Stories I Can't Tell Without Crying Part 3

Well, it’s game day.  And I say this to you with all the love in my heart…

How ‘bout them Gamecocks!

And I mean that, ya’ hear?

A long, long time ago, in the fall of ’92, I packed up almost everything I owned and headed off to seminary.  Funny how everything you owned used to fit inside a car and you could still see out the rearview mirror.  I left home, and found myself 600 miles away following God’s call in Louisville, KY.  It was the farthest I had ever been from home, and there were days when I could feel that.

Fortunately, some of the first people I met were fellows from South Carolina.  The journey acquired a sense of home.  One of those young ministers had even preached at my home church as part of a BSU summer missions team.  All of that was very helpful.

We compared notes about life in the northern part of Kentucky, one river crossing away from the North.  We lamented the lack of sweet tea in restaurants (it might shock you where we found it—probably not).  We’d go out to eat together and confirm to each other, “That ain’t barbecue!”  We needed each other’s friendship.  We were Carolina boys together, but we all were still far from home.

We’d settle on couches on Saturdays to watch college football, but the selection was limited to Kentucky, Louisville and the Big Ten.  Lord, have mercy.  The saving grace was that Kentucky was in the SEC, and for my first semester away from home, the schedule brought Carolina to Lexington.

The boys got together, and we made plans to go to the game.  One fellow had a connection for tickets, and even the Clemson fan wanted to go.  We got up early that Saturday morning and headed east for Commonwealth Stadium.  We encountered more culture shock.  1) We drove less than 80 miles to get to a college football game.  2) There was no game day traffic.  We had to come to terms with a state where basketball was religion.  Forgive us, Lord.

I mentioned that I left home with “almost” everything I owned.  The Gamecocks sweatshirt was 600 miles away in a closet in Reevesville, SC.  Guess what they didn’t sell in the mall in Louisville, KY back in 1992.  Back in the dorm, I dug through my clothes and came out of the pile with a black Evangelympics sweatshirt (God bless you, Bill Cox!).  That served as my game day gear.

Of course, we had anticipated there’d be traffic, so we got to the stadium very early.  We tailgated, and then we walked around outside the stadium.  We came across a woman all dressed in black.  Long, black skirt.  Black sweater.  Big black hat.  The entirety of the ensemble highlighted with block C’s and the “Beat Kentucky” sticker from Jewelry Warehouse.  If I had to guess, she was a football player’s mother, but she reminded me of my mother.

The only indicator of what side I was on was that black sweatshirt.  As we drew close to the woman, she locked eyes with me and said, “How ‘bout them Gamecocks!”  

She may as well have said, “I love you and everything’s going to be all right,” because that’s definitely how I heard it.  In the couple seconds it took to say it, every bit of distance disappeared.  I wasn't a visitor.  I was right at home.  And all I could do was smile and say it right back.

Stories I Can't Tell Without Crying--Part II

A long, long time ago, in 1980...

One scene of the Dukes of Hazzard had me crying my eyes out.  If you're feeling up to it, ask me to tell you the story, and we'll cry together.

Not too long ago, I checked the TV listings and the Duke boys were going to be on CMT, and what should the episode be? "The Ghost of General Lee".  I set the DVR.

Once I had the recording, I introduced Trisha to this part of my history.  "Sweetie, I am about to show you one of the most poignant moments in television."  I also told her about not being able to tell the story without crying.

If you want to watch it, "The Ghost of General Lee" is season 2, episode 6.  I don't have my DVR anymore (guess I could shed another tear), so you'll have to buy it somewhere or keep a close eye on CMT's schedule.

Here's the story.

Bo and Luke parked the General Lee by a pond and went skinny dipping.  While they were swimming, some pool hustlers in need of a getaway car stole the General Lee.  In a rare plot twist, the Hazzard County Sheriff's Department began to chase that orange race car for no apparent reason.  So while they thought they had an easy ride out of Hazzard, two white patrol cars fell in behind them.  Roscoe P. Coletrane and his deputy Enos were in "hot pursuit"!

The chase ended when the pool hustlers crashed the General Lee into the pond.  The race car with no windows sank fast.  Roscoe and Enos caught up quickly.  Enos ran straight to the water and dove in.  Roscoe radioed for help.

Enos surfaced clutching some of Bo and Luke's clothes.  In tremendous desperation he called out to Roscoe, "Sheriff, you gotta help me! Help me find 'em!"

"I can't, Enos," Roscoe replied soberly, "I can't swim."

33 years later and I cry every time.

Stories I Can't Tell Without Crying Part I

                I don’t know if I've got a good series of stories here or not.  I've got two.  There are probably more than two, but I haven’t kept up with this statistic.  A week ago, I would have told you there’s only one story I tell that makes me cry.  Once I told it to you, you would laugh.  I’m saving that one for Part II.  Stay tuned.

