A FEATHER ON THE BREEZE

Janie Jenkins

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The Southern Voice

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4 min read

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Jun 28, 2024

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One of the wonderful things about retirement is the luxury of pondering. Until sixty-five, I lived my life at a frenetic pace. At twenty years old, newly married, and struggling to pay rent and buy groceries, I considered myself fortunate to fall into the workplace as a legal secretary at a small firm. Forty-five years later, I had managed to work my way up in the ranks and made a good salary, considering I didn’t have a college degree. I loved the work itself, but the lawyers … well, that’s a book that has yet to be written. I can count the really good men and women with law degrees and successful practices that I encountered on one hand and still maintain some of those friendships.

In 1994, I worked for an attorney in Nashville, Tom Lawrence. He was one of the best men I ever worked for. He could talk legal ethics without making me break up in hysterical laughter.

1994 was also the year that Forrest Gump came out in theatres across the nation. I mentioned to Tom that I had seen the movie and loved it. Tom commented in a very casual manner that he had met the book’s author, Winston Groom, during college. He wasn’t bragging. Tom was a rarity. He is modest, honest, hard-working, and devoted to his family. There wasn’t a trace of the characteristics I found so repulsive in the other 99 percent of attorneys. Tom was genuinely an admirer of Mr. Groom and found it remarkable that the book was written in six weeks or so.

I love the characters and the storyline of Forrest Gump, and it ranks somewhere in my top twenty-five of all time. I watch it at least twice a year and can recite large portions of the dialogue, much to the chagrin of other movie buffs who find me quickly tiresome. I learned so much from the movie. It was incredibly rich in devotion, love, bravery, courage, and every other attribute that we all wish we possessed. It portrayed the South as it existed in the era of my childhood.

I especially identified with Jenny and her situation as a child of a sharecropper. Even as she aged during the movie, I knew her path. I could almost predict her behavior. A lot of wrong choices and consequences, but still, in the end, blessed with enduring love. In some ways, I am Jenny. My personal life was a huge exploding hazardous waste train wreck, but here I find myself over seventy, and love abounds. God still holds me in the palm of his hand.

I am prone to ponder symbols and signs, though it may take years for me to get the whole picture.

After I had seen Forrest Gump, Tom stopped by my desk and inquired if I knew the significance of the white feather that appeared during the movie and seemed to magically follow Forrest through so much of his life. I was trying to beat a deadline, and off the cuff, I replied that I thought it was probably an example of how Forrest lived his life. He just dealt with whatever came his way and didn’t seem to hold onto anything except love. I thought that was a pretty good analogy at the time.

Almost thirty years have passed since I began to wonder if that was the right answer. I have watched the film again several times, and after much pondering, I’ve reached a different conclusion.

If your memory of the movie is not that sharp, give it another watch. It still looks like a fresh film and never seems dated or stilted. It still fits and makes sense to me, and I am emotionally and spiritually enriched after every viewing.

One scene that particularly stands out is when Jenny and Forrest are in a field close to the shack where she lives. Her father is bellowing her name and appears to be possibly (probably) intoxicated and angry. Jenny grabs Forrest by the hand and pulls him down in the dirt beside her, hidden from view by the rows of the crop. She folds her hands and commands Forrest, “Pray with me, Forrest!” She earnestly prays for God to turn her into a bird so she can fly far away.

And I believe her prayer was answered. That floating feather, moving from place to place at the whim of a breeze, came from a pure white dove and continued to appear in and out of the lives of Forrest and Little Forrest. Sometimes serving as a reminder, sometimes that of a blessing, and sometimes just to see if it would be noticed. That feather inexplicably bore the weight of love everlasting and still moved wherever the gentle winds took it without resistance.

Miracles are all around us. Some of us, though … must reach seventy before we have time to ponder on them. Don’t wait. That feather was not coincidental.