Today's Headlines

Baby - "Booger" left on a bridge all alone...

A traveling preacher detained from his ministry for three months to help his two brothers get off a murder charge...

These stories and more in today's Sojourn post!

On Friday night I stopped by to see Dad who is still recuperating from bypass surgery back in early September. Dad has been in a nursing home/rehab center for almost two months. He is confused at times but is improving.

He tends to focus a little more on the past. He seems somewhat heartbroken over losing his parents - as if it happened recently - when his mother died over 47 years ago and his father has been gone for over 20 years.

Some stories he tells quite often now. I thought I would share a couple with you:

"Booger" was an affectionate (?) name given to one of my Dad's younger cousins. Since they lived in the same community (and sometimes in the same house) - it was not unusual for the children to play together.

Dad says he was "about grown" - at least he was old enough to be responsible when he was given charge of "Booger" one day. "Booger" was a toddler or young tike at the time.

It must have been a hot day and perhaps the field work was done for the day, so a gang of boys went down to Bear Creek near my Dad's home place, to cool off. Dad sat "Booger" down and along with all the older boys jumped in at a spot in which the creek got maybe knee-deep or so - just under a bridge.

After playing awhile the fellows all decided to move down the creek and explore. Dad went to "Booger" and said - "Now you sit right here 'til I get back".

He confesses now that he may have been gone as much as two hours before he returned.

He still shakes his head in disbelief when he recounts how he found "Booger" just sitting right there when he got back. He shakes his head when he thinks about what could have happened!



Dad's father - my grandfather - (isn't that usually how it works?) was a preacher. But he seldom if ever, presided over a church. He was a traveling preacher, styled after the Methodist Circuit Riders of the 18th century. Only Granddad didn't ride a horse; instead he rode Greyhound, or the train - or sometimes his thumb.

He traveled all over the regions of Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama and at least some time in Texas (that's where he met my grandmother). He preached a brand of strict "holiness" that is almost non-existent today. His ministry might take place anywhere the Spirit moved him... on the street corner, in a courtyard where the jurors were taking a lunch break or possibly in a tent, school house or a borrowed church.

Dad has told me that sometimes he had the privilege of accompanying his father into town (there were ten children so I am sure they spread that opportunity around). He said his Dad might buy him an ice cream cone (probably for a nickel; nearly everything - it seems - cost a nickel in those days), and then suddenly Granddad might start singing a hymn or religious song. Dad said he would find a place to sit down and finish his ice cream because he knew his father was about to preach.

I could go on about this man that I have always deeply admired, but I will save it for another day.

Dad reminded me the other night that two of his uncles had not chosen the straight and narrow path. Both were "bad to drink" he says. And one was something of a "Lady's man" - or at least thought so. Dad said that uncle would look at himself in the mirror, run his fingers through his own hair and exclaim "Lord, I wish had been born rich and ugly instead of poor and good looking!".

When these two rascals would get into trouble or hit hard times because of their lifestyles - they would come to my grandfather for help. Often moving in for a time - along with their entire family. He said his Granddad wouldn't turn them away - he'd find some way to feed them.

Once, Dad said that his father left his ministry for what was probably three months. He went down to Macon to try and help his brothers. It seems that during a drunken brawl, one brother had been attacked and the other took up for him. Together, they killed the culprit.

My grandfather was familiar with the courts since he followed the circuits around to the various county seats in order to have an opportunity to share the gospel with those involved in the cases. Maybe he knew a few hot-shot lawyers, or maybe he provided testimony. I don't know what he did, but he stayed with those boys and they were eventually acquitted of the charges due to self-defense.

I had forgotten about that chapter in my family's history.

I asked my Dad on Friday why he thought those two chose such an opposite route for their lives; but the question didn't really register with Dad.

Stories. I am so glad we have a few of them around our house.
I realized that my Dad may be one of the people in my life that so inspired my love for stories.

Family stories can serve as lessons of warning or just plain entertainment. But they tell us a little about who we are and maybe why we are the way we are.

R. and I have made a point to share stories with our kids. It is a little more difficult to do that these days - too many other interests distract them.

You know, Jesus used that very same vehicle - stories - to explain the kingdom of heaven.
...yeah, maybe I will see if I can dig a few more up while I still can.