“Every dog has its day."

“Every dog has its day." The meaning of the quote in our current era is simple. It means everyone gets a chance eventually; or that everyone is successful during some period in their life. Well, I'm here to tell you that this dog has probably had more than his share of being in the spotlight.

One of the things many friends find strange in me is that I have never been motivated by money. Now don't misunderstand. I did not say I did not want, need or seek financial gain. I did and still do. For good or ill money in many ways makes a large part of our world go round. Simply put, you need it to survive. You don't need as much as some folks seem to think and it is a poor measuring rod for a successful life unless you adhere to the philosophy that "he who die with the most toys (money) wins."

Let's take an aside here and affirm the truth of the Biblical statement, "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil" (I Tim 6:10). I do not suggest that all who make the goal of their lives the pursuit of wealth are in some way evil. That hinges largely on that for which they pursue the wealth. Is it so that they may have the means to in some way make the lives of less fortunate people better or is it to continually feather their own nest. I suggest that the former is an honorable pursuit of wealth while the later is fraught with danger easily leads to a wandering from the faith and piercing themselves with many griefs as well as those in need.

As I said, I was and still am not motivated by money. Truth be told, when I look back on my life it has been motivated by purposeful tasks . . . namely, the task at hand. I also believe that is what drives most people, even those who accumulate great wealth. Often that wealth is the byproducts of successfully completing a task. But not all of life's purposeful tasks give a monetary bonanza. Indeed, most of the things I invested my life in had absolutely no financial return for me.

In fact, there was so little monetary return in what I have invested my life that I might achieve Wesley's goal of  dying with leaving a pittance of coin behind. In 1744 Wesley wrote, "When I die, if I leave behind me ten pounds . . . you and all mankind [may]bear witness against me that I have lived and died a thief and a robber.”  I am in no danger here.

What I failed to notice until my life's pace slowed and I had the opportunity to be reflective was how long and wonderful a day this old dog has had. We sometimes get so wrapped-up in the Tapestry God is weaving that we forget to look a the images he has woven into our particular tapestry. We are so busy with His weaving that we, pardon the cliche, can't see the forest for the trees.

Many years ago I had a wonderful man who happened to be one of my Deacons in the very first church I pastored. His name was Howard Zimmerman and among his many virtues was the joy he got from using rocks to demonstrate that we all have an inner beauty that can only be seen when we go through life's trials. After demonstrating the ugliness of a whole Geode or rock he'd then produced one that had been cut in half revealing its inward beauty. He'd often do so while quoting the words to a  Bill Gaither song, "He'll make something beautiful of your life."  I believe that.

Now I look back at the journey I have been on and I rejoice in what the Lord has done. He took the son of an auto mechanic raised in a home that barely survived financially and He lifted him up higher than the mountains. He called my to labor in His vineyard and said trust me when I say the workman is worthy of his hire. Along the way as Andre Crouch would write we have had many tears and sorrows and there have been those days when we didn't know which way to turn or what to do. But we learned that in every single one of life's situations God gave grace and consolation that what we were doing was for His glory. Through it all, I've learned to trust in Jesus, I've learned to trust in God and I've learned to depend upon His Word.

This for me is so true that today even the darkest moments of my life bring joy to my heart as I reflect on how God has worked His will in my past life and in my present so that I have confidence in my future life. I have experienced what the Psalmist described when he said, "For he hath delivered me out of all trouble: and mine eye hath seen his desire upon mine enemies." But more than that he has filled my heart with unspeakable joy for the blessings of which He has allowed me to be a part and receive.  In many way He has made my crooked places straight and my rough places plain.

Who would have ever thought that the son of a auto mechanic would hold three advanced degrees including a terminal degree; to travel the world; meet and work with His people in far away places; be the under shepherd to his people for 34 years; and to preach His Gospel for almost 50 years now.

But the amazing thing is that while He was using all those experiences and people to weave the tapestry of my life He was at the same time using my life to weave the tapestry of the lives of those who touched my life at some point. Such an amazingly great God we serve.  Each of those lives, your, mine, all of us is amazingly similar but equally amazingly different.

Nothing in life has gripped me with greater joy than the truth that God loves to show his Godness by working for me and through me. Along the way he has taught me that not only that his working for me is always before and under and in any working I do for him. I also know that what He has done for me He not only can and will do in you but is doing so as you read this. 

