I just thought giving up sugar was hard. Or dairy.

Those are child’s play compared with forcing yourself to go the speed limit. This is virtually impossible. Or maybe it’s just me?

Did you know the speed limit on Old Knoxville Highway is THIRTY?!?! Did you know that through the curves it’s TWENTY FIVE??? And downtown is TWENTY?!? Maggie doesn’t even idle that slow!! I do twenty in my driveway!!!

I had to pull over on Boyds Creek this morning to let traffic pass. I refuse to be one of those people making everybody late for work. NOBODY drives the speed limit. I’ve held the opinion for many years that the speed limits need to be increased. That opinion was reinforced this morning. Old Knoxville Highway speed limits seem a bit severe. I mean, I get that it’s narrow and windy, but TWENTY FIVE?!? Maybe if you’re in a box van or a delivery truck, but for the average Joe that’s a bit restrictive. Anyway. My opinion. My job is just to follow it.

Lunch was another challenge. Rubbin’s racin’ on 66. But I think I obeyed the law. I tried, anyway. I had other things to worry about. Like all the tourists on spring break craning their necks to get a peek at Dolly or maybe the nearest moonshine distillery.

Luckily, I had board tonight so by the time I got out the traffic had died down and I was fortunate enough to get behind a vehicle on Chapman that was also interested in going the speed limit. Something tells me they probably weren’t doin’ it for the Lord, though. Probably more concerned about getting pulled over for a variety of automobile offenses that I noted while following.

Or perhaps they’d eaten some fancy brownies.

At any rate, it was a relief to get home.

I tried to concentrate on my prayer as much as I fixated on my speed, but it didn’t work that way. It was a real battle of will to hold it firmly in the law abiding range. And if I accidentally went over, I paid penance by going under for the same amount of time or distance. I’m taking Lent very seriously. It’s a serious matter. And probably somewhat entertaining to most of you. That’s good. Glad y’all are benefiting from my misery!

My protagonist today is a man I’ve known my whole entire life. I was placed on his motorcycle for a photo before I was ever able to walk. No, I don’t know if it was a Harley. It was black, it had chrome. I can envision the picture, but I can’t recall the memory. If you were to meet him, I would introduce him as “Mike, one of Uncle Dale’s best friends. He’s from Union County but he’s been to GUAM!!! And helped put out a fire!!!”

And then I would tell you this story:

I don’t KNOW what Mike was doing in Guam. Maybe he was with the military, but that doesn’t seem right. If it wasn’t eleven o’clock I would text him and ask him but at this point, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, he heard tale of a fire on the island. Being a good ol’ country boy, he wanted to help. Being from the sticks of Tennessee, he was virtually incoherent to the natives of Guam as he shouted at them: “How far’s the fire?”
They looked at him wildly.
Because it sounded like this: “How fer’s the far?”

Looks of incomprehension.

So of course, as we all do, he increased his volume, if not his enunciation. “How fer’s the far?”

Nothing, of course. Come to find out they thought he was asking about some furry creature, not the hot blazes engulfing buildings.

Anyway, it’s better to hear him tell it.

Like I said, Mike hails from Union County, which as most of us know is as poor and rugged as Cocke County without the high profile. I think they just shoot you up there and let the buzzards pick you and everybody’s super tight lipped and protecting their neighbor and their goal is just to fly low under the radar. If Mike were to talk to you very long, you would hear about his family first and the man his daddy shot out of the apple tree next. I’ll tell you about his family. I might tell you about the man who got shot if you’re nice.

“My daddy was a preacher. My grandfather was a preacher. His daddy, my great-grandfather, was a preacher. One of my Dad’s brothers made a preacher. Another uncle was a gospel singer. So was my mom, and my daddy too, when he wasn’t preachin’. Two of my brothers sang, too.

“And then there was me.”

***Big smile***

So when I asked him what to fast for him, his answer was, “Whatever you don’t want to do.”

So he gets it. He knows the purpose. His daddy probably made him go without shoes for these 40 days .

Mike is A-ok. But that’s a funny way of putting it. Mike wears overalls, has red hair (well, he used to, anyway), and has a gap between his front teeth he can whistle through. He used to drive a big hulking black Chevy pickup. Once upon a time it had a white seal on the dash that he gave to me when I was little. His wife’s name is Cathy, or Cat, whom I will be writing about in the future. They had a son named Jason, who was my age. We played war with sticks in the yard many a time and hung out in his swimming pool. I have many fond memories of staying at their house when I was growing up. They had a cactus by the front door as tall as the ceiling. They once had a chow dog named Thunder that came from Uncle Dale. It was a half-brother to my chow-chow.

Anyway. “You remember I told you my daddy was a preacher?” {You would nod here}. “Well, he shot a man.” {Your eyes would bulge}. “You know how turkeys get quiet at night?” {You may or may not know this but nod quickly so you can get to the good part} “Well, we had a pen of turkeys and one evening we were eating supper and they started making the awfullest racket there ever was. Daddy jumped up, and saw a man in the pen trying to catch one to steal it! He grabbed his gun that stayed propped up by the back door, went out on the stoop, racked it and fired in the air. And a man fell out of the apple tree!” {At this point you would gasp. Very dramatic.} “Turns out the man in the tree was serving as lookout and when Dad fired the shot in the air, he hit him. They took him to the vet down the road that worked on people, too, and that was all that was ever said about it. We never had any trouble with people stealing after that, though.”

Really, you should hear Mike tell it. He has a certain je ne sais quoi. No, that’s not a typo. Lookit up.

Down to business. Mike’s prayer was simple, but heartfelt. His hope is that all cancer would be cured. Wouldn’t that be nice? Personally, I believe it’s already possible but you gotta have the means to pay for it. And I know proton therapy is growing by leaps and bounds. But, oh, to be completely healed! If only it were as easy as taking a round of shots or a series of pills for ten days like you do for poison ivy. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

So I come to you tonight with a loving heart and praising tongue to ask you to for a cure. Some mix of all natural sources to kill cancer at the first cell. Some compound that will kill it to the root, to stop it from ever reoccurring. You know how billions of people suffer and worry and most assuredly die from this disease. You can heal them, Lord. I believe it. You give us hope when there is no more, strength when we are too tired to go on, and faith that we can help others through their trials. You are the ultimate healer and giver and provider. Provide us this, Lord. Give the scientists and doctors the knowledge of what to use for that potion to save us all. For we are told in Isaiah 53:5: But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.

We are promised fruitful heaven on the other side, Lord, rubies in our crown and streets of gold. We who know you know this. But cancer eats us slowly, takes our abilities one at a time at an agonizing price. Would you show us your mercy once more? We need a cure. We need your help. We are pleading for permanent remission from this terrible disease. I thank you for all the blessings you bestow on us, I thank you for my lifetime friendship in Mike and all the times he makes us all laugh. He’s jolly good, Lord. Please hold him and protect him and let him know he is loved. In Jesus’ name.

I know this is near and dear to almost everyone. I can’t think of a single soul who hasn’t had a personal scare, or lost someone very close to them. It’s as common as clover and has to be one of the most heart wrenching things to watch kill your loved one. It never takes the mind first. It destroys everything else it can for maximum suffering. It hides. It’s a chameleon. It’s Satan, straight up. I’m praying for two people currently that are holding their breath, waiting to hear. Nasty business.

I hope that someday y’all will get the pleasure of meeting Mike. He’s a good ‘un. Ain’t too many people that could put up with this crazy family all these years.

Love from Appalachia,

Amy xoxo