I wrote this article not long after the passing of a Richton icon, Dr. E.H. Cole. It was published in the Richton Dispatch. Hope you enjoy!
Doctor Cole, Richton, and Reminiscing
“Sit down James Wilbah. What seems to be the mattah?” Dr. Cole
had always referred to me by my full name and always with that
distinct Southern accent. It was the type of accent that turned “er” into
“ah”. It was the type of accent that made you think of small towns
upstate, close to Memphis, the Delta, the “old south” as opposed to
the “rural south”. It was the type of accent that many Hollywood
actors have attempted and butchered over the years. Think of Carroll
O’Connor in “In The Heat of the Night”, Nicolas Cage in “Con Air”…so
many others. In order to perfect that particular Southern accent, you
had to embody the old-school Southern gentleman that was Dr.
Edwin H. Cole.
We all have memories of Dr. Cole that would fill volumes of books.
Mine are probably not much different than others yet are special to
me. Although I do not remember that fateful afternoon in July of 1967,
I am told that Dr. Cole was the first person to ever lay eyes on me.
From the time he delivered me until the last time I saw him in his
office, he was “my doctor”. Sure, we all see those “other” doctors
from time to time; but for many of us, Dr. Cole was the go-to guy.
Growing up in Richton, you tended to favor either Dr. Moak or Dr.
Cole…sometimes both depending on how busy the clinic was.
A few months after Hurricane Katrina, I lay spiking a fever in the ER
of one of the hospitals in Hattiesburg. For most of the night, the
young doctor who attended me rushed in and out, checking charts
and ordering tests, asking questions, and giving me concerned looks.
Eventually I was released with a couple of prescriptions and the usual
instructions to see my family doctor if my problems persisted. There
was no diagnosis.
The next day, still feverish and now beginning to feel pain in my
stomach, I went to see Dr. Cole. After roughly fifteen minutes, he
confidently told me the problem and what he intended to do about it.
When I gave him a puzzled look and questioned his diagnosis, he
laughed and explained it again…I had never heard of anyone having
that particular condition…he had only seen it a time or two himself.
Needless to say, after a couple of days on a new prescription, the
problem was solved. There is something to be said for experience
and intuition.
Growing up as the son of a nurse, I could often be found at the
hospital. I remember visiting Mom while she was at work and seeing
Dr. Cole there; hearing stories or jokes, or overhearing him speaking
into his recorder and saying “End of dictation. Sign my name.” Years
ago, we ran cattle on some land adjacent to the Cole’s place. I have
sat on the tailgate of my Daddy’s pickup many times while he and Dr.
Cole discussed cattle, broken fences, and life in general.
There were some things about Dr. Cole that never seemed to
change. I only remember seeing him drive one of three vehicles…the
blue station-wagon from the hospital, the conversion van, or my
favorite: that old beat up VW bug. Everywhere you met him, he was
the same; and in today’s times that means something. It’s sad to note
that we are quickly losing that generation of men and women.
The world we live in is getting faster and faster and it seems we are
pushing ourselves harder than ever before. A slower time and more
laid-back existence for many of us has become only a memory. Are
you of the generation who can remember the night Cash Supply
burned? How the flames could be seen from one end of town to the
other? How about Grit Papers? Dr. Roddy? TWL? Pratt’s? Carley’s?
Do you remember when we left our doors unlocked? Our windows
open on summer nights? Do you remember when we had a Chevy
dealership in town?
The streets of Richton used to get so quiet at night that the
occasional eighteen-wheeler passing through was the only traffic at
all. The smell of fresh-cut grass wafting through the house by the pull
of an attic fan was comforting. Waking up to the sounds of log truck
engines and the chatter of men at daylight coming across the street
from “Rex’s” was the norm.
We walked barefoot to the pool in the summer. We all knew
“Johnson’s Trail” like the back of our hand. We knew if we were bad
in class, the news would reach our parents long before we were
finished at the office. The worst problem we faced at our school was
when it would be “rolled” during the week of Halloween.
The “good old days” as they are called are long-gone. Our children
look at us like we are from Mars when we reminisce and tell them
how things used to be. I am sure it is much the same way we once
looked at our own parents.
One by one, we are losing people in our community who were the
cornerstones of the way of life that we have come to love. I once
heard a man say he believed in giving flowers while the recipient was
still alive to enjoy them. To that end we should cherish and enjoy
those people who have helped to forge the community that we enjoy.
While we have no other choice but to keep up with the world today as
we know it, we can look back fondly on our heritage.
You won’t find a Jack Holifield at AutoZone…there is no Warren
Strickland at Rite Aid, and sadly no Dr. Moak or Dr. Cole at the big
hospitals. If there were a school around today with a “Miss Moser” at
the helm, I would enroll my kids immediately. I never knew the history
of our town until I read Miss Josie’s book. It’s been a very long time
since I had a greasy chili-laden burger from “Cooley’s”. Was not
“Steven’s” the closet thing to a Wal-Mart any of us had ever seen?
To those of you who have made a difference in our town and in our
lives, I say “Thank you and God bless you” and you most certainly
know who you are: so many teachers, business-people,
administrators and church leaders…so many common everyday
people...so many unforgettable characters.
Rest in peace Dr. Cole. We will miss you.
It seems only fitting to end this essay with this phrase: End of
dictation. Sign my name.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
My Mother...My Inspiration
I finally got around to locating my external hard-drive, organzing it, and "rediscovering" a lot of the things I have written in the last few years. This piece was published by the Hattiesburg American online edition, a couple of Mother's Day's ago. I hope you enjoy...
A “short Coke”, a Bayer aspirin, and some TLC. Most of the time that was all that was needed to
recover from whatever “deadly illness” overtook me during my childhood. Perhaps a good old fashioned “whoopin” to motivate me to get out of bed and get ready for school…or to complete
that long overdue assignment. My Mom set a standard and held us to it; and while it made little
sense to me back then, I am thankful for it now.
When skin allergies took control of my hands and feet, she was there each night to apply
ointment and wrap my hands in bread sacks so I would not scratch in my sleep. She patiently
carried me to the doctor many times a week for my injections, and then brought me by the lunch
counter at the drugstore for a tuna sandwich while we waited for the noxious creams and potions
to be mixed. She argued with Dad about carrying me outside to the grass and into the shop
where the grease was. She was the one who had to listen to my cries when I would break out as
a result of exposure. In an almost ironic way, she was also the one who argued with my Dad
when I reached the age that those things no longer affected me. “Take him with fishing with
you,” she said; “Spend some time with him”. I can only imagine the confusion he had when the
once “hands off” sick kid was now being presented for him to train and mentor. Looking back, I
am sure it caused him to chuckle in his frustration.
She gave birth to six kids; she reared eight. She went back to college and earned a nursing
degree while keeping Dad’s business afloat as his default accountant and sounding board. We
were each a problem child in our own little way; headstrong and stubborn, apt to buck the
system at any given moment. She kept us in line without breaking that independent streak that
she knew would sustain us through the pitfalls of adulthood. She had to endure the disrespect
from the sons she was not maternally connected to. She had to endure the seemingly
endless in fighting and disharmony when Dad passed away. She had to face moving away from
her home of so many years as result.
In all this, my Mother hitched up her bootstraps and “put on her big girl pants” as she likes to
say. She moved back to her family’s land, built a home, and carried on as a fifty-something
widow. The years seemed to fly by as one-by-one new grandkids came on the scene, sons and
daughters-in-law came and went, and loved ones were called away. Before we knew it, we were
surprising her for her 70th birthday with a reception hall full of family and friends. She was
delighted and knowing her, a bit embarrassed by it all.
A child of the economically depressed South, my Mother only knew hard work and hard times
growing up. Divorced young and remarried, she seemed to have spent the bulk of her life rearing
children. I cannot remember a time when she was NOT there in my life; whether it was a special
occasion or just a time when she was ready to disown me for something I had done. Momma is
an icon to me and the standard by which I based my judgment of other women throughout my
life. Even after retiring from the local hospital, she continued to make the drive to Hattiesburg
each day to work at a nursing home. She would say she needed the money and while that may
have been mostly true, I knew she cared for her patients and truly enjoyed the profession she
had chosen. Strangely enough I see the same traits in my sisters.
When family strife affected me, she was there. When I changed jobs so many times, looking for
that one perfect fit, she was there. When I was called into a singing ministry and needed help
packing dozens of CDs and flyers into mailing envelopes, she was there. We have sat and drank
coffee late into the night as I sealed packages and she wrote addresses. She has always been
ready to help any of us, from modifying school uniforms for that perfect fit; to lessons in canning
and preserving, or her famous dumplings. Years I ago I remember we had to “rein her in” when
my sister had been offended by something someone said at a church she had attended. Mom
was ready to go into battle and defend her baby.
The worst day of my life undoubtedly was when I got the call that Mom had suffered a heart
attack. Though 180 miles offshore, I was able to be connected to her by phone in the CCU. I told
her I was on my way home and true to form, she admonished me to drive carefully and not get a
ticket. God was gracious to Mom and she came through her surgery with flying colors. A week
later, she began to suffer problems with her kidneys. As we walked back to the ICU waiting room that night, not knowing what the next few hours would bring, we all had a chance to reflect and pray. I remember asking God to give us the grace to accept His will, but if I had a say in matters I wanted Him to know that I was not ready to give up Momma. He listened.
