Edges

When I was a kid in the 5th grade we had a reading program. It was a big box filled with 2-3 page articles about different subjects. We were assigned the task of going to the box and pulling out an article, reading it for comprehension, and answering questions about it. One of the cards I read was about Halley’s Comet. I was immediately hooked. Halley’s Comet is named for an astronomer who put together the information that this particular comet had been making regular appearances through time. This is the most regular comet that can be seen with the naked eye and is the only comet that a person can see twice in their life time.

It made its first appearance for me when I was 14. It will return in 2062. If I make it till then I will be 100 years old. This first time it appeared to me was 1986. It was a total bust. It just was not easy to see. I was disappointed and I’m not sure I will make it for a second chance. I really wanted to see it. Wikipedia says of the 1986 appearance, “The comet and Earth were on opposite sides of the Sun in February 1986, creating the worst viewing circumstances for Earth observers for the last 2,000 years.” It will be traveling away from the sun for another 2.5 years and then will start on the long return journey.

One of the most famous appearances of Halley’s Comet happened in 1066. It was noted in the petroglyphs of Chaco Indians. It was noted in the Bayeux Tapestry in France. This tapestry tells the story of the Norman conquest of England which set into motion modern England out of which America was birthed. The comet was seen as a sign of loss to those that fell in battle and a harbinger for William the Conqueror and the age to come.

Twenty years ago, we were visiting the cemetery at the Normandy landing beaches and went through Bayeux and made a special point to go see the tapestry. We got there about an hour before the museum closed, but they would not let us go in. I literally got on my knees and begged for a chance to see a special panel saved 1000 years ago showing the comet. It was bright and huge in the sky. Eventually, I wore the people down and they let me see it. It did not make up for not seeing it so long ago IRL (In Real Life).

So, a couple of weeks ago the world was told to go see Comet NEOWISE. I did not have to be told twice. Night after night Cindy and I drove around town trying to find a dark place with a clear view of the northern horizon that was not shrouded by clouds. Finally, on our fourth attempt we found a place south of town and were able to see it, but we had to use binoculars. Still another disappointment. The 1066 comet was the second brightest thing in the sky ahead of Venus and behind the moon. It was huge and everyone could see it unaided. After sitting in the dark for a long time, I was able to see the comet with just my eyes, like a wispy smudge. Then, we drove for another half an hour to find even darker sky, but could never get high enough to see it again. We went out two more nights, but it was already fading into oblivion.

What do you really want to see? What are you willing to do to see it? Do you want to see the world as better? Do you want to see others in a better light? Do you want to see some place beautiful? What are you willing to sacrifice so that you can see?

Temptation

We drove to Mexia to film a sermon. It is a one hour and twenty-five minute drive. Steve G. had been so kind as to prepare an ice chest and bring snacks for the trip. What he did not know is that he found my gas station kryptonite. I have been on a Covid-19 reduced eating plan not wanting my indoor life to drag me down. I have upped my exercise, limited my intake and tried to be as healthy as possible. Because the “junk food” I normally get is not in my house, it has meant an almost 100% reduction in the stuff that tempts me the most.

Steve dug through a bag and offered me this package of “donettes” (it just sounds so much better, they certainly have less calories than full grown doughnuts). I easily said, “No.” We continued down the road. Then, he reached for the bag and one fell out on the floor. I picked it up and placed it on the old ash tray, not wanting it ground into the flooring. There it rested gently.

Mile after mile its beautiful golden brown surface and crunchy exterior kept reminding me that there were still two more “donettes” lurking in the package. I would not be violating some law. It would not be a whole doughnut, just a little “ette.” The better angel whispered in my ear, “No, No, No.” The primal angel kept yelling, “YES, YES, YES!” I turned my gaze out the window so that I could not hear “ette.” I watched the grass and barbed wire streak by, but lurking in my peripheral vision was the little brown jewel.

I decided that telling you was my best defense. I decided that if I brought the temptation out into the light of day that I might have some power over it. I’m telling you now, I wanted to eat it, but I did not. I believed that little pile of goodness would make me feel joyful, but I knew that I would be filled with guilt and shame. I need you to know, don’t bring any “donettes” near me. If you see me in the gas station, stand between me and these little demons, try to distract me with a bag of almonds.

What tempts you? Jesus says, “Flee.” I was preparing to take this photo and Steve decided it was time to throw it away. He did not know what I was thinking. He had no idea, that for 50 miles, I had been consumed with thinking about this flour, sugar concoction. I took the photo and he easily threw it away. The bible says,
”Confess your sins one to another,” not so that we might Lord power over each, but to help each other, to be strong for one another, to stand in the gap for others. Tell someone what your kryptonite is and let them give you a hand.

Who are you walking with?

While at home during the lockdown, I have been going through all of my old photos and digitizing them. It means I have been mind traveling all through the past 57 years. Lots of pictures bring tears to my eyes and not because they are covered with dust. Cindy and I each have favorites. We both love this one; Our two boys walking down a trail.

