Tag: SEAN OF THE SOUTH

One day, as God was sitting in all of heaven’s sovereignty and sanctity and etherealness and stuff, little Randy came to visit.

It’s weird. Being back in America again. For one thing, they don’t call it “America” over in Europe. It’s bad form. They call it “the U.S.”

When our plane finally lands, all passengers stand to deboard. But we are told we must wait. The first to leave our plane will be the boy.

There is a U.S. law stipulating that whenever you’re having a good day a pharmaceutical commercial must appear.

Fear is not in your head. There are no thoughts you can think to get rid of it. Because fear is not a head problem. Fear starts in your soul.

I like ducks. I watch the same two mallards visit this area of Lake Martin. Almost every morning.

I think the greatest advice my mother ever gave me was to love my kids when they deserve it the least, because that’s when they need it the most. I think that applies to all human beings.

“No telling what’s in those pipes,” the plumber said in a quiet, ominous voice, gazing into the treacherous blackness of the drain hole.

It all started in third grade. My teacher read to the class from a book. A mass-market paperback. A book about angels. They were stories of impossible rescues, and unlikely redemptions. Then, she told a story of her own.

Canned music. It’s everywhere. You cannot get away from it. It is always playing in public spaces. Grocery stores, hotel lobbies, airplanes, colonoscopy exam rooms.

The young man was quiet. He was a lowly fry-cook, salting endless baskets of French fries. Flipping acres of patties.

“What scares you most?” was the question asked to members of Mrs. Devonshire’s fourth-grade class. The little hands went up.

“We are never really happy until we try to brighten the lives of others.” Maybe we ought to put that in our dictionary.

I decided to approach the marriage crisis by asking random people to give their opinions and advice on the institution of matrimony.

Even after his retirement, he still preached. He preached in a country church, way out in the sticks. Sepulga Baptist, it was called. A place so far from town they had to mail order sunshine from Sears, Roebuck & Co.

Loving kindness is not dead. Sometimes it is only sleeping.

It was only an experiment. I wanted to see if I could change America in only one day by being the nicest person on earth for 24 hours.

Pay attention to the little stuff today. Things you usually overlook. The seemingly insignificant. Notice these things.

I quietly turn off my TV. I shut off my phone. I close my laptop screen. And, just like that, I found God.

When mother and child left the highway café that night, the boy had no idea what had just happened to him.

My mother always told me to smile. Especially when I didn’t want to. She often told me to smile when I was sad, when trying on school clothes, or whenever I was forced to eat beef liver at gunpoint.

Everyone knew the words. Everyone sang. The stadium sounded like it was going to crumble beneath the volume of mass singing.

I am convinced that if you live wrongly, if you treat your fellow man poorly, if you are selfish, if you are not a good person, you will die and wake up in Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.

I miss the newspaper. Before the internet. I’m talking physical newspapers. The kind you unfold.

There were no cameras around. The kid wasn’t seeking attention. He wasn’t posing for selfies to publicize his charitable act on social media for likes and shares. He just wanted the guy to take the shoes.

The worst part of it all, he often said, was the loneliness. Loneliness is the worst sensation in the human experience.

There is nothing like July on the lake.