Doug Daugherty.life

Doug Daugherty.life Doug is both a consultant and writer/communicator. His focus is generally on theology/spirituality, culture, and politics.

12/11/2025

Ordinary Extraordinary
By: Doug Daugherty

An act of heroism can lead to a medal. Breaking a record results in trophies and awards. Closing a big agreement or making the big deal rewards one with profits and promotion. These things are extraordinary. Rightfully we laud them and discuss them endlessly in casual conversations.
But recently, I realized that these were not the sort of things whose influence had an enduring shaping quality. The shaping power is in the ordinary. The behaviors practiced day in, and day out over long periods of time are the shaping things.
Five things come to mind.
One. My father, Harry Daugherty, faithfully served my Mom, O .T. Daugherty, after her debilitating stroke, for 40 years. This behavior calls for an almost reverence. She was partially paralyzed and spoke only a handful of words. O.T had to have someone help her round the clock. Dad did it or made sure it was done. Yes, he had help. But he ate with her, took her out to dinner, helped her walk, took her on trips, talked with her, and saw that she had every type of care. He faithfully served her. Over time, the ordinary becomes extraordinary.
Two. My wife, Sally Daugherty is a woman of prayer. Her practice of intersession for other is just a part of who she is. She has never waivered at any obstacle, responsibility, or future without first breathing a prayer. We have been married for almost 50 year. This behavior has always been there. It pulls you in. This care births hope and, I believe, shapes history. Whether it’s a child, grandchild, neighbor, the homeless, a waitress, a tradesman, a driver, a politician - almost instinctively - she responds with prayer. This is true of family disputes, financial or career issues, the hurting or the ambitious. The ordinary is the extraordinary.
Three. There is something about a well-tended garden over a long period of time that is extraordinary. The order, the knowledge of soil and plants, and the appreciation for beauty cannot be denied. Nothing draws my attention more than an old home with an old rock-bordered garden with flowers blooming throughout the warm seasons year after year. When I see something like that, even after the passing of the one who dug and planted still coming forth in unweeded beds, I am in awe. Who did this? How long they toiled. What vision they had. What enjoyment it had brought. How many people like me have stood looking and find themselves overcome with beauty, peace, or thoughts of a Creator. The ordinary is extraordinary.
Four. The men who shaped the founding documents of this country also draw this same kind of attention. The Constitution and The Bill of Rights are extraordinary. There counterbalancing of Rule and Rights has shaped the modern world. But these men were doing bravely and faithfully what was before them. James Madison used his knowledge and skill in his ordinary way to birth ideas-turned-into-words into something extraordinary. Others, Hamiton, Washington, Morris, Franklin, Sherman, and Wilson in their ordinary work in a time of crisis and opportunity, made significant contributions to what we call extraordinary.
Five. The Apostle Paul is mostly remembered for writing much of the New Testament which has heralded the work of Jesus Christ to billons for thousands of years. But his ordinary was extraordinary. Zeal for the Gospel. Zeal to plant new churches. Zeal to care for there theology and their behavior with letters and visits. Zeal for his students, helpers, and followers. He never seemed to stop. Zeal was ordinary to Paul. We think of the big things, but it was Paul, day in and day out, caring for what Christ had given him that led to all of the fruit.
In all these, the quality of faithfulness over time is what is extraordinary. I did not see this when I was young. Now, after seven decades of living, I see and call priceless this virtue we call ordinary. Appreciation of this type of behavior cultivates and inspires others. The little things may not get a medal, but they are the stuff that changes lives.

One of the last blooms from summer!
11/07/2024

One of the last blooms from summer!

10/16/2024

Baylor Dances, Fairyland Concerts, and The Underground
By: Doug Daugherty

In the Fall of 1968, I thought I had arrived. I could drive. I had a girlfriend. And I was a year away from graduating from Baylor. My last year, 1970, was the final year of the military there. One of the things I remember about High School are the over-the-top dances. Wow, they were something. Back then you had to wear your best for the events. Often it was a white waiter’s short coat, cummerbund, a cool bow tie, white shirt, and military blue pants with a black stripe down the side, and always, always, shined black laced shoes. (Thank you, Major Moore.) Girls wore long dresses and often were given a corsage, usually picked out by a thoughtful mother.
You would borrow a car, or better yet, go with two or three friends and their dates in someone else’s ride. My best friend, Pat Conroy, a year older, had a car…his own…and it ran.
The dances were held at Memorial Gymnasium, “the new gym,” to differentiate it from, you know, “the old gym.” The floors and walls were covered with heavy paper. Often the walls were decorated with signs, banners, and draping crepe streamers.
But the music, Oh, the music. Somehow, they got the best live dance bands possible. The music was absolutely terrific. It was the age of soul music. If you could breathe, you knew the Temptations’ My Girl, The Four Tops, Sugar Fine Honey, Wilson Picket’s In The Midnight Hour, and Otis Redding’s Sitt’n On The Dock of The Bay. You would dance till the sweat rolled down, your shirt got wet, and you had laughed to the ceiling.
Baylor had cover bands, but what about the real thing? Someone, somehow brought music to the auditorium/gym at the Fairyland School on Lookout Mountain one summer. I don’t remember paying, but one season we saw James Brown perform live! The Hardest Working Man in Show Business, Mr. Dynamite, The Godfather of Soul was there, with his whole band, horns playing on the beat, heavy bass, and in the spotlight, Soul Brother Number One. He moved. He danced. He slid across the stage. Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag. Oh my. We also saw a little-known band from Atlanta, The Tams of Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy fame (I think this became my personal anthem.) and It’s All Right. This foursome had the chops!
All this was great fun. But along came something quite different in those last years at Baylor, the underground. It had three fronts. One was a great Baylor friend, Bill Warner. Bill was a talented intellectual. He introduced me to new ideas and a new kind of music. (Bill told me of Marcel Proust. We would wander the streets of Lookout Mountain in the midnight hours talking and dreaming.) Two, as to music, one afternoon, we sat in his room, curtains drawn and listened to White Room by Cream. It was not my Daddy’s music. (Bill was eventually kicked out of school.) Soon followed, the Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit, Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watch Tower, and who didn’t have the double album, Woodstock with Ritchie Havens, Country Joe, Joe Cocker, and Carlos Santana. The third insertion into bucolic Baylor was the guys who lived on the first floor, door on the right of Trustee Hall. These guys went away for the summer and came back smelling of some kind of smoke and published a weekly underground newspaper. The sand was shifting under our shined shoes. 1969 was the Summer of Love. Vietnam and the draft waited. John Lennon sang Give Peace A Chance. At the last dance at Baylor that I remember, the Trustee Hall crowd put on a psychedelic light show. The times were a’changing.
I went away to college in 1970 to the University of Georgia. Athens, of course, was home to the Allman Brothers. Need I say more?
Now, I am seldom without music. My taste have broadened considerably, to classical, jazz, bluegrass, swing, and 50s crooners. But those were great days, with great friends and great music. We danced and sang our hearts out.
Years later, my wife, Sally - who partied at McCallie - and I will still dance to My Girl.
(As I write this, I am swaying, singing along, remembering the music, while The Tams are singing on Spotify. It’s All Right. I’m smiling inside.)

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