Time to Stop Thinking…

Thelma was one of those women who never missed church.  Every time the doors were open – in those days, Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night – she was there.  Thelma was about eighty, I suppose, retired from lifetime standing on her feet in a school lunchroom where she scooped out Turkey Tetrazzini and other assorted lunchroom gourmet entrees.  Thelma was quiet, never saying much, except for her worry about her husband Frank.

Frank never attended church.  Never, not even on Christmas and Easter.  He was a couple of years older than Thelma, and had retired twice:  first from General Electric where he assembled refrigerators for forty years; the second time from Churchill Downs, where he was the night watchman.  Frank fought in the Pacific Theater in World War II; thieves didn’t scare him much.

While Thelma attended church faithfully for fifty years, Frank stayed home, reading the Sunday paper, puttering around in his yard, waiting until Thelma got home so they could have a simple lunch of soup and crackers.

Though Thelma was shy, she summoned the courage to insist every new pastor come and witness to Frank.  If you are not familiar with the idea of witnessing, you share with another person what Jesus did for you and invite them to follow Jesus for themselves.  Before me, ten pastors made the trek down Camden Avenue on mission to convert Frank. He would listen politely, thank the pastor for sharing, and then say, “I’ll think about it.”  Frank thought about following Jesus through Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, and Reagan. 

You may not be familiar with the idea of “Revival.”  Revivals were a time for a guest preacher to come and preach powerful messages (usually ones he had tried out at home first) to motivate the lost to come and follow Jesus.  Thelma invited every revival speaker to make the visit to her home in hopes that he would succeed where her own pastor had failed.

Frank’s health began to fail and the little house, likes it occupants, showed a slow decline.  By the time I arrived to pastor the church down the street, Frank, Thelma, and the house all had seen better days.

Thelma was not there my first Sunday, but she was there my second Sunday.  She lingered after the service, and made her now familiar request to the eleventh pastor to hike down the street and attempt to convince her husband to follow Jesus.  Dutifully, I went that week, and found Frank to be a fascinating man.  He told stories of staying up all night, waiting for the enemy to charge his foxhole with a ‘Banzai’ cry, of catching a thief sneaking around the barns of the eventual winner of the Kentucky Derby, of growing up in the mountains of Kentucky to an impoverished farmer turned coal-miner.  We didn’t get to following Jesus that day.  Given Frank’s health, I didn’t know how many more chances I would get, so I proposed to return soon. 

I made the trip to Frank and Thelma’s a half-a-dozen times, each time looking for me chance to share with him the great story of God’s love.  I suppose after listening to all the preachers and guest evangelists, Frank knew how to steer the conversation away from spiritual matters.

Frank took a turn for the worse and Thelma stopped coming to church.  Frank had to have someone with him all the time now.  Thelma’s world collapsed to size of their tiny lot and her telephone.  I visited Frank again, finding him weakened, and this time shared Jesus as plainly as I knew how.  Well-worn words came out of Frank’s mouth, “I’ll think about it.”  I told him, “Frank, I respect that, but I think you are running out of time.”  He grinned at me, and said, “Soon, preacher, I’ll decide soon.

One day my phone rang.  It was Thelma.  The visiting nurse had been by and said Frank would probably pass away in the next three days.  Through her tears, she begged me to come one last time.

When I got there, Frank was in bed, Thelma by his side.  I asked her if I could speak to him alone.  I said, “Frank, the nurse said you will not be here much longer.  Frank, you’re out of time.  Do you want to follow Jesus?” 

This time was not like all other times.  Frank looked at me with old faded blue eyes, and said, “Yes Pastor, I want to follow Jesus.”  I invited Frank to pray a prayer telling that to God.  In soft tones, he rasped out a prayer confessing his sins and committing his life to Jesus.  After he said “Amen” he looked at me and said, “I want to be baptized.”

How do you baptize a bed-bound man?  Frank could not leave his bed.  My tribe, the Baptists, believe in total immersion.  I wasn’t sure how we’d pull that off.

I asked God to give me a pass on total immersion (I sure he did; after all, Presbyterians, Methodists, Catholics, Lutherans, and Anglicans all sprinkle).  Thelma came back in the room with a bowl of water.  I traced a cross on Frank’s head while reciting these words: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”  Frank’s eyes never left me.  He smiled, and said, “Thank you preacher.”

Frank died the next day.  According to Thelma, his last words were, “I got baptized, didn’t I honey.” 