Mom turns 75 on May 5 and she is still as feisty as ever. Even after two total knee-replacements
Momma shows no signs of letting up. Her days mostly consist of doing housework, crossword
puzzles, and chasing her four ½ year old great-granddaughter. Sarah phones her each morning
and then comes over for a visit. The two have a “special” relationship indeed. I watch her pull a
chair up to the stove and “help Nana cook”…and it reminds me of myself so many years ago.
Often we cajole her into a road trip to visit our siblings in Georgia and Tennessee. Sometimes she
travels with my family to whatever location we may be in concert. Mom is always ready to help
someone in need; serve at her church; or administer wisdom and advice.
We do not always agree…we sometimes argue. I suppose she would not expect it any other way.
My mother, Mary Helen Cooper, is one-of-a-kind and I thank God for her. She instilled in her
children a strict work-ethic, a strong backbone, and a determination that has never left us. That
will forever be part of her legacy.
A “short Coke”, a Bayer aspirin, and some TLC. Most of the time that was all that was needed to
recover from whatever “deadly illness” overtook me during my childhood. Perhaps a good old fashioned “whoopin” to motivate me to get out of bed and get ready for school…or to complete
that long overdue assignment. My Mom set a standard and held us to it; and while it made little
sense to me back then, I am thankful for it now.
When skin allergies took control of my hands and feet, she was there each night to apply
ointment and wrap my hands in bread sacks so I would not scratch in my sleep. She patiently
carried me to the doctor many times a week for my injections, and then brought me by the lunch
counter at the drugstore for a tuna sandwich while we waited for the noxious creams and potions
to be mixed. She argued with Dad about carrying me outside to the grass and into the shop
where the grease was. She was the one who had to listen to my cries when I would break out as
a result of exposure. In an almost ironic way, she was also the one who argued with my Dad
when I reached the age that those things no longer affected me. “Take him with fishing with
you,” she said; “Spend some time with him”. I can only imagine the confusion he had when the
once “hands off” sick kid was now being presented for him to train and mentor. Looking back, I
am sure it caused him to chuckle in his frustration.
She gave birth to six kids; she reared eight. She went back to college and earned a nursing
degree while keeping Dad’s business afloat as his default accountant and sounding board. We
were each a problem child in our own little way; headstrong and stubborn, apt to buck the
system at any given moment. She kept us in line without breaking that independent streak that
she knew would sustain us through the pitfalls of adulthood. She had to endure the disrespect
from the sons she was not maternally connected to. She had to endure the seemingly
endless in fighting and disharmony when Dad passed away. She had to face moving away from
her home of so many years as result.
In all this, my Mother hitched up her bootstraps and “put on her big girl pants” as she likes to
say. She moved back to her family’s land, built a home, and carried on as a fifty-something
widow. The years seemed to fly by as one-by-one new grandkids came on the scene, sons and
daughters-in-law came and went, and loved ones were called away. Before we knew it, we were
surprising her for her 70th birthday with a reception hall full of family and friends. She was
delighted and knowing her, a bit embarrassed by it all.
A child of the economically depressed South, my Mother only knew hard work and hard times
growing up. Divorced young and remarried, she seemed to have spent the bulk of her life rearing
children. I cannot remember a time when she was NOT there in my life; whether it was a special
occasion or just a time when she was ready to disown me for something I had done. Momma is
an icon to me and the standard by which I based my judgment of other women throughout my
life. Even after retiring from the local hospital, she continued to make the drive to Hattiesburg
each day to work at a nursing home. She would say she needed the money and while that may
have been mostly true, I knew she cared for her patients and truly enjoyed the profession she
had chosen. Strangely enough I see the same traits in my sisters.
When family strife affected me, she was there. When I changed jobs so many times, looking for
that one perfect fit, she was there. When I was called into a singing ministry and needed help
packing dozens of CDs and flyers into mailing envelopes, she was there. We have sat and drank
coffee late into the night as I sealed packages and she wrote addresses. She has always been
ready to help any of us, from modifying school uniforms for that perfect fit; to lessons in canning
and preserving, or her famous dumplings. Years I ago I remember we had to “rein her in” when
my sister had been offended by something someone said at a church she had attended. Mom
was ready to go into battle and defend her baby.
The worst day of my life undoubtedly was when I got the call that Mom had suffered a heart
attack. Though 180 miles offshore, I was able to be connected to her by phone in the CCU. I told
her I was on my way home and true to form, she admonished me to drive carefully and not get a
ticket. God was gracious to Mom and she came through her surgery with flying colors. A week
later, she began to suffer problems with her kidneys. As we walked back to the ICU waiting room that night, not knowing what the next few hours would bring, we all had a chance to reflect and pray. I remember asking God to give us the grace to accept His will, but if I had a say in matters I wanted Him to know that I was not ready to give up Momma. He listened.
Mom turns 75 on May 5 and she is still as feisty as ever. Even after two total knee-replacements
Momma shows no signs of letting up. Her days mostly consist of doing housework, crossword
puzzles, and chasing her four ½ year old great-granddaughter. Sarah phones her each morning
and then comes over for a visit. The two have a “special” relationship indeed. I watch her pull a
chair up to the stove and “help Nana cook”…and it reminds me of myself so many years ago.
Often we cajole her into a road trip to visit our siblings in Georgia and Tennessee. Sometimes she
travels with my family to whatever location we may be in concert. Mom is always ready to help
someone in need; serve at her church; or administer wisdom and advice.
We do not always agree…we sometimes argue. I suppose she would not expect it any other way.
My mother, Mary Helen Cooper, is one-of-a-kind and I thank God for her. She instilled in her
children a strict work-ethic, a strong backbone, and a determination that has never left us. That
will forever be part of her legacy.
Friday, July 2, 2010
To: dad@missingyou.hvn
Wow! What can I say? It seems like it’s been forever. I suppose I would come closer to saying everything I truly feel in this format rather than face to face. That was always tough for me when dealing with you. You had that overpowering presence about you. You seemed to take over a room when you walked into it, without even trying.
I never told you some of the things I am about to tell you when you were with us. The main reason is that I did not know these things at the time. They came into being as I got older, joined the workforce, got married, and became a parent. I hope you liked the flowers we brought out last week. Deb fixed them up, as she always does, and I dropped them off. I brought Mallorie and Micah with me. Mal was reading your headstone and she got this shocked look on her face. She looked up and pointed to the stone and then at me and said “That’s YOUR name!” I had to explain the whole “junior” concept to her at that point. You would have had a time with those grandkids…as if they aren’t spoiled enough. At last count there were over thirty. What a family tree and legacy. I hope someday those kids realize where they came from.
You were rough around the edges, a bit uncouth at times, always direct and honest, and often hid your enormous heart. I knew you would give the shirt right off your back to someone who needed it. I have even heard that is why you wore your shirt outside your overalls. The only thing you asked in return was fairness and respect. You had a hard time with people who did not understand that. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, as they say.
The family has undergone a lot of changes since you left. It seems that you were the only one strong enough to hold things together. I was ashamed of the way things fell apart and felt guilty about it for the longest time; but I had to realize I had my hands full with my own life. I hate we didn’t have more time together. At seventeen, it didn’t make sense and it didn’t seem fair. I was mad at you, mad at God, and just plain mad. I thought there was so much that I had to learn; but as I got older I saw that you had planted a lot of seeds that were beginning to grow.
I want to thank you for being the hard-nosed, old-fashioned and tough man you were. I didn’t understand it way back then, but I appreciate it now. Sure, you weren’t perfect and there were things I would have liked to have been different. Yet looking back I see you did the best job you could with the skills you had. I often hear one of your speeches or statements coming out of my mouth when I am talking to my girls. They roll their eyes at me like I did at you; occasionally they puff like I used to; and I respond just like you did by saying “Go ahead and puff like a puffin’ adder, but you better hear me!” There’s that apple again…
Yesterday while going through security at the airport I patted myself down to make sure I had not left anything in my pockets. I couldn’t help laughing when it dawned on me it was the same old routine you did daily when you were looking for your cigarettes, lighter, or anything else that was lost in the pockets of your bib overalls. I get told a lot that I look like you. I smile when I hear it because I can’t think of a better compliment that anyone could pay me.
Not long after you left, I dropped the Junior from my name. Some didn’t understand it, but I had always hated “Jimmy”. I figured the best tribute I could pay you would be to honor the name you gave me. I hope I can live up to it. I guess I can relate to George “Dubya” in that regard. You had your gig. I had mine. I hope we both did ok.
A lot of years went by before I found out that you had prayed the week you left. If I got my facts straight, two different times with two different men of God. That was you to a T…making sure things were square. I can look forward to seeing you again and that really encourages me. To see my Heavenly Father and to know my earthly one is there too…what an awesome experience that will be.
I often try to imagine what you would be like if you were still here. Your hair would have to still be dark because as I tell your daughter-in-law, “Cooper men don’t go gray”, ha ha. You and Momma living under the big oak tree, spending time with the grands and great-grands, and keeping the peace. It would be amazing to come to you for advice. It would be worth the price of admission to hear you two “tie up” again too. You would have been 86 next week. Wow.
