That’s a Big Bathtub!

Ellie held tightly to her dad’s hand. This was her first time at the beach and today would be a special day. She stood still, taking in as many of the sights and sounds as she could. The noise of the wind as it ruffled her hair, the waves rolling toward her and then back out to sea, the smell of salt water, the seagulls as they dipped and dived at unseen food, the sun that made diamonds sparkle out on the water, and the crunch of the sand under her feet were almost too much for a two year old.

Ellie took a deep breath and tugged on her dad’s hand. Chris stooped down so he could hear. “Daddy,” Ellie said, “that sure is a big bathtub”!

Oh, the wonder of God’s creation seen through the eyes of a child. Before the day was over and Chris, Tori, and Ellie headed home, Ellie had found a new playground. She played in the sand, let the waves splash her legs as she walked along the water’s edge, and, wonder of wonders, picked up seashells washed up to her from the floor of the ocean, almost like a gift.

On the ride home, a tired little girl slept, dreaming of sand, sun, water, seashells, and the day she got to play with her mommy and daddy in God’s big bathtub.

Grams

Honor Their Sacrifice

Memorial Day–the day all Americans honor those who have given their lives in service for their country. Often there are parades, barbecues, ceremonies on the courthouse square, and family outings to commemorate the significance of this day. This particular Memorial Day, after the parade, there was to be a ceremony honoring the town’s veterans. At the conclusion of the ceremony the mayor wanted someone to pay taps.

Now, in a small southern town that meant whoever was first chair in the high school band trumpet section had that honor. But this year, the boy who held first chair had a schedule conflict. So, second chair was asked to play. Second chair in the trumpet section was my son, Brian. This was a special time for him, particularly since he was a year younger than the other guy. This was something that should not have come to him for at least another year, maybe even two.

He had only a couple of days to practice. And yes, he was nervous. He was to stand on the court house square at the flag pole. Following the parade, people were to gather around while the mayor recognized the veterans that were present and made a speech. Then it would be Brian’s time to play. Over and over, what seemed like every waking moment, Brian played taps. To me it seemed simple enough; quite straightforward really. But to a sophomore in high school, it was a major undertaking. After all, the entire town would be there. Well, not really, but in his mind there was going to be a huge crowd and he wanted to do his best. I couldn’t fault  him because that is what I expected of him anyway.

The day was bright and sunny, just right for all that would take place that day. When the time came for Brian to play, he stood a little to the right of the flag pole, closed his eyes, and did what he knew to do. And it was flawless! Quiet settled over the crowd. Some of the older men wiped tears from their eyes, remembering a time far in the past when those they had fought with did not get to come home. Family members of those same men hung their heads in silent recognition of their absence. As the last note floated away, carried off on a gentle spring breeze, a sigh rippled through the crowd. No one moved; no one wanted to forget. Children who did not understand what had just happened were quiet; they knew it was a special time. And it was.

There was another day, years later, when Brian stood to the side of those gathered to commemorate the passing of their friend and comrade. This time it was not on the court house square, not even in the United States. This time Brian was with the 3rd ID in Iraq and they were holding services for those who had died the day before. Apparently, he was the only bugler in that part of Iraq. After the services, the battalion commander said, “Son, this time was different. You knew him, didn’t you?” Brian said, “Yes, Sir. He was my friend.”

Brian had gone on to take a degree in music performance out of high school, so the level of expertise was greater. But it was not Brian’s expertise with the trumpet that made the difference in the two events. This time Brian knew; this time the men who had died were men he had fought with; men he had talked with, ate with; had shared life with.  All the emotion that flooded his heart poured from his trumpet. He honored their sacrifice.

Memorial Day is about a month away. Maybe you haven’t fought alongside men in combat, but you definitely are reaping the benefits of those who have. Think about what you have and how your life would be if men down through the years had not been willing to fight so you could live. Take the time to honor their sacrifice. Remember.

Grams

God’s Lay-away

It was hunter green and made of the softest brushed suede. Chris looked through the rack. Yep, there was one in his size. He slipped it off the rack and tried it on; it was a perfect fit. Gently his hands rubbed the suede; he checked the fit in the mirror. Before he asked, I reminded him it was $149.99. I did not have the money and saw no way to come up with it. Besides, I could get two for the price of that one at Wal Mart.

He knew, even before I said anything. But he wanted that jacket. He asked how much would I be willing to pay. He was intent on working out a deal with me. That was his style and he was good at it too. I thought for a minute; I wanted to be sure of my terms before I said anything. “OK, if the price drops below $50, I’ll get it for you, providing there is still one in your size.” He grinned and said, “It’s a deal.”