Neither of us remember which trail. I can’t tell you anything about the “where” of this picture. It’s just the feeling I can talk about. I’m hot natured and we rarely put the boys in long sleeves unless it was the fall or winter, so I’m guessing autumn. We did dress our kids alike. I have apologized to them about this, and there is something about the light that feels warm and embracing. I think it’s New Mexico. The long shadows tells me it was either early or late, certainly not mid-day. When we lived in the Panhandle, we traveled each autumn to see the aspens change color. I think this was on one of those trips. Maybe I’m just fooled by the shirt color, but it’s my best guess.

Look at our son on the left. His arm is held up and in front of his brother, but not because they are walking hand in hand, but it looks like a sweeping gesture. Our son on the right has something in his hands, my hunch is it’s a piece of grass that he is spinning. They don’t seem concerned about us at all. We are clearly behind them. The pathway arches off to the left and they are headed that way together.

I just read this week about a friend whose family has fallen apart and they are no longer communicating with each another. It made me so sad. I talked to another friend that is headed toward divorce and I could feel my chest tighten and my eyes moisten in grief. There is, in this picture, so much of the longing in my life. I want to reach the end of the road together. There seems to be so much pulling people apart, so much hurt and pain, but somehow we have to find a way toward peace, love, and togetherness. Somehow, we have to find a way to walk the road together. One of the reasons the world needs to know the way of Jesus is because it is a pathway that can help people stay together, helping us see the best in each other and forgiving the worst. It promises reunion. It promises that at the end of the road we will all arrive at the feet of the Savior surrounded by love. That is what this picture makes me feel.

Filters

I was doing some vacation coaching for some family members and was going through some old pictures of our trip to the Grand Canyon in 2006. The photos almost all suffered from an abundance in haze. It’s like the big dust storm in the air right now. The air blurred the background and kept things from being in sharp focus.

I applied some of the new digital tools that are available to me now. The picture on the right has had much of the haze removed. The colors are sharper and reflect what sunrise felt like to me on that cool morning. I remember it feeling so wonderful.

Removing the haze is necessary to see more clearly. I think our culture is in the process of lurching forward in race relations as more white people are ready to spend the time necessary to listen and hear the experience of black people in our country. Someone I don’t know stumbled on to my sermon of June 21. They wrote me a note. They said in part, “Recently, I was asked to be on a Racial Task Force group… As an "elderly" white woman, born in Hannibal, Missouri, but grew up in the Land of Lincoln across the river....I find myself on a committee knowing virtually nothing about the true struggles of Black Americans.”

She is trying to de-haze her pictures as am I. As much as I have read, as much as I have studied, I continue to be overwhelmed by the pain and suffering that the legacy of slavery has left in our world and the racists ideas that still lurk around in my soul. I assembled a reading list (here is a link to it again HERE). You could learn to use the new information and tools to see much more clearly and help lift our community up through understanding and compassion.

A group of pastors and lay leaders in Athens have started to meet. We are calling ourselves the Athens Race Taskforce. We are meeting weekly (social distancing and masks) and developing a strategic plan to help the city of Athens as it is developing a master plan. Our focus will be, “Improving race relations in Athens.” We are looking to create a multi-ethnic, multi-denominational, age and gender diverse group of about 40 people to study, pray, brainstorm, and formulate recommendations to bring to the city council. We would love your prayers as we try to cast a huge net in our city to involve people from all over our community and draw them into the process of making Athens the place God believes it can be.

You Got Your Wings

I’ve been going through my dad’s old papers, slowly reading things and learning things. We found a book that he kept in his closet. It was a three ringed binder that had clear pages. He had slid all sorts of things into those page protectors. One of them was this telegram.

I read it the week after dad died and it really made me smile. One, I know that people don’t get wings when they die. Two, I have seen “It’s a Wonderful Life” 30 or 40 times (maybe more). So, when I hear a bell ring I salivate angel wings. Three, you have to know all the people and places mentioned in this telegram.

The telegram is fascinating to me, because it was sent to Lubbock. My dad was in Lubbock. It was not for long, but it reminds me of why my parents were so anxious when God called us to the Panhandle. It was sent by Betty and Udell. Uncle Udell had been married to my mother’s only and older sister, Janice. Janice was 16 years older than my mom, “surprise” Janice died of Leukemia when my mom was about 20 and Janice’s daughter, Sharon, was about 16. Mom and Sharon were more like sisters. Even though Uncle Udell was no longer really my Uncle, he still acted like one. Every year we would travel to Louisiana to see him and his family. They had a big fun family, Sharon, Derald, Greg, and Eileen. Uncle Udell later married Betty. She was my aunt. We would travel to their home and experience love and family. They were amazing times. The boys were older than me and played for Tulane football. They were both mountains of men and tender as kittens. The girls were elegant and kind. It was one of my favorite places to visit.

Uncle Udell was one of my heroes. He was in charge of Baptist work among college students for the state of Louisiana. He was a preacher. He was so dignified. He always dressed so well. As a long preacher, if I met people from Louisiana, they were always so thrilled I was related to him. He was an item in Louisiana Baptist Life. When I felt God’s call on my life into the ministry, Uncle Udell responded almost immediately. He sent me a Bible Dictionary and a note of encouragement. I still have them both.