About a year ago I found a website dedicated to dirt track racing in Mississippi. There was picture of you going around the track in the #77 car. I have had an old Polaroid of that same car for years and I never knew until that moment whose car it was. Through the webmaster I was put in touch with the track announcer from the Laurel track back in the fifties. His memory of you was as sharp as ever. He told me about the wreck that almost killed you; and about one that did kill another driver. He told me about your driving style and how nothing seemed to rattle you. He told me there wasn’t an engine around that you couldn’t listen to and fix. You would not believe how that made me feel.
I don’t know what’s going on lately…maybe life is catching up to me; maybe it’s the mortgage, the kids, the bills…I don’t know. It just feels like I have finally connected with you the way I always wanted to. It’s strange; I almost feel like I need to go through the grieving process again. This time not as an angry teenager, but as an adult who really understands. Lord knows I miss you…and so do a lot of others. I feel sorry for those folks who never really got to know you; I have heard some say they were scared of you. If they only knew who they were dealing with, they wouldn’t have felt that way.
I think you would be proud of the way we all turned out. We are battle-scarred for sure; but hopefully wiser for all the wear and tear. You were always a music fan and I like to think you would have enjoyed mine. They say a person’s outlook on God is often shaped by their view of their Dad. It took a long time to get the image of God smacking me when I messed up out of my head. It took years to finally see the loving person that you were inside, and I could have only seen that by knowing a loving God.
Happy (late) Father’s Day and Happy (early) Birthday. With the rate she’s going, this old earth can’t last much longer; so we’ll see you soon I am sure. I miss you every day and so does the rest of the gang…even the ones you never got to meet. I love you,
Jr.
I never told you some of the things I am about to tell you when you were with us. The main reason is that I did not know these things at the time. They came into being as I got older, joined the workforce, got married, and became a parent. I hope you liked the flowers we brought out last week. Deb fixed them up, as she always does, and I dropped them off. I brought Mallorie and Micah with me. Mal was reading your headstone and she got this shocked look on her face. She looked up and pointed to the stone and then at me and said “That’s YOUR name!” I had to explain the whole “junior” concept to her at that point. You would have had a time with those grandkids…as if they aren’t spoiled enough. At last count there were over thirty. What a family tree and legacy. I hope someday those kids realize where they came from.
You were rough around the edges, a bit uncouth at times, always direct and honest, and often hid your enormous heart. I knew you would give the shirt right off your back to someone who needed it. I have even heard that is why you wore your shirt outside your overalls. The only thing you asked in return was fairness and respect. You had a hard time with people who did not understand that. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, as they say.
The family has undergone a lot of changes since you left. It seems that you were the only one strong enough to hold things together. I was ashamed of the way things fell apart and felt guilty about it for the longest time; but I had to realize I had my hands full with my own life. I hate we didn’t have more time together. At seventeen, it didn’t make sense and it didn’t seem fair. I was mad at you, mad at God, and just plain mad. I thought there was so much that I had to learn; but as I got older I saw that you had planted a lot of seeds that were beginning to grow.
I want to thank you for being the hard-nosed, old-fashioned and tough man you were. I didn’t understand it way back then, but I appreciate it now. Sure, you weren’t perfect and there were things I would have liked to have been different. Yet looking back I see you did the best job you could with the skills you had. I often hear one of your speeches or statements coming out of my mouth when I am talking to my girls. They roll their eyes at me like I did at you; occasionally they puff like I used to; and I respond just like you did by saying “Go ahead and puff like a puffin’ adder, but you better hear me!” There’s that apple again…
Yesterday while going through security at the airport I patted myself down to make sure I had not left anything in my pockets. I couldn’t help laughing when it dawned on me it was the same old routine you did daily when you were looking for your cigarettes, lighter, or anything else that was lost in the pockets of your bib overalls. I get told a lot that I look like you. I smile when I hear it because I can’t think of a better compliment that anyone could pay me.
Not long after you left, I dropped the Junior from my name. Some didn’t understand it, but I had always hated “Jimmy”. I figured the best tribute I could pay you would be to honor the name you gave me. I hope I can live up to it. I guess I can relate to George “Dubya” in that regard. You had your gig. I had mine. I hope we both did ok.
A lot of years went by before I found out that you had prayed the week you left. If I got my facts straight, two different times with two different men of God. That was you to a T…making sure things were square. I can look forward to seeing you again and that really encourages me. To see my Heavenly Father and to know my earthly one is there too…what an awesome experience that will be.
I often try to imagine what you would be like if you were still here. Your hair would have to still be dark because as I tell your daughter-in-law, “Cooper men don’t go gray”, ha ha. You and Momma living under the big oak tree, spending time with the grands and great-grands, and keeping the peace. It would be amazing to come to you for advice. It would be worth the price of admission to hear you two “tie up” again too. You would have been 86 next week. Wow.
About a year ago I found a website dedicated to dirt track racing in Mississippi. There was picture of you going around the track in the #77 car. I have had an old Polaroid of that same car for years and I never knew until that moment whose car it was. Through the webmaster I was put in touch with the track announcer from the Laurel track back in the fifties. His memory of you was as sharp as ever. He told me about the wreck that almost killed you; and about one that did kill another driver. He told me about your driving style and how nothing seemed to rattle you. He told me there wasn’t an engine around that you couldn’t listen to and fix. You would not believe how that made me feel.
I don’t know what’s going on lately…maybe life is catching up to me; maybe it’s the mortgage, the kids, the bills…I don’t know. It just feels like I have finally connected with you the way I always wanted to. It’s strange; I almost feel like I need to go through the grieving process again. This time not as an angry teenager, but as an adult who really understands. Lord knows I miss you…and so do a lot of others. I feel sorry for those folks who never really got to know you; I have heard some say they were scared of you. If they only knew who they were dealing with, they wouldn’t have felt that way.
I think you would be proud of the way we all turned out. We are battle-scarred for sure; but hopefully wiser for all the wear and tear. You were always a music fan and I like to think you would have enjoyed mine. They say a person’s outlook on God is often shaped by their view of their Dad. It took a long time to get the image of God smacking me when I messed up out of my head. It took years to finally see the loving person that you were inside, and I could have only seen that by knowing a loving God.
Happy (late) Father’s Day and Happy (early) Birthday. With the rate she’s going, this old earth can’t last much longer; so we’ll see you soon I am sure. I miss you every day and so does the rest of the gang…even the ones you never got to meet. I love you,
Jr.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
...and all this from an arctic chicken...
When I was in sixth grade, Mrs. Hill assigned us a project. While I cannot remember the exact subject we were studying, I do remember it had something to do with animals from around the world. One of those animals was the ptarmigan.
You remember those days right? We had encyclopedias. We had tracing paper. If further research on any subject was needed, you had a library card. The smell and the quietness of the library downtown was almost surreal. On a summer day it was a temperature-controlled haven where you could lose yourself among the books while the afternoon passed. Fortunately at home, we had three different sets of encyclopedias to choose from. I found my ptarmigan in the "Little Golden Books" series of encyclopedias.
Ptarmigan. I never forgot that animal because the spelling intrigued me. I had to draw a picture of the ptarmigan. I had to write a paragraph about the ptarmigan. I tried to pronounce the word without spitting. As I recall, I made a passing grade on the project...but that almost did not happen.
Always the procrastinator, I kept putting off the project while my classmates worked enthusiastically on theirs. One day, near the deadline, as I lay napping on my sister's bed, I awoke to a familiar voice coming from the kitchen. As I tried to focus and and shake off the sleepiness, I recognized that voice mingling with my Mother's over the smell of freshly-brewed coffee. My heart almost stopped as I heard Mrs. Hill revealing to my Mother that she had seen no progress on my project and was not even sure if I had started on it. Mother listened intently; they continued to chat pleasantly, and I heard Mother thank her for coming over. I knew the next few minutes would not be nice.
Mom came into the room and in her own special way, made certain I was fully awake and alert. She let me know I had to finish that project at once. She would check it herself the next morning. How I accomplished that task was up to me...but I would NOT fail. I worked all afternoon and into the night, frantically putting together my booklet. I was proud of my work. Mom was pleased. Mrs. Hill smiled.
Looking back I am thankful to have had teachers like Mrs. Hill in my past. She didn't have to come over. She could have just given me what I deserved; a failing grade. The fact that she didn't speaks volumes about her wisdom and intuition; and was an amazing example of grace.
Grace, as we know, is something we are given that we do not deserve. We don't have to be taught how to lie, misbehave or disobey. It is born into us and is part of our fleshly nature. When confronted about breaking God's rules in the Garden of Eden, Adam wasted no time in placing the blame on Eve, and by proxy God Himself. God punished them, but He still continued to bless them. When asked about the whereabouts of his brother, Cain answered incredulously when he said he was not his brother's keeper. Although He was unhappy, God gave Cain another chance at life. King David was prepared to mete out harsh punishment against the rich man who took the poor man's only lamb; until he realized it was he himself at the center of Nathan's metaphor. God, ever merciful, forgave David and never ceased to prosper him.
God's Grace overwhelms me. As Christians it seems all too often our walk resembles a hilly highway. We have our mountaintop moments...we have our valley-low moments. Sometimes we are pushing and fighting to get through a trial; and sometimes we seem to be coasting along. The one constant in this ever changing battle is the Grace of God Almighty. When we are at our lowest, He reaches down to us. When we are at our highest, He still takes the time to minister to us. We could only speculate at the many times He has protected us from dangers that we had no idea were coming our way.
