Peanuts and Tobacco Juice

Mark 2:14-16:
14 As He passed by, He saw Levi the son of Alphaeus sitting in the tax booth, and He said to him, "Follow Me!" And he got up and followed Him.
15 And it happened that He was reclining at the table in his house, and many tax collectors and sinners were dining with Jesus and His disciples; for there were many of them, and they were following Him.
16 When the scribes of the Pharisees saw that He was eating with the sinners and tax collectors, they said to His disciples, "Why is He eating and drinking with tax collectors and sinners?"

"Maarrrrk, it’s ten o’clock , boy, go git my peanuts and Dr. Pepper!"

I walked by this home construction site and the smell of freshly stacked lumber took me back to the summer of 1974. Amazing what the human mind is capable of . Just that one smell took me to a job site, the construction of my parent’s home, where my older brother and I worked as gophers (go-fors) that summer for the contractor. Looking back, I think this may have been the time when Jeff and I, both in college, started getting more friendly with each other; we had fought like cats and dogs growing up, as there is only 18 months between us. I can’t tell you the number of times we knocked the closet doors off the rollers fighting up and down the hallway in the post quarters at Ft. Rucker.

I have a habit that I have picked up from my Dad; it is the knack of striking up conversation with people easily, usually ones who are just a little off kilter, and enjoying the friendship that develops.

The opening quote was from one of those characters of my past, Mutt, the general contractor who built our home. Surrounded by his son-in-law, Wyman, who he called Crisco (lard in the can) and his legally blind carpenter’s helper, Yarman. That’s right, Mutt, Wyman, Yarman, and two gophers. And yes, the house did get built and stands like a rock to this day, on top of a hill next to that beautiful 100 year old Magnolia.

The ten o’clock gopher ritual was mine, as Mutt figured out quickly that the older brother of these two gophers was the more industrious, and could get a lot more work out of him, so I was appointed to go to the country store and get the morning snacks. Mutt somehow was able to stuff all the peanuts into the bottle of Dr. Pepper (a southern tradition) and gulp it down among the huge wads of tobacco stuffed in each cheek. He looked like a squirrel gathering nuts for winter. In actuality, he was a creative builder who could think way ahead of the current status of the project and see the finished thing. Probably could have been an Auburn engineer given the educational opportunity.

I told him one hot July day that I could handle some of that Red Horse chaw. One pack of tobacco usually lasted about two ‘stuffings’ for Mutt, a half a pack at a time, divided equally in each cheek.
"Here you go, big boy," Mutt said, as he gave me what amounted to a pinch to him. He had thrown down the gauntlet, and I was up to the challenge.

The flavor was initially good. Then came the uncontrolled expectorating. Some got swallowed. (Mutt NEVER spit, by the way.) I walked around to the side of the house, and realized that my fourth grade science teacher was right, the earth did spin on its axis, very rapidly, indeed. Mutt and the crew laughed their country bunkers off at me as I struggled to maintain my manly-man attitude, but he had reduced me to a cabbage patch doll. It wasn’t pretty. Cured me too, never put that worm dirt in my mouth again.

Jeff had his experience with tobacco juice that summer. Yarman, the blind carpenter, a huge man who drank water out of a half gallon wine bottle, chewed the stuff with the same gusto as Mutt.

Sitting up on the ceiling beams, he hollered, "Jiff, hand me that thar ceiling joist!" What happened next has been told at many Thanksgiving meals, on purpose, to ruin everyone’s appetites. As Jeff handed the board up to Yarman, I watched this long stream of brown liquid hit my brother’s elbow and roll down into his armpit. Now it was my day to laugh. Priceless memory!

"Watch out below! Did I miss ya, Jiff?" Yarman’s vision was too bad to tell. "Maaarrrrkkk, it's ten o,clock boy..." Mutt was beckoning for his peanuts and Dr. Pepper...

I can’t leave out the son-in law, Crisco. He was the constant target of Mutt, a man with a Master's degree in profanity, who cussed him with such ease, that poor Crisco just sat back and took it, as he was totally dependent on Daddy-in-Law for a paycheck that allowed him and Mutt’s daughter to keep up payments on their trailer.