The event that caused the telegram was my father finishing flight training and being awarded his Aircrew Badge, commonly called, “getting your wings.” It was a big day. It represented lots of training, lots of skill and a door to the future. There are lots of things I don’t understand about the telegram, all the codes, numbers and letters at the beginning (someone want to decipher them for me?), but the message in the middle is clear. The clear celebration of a job well done. In 1956, a telegram was a thing. To get one must have been impressive. The fact that Uncle Udell spent the money and energy to make this happen is so amazing. The second phrase, “we are proud of you,” is so kind and generous even in its brevity. Uncle Udell was a man that we all adored and looked up to. If you made him proud, you had done really good.

The last phrase, “come see us,” was what I remember the most about Udell. He wanted us in his life. He wanted us to be with him. He was not bound to us by marriage, but by the heart. He and Betty had the gift of hospitality and their love was tangible and I always felt a part of his family.

I do see heaven as a great reunion, so when I read these words, it seemed like one of the reunions in heaven would be these four, my dad was the last to “get his wings” and head to heaven. The last word is, “love.” That is what the end of love is, eternal and lasting fellowship with the father and the community of faith. My dad kept these 17 words for nearly 65 years. Think of what a bit of encouragement can do for someone around you today. Think of being able to motivate them for 65 years.

Survive

After my father died two weeks ago, we got the folder he had prepared for us. It had a copy of his will, a copy of his funeral arrangements, passwords, and other important papers. Everyone should do this for his/her family! It was such a gift and made the next set of choices so much easier. Dad also included a large envelope. We opened it up. It contained numerous pictures. My brother and I had never seen these pictures. They were of my Dad as a baby, as a young man. In the middle of sadness and grief it was so much fun to get these new glimpses of him.

One of them was from a survival school. I have heard him tell the stories so many times, but never seen this picture. Four months after I was born my father traveled to Stead Air Force Base in Reno, Nevada. There, he participated in survival training by the Strategic Air Command. It was a three week course. The first week was classroom instruction. The second week was a simulated prison camp. He told us a little about it. It was not pleasant. The last week was survival and evasion. He and his group were dropped off in the mountains and had to travel back to the base without getting caught. They had to forage for food or go hungry. There were traps and skilled trackers trying to find them.

He told a story of nearly being captured. He had run to escape and ran and jumped into a dark shadow in the forest and then lay motionless. He reasoned that someone coming out of the bright sun would not be able to see him. He waited and waited. He was sure that the tracker was near. He believed that the tracker had seen him, but was waiting to see if he would move. Mel waited. He was never sure how many hours. He talked about the experience often. He derived lots of meaning from the encounter. He tried to coach me in life. When in doubt, do the right thing. It will work out better. Stick with the right thing. You can master yourself. He taught me that I could ignore pain. While he lay in the dark and waited he listened to the wind. He saw and then felt the bugs. His stomach, already hungry, contracted even further. He slowed his breathing. He waited alert.

When I saw this photo, I looked at my Dad’s smile (Top left). He had learned so much about himself in those three weeks. He seems so joyful. I love that he scratched out the word, “Guest” and wrote in the word “Student.” He was a life long learner and never tired of sharing what he learned. He did more than survive, he thrived. I’m glad to celebrate him this Father’s Day.

Open and Close

We rushed back from my Dad’s funeral to get to the Church Outdoor Sing and Goodbye party for Jorge and Michelle so I still had my suit on when we arrived. It felt perfectly out of sync like I was feeling from the day. It was a great day, it was a bad day. It was great, because of my confidence in my father’s future. It was sad because it was a real turning of a chapter in my life. My Dad was the last of our parents to die. We all thought he would go first. He smoked for years. Somehow he outlived them all.

That morning, when I was getting dressed, I picked my tie first. I always start with the tie. I looked through a bunch but settled on a tie I bought myself at the last presidential library I visited when I had completed the whole set. It meant that I would wear my blue suit. I got into the pants and found that my Covid fasting has been working, so I switched to a smaller pant size. It meant I had to switch belts, but actually found one my dad had given me. Then, it was time for dress shoes. I could not find them. 

I got down on my hands and knees and dug through the bottom of my closet. I finally found them in the back corner. Apparently, they had crawled back under my old suits feeling abandoned and were sulking in the corner. They have not seen the light of day for three months. The toes were scuffed so I went to get my shoeshine kit. I remember when we were little, on Saturday night, the boys would shine their shoes around the table. My Dad taught us like the good soldier he was.

When we arrived back to Athens that evening, a group of people came to church to sing and celebrate. It was gentle and kind and people were still giving each other distance, while still trying to gather in the shadows of cars. Then, it was over and time to go home. I was walking from the courtyard to the slide parking lot and I saw the vivid fuchsia flower. I think it is a petunia that escaped from the planter boxes. The crack that it is growing in is so tiny. I stopped and started at it. Under normal usage, it would have never survived, but since no feet have been pounding on this concrete it has survived. 