God takes time to let me know when I am falling behind on my "projects" for the Kingdom. He awakens me from my spiritual slumber. He encourages me to burn the midnight oil to make things right. When I cannot even look at myself in the mirror, I know He still loves me. When I cannot understand how I will make it through another day, I know He still has plans for me. He has blessed me with an amazing family. He has given me a life that I once only dreamed of. He enables me to overcome the challenges that come my way; even when I want to just give up.
It is amazing what can run through your mind in a short drive down a dusty gravel road. It is amazing the memories that can be triggered just by taking in the beauty around you. Seeing a small brown and white "arctic chicken" strutting around in the tundra took me back 30 years and caused me to reflect on a lifetime of learning. Thank You God for loving me and for never ceasing to take care of me, and amaze me with Your Grace.
You remember those days right? We had encyclopedias. We had tracing paper. If further research on any subject was needed, you had a library card. The smell and the quietness of the library downtown was almost surreal. On a summer day it was a temperature-controlled haven where you could lose yourself among the books while the afternoon passed. Fortunately at home, we had three different sets of encyclopedias to choose from. I found my ptarmigan in the "Little Golden Books" series of encyclopedias.
Ptarmigan. I never forgot that animal because the spelling intrigued me. I had to draw a picture of the ptarmigan. I had to write a paragraph about the ptarmigan. I tried to pronounce the word without spitting. As I recall, I made a passing grade on the project...but that almost did not happen.
Always the procrastinator, I kept putting off the project while my classmates worked enthusiastically on theirs. One day, near the deadline, as I lay napping on my sister's bed, I awoke to a familiar voice coming from the kitchen. As I tried to focus and and shake off the sleepiness, I recognized that voice mingling with my Mother's over the smell of freshly-brewed coffee. My heart almost stopped as I heard Mrs. Hill revealing to my Mother that she had seen no progress on my project and was not even sure if I had started on it. Mother listened intently; they continued to chat pleasantly, and I heard Mother thank her for coming over. I knew the next few minutes would not be nice.
Mom came into the room and in her own special way, made certain I was fully awake and alert. She let me know I had to finish that project at once. She would check it herself the next morning. How I accomplished that task was up to me...but I would NOT fail. I worked all afternoon and into the night, frantically putting together my booklet. I was proud of my work. Mom was pleased. Mrs. Hill smiled.
Looking back I am thankful to have had teachers like Mrs. Hill in my past. She didn't have to come over. She could have just given me what I deserved; a failing grade. The fact that she didn't speaks volumes about her wisdom and intuition; and was an amazing example of grace.
Grace, as we know, is something we are given that we do not deserve. We don't have to be taught how to lie, misbehave or disobey. It is born into us and is part of our fleshly nature. When confronted about breaking God's rules in the Garden of Eden, Adam wasted no time in placing the blame on Eve, and by proxy God Himself. God punished them, but He still continued to bless them. When asked about the whereabouts of his brother, Cain answered incredulously when he said he was not his brother's keeper. Although He was unhappy, God gave Cain another chance at life. King David was prepared to mete out harsh punishment against the rich man who took the poor man's only lamb; until he realized it was he himself at the center of Nathan's metaphor. God, ever merciful, forgave David and never ceased to prosper him.
God's Grace overwhelms me. As Christians it seems all too often our walk resembles a hilly highway. We have our mountaintop moments...we have our valley-low moments. Sometimes we are pushing and fighting to get through a trial; and sometimes we seem to be coasting along. The one constant in this ever changing battle is the Grace of God Almighty. When we are at our lowest, He reaches down to us. When we are at our highest, He still takes the time to minister to us. We could only speculate at the many times He has protected us from dangers that we had no idea were coming our way.
God takes time to let me know when I am falling behind on my "projects" for the Kingdom. He awakens me from my spiritual slumber. He encourages me to burn the midnight oil to make things right. When I cannot even look at myself in the mirror, I know He still loves me. When I cannot understand how I will make it through another day, I know He still has plans for me. He has blessed me with an amazing family. He has given me a life that I once only dreamed of. He enables me to overcome the challenges that come my way; even when I want to just give up.
It is amazing what can run through your mind in a short drive down a dusty gravel road. It is amazing the memories that can be triggered just by taking in the beauty around you. Seeing a small brown and white "arctic chicken" strutting around in the tundra took me back 30 years and caused me to reflect on a lifetime of learning. Thank You God for loving me and for never ceasing to take care of me, and amaze me with Your Grace.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
What Does It Do For You?
Music. I've heard that it calms the savage beast. I don't know, I've never tried it and can't say that I would like to. I do suppose that should a polar bear cross my path someday that I will most definitely be singing "Amazing Grace". Whether he goes away or I go to Heaven shortly thereafter is still a mystery and I hope it remains so.
A couple weeks ago as I was flying north from Anchorage, over the rugged and majestic Alaskan wilderness, I was mindlessly scrolling through my mp3 player. In a strange way that probably only oilfield hands can relate to, on crew-change day we seem to find ourselves in some sort of far-away mentally melancholy place. We dream of home. We think of family. We plan the task ahead. We fantasize about the day we retire. Music has always taken me to another place in my ever-active mind. On my crew-change day it seems to amplify, if I may use that pun.
For every major event in my life, there is song that triggers the memories; and often the raw emotion from that time period. As I was shuffling tunes and listening, my mind was reeling like a movie theater. All the while I was gazing out the window of the 737 at some of the most beautiful country ever created.
Edwin McCain sings "I'll Be" and I think of my wife and girls. When he starts into "I Could Not Ask for More" I listen for while then switch to Sarah Evans' version...much better I think. I laugh as Billy Curington sells turnips on the back of his truck and I envy that "honk" the dobro player is getting from his instrument. Even with a factory-installed Quartermain cone, I cannot get the same sound from mine. Van Halen's "Jump" takes me immediately back to Richton High School, 1984...the name of the album the song came from. Good Lord what a mess we were...harmless by today's standards, but bad enough for back then. Tom Petty takes me "Free Fallin'" and for a little while I imagine a hot summer in California and what he was thinking he wrote the song.
About the time we flew over Mt. McKinley, or Denali, Enya's "Braveheart Theme" comes on. Although it is Celtic music, it seems to fit with the silent scenery I am lost in. I walk those mountains in peace and harmony and solve the problems of the world. I dream of a rustic cabin in some far away place. Far away from health care reform, lying politicians and ever-increasing electricity bills. "Maggie May" reminds me of how you can get away with mixing a Hammond Organ and Mandolin on the same song...Rod Stewart pulled it off so I had no fear of trying it on one of my albums.
The Bee Gee's take me back to when I was a kid, no matter what they are singing. I am standing in front of my sister Diane's record player and hoping she doesn't catch me messing with her records. When Melanie sings about a "Brand New Key" I am five again and cutting up with my sister Debbie. The song "Le Freak" puts me in junior high, having a hamburger at (Bertha) "Rae's Cafe" and hoping my Daddy doesn't find out I have that stuff on the juke box. When "Come on Eileen" or "Break my Stride" plays, my sister Denise and I are going out to the "Wade place" south of town to feed the cows. It is cold. We are in my old 72 step-side.
When the Beatles start "Paperback Writer" I remember hearing that song while half asleep, waking up and phoning SL-100 to ask what that song was. They were playing the "quarter-till classic" I think they called it. I was going to JCJC. The Doobie Brothers, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Merle Haggard, Brad Paisley, Brent Mason...they keep reminding my why I picked up a guitar for the first time. Jewel and Sara McLachlan, Colbie Callait...while I probably butchered the spelling of their names, I thoroughly enjoy their work. It makes me think...and it makes me want to write my own music in a different direction than the norm.
There are songs I won't mention because of the personal heartache that they conjure up. The kind of heartache that we think will kill us at the time, but is actually serving to mold us into the people we need to be. Everyone has a breakup song. Some of us have more than others.
A couple weeks ago as I was flying north from Anchorage, over the rugged and majestic Alaskan wilderness, I was mindlessly scrolling through my mp3 player. In a strange way that probably only oilfield hands can relate to, on crew-change day we seem to find ourselves in some sort of far-away mentally melancholy place. We dream of home. We think of family. We plan the task ahead. We fantasize about the day we retire. Music has always taken me to another place in my ever-active mind. On my crew-change day it seems to amplify, if I may use that pun.
For every major event in my life, there is song that triggers the memories; and often the raw emotion from that time period. As I was shuffling tunes and listening, my mind was reeling like a movie theater. All the while I was gazing out the window of the 737 at some of the most beautiful country ever created.
Edwin McCain sings "I'll Be" and I think of my wife and girls. When he starts into "I Could Not Ask for More" I listen for while then switch to Sarah Evans' version...much better I think. I laugh as Billy Curington sells turnips on the back of his truck and I envy that "honk" the dobro player is getting from his instrument. Even with a factory-installed Quartermain cone, I cannot get the same sound from mine. Van Halen's "Jump" takes me immediately back to Richton High School, 1984...the name of the album the song came from. Good Lord what a mess we were...harmless by today's standards, but bad enough for back then. Tom Petty takes me "Free Fallin'" and for a little while I imagine a hot summer in California and what he was thinking he wrote the song.
