The other weekend we drove to Ole Miss in Oxford Mississippi to see our niece who is a freshman and seems to be fitting into college life very well.  It warms our hearts to see her so happy and it was great spending time with her.  
 
To get to Oxford, we have to travel through Tupelo, Mississippi the home and birthplace of none other than Elvis Presley.  I was only eight years old when he died, so I do not remember much about his life, but can remember them talking about it on the radio from the backseat of our station wagon.  Although he was bigger than life, he always seemed a gentle and humble person that was held in the highest regard from his peers and the fans that worshiped him.  But how can this be when you are a mega star?
 
Visiting his birthplace answered that question.  After turning off the highway onto the Natchez Trace Parkway I imagined that not much has changed in the last 100 years except for the pavement that took us into town. The native hardwoods and plowed fields filled our windshield as we had “The King” singing to as we made our way through this simple rural community.  As expected, his boyhood home was small, simple and poor.  The historical marker told the story of how Elvis grew up in a hard post-depression time when everyone was trying to put food on the table.  Yet it also painted a picture of a happy simpler time as his world revolved around family, friends along his street and that small Pentecostal church they attended.  They worked together, ate together and worshiped together. It was a community that was there for one another and void of the petty noise that seems to clutter our lives today.
 
In the end, I like to think Elvis always knew who he was and where he came from, but he struggled with his demons, like all of us in this life.  Seeing where he came from gave me a renewed spirit and appreciation for the breadth of influence he had on the world in his short life.  Thank you Elvis and long live the King of Rock n Roll!!