Aunt Lois once told me of the time several spotted goats appeared on the family homestead out of nowhere during a storm. Her dad, my great grandfather, made inquiries throughout the community for several weeks but no one ever claimed them. She gently, but firmly, scoffed at my suggestion that perhaps it was some type of sign that our family was somehow “set apart” in the same manner as done in scripture (in the story of Jacob I believe).

On another occasion, when she caught me bragging on her carport about my impending baptism to some friends, Aunt Lois called me inside and cautioned, “Son you can go in that water a dry devil and come out a wet one. It’s just tap water. What matters is your commitment and growth.”

Finally, upon learning of  a betrayal by a girlfriend whom she never really cared for, Aunt Lois said, “You can set your best linen and silverware, light your finest dinner candles, and then take out your most prized crystal bowl and go out into the yard and fill it with chicken shit. When you sit back down at your finely set table and put that first forkful into your mouth it will not miraculously change to chicken salad.”

Do you sense a pattern? 

Which is not to say that Aunt Lois wasn’t filled with a sense of wonder. It’s just that she reserved it for important things; like an exceptional sunset or the satisfaction of a good day’s labor and the laughter of friends.