SWEET ABIDING HOUSE OF JOY

"Cleanliness is next to godliness" is one of those arbitrary exhortations that mamas use to suppress bath-time protests. I have never understood how washing behind one's ears has placement in the grand scheme of holy living, but purity of heart, singleness of mind, and fullness of spirit bring wholeness to one's being. A prayer for cleansing fires passion and praise, and surrender forces an affinity to something greater. A clearly defined spiritual peace washed over me in the crispness of one particular October morning, as I absorbed the freshness of a Smoky Mountain dawn.I checked the progress of the developing fall foliage againset the azure sky. Sweetum, sugar maple, and dogwood were displayed like rows of old fashioned candy jars, standing in nature's confectionery of red, purple, yellow, and orange. Woodsmoke from the chimneys of the "burg"evoked a variety of sensorial recollections in which to lose myself. Family camping trips with scores of relatives singing by the bonfire, and evenings at home with daddy searing sausages over an open flame forom the living room hearth transported me. The childhood adventure of making coffee over a backyard "army" campfire established a life-long love for the hot brew, outdoors, and the night life. A little dime-store aluminum pot, with the glass percolator top, would be blackened by unobstructed flames. That first dark bubble of Maxwell House would be highly anticipated by us boys - brothers, cousins, and neighbors. That fragrant blip of the real man's elixir signaled all to be at the ready with his individual mix of sugar and milk - lots of it. We would have already presented our mugs of choice, some saying "world's best dad", another depicting a hillbilly dancing, or one that said Cherokee North Carolina. Here we were free to pour the strong solution into a saucer and slurp it the way Papa Kay did. Of course, mama would not let us do this at Momzi's table where her matching Country Roses China (or some knockoff thereof) made the coffee extra good.Without a doubt, waking up to the smell of breakfast in her happy home ensured no disappointments for a day. We would emerge from the cold back rooms into the embrace of the oil heater's warmth. There, finding the guardians of our heritage about their work, we were children. The crack of the linoleum, underneath the armless rocker, kept perfect cadence with the occupant's rhythmic movement. One good natured Marine making the best of his infrequent furloughs, happy just to be surrounded by his kids and his sweet Betty Rose. For all the things grieved for, loss of fellowship, unconditional love, and wise counsel, I long for the subtleties that were taken for granted. The look of contentment on the lanky boy from Batesburg was a constant image of the warrior. This "mighty man" of Psalms, softened by a glimpse of his legacy, saw reward in the fruits of his labor and sacrifice, armed with the arrows of posterity. What did he see or know of our future?