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