It sure has been hot lately down here in the South. We started our summer off back in April and May with unseasonably cool temperatures which carried over into the early days of June - and then the lid blew off! We had several days in a row, over a week in fact, with temperatures over one-hundred degrees and no rain in sight during that time. The grass turned brown and died; its normally hardy blades unable or unwilling to withstand the unusually hot and dry conditions. Even the century-old oak trees in my back yard began to succumb to the weather as they began shedding their leaves into our pool in protest.
Despite the abnormal (and it was) weather conditions, I can still recall from experience a day that was much hotter. It was also a day that entailed a great deal more misery for me at the time as well.
It was mid-June of 1969 or so, and I was a boy of six at the time. It was the summer of Hurricane Camille, and though the storm has long since been memorialized, few can remember the tepid conditions of those sweltering summer days before the storm. I can remember them well, because one of those days in particular left its mark etched deep upon my memory.
My grandmother lived in Nicholson, MS and with mom and dad both gainfully employed, the task fell to her to keep my sister, brother, and me during the day while they were at work. On this memorable day either she came and picked us up or we had been delivered to her earlier in the morning – that part I cannot remember. The morning turned when she decided she needed to go up to Lumberton, MS to pick up a few bushels of peaches. Lumberton is around thirty miles from where I now live, but from Nicholson it is closer to forty-five or fifty. The Interstate system has since closed that gap significantly, but at that time there was only Highway 11 to utilize as a route of traversing the distance.
Despite Granny’s habit of driving at the loathsome speed of thirty miles an hour, it still should not have been that bad. You’d think an hour or so and one leg of the trip would be over – it surely couldn’t be that bad? But somewhere along the way (it was also the summer of space travel and the moon landing) we hit a time-warp or a worm-hole, and the trip stretched into what seemed to be an eternity. To a boy my age, its time frame was closely akin to Magellan circumnavigating the globe! Meanwhile, the temperature began to steadily rise, and keep in mind that her car did not have that modern convenience we take for granted and call air-conditioning today.
Though the journey up there was grossly inhumane, the return trip home closely resembled an outtake from Dante’s Inferno. The mid-afternoon heat came blowing through the rolled-down windows of the car like a blast furnace, and to add insult to injury, we now had to contend with peach fuzz that clung to our sweaty arms, legs, and faces. I remember my brother crying for at least thirty-nine of the forty or so miles home, but he was all of three years old and that is to be expected. My older sister was mean to us, of course, as that is what big sisters do when locked in a confined space with their younger brothers for any set amount of time. When I wasn’t scratching the fuzz build-up on various spots on my body, I was trying to hold my head out the window when Granny wasn’t looking in a desperate but fruitless attempt to get relief from the heat.
Not apparent to me at the time, but very memorable now that I am older is the fact that throughout our odyssey, Granny never complained. Sure, she fussed at us and cajoled us into behaving ourselves during the ride; but I do not recall hearing her make any complaint about either the heat or the effects of the peaches on her skin. Was she simply not susceptible to the environment in a manner comparable with her grandchildren? Or was it possibly due to the fact that she had infinite patience, and knew that sooner or later the trip would end as long as she endured it? I can only hope that at some point in my life I will find that same patience and fortitude that she exhibited on that day as well as on countless other occasions. A patience and calmness that will tell those around me (even if they do not comprehend it until much later in life) that I am assured that I will be alright, and that whatever the situation calls on for me, I have faith that it will end on a good note.
“Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” That’s the way Paul put it in Philippians chapter four. There are a lot of great scriptures in the Bible, and a lot of huge examples for us to go by. This one is a rare pearl and assuredly one of great price. To be content in whatever situation you may happen to find yourself in might be portion to reaching the highest level of spiritual maturity you could ever dare to attain.
I’m pretty sure Granny knew that.
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