If you share a journey with the right companions, the destination does not seem quite so important . . . in fact, you might wish you had chosen the longer, scenic route.
What I mean is, people are important.
Like the people that I ended the week-end with at Rogue Tavern. Stan and Beth and I and about 150 others gathered and ate, and drank, and laughed and talked and shared deeper than we expected as Birmingham First United Methodist Church began going Rogue , and will continue to do so every Sunday evening in September. We pulled up a couple of more chairs at the tall bar table so that six of us could huddle around a table for four. The crowd was about twice as large as expected so it took a little longer than usual to get our food. But that was okay, in fact better than okay, as it gave us an excuse to sit longer and talk more, and laugh, and get to know each other better, whether we entered the place as long time friends or complete strangers.
Or like Charlie, my brand new and only grandson, who drove down from Nashville to visit with his Vestavia grandparents Bob and Patsy. He brought his mother Kate along. On Monday and Tuesday nights, after days full of court -induced stress, I drove down and visited in Bob and Patsy's home. I love to hold Charlie. The stress just flows out of my body, as if he finds my pressure release valve and turns it wide open. And the grace and hospitality in that home so freely shared only added to my transformation back into a normal person. And Kate, well Kate is simply the daughter I never had, if that is okay with her parents.
Or like my sons Benjamin, who is Charlie's dad, and Vann. They are simply the best sons in the world. No, really. But even better, they are good people.
Or like my office family Shannon and Lenicia, who make sure I am where I am when I am supposed to be and with whom, and with what I need, counsel with me and just generally keep me straight .Or like the judges and attorneys, secretaries and clerks with whom I spend most of my life, the only group who can truly empathize after a crazy week in the law.
Or like my brothers and sisters, who cannot be fooled nor do they need to be, because they have always known me, and upon who I know I can depend no matter what happens.
Or like my friends.
One of whom died yesterday. Ronnie was a lawyer. That is how I got to know him and that is the reason we spent most of the time together that we did. He was a year younger and a foot taller than me. We spent hours waiting together. Waiting on judges, waiting on clients, waiting for lunch. And as we waited we talked. And laughed. Sometimes we sang. And played seventies and eighties rock licks on air guitars. We made fun of each other, I of his ugly stork like legs and he of my stubby dachshund legs, of our personal and social lives, and other more sophisticated things. We ranted or cried on each other's shoulder about the judge or client or woman that just did us wrong. We shared hilarious gut busting irreverence and deep, spiritual gut wrenching reverence. We talked of basketball and God, of ZZ Top and politics.
So the truth is, Ronnie provoked this post. It is much like the kind of road we might go down in our conversations while waiting. Now that I think about it we often talked about the people in our lives that make the journey worthwhile. Okay, we also made fun of them a little, but in a loving way.
And you are right, Richard, I should mention you in my blog. And all the traveling companions that make this journey a worthwhile and wonderful, or sometimes simply tolerable adventure. But the truth is, we are all blessed with too many to name. But tonight I will get a good start, not in the blog, but in my prayers. Of thanks.
And I will start with Ronnie.
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