Some of us have trials dark on every hand and find it hard to understand the path God has chosen for us as we travel to the promised land. Others seem to be blessed on every hand and are amazed at the path God has chosen for them. However, for most of us it is a mixture of joy and sadness; trail and triumph; stumbling along life's path and running with the wind; turmoil and peace; and gain and loss.  In every situation we often do not understand all the ways God would lead us to the blessed Promise Land.  But rest assured if we are faithful unto death what we may not understand now we will one day fully comprehend.

God is always faithful to you so be faithful to Him. He is doing something wonderful in your life through every experience and person who He brings into your life. I have come to see clearly, as only one who has lived long, just how true is Romans 8:28 where Scripture declares that, "We we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." I really do thank God for all those who have both supported me and those who have opposed me over the years. I appreciate the roll those who blessed my life have played as well as those who sought to hurt me played.  I give thanks for those who shared my visions and dreams and for those who didn't understand them or agree with them.  You see, they were the tools God has used to make me who I am and along the way I have been privileged to know some of the finest people in the world . . . . literally around the world.

 

I have said all this to say that as you pursue your life goals and seek to bring all your aspirations to fruition God is at work shaping your life and using it to touch others. John Donne got it so right when he said, "No man is an island entire of itself." Each life touches another and each life is changed by that touch. While all these touches have an impact to a greater or lessor degree on our lives there is one touch that is essential because it changes us at our core and that is the touch of the Master's (Jesus) hand.  As Bill Gaither said in his signature song, "Then the hand of Jesus touched me, and now I am no longer the same."

We are so blessed, by the gifts from Your hand
Just can't understand why You loved us so much.
We are so blessed, we just can't find a way or the words that can say
Thank You, Lord, for Your touch.

We are so blessed by the things You have done,
The vict'ries we've won and what You've brought us through.
We are so blessed, take what we have to bring,
Take it al everything, Lord, we bring it to You.

 

When we're empty You fill us 'til we overflow
When we're hungry You feed us, and cause us to know.
We are so blessed, take what we have to bring,
Take it all, everything, Lord, we love you so much.

 

 

 

The Battle is Over, The Victory is Won so Onward and Upward Christian Soldier: Clyde H. Thompson

These days I seem to be saying farewell to many of the people in my life who played a significant roll in shaping who I am both as a person and as a minister of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This week I have said farewell to another, Clyde Thompson. 

If one is interested in his life you can read the summary found in his obituary.  Suffice it to say that in his 91 years he demonstrated himself to be a loving husband, caring father and committed Christian. Everything he undertook to do he did with faith and energy. No one felt joy as energetically as he and no one carried a burden with more grace. He became a part of our family through marriage and in our minds has been one of us ever since. 

In 91 years he accumulated so many life experience the telling of which are often legendary. His simple straightforward concern was genuine and heartfelt. He was touched by the needs people had both spiritually and physically. He often used a sack of groceries to open the door in a heart for the gospel.  

He was a patriot serving the country by helping man a PT boat during WWII. He could have and should have written his own “PT-109.”   

In forty years of full-time ministry he pastured only three churches. His first church was was FBC in Beasley, Texas. Then when the mission in Lomax was constituted as the First Baptist Church of Lomax he became its founding pastor. Finally he spent the last 24 years as pastor of the Garden Road Baptist Church in Pearland, Texas. I should note for accuracy that before the church moved to Pearland it was called the Minnetex Baptist Church. In a sense he ended his active ministry pretty much where it started at Lomax.

However, I digress from what I want to share about Clyde Thompson. I first met Clyde when I was a student at Pasadena High School shortly after I had surrendered to the preaching Ministry.  A group of us young preacher “going to be’s” had formed an informal school of prophets. We’d travel from church to church to hear some of the prominent preachers of our day or in support of one another when some pastor would let one of us fill their pulpit. 

Clyde often would use one of us to preach on a Sunday night when he was in Lomax. It was on one of these occasions in the early 1960’s that I met Clyde Thompson. And our journey together began.  

