(I started this little series–my favorite things–a few days ago, and promised to end with this piece on my favorite places. We all have our favorite places. Here are some of mine, in no particular order.

Chartwell, the country home of Winston Churchill.

We were there in 1982 and I recall every detail of the visit. Roaming the campus, it was fascinating to see the brick walls Churchill himself had built (after working to learn how) during the 1930s when he was basically unemployed.  William Manchester’s second volume of the trilogy “The Last Lion” chronicles this period in WC’s life as “Alone.”  While we were there, I bought a book on Churchill and had Margaret snap my photo sitting under a tree reading it.  These days, I’m reading a book “Dining with Churchill” in which the author talks about the many meals at Chartwell attended by the greats of the world, what they ate and talked about, how those experiences affected history, etc. (In my den, you’ll find an entire shelf filled with books on Churchill. I’ve had to be more selective in buying more since several new ones come out every year, with no sign of stopping.)

Nauvoo, Alabama the family farmhouse and the surrounding environs.

No way could I make such a list and leave out the land of my beginnings.  Our great-grandparents (Kilgores and Noles) lived in this area in the 1800s, my grandfather Virge Kilgore built houses and farms here soon after 1900, my mother was born in the old houseplace on the next ridge, and I was born in 1940 on the spot where our present farmhouse stands. As a teenager, I plowed all these same fields my dad and grandpa plowed decades before.  Our tracks are everywhere, and in a sense, each foot of ground is holy.  A mile down the back road is a bottomland called Bunkum where we found hundreds of arrowheads and other artifacts.  A great, great place for a kid to be a kid.

The nation of Israel. Every foot of ground is sacred, history happened on each square. I brought back rocks, figuring that “this rock was an eyewitness to the event.” (Each acre is covered with a zillion rocks, so it’s not like they’re going to miss a few.  You can find them in the rock cabinet just inside my front door.)  I used to resist suggestions that I travel to the Holy Land, saying “I’m too busy where Jesus is to go where He was.”  But in 1984, the First Baptist Church of Columbus, MS, gave Margaret and me a trip there for our tenth anniversary. It was truly life-changing in every sense. For months after returning, I ran a (spiritual) low-grade fever. I’d see even a photograph of something in Israel and my eyes would tear up.

The New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, 3939 Gentilly Boulevard, N.O.

This is such a lovely campus. For almost 50 years, the school has been an integral part of my life. In the 1960s, I worked on a masters of theology. In the 1970s, worked on a doctorate of ministry. In the 1980s, I was president of the national alumni, and so forth. In the 1990s and ever since, I’ve been a member of the adjunct faculty (translation: part-time, teaching the occasional class).  This spot of earth is like the Nauvoo farmland and Israel to me in that every foot of ground holds precious memories.

Anywhere Abraham Lincoln walked.

Another shelf in my den is loaded with Lincoln books. I’ve been to his birthplace in Hodgenville, Kentucky, to Springfield, Illinois (and New Salem) where he lived and grew and worked, to various towns around Illinois where he debated Stephen A. Douglas, and to Washington D.C. where he served and was killed (been to the Ford Theater and the house across the street where he died).  My favorite Lincoln thing to do is simply walk the streets of Springfield, reading the historical markers. “On this site stood the ? tavern where newlyweds Abraham and Mary Lincoln lived on the second floor.”  At the tiny railroad depot downtown, the marker identifies this as the spot where newly elected President Lincoln boarded the train for Washington and gave that memorable farewell to his friends.

Any country cemetery with old gravestones and shade trees.

Sometimes when I’m driving long distances and need a place to pull off the highway for a brief rest, I’ll look for a country graveyard.  If they have shade trees, then I pull under one, roll down the windows and lean my seat back. The birds singing, the fragrance of flowers and the mown grass, as well as the thoughts of where I am–these all bless me richly.

Friendship Cemetery in Columbus MS is the epitome of such a place. Anytime I’m in that sweet city, I will take a half-hour to drive there, park under a huge magnolia tree, and just walk around, reading names.  Having pastored there from 1974-86 (and returned for funerals and other occasions frequently since), I’m amazed how many names on gravestones I recognize. Sometimes I will say out loud, “Oh my. I had forgotten you.  What a sweet friend you were,” and thank God for such precious memories.

The National WW2 Museum in N.O.

