Musings from Four Holes Swamp

Morning, Lord. It’s me. I’m here in Four Holes Community sitting on my screen porch close to the swamp. I thought I would muse a bit while the swamp was quiet, before the crickets and bullfrogs woke up, before the mosquitoes began biting. Life is tough when you live near a swamp. Who wants to get used to mosquitoes? Preacher Pat at Caltoon County Christ Church told me brother Jimmy has had trouble hearing you lately, and I should tell you about it. He hasn’t seen you either, though he did see a man wandering the streets wearing ragged, dirty clothes too big for his frame. Jimmy was sure he smelled, but he didn’t get close enough to take a whiff. I told Jimmy it’s hard to smell a person when you cross the street to avoid them. I don’t know what to tell Jimmy about those times when you seem removed. But I figured he hasn’t gone looking for you. He has been busy polishing his truck and buying beer. He’s a little embarrassed about going to church hungover. I told Jimmy you would come to his place, but this scared him, and he locked his doors. I think he’s restless. Preacher Pat says he’s looking for answers—and questions, too. Sometimes he finds them. I told him to be patient, that you said for him to be still, that you were God and had everything in hand. He said he liked fidgeting. It makes him feel like he’s doing something. He said people keep coaxing him into doing things he knows he shouldn’t but went along because letting them down would be rude, and his mother always said to mind his manners. On another note, I heard the other day young Mazie got pregnant. She’s not married; she’s only 16. The father is 17. He skipped out on her, left her to fend for herself. She stayed away from home because she thought her parents would be mad, disappointed, try to force her into marriage or tell her not to come home. None of that happened. They just put their arms around her and told her they would be there to support and love her. She came home and they invited some friends and family over and threw her a party. This riled up her sister. I heard a song the other day called “Long road out of Eden.” I think they got that right because the swamp ain’t no picnic. The bottom line is everyone is trying to handle all this on their own. Grandpa Adam and Grandma Eve had it made, then messed up, and now we’re here in the swamp with those pesky mosquitoes. We keep struggling with this idea life is not as it should be, at least it’s not in Four Holes Swamp. I know life here can be like eating chitlins with a warning—SWALLOW WITH HOT SAUCE ONLY. Thanks for the mosquitoes. I don’t like them chitlins either.