I turned to walk on but Chris lingered. He had taken the jacket off, put it back on the rack, and was standing there, holding on to the jacket with his head down. Great! Now he was praying.

Chris didn’t mention the jacket anymore, but every time we went to Belks, he always checked that rack. His size was still there. Then, one day the price was down to $115. He just grinned and walked on. Each week we made a trip to Belks just to check the price of that jacket. As the price continued to drop, I knew I had better find $50 somewhere.

Several weeks later we walked into the store for our weekly price check. Three jackets remained on the rack. The sign read, $39.95. Chris looked up at me with anticipation. What if after all this time there was not one in his size? He looked at the three remaining jackets. Yes! One was his size! He tried it on again, just to be sure it fit. He said, “I knew God would give me this jacket. I needed one and I asked Him for this one.” Then, he again bowed his head; this time he was thanking his provider, not asking.

That day a happy little boy walked out with a hunter green, brushed suede jacket God had put on lay-away, just for him. That same day a proud momma was humbled by the faith of her 12 year-old son.

Grams

Jehovah-jireh

It was time. Chris had just bought his first vehicle, which meant he would pay his own auto insurance. The last financial tie to me was about to be cut. He was as proud as I was happy. Then the phone rang. There was a problem with the insurance. Actually, it was with his driving license. It had been suspended. When? Four years ago. Why? He had failed to notify the Safety Board of proof of insurance after an accident he’d had.  Neither of us knew that was a requirement. This did not look good. Possibly a large fine.

Chris had been driving with a suspended license for four years. To add to the dilemma, he was a member of the Evangels, a group at his college that traveled over the country presenting gospel dramas. He was also the driver. The thought of what could have happened in those four years sent chills up my spine, but the faithfulness and protection of almighty God far outweighed any fears I had entertained.

To reinstate the license Chris had to go to the Safety Board with proof of insurance at the time of the accident that had resulted in the suspension. That was easy enough. The hard part was payment of the fine that stared him in the face. If is was substantial, he was in trouble.

I went with him to the Safety Board. Apparently we were not the only ones in trouble that day. Long lines stood before each window. What we needed was a kind, considerate person to whom we could present our case. He and I studied how each clerk responded to the different problems that were presented and made our choice.

Whether it was our choice or the hand of God, we definitely made the right choice. No one could have been more understanding and kind. She looked at the documentation Chris gave her and keyed in the information. He had his check book in hand. When he asked how much he owed, she smiled and said, “There’s no fine for this. You clearly had insurance when the accident occurred. Your license is reinstated.” We thanked her and headed for the exit before she changed her mind.

Standing on the steps at the front door, Chris looked up to the sky and proclaimed for all to hear: “Jehovah has jirehed again”!

Was the boy happy? Oh, yeah!

Grams

Quality Time

Supper was family time. We didn’t designate it as quality time, although that would be a good definition. It was just when the four of us spent time together, talked about the important things that happened that day, checked up on how school was going, and discussed any plans and chores coming up for the rest of the week. No topic was off limits. The boys were allowed to ask anything they wanted and I promised a fair discussion and an honest answer. Topics ranged anywhere from fishing and hunting to girls to something they had heard in Sunday School. We sat at the table a lot of the times longer than anyone had really intended, but in looking back those were really special days.

The answer to a lot of the problems between parents and kids today may be finding ways to spend quality time with each other. Parents look at their schedules; the kids do the same. The number of people who make up the household is the number of schedules that are involved. No wonder they often throw up their hands in frustration, acknowledging there’s just no way it can happen. Obviously concessions must be made. But who will make them? Usually time together goes out the window while everybody scurries to their next appointment.

I like things simple. Why spend time trying to figure out how to synchronize multiple schedules? Just set one time each day when everyone makes the same commitment–gather around the dinner table. Choose whatever time is the best for the family and declare that time sacred. Nothing other than emergencies is allowed to interfere. I still went to ballgames, band concerts, drama presentations, hosted youth activities, took the boys fishing, chaperoned school trips, and all the other things parents are expected to do. But when dinner was served, that was the time just for the four of us, MaMa, Brian, Chris, and me.

Will it work today? I don’t know; it did in the 80s.

Grams

The First Time I Saw My Daddy Cry

The afternoon had slipped into early evening. The sun was just a glow that hovered above the treetops, waiting to say goodbye to yet another day. Gently the wind stirred, rustling the branches of the big, old pine tree that dominated our front yard. But that pine tree was more than a fixture in our front  yard; it was where three little girls spent most of their day, playing. There underneath its canopy we marked off rooms for our playhouse, dug roads for our cars to ride on, and gathered up cans, jar lids, and anything else we could find to outfit our pretend world. No cares, no worries, no concerns; just complete peace and quiet.

