In 1997 my grandmother, Martha McKay Stovall, passed away ten days after her 79th birthday. Below is a picture of her and my grandfather, George Walter Stovall, who died last year at 90. When this photo was taken in the summer of 1947 she was 28 and he was 31. Both were younger than I am now.
Here's something I've wondered about for a while now: Theoretically, heaven is, well, heavenly. You lived a good life, so you're rewarded with eternal happiness. But people generally die when they're old, and who wants to arrive at the pearly gates only to discover that you're going to spend eternity with arthritis, cataracts, and liver spots?
I wasn't the wisest or most even-tempered 21-year-old, but physically speaking, that's the age at which I was the least self-conscious, so I'd like God to restore my legal-drinking-age features once I get to heaven. And I'd like to be reunited with my grandparents, but would they be in their early 20s—or whatever period of their lives at which they were the least self-conscious—when I meet them again? I'd recognize them, of course, but are family reunions in heaven filled with people who look like they're all in their teens and 20s, with no middle-aged or elderly bodies in sight?
The honeymoon will end sooner rather than later, and the punch-drunk goodwill of election night will give way to the sober reality of economic and military crises, but what excites me the most about last night's election is thinking that the first president my young nieces will be conscious of is Barack Obama. Their generation may have some racial barriers broken down before they even know those barriers once existed. It's a long shot, of course, but it's nice to think about. For them, it won't just be lip service that anyone can become president of the United States of America.
I know the polls have closed and McCain's way behind in the electoral-college vote count so far and there's absolutely no chance of him winning ... but dammit, you pulled a fast one in 2000 and you can do it again! So listen up ...
Barack Obama's middle name may be Hussein, but something about his name smells even fishier—his initials.
That's right—Barack Obama's initials are B.O. America, do you really want B.O. in the White House—and in your lives—for the next four years? Think about it. Or is it already too late?