Clyde Thompson was a young preacher’s best friend. He not only gave us a chance to practice our preaching he was always encouraging and uplifting. In fact, his influence was such that when I was pastor of the Highland Park Baptist Church in Kilgore in the early 1970’s I invited Clyde to preach the first revival service I had while there.  In turn, I preached what might have been the first revival services that the Garden Road Baptist Church held in their first building when it was brand new. That revival led to me becoming the pastor of the First Baptist Church of Lomax in the mid 1970's.

My point is only this . . . many a young preacher owes Clyde Thompson a debt for allowing them to develop and hone their preaching skills in the churches where he served as pastor. I large part of his legacy is not just the people whose lives he touched as their pastor and friend. It also includes the hundreds and thousands of lives touched through the ministries of those of us who he gave the opportunity to learn, yes I said learn, the art of preaching by actually preaching a real sermon in a real worship service and extend a real invitation to receive Christ. He knew we were novices yet he took a chance and trusted his beloved church family to us so we could gain the experience we’d need in the days ahead as ministers in a Baptist church. Such was his love and faith.  

His obituary says, “His legacy of love is vast, and words are not enough to express all he did for his Lord, family, friends, and people in general” and that is certainly true but to those of us with whom he shared his pulpit his legacy is still being recorded as we continue.

There is so much more that I could say as the lives of the Thompson family and our family became intertwined over the years. There have been moments of joy and days of sorrow; there have been times of laughter and hours of weeping; and there have been days spiritual mountain tops and plenty of valleys.  I believe it can all be summed up in the words of Andre Crunch’s song “Through it All”  . . .  

I've had many tears and sorrows,
I've had questions for tomorrow,
there's been times I didn't know right from wrong.
But in every situation,
God gave me blessed consolation,
that my trials come to only make me strong.

I've been to lots of places,
I've seen a lot of faces,
there's been times I felt so all alone.
But in my lonely hours,
yes, those precious lonely hours,
Jesus lets me know that I was His own

I thank God for the mountains,
and I thank Him for the valleys,
I thank Him for the storms He brought me through.
For if I'd never had a problem,
I wouldn't know God could solve them,
I'd never know what faith in God could do

Chorus
Through it all,
through it all,
I've learned to trust in Jesus,
I've learned to trust in God.

Through it all,
through it all,
I've learned to depend upon His Word.

It's Memorial Day

Memorial Day itself was originally known as “Decoration Day” as loved ones would place flowers on the graves of those fallen in military combat. In what may have been a spontaneous event towns planned and gathered to honor the war dead from the Civil War. In 1868, General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic officially proclaimed the holiday. On May 30, 1868, flowers were first placed on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery.

Tomorrow is Memorial Day and we as a nation and as individuals turn our attention to the men and women of the nation who served our country and have now crossed over into eternity. For me it is really a time of reflection on my Mom and Dad. Their bodies rest in the Houston National Cemetery and they live in God's presence.

I rarely speak of either of them in the past tense. This is because I believe that God has given them eternal life and though their bodies have died they live on.

My dad was a farm boy from North East Texas. Well, in his case "boy" might not be the right word since he was 29 years of age when he was drafted into the United States Army Air Force. So in May 1942 he said his goodbye's to friends and family and made his way to Fort Sam Houston. It was here that he completed his basic training and learned that he would be attending engineering school in Seattle, Washington at the Boeing Assembly Plant. Supervised by Army officers and trained by Boeing engineers he became an expert on the heavy bomber known as the B-17. He even had a certificate from both the Army Air Force and the Boeing Corporation to that effect.

After a few more advanced engineering courses he and a crew of  9 other men were assigned a brand new B-17 bomber and ordered to England via Iceland to join the 8th United States Army Air Force as a part of one of their heavy bomber groups. However, when they arrived in England and reported to the Personnel Assignment Office they discovered that the 8th AAF did not need them but did need their airplane.

Dad and others who were a part of the group bringing the B-17's to England found themselves without a home or an assignment. Fortunately, the 9th. AAF was moving back to England from North Africa and needed personnel. Dad found himself assigned to the 9th AAF, 52nd Troop Carrier Wing, 315 Troop Carrier Group, 35th. Squadron. Dad said it was the best thing that could have happened. He later learned that the B-17 he had given up to the 8th. AAF was shot down on a bombing mission.

