Sometimes I find myself driving around with Mom, seeking somewhere to go or something to do.  She is 89, likes to get out of the apartment, and always up for some exploration- especially when there might be a yard sale around the next corner.  So we found ourselves angling amidst the Confederate Cemetery in Marietta, Georgia.  This is distinguished from the adjacent National Cemetery which holds the remains of both Union and Confederate soldiers.  Some of the locals thought it improper that the two should be mixed, and ever since, local donations have funded this hallowed and separated burial ground.  As I drove along the narrow lanes I noticed the rows of nameless headstones aligned in front of markers designating the various Southern states.  Thousands and thousands of men, most likely the ages of my son or even younger, died on the battlefields of Kennesaw Mountain and Kolb's Farm.  

Contrary to revisionist history, I am rather sure most did not die to protect slavery.  Slavery was still being practiced in the Union.  And because of advances of machinery and enlightenment of culture, many historians believe it was inevitably on its way out.  Anyhow, most people of the South did not own slaves- it was the admittedly brutal practice of the elite.  As in most wars, those who fought were simply obeying orders, doing the bidding of the politicians.  These young men were fighting and willing to die to protect their homeland and families from an invading army.  

As Mom and I continued our ride along the back roads of Cobb County, sometimes I would spy a Confederate flag or other remnant of the Civil War now serving as a statement of culture.  I think it would now be intended more overtly as a crass and improper message of white separatism.  For instance, the Georgia state flag was changed by the legislature in the mid-fifties to resemble the Confederate flag as a message of opposition to integration.  Such is improper, and serves as reason enough for me to not have anything to do with a rebel flag, even as a decoration.

Maybe Sherman had to march through the deep South, pillaging and burning and killing along the way.  Perhaps it was the only way to end the war and preserve the Union?  But I think that men who make war, and especially men who contemplate sending the sons and daughter of others into war, need to drive through a few ancient battlefields and consider the rows of nameless headstones.  

So should the few racists who give Southern history and culture a bad name.

Shorty Howell Park is less than two miles from my home, and I choose it when I am ready for a frenetic change of pace from my leisurely strolls. Located along a major thoroughfare and across from a big-box shopping center, likely it is the busiest park that I frequent. It seems that people from all walks of life go to Shorty Howell to unwind and play. And even as one must be diligent not to be run over by a jogger or tripped by a multitude of dog leashes, I enjoy the show. Every trip provides new entertainment.

Busy, busy place.  What kid would not enjoy roaming around this place, not worrying about the colors or nationalities or religions or social status of the other children?  Just having fun!  Perhaps the route to world peace involves a great big playground...

 A new feature- Litterbug Of The Week.  How touching... a father, a son, and a cigarette.  Actually this guy is not polluting the environment; just his lungs.  Something seems not to be congruent, to me, when I see a seemingly doting parent with a cancer-stick hanging from his mouth. 

 The walking paths are composed of two loops.  The inner loop is a paved trail, pictured previously.   The wider path is a wood chip trail, meandering more quietly through the woods and away from the baby strollers.  When I walk both loops, and several side routes, I can do about three miles- my goal for the day.

 Pregnant Tree.

 Kudzu.  If we could figure a way to eat this stuff, the South could feed the world.

 Houses next to the park.  Often I've thought it would be nice to have a home adjacent to a nice park.  I wonder if these people avail themselves of the treasure beyond their back yards?

 Walking in a sari.  I cannot help but notice the cultural differences of people out for some exercise.  Around here, one is likely to see a lady out for a walk in a sari or a burqa, which looks awfully hot and uncomfortable to me.  But they did not ask my opinion.

 Pavilion.  Several months ago I was walking at this park when when a tremendous Spring thunderstorm burst out.  There was lightning, hail, and a torrential downpour.  I found shelter under this large pavilion.  As the storm did not seem to abate, I decided to finish my exercise by walking under the cover, in repeated circles!  In a little while a couple of guys pulled up in their car, and they sat down at one of the picnic tables to wait out the storm.  They started watching me as I walked around and around.  And I'm pretty sure I heard one of them say, "You could be worse.  You could be like that guy over there walking around in circles!"

 Ducks.  Nasty creatures.  Aggressive, too.

 Fountain, in the middle of the lake.  Very pretty.

 I like this huge double-tree, offering for free a magnificent shade.  Trees are good-guys.

I was involved in a car accident today.  The collision itself was minor, for me.  But I find myself a student of human interaction, what followed proved to be interesting study.

The traffic light was about to change, and as I was looking up at the red circle, my car was slammed from behind.  In the mirror the young lady behind me had a look of surprise upon her face, for her car was also hit in the rear.  It was a chain reaction of four vehicles.  The guy in the back was driving an old and heavy jalopy that decided to stall as he was coming to a stop.  At that moment the power steering and power brakes failed, and so he slammed into the next car.  That car suffered somewhat of an accordion affect and will likely not be repairable.  The next one seemed not to be damaged.  My car had a tiny little scratch on the back bumper, and that was all.

The man who initiated the accident quickly checked with the other drivers to make sure everybody was alright.  He was quite apologetic as he explained what had happened.  The lady driving the second car was upset and talking rapidly about how her glasses had been broken and her head was hurting.  And her elderly rider was talking of neck pains.  However both quickly got out of their car and walked around with seeming ease.  As we were calling 911, a man of Asian ethnicity arrived upon the scene.  He was the owner of the car causing the accident, as apparently the driver was his employee.  The rest of us were standing to the side of the road, comparing notes and gathering our composure.  He walked up and quickly spoke with scorn that this was not an accident needing the assistance of the police.  After all, he said with a convincing aire, no one was hurt and neither were the vehicles!  It appeared to me he was intimidating some folks, and so I told him it was our duty to stay put until the officer arrived and that he would best serve the situation by leaving the others alone.