I understand that all over the world this pause has impacted the natural system. Air has gotten cleaner, animals have returned to reclaim territory. While I have missed seeing my friends, seeing our church family, I know as things open up in the next few weeks that I am going to miss some of the solitude, some of the retreat of the last three months. Since my Dad’s diagnosis, I have been able to see him each week, been able to enjoy his company. It was a gentle and beautiful time. That bold little flower helped the evening seem a little brighter. 

Pass-words

I was sitting with my father this last week as we waited for him to pass from this world to the next. Early in the week, he was struggling, but still present to us. We could talk and get a few words, by late in the week we were happy with a look of recognition. By the end of the week, he had withdrawn to himself and I was left to a one way conversation. I’ve always been taught that the hearing is the last part to go in a person in this situation so I just kept talking to him.

The last recognizable conversation my dad had was with a nurse aid who came and was trying to change his soiled adult diaper. He told her he was sorry. The last thing he said to me, that I recognized, was when I left on Monday night to come home and record my sermon. I told him why I was leaving and that I was going home. He said, “to Athens?” I said, “Yes, Love you.” “Love you,” is what I got back.

When I got back on Wed, he recognized me with his eyebrows, but we were never able to bridge the gap. I was trying to do some work as I sat with him and needed the wifi password. I asked him too late. He was not able to help me. His wife had no idea. I went to his study and thought about my dad. I knew passwords were wasted on him. he could never remember them and always wrote them down. I searched his desk but gave up after about thirty minutes.

I looked at the router. I looked under it. Nothing. Then I opened a door on the hutch and saw a post-it-note. It had a password and the right router! I was so excited. I quickly typed in the password. Nothing. I tried it more slowly. Nothing. One last time, slower still. I went to ask my dad. That has been my habit my whole life. If I did not know what to do, I would ask my dad. He usually made me struggle with a solution on my own before giving me an answer. I knew he was not going to answer, but I asked anyway and then I went back and tried again. Then I noticed something. Character 4 and 7 might not be the letter ‘T’ but a ‘+’ sign. I retyped it making the substitutions and the wifi sprang to life. I went and told my dad I had solved the problem.

All the skill he gave me helped me figure out the password and it became our passing words. We released him to the arms of heaven and I know he had the right password to get in. Just two weeks ago, he prayed earnestly that everyone in the world would know the love of Jesus. He certainly did.

Senior Adventure 2020

We normally get to tell the church about Sr Adventure, but this last week it did not work out, so I want to tell you about our “Out of this world adventure.”

We picked up your kids at 5:30 am on Saturday morning in the church bus. The bus windows had been blacked out. They got in through the back door and then rode in the darkness as we went house by house. Eventually the bus stopped and backed up to the back door of the ROC. We arrived while it was still dark. We stepped into the gym. The lights were off, the black curtains were down and the only light was a set of UV lights.

The huge screen was hanging at a 45 degree angle to the floor. The seats to our space ship (thanks for the anti-gravity chairs) were aligned in front of the screen. The screen was projecting the live image from the International Space Station as it circles the earth. We invited them to go to the moon with us. We entered a time warp where every 10 minutes was one hour. We would land on the moon in the late afternoon. We asked if they wanted to go and if so, to put on the new NASA costumes be bought, made for them. To get ready, we trained.

We built NASA planes, we did NASA quiz sheets, we watched NASA training films. We watched the Apollo 11 documentary, a documentary about the moon lander. We built model rockets. We calculated a path on the moon. We watched Apollo 13. We launched rockets. We ate astronaut ice cream. We ate TV dinners with little compartments under plastic. We had space snacks and drinks. We laughed. We talked. We had a great time. We made it to the moon and then slept in our anti-gravity chairs most of the way home. We splashed down in time to make it to the Worship Center and the 10:45 am service.

It was an unusual year, but a good one. You can do a lot with a little imagination and a willing spirit. Thanks to all who made it happen.

People Make the Difference

This week we recognize our graduating seniors in our church. It has turned into a super special day and we tend to pull out all of the stops. This is a strange year to plan something amazing. Early in the shut down, we knew we had to shift gears. We have been praying and waiting and watching, trying to figure out what we could do. The theme, “The Moon”, was locked in last year. It is a job we always do on the Monday after Senior Sunday. We were working on the bible reading calendar and at that time Acts 2 was the text for the day (it has since changed and we read this a few weeks ago, but when we were picking it was on that Sunday).

We knew we had deep moon resources in Texas and were planning to go south. We also had Tex Ward in our church who knew all of the Apollo astronauts and helped train them for their missions as well as a long career in NASA after that.

As the restrictions began to open a little, we hatched a new plan. One, the film team would try to go film somewhere interesting. Two, we would do an in-town Senior Adventure.

Where could we film? NASA, in Houston, was closed. We thought of the Cosmosphere in Kansas. It’s the premiere space museum in the country, if you want to look at the space race. It was closed. I decided to write them anyway. I crafted a letter and asked if they might be opening. If they were, could we film? After several days, they wrote me back. They were not opening, but they might let me come and film. They needed more details.