But, the world my parents lived in was not as restful. There were cares, worries, and concerns, and this day was a particularly worrisome day. There was no food. Nothing. The food had run out and it was still days before they could expect any money. Somehow three little girls needed their supper.

Daddy had a special place out in the woods beside the house where he went to pray. So when daddy came out of the house and turned toward the woods, I knew he was going to his special place. I started after him, but he stopped, looked at me intently, and said, “No, you can’t come this time.” About that time mother came to the porch and one of us asked when supper would be ready. Quietly mother said, “When your daddy gets back. Just play a while longer.” So we did.

Maybe 30 minutes, maybe an hour went by. I don’t really know, but after a while, daddy came walking back toward the house. Peace occupied the place worry once held. He walked with more energy and confidence. Even to an 8 year old something had noticeably changed.

“Look, daddy. Look at all those cars turning off the highway.” Car after car drove into our yard. It seemed as if the entire church made up that caravan. We stood captivated as each family brought baskets and sacks of groceries and goods into the house. The church had decided to surprise us with a “pounding.” When the last sack was unloaded, food covered our dining table, the chairs, and lined the walls of the dining room and kitchen. Smoked hams hung on the back porch. I remember a 50-gallon can of lard (we don’t use that now) that sat just inside the kitchen door.

I will never forget the look that passed between my mother and daddy. With tears streaming down his face, Daddy told mother, “I told you the Lord would provide.”  It was the first time I saw my daddy cry.

Grams

Riding Saplings

Brian opened the back door, struggling not to drop Chris. He just kind of dumped Chris on the floor, who immediately let out a howl. I got him up and to the couch so I could check his wounds, plying Brian with questions only a mother could think of. What have you been doing? You know when Chris is with you there are certain things you cannot do. (Brian is six years older than Chris. They were 13 and 7 at this particular episode.) Brian began to make excuses. He was watching out for him; he didn’t know he was holding on to the sapling. After all the tears (Chris’), the questions (mine), and explanations (Brian’s), it seems the boys had been riding saplings.

I understand this is quite a ride and only boys would ever think of such a thing. You go out into the woods, search until you find just the right size of small tree (that’s what a sapling is); one you can bend down without breaking. The person who intends to ride the sapling gets a good grip close to the top of the tree. Then when you’re ready, the one holding the sapling down lets go and you go with the tree, riding it until it stops bending back and forth. When it stops you slide down and pull it to the ground for someone else to ride.

Brian and his friends had decided this particular tree was not quite what they wanted and let it go. However, they failed to tell Chris. So, as the sapling swung upright, so did Chris. But, he was not able to hang on and went sailing several feet through the air, landing about 30 feet away. Hence, the emergency trip to the house.

After Chris was assured he would live, he looked at me and said, “If I’m going to do that very often, I’m going to need to work on my landing.” To say the least!

Grams

Glitches

Ever noticed how some little glitch pokes its ugly head into an otherwise good day? That’s what happened to me today. Work was progressing rather well; the boss was in a very good mood and no major problems had surfaced. Then my cell phone rings. It’s my son who lives in South Carolina. They were supposed to come spend the next 3 or 4 days with me. I’d looked forward to spending time with his family, particularly Will and Neil. But I could tell from his voice that something was wrong. Sure enough, the trip had to be canceled.

The reason? Really didn’t matter; there was nothing he could do. We talked a while and decided to try to get together in a couple of months. What a let down!

Now what? Basically I had two choices–I could get upset and frustrated about the unavoidable or I could refuse to let that unavoidable ruin an otherwise good day. I chose the latter.

Do I still think about the good times we might have had? Absolutely. Do I wish things had been different? You better believe it. Do I miss being with them? Oh, yes; very much. But, I know there was nothing that could be done to make it possible for them to come. So, I move on, refusing to let disappointment ruin my good day.

Grams

Cotton Pickin’ Time

White cotton bolls looked up at the clouds, so white and fluffy they too needed picking. Summer was almost over and cotton pickin’ time loomed just over the horizon.

Cotton pickin’ time was a telling event in the life of a cotton farmer. All year long this occasion held forth its promise of better days to come. A good harvest meant bills were paid and seed for the next year’s crop and household supplies could be bought. Sometimes there might be a new toy or candy. A good crop was the difference between getting by and having enough money to pay the mortgage.