So there you have it, in a flash, the smell of fresh lumber brought these memories back and the smiles that accompanied them. I like that I have encountered people such as these men in my life over the years. Life would be boring if all my friends were clones of my personality.

I think sometimes as Christians, we become so insulated in who we hang with, that we forget the example that Jesus showed us as he reclined with folks who the religious people of the day found repulsive. Thankfully, Jesus didn’t find them repulsive, and didn’t find me repulsive, as I am one of those quirky people who I am drawn to at times. The bottom line is this, "there is none righteous, not even one" (Rom 3:10). Simply put in Alabama lingo, "Don't git above yer raisn', boy."

Our effectiveness in the world around us will be greatly diminished if we stay clumped up in the minions of the like minded. We are all in need of a Savior, regardless of our station in life. I will close with this; we need to embrace folks in our lives who are not like us, as we need find the love and laughter of the Master in these heterogeneous relationships. The door to the Kingdom just might be opened by first establishing a friendship!

Mike Yaconelli says it so well:

Sameness is a disease with disastrous consequences—differences are ignored, uniqueness is not listened to, our gifts are cancelled out. Life, passion, and joy are snuffed out...sameness flattens the human race, franchises us, attempts to make us all homogenous. Sameness is the cemetery where our distinctiveness is buried.

Jeff and I, circa 1966, the boat that Pop built. I am the captain in this pic. We actually learned to water ski behind this dingy.

Mark

Bad News, Good News (Words In Red)

"But the angel said to them, Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you GOOD NEWS of great joy which will be for all the people..."
Luke 2:10

I raise my hands, bow my head,
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red.
They tell me that there's more to life than just what I can see.
Oh I believe.

Songwriter: Craig Wiseman
Performed by Brooks and Dunn

I scanned the news quite by accident recently on TV. That is a strange statement for me, as I was a news hound prior to a major life changing event (See "Friends" blog 7/26/06). My drives were full of talk radio, my evenings full of cable news, and my life was full of consternation over events both in our country and around the world. Too much of one thing, not good. I became a negative byproduct of the negative stuff that I continually fed into my mind, and felt like in some odd way, my consistent worry regarding current events was actually important. How ridiculous.

I have made a cursory glance at the latest "creep of the week" story, the John Mark Karr show. As I scanned by the 4 cable news channels at the top of an hour one evening, this freakish mannequin appeared on each successive channel as I zipped by. How sickening that this disgusting person has become the lead story on every cable news channel in America. Another quick stop at one of my old staple channels, Fox News, had a reporter on the phone, whispering back to news central, as he was seated in front of this bizarre man on the airliner as he was being transported back to America:

(Hushed tone) "He’s just carrying on a normal conversation, Brian, and has had his snack on the plane, the movie (whatever–I can’t recall) is playing now...."

"Thank you, our reporter on the spot with this Fox News exclusive, our man sitting in the seat right in front of John Mark Karr."

This has become "exclusive" news in the 24 hour news cycle. Didn’t take but a few clicks and I was back on TV Land. Mayberry, North Carolina has much more reality to me now than this garbage.

You don’t know how glad I am that God delivered me from this terrible habit. Truly BAD NEWS. The diet of your senses and your spirit will eventually destroy or save you, and I was in danger of a bad news overload. There is, of course, scriptural references to back this up. It happens to be some of those words in red from Luke 12:34: "For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."

Backing up a few verses, Jesus addressed the worry thing in verses 29-32:

"And do not seek what you will eat and what you will drink, and do not keep worrying.
For all these things the nations of the world eagerly seek; but your Father knows that you need these things. But seek His kingdom, and these things will be added to you.
Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom."

It is amazing just how many daily toils I face are addressed in the words written in red. Truly GOOD NEWS.

My prayer again O Lord:

I raise my hands, bow my head,
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red.
They tell me that there's more to life than just what I can see,
Oh I believe.

Mark
Prov 17:22

The Wal Mart List

Rejoice evermore.
Pray without ceasing.
In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
1Thess. 5:16-18

Dear God,
I think about you sometimes even when I am not praying.
Elliot
(Children's Letters to God)

You can tell a lot about someone by reading the Wal Mart list. My list would indicate a schizoid personality who roams the store searching for my blue collar holy grails, all the while getting my exercise, as I dart from one end of this retail giant to the other.