I wrote and told them the whole story of Senior Sunday and what I wanted to do. They said, “Yes!” So, Steve Gowan, Logan Henderson, and I drove 9 hours on Tuesday, filmed on Wednesday, and then drove back. The Cosmosphere staff bent over backwards to help us and even sent gifts for the graduates. They went way over and above the call of duty. They really helped make our day a special day. I hope, if you are ever in the area, you will stop in and see this fantastic museum and tell them thanks for caring about a group of kids from Athens, Texas.

Playing with Fire

When I was a kid, I found a flare. There had been some incident in the street and the police had put the flares behind the vehicles as they closed the street. Later, when the cars were away, the residue of the flares was left and one flare had not ignited properly. The gang of boys I hung out with, were riding our bicycles in that area and found the treasure.

We had seen the flares brightly burning and were fascinated by them. I think, for most of us, it was the first time we had been near a burning flare. It was so bright and hot and magical. We took the flare with us and each of us thought about it. We began to wonder what we were going to do with it.

Finally, we made the decision to try to light it. Behind my house was a creek. In those days it was a natural, wild running waterway. Eventually, it was encased in concrete, but then, it was a place of life and adventure. We had a hideout behind our houses in some trees. That is where we took the flare.

First, we tried to light the flare with a match, but that did not seem to work. So, we started a small fire and placed it at the edge. Eventually, it started. That is when the trouble began. None of us were brave enough to touch it. It made noise, it was super hot and scary. Once the flare got started, it was ready to burn. The area around it was in flames. We stomped, but as long as that miniature sun was burning, it just kept going.  Within a couple of minutes, the flames had grown too big to ignore. Our shoes were melting. People scattered. Some went to the creek, but without anything to carry water, it did not help.

My house was closest. I grabbed a trash can. It took several boys to go to the creek, get enough water and then haul it back to the area of the fire. We did it over and over again until somehow we put out the fire. The fence was blackened on the back side. We were all filthy with soot and ashes. We were all frightened. We had almost burned down the houses, we had been scary close to some parents finding out and we were not sure which was worse.

I came back to the house and my brother was the first person I encountered. I know he knew something was up, but he did not say anything, he just watched me put up the trash cans. We never talked about it. Several days later, I overheard a conversation between my parents about people finding the burned fence. I was never questioned and I never said anything.

Never light a fire you are not willing to let burn.

Kyle

Treasure

I was going through some storage boxes. I was looking for one of my mom’s old bird books, which I did not find, but I stumbled across some of her other old books. When my Dad was moving out of his house, we sorted through a bunch of her stuff and divided it among the children and grandchildren. This box has some of those things in it. In the high emotion of those sorting days, we did not have the time to properly catalog or fully explore each item and I had forgotten about most of them.

I found a number of craft projects that I had made my mom and that she had protected and preserved through time. Most were rough and rudimentary, not worth keeping if they were evaluated on the art scale, but were filled with love, so they made the cut into her collection. I found a few of which I was actually proud. I found several of my mother’s oldest books. They were fragile and had a long lived-in look.

One was a Shirley Temple activity book. Another was a beautifully illustrated version of Peter Pan. My favorite was a book of prayers given to her by my grandfather, Pop. He gave it to her on Christmas 1937. She was six. I don’t ever remember seeing the book. I opened it and saw the handwriting. It has to be from my Pop. I don’t ever remember seeing anything he wrote. Pop was born in 1886. It’s hard to imagine when I knew him as a little child how much he had seen in his life. I love that the oldest gift I have from my grandfather is the gift of prayer.

Next to Pop’s inscription is scrawled the word, “Daddy.” It’s the earliest writing sample I have of my mother. My mother, adored her father. There were some painful moments in their relationship, but she still loved him fully. I just stared at her words in the book for a long time.

I read each page slowly and was thinking about my mom learning to read and thinking about Pop reading the words aloud to her. There were a couple of pages where my mother had traced the pictures with a pencil - normally I would be upset with someone writing in a book like that, but it made her feel so close.

One of the prayers seemed so like my mom. Maybe it stuck deeply inside of her and even helped shape who she became. It made me pray and thank God for the over 130 years of faith and love in my family that I could see, just in that one little book of prayers.

Crowns

This has ben a long week. Last Monday my face was on fire. Nerve roots were screaming in pain and it reached from my temple to behind my ear and down my jaw. It was terrible pain. Unfortunately, the X-ray did not show a specific problem. The pain increased for several days. One Doctor suggested a terrible diagnosis that involved a lifetime of pain and suffering.

I went to a medical Doctor on Friday. He ruled out the terrible, but was uncertain about the diagnosis. I went to the Endodontist on Monday and he took more scans and X-rays. Eventually, we agreed that the next step was a root canal and a crown on a troublesome tooth. He started on the process and could then see the underlying problem. “Your tooth has a significant fracture.” He finished the process and patched me up, but told me the tooth was a loss. It would need to be removed.