After a quick trip to North Africa for Operation Husky where they backed up elements of the 12th AAF he returned to Spanhoe, England from which he participated  in paratrooper drops in the early morning hours of June 6, 1944 (Normandy) when he dropped elements of the 82nd. Airborne's 504th PIR. Later he would participate in Paratrooper Drops during Operation Market Garden dropping the same 504 PIR along with British and Polish paratroopers.  For all his combat flights he received the Air Medal with Oak Leaf Cluster.

His Squadron also regularly flew the Glenn Miller band back and forth to Paris and have long challenged the official story of Miller's death. I have heard stories from Dad's fellow airmen that cause me to be skeptical of the official story as well.

It was in 1943 that Dad met my mother while on leave in London. She had probably seen more war than had he. She lived through the blitz of London. I have seen the chart showing the location of well over 100 bombs, many of which were high explosive, in and around their home on Beatrice Road in Bermondsey, a suburb of London.

In January 1945 they were married and in August of that same year Dad was ordered to Trinidad. So late in the month he said his goodbye's and along with a stick of  paratroopers left England for Trinidad. For the next three months he ferried returning soldiers to West Miami Beach as they then headed for the places where they first became soldiers to be demobilized and become private citizens once again.

In late November Dad turned down an offer to re-enlist and be a part of the formation of the USAF and was immediately ordered to Fort Sam Houston where he himself would be demobilized.  My mom would follow soon by making the transatlantic crossing on the old Queen Mary (now a floating hotel in Los Angeles).

Dad was reluctant to talk about his war experience but mother was proud to expose his wartime activities. It was through her and his fellow squadron members that I learned part of what an air medal with oak leaf cluster really means. I am especially thankful to Doc Clower and Gussie Perkins for filling in so many of the  blank spaces in dad's wartime experiences. One day perhaps I'll tell the whole story though I doubt doing so would make dad happy. He'd always cut any inquiries about the war off by saying, "We just did what had to be done." But I suspect the truth probably lies behind something he once said to me when I asked about his roll in the war and he said, "I had to live through all that once, why would you want me to live through it again."

Mom and Dad are both gone now. Dad died of cancer on Father's Day, July 19, 1983 at the age of 71 and Mom went to be with the Lord on March 20, 2001 at the age of 77 the result of a brain stem hemorrhage. Both are buried in the Houston National Cemetery. My dad lost a cousin in Natal, Brazil when his plane exploded on takeoff. My mom lost her fiance at Dunkirk, a cousin in Burma and countless family members in Europe.

Today, for me, mom and dad represent all the men and women who have served the country in war and in peace and now have stepped into eternity. I am thankful to God for your faithful service.
 
I am sure you too have a loved one who served nobly and with honor. Join  me and let's honor them all.

Today, I am thinking of them and giving  thanks to God for giving me to these two remarkable people. Mom, Dad, I really do miss you guys and look forward to the day when we shall be together again in God's forever family.

I look forward to the day when Isaiah 2:4, "They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore," becomes reality. Until then I give thanks to God for all those who stand in the gap and make up the wall to enable the rest of us to continue the pursuit life, liberty and happiness.

Performance Leader or Worship Leader

I was on my Facebook Wall today and came across a blog that someone had posted in which they thought I might be interested. The particular subject of the blog was "Why Men Have Stopped Singing." It was written by David Murrow on the blog "A Few Good Men."

As I read this short explanation of why men no longer sing during worship services I didn't even ask myself if it were actually true that men have quit singing during church services. I know it is because that is pretty much the case in the church where I worship.

Truth is, sometimes I feel like a lone wolf howling in the night wind during the time of congregational singing. Don't get me wrong. Our worship leader generally does an excellent job of putting together the service. However, when I look around most of the men are just standing in silence like so many fence posts.

There are probably a lot of reasons why and David Murrow has nailed down a few and his readers a bunch more. However, for me the answer lies deeper than "unfamiliarity" with the songs, the pitch of the song, or the femininity of the music. I agree, men want a song pitched in a range in which they can sing, that they would prefer songs they know and that are a bit more masculine.  I believe men like to sing about the "Joy of the Lord" and "Victory in Jesus." I believe they want to both sing to the Lord and sing about the Lord. I don't even think it is the contemporary style of the music that has silenced the men's voices. Again, don't misunderstand me . . . these are all contributing factors.

