America—Date Night…Poetry?

America—Date Night…Poetry?

Some wild things have gone on the past three weeks that have led me to be driven around by family and friends recently. It’s good to get off the couch and out of the house. My back is tight and cabin fever is real, and I need to move to start working through this physical weakness which seems to be bone-deep.

It was a joy to ride shotgun with my friend and pastor Matt as he ran some of his errands. We landed at the Murphy Ingles for lunch. He’s healthy and got a salad, while I satisfied an overseas’ craving for a Boar’s Head Italian sub. I need to gain back some of those pounds which have run off anyways.

On our way out the door after lunch we stopped to look at the bulletin board. Matt’s always looking for a deal, like a good lawnmower or Toyota truck someone wants to sell cheap. Instead, we landed on the perfect date night idea for me and Kilby.

Kilby has been through the ringer these past days and weeks; I truly cannot begin to explain all that she has been through, and done, nor how well she has done it. There’s been a lot of strain, and she has been strong. I praise God for the wife he has given me.

No night out on the town is going to make all of that strain go away, but it would surely be a good form of rest and recovery, and reminder of our togetherness. I want time with my wife whenever I can have it! When I saw this flyer for a poetry and pie night, and Matt encouraged further, I was hoping I could convince Kilby to go…without knowing where.

The Lord sorted it out. I mentioned a date night, and though she begged to know the details…she received none…yet was still willing to partake. 

The plan was So’s Good Chicken (Kitchen), our favorite Murphy Chinese food. We wound up trading that in for new nails and a new friend (Loan) at the nail shop for Kilby, UGO (discount grocery) for me, the chiropractor for both of us (we can look left and right now, thanks Grant), and a 20 piece McNugget and large fry.

That’s been our occasional, strange fast food marriage splurge thing since the beginning and there’s a certified rain check on So’s Good for next week, don’t you worry. 

We were running 10 minutes late for the event, but I figured the bouncers would still let us in. Indeed they did. Kilby thought I was looking at art in a window and said “we are running late, we have to go,” and I said, “this is the place!” I think that must have been a surprise: an artsy filled shop in the downtown of Murphy. I had cleaned myself up as good as possible for the evening and had high hopes for a good evening.

We walked into a back room with a stage-sort-of-curtain, a small shelf of books, a chair, and a microphone. About 25 or 30 people present in all. Kilby said she thought it may be an ‘improv’ evening, as someone was finishing a speech, then a name was drawn from a hat. 

She soon realized she had landed in a room full of poetry-loving people. There was a newborn baby to our right and aged women in front of us. A bearded man taking photographs, as delightful works were shared one after another.

We listened to a Creation poem where it was mentioned that God made too many raccoons but it was too late. Everyone laughed. We heard stories of rainy day adventures in England, hunting squirrel in the attic for stew in the Appalachian Mountains, cries of anguish “I’m no Job” by one God has brought through deep waters, metaphors of perchers and nesters, and so much more.

We heard perspectives far different than ours on ecology, society, and what it means to “be.” We heard incredible poems on cars breaking down and the agelessness felt in the waters while swimming. Others mentioned the nearness of family at the holidays, even if loneliness persisted through the year.

It was truly an incredible evening. Somehow each of these poems and topics linked back to the theme of ‘shelter.’ Something that makes you secure or acts as your refuge, or keeps you, or holds you. 

When Matt and I first saw the flyer, he thought Kilby and I should grab food and hear other people’s poems, and I’m so glad we did. Yet I could not convince myself to go and not wield the pen. 

My mind has been foggy—though mostly normal now—but this much has remained clear. I love my Lord, I love my wife, I love my family, and I long for our home to be a gospel witness and shelter for others.

We listened to all the poems brought by others, with several stand-out favorites we are still talking about days later. This was better than a movie night, even before the pie and conversation at the close (they had two favorites, key-lime pie and pecan pie; my weight re-gain journey has been expedited).

One other lady and I had signed up late and our names and biographies were not in the hat to be drawn. I praise God for the kindness of the host, Drew, who let us both share. I am so thankful I was the closer. It reminded me of my days on the mound playing ball with my friends, though I felt stronger then.

It was pure trembling and joy as I stood up to share my poem. Once I got my rear unstuck from the chair I was pasted to, much to the glee of all in attendance, I slowly sick-man walked up to the microphone. I never have much in the way of nerves before speaking in front of larger crowds. There must be something about declaring your love for your wife and expressing your emotion so deeply that can cause your knees to buckle a bit.

I said, “I am Greg, here with my wife Kilby Lee. We live in East Africa, in Uganda, but are so thankful to be home for Christmas. This is my poem.”

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Merry Christmas!

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It was a joy to surprise my wife, to share original art (even if elementary, it flows from the heart) with strangers and new friends, to prayerfully point to truth, to Christ, and to share time with the one my heart loves. It was so fun listening and sharing.

We went back to our old Suburban full of smiles. I think some tears were shed by my lady. Joyful reunions were also unexpectedly had with old friends in attendance.

Kilby finished her remaining (now chilled) nuggets before we drove home. This evening will not soon be forgotten. Thankful to Marma and Auntie Lay and all who watched Almy while we were out and about doing married people lovey-things.

Still dreaming about So’s Good for next week.