I have come to a conclusion, we are divided into Wal Mart and Target shoppers. Now, I know this is a generalization, but Wal Mart = dudes, Target = chicks . You cannot buy ammo at Target. The tool section is a pathetic cursory attempt at a man’s weapons. However, talking to a female friend of mine recently, it was "all Target, all the time!"

"The clothes at Target are much better than Wal Mart!" she cooed, and I’m thinking, I don’t recall seeing any Mossy Oak Camo at Target. The store is full of women, but I just don’t get it. All of the departments for guys seem just some feeble attempt to please us. Snoopy rods and reels in the fishing section, and then there is Wal Mart, top of the line Shimano reels and catfish stink bait to boot.

AllieCat loves Target. She asks me to go to Wal Mart for the gallons of Sam’s Water that SteveO consumes during these football months so I start scratching out my list, in no particular order, with the preparation of the Big Easy during Hurricane season. Wally World, here I come!

**********************
My early years as a believer saw me involved in a religious organization that prided itself on discipleship. Looking back, it was more like religious legalism. Emphasis was placed on how much time you could "log in" reading your Bible and in prayer. Accountability, we called it. Traditions of men, I refer to it now.

Don’t misunderstand, accountability as a Christian is good. I have several friends that I have a loose understanding with who keep me in line. But this early attempt at discipleship turned my prayer life into a Wal Mart list. Scratch something down. Run from one end of your world to the other. Distractions galore. It became so exhausting that I didn't look forward to spending time with the One who saved my life. How ironic.

My mind works in a strange way. I think I have a touch of ADD, as it constantly flits from thought to thought. Maybe it is not strange, maybe that is how we all think. I will attempt to put words to my disassociate thoughts back then, sitting there with my note pad, locked away in what I thought was a "prayer closet".

"Ok…let’s see, praise you Lord…need to pray for Jack, Father, broke his arm in the touch football game…Lord, I lift…..wow, Auburn stinks this year. Are we ever going to have a good football team? Greg was wearing those bright orange pants at the game yesterday…what a goof…Oh yeah…Lord, I pray that you would help Jack…next, Father God, a financial need for Rob….Rob? How about me? Man, how are we going to pay the rent with AllieCat and I both in school? Man, I gotta study for that stats class…this is such a drag. Not you Lord...I repent..."

See how the ‘lock down’ prayer time didn’t work for me? It just became a ‘punching the clock’ routine, something I could show someone that I had met the accountability standards. I am not saying this type of prayer setting is wrong; it simply doesn't work for me. And because it didn't, it created guilt and lack of joy.

A friend of mine used the terms ‘pray-talking’ and ‘pray-thinking’ recently. It occurred to me that these words gave a name to how my prayer life is now. I now understand what Paul was talking about when he said to pray without ceasing. Most of my deep prayer time occurs now in the cab of my truck, on a deer stand, in my fishing boat, and on my walks. These places are my prayer closets.

I have learned to trust in Him, and allow my mind to drift, but not to the inane "orange pants" thoughts of my youth. Now my mind is filled with the meaningful impressions in the forefront of my life, the treasured people, the dynamic relationships, the relevant events that just naturally come to mind.

It is now my practice to take these thoughts and turn them in to conversations with my Master. There are times when a friend will come to mind, and I will get an overwhelming feeling, and a plethora of words are unnecessary; I just say "You know, Lord, you know." Other times, my conversation is just that, conversational. Instead of repeating "Lord, Father God", etc. every five words, it is more like, "Wow, that was so cool of You to help me with that meeting today. It was so stressful at first, but I sure am thankful You gave me a peace once we got started. Turned out pretty good, don’t you think?"

This may seem irreverent to some. I have moved past that, for I am deeply aware of the sacrificial gift of grace He has imparted into my life. For this, I cannot find the words, as I am pray-thinking about it as I type.

Mark
Prov. 17:22

Yes, Jesus Knows Me

Psalm 139: 1-4
God's Omnipresence and Omniscience.
O LORD,
You have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
You understand my thought from afar.
You scrutinize my path and my lying down,
And are intimately acquainted with all my ways. Even before there is a word on my tongue,
Behold, O LORD, You know it all.