About the time we flew over Mt. McKinley, or Denali, Enya's "Braveheart Theme" comes on. Although it is Celtic music, it seems to fit with the silent scenery I am lost in. I walk those mountains in peace and harmony and solve the problems of the world. I dream of a rustic cabin in some far away place. Far away from health care reform, lying politicians and ever-increasing electricity bills. "Maggie May" reminds me of how you can get away with mixing a Hammond Organ and Mandolin on the same song...Rod Stewart pulled it off so I had no fear of trying it on one of my albums.
The Bee Gee's take me back to when I was a kid, no matter what they are singing. I am standing in front of my sister Diane's record player and hoping she doesn't catch me messing with her records. When Melanie sings about a "Brand New Key" I am five again and cutting up with my sister Debbie. The song "Le Freak" puts me in junior high, having a hamburger at (Bertha) "Rae's Cafe" and hoping my Daddy doesn't find out I have that stuff on the juke box. When "Come on Eileen" or "Break my Stride" plays, my sister Denise and I are going out to the "Wade place" south of town to feed the cows. It is cold. We are in my old 72 step-side.
When the Beatles start "Paperback Writer" I remember hearing that song while half asleep, waking up and phoning SL-100 to ask what that song was. They were playing the "quarter-till classic" I think they called it. I was going to JCJC. The Doobie Brothers, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Merle Haggard, Brad Paisley, Brent Mason...they keep reminding my why I picked up a guitar for the first time. Jewel and Sara McLachlan, Colbie Callait...while I probably butchered the spelling of their names, I thoroughly enjoy their work. It makes me think...and it makes me want to write my own music in a different direction than the norm.
There are songs I won't mention because of the personal heartache that they conjure up. The kind of heartache that we think will kill us at the time, but is actually serving to mold us into the people we need to be. Everyone has a breakup song. Some of us have more than others.
There are other songs that remind me of people that I have loved and lost. When Naked Eyes "Always Something There to Remind Me" starts to play I remember JoAnne McCoy and her pretty blue eyes and disarming smile..."Der Kommisar" does that to me also; so does "She Blinded me With Science". That song was on the radio when I came home from her funeral. I cannot listen to it without being in ninth grade all over again. For some strange reason, as Johnny Cash sings "Sunday Morning Coming Down" I feel a tear roll down my cheek and I think of my Daddy. When Night Ranger comes on, there's Rodger Freeman in his old green Dodge pickup.
Bruce Hornsby starts into "That's Just the Way it Is" and I am in my second year at JCJC. Lynyrd Skynrd's "Mississippi Kid" takes me to my first hitch offshore. Guns-N-Roses has the first band I was ever a part of, jamming out at the RHS Auditorium to "Sweet Child o Mine". The Temptations sing "My Girl" and I remember when that was my ringer for my Momma on my cell phone. "Mustang Sally" puts me a couple of summers ago at the rig picnic, when I sat in with the band and brought my harps. When Michael Buble' starts singing "Home" I have to switch to another tune...it's far too early for that one.
If anyone is wondering why a Bible thumping gospel singer has such a playlist, don't. When you start thinking that way you are about to start judging. We are products of our past and for those of us who write music, our influences can be seen in what we produce. I love good music from Sam Cooke to Kenny Hinson; and it shows when I play, sing, and write. I guess I should say I don't get into gangster rap, punk or goth metal, lol...just never tickled my ears quite right.
Someday I will write about my gospel music playlist and tell you about the battles and victories that I am reminded of with each song. I would love to talk about how a song like "When He Spoke To Me" takes me to that landmark in my life when Jesus called me out of the mess I was in. I will give you all the details of how Mike Bowling singing "The Call" kept me from quitting soon after I started travelling and singing. A nice cup of coffee next to the computer, crack my knuckles, and I will start typing about how I used to listen to The Hinsons on The Gospel Singing Jubilee and dream of doing that someday.
I can hardly wait for that one...
As I sadly watched my battery power dwindle, wishing I had charged it the night before, I leaned against the window and smiled. I am blessed. I really am.
Bruce Hornsby starts into "That's Just the Way it Is" and I am in my second year at JCJC. Lynyrd Skynrd's "Mississippi Kid" takes me to my first hitch offshore. Guns-N-Roses has the first band I was ever a part of, jamming out at the RHS Auditorium to "Sweet Child o Mine". The Temptations sing "My Girl" and I remember when that was my ringer for my Momma on my cell phone. "Mustang Sally" puts me a couple of summers ago at the rig picnic, when I sat in with the band and brought my harps. When Michael Buble' starts singing "Home" I have to switch to another tune...it's far too early for that one.
If anyone is wondering why a Bible thumping gospel singer has such a playlist, don't. When you start thinking that way you are about to start judging. We are products of our past and for those of us who write music, our influences can be seen in what we produce. I love good music from Sam Cooke to Kenny Hinson; and it shows when I play, sing, and write. I guess I should say I don't get into gangster rap, punk or goth metal, lol...just never tickled my ears quite right.
Someday I will write about my gospel music playlist and tell you about the battles and victories that I am reminded of with each song. I would love to talk about how a song like "When He Spoke To Me" takes me to that landmark in my life when Jesus called me out of the mess I was in. I will give you all the details of how Mike Bowling singing "The Call" kept me from quitting soon after I started travelling and singing. A nice cup of coffee next to the computer, crack my knuckles, and I will start typing about how I used to listen to The Hinsons on The Gospel Singing Jubilee and dream of doing that someday.
I can hardly wait for that one...
As I sadly watched my battery power dwindle, wishing I had charged it the night before, I leaned against the window and smiled. I am blessed. I really am.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
What Does It Mean to Be A Daddy?
Those who know me understand I have had a rather interesting life to this point. I believe in living life to its fullest and have often told Ree to inscribe “He had fun” on my tombstone should I leave this world. I have been blessed in that I have seen a lot of places and met a lot of people. I had the privilege of being brought up by two of the most interesting people that I have ever known, and I have the honor of becoming Daddy to two of the absolute best people I have ever known…”my girls” as I call them.
It matters not that our surnames don’t match. It matters not that our DNA doesn’t match. Oddly, our blood types do match; along with our hair color and eye color. When I was dating their mother, I knew they were part of the package. I was ok with that. It saddens me that the person who is biologically obligated to fill this role shows no interest. At the same time I am just fine with that. I was brought up in a household of “steps” and never realized it until I was older. We were all “JW’s kids” and that’s the way it was.
I was once asked by an acquaintance how I could raise kids who were not my own. The question offended me. I once heard of a couple who have conflict because the husband says he cannot love a child he did not father. How sad! How very sad! The very God of the universe chose a step-parent to be daddy to His only begotten Son. He thought enough of Joseph to ensure young Jesus would have the upbringing He needed to shape his human form into the Man that God would need. If you choose to call me a “step” parent, then I am in good company. Personally I do not use the term on a regular basis. I know two little blondes who are just fine with that.
I love serving in the role of Daddy and I take it very seriously. I want them to be brought up like their mom and I were, with old fashioned values and work-ethics. I also want them to know who we are…to understand us…to appreciate the legacy that they will claim someday…and most importantly to know about our Heavenly “Daddy”. I thoroughly enjoy parenting. It is without a doubt the toughest but most rewarding task I have ever undertaken.
You would think there would be no paternal bond but I beg to differ. We get each other. We know each other. Once our mutual trust and understanding was built, we have continued to positively reinforce it. I am tough I’ll admit. They would tell you that too. They would also tell you I am fair and that I dote on them. They would most likely tell you they would have it no other way.
My girls don’t worry about where the next meal is coming from. They don’t have to worry about clothing or shelter. All they need be concerned with is studying and making good grades, obeying their parents, being respectful, doing their chores, and serving the Lord. We don’t allow answers that do not contain the words “sir” or “maam”. We don’t allow text messaging during family time or church fellowship. We do not allow the current Hannah Montana dress code or the current language patterns of the popular kid’s TV shows.
As parents we fully understand that God will hold us accountable for how we reared these kids. As the priest of my household, I know that I will have to answer to Almighty God and I do not take that lightly. We take full charge and responsibility for our kids and when I observe them in interaction with other kids, I will admit being very proud even if a bit biased. One day I may have a rude awakening as they say…or perhaps not. (Proverbs 22:6)
One evening not too long ago, my little one wanted to ask me a question. I sat down next to her wondering what was coming and hoping it wasn’t something I would have trouble explaining. She looked up at me with those innocent eyes and asked if she could call me “Daddy”. Thank goodness the tissues were close by the bed because I soon needed them. At that moment, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else or anyone else. I feel as if God felt that same way the night I knelt and asked for forgiveness of my sins…the night I asked to join His family and call HIM my Father. The night I asked if I could identify myself as one of His own.
As a Christian of Gentile heritage, having not been born into the Hebrew line, I am by Biblical definition adopted. I don’t consider myself an adopted child, a step child, or anything less than a child of the Most High God. (Romans 8:15, Galatians 4:6) Just as my girls are now part of my family heritage, I am a part of God’s. Just as my girls receive from me to meet their needs, I receive from Him. Through that spirit of adoption, I can cry “Abba Father” just as Jesus did! Can you get your carnal mind to fully process that? I can’t.
