copyright © 1960,1962,1963,1968,1971,1972,1973,1975,1977,1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission."

New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989, Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

God’s Word Translation of the Bible. GOD’S WORD is a copyrighted work of God’s Word to the Nations. Quotations are used by permission. Copyright 1995 by God’s Word to the Nations. All rights reserved.

New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

Amplified Bible, Copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

The Message. Copyright (c) by Eugene H. Peterson 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

New American Bible translation, Copyright © 2002 by United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

New English Translation

King James Version

Acknowledgements

My heart is full with gratitude to the LORD for the awesome team that helped bring this book to fruition.

Judy Cleghorn, Sarah Cash, and Connie Strickland over the years took my yellow pad writings and transformed them into readable print.

Mary Barwick began painting her illustrations before the manuscript had even jelled.

Elizabeth and Larry Griffin provided constant support. Every time I’d run into a wobbly technical situation (i.e. typing or computer) each would calmly walk me through the needed process. With patience and encouragement they repeatedly fine-tuned the manuscript.

Melanie Smith was a gentle but thorough editor. With her corrections she left little yellow stickers containing hand-written positive comments.

Julie Toffaletti once again used her incredible design skills to format the book.

My sister’s Tape Group read the original, shortened version over ten years ago. They’ve always been my cheerleaders.

Page Turners Book Club, along with Jane Ann Ford, recently read the manuscript and gave helpful feedback.

Then there’s my husband, Paul, and his loving support. No words can capture.

And, of course, Authorhouse! Again – a delight!

Thank You, Lord, for all.

Come Holy Spirit

Introduction

Good day, Precious Pilgrim. Ah, and it is a good and blessed day, for "This is the day that the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." PSALM 118:24

This also is how each radio program of Living Treasure begins. For me, this statement is like planting a rod into the foundation Rock of our Living Lord Jesus Christ.

All is good and well in this reality of abiding in Him. It is here that we are to dwell – daily – in Him.

Ah Pilgrim, but some days that seems so very difficult. Life has so many distractions and challenges. Doesn’t it? It is during these very times that we need to cling to our Father God and to claim his Lordship even more vigorously.

The letters in this book were written over an eight-year period (1998-2005), and goodness, what a lot of living went on during this season! Some of the letters were given as devotionals for various organizations, some were even assigned topics. Others were written with the radio audience and you in mind.

It is my prayer that whatever the situation or circumstance in which you find me, our Lord’s Name is being lifted up. It is also my prayer, Precious Pilgrim, that you might find strength or consolation in some of my stories. We are each uniquely made. Our Lord Jesus Christ desires a personal relationship with each one of us. He yearns to be the center of our life. I yearn for Him to take that position. Is that also your heart’s desire, Pilgrim?

In 1 THESSALONIANS 5:11 and in HEBREWS 3:13a Paul says "encourage one another." May these letters make your walk a little lighter. We are family, for we are brothers and sisters in Christ. I care about you, but more importantly, most importantly – He, our Lord – does.

Our Lord Jesus said in JOHN 13:34 "A new command I give you: Love one another as I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."

It is in this vein, by God’s grace, I’d like to send you a few love letters.

Amongst these you will find interspersed wonderful paintings by my dearest of friends, Mary Barwick. I’m an image-loving person and so often her pictures flesh out the very thought I was trying to express.

Even more importantly, may my words and even Mary’s pictures fade and Our Lord God’s Holy Word take root. It is He that supports, He that encourages, He that heals, He that Loves you into wholeness. You, Precious Pilgrim, are His beloved. This is our true identity.

Your sister in Christ,

Lucy

Let God be exalted!

"I will give You thanks for what You have done and declare the goodness

of Your Name in the presence of the godly."

PSALM 52:9

Dedicated to my soul friends…

and in thanksgiving for Mary, Michaela, and Bill.

Often you were His supporting arms of love.

Lucy

To Lucy,

A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter.

SIRACH 6:14

Mary

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Come Holy Spirit

Use me to Your glory

My Name Is Lucy

Precious Pilgrim,

My Christian name is Lucy. My last names have included Dunn, Blount, MacLeod and now McCain. What? You might ask. Isn’t that a little too many last names for one who is 5’3," 130 lbs. (soon to be 125 lbs.) – fifty-seven-year-old to have had? Please don’t leave yet! May I give you a little more information with each name?

