Cindy K. Sproles is an author and a speaker, whose dream is to do nothing more than craft words that speak from the heart. God's plan seems to be for her to write and teach the craft. With God’s guidance, Cindy is expanding her horizons. We'll see how He uses her.
Cindy is a mountain gal. Proud of her heritage, she was born and raised in the Appalachian Mountains where life is simple, words have a deep southern drawl, and colloquialisms like, "well slap my knee and call me corn pone" seem to take precedence over proper speech. Apple Butter, coal mining, the river, pink sunrises, and golden sunsets help you settle into a porch swing and relax. Family, the love of God, and strong morals are embedded into her life in the mountains. Teaching writers, spinning fiction tales about life in the mountains, history, and down-home ideas find their way into all she does. “I love to write devotions, to seek after the deeper side of Christ, and to share the lessons He teaches me from life in the hills of East Tennessee. I am a writer. A speaker. A lover of God's Word and friend to all.” This is Cindy Sproles. Welcome home to the mountains.
Subscribe to Cindy Sproles' Posts or Newsletter
Everyone deserves a vacation, and well, we’ve not had one in a couple of years. I mean, we went to Pigeon Forge/Gatlinburg the week Hurricane Helene hit. Who can call that a vacation? So, when the opportunity arose for us to take a cheap flight to Orlando and pet sit for our son, the Prince, Chase, and I hopped aboard.
Our younger son and his wife were heading to the Florida Keys, and I suppose he and I were both on the same wavelength because the idea came up for us to grab a flight to Orlando on Allegiant and spend nine quiet days away from home, and enjoy Orlando. We arrived, spent a little time with our son and his wife, wished them a fond farewell, and lay back for a time away from home.
When you live in Orlando, you generally know someone who works at a theme park, and our son was able to secure complimentary tickets for us to two parks. We purchased and enjoyed the beautiful Cirque du Soleil, then took those “sweet” tickets that were gifted to us and had fun at a theme park just down the road. But then, on a whim, we decided to visit the Florida Mall. A friend told us it was fun and huge, so we decided, why not?
It was a beautiful mall, and I suppose bigger than anything close to us in Tennessee (even in Pigeon Forge/Gatlinburg). I don’t think we could have walked the entire thing in one day. Anyway, the mall was lovely, and as we turned onto the main aisle, stores flanked us on both sides. It was apparent we were visitors. You could tell by the fact that our mouths hung to our knees.
What I was not prepared for were the merchants that filled the center of the mall walkways. Anything from incense to hair care and massages — you name it, all lined our walkway. Salespeople, I guess you call them salespeople. Clerks sound a bit Tennesseeish for Florida would lunge at you from their posts. Yes, lunge is the perfect word. “Try this.” “Here, let me show you…” “You want soft skin…” And yep, that was the one that got me.
I didn’t invite her into my space. She jumped in front of me and began sticking little black packets of samples into my hands, whether I wanted them or not. “Come here. Right here. Meet Olivia. She show you beautiful, soft skin.”
(No disrespect to those with this accent. I have my own, you know.)
Yep, I can say I was accosted and dragged into a store. Now, I didn’t go kicking and screaming. Being from Tennessee doesn’t mean you’re rude, but I did keep pulling my hand out of hers. Too close, if you know what I mean.
Before I knew it, she plopped me in a chair (the Prince, too, though Chase hightailed it out of the store. He was lucky the saleswoman only had two hands, or he’d have been slapped into a chair, too). Actually, his rear did faintly touch a chair, but then he bolted like a wild horse out of the store, leaving me and the Prince reeling at the hands of this…O-liv-i---aaaa.
I wear hearing aids. It was loud with the music in the store, and then you add a thick Eastern accent on top, and I’m pretty helpless. In fact, when cornered, I get a bit panicked. Olivia was in my space. I could barely hear her, much less understand her, and here she was…yanking off my glasses and telling me she could fix the bags under my eyes.