Doubters will say Frank just wanted to get into heaven.  Maybe so.  But after thinking about it for so long, Frank finally took his first steps toward Jesus.  They were enough.  I feel confident that Jesus welcomes even those who wait until the very last minute.  I’ll bet on that day Jesus said to Frank, “I’m glad you quit thinking, and you did it.”

Maybe it’s time for you to stop thinking and do something too.

On the Front Porch, Shelling Peas, Learning Life…

They were sitting on the front screened in porch, shelling peas.  You could buy peas in a can, but the old woman said they were nasty.  Besides, why buy something you could grow yourself? 

They had picked the peas early that morning, while the cool was still in the air.  Now in the heat of the afternoon, with the ceiling fan blowing down a store-bought breeze, the old man, the old woman, the granddaughter, and the grandson were shelling peas.

The grandson was a complainer; most six-year-old boys are.  He said to the old man, “Grandpa, it’s too hot to do this.  Can’t we wait till later?  Can’t we do it inside?”

Like most old men, he paused before he answered.  Thirty years ago, when the young boy would have been his own son, he would have snapped an answer: “Stop complaining, son, and get on with peas if you want any supper.”  Decades had taught him a slow answer might be better.

“Now son, if we shelled these peas inside, we would mess up the house your grandma has worked hard to vacuum and clean this morning.  We’d probably have the TV on and wouldn’t even talk to each other.  Besides, I remember sitting on the front porch when we didn’t have a ceiling fan.  I’m grateful for some shade and for breeze blowing down my neck.  Feel that little wind blow up?  Look at yonder, there’s a cloud coming up.  I’ll bet we’ll get a storm here in a few minutes that will cool things down.  Learn to be grateful, son.”

The six-year-old was still hot, but he marveled that his grandpa always seemed to think about more than the moment.  He loved his grandfather’s soft, low voice.  He loved the peace he felt when his grandfather helped him understand the world.

The old woman spoke to her granddaughter, “Sister, you’re leaving too many snaps.  Run your thumbnail down the seam like this and open up the whole pod.  That’s the way.  Only snap the small ones.  We want to get as many peas as we can.”

The granddaughter marveled at her grandmother’s gnarled, arthritic hands, how they could still split the seams, then push the peas out with one smooth motion.  She asked, “Grandma, don’t your hands hurt?  Wouldn’t it be easier to just to buy these in the store?”

“Of course, child,” said the old woman, “but I like the taste of fresh peas.  If you want something that tastes really good, it’s going to take a little more time, a little more effort, and it may even hurt a little bit.  But’s it worth it.”

“Don’t we have enough for supper yet?” said the grandson. 

“Yes,” said the old man, “But we picked this mess so we could put some up in the freezer.  No sense in letting them go to waste.  Besides, in those cold winter months, it’s good to reach into the freezer and get something that reminds you of summer.  Helps you stand the cold if you remember winter always turns to spring.”

“Grandpa,” said the grandson, “how much is a mess?” 

“Well son, a mess is enough to shell in one sitting, if you’re talking about peas.  If you’re talking about fish, a mess is enough to clean at one time and have a fish fry,” said the old man.

Puzzled, the grandson asked, “Will they teach me how much is a mess in school?”

“I doubt it, son,” said the old man.  “You learn to measure a mess when you pick too many peas or catch too many fish.”

The old woman laughed.  “Your grandpa has never had to worry about catching too many fish!  Many’s the time he promised me a mess of fish for supper and he came back just with the worms he took,” she said.

The old man smiled back and said, “Yep, that’s when I was grateful for canned Spam!  It’s not too bad fried up for supper.”

Now it was the granddaughter’s turn to be puzzled: “Grandma, what is Spam?” 

“Lawd, child, I hope you never have to find out!” laughed the old woman.

Big rain drops started to echo on the tin roof of the porch.  “Mercy, that storm blew up in a hurry.  Look here, we’ve finished shelling all these peas.  Leave the hulls in that basket and let’s go inside and start getting ready for supper,” said the old woman.

Thirty years later, the grandson and the granddaughter really couldn’t remember that particular day.  What they could remember was the feeling: Their grandparents had lived enough life to see things different, to trust.  They remembered feeling comforted by their grandparents gentle wisdom.

Isn’t this why God allows us to grow old?  He wants us to pass on the wisdom we’ve learned to those eager to learn it.  Living a long time is not the goal; living a long time, growing wise, and sharing what you’ve learned – that’s what God wants you to do. 

Is there someone you need to sit on the front porch with and pass along a few things God has taught you?

Is there someone you need to go sit with and learn a few things about life?