                Last week, I was talking with a group of preschoolers.  I consider it continuing ed.  They share a little wisdom; I teach them how to pull their thumbs off.

We were talking about simple ways to demonstrate “love one another”.  Of course, they already knew plenty of examples, the things grownups forget too quickly.  I told them that one good thing they could do for other kids who might be afraid or sad was to simply tell them everything’s going to be all right.  Without giving it one thought, I launched into “The Tornado Story”.  The following might be the long version.

When I was seven years old, I was in a tornado.  OK, I was in a building which happened to be near where a tornado was going.

I was in my dad’s grocery store, helping bag groceries.  We were right in the middle of the 4:30 rush, and the sky outside grew dark.  It got darker and darker.  I started to pay more attention to this than to how many cans of beans I could neatly stack on top of a sewing room worker’s bread and eggs.  I heard some ladies in the line talking about the weather report they’d heard on the radio.  Somebody said, “Tornado watch.”  I looked back out the window.  It had gotten really dark.  They must have meant “warning”.

There was a sales rack in front of the huge storefront window.  I climbed up on the bottom shelf to look out over the top of the rack.  There was a tall antenna behind the building across the street.  I watched it begin to sway back and forth, and it didn't take long for all that steel to get really flexible.  Before I could watch it snap away, my dad picked me up off the shelf.  He set me down behind the counter and called for everyone to get down.

One second later, all the lights went out.  Less than a second after that, the windows were sucked out of their frames with an incredible blast.  The wind filled the whole building with a roar, and hell came with it (I was going to say “leaves and dirt” but please indulge me).

At that point, I did what any average, brave seven year old would, do.  I cried.  I screamed, I cried, and I left it to no one’s imagination to determine if I was scared to death.

Here’s the part where I start to get a little (a lot) weepy.  In the middle of all that terror, I felt a hand patting me on my arm.  I looked up and right in front of me was an African American boy.  He wasn't much older than I was.  I never got his name.  I don’t know who his parents are.  It certainly didn't matter that he was black and I was white.  In that moment, he was to me exactly what I needed, a friend.  He patted me and said, “Everything’s going to be all right.”

I stopped screaming and crying.  Not long after that, the sky lightened and the wind went away.

“Everything’s going to be all right.”  It’s a message from the angels.  Sure the gospel writers jazz it up a little.  “Fear not” sells more Bibles, I guess, but the message itself is one we shouldn't ignore.  What happened to us while we were growing up to cause us to forget that?  Or worse, what happened that caused us to not believe that?

Ever since that December afternoon way back in nineteen seventy something, I have had my fair share of things to worry about.  Add to that 22 years of doing ministry, and no it hasn't been all sunshine and roses.  Actually, my mantra at times has been, “ I've cleaned up the world’s worst clogged up toilet and gotten it running again and I’ll gladly take the literal task over the figurative any day.”  Calling, however, cannot be ignored, and the Lord expects nothing less than for his followers to get out there and lay down their lives.

Several of my friends are currently going through some difficult times.  Some are dealing with health issues in their families or their own lives.  Some are dealing with some Grade A pain and disappointment (forgive me, trying to keep it a family show).  To each of them, I have to say, “Everything’s going to be all right” is still true.  In the middle of a storm, an angel told me so.

Oops! I Didn't Say "Reciprocal"

Some Sunday mornings when our Bible study leaders get together, I am presented with challenges. These are outside of the “ordinary” challenges of being a pastor, and they’re actually quite fun. Sometimes I have been dared to use a certain word during the sermon.  If you’ve been wondering for a while why I said “glockenspiel”, thank yourSunday School leaders.

This brings another challenge to mind.  If you’re missing worship and Sunday morningBible study, you’re really missing out.  Not only do you miss the fellowship and spiritual growth that can take place through some of the most basic things we do as a congregation, but you’re also missing hearing the SECRET WORD!

This past Sunday the challenge was to weave “reciprocal” into the sermon.  I forgot to because I didn’t write it on my notes.  I remembered it this morning while reading the lectionary Psalm getting me ready for this coming Sunday.  Psalm 36:5-10 speaks of the steadfast love of God and the blessings we know as we seek shelter in the shadow of God’s wings.

Reciprocal: mutually corresponding; give and take.  It helps describe life together as a church and life together with God.

A meditation I read on our Psalm said this:

Each time we take a sip from the fountain of life, we are reminded of God’s faithfulness, abundance, and gracious embrace.  We are at our best as God’s gathered people, guests at God’s banquet, drinking together from the river of God’s delights…  What does it mean to you to find your home in God?  (April Berends in Daily Feast)

So here’s to the definition of reciprocal that’s way down the page.  We’re not opposites even though we’re short and tall, light and dark, young and old, Gamecocks and Bulldogs and Tigers (oh my!).  We have the steadfast love of God in common.  “In God’s light we see light” (v 9).  It’s all about the relationship we have with God and each other.

See you Sunday!
Rev. Chip