I saw the Prince grin. Which honestly made me want to throat punch, but I could see the humor. Within seconds, Olivia had smeared “stuff” all over my eyes and around my mouth.
“We get rid of laugh lines,” she said. Wait. I like my laugh lines. They show I’m happy, or I thought they did. Don’t they? Now, I’m getting self-conscious. I was suurreee laugh lines made me look happy.
“We fix baggy eyes.”
Baggy eyes?
“Oh, look. Fabulous! Fabulous. Maria, look fabulous.” Oliva motioned our accoster, Maria over.
“Oh…my god, WOW! Ten years off her. Beautiful. Sensational. I told you, you’d love.”
Did this woman just say, “Wow, ten years off her?” Excuse me.
“Look how the bags have vanished. Fabulous. Fabulous!” She clapped. “FABULOUS.”
Here it comes, folks—Olivia’s sales pitch.
“Now, Miss Cindy, if you order online from our store, you will pay $1,400.00 for this serum.”
I pushed her hand away, and horse laughed. Yes, I horse laughed. A big whinny and a ha-ha-ha.
“Oh, but wait,” Olivia said. “Here in the store, today only, I sell to you for $475.00. Almost 80% off.”
“Uh, no! Obviously, you don’t understand that I can’t afford serum. The entire family can enjoy $475.00. It would get us three tickets to SeaWorld.”
“Oh, all right. Where you live in Tennessee? I don’t have a consultant in Tennessee. Let me sign you up as consultant.”
“NO! I don’t want to be a consultant.”
“But you look fabulous. Just fabulous.” (Interject here, the mirror she shoved in my face.) “So, I don’t do this for everyone, but you are beautiful, Miss Cindy, and I want you to have no bags. So, I use my license and purchase for you our anti-aging serum for $100. Only today.”
“No, thank you.” And I stood from the chair she’d plastered me in. The Prince chuckled. “No. No. No.”
Now, my momma raised me right, so I turned and cupped my fingers gently around hers. “You’ve been so kind to show me your product. Thank you. But I’ve been a Mary Kay consultant for the better part of 30 years. I have great skin care at home and even use retinol. It’s a little slower process than your serum, but it does the trick.”
I smiled and walked away, still holding the black sample packet. We laughed all the way through the mall.
Here’s the kicker. Later that day, I spoke with my friend, who suggested that we visit the mall. We were laughing about my being accosted by an anti-aging saleswoman when I realized what store we’d landed in. Of all the stores in that lovely mall--Macy’s, Dillard's, Abercrombie & Fitch, or some other retail business above my pay grade at home, you’ll never guess which store I chose.
The stores were gorgeous, and their products were beautiful, but at the end of the day, we ended up at J. C. Penney. (lol...welcome to Central Florida!)
I know. I proved I’m just an out-of-place, less-than-fancy, no-frills country girl. Oh, and just so you know. By the time we reached the end of that mall section, Tim cocked his head and took hold of my chin.
“Uh, Cindy, your face is white. I mean, you have white stuff all over your eyes.”
So, Oliva, honey. I appreciate your efforts to correct my baggy eyes and laugh lines, but I ended up in the restroom washing off the $1400.00 serum that really only cost $100. Oh, and by the way, the restroom didn’t have paper towels, only fancy blowers to dry your hands. So, I hung upside down, trying to dry my face.
Despite it all, we had a blast. I don’t have to buy things to enjoy being with my boys. There’s little that beats good, old-fashioned fun, laughing with the men in your family. I don’t have to spend money to know how blessed I really am.
Just call me country bumpkin with the baggy eyes. (Are they really baggy? Droopy. Drippy? Stretched? Okay, overthinking!
Photo 1 – Image by Markus Distelrath from Pixabay Photo 2 – Image by Steven Yu from Pixabay Photo 3 - Image by photosforyou from Pixabay Photo 4 – ME
We called mother-in-law one, West, because her son, in teasing, gave her that title. I also mentioned mother-in-law two and this is where I named her East and pulled from scripture a phrase, “As far as the east is from the west.” It was true. Two women couldn’t have been more different.