First, Lucy.

I love the name Lucy, and it being my Christian name, will never change. I

received it at my baptism at about the age of two weeks old in Birmingham, Alabama where I was born and grew up. The reason I love it so is that it was the name of my grandmother. She was a saintly lady, who lived with us all my growing-up years and she was my best friend. Her unconditional love taught me much about the Lord’s love.

Now to my original surname, Dunn.

I am Beverley and Billy Dunn’s third child. I have a beautiful, blue-eyed blond sister, Mary, who is seven years older and I had a beautiful, blue-eyed blond brother, Bill, who was five years older. He died in a motorcycle accident at age nineteen.

It was in this family of origin that I received wonderful, nurturing, Christian love. And I think, by God’s grace, it took, for one of my earliest memories was singing Jesus loves me, this I know. That is still my heart’s song and the song in words, Pilgrim, that I want to sing to you. Our Lord Jesus Christ loves you – personally, individually, and me – personally, individually. That is what His cross is all about.

Next surname is Blount.

At age twenty-two, I graduated from the University of Alabama with a B.S. degree in Childhood Development and one week later married Winton Malcolm Blount III. He was a widower with three children, ages five, three and one. I adopted them and we had one son.

Winton was one of my brother’s best friends. His parents and mine also were friends, even our grandmothers were friends. Our marriage just seemed right – and it was, at the time. Sadly, after twenty-nine years, this marriage ended in divorce. Oh, what a heartache. In some ways more devastating than death.

Surname: MacLeod.

God is so good! As I said, I was devastated by the divorce – left wounded and broken. It was a heart rip, but – through it all, our Lord did and does sustain. I will never forget that total dependency on Him. And then, and then – Duncan John MacLeod. It was love at first sight. And within two months of our first date, we were married and I moved to merry ole Oxford, England, where he taught American History at St. Catherine’s College at Oxford! We had 623 days of bliss and then he died of a massive heart attack.

His last words were, Grateful, grateful, and may they be mine.

Surname: McCain.

Ah, Precious Pilgrim, after Duncan’s death I could not imagine loving again, but could imagine continuing to love the Lord.

A friend asked if I’d go on a date with her doctor and neighbor, who was a widower. I said, No, but I’d go on a walk. We’ve been walking ever since. Dr. Paul Pressly

McCain and I have now been married 779 days. He tells me the number each morning and I just laugh and smile and thank the Lord. I can’t believe it!

Precious Pilgrim, I believe each love is unique. You can’t compare, for each is one of a kind. When it is right, that loving relationship, I believe, comes closest to reflecting the love of our Lord Jesus Christ for each one of us. The letters in this book tell how God worked in my life, through each relationship, in amazing ways.

I am – your sister in Christ,

Lucy – God bless

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Love Is in the Air

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Come Holy Spirit

Use me to Your glory

Close Your Eyes (a talk)

Precious Pilgrim,

Close your eyes and come with me to the land of St. Francis. May this imaginative travel lead us into a deeper comprehension of the holy ground each one of us occupies. It is out of this realization that St. Francis operated and, as a result, his life became art. May ours also become.

First, we travel to the Porziuncola, the Little Portion. It is located at the base of the hills of Assisi. In St. Francis’ day, the area was a densely forested plain. In its midst was a tiny stone chapel, one of the three that he restored. It is here that he and his followers met yearly. It is here that he died. This little chapel today is encased within the elaborate church of St. Mary of the Angels.

As we approach the cathedral, we miss the woods which have been replaced by vendors and hawkers. But once we enter into the church, ah, it is perfect. The space is large – although grand, it is somehow still very simple. And the quietness. There are hundreds of people walking around, but it is breathtakingly quiet. Everyone is in a

reverent mood. Each is drawn as if by a magnet to the Little Church – the Little Portion. It is about 12’x 20’ and we wait our turn and enter. It is as if we have re-entered a womb or the hands of God. We know it is holy ground. It is a place of creativity, Christ-like

creativity, where walls are broken down; positive feelings seem to be flowing. Our whole bodies, minds and spirits want to respond to Christ’s LOVE. We think of King David dancing with wild abandonment before the Ark of the Covenant. II SAMUEL 6:14. A run-in with the holy causes creativity to flow. St. Francis had such encounters often.

