Monday, September 29, 2008

Mrs. Barton



Etta Barton was my keeper. My mother was a nurse who worked 3 -11 PM at the Louisiana State School of Special Education. On the evenings when she was at work, Mrs. Barton would fix me supper and stay at our house until Mom got home. Sometimes she would spend the night. She was a kind woman, short of stature, round of body, with bright eyes and a weathered face that was carved with a thousand wrinkles, especially when she smiled. She always wore printed cotton dresses with hose which she rolled up to her knees and cotton shoes which she cut slits in to give relief to her corns. Her grandson, Bodie, was my best friend. There was no Mr. Barton that I ever knew. She sold Avon in order to provide herself with some income. There were those days when she would pack me and her Avon packages into her 1958 Chevrolet sedan and we would head out into the rural Louisiana country side delivering bags of encouragement to a feminine population who sometimes lived in discouraging circumstances. The ride in her green Chevy was down right electrifying. The floorboards of the car were rotted out and sticks and stones would fly through them as we drove gravel roads at a maddening pace. Mrs. Barton sat low in the car and could not see all that well over the enormous steering wheel.

One day we were making a delivery to McNary. It is a small (pop 200) community in central Louisiana located next to Glenmora (population 1,500). McNary had a creosote factory nearby where they produced such things as fence posts and rail-road ties. The smell of creosote was sometimes heavy in the humid air. Mrs. Barton pulled up to a ramshakled house that desperately needed paint. We walked up to the front porch and she banged on a torn screen door annoucing herself as the Avon Woman. I remember peering in and the house seemed so dark inside when compared to the bright sunlit porch. Out of the shadow a figure approached the screen door. It was a man. I remember him wearing a tank-top tee shirt. Mrs. Barton announced that she had a delivery for the lady of the house. The man invited us in and began to walk back into the recesses of the house. As he turned, Mrs. Barton and I both saw he was carrying a butcher knife. 40 years later the image in my mind is a knife 3 feet long and sharp enough to use as a razor. Regardless, I do clearly remember Mrs. Barton's response: "Run, Paul, Run"! (Pre-Gump) And run I did. Mrs. Barton could not run, but she did do a hurried shuffle. Back to the car, out on the highway, rocks flying through the floor-boards - we made our escape. She never said a word, but, if I remember it right - she did begin to laugh.

The world, I learned, could be a dangerous place. In my mind we had stumbled onto a nest of ill-doers who had ordered Avon from Etta Barton in order to lure us to the house and rob us or hold us for ransom. We had barely gotten away. The truth is, the man was probably in the kitchen cutting up a chicken or cleaning a squirrel. I'll never know.

The enemy of our souls appears as a roaring lion. He bristles, roars, shows his teeth, and threatens to undo us. It is not our imagination working over-time. He really is a threat. But, Aslan is Greater. Though this world with devils filled should threaten to undo us, we will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph thru us. The price of darkness grim, we tremble not for him, his rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure: one little word shall fell him.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Missing My Dad



This past Sunday was my fathers 83rd birthday. I have tried, for the past few years, to be in Louisiana twice a year - in September and March. This fall, however, it did not work for me to go and I missed being there. My sense of melancholy was compounded by a phone call from my dad. He had expected me and thought that I was, like I had in the past, going to surprise him by just showing up. He ended his phone call by saying how much he missed me being there. It was painful.

I have been away from home all of my adult life. When I was 18 I drove to Comfort, Texas to attend school. Later, I returned to Louisiana to finish college and begin seminary. At 24, I moved to Indiana and have spent the past 26 years in the Midwest - which I love. But, there are those times when I feel sad that I did not and my family did not live close to any extended family. The Lord has more than blessed with the provision of a wonderful spiritual family for which I am most grateful. But, I have had to watch my father age from a distance. Glimpses come, like slides in a slide show, but they only tell part of the story. The changes I witness are less gradual - more dramatic, less supple - more obvious and that may compound the sense of sadness. And, the opportunities to help - in whatever way I can - are few. My absence places some burden on my brother, and my Dad's wonderful wife, Edith.

Parenting your parent is tough. Doing it from long distance is sometimes tougher. It is true that the distance provides a buffer from some things, but I don't know that being insulated from certain aspects of aging parents is necessarily good. It is part of what it means to show grace and the love of God. It is about patience and Christ-likeness.