I believe the change from vibrant robust congregational sing where the men just "opened up and let her fly" started to end the day we started moving our talents to the platform. We did this in a way that showcased the leaders skills and talents. We have a kid who plays drums so lets put him on the platform and use his talents; another plays base so let's get him up there too; and on and on we go. Now we have a band.  We moved the choir out to make room for the speakers, amplifiers, microphones, equalizers and synthesizers. Now our four worship leaders sound like "Jars of Clay" or "Abba" or "Alabama."  Not really . . . but our electronics change the sound coming out of our mouths so that everyone is on pitch and on the right rhythm so we just sound like it. Then the "Band" begins believing that's what they really sound like. If we could just get that preacher to sound more like Billy Graham.

While we were embracing all this "new" way of worshipping an obscure British apologist named John Blanchard was warning of the dangers inherent in a church embracing the new forms and structure approach to worship in a little book called "Pop Goes The Gospel."

Now I know some smart person is going to point out that preachers have been in the spotlight for a long time and people sat quietly through as he performed for them so lets deal with that now. If, and I say if the preacher was front and center so that he could demonstrate his oratorical skills or lack thereof then shame on him. Here is the difference. When the preacher stands to preach he is delivering a message from God to the people. When God speaks it behooves us all to listen. However, there was a time when the "Amens" came from men in the congregation and not women. That is pretty much reversed these days. When the congregation stands to sing and the worship leader (Worship Team) leads them in singing it is to for the people together as the body of Christ to declare to the goodness of God, greatness of God and the things (victories) He has done. God speaks through the sermon and the people respond
through song, testimony and the occasional "amen."

This can happen through any "style" of worship and indeed has and does occur weekly. However, we have forgotten an axiom of worship that is tucked away in B.B. McKinneys assertion that the congregation is the largest and most important choir that the worship leader has. The whole purpose of a worship leader, a worship team, a traditional choral setup is to engage the congregation so that men, women and children participate. Whether it is preaching, singing or whatever if the congregation doesn't go with you it is a failure.

I fear much of what we are doing is play acting and performing not for God but for ourselves. Are we playing the the right notes and singing the right words but what our hearts really mean is not found in the notes and words we sing. First Baptist Church of Orlando gave an example of this when they recorded Don't Worship This Way.

What has happened is we have transformed our worship services from the preacher delivering a message from God to God's people and the worship leader engaging the congregation in corporate worship of God to the church's equivalent of a concert.. As one Worship leader said to me, "I call it "Performance Ministry" as opposed to "Worship Ministry." What we need is fewer Performance Ministers and more Worship Ministers.

The goal of the preacher and the worship team is the same as that of John the Baptist, "He must increase, but I must decrease." We must get back to defining what we are trying to do in worship and periodically and honestly evaluate how well our method, process, and style is achieving that goal. That goal should be to engage as many people as possible in worship.

I believe that if we are honest we'll take notice that not only are the men not singing we will discover that most of the women aren't singing either. If the congregation is not robustly involved  then it's time to ask, "Why aren't they?" and "What can we do to get them involved in worship?"  Remember, if you want them to change then you are going to have to do something different. Don't try to force them into your little box . . . change boxes by getting one into which they will fit.

Goodbye To Tucker

"It's On My Mind" is the title of this blog because it is about whatever happens to be on my mind at any given time. Well, today what's on my mind is a dog. . . not just any dog but a very special dog named Tucker. He was my Buddy . . . He was my Pal.

Now I've never been big on having pets and Lord knows (don't want to offend anyone here) but I've never cared too much for cats. But since a child I have always thought a boy ought to have a dog.

A boy learns a lot from and with his dog. They literally discover the world together. He's your best friend and constant companion. He's always happy to see you and when you're gone he will wait until time is no more for your return and when you do return he is always happy to see you and will greet you more enthusiastically than any friend or relative.  

I know that when I was growing up I had my dog. That dog pretty much went with me every where I went and I suppose I learned about as much from him as I did anyone else. He taught me loyalty, friendship, to be happy with whatever I had at the time and a hundred other things. "Rusty" was what my mom called a Heinz 57 Variety. He had pedigree in spades and he was my firend. As a young boy I cried when Rusty died.