I felt it only fair to share the other side of Oz, so to speak and talk a little about the mother-in-law we call East.
I am convinced that God has given me the opportunity to know two TRUE angels on earth. One was my Aunt Reba. She was the person in our family who managed a family of four, worked full-time, farmed a huge garden, kept the books for her husband’s business, and cared for any and everyone in the family who had a need. I never thought I’d see another real angel until East.
East was this tiny, 4’5’ woman who could remember every person she ever met, where they lived, and who their family was. She, too, managed two boys, a hubby, and a full-time job with a local dentist. She was active in her church, and I mean physically active. East loved the Lord, and that was always her first propriety.
After the experience of West, I was a little leery about turning my back on anyone. But it didn’t take long for East to prove that not only did she consider me part of the family, but she called me daughter—not daughter-in-law. In fact, she called my other sis-in-law daughter as well. Why? Because East loved us both as her own.
In all the years I knew East, I never recall her saying one bad thing about anyone.
She did once say she didn’t trust this one person, but even in that remark, she noted that she was sure there were reasons none of us knew about to make this person the way they were. She was quick to give the benefit of the doubt and always willing to offer the underdog a second chance.
If I were to say anything about East, it would be that the love of Christ shined through her. She was happy, joyful, and kind. Her favorite thing was taking photos and making them into picture albums for folks.
If there was a group of six people, East would take a series of photos and then make six albums highlighting the occasion. When she passed, and my sis-in-law and I were sorting through the house, cleaning and donating, I opened a back closet. When I did, a stack of photo albums from floor to ceiling in the closet tumbled out on top of me. East was making albums for everyone. My sister-in-law giggled a bit during that cleaning-out phase. East never had a thing out of place in her home. She was truly the epitome of “everything has a place and everything in its place.” As we emptied out things, we found East may have been a tiny bit of a hoarder, hence why she could always come up with a gift when someone walked in the door. (She would have passed out as she realized we’d found her untidy stash of “stuff” in her very tidy house.)
East was, truly, as far as the East was from the West. I’m convinced when she went to bed at night, she hung her halo on the bedpost and gently put away her wings. She was a dear, kind, and tender woman, and you didn’t mess with her family. Under that very sweet exterior was a lion, and she could and would defend her family if necessary.
So, yeah. I had two mothers-in-law as far as the East was from the West. But each taught me so much. East changed addresses on January 10, 2009, and what a gaping hole she left in our hearts. She, along with her husband, raised two amazing, godly men, and the one I was blessed to marry 39 years ago became everything to me…my prince. East taught her boys well, and I hope that through the years, I’ve been able to follow in her footsteps with my boys and their wives. We’re a combined family, but I’ve never called my husband’s sons STEP sons. They ARE my boys. I wanted to love their wives as East loved me and to make them feel like they were not just the wives of my boys but my daughters as well.
I think East would be proud to see me from her view in heaven and to know how much I love her and her son, and her grandsons. I feel sure she’s pointing out any missed spots of tarnish on her halo to the master shiner in heaven.
Yes, as far as the East is from the West…my life is better because of them both.
Photo one – courtesy of Image by Mario Aranda from Pixabay ~ Photo two – courtesy of Image by congerdesign from Pixabay
Photo three– courtesy of Image by Dottie Lambertson from Pixabay
I’ve said before that Easter is a hard holiday for our household. When you have a child, even an adult child like us, who has mental retardation, there are just some things that they simply cannot take in.
For us, it’s passion week. It’s that time our adult son sees the triumphant entry into the city with people praising Jesus and worshiping to, in an instant, those same people turning their backs, growing hateful and murderous, and then killing the very one they worshiped days earlier. That’s hard for even me to get my head around. However, for our son, it’s frightening. Yet here we are, facing that remembrance again, and it’s just as heartbreaking as the years before.
We tried children’s books about the Easter story of Jesus and how He rose on the third day. We’ve watched movies from the children’s side to the adult side, and still, the death of Christ terrifies my 45-year-old, mentally disabled son.