We headed home from Tyler and the pain medicine wore off right as we got to the city limits. All of the nerve pain from the last week came back with a vengeance. I was wrapped in a ball of pain. Cindy called the Doctor-he was not as concerned as she was. Sleep came slowly and did not stay long. The next day it felt like I had been slugged in the jaw, but I thought I was going to survive.
Now, I’m sitting at the oral surgeon’s office about to have this tooth removed and I’m not looking forward to it. I was hoping for the crown. It made me think of a verse of scripture. “Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.” ‭‭James‬ ‭1:12‬ ‭NIV‬‬.

I’m seriously a wimp when it comes to dental trauma. I never feel like I’m persevering, instead I feel like I’m collapsing. I’m glad that the real test is about faith and about loving God because in those I just might have a chance at a crown.

Masks

I thought about saying, “Its hard to wear masks,” but that is not at all true , people wear masks all day everyday. We use them to shield ourselves from others, from what is going on, on the inside. Sometimes it is the mask of “Fine.” “How are you?” we are asked. Our response, “Fine.” It is the socially acceptable answer without betraying any of the real truth. It is way to grease the social communication without having it bogged down by so much emotional content that no one is able to function.

Here is how it might really go. “How are you?”

“We’ll i’m a bit terrified, this virus is killing people, but not enough for many people to take it seriously (51,209). Other people are showing up in threatening gatherings that feel like anarchy. I think the snake oil salesman are offering quick fix solutions and that is making me so frustrated sometimes I’m yelling at the news. There seems to be a total assault on science. I miss my friends. I have had a bunch of things planned I’ve been looking forward to and they have been canceled and that is really disappointing. My Dad has terminal illness and is getting sicker each day. We are trying to treasure each good day he has left. My new schedule is overwhelming. I have lost some weight, so that’s a good thing, but I have terrible tooth/mouth pain that is as of yet undiagnosed and the pain has give me sleepless nights and a little bit of panic (don’t ever read webMD). I’m wondering how this is going to look and what are we going to do next. So I guess I’m fine.

See if we answered the question, “How are you doing?” honestly each time, most people would stop asking the question.

What I meant to say was, “It is hard to wear a respiratory face mask and keep it on without looking like a criminal.” In mid February, I order N95 masks for my family. It took 6 weeks for them to arrive. I watched as they traveled from China with the tracking number I was given. They fit great. They are tight. They have internal replaceable filter. They make me look like Bane, the bad guy from the Batman movies. It is itchy and hot. I have tried some other ones, but this one actually seems to be the best on my face. I bought a fake beard and tried to attach it to give it a more approachable look, but it did not help.

We are talking about what church might look like when we get together. We don’t know if that is soon or not, but lots of people in the government are trying to decided. The one thing that seems true is that we should all be wearing face masks for the next little while and maybe especially when we get together at church, but church is supposed to be the one place where you don’t have to wear masks. It is all very confusing and complicated. I do hope that soon we can all be together and we can take off our “masks” and share because this has been hard and we really need each other.

Score

I got the text. “Drop everything and run to the store. They got a shipment of toilet paper.” I jumped up ran to my car. I drove right at the edge of the law. I got into the parking lot and did not follow all of the painted stripes. I snapped out of the car and then walked to the door acting as calm as a cucumber. I turned to the left and moved nonchalantly down the main walkway. I noticed the blue guiding lines on the floor. I made eye contact with several people and avoided colliding with them. I scanned the buggies at the check-out registry. No one had toilet paper. Not a good sign.

I turned down aisle eleven which boldly listed “Bath Tissue” and was greeted by empty and exhausted shelves. They looked disheveled. One person stood staring at the empty shelves. I spun on my heals and headed back to the car. No sense catching something in the story that I did not want while trying to find what I did want. I felt like I was looking for the pot at the end of the rainbow. This was not the first time I had missed the golden moment.

Since it has all started we have found one package of four small rolls. It’s like we have them in a cabinet marked “Break Glass In Case of Emergency.” We know when we open that package that we will be entering a new level of urgency. Until then we are alright.

A couple of weeks ago I was greeted in Walmart by a person who had toilet paper. We had gotten there before it opened to get inline. We need to get a couple of things and thought we would check for TP. We were #15 into the store, but the few rolls were snapped up by the people in front of us.

Then a person came to me at the register. It was like one of those guys who was selling fake watches on the streets of New York. “Pastor, do you need toilet paper?” At the time we did not feel it was very urgent, so I said, “No.”

Then she told me a story. She shops every day looking for toilet paper. She makes a rotating drive and goes to all the stores that might carry it. When she finds some, she buys some. Then she returns to the stores that are out and she waits until she finds someone staring at the empty toilet paper shelves. Then she invites them to the parking lot and gives them the toilet paper she has bought. She never takes any money from the person, instead she reminds them of God’s love. Occasionally, someone who watches this will force some money into her hand and then she starts the whole process over again. She has assigned herself this task.

