I’ve got a picture that keeps running around in my mind. I don’t know why it’s there. It just kind of appeared a few days ago, and for the life of me, I can’t seem to shake it. As memories go, it ain’t much. It’s just a snapshot of a moment in time when life was just right and worries were something for future Tony’s to fret over. I do know this: the Lord dropped it in my mind for a reason. Now, what that reason is, is beyond me; but I know it’s there, so let’s see if we can shake it out.
I can tell you this, though: that old memory brings a certain longing, well, more like nostalgia for days gone by. It awakens a hunger for simpler days that may never return again, except in the memories of worn-out old men yearning for their misplaced youth.
I can see it like it was yesterday.
The sun dazzled as it leaped from the old magnolia leaves and caught me in the eye. Those leaves were as shiny as the dickens when the sun hit them right. It didn’t take long, though, for the mid-morning sun to make her presence fully known as my upward arc sent me up and beyond the treetops until I was eye to eye with the old Sol, where we considered one another for a moment. At that moment, I felt weightless and totally free, and then gravity took hold and sent me falling back to earth laughing at the thrill and freedom that the old swing set brought. Up and down, back and forth, I’d go for hours if given a chance; but Granny’s dainties had finally finished drying, and it was time to go back to the house.
You see, Granny’s house was and is my memory’s favorite destination when recollections are on the menu, but as ideal as the old house was, it didn’t have a swing set. Between the fish-cleaning station, the worm beds, and the Catawba trees, there just wasn’t room.
Now, Granny loved me. After all, I was her favorite grandson; but fishing came in a close second, and since the laundromat was no place to raise worms but a great place to swing, she thought the arrangement perfect. Besides, screaming young’uns tended to get on her bad side pretty quick.
On account of this old arrangement, I might be the one in a million who actually enjoys a good laundromat. There aren’t nearly as many today as there used to be, what with the advent of a washer and dryer around every corner, but in my memory that old laundromat holds a special place.
You see, just as Waffle House is a place where the common man can go where everybody knows his name and the waitress knows his order, the laundromat is the place where the common man’s dirty clothes can go to pass the time of day and freshen up a bit.
There is a certain atmosphere to a good laundromat that gives it that special something: the low murmur of voices carrying on quiet, secretive conversations, the coziness brought about by the warmth escaping the spinning dryers and the subtle haze of lint falling like snow on a winter’s day. Just add the ever-present incense of Bounce and B.O. on the air and you’ve created an ambiance that makes the place magical and a bit mysterious. Put an ancient iron swing set covered in rust and old bird droppings out back, and you’ve really got something.
I loved that old swing set, rust, droppings, and all. I can still see her in my mind.
Years before, I suppose she had been galvanized; but that was long since gone, along with any paint that may have prettied her up back then. I expect in her early days she was something to see, the belle of the ball; but when my time came to enjoy her charms, she was well past her prime. Past her prime or no however, she still stood firm and did her job.
You see, she was set in a couple of tons’ worth of concrete, with uprights and a crosspiece made from what appeared to be pilfered material from when they built the old Hathaway Bridge heading out to the beach.
I know this much: I didn’t think twice about swinging high enough for the chains to buckle and snap before I headed back down. I trusted that old girl with my life and would do it again given half the chance.
It’s been sixty-some-odd years now since I had the pleasure of her company, but I’ll bet ya a Baby Ruth bar that she’s still standing today. You see, back then they built things for the long haul, memories included.
Well, there, that old memory is out of my mind and put down on paper, as requested. Now, what do I do with it? Good question.
In the past, when I was a bit younger, I would have fretted a little while over what deep theological meaning lay behind this old memory. I would have wondered what the Lord was saying to me and how I could pass that truth along to my congregation and/or to my readers. With that being said, as I thought about this old memory and the peace and freedom that long ago day swinging in the sun brought a little boy, I got to thinking that perhaps fretting about the meaning defeats the point of the memory. Perhaps my old mind looping back to the scene was trying to make a point.
You see, sometimes in the rush of life, like Elijah before us, we tend to forget that while the world traffics in the mad rush and the constant turmoil, the Lord traffics in peace and quiet.
Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper…
1 Kings 19:11–12 NIV
My friend, let me suggest that you clear your thoughts of the everyday noise that surrounds you and invades the sanctity of your mind. Seek the peace and quiet of time with your Lord.
Listen for the whisper, for you will find Him there with arms wide open, quietly waiting.
Tony Rowell
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