St. Francis and the arts. Christ and creativity. I can’t separate these two themes. St. Francis’ whole life became an art form as a result of his total immersion in and taking on of Christ. His whole life became a celebrating art form singing joyful, joyful, we adore Thee. Wherever we retrace the footsteps of St. Francis, there seems to be a melody playing and hidden harmonies.

It is now a moonlit night and we go purposefully to Assisi’s town square. We’ve had to wind back and forth and up and down, this weaving, walking journey was sheer delight.

We arrive and there are groups of young people gathered, from all over the world, singing. We wish we could turn up the moonlight, for we just know that somewhere in our midst is this Little Poor Man – Il Poverelle celebrating too. He might be cold or hungry or tired or in excruciating pain, but nevertheless, if there is a joyful meeting of praises going on, he’s bound to be here.

Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee. Ah, but Pilgrim, "beauty is in the eye of the

beholder" and Francis saw more than most. His interior soul eyes became so sensitive that rotting lepers brought out song. Dank imprisonment brought out song. A raging father brought out song. Hunger, thirst, disease and death brought out song. We cannot put a stopper on music which comes from the deepest part of ourselves; it is a response to God’s Love. Ah, God’s Love, Pilgrim, that seemed to color all situations, circum-

stances, people and places, and made them beautiful for Francis. May we also, brothers and sisters, experience such a life coloration painted by God’s Love.

We now go visit the little stucco room which holds the only known surviving

painting done by the saint, who had become blind. St. Francis’ temples were cauterized in a failed attempt to cure an eye disease. Burning iron branded on your temples – can we imagine the pain? The smell? The unbearable was made bearable, for he had prayed that brother fire would be gentle.

Here, out of pain mixed with his devotional love of Christ, using blind eyes, but a sure hand, he drew on the wall a cross. It is the size of a man’s hand. The hues are faded red. We wonder, could this be the handprint of a saint rather than a drawing? Could bearing his own cross have made him emulate our Lord’s life in such a way that his handprint left such a mark?

And now, Pilgrim, we go to the caves. Interspersed throughout the saint’s life are his cave-dwelling times. He needed these dark solitary enclosures to keep his senses finely tuned to Christ. The ebb and flow. The balance. The pouring out and filling up. This is the world of a cave dweller. Most saints need that and we probably do too. As we enter, some of us, including myself, go kicking and screaming and dragging our feet. It is scary going into the dark to experience the Light. But we know that we must. We know that we must take this route, for we believe it is here like no other place that the creative juices from Christ flow. Oww! That statement bothers me. Creative juices from Christ flow brings to mind Christ crucified – brings to mind Francis’ stigmata – brings to mind our dying to self. Ah, yes, cave dwelling is necessary in order for the arts to flourish.

Our final destination on this imaginary journey is to St. Francis’ tomb. We enter

a cathedral. It is made up of three levels and each level is a church on its own. We

descend to stone steps to the tomb chapel. We are entering a much smaller space packed with people. We should feel claustrophobic, but instead it is as if we can breathe again. We progress to the front where there is a simple stone altar and crucifix. We look up and there above the altar, behind an iron gate, is Francis’ tomb. It seems to be suspended in midair. It is as he requested. His body’s final resting place is a crudely-carved stone feeding trough for animals.

It is now time for our journey’s end. It is as if the hallowed world has taken root within our very being. And rightly so, for can we not take some of Francis’ world with us? Can we not occasionally, Pilgrim, be cave dwellers? Can we not die to self?

GALATIANS 2:20. Can we not be marked as Christ’s own in our baptism?

Francis and the arts was our theme and I think the inspiration came from the

creativity with Christ. We are all called to be like Christ. St. Francis saw the holy in all experiences — in all people, in all places, and in all things. His natural response, one which he could not contain, was a joyful, effervescent bubbling up of praise and

worship. It affected all aspects of his life; thus his life was art.

Pilgrim, may our lives so become.

Holy ground. We have imaginatively visited such places, but the reality is that each one of us is holy ground because of Who indwells us. Francis knew it. May we know it. Now does that not get those creative juices flowing?