The police officer surveyed the situation, interviewed all of the drivers, and filled out his multitude of paperwork.  As we were talking, he looked at me and asked, "Don't I know you?"  I told him that I was a pastor but do not remember meeting him.  Later, I did remember.  He was one of several police officers whom I met courtesy of my daughter's many brushes with the law!

As time dragged on, I had a nice conversation with the fellow who caused the accident.  He recently moved here from Morocco.  The gentleman for whom he works is now upset with him, and may terminate his job.  I told him, in my opinion, the accident was not his fault but the fault of the crummy car his boss required him to drive.  This seemed to make sense.  Then he asked me about my church and we talked a bit about God.  He told me he was a Muslim, and that in Morocco the Jews, Muslims, and Christians have found a way to get along with one another.  I replied that such is the way it ought to be.  Then he offered to provide free help for our church web site!  I thought that was awfully nice and thanked him for his kind spirit.  To me this was affirmation, once again, that when you move beyond appearances and labels that most people are quite decent.

I told the officer I was not interested in making an insurance claim.  He seemed surprised and walked me to the back of my car and showed me a long indention on the back bumper.  I sighed, and told him that it was compliments of my garage.  For about a half-second I considered that it would be rather convenient to secure a new bumper and perhaps a new paint job courtesy of the situation.  But I was pretty sure that God was watching.

The good policeman said I was free to go.  Figuring I deserved it, I pulled into the nearest McDonalds and had a chocolate milkshake.

She truly has a pretty smile, but it is so seldom seen these days.  For months her husband has been gone.  Together we have sought answers and made efforts toward reconciliation.  I have talked with both parties, many times.  At this point after so much has been said and done it is a jumbled mess.  There is no clear-cut bad guy, or good guy.  She and I have just had a time of prayer, asking for God’s guidance and again for His miracle.  And as she is walking out the door I am thinking this is not good.  Likely the marriage is gone.

It did not have to be this way.  For years she glibly walked her way through this marriage and he soldiered along.  He was empty and she seemed not to notice, or care.  In desperation he reached out to the church for help.  At that time she came to consider the church to be an enemy, an intrusion.  And one day he could not take it anymore.  He left.  Then the story got even uglier.  As seems often the case, Infidelity made her presence known.  A good and decent person should not take the hand of this person.  It is not good.  But I know that ultimately She is not the culprit.

Now this forsaken wife is grasping for answers.  I find it curious that she has turned to me for help.  Until this thing blew up, I thought I understood her.  She was cold.  She was a manipulator.  But now we have talked many times, and there actually seems a warm, kind, and thoughtful person there.  Too bad this person was not available for her husband.  And, then again, maybe I’m being played?

I know that two people, who have fallen out of love, can rekindle the flame if they work hard and ask God for help.  It is not easy, but God can turn the water into wine.  But this man no longer cares.  He just wants out!  He should be stronger.  He should pray harder, and try harder.  Right?

Sometimes I will go to W P Jones Park just for a refreshing change of pace.  It does not pretend to be like the other parks.  There are no soccer or baseball fields, club house, or activity center.  It does offer some of the finest tennis courts in the city, usually occupied with people who seem to take the game seriously.  But the trails and fields of the park appear to go mostly unused, which makes for a peaceful walk but also cause for concern.  In these times of lower tax revenue I would hate to see this wonderful place restricted or closed. 


To me, its simplicity is its greatest charm.  For instance, the trails are natural, and therefore unpaved.  Some do not like it, because erosion has made the trails a bit difficult to maneuver.  But that just makes them more friendly for my visits.  I enjoy walking through the shaded forest which actually leads to the back entrance of the public library!  It is nice to stroll along the stream, and even skip a rock or two.  And I like the lush grass of the park lawns.

As Big Dog and I strolled fast into the forest, we encountered a lady who was walking in our direction with a quick pace.  She looked at me with what appeared to be horror in her face, turned, and ran in the other way!  Now I understand that sometimes I have that effect on women.  But usually they are a little more discreet in their direct response!  With friendly dog in tow, we walked ahead.  And I discovered why she was so quick to leave my presence.  She was with four dogs.  Sissy-looking dogs.  All had been unleashed and were roaming along the trail.  This lady was afraid my German Shepherd would eat her scrawny little beasts.  He just ignored them as he happily continued on his merry way.  I did the same with their owner.


Bridge into the park.  Now that's a nice view.

 
Log, decaying, and slowly disappearing.  When I die, take me out into the woods, and leave me like this log.  Seems natural to me.


Contents of a wallet, strewed on the ground.  I checked to see if the owner could be identified.  Important items, like drivers license and credit cards, are missing.  Obviously these business cards and photographs are stolen leftovers, emptied and explored far back in these woods.


Playground.  I know for a fact that Skylar, my granddaughter, likes this place.  Once I tried to get her to join me, shoeless, in the little creek.  She complained the water was just too cold.  Baby!


Empty water bottle, littering the trail.  Before tossing this into the trash, I wondered about the perpetrator?  Someone cares enough about his body to exercise.  And this is a high quality brand.  Thus, someone has gone to commendable effort to facilitate purity for his body.  Too bad he does not have the same respect for nature.  Or, for others.