If this sounds like a bit of a pity-party - my apologies. It is not intended to be. Being middle aged, for those who are, often means going through a process with elderly parents. That process provides some wonderful opportunities but there is also a tinge of sadness to it all.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Hoss the Boss


Recently, Hoss and I were having a conversation. I told him that he is a "non-contributor". That is, he does not help around the house. He never washes his dish, does not laundry his blanket, never sweeps up his hair (millions), and never picks up his toys - except to play with them. Further more, I told him, he makes messes, does not prepare his own meals, and expects us to wait on him by walking him on a regular basis. Hoss, ole boy, you seem to be a taker and not a giver. The look you see is the look I received. Frankly, I think he was thinking - "food, food, food - give me some food". So, why do we keep him? Why do we continue to wait on him, sometimes with glee - "Come on, Hoss, lets go for a walk"!


There is something inexplicable about coming home and being greeted at the door by 80 pounds of exuberance. Jumping, licking, running - smiling??? We read into his actions his saying to us "I'm so glad to see you, I'm so glad to see you". Call me cynical, he probably is thinking "food, food, this is when I get food". He is hilarious, when he is not sleeping which is about 80% of the time. And, he does tricks - shake, roll-over, stand-up, sit - all for food. I guess he offers us some protection, especially against the rabbits that he sees in our yard. I guarantee our family will never be held hostage by rabbits as long as Hoss is around. There is something about how willing he is, no matter how stern he has been rebuked, to come back as warmly as ever. He never seems to hold a grudge, has never been ill tempered, does not gripe, is never petty, and is willing to put up with all sorts of shenanigans. In the long run, I guess he contributes plenty. But, I really do wish he could run a vacuum.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Moon Shots


Here is a moon picture I made in early September. I shot it by holding my camera up to the eyepiece. I have now made a holder for the camera to help make the pictures sharper.


Monday, September 8, 2008

Blue Monday


It is Monday morning and I feel a little bit blue. Nothing new, nothing serious. Why? Being physically tired has something to do with it. Anyone who thinks preaching is not draining has not done it. There is more to it than the physical weariness. Being with the people you love on Sunday is for me - energizing, exciting, and empowering. But, everyone has to get back to their homes and jobs. It is a bit like when your kids leave and go back to college after being home for a weekend. Their departure always leaves me a bit blue. For a pastor, the week builds toward a crescendo - Sunday becomes a focal point. Then, Sunday is over and the week gets started again. And, on Monday morning, you feel like you are back at the bottom of the hill climbing up - again. Monday is also a day with some self examination - "I should have said this", or "I should not have said this". Usually I feel like I came up short. Did I get the meaning of the text correct, was so and so offended by what I said, did this person sense they were welcomed, did that person have someone pray with them about their burden, and, and, and. But you dare not go too far down that road. The Lord knows our feet are but clay and that we are dust. It is all of Him. No matter how eloquent, no matter how friendly, no matter how thoughtful - it is all ashes if He is not in it. And, if His Spirit chooses, He can take Moses and Balaams' donkey and use them for His glory. Such reminders are great encouragers on Monday morning. A fresh cup of coffee, some promises from the Word, and the comfort of God's grace grant strength and endurance.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Hunting



Yesterday, Aaron and I spent the morning and part of the evening hunting. In particular, we were hunting doves. Frankly, dove hunting is my favorite, except for the heat. I enjoy it most, I think, because you shoot, shoot, shoot. Doves are hard to hit and that is okay. At the end of the day we had ten. They will be wrapped in bacon and cooked on the grill .
Some ask if Christians should hunt. Or, more generally, should anyone hunt due to the profliferation of food available to us.
Here are my responses:
1. Hunting provides me a wonderful opportunity to spend time with my sons. I would hunt with my daughter if she would so choose, but that is not her thing. For us, frankly, it is a man thing. Some of my favorite memories are hunting with my father and I want those memories for my sons. It also affords me, while making those memories, to teach Aaron how to be careful and responsible. You must be both when handling a firearm.
2. It is true that I can purchase meat at the grocery store. But, hunting reminds me that food does not come from a factory. People who say they would not hunt often do not hesitate to buy a steak at their favorite eatery and have no idea where that meat originated or the process involved in providing it to them. There is something to be said about hunting keeping you close to the land and I think that is a good thing.
3. What about the killing? I find no pleasure in the killing of an animal. I do not hunt just to kill. We eat what we take by hunting. The Lord let a sheet down in front of Peter and it was full of all sorts of animals which He commanded Peter to eat. Hunters help maintain equilibrium in the animal population and probably provide more in the way of resources for habitat than most other groups.
Aaron shot his first two doves yesterday. It was a good day for us to spend together with other men, outside, being together.