This is not going to be a long entry. I am blogging this for my own benefit, so I can go back and read it! I made this statement in a recent blog (Comfortable in Your Skin):

"But if He knows the number of hairs on my head, it seems pointless to be anything but honest with Him!"

I read something recently that really brought this thought home. It is a quote from A.. W. Tozer, in his book The Knowledge of the Holy (1961):

How unutterably sweet is the knowledge that our Heavenly Father knows us completely. No talebearer can inform on us; no enemy can make an accusation stick; no forgotten skeleton can come tumbling out of some hidden closet to abash us and expose our past; no unsuspected weakness in our characters can come to light to turn God away from us, since He knew us utterly before we knew him and called us to Himself in the full knowledge of everything that was against us.

Praise be His omnipresence and omniscience!

Nice picture, huh? AliieCat's digital camera (a Christmas present) sure is coming in handy...hmmm...wonder what we can get her this Christmas?

Mark
Prov 17:22

Kudzu

"I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep.
John 10:14-15

This has been an interesting summer to say the least. Through these long humid days, and a few short months, I have renewed a number of friendships from my college days. Our walk with Christ was the thing that bound us together, and it is amazing, almost 30 years later, He is still the central focus of our lives.

My Baton Rouge friend, John, mailed a book to me that has become about as close as the Bible. John has been instrumental in encouraging me to step out and tap the keyboard. I would like to shamelessly plug his blog: The Hutch. Be forewarned, however, his writings are like Francis Schaeffer meeting Tennessee Williams, whereas I am Norman Rockwell painting Foghorn Leghorn. Pretty deep guy, but a real blessing!

The book I am referring to is Messy Spirituality: God's Annoying Love for Imperfect People by Michael Yaconelli. Here is a sample:

Jesus is not repelled by us, no matter how messy we are, regardless of how incomplete we are. When we recognize that Jesus is not discouraged by our humanity, is not turned off by our messiness, and simply doggedly pursues us in the face of it all, what else can we do but give in to his outrageous indiscriminate love?

*********
I took the picture above just because I liked the scene so much and wanted to build a story around it. The old store is in a community called Pike Road, about 10 minutes from my house.

Kudzu. Click on the word and see what it is all about. What a mess, but so much of the landscape of the south, it is woven into our lives, culture, the good earth. Check out this link to see what the Speedy Gonzales of the vine world can do! The vines have a rubbery consistency, and are almost impossible to break with your hands. Tarzan could get a lot of mileage on these things. There is a baseball field in Montgomery that has a Kudzu covered hill side behind the fence. A home run ball disappears forever.

Jesus is my kudzu. Strong, ever increasing love. Outrageous growth, indiscriminate blessings. Annoying love. Covers me and hides me. The gospels are full of His parables relating to this pursuit: The prodigal son, the shepherd leaving the 99 and searching for the one lost sheep...find some yourself...there are many more.

There is one thing, however, I have noticed in the pictures that allow the kudzu to rule. The barns are standing still. The vine is a fast one, but we can easily outrun it and it does not attach itself to us. In a spiritual sense, however, I wonder if I am taking the time to stand still and allow this annoying love to cover me and hide me. Sadly, not nearly enough. Sometimes it takes the three words that the Master spoke to the forces of nature in Mark 4: "Hush, be still."

"Yes Sir, cover me with your love," should be my response to His charitable command.
Mark
Prov 17:22

Comfortable in Your Skin

So…What’s Wrong With This Picture?

1COR 2:9 However, as it is written: "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him"

So goes the great ironies of life. I am "teaching" SteveO to drive my truck, while his Grandpa refuses to let me use his big Yazoo mower because Stephen is the better pilot. That means the old guy gets to destroy things with a much smaller weapon, the commercial weedeater. Hey, I’ve only knocked the cable off a few times, and everything is cool, unless, of course the AllieCat is watching one of those Man-Hater Channels (We, Lifetime, Oxygen) then she will take the Weedeater to my legs. What is it about women and these channels? There’s always a creepy man who gets done in by a woman with a .38 Special. Thank goodness for CMT and Spike TV. And what does it say about me, a husband who makes her qualify two times a year with a .38 snubby at the range? After a tight pattern of good shooting, I put a silhouette target on the board and tell her to squeeze all five shots off rapidly. Head, neck, chest, gut, crotch. Straight line.

