Music Monday: MLK Day, 2026

Here we are in January of 2026. One year after our nation changed--irrevocably? That remains to be seen. Five years after a mob of insurrectionists, white supremacists, and other such angry people stormed our nation's capitol and broke things, stole things, and killed/injured people.

But we have moments of peace in this January, 2026. A group of venerable monks and their dog, Aloka, are currently on a 2,300 journey from Texas to Washington DC to promote peace. Just knowing that they are there makes my heart sing.

It's dark out there, y'all. The country I grew up in is unrecognizable now, and while I kept trusting that things would get better--trusting that the people that other folks sent to congress would do their jobs and put a stop to this (I'm from SC y'all, Lindsey Graham and Nancy Mace territory. When I write to Rep. Timmons he writes me back to mansplain why I am wrong.). They haven't--maybe they can't--but it just gets worse and worse. Dunne Evacuation back to the UK is in the expidited planning stages now.

But during all this awful, we remember that this is the month we celebrate one of our country's most notable fighters for equality who is often mistaken as only seeking peace. We remember the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his convictions and determination during January. For today's Music Monday, I looked for his favorite hymns. His absolute favorite, from what I could find, was the one I've shared today. "Take my hand, Precious Lord." Fill in Precious Lord with whatever deity or philosophy makes you feel seen, precious, and safe. 

Namaste.🤟

Music Monday: No Roots

Most of the time, the songs I choose for MM posts are related somehow to my writing. Sometimes they are related to something happening in the world. But some of them speak to me, who I am, where I come from, and the like. This week's song is one of those.

The United Methodist Church has been in the news a lot over the past few years. The other day, I fell into a debate on social media concerning the North Georgia Conference of the UMC. One of the more prominent churches has recently been involved in a rather public tantrum over the minister being unwilling to accept a change in appointment. That is not how the UMC works - if you want to stay in a church forever, there are other Christian denominations. But what drew me out was a comment from a supposed fellow preacher's child who claimed that her upbringing involved being moved around willy nilly as a child with no explanation. If that was her experience then she needs to address that with her parents, not with the conference.

It led me to think about my own childhood - we did move about every four years until I was in high school. I learned early that if you try to hang on to your past it will just hurt. A lot. There were a lot of tears surrounding those moves - tears that served no real purpose. I was thinking about that when I heard this song, and it hit me. I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground. Never.

No Roots - Alice Merton
I like digging holes and hiding things inside themWhen I grow old I hope I won't forget to find them'Cause I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the nightI build a home and wait for someone to tear it downThen pack it up in boxes, head for the next town running'Cause I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night
And a thousand times I've seen this roadA thousand times
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oots
I like standing still, boy, that's just a wishful planAsk me where I come from, I'll say a different landBut I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the nightI count gates and numbers, then play the guessing gameIt's just the place that changes, the rest is still the sameBut I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night
And a thousand times I've seen this roadA thousand times
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oots
I like digging holesHiding things inside themWhen I grow oldI won't forget to find themI like digging holesHiding things inside themWhen I grow oldI won't forget to find them
I've got no rootsNo roots
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roots, but my home was never on the groundI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsI've got no roo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ootsNo!

Notes from the Preacher's Kid: Remembrance Day

The Bush daughters give the Obama daughters a
tour of the White House.

 [Link to the article is in the photo.]

Most of you that know me know that my father was a United Methodist minister (as is my maternal uncle, sister, and brother-in-law), so I grew up a "preacher's kid." I'm sure that this conjures lots of images in your mind of holier-than-thou kids and hellraisers alike, but I think I speak for both my sister and me when I say that we were fairly normal kids.

I mean, as normal as you can be when you are moving around from home to home every four years or so (by the time I was in high school, it was seven years or so between moves). I have likened my upbringing to military kids, only it's still not the same because you are much more in the spotlight as a preacher's kid.

For example: When I was in high school, my father's sister Ruby came to stay with me and my sister Susan while our parents went to a minister's retreat of some sort. I was driving by that time, so I remember being pulled over by the chief of police with my aunt in the car. Now I knew him fairly well - we lived literally across a street and some railroad tracks from the police station and my dad had been called out at all hours when someone needing help ended up over there. So he gets out and walks to the window - I was sweating and she was seething - and when I rolled down the window he told me he'd pulled me over to tell me to tell Hoyt (my dad) to put the new sticker on his tag soon. Before I thought about it, I said, "You pulled me over for that? You just scared me to death!" He laughed and went on his way. 

My aunt, by the way, was still furious and had to let that anger out, so I got a three-point sermon on the way back home on how we did and did not speak to the police.

I wanted to post today after seeing the picture above circulating on Facebook this week. Jenna Bush Hager, one of President George W. Bush's daughters and current personality on NBC's Today Show has been featured recently in the discussions about the smooth transfer of power that happens in the US after a presidential election. Well, it's supposed to, anyway.

The picture above has the Bush daughters and their mother, First Lady Laura Bush, showing the Obama daughters around the White House before they moved in with their family. The letter that the twins wrote to Sasha and Malia reminded me so much of moving into a new parsonage - though I don't remember meeting any kids that lived in our new home before we did.

“Malia and Sasha, eight years ago on a cold November day, we greeted you on the steps of the White House. We saw both the light and wariness in your eyes as you gazed at your new home,” they wrote. “The four of us wandered the majestic halls of the house you had no choice but to move in to.” 

It also brought home the fact that my sister and I are in a rare club - UMC Preacher's Kids - and that some of my closest and dearest friends have come from that group. We understand each other - we get the weirdness and the odd memories - and we cherish that sameness that helps us be the best and most authentic versions of ourselves, wherever we ended up after we left the houses we called home, no matter how briefly.

So today, on Remembrance Day, I'm thinking about a UM preacher (who also served in the Army) and his wife and their two daughters moving into a new house, a new church, and a new life, and I am thankful. The grace that they showed, not unlike that shown to the Obama girls by the Bush daughters, guides my life, even today.

I'm the bigger one, 1977ish.

Apparently in Louisiana, 1983.

Notes from Exile: Week Ten

I am departing from my normal format here at the Lettuce today to tell you that people I love are hurting and this is the only way I know how to help. Please start with the link below and see how you can help. Be light in the darkness, speak truth to power, and if you are a white person like me, sit down and be quiet and listen. Don't ask what's wrong - we know what's wrong. Don't ask why - we know why.

The Guide to Allyship

If you feel compelled to say something about all lives mattering, here's my response. Maybe it will help. As I posted this week on FB, there is a story in Luke, chapter 15, about how a shepherd left his flock of 99 sheep to look for the one that had gone missing. That action in no way diminishes the lives of those 99 sheep that are where they are supposed to be and safe - because it is the one that is missing that is in danger.