I know that I don’t worry about where my next meal is coming from or fret about clothing and shelter. I know that if He cares enough to put my tears in a bottle, then He will take good care of me. (Psalm 56:8, Luke 12:22-32). I know that I am grafted into His royal lineage and the devil cannot change that. I know that He is coming back for me someday if I don’t go to see Him first. I know that even if my physical carnal world falls around me like a house of cards, He has it all under control. I am thankful that my earthly Daddy was a man larger than life to me…and that my Heavenly Daddy IS life to me.
As Christmas nears and we place our focus on the Christ child, I cannot help but think also of Joseph. Here was a man who found out his fiancée was pregnant out of wedlock; and not by him. He was then told by an angel that the Child was of the Holy Ghost, marry her anyway, and things are going to work out. This tells us that Joseph was a man of faith. Why else would he have understood, believed and obeyed the voice of the angel?
By faith, Joseph took the lady and married her, putting away his own needs and desires. (Matthew 1:18-25) By faith, Joseph carried her to Bethlehem for the census, to present her as his own for the world to see. Surely he struggled deep inside with what people would think. Surely it pained him to be turned away from inn after inn while his wife waited patiently, and close to labor. (Luke 2:7) Joseph simply kept his focus on his mission. My friend if you don’t seem to be getting “fresh” instructions from God, go back to the last thing He told you to do and start there.
While there are no stories in the Gospels to back this up, I like to imagine a young Jesus growing up with Joseph. Even knowing He had a Heavenly Father, I would envision young Jesus calling Joseph “Daddy”. I’ll spin this into modern times for the sake of discussion. Travel with me in your mind to Joseph’s household on any typical spring day.
We see them tossing a baseball back and forth. “That’s a good pitch Jesus!” “Thanks Dad!”
Later, Mary watches from the kitchen window as Joseph teaches his Son how to use the tools of the carpenter’s trade. Joseph does not even realize, as he runs his hand over a piece of timber that someday the Child he has raised as his own will die on a timber much like this one. Surely Jesus knew and could not break His Daddy’s heart by hinting at His future. “That’s a fine piece of wood Dad. It will make a nice curio cabinet for Mom’s birthday.” Joseph smiles and reaches for his plane. “Son, here is how you hold this tool.”
Jesus comes in the house one day crying. “Daddy I tripped and fell and my arm hurts” he says through his human tears. All too often we forget that while Jesus was indeed God in the flesh, He was also very much human. Joseph wraps him in his arms and kisses him gently. “There there Son, it’s gonna be alright. Wonder why they call that a funny bone when it’s not funny at all.” Young Jesus smiles at Joseph, thankful for the man His Father chose to bring Him up. Joseph was quite a man. If the God of the Universe chooses you to rear His only Son, that says a lot about your character!
With that in mind, if the God of the Universe chooses you to represent His only Son (Matthew 28: 18-20), what does that say about your character? Merry Christmas and may God richly bless you and yours…and He will…He says so in His Word.
Where is that Scripture reference you ask? Look it up…it is found somewhere between “Genesis and maps”.
It matters not that our surnames don’t match. It matters not that our DNA doesn’t match. Oddly, our blood types do match; along with our hair color and eye color. When I was dating their mother, I knew they were part of the package. I was ok with that. It saddens me that the person who is biologically obligated to fill this role shows no interest. At the same time I am just fine with that. I was brought up in a household of “steps” and never realized it until I was older. We were all “JW’s kids” and that’s the way it was.
I was once asked by an acquaintance how I could raise kids who were not my own. The question offended me. I once heard of a couple who have conflict because the husband says he cannot love a child he did not father. How sad! How very sad! The very God of the universe chose a step-parent to be daddy to His only begotten Son. He thought enough of Joseph to ensure young Jesus would have the upbringing He needed to shape his human form into the Man that God would need. If you choose to call me a “step” parent, then I am in good company. Personally I do not use the term on a regular basis. I know two little blondes who are just fine with that.
I love serving in the role of Daddy and I take it very seriously. I want them to be brought up like their mom and I were, with old fashioned values and work-ethics. I also want them to know who we are…to understand us…to appreciate the legacy that they will claim someday…and most importantly to know about our Heavenly “Daddy”. I thoroughly enjoy parenting. It is without a doubt the toughest but most rewarding task I have ever undertaken.
You would think there would be no paternal bond but I beg to differ. We get each other. We know each other. Once our mutual trust and understanding was built, we have continued to positively reinforce it. I am tough I’ll admit. They would tell you that too. They would also tell you I am fair and that I dote on them. They would most likely tell you they would have it no other way.
My girls don’t worry about where the next meal is coming from. They don’t have to worry about clothing or shelter. All they need be concerned with is studying and making good grades, obeying their parents, being respectful, doing their chores, and serving the Lord. We don’t allow answers that do not contain the words “sir” or “maam”. We don’t allow text messaging during family time or church fellowship. We do not allow the current Hannah Montana dress code or the current language patterns of the popular kid’s TV shows.
As parents we fully understand that God will hold us accountable for how we reared these kids. As the priest of my household, I know that I will have to answer to Almighty God and I do not take that lightly. We take full charge and responsibility for our kids and when I observe them in interaction with other kids, I will admit being very proud even if a bit biased. One day I may have a rude awakening as they say…or perhaps not. (Proverbs 22:6)
One evening not too long ago, my little one wanted to ask me a question. I sat down next to her wondering what was coming and hoping it wasn’t something I would have trouble explaining. She looked up at me with those innocent eyes and asked if she could call me “Daddy”. Thank goodness the tissues were close by the bed because I soon needed them. At that moment, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else or anyone else. I feel as if God felt that same way the night I knelt and asked for forgiveness of my sins…the night I asked to join His family and call HIM my Father. The night I asked if I could identify myself as one of His own.
As a Christian of Gentile heritage, having not been born into the Hebrew line, I am by Biblical definition adopted. I don’t consider myself an adopted child, a step child, or anything less than a child of the Most High God. (Romans 8:15, Galatians 4:6) Just as my girls are now part of my family heritage, I am a part of God’s. Just as my girls receive from me to meet their needs, I receive from Him. Through that spirit of adoption, I can cry “Abba Father” just as Jesus did! Can you get your carnal mind to fully process that? I can’t.
I know that I don’t worry about where my next meal is coming from or fret about clothing and shelter. I know that if He cares enough to put my tears in a bottle, then He will take good care of me. (Psalm 56:8, Luke 12:22-32). I know that I am grafted into His royal lineage and the devil cannot change that. I know that He is coming back for me someday if I don’t go to see Him first. I know that even if my physical carnal world falls around me like a house of cards, He has it all under control. I am thankful that my earthly Daddy was a man larger than life to me…and that my Heavenly Daddy IS life to me.
As Christmas nears and we place our focus on the Christ child, I cannot help but think also of Joseph. Here was a man who found out his fiancée was pregnant out of wedlock; and not by him. He was then told by an angel that the Child was of the Holy Ghost, marry her anyway, and things are going to work out. This tells us that Joseph was a man of faith. Why else would he have understood, believed and obeyed the voice of the angel?
By faith, Joseph took the lady and married her, putting away his own needs and desires. (Matthew 1:18-25) By faith, Joseph carried her to Bethlehem for the census, to present her as his own for the world to see. Surely he struggled deep inside with what people would think. Surely it pained him to be turned away from inn after inn while his wife waited patiently, and close to labor. (Luke 2:7) Joseph simply kept his focus on his mission. My friend if you don’t seem to be getting “fresh” instructions from God, go back to the last thing He told you to do and start there.
While there are no stories in the Gospels to back this up, I like to imagine a young Jesus growing up with Joseph. Even knowing He had a Heavenly Father, I would envision young Jesus calling Joseph “Daddy”. I’ll spin this into modern times for the sake of discussion. Travel with me in your mind to Joseph’s household on any typical spring day.
We see them tossing a baseball back and forth. “That’s a good pitch Jesus!” “Thanks Dad!”
Later, Mary watches from the kitchen window as Joseph teaches his Son how to use the tools of the carpenter’s trade. Joseph does not even realize, as he runs his hand over a piece of timber that someday the Child he has raised as his own will die on a timber much like this one. Surely Jesus knew and could not break His Daddy’s heart by hinting at His future. “That’s a fine piece of wood Dad. It will make a nice curio cabinet for Mom’s birthday.” Joseph smiles and reaches for his plane. “Son, here is how you hold this tool.”
Jesus comes in the house one day crying. “Daddy I tripped and fell and my arm hurts” he says through his human tears. All too often we forget that while Jesus was indeed God in the flesh, He was also very much human. Joseph wraps him in his arms and kisses him gently. “There there Son, it’s gonna be alright. Wonder why they call that a funny bone when it’s not funny at all.” Young Jesus smiles at Joseph, thankful for the man His Father chose to bring Him up. Joseph was quite a man. If the God of the Universe chooses you to rear His only Son, that says a lot about your character!
With that in mind, if the God of the Universe chooses you to represent His only Son (Matthew 28: 18-20), what does that say about your character? Merry Christmas and may God richly bless you and yours…and He will…He says so in His Word.