"I think you got'em, AllieCat."
"Great. May I go now? Lifetime is running an all day marathon of creepy-man movies"
"Uh, yea, fine with me", I say, "Uh, could you give me that revolver back?"

**********
SteveO and I were in the truck one day, burning $3.00/gal gasoline so he could basically get his 15 year old fix behind the wheel. This is a great place to talk; he can’t escape the cab of my truck and must listen to my ramblings.

I asked him, "What does ‘being comfortable in your skin’ mean?"

It is a rhetorical question, as he could have invented this idiom. This is a kid, from an early age, who would look an adult in the eye and carry on long conversations, usually about sports or the outdoors, nonetheless, he is one of those people that you just like being around. I am not bragging, just repeating something I have heard time and time again as he has matured.

"Let’s see...I think it means that you don’t have to be fake or follow the crowd, just be who you are and don’t worry so much about what others think," was his reply.

"Good answer! You win the daily double!" I said.

We talked a little more about this, which opened the door for a few more words about the angst of the teenage years, and other assorted growing pains.

His simple philosophy translates easily and naturally into his spiritual life; he is not ashamed of the gospel in the least and is always willing to lead prayer at team functions and other activities. Not that this in itself is proof of his faith, just a confirmation of the comfortable clothes he wears. It is a trait that I admire in his young life and pray that my faith will come that natural and simple.

I love the scripture listed above. (1COR 2:9) When we think we have it all figured out, we read something like this and realize that our senses cannot even comprehend how much He loves us. We feel like we have to put on some fake religious skin, all the while we are cameleons at heart, because we think we can hide all of our warts from this great God by blending in to the religious landscape.

I see so many real people in the gospels who came in contact with Christ. His disciples, the Centurion, the woman with a chronic illness, the Canaanite woman, children. There were just as many phonies, the Pharisees, the rich young ruler, Judas.

It is my desire to walk in a place of realness with Christ. I want that comfortable skin. This is not cheap grace, it is simply catching a glimpse of that unseen, unheard, unmindful love, despite my own flaws. So where am I? Brutal honesty tells me I am somewhere on the spectrum between real and phony. But if He knows the number of hairs on my head, it seems pointless to be anything but honest with Him!

Mark the Mad Hatter
Prov.17:22

The Parking Lot

Be kind to one another, tender hearted... Eph 4:32

"It is so hot out here, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk!"

I don’t recall the first time I heard this statement, but I do remember I was a little guy, so it was either Ft Rucker, Ft Benning, GA, or Ft Hood TX. Logic would tell me it was Ft Hood, a summer climate 2 degrees shy of Hades itself: Rucker and Benning, 3 degrees. Of course, curiosity got the better of me. I remember snitching an egg from the fridge and cracking it on the pavement. It took a while, but sure enough, the thing started getting white and soon we had a nice sunny side up fried egg.

It has been that kind of hot in Montgomery all summer. What I call cussin’ hot. We have had a string of days that has cracked 100; add our humidity, and the heat index has been well into the 105 to 108 range. This thing should be called the misery index.

During this string of seething fury, I scurried from the AC of my truck to the AC of my office through the parking lot at work. A quick side note on my profession: I am a Rehabilitation Counselor with the Alabama Dept. Of Rehabilitation Services. I have been coming to the same complex for 23 years. I love my work and our agency; we have a goal and an outcome, to assist Alabama’s citizens with disabilities in going to work. Our Commissioner is a man I have known for most of those years, an ex marine and fellow soldier of the cross, a true leader who we love and respect. I noticed something as I was cutting through the humidity, an elderly couple was struggling to get their adult son out of a van and into a wheelchair. I stopped and told them to stop; let me get some help. I grabbed a buddy of mine, we got on either side of the man, slid him in his wheelchair and took them to their appointed place. Am I sharing this because I want to you to think I am some kind of noble Christian? Hardly.

