“We are all going to Pigeon Forge for Memorial Day weekend! Yes, we are taking three children under 10 years old, their parents, and us for a long weekend,” my husband announced one day in March.
Immediately, I thought, “No one in their right mind would go to Dolly’s place on Memorial Day! The traffic will be horrible, the crowds horrendous, and the accommodations scarce.”
Yes, I became the mental downer in the plan. The good thing is that I mostly kept my mouth shut… mostly.
The minute we entered the Great Smoky Mountains, the rain engulfed us, and traffic was bumper to bumper. My sweet mind wanted to shout, “I told you so!” But I figured lightning would surely crash through the closed sunroof and strike me dead.
But a funny thing happened on the way to visit Dolly and her rides, shows, and adventures: the rain stopped. It rained everywhere else in the South that weekend, but not at Dollywood’s theme parks. I do believe Dolly is an angel, so perhaps she truly does have connections with the big guy.
The crowds were sparse, the kids rode every ride, cheered with joy, and indulged in all the sugar-fueled goodies available.
The whole time, I expected a tree to fall on the car or a child to overdose on gummy worms, but to my surprise, nothing happened. So, Miss Gloom and Doom had to admit she was wrong and they were all right. I hate that part.
On the last day, we were at the water park when the clouds began to gather, and fatigue settled into our bones. David and I decided to go back to our rental home.
The youngest boy, who was 7, chose to come with us
Wes is a curious little guy. His all-American looks and toothless grin disguise his intelligence. His first words must have been “Why? “and “How?”
Weston and I sat on the front porch steps, where he watched the road for the others to return. I needed to distract him, so I decided to check his spelling, math, and reading skills. I was amazed at how well he did!
This little teaching session lasted about 10 minutes. Then I simply asked, “Wes, what do you want to talk about? Do you have things on your mind?”
He looked up at me with an inquisitive, serious expression and said, “God.”
“What do you want to know about God?” I asked.
“Well, who made Him and how did He begin?” Before responding, I silently asked God, “Oh, Lord, HELP!”
“Wes, everything has a beginning and an end. God was the beginning, and He will be the end.”
Whew, that seemed to work. But there was more.
“Well, Grandma, do I have to be good all the time to go to heaven? How do I get there?”
“Son, nobody can be good all the time. We all make mistakes, but the neat thing about God is that He forgives us if we ask. How you get to heaven is knowing and loving God first and foremost. When you do, being as good as we can seems easier somehow.”
“Grandma, why do bad things happen? Why would God hurt people?”
Suddenly, I wished I had my minister on speed dial!
“Wes, we don’t live in paradise; we must seek it. This whole life thing is just a test to see how we handle our freedom to make decisions and find God, even though we cannot see Him.”
“Have you ever heard Him speak?” Wes questioned.
“Actually, I did, one time a long time ago. Nobody believes me, but I know for sure it was a voice I had never heard before.
Weston’s eyes grew wide as I told the story.
I was seventeen when I learned that my grandfather had died suddenly in Tennessee. He was a strong, beloved, and wonderful man, so it was quite a blow.
It was in the wee hours of the morning when my parents and I finally headed up to the Tennessee mountains. I was tired, and the car was quiet when I loudly and sternly heard, “Lynn, you will be the one who takes care of your grandmother!”
“Daddy, what did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied.
“Mama, did you hear that man?”
“Honey, no one said anything. Were you dreaming?”
“No.”
Years later, my grandmother tearfully said to me, “You were the one who helped me the most.”
After I told the seven-year-old my story, he responded,
“Grandma, I believe you.”
I almost cried.
Dollywood had the rides, kind weather, and gummy bears, but sometimes it’s the quiet moments, the curious kids who want to know things, and the God who controls it all that make the days just plain beautiful.
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