I am in literary heaven right now, bounding through the pages of Pat Conroy’s latest novel.  I borrowed South of Broad from Mom last week (free contraband from the family holiday front lines is the best!) and haven’t put it down much since. Like all of his work, the book is poetic, lyrical, comforting, and Southern.  It’s like eating cheese grits while wrapped in a magnolia-scented blanket.  I remember when Pat (I feel I can call him that because reading his work makes you feel like you know him) visited my college, Birmingham-Southern, for a writer’s conference.  My sister and I bought tickets to the conference luncheon, where he was the keynote speaker, and the book signing afterward.  Pat signed our copy of Beach Music and wrote, “To the Stricklands:  a family of beautiful women.”  Sis and I swooned our way back to the dorms.  His writing adds that kind of eloquence to everyday life.  When I’m immersed in one of his books, I’m not walking down the streets of New York, oh no–I traipse along the grid of this timeless city as its streets murmur the stories of my life.  Pat’s writing gives me two unparalleled gifts:  a great story, and a day dipped in beauty.  And on top of that, he appears to know the same God I do, as I read last night:  “It did not look like the work of God, but it might have represented the handicraft of a God with a joyous sense of humor, a dancing God who loved mischief as much as prayer, and playfulness as much as mischief.”  Sounds like someone I know.

Speaking of God, my favorite person in the city to hear talk about him is Tim Keller. Tim’s words don’t have gardenias hanging off the ends of them, but they carry that rare quality of truth that unlocks my heart and challenges my soul, especially the area of it marked “Pre-Conceived Notions”.  His is an intellectual discourse:  in last night’s sermon, he cited Aristotle, David Bentley Hart, Nietzsche, Martin Luther King, Jr…and the Bible.  And yet by the end of each of these thirty-minute dissertation-level education capsules, I find I love God and my neighbor more than I did when I walked in the building.  When the truth is told by solid people, it resonates.

And there’s another dude who warrants mentioning.  The guy I heard on the phone this morning, taking a work conference call.  I listened as he discussed price points and mergers and other words I don’t understand or remember, in a voice that was confident, articulate, and brilliant.  The voice of a man who has traveled the world, obtained his own staggering education and credentials, and succeeded in the impressive and jerk-filled world of New York finance without becoming what surrounds him.  The same guy who, in a different voice, goofs off with me and tells me he loves me.  Whose humility and kindness are staggering themselves and make me want to be a better person.  The kind of person whose character surpasses his resume because he knows–despite being immersed in a culture where the opposite is true–what matters most.

I read and listen to and love these men.  And then I thank the Best Man, whose blessings to me consistently exceed anything I could ever earn.