I passed my secretary and pulled up my office door. A few hot tears started running down the corners of my eyes. What a self centered oaf I have become. These kinds of things go on everyday of my life in our parking lot, in our building, and in my plain view. The Mad Hatter has been known to walk on by. I’m more into administration now, a money manager, a liaison to the local rehabilitation facilities. I am too busy for such acts of human kindness. I have been more concerned with the quelling of my own misery index rather than the pursuance of Eph. 4:32. What an encrusted layer of expediency I have allowed to accumulate around me. NO more!

I have told you about one of my friends who, as the scripture says, (Matt. 6:3-4) does not let his left hand know what his right hand is doing. I won’t go into some of the acts of kindness that I have found out he has done, because he would beat me to a pulp. I have been on the receiving end of his blessings many times. I have made a decision, I can do this also, a small act of human kindness, at least once a day, and make it a left hand / right hand experience. It will be kind of like an ‘inside joke’ just between me and my Heavenly Father.

The journey to those familiar places...continues...

Mark the Mad Hatter
Prov 17:22

"GITDASQUIRREL!"

Belle, Distant Cousin of Wile E. Coyote

A merry heart doeth good like medicine;
But a broken spirit drieth the bones.
Prov 17:22

"Gitdasquirrel!" This is a one word command that we taught Belle, our eight year old Golden, during the destructive days of puppyhood. I have always been a big fan of watching songbirds and hummingbirds fill the back yard, and keep my feeders full of black oil sunflower seeds and sugar water for their dining pleasure. I love watching Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal as they arrive early and close up shop at dusk; the bright red male snatches a seed and flits over to the fence and gives it to his sweet singing girl. I have read that cardinals will mate for life; I don’t know how true it is, but I do know that this selfless act would seem to confirm this. During this time of the year, I have counted approximately 50 ruby throated hummers zipping around the back yard fighting like a WWII dogfight over the Pacific.

Now, where there are sunflower seeds, there are squirrels. I have given up long ago trying to keep them out of my feeders. They give me as much pleasure as the birds. I developed this game with Belle years ago, using the command “GITDASQUIRREL!” Upon hearing my voice, she will bound out of the deepest nap and stand by the french doors shaking like Luther (Don Knotts) in The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. As I slowly open the door, she bolts like Wile E. Coyote, and just like the cartoon, she has never been able to catch that road running squirrel. What can I say? One of those ‘merry heart’ moments.

SteveO used to abuse me when he was younger, saying, “Dad! Don’t you get it? She is never going to catch that squirrel!” Now, I find him playing the same game, following the lead of his Mom and Dad, who have long believed in Proverbs 12:10..."A righteous man cares for the needs of his animal..." I think Belle has more fun than we do.

Speaking of Proverbs, you have seen me end my blogs with a signature and Prov. 17:22: "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine; but a broken spirit drieth the bones." It is a scripture I dearly love, especially the KJV, and I take a high dose of ‘merry’ for my heart each day. It has added as much to the therapy of my recovery as my exercise and BP meds, maybe more. This has not always been the case. There have been times in my life that have been racked with darkness and despair. I am not about to open a sermon now about how you need to be set free from your desolation and live a happy life. As I have stated before, I embrace everything that has occurred in my past, as it makes up the “me” of today. But I have learned that this simple Proverb has given me new life and love, peace and contentment, and most of all laughter.

Simple things that result in the smirking of my soul:

Reciting lines to The Waterboy with SteveO while AllieCat, AKA Debra Barone, feigns disgust:
Bobby Boucher: Nice hit, Mama.
Mama Boucher: Thanks baby. Now you go on and have some fun becomin' a man.

Reciting the lines to Sling Blade with some dear friends:
Vaughan Cunningham: You always seem to be deep in thought. Tell me, what are you thinking right now?
Karl: I was thinkin', I'm gonna take me some of these taters home with me.
Vaughan Cunningham: How about before that?
Karl: Well, let me think... I was thinkin' I could use me another couple cans'o that potted meat if ya got any extree.

Listening to the Tarzan Yell
Nobody beats Johnny Weissmuller's Tarzan. Nobody!

See, it takes so little to entertain me anymore.... See ya for now, gotta go get some more medicine...”Belle! Getdasquirrel!”