God reminds us, at just the right moment, we are loved,

Kyle

First Day to Fly

I met him in the High School parking lot. We were there preparing for the Easter Drive-In service and he slammed into the brick wall and fell at my feet. He was not very good at flying. He seemed dazed and confused and sat for a moment on the sidewalk. I looked up expecting that he had fallen from a nest, but there was nothing above me and that is when I realized it was a flight path gone wrong.

I looked at the bird, the bird looked at me, then Momma showed up and got interested. She hovered above my head and flew back and forth in a distress. I assured her that I meant no harm to ‘Junior,’ but she did not believe me. Then the little fellow regained his equilibrium and started bouncing away and then like the Wright Brothers flyer he started to gain altitude. A huge truck with a camper cover loomed in front of him. He gained altitude and barley missed the white capped mountain. Then, it looked like he stalled from too steep of an attack.

I came around the truck like a NTSB investigator examining a crash site. I looked on the ground, I listened, but I did not see him. Momma came swooping around and then I saw him on the rooftop of a car. I kept walking closer and he kept a grim eye on me. His little mouth was turned down in displeasure. I took his photo. I registered his dissaproval.

Most of us don’t want to be seen on the first day that we fly. There are lots of days I’m trying something new and I don’t want an audience. I want to try and work the kinks out before I face the critics. It’s why being a new Christian can be hard, while the ‘new’ has come, there are still the tracings of the ‘old.’ All our flight wings have not fully developed and we need a little space, but people are generally very judgmental and are not very comfortable with those of us who struggle.

Lots of us are struggling right now trying to find the right balance between safe and hypochondria and I think everybody needs a lot more grace as everyone is figure out how to fly.

Bear Hunt

I wanted my Teddy Bear for a shot in my sermon video this week. I thought I knew just where he was, but that den was empty. I started searching my house. I even went into the attic. I could not find him anywhere. After spending too long, I called out for help and a number of people “auditioned” their bear for a cameo in my sermon. Kristin Brown’s bear matched the best and she was thrilled to loan him to me. When I got him, I realized how close her’s was to mine the tiny bright red felt mouth was exactly the same. They both had short cropped hair, mine was a bit darker.

I have been a wracking my brain, searching in old memories to find my faithful bear, but no insight has come to me. I’m still searching. I have this nagging feeling that I put him somewhere safe. It’s so safe, no one will bother him, including me.

I honor of my bear I want to create a “Bear Hunt” around the city of Athens. If you have a teddy bear, a bear sculpture or sign would you put it where someone from the street could see it if they drove past your house? I’m talking about bears in my sermon this week and wanted to follow up with the idea of going on a bear hunt, like the children’s story

The object is to give people something they could do safely, “outside.” We hope that we can get enough people in town to do it, that it could make driving around super fun.
When I was a kid, families put a blue hand in the window to tell kids it was a safe house to go to if you were in trouble. This could be like that. When someone see a bear in a window they will feel just a little bit more connected, more loved, and more supported. If you don’t have a bear, you can just draw one. If you can’t do that, just write “BEAR” on a piece of paper and put it in the window. Like it says in the Bible, “Love bears all things, 1 Corinthians‬ ‭13:7‬ ‭ESV‬‬.

We started by putting one in a church window. He is big and brown and ready to be discovered. We put one in our window at home and hope you will join us. Next week we are going to try to build a “crowd sourced” treasure map of where bears are located in town, so be looking for the link and the add you name to the map.

home.

Making Connections

My Dad has been in the hospital. We have not been allowed to go see him. His recent diagnosis with cancer is sobering and we are anxious to be with him. I'm writing this as we are headed to Arlington because he finally got out of the hospital. During the middle of the week we were taking over FaceTime and being really thankful that we are living in a day when we can see each other over our phones. 

My Dad had assigned himself a task in the hospital. He decided that he was going to create a TV watching guide for the hospital, since the one they gave him was not correct. A new TV vendor began servicing the hospital and had not yet provided an accurate guide. In addition, the time to change between channels was 3 or 4 seconds, which meant that channel surfing was torturous.  So he was changing each channel, watching long enough to figure out what the station was then making note of it on a spreadsheet. Then his computer got dropped. His mouse stopped working and the process hit a brick wall. We talked about the problem and I realized that what he was using was a mouse that plugged into his USB drive. 

We started to problem solve. He gave the serial number of the computer and I found the operators manual online. I read it and determined that his computer would support a true Bluetooth mouse which would skip around his broken USB port. 

I looked at shipping it to him on Amazon, but that is no longer a fast option. I thought about driving to Arlington, but that would be at least 4 hours of driving and I would not get to see him. So I called an old dear friend, Mark Wade. He was my college roommate and has a servant’s heart. 

I asked him to go to Best Buy and pick up a bluetooth mouse without a USB drive attachment. He was fairly sure of what I was talking about, but a little hesitant. I told him I would send him a picture of one. He headed to the store and I went online. I found the mouse and then realized I could purchase it and he could pick it up. After completing the purchase I called him. 

The call was a jumble because he was actually already at the store and could not go in. A salesman came to the door and they were determining that the mouse I ordered was the right one. I told him of my order and he said he needed the order number. Right at that moment, the order number was texted to me and they grabbed it, delivered it to him and off he went. 