We have a friend who runs a ministry, and part of that ministry is to produce plays and excellent productions that touch the heart and speak to the love of Jesus. During a Christmas play, one of the ending scenes was a remembrance of Jesus carrying the cross. It was a moving moment, but when we looked at our son, he had his head lying on his knees and his coat over his head. His entire body shook. As much as he loves our friend who runs the productions, Chase said he’d never return. The suffering of Jesus taints his memory of the theatre.
We’ve done our best to reassure Chase that on the third day, the tomb opens. It’s open! Jesus is free from death because He, being God in human form, cannot be put away. Still, Chase quivers at the thought of Easter.
We always attend Easter services, but never say anything to Chase when he gets up and walks into the hallway. It doesn’t matter if it’s a play, a concert, or a sermon. When the death of Jesus comes into play, he can’t fathom it.
Our ladies at church recently went through Max Lucado’s Ten Women of the Bible study. One of the women Mr. Lucado addressed was Mary Magdalene. He said something that turned a light on for me. Do you know how you read certain things numerous times but miss the tiny detail that changes the entire perspective? Mr. Lucado and I missed that same detail. The stone wasn’t rolled away from the tomb so Jesus could leave. It was rolled away so Mary could go inside. Jesus didn’t need help moving a stone. After all, He’d just overcome death. Who needs help moving a rock when you’ve just done the impossible?
The fact was, the tomb was open. It was open for Mary to look inside and realize Jesus was gone.
It took a minute—maybe several minutes for the spiritual side of Mary’s brain to kick in. Seeing an empty tomb must have sent her reeling, panicked. I’m sure the multiple times Jesus said He would return didn’t cross her mind. All she could see was an open tomb and a missing body. The moment she looked into that open tomb was the second her brain closed down. It took that sweet encounter with a man she thought was a gardener to jolt her to her spiritual awakening—Jesus stood before her, smiling. Tender and loving. And Mary’s mind opened again.
Are you seeing the OPEN moment yet?
How often have we gone into spiritual shutdown, closing out everything we know Jesus promised? I’ve lost count, but the truth is, Jesus walked out of an open tomb unhindered by death, primed and ready to show the unbelieving He meant business.
The good thing about Easter in our home is that our son knows Jesus lives. It’s not that he doesn’t understand the sacrifice of Jesus. He does. It’s the cruelty. The brutality. What terrifies him is the complete rejection of Jesus. It’s humanity that upsets him, and its lack of regard that sends him into despair. It’s the inhuman ways of humans doing the unthinkable.
When Chase was thirty-three (I find a bit of irony in that age), he spent thirty life-changing minutes with our minister. He’d asked how you become a Christian, and even though I know that the mercy of God extends farther than we can imagine for those with limited understanding, Chase grew in his spiritual life to the point that he was curious. My job throughout his life has been to keep him involved and OPEN for Christ to do what Christ does best. Enter in.
So, at thirty-three, my son chose to be baptized, to be open to Christ entering his heart. It doesn’t change that Easter and Passion Week still terrify him, but it does put a new spin on things. Through the terror, our son sees life.
I often wonder if God chose age thirty-three for Chase to fully understand, so he might be a little tighter linked to Jesus. They both have immense compassion. Let’s let them be really snug in one another. I guess I’ll never know anything more than Jesus tied up His ministry at thirty-three, and Chase walked into His arms at the same time.
There’s something to being open. An open heart. Open mind, Open arms—open tomb. They all prepare the way for Christ to enter.
I hope that this Easter you will be OPEN to the life-changing way of Christ. If you’re a seasoned Christian, then definitely OPEN up. It’s easy to, over time, shut down. Remember the sacrifice and the open tomb, and that it wasn’t open for Jesus to walk out but for us to walk in and take a glance. Proof of a risen Savior.
Come on. Open up. Have that open moment.
Photo 1 Image by Arnie Bragg from Pixabay/ Photo 2 Image by Meranda D from Pixabay