But I digress. It is not Rusty that I am really thinking about today. Today I am thinking of Tucker. He came into our house when our youngest daughter was 19 years old and one of the first things he did besides poop and pee on the floor was chew up the TV/Sound system remote and my middle daughter's glasses.

In time he mastered the potty routines and set up house in a corner where he would spend most of his
day napping. We never tired of watching him walk three times in a circle on his bed before laying down and then pulling his little blanket over not just his body but his head.

He was better than a doorbell . . . he always seemed to know when someone was coming up to the house and would race to the door as though he was a lot bigger six inch legs would indicate. He greeted everyone with barking and tail wagging. When the door opened he would steadily make his retreat.

Tucker had a phenomenal memory. He not only always knew the family members he might be staying with at any given time but he knew all the children and grandchildren as well. He seemed to know when you needed some attention and would let you know he loved you in the way only a good family dog can. All he ever required was a little attention, affection, love and an occasional treat. In retuned he reciprocated with a lot of love and affection.

If you look close in the picture below you'll see Tucker near our patio table. H was always on the look-out for a falling crumb or anything that might pass as food.

Now I don't really have to tell this to the members of the family who used to "hang" with him. Everyone was always asking, "How's Tucker?" To be sure he was a spoiled dog but that might be because he spoiled us in return.

At nearly 15 years of age Tucker, like the rest of us had begun to show his age. His hair, like mine was turning grey and he now had an arthritic limp on his rear left leg. But through all those years he remained loyal to his family and brought a lot of joy to four generations. You see Tucker didn't think of himself as a pet. He thought of himself as a member of the family. A little different from the rest of us but still a part of the family. He loved us and he trusted us to the very end and that is what brings tears to my eyes as I think of "Old Man Tucker" as I had come to call him.  We kinda grew old together. . . And yes, as a grown man, I cried when Tucker died.

We often refer to our dogs as "man's best friend." Well, Tucker may well have been my best friend.

I've always known something about the bond that develops between a boy and his dog and have always thought there just had to be someplace for those wonderful family members we call our pets. Who knows maybe there is a place called Rainbow Bridge for our beloved pets. At least I like to think so.

"Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.  When an animal dies that has been
especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.  There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.  There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.  All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.  The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.  They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.  You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.  Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together...."

Billy Currington sings a song called "Like my Dog Does" and he really does hit the nail on the head when it comes our dogs. We could learn a lot from our dogs.

So much could be said but I dare say no dog was ever loved by more people than "Old Man" Tucker. He had a good and long life for a dog . . .  I just wish it could have been a little longer.

In A Macabre Way

Last week I took part in the Memorial service for a young man whose wedding I officiated twenty-five years earlier. He was fairly new to the Kingdom of God back then having only recently become a Christian and been baptized. He was an even newer member of our church. His bride was a lovely young lady who had been a member of our church I suppose most of her life and whose family had deep roots in our church. I do not know of a finer example of what being a husband and wife is all about than this couple. They didn't just live together they had a real mutually fulfilling relationship . . . something that's a rare thing in today's world of electronic connections.

Like so many brides and grooms for whom I have officiated wedding over the years they both seemed young. I remember thinking to myself when I first saw him, "He must be standing in for an older brother."  But I digress. My point right now is not to eulogize him. I did that at the memorial service.

My point is that the night before the memorial service there was a family visitation time. That's a time when friends, neighbors and acquaintances visit with the family to remember and express their condolences.

I couldn't help but notice at that visitation that with the exception of all the police (I didn't mention the young man was a policeman) it seemed more like a family reunion and a church homecoming than a visitation. As I reflect on this experience I began to realize that most of these that I have been to in recent years, including those in my own family, in a macabre way were becoming substitutes for family gatherings. Now that's not an altogether bad thing but there is a certain sadness about it that goes beyond the death that from time to time brings us together.

At this point I'll be a bit nostalgic. I remember in my own family that there was a time when weddings and death were not the only occasions that brought our extended families together. Of course in those days families lived pretty close together and so getting together was not so hard.

My dad and his siblings often gathered on weekends for a kind of Friday or Saturday night Jamboree. There'd be instruments to play, songs to sing and just plain fun to be had. I recall family and friends gathering for table games at each other's homes. In addition to being a lot of fun we were learning a great deal about each other. By the time I was grown we knew each other well. We new our faults and our strengths; we knew what made each of us happy and we knew what hurt. More importantly we were bonding.  It was a real social networking program where hands and hearts could actually touch.