He took it to Wanda, who took it to the hospital desk who delivered it to Mel. It did not work.

Later, in the evening, Logan and I gathered around my computer and called my Dad. We sent him an email which contained a program to help us diagnose his computer problem. He held his phone near his computer and we step by step talked him through the process of loading the program. Then we got to control his computer from Athens. We made quick work of connecting the mouse and it worked!

The technology was amazing, but it was the people that made it work. Thanks to Mark, to Logan, and to Wanda —what a great team. 

The difference a week can make

I live near the Cain Center Park. We love to go to walks there. My dogs love to romp and play and run. Their electronic leashes keep them close but free. They have a special tree they like to climb in anticipation of the treat that I will give them. I’m not sure who has who trained.

In the park is a disk golf course. It has tee boxes like golf. It has holes like golf. It has fairways like golf, but it is played with frisbee disks. When we go for walks we almost always meet people playing the game. Some of them are friends and we like bumping into each other and saying hello.

When I was in college I played a lot of the game. It was before baskets and tee boxes. We played from sidewalks to landmarks and we played a version where you had just one disk and you had to run through the whole 18 holes. It was so much fun. Part of that young kid is still in me and I’m rooting for the people that play on the course.

One of the leaders of the local group that organize games is a friend. He came to me to see if I could help restore the course to its former glory. The holes were designed at the beginning of disk golf courses and are no longer tournament qualified and the tee boxes are too small. While we once could host competitions here, that is no longer true. In addition, John Hauk the #1 disk golf designer in the world designed this course. It is one of the two or three oldest courses in Texas that he designed and is a rich treasure. I told my friend I would love to help. We need about $1000 per hole and lots of volunteer work to make the change, but it seemed doable.

Two weeks ago, I made presentation to the City Council to see if they would approve the plan and help us with the project. Lots of business jumped at the chance to help and we were on a roll and then everything came to a screeching halt. I don’t know when we will get back to the project. I don’t know if businesses will have even a few extra dollars to invest in a project like this.

Lots of plans have had to change. Lots of things will be different for a while. I already know people whose jobs have paused and their income has suddenly dropped. I know people who were looking for work and now that looks like a fantasy. I wish I knew the answers of what is to come, but we are all trying to hold the future really gently right now.

I’m praying that the miracle happens, that everything is restored quickly, but I’m realistic to know that that is not always the way it happens.

The day after the City Council meeting my Dad was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. He has been in the hospital for nearly a week and we are not allowed to go see him. We are praying for his recovery, but the doctors have been realistic, that short of a miracle he has months to live. Lots of things can feel urgent, but right now spend your energy on what is important. One of my favorite quotes is rolling around in my head,

“I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year, “‘Give me a light that I might go out into the darkness,’ and he said to me, ‘Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God, for that will be for you better than a light, and safer than a known way.’””

— M.L. Haskins

I sure need God’s hand right now,

Kyle

Harbinger

These are the signs of what is coming. This tulip tree stands proudly in my yard reminding me of the seasons. Long before the grass seems to wake from its slumber, ages before other flowers emerge from the garden, this knobby tree rushes into action. It acts without regard to the weather. It acts according to the light. First, tiny green sprouts appear like hair on an army recruit. Then, almost overnight, flower buds swell. Finally, like a person rushing to get toilet paper at WalMart, they explode into the air.

The air is filled with bugs hungry from the long winter’s wait. Even the birds seems to rouse from the stupor. I stood under the tree and listened as the birds, who don’t read facebook, sang without concern for tomorrow. A Chickadee trilled and a Carolina Wren bounced and sang as the breeze gently swayed the branches. My feet made no noise as I stepped on the cushion of fallen petals. Spring is coming.

I looked up and took the photo and then slid into the car. We were driving to Arlington to see my Dad on the day he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. What is coming seems far less certain. With chaos in the medical world, how will an old man’s journey progress? Will there be room for him at the hospital? Will the tests he needs be performed? The fact that Covid-19 is intruding into our world does not change the reality of the already sick. We can’t afford to have people abandon their posts.

I’ve walked down the cancer road with many people. It is never pretty. Occasionally, the cancer relents and slides into remission, but never without a bone numbing fight. We are not unaware of the path. We did what you do, we gathered, we hugged, we smiled, we prayed, we loved each other. We held back some, not wanting to give into the deep blackness of sadness and grief.

Because of my roll and visibility, because of deep friendship and love, many people want to reach out and say something, but I’m not quite ready yet, I just need some time to pray and process. What I (Cindy and Logan too) would like to ask is if you want to say something short and simple that will let us know that you are praying with us, that you love us, that you are pulling for us, that you know that cancer is rough, that you want to offer your support and help, then our code, just between you and me, is, “Spring follows winter.”

Those words, gently offered over the next few weeks would be such a joyful way to walk the road of suffering with us. We have hope in our doctors, faith in our Lord, and the love of family and friends.

We know that it will be spring again.