One Tear
On Saturday Ray and I took our three-year-old granddaughter to nearby Granville, Tennessee, for the annual Country Christmas celebration.
A twelve-member choir, all dressed in red, performed a faith-filled program in the little United Methodist Church. I like to go inside this pretty white building which is kept in pristine condition–quite a feat when the board on the wall tells that the attendance was 19 last Sunday and 41 the Sunday before that. Sparkling stained glass windows line each side.
We had a soup and sandwich lunch at Sutton General Store. I told you recently about the weekly bluegrass shows held there every Saturday night. We shared one end of a long table with other guests.
Our granddaughter asked Ray and me if we wanted to talk while we ate. She would talk while she sleeps, if she could figure out a way to do it. Among our many topics was the great performance of the soloist who sang “Mary, Did You Know?” Our little granddaughter said emphatically that she was “fanTAStic,” a compliment which I passed on to that soloist who was sitting at a nearby table. She was right. I don’t know that I have ever heard it sung better. Can there be a more beautiful Christmas song than that one?
Among our granddaughter’s favorite activities were the bouncy castle and the inflated slide. Those who ride a one-horse open sleigh are laughing all the way. Our little one was talking all the way. She had the bouncy castle all to herself. As she bounced, she recited: “Pease porridge hot. Pease porridge cold. Pease porridge in the pot nine days old.”
Then, she repeated: “Jump, jump, jump Jim Joe. Shake your head and nod your head and tap your toe. Around, around, around you go, and you choose another partner and you jump, Jim Joe!”
We made sure we were by the street in time for the Christmas parade. We enjoyed twenty minutes of tractors, cars, one sheriff, one deputy, one beauty queen, fire trucks from Flynn’s Lick and Nameless (I kid you not), Shriners in little cars, about fifteen musicians, three or four floats, and the grand finale: Santa on a fire truck.
Almost everyone threw candy directly at our little one, so she had quite a haul. Like a good mother of a health-conscious daughter, I let her eat just one peppermint–before we went back to Sutton General Store for Moose Tracks ice cream.
Our first stop when arrived at the festival Saturday morning was the Granville Museum. Before we left home Saturday morning, we had printed off two recent blogs, “That’s My Boy!” and “But we can pray here . . . “ I was hoping to find Randall Clemmons’ mother volunteering in the museum, because I have seen here there before. I was not disappointed.
Randall Clemmons is the inspiration behind everything wonderful that happens in Granville. I just wanted his mother to know that I had noticed and that I had written about her son. Mrs. Clemmons meets hundreds of people at Granville and I didn’t expect her to remember me. So, this stranger (me) walked up to her, handed her some pieces of paper, and tried to explain what they were.
She looked puzzled, but took them and walked away. We three looked around the museum. A short time later, Mrs. Clemmons came back to talk to me. As we talked about the blogs and about her son, her eyes welled up and I watched as one tear of joy fell onto her pretty, sparkly Christmas sweater.
I don’t know how old Mrs. Clemmons is, but I do know that her son is a grandpa.We’re never too old to be delighted when someone notices something special about our children.
See how great a love the Father has bestowed on us,
that we would be called children of God;
and such we are.
1 John 3:1