In additional we had those annual gatherings when the whole tribe would gather at a predetermined location. I suppose the big chiefs decided all that. All I know is it got louder, more crowded and more fulfilling with each family that arrived. We, each family unit and all of us together were the Appleby's and unlike this year's Survivor blood was always thicker than water.

But alas, as I am all too frequently reminded that those days are gone. I suppose I'll have to wait until one of my cousins or another friend dies to see all the family together again. I told you there was something macabre about all this. Now for our family as for the family of the one whose life we celebrated on this occasion these are not morbid times. To be sure there is a sadness in the air and during some of the conversations lumps suddenly appear in the throat and a tear rolls down the cheek.

However, for the most time we are remembering the good times and thanking God that he wove the person whose life we celebrate into the fabric of our life. There was laughing and story telling. It is a time of thanksgiving for the fact that God brought our lives together both in living and dying. The only real difference between our reunions of days gone by and these of today is that someone has died.

That night we shared our experiences with family members and friends. I saw former church members, some of which played a large roll in my life.

I don't like how our society has evolved. Socially we moved from the front porch to the back deck; from the open yard to the privacy fence; from meeting in our homes to maybe meeting at a restaurant if we meet at all. We've gone from church fellowships to committee meetings and from family reunions to funeral home gatherings. We need to set aside the "smart" phones, I-Pads etc.; We need to leave Twitter, Facebook and Pintrest just long enough to reintroduce ourselves to each other and get to know the real us. I wonder sometimes if we can live without these machines.

Many years ago I had a deacon in a church who bought a boat. Now, there is nothing wrong with owning a boat. In fact during my "fishing" days I wanted one myself. At any rate, as time pasted this brother and his family began to miss more and more church. In fact, by his own count he once missed 13 Sundays in a row (3 months). Then, following a series of boating mishaps (wife falling in lake twice after which she ceased to go with him, the boat running aground a few times and finally one Sunday morning during a squall on lake Palestine it was dashed against the rocks and suffered sever damage that cost a small fortune to repair. That night, he was in church and asked to speak to the congregation and here is what he said, "Y'all know I bought a boat about six months ago." He continued, "I always wanted to own a boat . . . it had been a dream of mine since I was a kid." Then he recounted all the things that had happened over the past 13 weeks and concluded with, "God showed me this morning that I only thought I owned a boat but that in reality the boat owned me." "It became the means by which the devil has tarnished my witness. and as a Deacon I want to apologize and ask your forgiveness."  Then it was a boat . . . maybe now its a smart phone or Facebook.


Oh, I know we are never going back to the days of yesteryear but if we don't reclaim some of that has been lost we will eventually all find ourselves alone. I've started leaving my cell phone at home on most weekends. Mostly just to prove to myself I am not addicted to the thing.

However, few things bother me more than trying to speak with someone who is constantly reading Twitter posting, email and Facebook. I want to say, "Common Man, get a real life." What I am really saying is put down the phone and spend some time in conversation with a relative or friend. Don't have a relationship with an electronic device. Have a relationship with a living breathing person. Now go forth an conquer and I'll see you at the next family visitation.

Have a Wonderful Christmas Time . . . .

I've been hearing Paul McCartney's song "Wonderful Christmas Time" more and more on the radio and in stores the past few years. I like it because it is not only upbeat but because it speaks of a simple Christmas time. A kind of Christmas for which many of us of a certain wish to reconnect. A time when . . . .

The moon is right
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

 

 

Please note that I have not forgotten the real story of Christmas . . .  the Birth of Jesus and all that includes. But there is something about the Christmas season but my mind darts in and out of the past and the present. Christmas time is a time when at lease for me nostalgia takes over.  Others are franticly running through stores and there I am lost in the fifties seeing myself standing by what I now know was a pretty sparse tree but at the time seemed so impressively full wearing a pair of matching cap-pistols, boots, chaps

I'll be walking through a store at the local shopping mall to pick up my new eye glasses and suddenly I'll have a flashback to being at the Sears Store on Southmore sandwiched between Shaver and Main Streets. Right now, as I write I can see myself and my Father on Christmas Eve walking in the Main Street side of the store with me in tow past the tools and lawn equipment toward the escalators in the middle of the store. On my left we pass the candy island with its potpourri of smells and nuts . . . so many nuts . . . I just loved it. We're on a mission, Christmas is tomorrow and we still haven't gotten Mom anything for Christmas. In later years he'd later do the same with my sister.