The closer the time came to go into the fields, daddy busied himself hiring the hands necessary to pick the cotton, weigh it up, and haul it to the gin. Everything had to be just right and ready to go when the big day arrived.

Across the back of our old farmhouse was an L-shaped porch. The corner of the L served as the cotton-weighing station. Here the pick sacks were weighed and emptied. The cotton piled higher and higher, waiting to be taken to the gin. Soon a large, white, fluffy mound filled the corner.

Two little girls watched as sack after sack of the white, fluffy stuff added to the height of the mound forming in the corner. Almost as if on cue, both girls took a running leap, landing in the middle of the soft, pillowy cotton. That was fun!. Let’s do it agian! And so the afternoon was spent running, jumping, and rolling around in the freshly picked cotton. That is until, almost like magic, daddy appeared from around the corner of the house. The delight of a summer’s afternoon fun quickly lost its appeal under the gaze of a tired, overworked cotton farmer.

There we stood, hot and sweating, with little puffs of cotton stuck in our hair and to our skin. Squirming on bare feet, there was just no place to hide–no place to go where the intent glare of daddy’s eyes did not penetrate. Amid the tears of sorrow and pleas for mercy, daddy explained that jumping on the cotton damaged its quality and lowered his price per pound. Gently he reached down, picked us up, kissed us, and sent us inside to get cleaned up. There might be other times when correction would be needed, but never again did we jump into the great mound of white cotton piled ever so high on the L-shaped porch.

The heavenly Father looks down from above those same white, puffy clouds into the very heart of man. God’s gaze penetrates the darkness of sin, separating motive, thought, word, and deed. Still, He is moved with compassion and forgiveness when man repents and asks for mercy. He, too, gently picks us up and lovingly cleans away the dirt and grim. Sometimes, the temptation to return to old ways is so compelling that Jesus once again must pull us out of the mire and muck of sin, fathfully wiping away the hurt and pain. He never grows weary of bending to the needs of His children, but, oh, how He must tire of rescuing the same children from the same quagmire.

The mound of cotton beckons from the corner of the porch. Just one more time; it won’t hurt anything. But, you remember the look in your dad’s eyes and the promise you made not to do that again. Will you honor your word? Will you seek to please him because he loved you enough to forgive your disobedience? Well, will you?

Grams

Get Connected

Today is the Saturday before Easter Sunday and in my town it was a day for Easter egg hunts. Even when I was a child I remember there were always Easter baskets, new clothes, and the traditional egg hunt.

While the excitement and thrill of the tradition still carries on, for some people the reason for the egg hunt has changed. I’m sure the egg hunt is still part of the Easter activities for many families, but it seems as if more communities are having community-wide egg hunts. And that’s a good thing. Even churches are participating.

Today my church held a community egg hunt. There were a lot of plastic eggs with individually wrapped candy inside; areas marked off by age-groups; and prizes for those who found prize eggs and for those who found the most eggs per age group. Parents helped the younger kids while the parents of older kids hung around and talked. New acquaintances were made and possibly new friendships established. It turned out to be a great way for the people in our church to introduce themselves to the community where we will be building a new church.

There was not really anything spectacular about what we did today as far as some people are concerned; just connecting with our soon-to-be neighbors; establishing contacts; making friends. But that in itself is spectacular because meeting neighbors, establishing community connections, and making friends in order to introduce people to Jesus Christ is living out the charge Jesus gave His followers before He ascended back to His Father after the resurrection. And isn’t that what Easter is supposed to commemorate, the resurrection of Jesus Christ?

Tomorrow is Easter and those of us who believe that Jesus is the eternal Son of God will go to church and celebrate His resurrection from the dead. Included in that celebration is realization that without the resurrection new life in Christ would not be a reality. But because of that one historically accurate fact, I have eternal life and the promise of life with Jesus in heaven when I die. Before Jesus left this world to take His rightful place at the throne of God, He directed His disciples to teach others what He had taught them. And so it has continued down through the centuries.

Today while we hosted a fun activity for our new community, we were faithful to the task Christ set for us as His disciples. In the process of having a great time at an Easter egg hunt, we introduced ourselves, opened our doors to the community we plan to be a part of, and connected. Will everyone who came to the egg hunt reciprocate? No they won’t. Some were there only for the fun time but there will be others who came to check us out in the process; to see if there was something worth connecting to.

After today’s activities I’m convinced Jesus meant for His followers simply to connect to those around them. In the process of connecting you may actually introduce someone to the love of Jesus. Then the same hope that fuels your life in Him will take up residence in that one’s heart. Definitely not in the words of Jesus, but in my own I tell you to simply get connected.

Grams