Where is that Scripture reference you ask? Look it up…it is found somewhere between “Genesis and maps”.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
If I Had Only Known
Recently I have been spending a lot more time concentrating on safety at my job. It’s not like I don’t normally concentrate on safety…it’s just that I am focusing more on the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ and communicating that to others. After all, safety at work, like safety at home all comes down to a behavior-based outlook. If you are distracted, tired, sick, upset, or otherwise unhappy you are less likely to take the necessary precautions to keep yourself safe. I like to note how our attitudes can affect our actions, and reactions; and how a little common sense makes a whole lot of difference. Take for instance a situation in which a man lost his life. I will use an example I heard of several years ago, that happened in the Gulf of Mexico; and for the sake of this discussion I will keep the facts very generic.
This man went up in the derrick some ninety feet and failed to secure his fall-protection. A task that would have normally taken just a few moments and was considered fairly easy cost him his life when he lost his balance. I remember thinking that day (and I think the same thing often when I hear about a new incident or injury) “What if that person could relive that one moment in time?” Only that man and God above know what was going on in his world and in his mind immediately prior to the accident. If his coworkers could have that moment in time again, how do you suppose they would have acted?
Of course things would have been different! Five seconds after you miss the nail and hit your finger with the hammer, you wish you could go back. I guarantee you would not miss the nail a second time. My point is, it so often takes a tragedy, downfall, or other detrimental setback in life to shake us and wake us so that we stop and rethink the situation. Sadly it is too late in most cases to do anything different. We then become RE-active instead of PRO-active.
Being proactive in work, in life, and in finances (to name a few items) can be beneficial. Think about how we unwittingly do just that in most cases. We know the electric bill is coming due therefore we don’t throw caution to the wind and spend all the money in our checking account. We know the weatherman says it’s going to rain tomorrow so we make sure we have the umbrella handy. We know certain events are on the horizon so we make preparations for them. We know how to be proactive in most circumstances.
When my daughter takes on the job of mowing the lawn, she makes sure she has on the big floppy hat to shade the sun, earplugs, safety glasses, and sun-block. She is being proactive against sunburn, hearing loss, particles in her eyes, and numerous other potentials for injury. She does this because she was taught to do this. She was taught by verbal communication. She was taught by example. Her actions were positively reinforced, corrected as necessary, and praised when correct. Thus it goes with behavior-based safety.
Let’s review an on-the-job example, completely fictitious and unrelated to anyone you may know. “Bob” is doing a good job and wearing the necessary protective gear. You approach him and praise his efforts and thank him for doing such a great job and being so conscientious. What have you accomplished? Bob now has been positively reinforced for his correct behavior. Bob will most likely not sustain needless injury on the job as he is aware that his actions are noticed and appreciated. Conversely if Bob were not working safely and you pointed it out to him in a professional manner, he now has the motivation to learn from constructive criticism and be a better employee.
On occasion, the “Bob” in this example will rebel and verbally strike back in a vain attempt to camouflage his wrongdoing. He is stiff-necked. He is hard-hearted. He is going to be a headache. If your intentions are right, you will have patience and understanding and work with him; as much as is reasonable within limitations and guidelines. You may turn him for the better. You may have to let him go. If you have not already noticed through these scenarios, there are some spiritual connotations being revealed here.
Having said all that and given it sufficient time to sink in, I want to take this a step further. First I will tell you my reasoning for going in the direction I am about to take. Every so often we should ask God to renew our burden for the lost, for the backslidden and for the discouraged. Always on time and on schedule, God does that for us. It may come during a service, or during prayer time, or during your study time. Suddenly you are overwhelmed by the pain people are feeling…the sense of hopelessness…the near-insane mind games that go on in their head as they try to sleep. You feel compassion as Christ felt compassion.
You begin to see Him on the Cross, beaten and bruised…bloody…face almost unrecognizable even to those who followed Him (Isaiah 52:14) and you begin to feel what He must have felt as His heart broke for those around Him. There was a moment that hangs forever in time in which the very Son of God cried out to His Father and asked Him why He had forsaken Him. Ponder that and let it sink in. Can you imagine THAT feeling? (Matthew 27:46)
We read about hell and we study about hell and we are given various descriptions of hell. In addition to being a literal place of fire and brimstone, the basic premise of hell is separation from God. Can you fathom that? A place where all hope is gone and there are NO second chances. A place where you could not even breathe the phrase “God have mercy” because you know it is too late for that.
Last night, I was awakened from sleep by the most frightful thought I can ever remember having. For one brief moment…be it a second or a minute or just the wisp of a passing thought…in my dream I felt the absence of the presence of God. It was horrible! I awoke in prayer, near tears, and very near panic. Instantly the calming reassurance of the Spirit of God came over me. It was as if I was allowed to feel that feeling to reawaken me to what is going on in the world around me. It was to reignite my passion for ministry. It was to keep me in check. For whatever reason, I am thankful that it happened… and at the same time still a bit shaken by it.
The thought was and still is absolutely horrific. I cannot find enough adjectives to describe it. I felt nauseous. I felt short of breath. I felt a great sense of dread. I felt like I was at the end of a long dark hallway and when I reached the end and found no door, I turned around only to find the walls had closed in around me. Worst of all, I was conscious that I could not get to God. I knew He existed. I knew He loved me. I knew He was somewhere out there; but I knew I could not reach Him. That was a glimpse of a spiritual hell. That was a glimpse into the souls of so many people around us every day. That was a glimpse into despair and hopelessness.
For days now, a song I wrote and recorded on my CD “Voice of Many Waters” has been rolling around in my head. The song is “If I Had Only Known”. This weekend my Pastor preached on the rich young ruler…the man God called a fool…and how he never saw what was coming. If that rich young ruler could have had that moment in time again; just before the Lord said “Thou fool…” how do you think he would have lived his life? When he lifted up his eyes in hell, he was being reactive and it was too late for that. Had he been a follower of Jesus in his life, he would have been proactive.
It is amazing how God works and how God orchestrates. I have realized that as a leader in my company, I must mentor, train, and lead by example to help others be successful, safe, and compliant with regulations. By the same token, as a leader in God’s organization I must do the same. It is incumbent on each and every born-again Christian to walk the talk, to lead by example, to teach, to mentor, to witness, to help…to realize this thing we call salvation is not for us alone…it is for everyone. Don’t fall out with me but it is for Bin Laden; it is for the child-killer; it is for the high school bully who picked on you and you still dislike to this day, it is for your neighbor and for your family; it is for EVERYONE. (Titus 2:11)
So, what can you do? What can I do? We must follow His example. He set the tone at an early age by being about His Father’s business and he continued that mission until His last breath…and beyond. When God speaks to you and you know it is Him speaking, then obey. If you cannot distinguish His voice then you need to reconnect the broken phone line so to speak. You need to know when it is Him because to put it frankly, the devil will make a fool of you if you let him.
Take time to look around you. What can you do to help? If you ask Him He will show you.
I remember being asked to minister in the Word for a congregation in Texas one spring morning. The church was in turmoil searching for a Pastor. Members were coming and going…nothing was certain for them. All of this I knew on the surface, yet I wanted to know how I could best help them. While sitting on the front row as the opening announcements and prayer requests were going forth, I asked God to show me how they felt. He did. I felt confused and hopeless. I felt like no one cared. I stood before that congregation and I saw faces that reflected those emotions. I was better able to minister to them on that day as a result of God’s willingness to help me have a Christ-like compassion.
We should strive for that compassion daily. Christ had it daily!
Here are the lyrics to that song I mentioned earlier. Verse/Chorus one deals with Christ’s followers on the day of His crucifixion. I had Peter in mind when I wrote the song, but it could apply to almost anyone. Verse/Chorus two will likely remind you of someone you know…someone you have watched being lowered into the earth as you wondered if they made it. The final chorus is based on the shock and horror of witnessing what we know as the “Rapture of the Church” and not being able to take part.
Please take time to read it and reflect on it. It stirs me every time I do. Let’s renew our commitment to be about the Father’s business. God bless you…
If I Had Only Known
Copyright JW Cooper, Jr. Three Green Nanners Music, BMI
(From the CD “Voice of Many Waters”)
Picture if you will a cross on a hill and they’re taking the Lord’s body down
A disciple stands there in grief and despair, so ashamed he just stares at the ground
The events of two days are being replayed again and again in his mind
And as the Body goes by he begins to cry, and call out to Jesus one last time
Lord if I had known last night what would happen, I would have fallen on my knees in prayer
I would have sweat drops of blood and called out to You, Father
And prayed the angels would meet us there!
Now they say it’s too late and they’re taking You away to suffer for the things I’ve done
I would have walked closer to You, Lord I would have been a Christian; if I had only known
Now imagine if you can the death of a man who never had room for God
He lived for the world all his life, said “I’ll get right before I die. I’ve got plenty of time” he thought
Now in judgment he stands before the Son of Man and they search through the book for his name
He knows it not there, too late he falls down in prayer, and cries out from heartache and shame
Lord if I had known last night what would happen, I would have fallen on my knees in prayer
I would have sweat drops of blood and called out to You, Father
And prayed the angels would meet us there!
Now You say it’s too late and You’re casting me away to suffer for the things I’ve done
I would have walked closer to You, Lord I would have been a Christian; if I had only known
Lord if I had known last night what would happen, I would have fallen on my knees in prayer
I would have sweat drops of blood and called out to You, Father
And prayed the angels would meet us there!