Steven Ambrose, a professor of history at the University of New Orleans (and no longer living), envisioned this museum, first as a D-Day Museum because this city was the site of the building of the “Higgins” boats which made landings on islands and shores possible during the War.  As the museum grew, its scope enlarged to cover the entire war. These days, it is a billion dollar investment and shows no sign of slowing down. Tom Hanks and Tom Brokaw are two major advocates.  I’m glad to be a charter member.  When people ask me what to visit in New Orleans, this is toward the top of my list. I tell them even if they don’t have the time to buy a ticket and see the entire museum, walk into the atrium and spend an hour taking in the various planes and jeeps and landing craft and talking to the WW2 veterans who are there just to chat with guests. That will not cost a dime.

When the snow is falling, any woods. 

For four years of my childhood (from ages 7 to 11), our family lived in West Virginia where snow would blanket the ground all winter long.  Our move back to Alabama was sudden and unexpected (the coal mines were laying off workers) and I was unprepared for how much I would miss the mountains, my friends, and the winter activities. To this day–I’ll be 73 in March–when the snow begins to fall, I’m a little kid again.

Whether I’m at home when the snow falls or on the road, I’ll find some woods and walk out into them and recite the Robert Frost poem, “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening.”  (For years, I’d dig out the book of his poetry and carry it into the woods with me. Finally, I decided to memorize the poem.)

“Whose woods these are, I think I know. His house is in the village though. He will not see me stopping here to watch his woods fill up with snow.  My little horse must think it queer to stop without a farmhouse near. He gives his harness bells a shake to ask if there is some mistake…..”

The levee beside the MS River.

This is my walking place. We moved into our present home in 1994 and as soon as the city/parish/state (somebody!) paved a track atop the levee which hems in the great Mississippi River so we could walk there, it has become my favorite spot.I love to watch the ships (mainly cargo and tankers; rarely a paddlewheeler) and towboats pushing barges, and listen to the sounds.
I think of the two times a very young Abraham Lincoln came down this same river on flatboats. In those days, they would build boats and load them with crafts or produce, travel down the river, sell their cargo in New Orleans, and then tear up the boat and sell it for firewood, then walk around the city for a day or two (“seeing the elephant,” they called it), then book passage to St. Louis on a paddlewheeler, then walk back to Springfield.  A Tulane professor wrote a book about this recently, “Lincoln in New Orleans.”

The altar of any Baptist church.

In my retirement ministry, I’m in a different church most Sundays. One of the first things I do is to check out the altar area, which is usually nothing more than steps leading up to the platform. I want to know if people will feel comfortable coming here to kneel and pray during the service.  That is a big, big deal to me.  Often I encourage members to continue coming to the altar to pray every Sunday, as (among other things) it seems to add something vital to the church.  At our church in Kenner, we have kneeling cushions across the altar. Every Sunday people line this area lifting up their prayers to the Lord. I love this very much.

Any public library feels like my home.

As a book-lover, I am drawn to old used bookstores as well as new ones like Barnes & Noble, or the independent stores such as New Orleans’ Octavia Books and the Garden District Book Store, and so many others.  And I do love public libraries.  Even in strange cities where I’m passing through, I’ve been known to stop in, to browse the stacks and select something, then drop into a comfortable chair for a half-hour.  It’s far better than the interstate rest stops, although I confess to appreciating them also.

You can tell that this list could go on and on. I love clean, friendly restaurants, particularly ones like Steak and Shake or Bob Evans or (up north) Friendly Restaurants–where you can finish off your meal with a dish of ice cream.  (I am one ice-cream lover!)  I enjoy browsing shopping malls and watching people.  I’ll finish this off with my ultimate favorite place…

Any place my grandchildren and I happen to be.

For many years, that place was a swing on a tree in the front yard of son Neil’s house. From the time his three were babies, this was grandpa’s place with them, one at a time. As they grew older, sometimes I’d not even go in the house, but the kids would come out one at a time to spend time with grandpa. I would push them on the swing, and we would laugh, tell stories, sing songs, and do all the silly things grandpas and little children do.  I grieved at not being able to do this with my other five grands–three in New Hampshire and two in North Carolina–but having this place for those three nearby probably saved my sanity more than once, as I was trying to pastor a troubled church during those days.  These days, most of our grands are teenagers (two are now in their early twenties) and I still adore them. When we spend time together, as long as I’m with them, that’s my favorite place.