“Good Morning. Do we have any visitors here today?” We all laughed at the teacher’s preposterous question.

“I’d like to know where you’re from.” The laughter died down. “Would you folks tell me the name of your home state or country?”

“South Carolina.” “Texas.” “Bosnia.” Guests called out their addresses in turn. “Maine.” “Maryland.”

“Oh, Maryland,” our teacher smiled in recognition. “I used to live in Washington, D.C.” That Jimmy Carter—what a kidder.

We met in the sanctuary of Maranatha Baptist Church (it’s the only room large enough for the crowd) where President Carter teaches Sunday School about 30 Sundays a year. The week following this one he’d be away—had to monitor the elections in Palestine, don’t cha know.

Our family of five and my parents, Harold and Gloria Mitchell, joined hundreds of other travelers early that Sunday morning in line to enter Maranatha Baptist. We were cleared by federal security (what a relief) and were seated. Once the church was filled, we received specific instructions on how to respond to the President and Mrs. Carter and to the Secret Service workers. Then, the pastor said a prayer and when we lifted our heads, Jimmy Carter, the 39^th president of the United States of America, strolled across to the podium.

Can you believe it? There I was, in this tee-tiny, itty-bitty church and there was Jimmy Carter: Right there. Close enough to hug. And guess what? He’s not even close to ten feet tall. Unbelievable.

No kidding, I was really surprised that Jimmy Carter is not in some way larger than life (shucks, even Yao Ming is and he just plays basketball). But disappointed? No way. Because part of the wonderful thing about meeting Jimmy Carter is finding out that he is not extraordinary. He is an 82 year old man who teaches Sunday School every Sunday unless he is out of town with his wife. He is a dad and a granddad (“eleven grandchildren and one great grandchild,” Mrs. Rosalyn bragged to my mother, like any grandmama would). He loves to fish and hunt and tinker around in his workshop. He’s a church-going country boy from a small church in a small town that he dearly loves.

A few months after our visit, Mother asked Daddy what he wanted for his 70^th birthday in November of 2006. He thought for just a moment before he said, “I want our kids and their families to meet us in Plains, Georgia to hear Jimmy Carter teach Sunday School.” Generally speaking, in our family what Daddy wants, Daddy usually gets. (Daddy doesn’t want much.) So a few weeks ago, the sixteen of us descended on Georgia’s tiniest famous town. We went back to Sunday School, we stayed in Plains Inn, and we visited the historic sites around town. Overall, it was a pretty ordinary visit. But in Plains, ordinary is downright spectacular.

Permission to Indulge

Removed from home page January 6, 2007

Merry Thanksgiving-Hanukkah-Christmas and more Season: the time of year when we are bombarded with temptation at every turn! And not just everyday temptations either—temptations that are dripping with nostalgia and tradition, iced with a little family pressure and guilt.

What about you? Do you have a favorite treat you look forward to from New Year’s Day until December the whatever? What is the one food you absolutely must have for it to really be Thanksgiving or Christmas?

I have one. And to this day, my mother still makes this one treat especially for me. What is my can’t-live-without, just-gotta-have, absolute-must Christmas tasty? Date Balls. These oh-so-sweet fruit and grain confections rolled in powered sugar melt in my mouth, bringing memories a-plenty. They taste like Mama’s kitchen. They taste like cousins’ laughter. They taste like Santa Claus. They taste like Christmas.

And I will have them when I’m in my Mama’s kitchen at Christmas time. But do I have to gain 10 pounds while I’m enjoying this tasty stroll down memory lane? Surely not. I’m thinking back on all those magazine articles I’ve read and Weight Watchers™ leaders I’ve heard. Here are some of the best tips I can remember from those experts:

We need to remember that individual foods do not have personalities or moral values; therefore they are neither inherently good nor inherently bad. It is our choices, not bad foods that lead to unhealthful living. So, why not enjoy our favorites, and make healthful choices.

Can we do it? Can we make a plan to enjoy our favorite holiday fare without sabotaging our health? I think we can. Hey, maybe Mother will even send us her recipe so we can have our Date Balls and enjoy them too!