Mark the Mad Hatter
Prov. 17:22

Jeep Trails

Bama's "Preppy Sky"

Set up for yourself roadmarks,
Place for yourself guideposts;
Direct your mind to the highway
The way by which you went
Return, o virgin of Israel,
Return to these your cities.
Jer 31:21

There was nothing better than growing up on an Army Post in the 60's. A great protected enclave with kids everywhere, Ft. Rucker, AL was my main stomping grounds. In fact, it is my birthplace, so despite all of our travels, I can claim to be a native son of Alabama. In my 5th and 6th grade years, helicopters droned night and day, as Vietnam had created quite a stir for the Army’s new calvary horse, the Huey Chopper.

Carved out of the red dirt, hardwoods and pines of Dale Co., Ft Rucker was a young explorer’s dream. I had a secret place, a familiar junction, where I would steal away in the woods near our quarters. It was a quiet haunt by Claybank Creek, a refuge from the summer heat, tranquil with the placidity of an early Sunday morning. The water had worn the sand into and fine, clean, grain, cool to the touch. I loved sitting with my shirtless, tanned back resting on the swollen trunk of an old cypress, listening to the soft gurgling of the eddy pool that provided cool relief for my toes. The water moved slowly, much like the pace of everything in the deep south in the summer months. Never the boisterous sound of rushing water, it was more like that beautiful guttural cluck that a turkey-hen makes during the spring ritual of finding her tom. Looking up, I admired what I now call the preppy sky, that classic contrast of a thick humidity laced blue against the green of the tall pines. Oh sweet memories...let your mind take you to one of those places for a moment..a heartbeat or two...you can spare the time...

OK friends...come back...many of our adventures would take us so deep in the woods, that we frequently found ourselves...LOST. No worries, Jimbo’s Dad had told hin to look for a jeep trail or an opening in the sky. Jimbo was much more the adventurer, and he was able to get us out of our jams. I listened to Jimbo, at least most of the time. He and Scottie cooked up a plan to "borrow" a rubber raft from the survival camp ( you know, where the snake eaters train) and float down Claybank Creek. I passed on this trip, thankfully, they ended up sharing the raft with a cottonmouth and got caught to boot. Boy, did they catch hell. I digress...What a great feeling to find that jeep trail, that preppy sky opening, a familiar tree, my little eddy pool. Familiar places that took us home would put a grin of relief on our faces.

I am at the point in my life of finding something familiar, a sojourn back to the eddy pool. Like those early years of my walk with Christ. I am almost back home, but just finding that familiar path is such a relief. Oh..forgiveness..I remember that, compassion, yea, I see it...making up for so much lost time with dear friends...God, forgive me....Those ignored words in red, pardon me Jesus. All the frenetic energy that I have wasted trying to be Martha instead of Mary (Luke 10:38-42) just kind of burned me out. You didn’t need my scurrying about? Should have spent more time at your feet listening? Keep talking Lord, I am listening now; my back is against the cypress and my toes are in the eddy pool.

Mark
Prov. 17:22

Old Dog / New Tricks

Hey...this old dog figured out how to post pics. I have added a few to some of my blogs, so feel free to take a look. Double clicking appears to make the Hatter much larger than he desires....

Gotcha! Part Two

Gotcha! Part Two--Beach Gate

Prov. 16:18

James 4:6

He wasn’t listening to a dang word I was saying. Our beach vacation was just starting; the AllieCat found this gorgeous Italian Villa at beautiful Seagrove Beach, FL. We were across 30-A from the ocean, and there was a private gate just down the road for beach access. I was describing the approximate location; I had not seen it personally, but told SteveO the landmark.

He was basically irritating me, interrupting my time on this huge sofa…I wanted to relax, drink my Beach Java, and read. Vacation to me is not necessarily frying in 100 degree heat with the white sand searing your pupils and blistering your toes.

Five minutes later, the cell phone rings…”Dad, I am still walking...I can’t find the gate.”

Ah…one of my famous nuclear explosions. “I KNEW YOU DIDN’T LISTEN TO A THING I SAID! DADGUM IT, BOY!”

Very matter of fact, Stephen interrupts, “Dad... I’m calling Mom” (She was already enjoying the broiler on the sugar white sands of the Florida Panhandle.)