I am your sister in Christ,

Lucy

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Come Holy Spirit

Use me to Your glory

Newcomers (a talk)

Precious Pilgrim,

Do you know what a wonderfully positive word your club’s name is? Newcomers! You could have been called The Transplants or The Outsiders or The Foreigners or The Aliens, for all those names would have been appropriate at some point. I know. I’ve been there. Done that over and over and over again. Our family moved almost every three years when the children were young: Montgomery to Miami to Lakeland, Florida, back to Montgomery, then to Wilmington, Delaware, and then back to Montgomery.

My husband would have come home, wherever home might be at that point in time, and said, We have the opportunity for another growing experience – start packing. But, but… It might not have been that abrupt, but often, that was how it felt. But… but honey, we’ve just begun to get situated. The children have just settled into their new routines. Their schools. Their friends. Their outside activities. Everything is starting to have a wonderful rhythm of normalcy. I’ve found a patient pediatrician, a divine dentist and a gentle gynecologist. I’ve got an extraordinary baby-sitting list that’s worth its weight in gold. There’s church and a Bible study. I’ve actually made a friend or two between carpooling. You know it takes me at least two years to start growing roots, and they have begun. Why, I know how to drive downtown all by myself without getting lost. I’ve learned how to throw coffee on the windshield to get the ice off in the morning. I’ve learned how to avoid the potholes and drive in the snow and, and… why, why… there are still plenty of opportunities for growth right here.

Sorry. I start next week at the new location. I need for you and the children to stay until the house sells and the school year ends. Then, we’ll buy a new house, pack, move, unpack. Meanwhile, I’ll be home on the weekends, when possible, and phone home nightly. Honey, you can do it. Bye.

But, but…

I know I’m exaggerating just a little and am starting to enjoy reliving this melodrama. It’s been some time since I’ve revisited this newcomers world. I’d forgotten how hard it can be, especially on women. Even in this liberated world of today in which a move might not involve just one professional job, but two. But to get reestablished, we ladies still are the ones primarily in charge of the relocating and rebuilding of the nest. It is primarily our job to make the new world feel safe and friendly and protective for our families. Meals made, tears wiped, stiff upper lip and all that stuff.

My mind jumps back to a scene that happened over twenty-five years ago. I had a car accident in Miami where we were living and three of our four children were passengers. The car was totaled, but thank the dear Lord no one was seriously injured. I can still envision the three children, ages seven, five, and three looking up at me with fawn-like frightened eyes and me doing my best to keep calm. How I reacted seemed to be

directly related to how they responded. This is a fine-tuned image for me of what a move is like. We are the glue that holds that new, scary world together. How we react, how we respond, and how we adapt to the unknown colors the environment for our family. The responsibility is hard. It is stressful.

Whoa, am I beginning to feel re-burdened. And then, if all that’s not enough to take the air out of your balloon, the bounce out of your walk, the twinkle out of your eye, and the fizz out of your soda, what about being lonely? Do you remember, Pilgrim, lonely? I do, especially on the move to Delaware. I was older and more experienced; therefore I had more of a sense of what a move really entailed. Our new home was an isolated old farmhouse out in the country. It was the first year that all four children were in school. My daddy had just died of a heart attack at age fifty-nine and that initial winter was long, not only outside, but inside. In this slow-adapting, mourning state, my daily prayer, the only one I could mentally form was, Help me make it through the night. He did. Our Lord did.

Whoa! Wait a minute. Help! This letter is supposed to be an inspirational one. If I keep this up, I’ll have to hand out handkerchiefs as door prizes.

And then, there is the scripture that popped into my head yesterday. I was driving to the lake so that I could get away and write to you. I left a bulldozer digging, workers working, and an insurance agent estimating. We recently experienced a devastating house fire. Thank the dear Lord, no one was hurt, and furnishings and keepsakes were in storage. But still, it is a big deal. We’re anticipating at least a year and a half of being displaced persons. I’m sure that fact played a part in yesterday’s scripture pop-up, but you, not the fire, Pilgrim, were on my mind. It’s MATTHEW 8:20. It says, "And Jesus said to him: ‘the foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has