Now You say it’s too late and You’ve called Your Bride away, I’m left behind and all hope is gone!I would have walked closer to You, Lord I would have been a Christian; if I had only known
I would have given You my heart. I would have served You with gladness. If I had only known
This man went up in the derrick some ninety feet and failed to secure his fall-protection. A task that would have normally taken just a few moments and was considered fairly easy cost him his life when he lost his balance. I remember thinking that day (and I think the same thing often when I hear about a new incident or injury) “What if that person could relive that one moment in time?” Only that man and God above know what was going on in his world and in his mind immediately prior to the accident. If his coworkers could have that moment in time again, how do you suppose they would have acted?
Of course things would have been different! Five seconds after you miss the nail and hit your finger with the hammer, you wish you could go back. I guarantee you would not miss the nail a second time. My point is, it so often takes a tragedy, downfall, or other detrimental setback in life to shake us and wake us so that we stop and rethink the situation. Sadly it is too late in most cases to do anything different. We then become RE-active instead of PRO-active.
Being proactive in work, in life, and in finances (to name a few items) can be beneficial. Think about how we unwittingly do just that in most cases. We know the electric bill is coming due therefore we don’t throw caution to the wind and spend all the money in our checking account. We know the weatherman says it’s going to rain tomorrow so we make sure we have the umbrella handy. We know certain events are on the horizon so we make preparations for them. We know how to be proactive in most circumstances.
When my daughter takes on the job of mowing the lawn, she makes sure she has on the big floppy hat to shade the sun, earplugs, safety glasses, and sun-block. She is being proactive against sunburn, hearing loss, particles in her eyes, and numerous other potentials for injury. She does this because she was taught to do this. She was taught by verbal communication. She was taught by example. Her actions were positively reinforced, corrected as necessary, and praised when correct. Thus it goes with behavior-based safety.
Let’s review an on-the-job example, completely fictitious and unrelated to anyone you may know. “Bob” is doing a good job and wearing the necessary protective gear. You approach him and praise his efforts and thank him for doing such a great job and being so conscientious. What have you accomplished? Bob now has been positively reinforced for his correct behavior. Bob will most likely not sustain needless injury on the job as he is aware that his actions are noticed and appreciated. Conversely if Bob were not working safely and you pointed it out to him in a professional manner, he now has the motivation to learn from constructive criticism and be a better employee.
On occasion, the “Bob” in this example will rebel and verbally strike back in a vain attempt to camouflage his wrongdoing. He is stiff-necked. He is hard-hearted. He is going to be a headache. If your intentions are right, you will have patience and understanding and work with him; as much as is reasonable within limitations and guidelines. You may turn him for the better. You may have to let him go. If you have not already noticed through these scenarios, there are some spiritual connotations being revealed here.
Having said all that and given it sufficient time to sink in, I want to take this a step further. First I will tell you my reasoning for going in the direction I am about to take. Every so often we should ask God to renew our burden for the lost, for the backslidden and for the discouraged. Always on time and on schedule, God does that for us. It may come during a service, or during prayer time, or during your study time. Suddenly you are overwhelmed by the pain people are feeling…the sense of hopelessness…the near-insane mind games that go on in their head as they try to sleep. You feel compassion as Christ felt compassion.
You begin to see Him on the Cross, beaten and bruised…bloody…face almost unrecognizable even to those who followed Him (Isaiah 52:14) and you begin to feel what He must have felt as His heart broke for those around Him. There was a moment that hangs forever in time in which the very Son of God cried out to His Father and asked Him why He had forsaken Him. Ponder that and let it sink in. Can you imagine THAT feeling? (Matthew 27:46)
We read about hell and we study about hell and we are given various descriptions of hell. In addition to being a literal place of fire and brimstone, the basic premise of hell is separation from God. Can you fathom that? A place where all hope is gone and there are NO second chances. A place where you could not even breathe the phrase “God have mercy” because you know it is too late for that.
Last night, I was awakened from sleep by the most frightful thought I can ever remember having. For one brief moment…be it a second or a minute or just the wisp of a passing thought…in my dream I felt the absence of the presence of God. It was horrible! I awoke in prayer, near tears, and very near panic. Instantly the calming reassurance of the Spirit of God came over me. It was as if I was allowed to feel that feeling to reawaken me to what is going on in the world around me. It was to reignite my passion for ministry. It was to keep me in check. For whatever reason, I am thankful that it happened… and at the same time still a bit shaken by it.
The thought was and still is absolutely horrific. I cannot find enough adjectives to describe it. I felt nauseous. I felt short of breath. I felt a great sense of dread. I felt like I was at the end of a long dark hallway and when I reached the end and found no door, I turned around only to find the walls had closed in around me. Worst of all, I was conscious that I could not get to God. I knew He existed. I knew He loved me. I knew He was somewhere out there; but I knew I could not reach Him. That was a glimpse of a spiritual hell. That was a glimpse into the souls of so many people around us every day. That was a glimpse into despair and hopelessness.
For days now, a song I wrote and recorded on my CD “Voice of Many Waters” has been rolling around in my head. The song is “If I Had Only Known”. This weekend my Pastor preached on the rich young ruler…the man God called a fool…and how he never saw what was coming. If that rich young ruler could have had that moment in time again; just before the Lord said “Thou fool…” how do you think he would have lived his life? When he lifted up his eyes in hell, he was being reactive and it was too late for that. Had he been a follower of Jesus in his life, he would have been proactive.
It is amazing how God works and how God orchestrates. I have realized that as a leader in my company, I must mentor, train, and lead by example to help others be successful, safe, and compliant with regulations. By the same token, as a leader in God’s organization I must do the same. It is incumbent on each and every born-again Christian to walk the talk, to lead by example, to teach, to mentor, to witness, to help…to realize this thing we call salvation is not for us alone…it is for everyone. Don’t fall out with me but it is for Bin Laden; it is for the child-killer; it is for the high school bully who picked on you and you still dislike to this day, it is for your neighbor and for your family; it is for EVERYONE. (Titus 2:11)
So, what can you do? What can I do? We must follow His example. He set the tone at an early age by being about His Father’s business and he continued that mission until His last breath…and beyond. When God speaks to you and you know it is Him speaking, then obey. If you cannot distinguish His voice then you need to reconnect the broken phone line so to speak. You need to know when it is Him because to put it frankly, the devil will make a fool of you if you let him.
Take time to look around you. What can you do to help? If you ask Him He will show you.
I remember being asked to minister in the Word for a congregation in Texas one spring morning. The church was in turmoil searching for a Pastor. Members were coming and going…nothing was certain for them. All of this I knew on the surface, yet I wanted to know how I could best help them. While sitting on the front row as the opening announcements and prayer requests were going forth, I asked God to show me how they felt. He did. I felt confused and hopeless. I felt like no one cared. I stood before that congregation and I saw faces that reflected those emotions. I was better able to minister to them on that day as a result of God’s willingness to help me have a Christ-like compassion.
We should strive for that compassion daily. Christ had it daily!
Here are the lyrics to that song I mentioned earlier. Verse/Chorus one deals with Christ’s followers on the day of His crucifixion. I had Peter in mind when I wrote the song, but it could apply to almost anyone. Verse/Chorus two will likely remind you of someone you know…someone you have watched being lowered into the earth as you wondered if they made it. The final chorus is based on the shock and horror of witnessing what we know as the “Rapture of the Church” and not being able to take part.
Please take time to read it and reflect on it. It stirs me every time I do. Let’s renew our commitment to be about the Father’s business. God bless you…
If I Had Only Known
Copyright JW Cooper, Jr. Three Green Nanners Music, BMI
(From the CD “Voice of Many Waters”)
Picture if you will a cross on a hill and they’re taking the Lord’s body down
A disciple stands there in grief and despair, so ashamed he just stares at the ground
The events of two days are being replayed again and again in his mind
And as the Body goes by he begins to cry, and call out to Jesus one last time
Lord if I had known last night what would happen, I would have fallen on my knees in prayer
I would have sweat drops of blood and called out to You, Father
And prayed the angels would meet us there!
Now they say it’s too late and they’re taking You away to suffer for the things I’ve done
I would have walked closer to You, Lord I would have been a Christian; if I had only known
Now imagine if you can the death of a man who never had room for God
He lived for the world all his life, said “I’ll get right before I die. I’ve got plenty of time” he thought
Now in judgment he stands before the Son of Man and they search through the book for his name
He knows it not there, too late he falls down in prayer, and cries out from heartache and shame
Lord if I had known last night what would happen, I would have fallen on my knees in prayer
I would have sweat drops of blood and called out to You, Father
And prayed the angels would meet us there!
Now You say it’s too late and You’re casting me away to suffer for the things I’ve done
I would have walked closer to You, Lord I would have been a Christian; if I had only known
Lord if I had known last night what would happen, I would have fallen on my knees in prayer
I would have sweat drops of blood and called out to You, Father
And prayed the angels would meet us there!
Now You say it’s too late and You’ve called Your Bride away, I’m left behind and all hope is gone!I would have walked closer to You, Lord I would have been a Christian; if I had only known
I would have given You my heart. I would have served You with gladness. If I had only known
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