“Good decision, young squire!” was my curt reply.

Five minutes and the tinge of guilt….not willing to call him, I call his Mama, inquiring the status of our clueless son. “YES, HE FOUND THE GATE,” was the answer to my question… (Oh boy, here it comes).

“Mark, we are on vacation. How about lightening up, just a little? Was it all that necessary?” Gulp. Checkmate, AllieCat, aka Debra Barone.

“I’ll be down at the beach in a few,” I replied with a trailing voice, aka Ray Barone.

I cross the road and began to think about how unnecessary the whole thing really was. The more I thought about it, the further I walked….until I realized that I probably had outpaced Stephen’s goof by a good 100 yards! I spin on a dime, muttering and cussin’ to myself…and then I hear it, a chuckle in my soul.

“Gotcha! Now go repent to your son, that is, if you have enough sense to find the gate!”

Ah, the words of laughter from my Father who loves me. What could I do? Another checkmate. I found SteveO and his Mom under a beach umbrella and explained my bumbling journey, and offered a complete apology.

I would have liked to have sent those two smirky-pants to Iceland for a day right then, and smacked them both on the fanny to boot, as they took great delight in Dad’s latest game of “What Goes Around, Comes Around”. Again, what could I do…one Hatter receiving a kick in the old prideful clacker was enough for this day.

Keep playing your jokes on me, Lord; it lets me know that you love me in spite of me!

Mark the Mad Hatter
Prov 17:22

"Gotcha!" Part One

Pride goes before destruction,
And a haughty spirit before stumbling.
Prov. 16:18



…God is opposed to the proud,
But gives grace to the humble.
James 4:6

There are times in life when my Heavenly Father’s “Gotcha!” game has left me with nothing more than a wry smile and an admission of guilt. The “Gotcha!” game is simply one of His practical jokes, a heavenly mathematical formula: My own exponential stinking pride, multiplied by some stupid act, resulting in this product: “Gotcha!”

I am reminded of an incident years ago, when SteveO was 5 (he’s 15 now). We were exploring our piece of heaven on earth, Pop and G’ma’s farm in the heart of what is called the Wiregrass region of Alabama. As the dirt trail broke out of the hardwoods, we scanned the huge river bottom pasture for wildlife.

“Dad! Look at the size of that rat!” Stephen squealed.

“Son, that’s no rat, that is the famous possum on a half shell, that Sherman tank of all varmints, the lowly armadillo,” was the reply.

The lowly armadillo indeed. One of the most destructive varmints in the animal kingdom. Can dig holes to China. Most of them are seen after they have assumed room temperature, claws pointing straight up to heaven on the side of some country road. My dad tells of seeing one that someone had placed a Bud Lite long neck between the front claws of that expired nasty varmint….our sense of humor down here…help us Lord…

This time, we had us a live one!…That disgusting creature, who leaves one scratching his head as to the purpose of his creation, was slowly waddling away from us, totally unaware of our presence.

“Hey Stephen, watch this!” ( This by the way, is a variation of one of the old jokes of the Deep South: “What are the famous last words of a redneck?—“Hey y’all...watch this!”)

I took out after that pitiful creature at full speed, with the boldness of Daniel Boone himself, to show Stephen how quickly this varmint from hell could move when the urge hit.

“Noooo, Daddy, noooo!"

I had been warned. As the distance reduced to nothing, Mr. Armadillo’s shock (remember he was facing away from me) caused a reaction that only a Warner Brothers cartoon could have produced. That ugly varmint shot straight up, did a 180 in mid air, and latched those incredibly strong claws on my belt…and my crotch.

“Nooo, Daddy, noooo!” came the mantra again. Must have been a reaction from the scream emanating from his soprano singing Dad as I slapped that hissing demon from Coffee County into Pike County.

“Gotcha!” laughed my Heavenly Father…”Big man of the woods, huh? Trying to scare my little pal, are you? Told you not to make one of these little ones stumble..Now you know why I created this beautiful creature, you and your stinking pride. Take that!” He roared with laughter. And later, so did I.

Tune in next time as I jump forward 10 years and God’s little pal Stephen teaches me another lesson…an episode I call “Beachgate”.

Mark the Mad Hatter
Prov. 17:22