nowhere to lay His head.’" Oh, how sad. I usually read over that verse quickly, for it makes me uncomfortable. Surely it was a misprint, a mistake – surely our Lord didn’t have such feelings. Not those kind that I’ve had, you’ve had, we’ve had when we’ve been uprooted. But, ladies, the Word says He did. That is the good news for the day. Our Lord did. With that humbling knowledge, uprootedness takes on a whole new meaning and significance. It is a state that Jesus experienced, along with His disciples, past and present. It is a state that Old Testament prophets and patriarchs experienced. It was the world of the Chosen People. We are in good company. That is why we can use the positive word pilgrim or, yes, newcomer when talking about our life’s

journey. You and I have the added advantage and grace of being able to identify with that physical uprootedness. Yes, it is hard. Yes, it is a stretching, growing experience. And that is good. Such movement does help imaginary walls to be broken down. It does help us to tread on our turf more lightly, not possessively. It does help us to become more aware of others, to reach out more quickly, for we know that time is of value and life is ever-changing.

Yes, we are a pilgrim people. Everyone is. We just happen to understand that

reality better than most, for we’ve physically lived it. We are blessed. And I thank the dear Lord for encouraging groups such as Newcomers. Newcomers – not Transplants, Outsiders, Foreigners, Aliens – but positive Newcomers, who reach out to others on the Pilgrims Way to help celebrate the journey.

I am your sister in Christ,

Lucy - Bon Voyage

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Carrying the Olympic Torch

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Come Holy Spirit

Use me to Your glory

Lurleen Wallace (a talk)

Precious Pilgrim,

Write. I must write. I must try and get this heart hurt out. I just finished reading the book which deals with Alabama Governor Lurleen Wallace’s last years of life and her courageous battle with cancer. I am left with the realization that we would have liked each other. I think we would have been dear friends if our life experiences had overlapped – if we had been neighbors or contemporaries. She with her four children, I with mine. I think we would have enjoyed sharing early morning cups of coffee. I think we would have spent hours together sitting on a porch watching our children play. She with her three girls and a boy and I with the opposite. My boys would have been showing off a little for her girls and her son and my daughter would have been shyly checking each other out. As we’d shell peas and drink iced tea or knit and have a bit of lemonade, we would have often looked up and proudly watched those children of ours, for they were our proudest possessions.

I think Lurleen and I would have felt comfortable with each other – not only because of our shared love of children, but also because of our shared appreciation of nature. We’d have watched the birds flying and the bees buzzing. We’d have petted our dogs often. We would have enjoyed the changing of the leaves and the seasons as they’d come and go.

We might have even gone fishing a time or two. Of course, we’d have been proud if there was a catch and, of course, there would have been a little bit of healthy, playful competition, just because there’s supposed to be. But what we would have really relished was just being out in nature – smelling a bream bed or hearing a turkey gobble, hoping he’d strut himself by.

We would have slipped away to the beach whenever we could. And there we would have taken long walks on squishy sand – sometimes talking, other times not. We’d have watched the tides come in and out and allowed that rhythm to cradle our psyche as if in a mother’s arms. Of course, the children would have been with us, for it was usually a package deal. We’d have helped them build numerous sand castles, looked for cochina butterfly shells and dug for sand fleas. We would have watched out for rip tides and undertows and jellyfish. We would have insisted on daily naps for all so that we could have some R and R adult girl time. We’d have polished our finger nails and rolled our hair. We’d have shared jokes and magazines, books and advice. We would have laughed a lot, smiled a lot, giggled some, like school girls.

As that awful disease of hers came and went and came and went and came –

seeming to have a life of its own – our friendship would have never wavered. It would have been refined. Words would have become unnecessary for communicating. Our shared bonds of motherhood and wifehood would have been strengthened. Our

relishing the incredible creatures and sights of nature would have been broadened.

A shared third dimension would have surfaced more. It always would have been there, of course. It would have been the bedrock foundation of our soul sisterhood. We would have become prayer warriors for each other. Her concerns, her worries, her fears and mine would have been shared and then lifted up. Her joys, her thanksgivings, her

celebrations and mine would have been shared – then lifted up. Ah, yes, we would have been friends, close friends, if given a chance, and I suspect you would have been too, Pilgrim. We all would have been on pretty much even ground – but then, Lurleen had an opportunity to soar and that she did, and that is when she far surpassed the norm. Let me repeat, she far surpassed the norm.

Right now I’m sitting outside at Lake Martin. The moon is full. Its brilliant light is casting a golden line across these still waters. It’s gloriously beautiful. It reminds me of the Olympic torch and