I used to wonder why Dad always waited to the last minute to take care of this most important of tasks. I would learn years later that it was procrastination as much as it was economic. You see Mom and Dad waited until all of the things my sister and I were going to receive before they turn to each other.

You see Dad was a self-employed auto mechanic and Christmas time was  a tough time for families who made their livings in the auto repair business unless of course the economy was in a down turn. People put off as much auto repair as they could n favor of spending their money on Christmas gifts. He'd work harder at Christmas "hustling-up" work than any other time of the year just to make sure we all got something under the tree. Mom always spent much of the year putting aside a Christmas "nest egg." 

One of the things that made that Christmas Eve mission so urgent was not just that we had to find just the right gift for mom that we could afford but we also had to be at our big family reunion at my Aunt Mae's house.

That gathering was important to me as was our own on Christmas morning. All the extended family would be there. All my aunts and uncles and cousins. Mae's house had that distinct smell that I call "the smell of Christmas." Some years we exchanged "white Elephant" gifts  but every year it was a time when we were all present and filled with uplifted spirits (not to mention Christmas treats) and "that was enough." Add to that the singing of carols and Christmas songs and stories of Christmas past many of which were about family members no longer with us and how they touched our lives.

We always ended that evening with someone reading the Christmas story from the King James Bible. The story just reads better from that version. I remember the last Christmas eve we spent at Mae's. It was the last one we would have and as had become the tradition by then I was reading the Christmas story. That Christmas was a sad one in many way because those of us able to be there knew it would be the last. Mae, the last of my Dad's siblings was confined to bed and in the slow process of dying. I remember asking her if she'd like me to read the Christmas Story for her and as we gathered around her bed I began to recite . . . "And in those days there went out a decree . . . ." Even that Christmas was a "Wonderful Christmas Time."  It was different from years prior but wonderful none-the-less.

All I know is that through all of that we always had a "Wonderful Christmastime" because our spirits were always up and we were all together.  I think that is still what makes Christmas so special . . .  our spirits are up and we are all together.

A lot of time has passed since those days. We have celebrated Christmas more than 60 times since the last time Dad and I rushed through Sears looking for that perfect gift for Mom. The store is closed, the city has changed, many of the family have stepped out into eternity since then but Christmas has never lost its appeal to me.. Some were in times of plenty and some were during seasons of want. But all of them were times together and with up-lifted spirits.

 The moon is right
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

Now here's the really odd part of all this. For some reason my mind has done another one of those flashback things and I find myself thinking of the people with whom I went to public school.  So, while it is on my mind I want to send out to all the members of my high school graduating class (PHS class of '65) special Christmas wishes. A lot of Christmases have come an gone since we walked across that makeshift stage at The old Memorial Stadium.

During that time some took and early departure from us and shall remain ever young in our hearts and minds. But for most of us time would march on and we would marry have children and our lives would generally go in a myriad of directions and we'd each celebrate Christmas with our own developing traditions. Some of you will be surrounded by family and/or friends while others might spend the day alone. Some will be spending your first Christmas without your spouse of many years. I know because I follow many of you on Facebook.  I know Susan and I will pretty much spend Christmas with just the two of us. We will celebrate a family Christmas on the 21st.- ironically my Dad's birthday - he'd be 102 were he living.  Remember, as time passes you will realize they have left you more than has been taken from you.

First I want to apologize to many of you who graduated with me back in 1965 that I did not take the time to get to know you better when we were growing up. It was my loss and I truly regret it. I really do wish I had know you all better. Worse yet, he said with tongue in cheek, you didn't get to know me either. I know, it would not have been possible for all of us to know each other really well but I think I, at least for one, could have and should have done better. Thank you for being a part of the Tapestry of my life.  Then I want to say from the bottom of my heart that I wish for you and yours a "Wonderful Christmas Time."

 To the rest of you who became a part of my life over the years I want to say the very same thing to you . . . . Merry Christmas.

 

The moon is right

The spirits up

We're here tonight

And that's enough

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime