Strong Shoulders

Our dear friend, Sue, called me this past week, and I was with a repairman at our home, so I told her that I would call her back. When I returned her call, she told me that she was listening to David Jeremiah’s message this morning, and he had a quote that was meant for her and me.

Dr. Jeremiah said, “God does not put trouble on weak shoulders.”

Certainly, Sue has strong shoulders as she has experienced so much tragedy in the past few years. She lost both her adult children within 18 months, and a couple years later she lost her husband. She was eternally grateful, but presently sad when she lost each of her family members. All of them walked with the Lord, and she knows that they are still walking with the Lord.

She is a strong-willed lady from rural West Virginia with strong shoulders to bear all the tragedy of the losses of her family, but she also has a relationship with Jesus that sustains her through difficult days.

Because of mobility issues, Sue only leaves her home for doctor visits. Other than a few cousins who do not live near Sue, she has no other family. But she has the most amazing neighbors who buy groceries for her and pick up her prescriptions. She has a few close friends who also help her.

God has gifted Sue with strong shoulders to bear the tragedies in her life. Sue lives an hour and half from our home, but we go frequently to visit her. I have never arrived in her home to see a sad face on Sue. She is always smiling and spreading cheer to anyone who comes into her home.

Like the people of Israel in the tenth chapter of Isaiah, Sue has been overwhelmed with tragedies and anguish. God promised the people of Israel that they would not be completely destroyed when the mighty power of Assyria fell on them. God did not promise that the Israelites would be spared any harm. Today God does not tell us that our journey here on earth will be easy, but He does promise that He will prepare us for any harm or tragedies in our lives, and He will give us strong shoulders to bear those hard times.

Maple Syrup

Recently we ate breakfast at a Waffle House. Eating there can be an experience in itself. Fortunately, Waffle House has removed the juke boxes from their restaurants, so one is not bombarded with music that one would not choose. We get enough of that just driving down the street as we are forced to hear music from other people’s vehicles. You know the ones where the bass speaker vibrates the whole vehicle.

I like Waffle House’s waffles, but their syrup bottles are always so sticky. I wonder if they fill these bottles from a gallon container or do they just not clean them well. I hope the former is true because I like the syrup on my waffles. I looked up some info on Waffle House’s syrup and found that it is produced by a company called C. H. Guenther & Son, Inc., which is also known for producing other food products and ingredients for various restaurants and food service operations. Waffle House syrup does not contain any pure maple sap. It is a blend of corn syrup, high fructose corn syrup, water, and a small percentage of natural and artificial flavors to mimic the taste of maple syrup. After learning that information, it does not seem so tasty.

We were vacationing in northern Vermont last fall, and we learned a lot about the production of pure maple syrup. We have never bought any pure maple syrup before as it was always so expensive. We had received a couple of bottles as gifts in the past, and we really enjoyed the pure maple syrup on pancakes, French toast, and waffles.

We picked out one of the many farms that produced the syrup to visit and learn more about the production of the syrup. We were surprised to see a ginormous store at the farm. There was a large parking area with lots of tourists browsing through the shop. We decided to purchase some pure maple syrup.

After eating a maple ice cream cone and sampling several types of pure maple syrup, we chose the one we liked best and bought a gallon of pure maple syrup. I gagged at paying $71.95 for pancake syrup!

At the maple syrup farm, we discovered that it takes approximately 40 gallons of maple sap to produce one gallon of pure maple syrup. The juice is boiled down to make delicious maple syrup.

Recently, I felt better about paying $72 for the gallon of pure maple syrup at the farm in Vermont because that comes to $.52 per ounce, and the Waffle House fake maple syrup costs $1.08 an ounce on the Walmart website. Ouch! And kudos to my wife for convincing me to buy the gallon of Vermont pure maple syrup. What you see is what you get!  

The popular expression “What you see is what you get” has been in general use since the 1940s, but comedian Flip Wilson popularized this expression on his TV shows in the 1970s. In the early days after the desktop computer was introduced, the expression was given an acronym like many other expressions—WYSIWYG.

If someone thinks they are buying maple syrup in the supermarket, all you have to do is read the label and you will find that most maple syrups have no maple juice at all. WYSIWYG!

In Luke 16, Jesus tells the story of the rich man and Lazarus. The rich young guy lived like the money-loving Pharisees and they believed that life in eternity would be the same as life on earth. He anticipated living in endless pleasure and ease, just as he had on earth, while others, such as his servant Lazarus, would suffer eternally. Jesus astounded His audience by revealing that after death, these two men would swap places. While Lazarus would find bliss in heaven, the rich man would suffer the torments of hell.

So, for rich young man and the Pharisees, what they saw is not what they would get. The bountiful life of ease that they experienced on earth is what they thought they would receive after death.

Many people today think they will inherit eternal life with God because they are good people who live good lives and have done many good deeds.

We are not “good.” Only Jesus can claim to be good. We are sinners, worthy of divine wrath, and we need divine mercy. That mercy has been offered in the person of Jesus Christ who paid the penalty for our sins on the cross. Jesus now offers us His righteousness, not that wrath. To gain that eternal life like Lazarus, we must admit that we are not "good.” We are sinners bound for eternal life in hell. We must ask forgiveness for our sins, accept Jesus Christ as our personal Savior and live a life that honors Jesus. In Him we are not only forgiven but declared righteous before God because of what Jesus Christ has done for us.

Stuff

We met my two brothers at my parents’ gravesites last Friday. Evergreen cemetery was decorated with small American flags on all the graves of veterans. On this Memorial Day, 2024, I salute all those who served in the armed forces.

As we left the cemetery and drove through the tiny town of North Carrollton, Mississippi, I saw the antique store and remarked to Cheryl: “That was the last store where I had taken my mother.” She was walking with a cane at that time, and as we walked through the store she would point at some things with her cane and tell me that she once had that same item in her house.

The only comment I remember her saying while visiting that antique store was “I can’t believe they’re selling all this old stuff.” She was not a packrat. After her passing my brothers and our spouses had little trouble cleaning out her house.

The only thing that she seemed to hoard was clothes. I guess she’s like a lot of us who keep some old clothes thinking, “I’m going to lose weight and those clothes will fit me later.” 

How I wish that my mother had not thrown away my baseball cards. I collected in the 50s and early 60s, and I had all the famous baseball stars’ cards that are so valuable today. And my mother threw them away! I came home from college for a visit and asked my mother where she had placed my baseball cards. She simply remarked that they were in the way, and she just threw them away. “It was just a shoebox full of old stuff,” she told me. I was just happy that I had kept my coin and stamp collections with me while in college or she would have thrown them away.

I like old things. I guess that being a collector of stamps and coins over the years proves that I am somewhat of a hoarder? Maybe.

When we began the preparations for moving from our farm to the city two years ago, I had a huge job cleaning out my barn. I had accumulated a lot of stuff, and as I started going through it, I realized that I had never used some of the things that I had collected. We were moving into a smaller house with little storage space, so as I began the cleaning out process, I would offer some things to our kids and grandkids. If they did not want it then I would either give it away or sell it.

After a lot of hard work, it felt really good to be relieved of all that stuff. I thought our kids would thank us for cleaning out so much junk, so they will not have to do that after our deaths. That’s not a burden that I wanted to leave with our kids.

My retirement clothes are much more casual than my former working attire, so I have been cleaning out my closet by either giving to grandchildren or to a local thrift shop. I admit that it has been hard to part with some of my stuff, but when I looked up synonyms for stuff, I felt guilty about having so many clothes and shoes. Synonyms for “stuff” are junk, mess, gear, material, and paraphernalia. I prefer the synonym “material” to the other choices because it makes me feel better.

My friend, Mitch Smith, penned a book called “JUNK” in 2011. One of the quotes I recall says, “We’re spending money we don’t have on stuff we don’t need to impress people we don’t even know or like!”

Years ago, a friend painted a small plaque for us that said, “Live simply so others may simply live.”

After composing these thoughts, I am convicted to empty that rented storage locker ASAP!

Ask For It

Two weeks after we landed in Ouagadougou, the first team of volunteers would arrive to work on the camp sleeping shelters, dining hall and subsidiary buildings for the development project that we were going to lead. I would be working with this team and many others who would come every two weeks to Sanwabo in the bush area of eastern Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso).

The pastor of the first evangelical church in that area of the country and a couple of other church members had been working with the chiefs to grant us land where we could build the camp and two houses and a small clinic. The houses were for our family and an undetermined family who would come and work alongside us.

Soon after we arrived in Upper Volta, the chiefs of the six villages nearest Sanwabo invited our family and other mission families to a celebration between the villages of Sanwabo and Zekka. We arrived and were impressed with the crowd of people gathered. I asked one of our mission colleagues if her was surprised, and he said no because first of all they have never seen this many white people together, then they are very curious people who would not want to miss this big event, but most of all because they knew there would be food served.

There were a dozen ladies scurrying around three or four fires where they had set up a kitchen to cook for the crowd of people. Rice was served and that was always a treat to the villagers because there was not enough rainfall in this area of the Sahel to grow rice. All the rice in the country was imported from south Asian countries and it was expensive for the common villagers. Another treat for them was a sauce that had meat in it. Meat was not an everyday part of their diets—not because they did like it, but because they could not afford to buy meat. The most common source of protein was black eyed peas which they would dry and store in small mud granaries during the long dry season. I ate a lot of peas during the years we served in Sanwabo, and I don’t think I ever ate one that did not have a weevil hole in it!

We were seated in a circle with the chiefs on benches from the Sanwabo church. The ladies served us rice covered in a stew made with a few pieces of beef, tomatoes, onion, okra, and some local spices. The beef also meant bone and gristle but no fat as the cows were very lean because of the scarcity of proper grazing food.

During the meal, I asked the chiefs, “What is the greatest need of your villages?” They parlayed for several minutes and one of them said, “Water.” I asked them what was their second greatest need after water. Again after 15 minutes of discussion, they answered, “Water.” Then I asked them a third time, “After water what is your most urgent need?” and one could guess what they would say after a deliberation of 15 minutes while the crowd of villagers patiently waited and stared at all the white people. “Water!” We received the message that we should begin by helping them get clean potable water, and we did just that once we were able to get started on the project.

The pastor of the Sanwabo church led the program and introduced our family and other mission families who had come to participate in the kickoff of a five-year development project that would bring hundreds of volunteers from the states of Tennessee and Michigan to work in agriculture, water, public health and literacy programs.

I was getting a bit anxious about getting some land for our project because no one had even mentioned land during the three hours that we had been there. Then, one of the chiefs came and stood before me and asked me to follow him. He led me to a termite hill about four feet tall and asked me to climb on top of the mound. Then he asked me to look in the direction where the sun came up each day.  “Look as far as you can see,” he said. I did, and he instructed me to turn to the south and look again as far away as I could. Then he repeated the instructions to look to the west and the north.

The villagers had trouble with my name as they pronounced the R letter like a D letter. So, the chief said to me, “Laddy, all you see is yours. All you have to do is ask for it.!”

It was an overwhelming moment. We were on the precipice of what we believed the Lord was going to do through his workers in establishing churches among the villages and helping the villagers with their physical needs.

Later that day, I was reminded of Joshua talking to the people of Israel before they crossed the Jordan River into the Promised Land. “Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do amazing things among you.” Joshua 3:5

Imagine that you are at your desk or sitting in your favorite chair, and you have the controls of a satellite sitting on your lap. You focus the satellite on your neighborhood, then on your city, then you zoom out to focus on the towns and cities around you. You direct the focus of the orbiter to gaze at the entire United States of America. Finally, you direct the satellite to move rapidly up and around the whole world.

As a believer, perhaps the Lord was speaking to your heart during each of the satellite passovers saying, “All you see is mine. All you have to do is ask for it.” As followers of Christ our job is to ask for it, claim it for the Lord, and act to bring lost people to Jesus Christ.

Views

Our choice was to ride camels or walk. All of us decided to walk. After all, this was a trekking/team-building experience. And we had all had camel-riding experiences, and everyone had the same feedback—like sitting on a small boat in the middle of a choppy sea.

Our leadership team had paid three Bedouin guides to help us explore the Sinai Desert. We packed our gear on the backs of two camels and a third camel went with us for one of the Bedouin to ride ahead of us to prepare camp. He prepared food over an open fire. We drank hot tea mixed with some sand and the guides made bread like pizza crust that was tossed on the coals and covered with sand until it was golden brown—and yes, it was delicious with wild honey.

The terrain was desolate with little vegetation and many rocks. We wore keffiyehs to protect our heads from the blazing sun. Truly we could understand the moaning and complaints from the people of Israel. Moses had to put up with them for 40 years!

Standing on a cliff looking over the parched valley not far from Mt. Sinai, one of the guides said to us, “Our ancestors claimed this land for our people.” My thought was “Why would they want it?” They must really be into earth tones! But it was theirs, and they had a rich heritage of honoring their birthright of stewarding that land because their forefathers had claimed it for them.

I started thinking about the fact that God had been with the people of Israel in this desolate place so long ago, but I caught myself thinking in the past as if God had left this place. He never left it. The Bedouin have been there for thousands of years, but we Christians have not been there. God intends for the people of the Sinai Desert to worship Him. The Bedouin forefathers had claimed this land for themselves. Who will claim it today for the Lord Jesus?

I had similar experiences in other places. As I stood on the roof of a colleague’s apartment in Amman and looked at all the rooftops with satellite dishes, knowing they provided access to programming that would introduce them to the Gospel, God affirmed that He was there.

I was in a high-rise apartment building at night, overlooking the great city of Cairo with 23 million people. I saw a myriad of minarets glowing with green fluorescent lights. God wants us to claim this great city for Him.

In Dhaka, Bangladesh, another city with the same massive population as Cairo, I was standing on an arched pedestrian bridge above a busy city street that was as wide as a four-lane interstate highway. I looked down on literally thousands of people that looked like fire ants scrambling out of a disturbed anthill. God is in Dhaka, but only a few workers are there to claim that land for Christ.

Tunisia and other countries of North Africa have some of the best-preserved Roman ruins. We were prayer walking the ruins of a great basilica that had been built during the first few centuries after the time of Christ. There are many such former churches that the Berbers built after the Gospel was introduced to them. This particular place was large enough to accommodate 3,000 people who gathered to worship the Lord. Today that great church is a pile of ruins. This building and others decayed and crumbled after the seventh century with the invasion of the Arabs and Islam.

God spoke to my heart as I walked through the remains of this once great church, “When will you return here to worship Me in the name of Jesus Christ?” God never left North Africa, and He is waiting for us to claim this land for His glory.

In Joshua 13:2 God instructed an aged Joshua in how to divide the Promised Land. Much of the land was unconquered at this point in history, but God’s plan was to go ahead and include it in the divisions among the tribes. God’s desire was that it would eventually be conquered and claimed by the Israelites.

Under God’s leadership there are victories that lie ahead in the lands that we must claim. But just as the Israelites still had to go into battle and fight, we must still face the work of the Evil One and fight the battles of our unconquered lands and claim them for the glory of God.

Book of Kells

We returned from Ireland last evening. For the past forty years we have traveled with my best friend from college and his wife. Even while we lived overseas, we had family vacations together when we were temporarily back in the states. Sherry does all the planning for our trips, and Denny does all the driving. That’s a good deal, and we love them for those services.

Although we have traveled in many countries, and we even lived in London for three years, this was our first visit to Ireland. All our expectations were met as we traveled from Dublin to Galway to the southernmost tip of the island and back to Dublin.

From the stunning views on the Cliffs of Moher 700 feet above the North Atlantic to the quaint hamlets like Dingle, Waterville and Cobh, the vividly green and tranquil fields were laced with stone and hedgerow walls and dotted with hundreds of sheep and Friesian dairy cows—which we call Holstein and our children and grandchildren call “Chick-fil-A cows!”

A treasure on a small road off the Ring of Kerry is Staigue Fort, a 2,500-year-old stone fort built to protect one of the local lords or kings. Its 20 feet tall walls are circular and 6 feet in depth. I enjoyed observing the countryside while walking on top of the walls. I was at the foot of granite hills and could see the ocean from my perch.

I particularly liked spending time at this ancient stronghold because like the hundreds of pyramids in northern Sudan, you can actually climb on the walls and pick up relics. The fort is in the middle of a farmer’s pasture, so tourists are on the honor system to deposit one Euro into a metal box that amounts to a “trespassing fee” to enter his pasture.

Three favorite memories from this trip were the picturesque views of the rugged southwestern coastline along The Ring of Kerry, staying on a dairy farm for four nights, and the Book of Kells.

Trinity College, also known for administrative purposes as the University of Dublin, dates from the 14th century. The university has educated many of Ireland’s most successful people, but it is most famous for housing the Book of Kells since 1661.

The Book of Kells is a ninth century manuscript of the four gospels of the New Testament. It is famous for the intricacy, detail, and grandeur of the illustrations. In most of the illuminated manuscripts of the Bible the text was written first and then the illustrations and illumination were added afterwards. However, the monks who created the Book of Kells focused on the impression their work would have visually, so the artwork was the heart of the masterpiece.

It is believed to be illustrated primarily by talented young monks only 18-20 years old. There are stories of these young monks writing in the margins of the calf skin pages some phases and sentences like these: I am so sleepy. When are we ever going to finish this work? I am hungry. The monks assumed that all the pages would be trimmed to cut out all their personal remarks, but alas, some of them live on today in the Book of Kells.

Made me wonder---over the years I have written a lot of things in the margins of my Bibles not thinking that someday someone might read them. Well, I am not going to read through all those notes in Bibles to find out, but I am sure I never wrote notes about my appetite.

Patina

While I was visiting colleagues in Israel, a friend took me to a banana plantation. The bananas had been harvested, and the trees had been cut down, and the stalks had been ground up and mixed with the dirt by heavy tractors pulling massive disc harrows.

Whenever the ground is deeply plowed like at this banana plantation, the big plows turn up some treasures. No, not gold or silver, but nevertheless treasures for people like me who just like to prospect.

Not only did we have fresh plowed up dirt to look through, but rain had fallen the day before we arrived at the banana plantation. The rain had washed the dirt away from the debris that had been plowed. Perfect conditions for prospecting for shards of pottery and pieces of patinaed Roman glass.

What makes these fragments of glass so special? Age. Just as copper and bronze turn greenish as they age, so does Roman glass get coated with iridescent hues of blue, green and even orange. This is the result of a corrosion process that slowly restructures the glass to form photonic crystals. These crystals are what give the material its iridescence.

You have also seen these crystals—or their effects—when you have seen the iridescent wings of a butterfly or a dragon fly, or when you have admired a lovely piece of opal.

Patinas can raise the value of an object because they are not only beautiful, but also a sign of age, thus proving that the object is an antique. One of the best examples of the sheer beauty patina can add to an object is the Statue of Liberty. It is a bronze statue, but over the years the bronze has been covered with a green patina that has enhanced this symbol of liberty.

Over the years I have collected some of those shards of glass. Are they worth anything? No, but they are worth a fortune in the pleasure I had in discovering these jewels.

Just as age adds value to ancient pieces of Roman glass, so it does to humans. Now that I am one of them—senior citizens—I can actually appreciate what life’s joys and struggles have taught me. I just wish that I had been smarter when I was in my teens and twenties to recognize how important it was to learn from my elders.

I was sitting in a metal bouncy chair daydreaming on the porch of my little “shop.” I was thinking about patina and age. Now I could use some patina on my old skin to toughen it up and cover up the age spots, but the thought came to me: wouldn’t it be awesome if everything that I have learned in my life could be put on a thumb drive. Then I could review it and remember things that I have forgotten long ago. I am sure that I have forgotten much more than I could recall today.

Family and friends often help me remember stuff that I have forgotten. “Dad, do you remember that time we …?” Friend: “Larry, I was thinking about when we trekked through the Sinai Desert…” Larry: “What are your best memories?” I ask questions like that to see if they remember something that I do not, and it helps me recall things that I thought I had lost. Now I am not yet afflicted with any disease related to memory loss, but I just have forgotten some great life experiences, and I would like to recall them and enjoy them again.

For most of my life I have heard analogies of a life span and the quarters of a football game. A popular movement was highlighted when the book “The Second Half” was released many years ago. I am in the fourth quarter now, but I actually feel that I am more in the time of the two-minute warning.

I don’t really need a warning whistle as I am aware that my age is about the lifespan of the average male in America. So, I want to make the most of every day and enjoy each day as if it was my last. “Every day with Jesus is sweeter than the day before.”

No Visa

We had been living in Cairo for two weeks. Our move there came three months after being given the assignment to lead workers in northern Africa, the Middle East, and the Arabian Gulf. Our reason to relocate to Cairo was to evaluate this massive city as a possible location for our regional office.

One of our leadership team members, Mike Edens, and his wife, Madelyn, had already spent over 20 years living in Cairo, and they had convinced us that this might be the right place for us to move personnel and establish a beachhead for our work in 35 countries.

Our first flight out of Cairo was to Ethiopia to meet our workers serving there. One of the unfortunate anomalies of the Cairo International airport was that most of the international flights departed during the hours between midnight and 5:00 am. Our flight to Addis Ababa was at 3:00 am, so we arranged for a taxi to pick us up at 11:30 pm.

Our taxi dropped us off at a convenient spot for check in for Ethiopia Air. We were early enough that there was only a short line, and soon we found ourselves standing in front of the check-in agent. He requested our passports, and we handed them over the counter. As he opened one of the passports he said very cheerfully, “Welcome to Ethiopia, Mr. James.” As he thumbed through my passport, he continued and said, “We are happy that you are traveling to Ethiopia, Mr. James.” And then he looked up at me and said, “But I am sorry you will not be going to Ethiopia tonight, Mr. James. You see,” he said, “you do not have a visa, and to get to Ethiopia this evening you must have a valid visa before departure.”

Puzzled by this request, I asked if we could get visas in the airport at Addis, and he said no.

In communicating with our personnel in Addis, no one had mentioned getting a visa. We had already lived overseas for many years and were certainly aware that visas to many countries were necessary, but we depended on the people we were visiting and the travel agent to inform us.

We had used our colleague’s travel agent to book our tickets, but they had not mentioned a visa either.

There was no need to argue with the desk agent as he was doing his job, so we said thank you and hauled our bags to the curbside to return by taxi to our apartment.

Once we finally arrived in Addis, we learned that a few of our workers in Addis Ababa had some fun talking about their new leader who did not know that he needed a visa to travel. I did not like hearing that as I had been traveling overseas for 20 years, and I certainly understood the necessity of visas in many countries. I admit I was angry that they had accused me of being a rookie traveler. Didn’t they know that we had cut our teeth in West Africa which was so much more primitive than Ethiopia? Had they not heard that we had been traveling and living in several countries for longer than many of them had even been in Ethiopia? Plus, one of the workers in Ethiopia had worked alongside us in Burkina Faso before she married a worker in Ethiopia, but she was enjoying ribbing me about being a rookie. It was all in fun, but my immediate reaction was to get angry. I was already stressed about meeting all the new personnel in the region, and a couple of our meetings had not gone well, because some of the personnel took out their anger about losing their former leader on me.

My anger subsided and I decided to let them laugh at me, and we would find some fun in all this. Staying angry about this would only hurt me and Cheryl and our relationships with the workers. I decided to laugh heartily with them when the no visa story came up in conversations. This strategy worked out well as some of the more creative workers made a song about their leaders missing a flight because they did not know they needed a visa to travel.

This is a fault of mine and I have known it for many years. I get angry too quickly. But I have learned over the years that it is not bad to get angry. It is bad to get angry and stay angry. So, now when I get angry, I say to myself, “Get angry and get over it quickly. Do not stay angry.” Anger, like a cancer, can eat away at your heart and mind and make you so bitter that you lose the countenance of Christ in your temperament.

“My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.” James 1:19-20 NIV.

Service Station

One of my granddaughters (we have 13 of them!) heard me say that I needed to find a service station, and she asked me, “What is that?”

I told her that it was like a gas station, but gas stations do not have any service. Of course, that brought up another question: “What does service mean?” Wow, that’s a loaded question for me, and I thought yes, what does service mean today. You go to a counter to order tea or coffee, and they flip the tablet around and ask you for a tip and the choices are 18% or 20%! For what?? For taking my order and making my tea? I am paying them to do that. Of course, there on the bottom of the page is “custom tip” where you have to take time to say, “I don’t want to leave a tip.”

Now I am not one of those people who either leave no tip or a disgusting tip in restaurants or with the taxi or whatever. I have two grandchildren whose incomes depend on restaurant tips, so I am aware of how these people make their living. Whether it is Waffle House or a classy restaurant, I strive to leave a good tip. I love it when a server is attentive to our table in a restaurant and one who anticipates our needs. I enjoy rewarding their service.

I went on to explain to my granddaughter that long ago when you went to a gas station an attendant would not only pump the gas, but they would also clean the windows of your car, check under the hood  to make sure that your oil, radiator and battery were ok, and they would check the air pressure in your tires.

I did not go into all this but in the “old days” it was common to visit the service station to buy tires, batteries, to have tune-ups on your car, to get your oil and filter changed, to get new belts and hoses and other automotive repairs.

I recall a good friend of ours and fellow church member back in the late 70s who was a gasoline distributor and owned service stations, struggled over the decision to build her first convenience store that sold self-service gasoline. After a few months she was elated and planned to convert other full-service stations to convenience stores because they enjoy a higher and more consistent profit margin than just selling gas.

I am convinced that is why many gas stations today have pumps that won’t give you a receipt. The display on the pump says, “Clerk has receipt.” They want you to come into the store and buy something else. Gasoline has a small markup so I am told, so why do they increase the price of gas 20 cents overnight, but it takes two weeks for the price to drop 20 cents??

At the age of 12 I had my first paying job. I worked at my uncle’s service station on Saturdays. He paid me $.50 an hour to wash windows, check air pressure and check the oil. I carried around a metal milk case to stand on as I could not reach all of the windshield or check the oil without it. I received zero tips. I learned that no matter how well I did my job, some people were just snotty. They would not even say thank you. But that did not keep me from doing my best because when someone praised my work, that was a huge encouragement to me. I learned a lot about customer service in my first job. I also learned some people skills that have stuck with me all my life.

Break time was my favorite part of Saturdays. I purchased a nickel coke and a nickel package of Tom’s peanuts. You guessed it. I poured the peanuts into my glass bottle of coke.

I love the anonymous quote that goes something like this: “The more memories you make, the richer the tapestry of your life becomes.”

It is never too late to make some memories. For those of us who are seniors, we need to make memories for our children and grandchildren. Go make some memories.

Stylite Tower

Imagine sitting in a forty foot prayer tower in the ancient Middle East and never leaving for the rest of your life.

The people who did this were called Stylites, which literally means pillar saints. They were part of a religious movement that took place about 1500 years ago in the Middle East.  Christian penitents lived on the top of towers and practiced degradation of their bodies, believing it would help the salvation of their souls. They would isolate themselves from the rest of the world, starve themselves, face harsh weather conditions, and pray.

While there is much written evidence about the Stylites, there is little that is left physically about their lifestyle. One of the only Stylite towers that remains in the world is in Jordan at a site called Umm ar-Rasas.

It’s not one of the most famous spots in the country for tourists, but one of my friends who lived in Jordan took me there because it was a good site to go prospecting for relics. Our destination was about 30 miles southeast of Madaba, Jordan. A church in Madaba houses the oldest cartological representation of the Holy Land—a mosaic map in the floor of the church. Tourists and pilgrims come from all over the world to see this marvel, but only a handful each week make it to Umm ar-Rasas.

Through the years I have loved to prospect for relics. I should have been an archaeologist as I enjoy discovering very old things that others have overlooked. Maybe that’s why I love to browse antique shops today or look for shark teeth on the beach.

Anyhow, before we ever went to see the ruins of this ancient city, we went to the “tel.” In ancient Middle East, the “tels” were the garbage dumps. As the harsh hot weather dries out the soil on the mound of dirt and debris, the infrequent rains wash away the loose dirt exposing plenty of pottery shards and other small treasures. At least they were treasures to me. They may be worthless to most people, but the real joy is in the discovery of these little jewels.

After we had spent a couple of hours prospecting the tel, we walked on over to the ruins of the city of Umm ar-Rasas, one of Jordan’s five UNESCO World Heritage Sites. One can tell just how large and important Umm ar-Rasas became by what you’ll find there today. Not only are the ruins of a large city there, but one can find the ruins of at least 16 Byzantine churches – plus the infrastructure to support thousands of residents. The largest of the ancient churches was St. Stephen which has the largest excavated ancient mosaic floor in Jordan.

To me the most fascinating thing about this forgotten city is the 40 feet tall prayer tower. Men would commit to climbing up into the small open aired room at the top via some sort of scaffolding, and the scaffolding would be removed either for a defined period or until they died. Their only contact with another human was once a day when their waste would be lowered in a basket tied to a rope, and food and water would be retrieved by the Stylite. They would receive enough minimal food and water to just keep them alive.

Looking back, one may question the sanity of committing to be a Stylite. Why would a person self-inflict so much physical pain and depravation and emotional stress to literally break their spirit to please God? However, no one can question their commitment to Almighty God. No one can deny their vow of prayer and supplication.

Perhaps the Stylites were very sane people whose commitment to the Lord was so great that they felt unworthy of a “normal” life? Or was that their calling to serve?

I am thinking “How I would react if the Lord called me to a life of prayer and mortification?”

The Middle East has been in the headlines again for the past year. We wonder what it would take to attain real peace in the Middle East in our children’s lifetimes. With hostilities once again going on and all the sophisticated war instruments that man has developed, two major weapons being used are forced starvation and depravity of a home.

Maybe Israelites and Palestinians need to be more like the pillar saints and commit to more praying and less fighting. Don’t we all?!

Sunday Best

Easter weekend! Lots of last-minute shopping going on to buy some “Easter clothes.” Much of the shopping is for children who will get a new outfit to go to church on Easter morning or to go to a family lunch or Easter egg hunt.

My parents tried to teach me many things as I was growing up, and one thing I caught was that we wore our best clothes to go to church. If we were going someplace else like a wedding, a funeral or to pose for pictures, my folks would say, “Wear your Sunday best.”

When I first started working with Chick-fil-A’s foundations, there was an unwritten apparel rule for men at their corporate offices: long sleeved dress shirt with a Chick-fil-A tie. Right after I started working there, one day I was in Truett Cathy’s office, and the first thing he said to me was, “Where is your Chick-fil-A tie?” I looked down at my tie, and I had on a regular tie that I thought was a nice one. I had only accumulated two of the branded ties, and I did not want to wear them every day. He went in his closet of goodies in his office and brought me a Chick-fil-A tie and told me to take off my tie and put on the correct tie.

After Truett passed away, that dress code passed also. Dress at the home office became more casual. I did not mind the ties going away, as I have never been a fan of neckties. However, I continued to wear a long sleeved dress shirt to work each day. And I added a sport coat on occasions as I wanted to look my Sunday best.

Over the past twenty years the dress at our church—and most churches—has also changed. We have all sorts of dress represented in our small church. I have not yet heard of a designation that summarizes Sunday dress these days—like business, business casual, casual, etc.

I am one of three or four men who still wears a sport coat to church. I don’t have any quarrels with what others wear. We all should wear what we feel most comfortable wearing. But I still like to honor the Lord by worshipping corporately at my church and others I visit in my “Sunday best.”

The changes in what people wear to church reflect broader cultural shifts in apparel over the last few decades. The whole of American culture has dressed down. The result has been generational arguments about proper church dress. Those like me (the Sunday best group) believe informal clothing could reflect an irreverent attitude toward the holy God of all universes. Those who prefer very informal clothes (I am talking shorts, tank tops and flip flops style here) say that their apparel displays a more genuine approach to God.

Can either side back up their views with scripture? As far as I understand, there is no persuasive exegetical evidence to argue that more formal clothes are inherently more respectful of God than informal dress. Church dress is a cultural and tradition-based preference.

Finally, three thoughts: 1. I am OK with people wearing whatever they want to wear, and I will not criticize them. They may be wearing their Sunday best even if they are not dressed like me. I am just happy that they have chosen to worship with our congregation. 2. There is not much to argue about here as those oldies like me are dying out anyhow! 3. I love the third verse of the old hymn (those are the songs that we use to sing in church!) entitled “Give of Your Best to the Master.”

Give of your best to the Master;
Naught else is worthy His love;
He gave Himself for your ransom,
Gave up His glory above.
Laid down His life without murmur,
You from sin’s ruin to save;
Give Him your heart’s adoration;
Give Him the Sunday best you have.

Truism: Character

"Leadership is a potent combination of strategy and character. But if you must be without one, be without the strategy."
--H. Norman Schwarzkopf

Poutine

After a friend from Brazil who was our house guest this past week and I had made a business visit in Chattanooga, we asked someone in the office for a suggestion for lunch. He told us that we must go to Kenny’s on Market Street because it was a popular local deli. 

After we were seated in Kenny’s, the server gave us three pages of menus each on an 8 x 10 piece of paper. I thought that was an inexpensive way to have a menu, but I imagine the real reason was that these menus made it easy to make changes to the prices. There was a regular menu, a specials menu, and a beverage menu. My eyes went first to the regular menu and the first thing that caught my attention was “Poutine.” 

Poutine is a dish of French fries topped with cheese curds and a brown gravy. This fine dining selection originated in Quebec in the late 1950s.

I first enjoyed Poutine in Montreal in 2011 with my Quebecois friend and a team of Chick-fil-A Owner/Operators. Any old French fries will do, but the keys to the best Poutine are the cheese curds and the brown gravy. 

I have tried Poutine in several restaurants over the years, but none of them outside of Quebec have been successful in serving “real” cheese curds. Cheese curds are small moist pieces of curdled milk that are a by-product of cheese making. When you bite into them they are kinda squeaky and taste a lot like cheddar cheese. Curds are actually cheese that has not gone through the aging process. 

I even had poor Poutine at a restaurant in old town Montreal just last fall. We were vacationing with our traveling friends in northern Vermont, and we decided to take a day trip to Montreal. I was not excited about seeing Montreal again, but I do like me some Poutine, so I was all for this road trip. 

The Poutine was disappointing. Old Town caters to tourists who don’t know the difference in good or bad Poutine. I should have been wary of finding the good stuff in the tourist area, but that is where our friends wanted to eat. 

Back to Kinney’s. The description at their deli said that their Poutine included cheese curds , but the cheese was just globs of mozzarella cheese. Their gravy, however, was the real thing.

We have a restaurant in our town that had Poutine when it opened. It was OK, but their gravy was not Quebecois. Before the restaurant was one year old, they removed Poutine from their menu. I think it was because the people who really knew Poutine were disappointed in it, and those who had never tried it didn’t like the sound of eating curds on their fries or they looked at the calorie count! 

Some of us are guilty of treating people like some people treat Poutine (or other menu entrees). It sounds strange and foreign. Poutine sounds like Putin, so some people don’t like it because of the way it sounds. Ever have a negative feeling whenever you hear people speaking a language you do not understand? 

One of the ingredients of Poutine does not rouse the taste buds. When we encounter a food item that turns us off, we ignore it.  We are afraid to try it. When you see a woman dressed in a hijab or a Jewish man wearing a skullcap—called a kippah—does it turn you off or do you have negative thoughts? Would you be willing to engage them in a conversation?

I confess that even after living in other countries and traveling in over half of the countries in the world, I still struggle with engaging some people who may be different from me. Recently I started a conversation with a Sikh who was wearing a turban. He was at the checkout of the convenience store, and there was no one behind me, so I began to ask about his family and what part of India they came from. Would you believe that before I left the store we were talking about our grandchildren? 

One day while I sat by my mother’s bed as she was dying, I was thinking what a provincial childhood and youth I had experienced in Mississippi. I prayed and thanked God for giving me a lifetime of cross cultural experiences. 

While I was meditating, God led me to think about the different cross-cultural encounters I had experienced just during that particular day in Mississippi. Early that morning I bought gas from a Gujarati Indian at a Circle K. I bought donuts for the nursing home staff from a shop owned and operated by a Cambodian family. I had a long visit with the nursing home physician who was a first generation immigrant from Somalia. Before meeting me, she had never met anyone in Mississippi who had ever been to her country or who could talk about some good things about her country. 

You can turn your nose up at Poutine, but don’t do that to your fellow pilgrims on this earth who were created to relate to people around them and live in harmony with each other. God loves each of us equally. 

“So Peter opened his mouth and said: ‘Truly I understand that God shows no partiality.’” Acts 10:34 ESV

Team Lift

Every time I have begun leading a new team, I have spent a lot of time learning about the people I would lead. In some cases, I have inherited an existing leadership team, but in most new positions I have had the opportunity to choose the team that I led.

On one occasion my job was to lead 500+ workers scattered across thirty-five countries from Morocco to the Arabian Peninsula. I chose our leadership team, and we scheduled a retreat in the UK for team leaders and their spouses. This was going to be our first meeting with these team leaders who led workers engaged in frontline strategies. I had never met any of the team leaders as I was asked to transfer to this part of the world from leading workers in Eastern Europe.

I was nervous about encountering the team leaders as they all knew that I had almost zero exposure to their region. I had been chosen, I was told, not for my experience in the Arab world, but for my leadership skills in other parts of the world.

Several weeks before the meeting, I started learning everything I could about the families of each team leader, and then I started praying for each member of their family by name. I had photos of the workers, but none of their children. The first night we convened at the retreat center north of London, and I led our first session. First, I introduced myself, telling them about my family—not just names, but I gave them some details and asked them to pray specifically for each of our family.

Next, I started at the end of the back row, and I did not ask them for their names, but I called out their name, then stated the name of their spouse and their field of assignment. I then called the name of each of their children and told them I had been praying for them.

It was a stressful situation because once I started calling the names of the spouses and children, I had to do this for all forty team leaders. I made it through, and the group gave a spontaneous round of applause. I did not do it for accolades, but I did it to personalize a relationship with each team leader from the very beginning.

The leadership team and I had been nervous about this first meeting to cast the vision for this part of the world, but after that first meeting, the ice was broken, and a positive “esprit de corps” had already been established.

At break time in the afternoon session on the next day, one of the team leaders asked me if he could make an announcement. As the meeting began, he came to the front of the meeting room, but it was not an announcement that he wanted to make. He told me that he was representing all the team leaders, and he kindly asked me to lie down on the floor. He instructed me to trust the team leaders who began to gather around me as I lay there on my back. Each one of them only put one finger under my body. All at once they pushed my body upward with dozens of index fingers and lifted me four feet off the floor. 

It was an incredible feeling for my 180 pounds to seemingly be floating in the air as the team leaders kept me suspended in the air for what seemed to be two minutes as someone prayed for me and my family. This was one of the best expressions of love and care from a team that I have ever felt in forty years of leading people.

My favorite scripture on team building is I Peter 4:8-10 which states, “Above all, love each other deeply because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.”

If you have had a similar experience with a team of which you were a member or the leader and would like to share it with me, please send it to me at this email address: lcox@coxnichols.com.

Truism: Expectation

People usually end up pretty much where they expect.

Mimi IIII: Left Behind

After kids, grandkids and great grandkids picked out what they wanted to keep from Mimi’s possessions, my brothers, their spouses and Cheryl and I worked long hours to bag and box up my mother’s earthly possessions to give to a Christian thrift store. We could not believe how many clothes Mama had tucked away in three different closets and in nooks and crannies. Some of them had never been used because she was saving them.

 As my mother moved into her senior years, she became more and more adamant about saving for future use. Her kids and grandchildren would give her gifts for special events, but she would rarely use them because she wanted to save them. This is a trait of the silent generation as they experienced many hardships during their childhood and youth.  

Mimi was born in 1930, so she was part of the silent generation which includes people who were born between 1928 and 1945 and lived through the Great Depression and World War II. When the Silent Generation grew up, cultural and social influences emphasized qualities like hard work, loyalty, and thriftiness.

Mimi did not have much in material possessions, but the items from Mimi’s home that we picked out to keep will remind us of her. However, we cherish the legacy that my mother left more than anything. That legacy is all about the values that our Pete and Mimi left behind. They practiced their values more than they talked about their valuables, and that helped shape me into the man I am today.

The most important value that they instilled in me was to love the Lord God with all my heart, all my soul and all my might and to worship Him and serve Him daily in my family. with my friends, and in my church.

Another value that they imprinted on me was to persevere in the face of adversity. My parents showed me the meaning of resiliency. They often told me that when I experience challenges not to tuck my chin and feel sorry for myself, but to get off my butt and get to doing something about it.

My mother and dad had an extremely strong work ethic that included pursuing tasks until they are completed well and working as hard as needed to get a job done. Often, they told me, “Anything worth doing is worth doing right.”

While growing up I hated my parents’ frugality. I did not have all the “things” that my classmates had, but I learned later that their frugality was just wisdom about what to buy, when to buy and how much to pay.

I watched my parents write a check to our church every Sunday, and they always made sure that I had money to place in my church envelope and give to my Sunday School teacher. I also observed Mimi and Pete give to other people when they were in need. They taught me to be generous and I am most happy about that today. And to this day I would rather give than receive.

Mimi and Pete did not argue over money. We had all our needs and many of our wants, and God took care of our family. The second most important thing I learned from Mimi and Pete was that one’s values are much more important than one’s valuables.

I love Proverbs 13:22: “A good man leaves an inheritance to his children's children.” I believe that the writer of Proverbs was not talking about financial wealth, but the wealth of values. A true legacy is not about how much you leave for your family, but more about what you leave in your family.

Mimi III

Yesterday morning our family’s Mimi took her last labored breath as I stood by her bed. When that breath was finished, she entered the Kingdom of God. I believe that singing angels announced my mother’s appearance at the feet of Jesus because another saint had arrived.

My mother came from the poorest area of the poorest state in the nation, and she left this world with only her small house and its furnishings, but she was rich in investments in serving people.

She passed away on her 16th day of no drink or food. We do not know why she lingered so long, but we are sure that there was some unfinished business with the Lord. The Lord was not ready for her to go to her eternal home. When I left her bedside the night before she passed, I got close to her ear and told her I loved her and that my brothers and I have released her to go be with Jesus. The last thing that I said to her was “I will see you later.” No goodbyes, just see you later.

My mother taught me and gave me so many, many things, but one of the greatest was how to be a servant of others. She was a true life-long servant. Whether it was calling elderly shut-ins, cooking for those experiencing health challenges or those bereaving the passing of a loved one, baking caramel cakes for family and friends, sharing her homemade pickles and jelly, or picking up people to carry them to church, she was constantly looking for opportunities to help others. She always put the needs of others before her own. Her joy in life was in serving others.

During the last few days of Mimi’s life, her breathing rate had slowed to six to seven times per minute, and her last few breaths were taken as I was going up and down the hallway to make sure that every nurse and aide and other staff had a donut that I had brought for them. Mimi would have enjoyed knowing that in her last moments on earth that I was serving others in the name of Jesus.

This is part three, but this is not the final chapter about Mimi. I will write more stories about her. Most importantly, I will meet her again when the Lord calls me home to heaven. I have the assurance, not the hope but the assurance, that I will see my mother and dad once again when we are reunited at the feet of Jesus. Oh, that will be glory for me.

Mimi Part II - Goodbyes

As the eldest son, I have the Power of Attorney for my mother, so I have to make the ultimate decisions. But I do not make them alone. I seek the wisdom of my two younger brothers. Mimi is our mother and I decided long ago that we will all have input in every decision along this journey.

My brothers and I have a good relationship, so we have worked well together in making decisions about my mother’s car, house, and belongings as we prepare for her imminent passing.

As I write this epistle, my brothers and I are gathered once again around her bed in the nursing home. Today, February 16, 2024, is the twelfth day without any drink or food for our mother. She is an amazing woman with a strong will to live. For all of that time she has been under the care of hospice staff and nursing home staff. They started giving her medication over a week ago to help her relax and sleep. Morphine treatments were added two days ago to help her with labored breathing.

A number of things happening now give us three boys a sense of satisfaction. She is not agitated or aggressive. She is at peace waiting to enter the perfect peace at the feet of Jesus. She has no pain. Our families have either gathered around her or called over the last few weeks to assure her of our love and our expectation of spending eternity with her.

I remember when Cheryl and I and our two preschool sons left the USA to go serve as missionaries in West Africa. My parents could not pronounce the place where we were going to live, much less how to spell it. As we were gathered at the airport in Jackson, Mississippi, to say our goodbyes, my mother and dad started crying as they clutched the two boys. I tried to comfort them by saying: “We don’t have to say ‘goodbye’ because y’all are coming to see us, right?” My mom said, “No, I am not going to get on an airplane.” Then I tried to console them by telling them that we will be coming back. We were not going to stay forever. We would be back on a stateside assignment in a few years. That made things worse because telling their only grandchildren goodbye for 3-4 years was like an eternity to them. Then finally, I convinced them to say “See you later” and we responded with the same words. But the crying continued as we boarded our plane.

Any goodbyes can be difficult, but saying goodbye to a loved one who is about to pass away is extremely difficult as most people either don’t make good choices with their words, they don’t have a personal relationship with Jesus, or they just clam up and say whatever is on their mind to get finished with an uncomfortable task.

The internet is full of suggestions for saying goodbye to a friend or a loved one who is dying. Perhaps I am enamored with my own cogitating on this, but I don’t think we should say goodbye to a fellow believer. What we need to be saying are these simple words:  “See you later.” And that is just what I have been saying to my mother as her breathing has become more difficult: “Mimi, you are going to meet Jesus face-to-face soon, and I will be following you to heaven, so see you later.”

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die…

Mimi

As I sit by my mother’s bedside in the nursing home, my mind is filled with so many good memories. I admit that all my memories of my mother are not good memories, but I am not concerned about those. This is the woman that God chose to bring me into this world. She comforted me and cared for me until I left my home to go to college. I never lived at my parents’ home after leaving for college at 17 years of age, but all my life I have made some great memories of my mother.

Yesterday, her three sons were gathered around her bed, and Bubba, Danny, and I had fun recalling stories about our mother. We laughed and we had some pensive moments as we glanced over at Mama sleeping in the last bed that she would ever sleep in.

My mother is known as Mimi to her eight grandchildren and twenty-four great grandchildren. Even many of her care givers are calling her Mimi as they have grown to love her like our family does.

Mimi was 94 three weeks ago. Her life on earth will be over any day now. I am no prophet in predicting her passing, but she has been in hospice care for the past 10 days. Her health has rapidly deteriorated over the past two weeks. She is not eating or drinking, so her body cannot continue to function long now. The wonderful hospice and nursing home staff are caring for her, and she is peacefully sleeping without pain.

This woman was nicknamed “Doc” as a preschooler by her ten brothers and sisters because she was so bossy and always enjoyed taking control of things. “Doc” turned into “Dot” when my dad, Pete, met her, and he thought the person who introduced them said “Dot.” From that point on, Wilma Frances Downs Cox was known as Dot Cox.

Dot was a lifelong servant, not a servant leader. As she grew older, she did not boss other people around—just Pete and us three boys. One morning a few days ago she was very agitated, and Bubba, my brother, and I were trying to settle her. She barked in a weak but gruff voice to leave her alone and get out of her bed. She talked to us like we were still little boys. I can’t imagine the things that must be going through her mind as her time on the earth comes to a close.

When Beth, the hospice nurse, came in a few minutes later, she was arranging her gown and her covers just as we had been attempting to do. Mimi used a gentle quiet voice to thank Beth. I tried to get the oxygen indicator on her finger, but she pulled her hand away. An aide came in and said some sweet soothing words to her and in a few seconds the instrument registered Mimi’s oxygen level. My brothers and I just do not have the right touch or soothing voice like her caregivers.

One aide who was not even taking care of Mimi today came by this morning just to whisper some sweet words to Mimi. Her door has been a revolving door all day as hospice and nursing home staff have constantly been checking on her, giving her comfort meds, taking her oxygen levels, helping her calm down, arranging her bedding and changing the dressings on her bed sores.  Every one of them has spoken soothing words into my mother’s ears, and their words comforted Mimi.

For all those times that Mimi helped others—cooking a meal for a sick family, baking a caramel cake for neighbors, making jelly or pickles and sharing  with many others, cleaning the house of a shut-in living alone, calling lonely people and giving encouragement, cooking for church dinners, picking up people to carry them to church, giving rides to those who did not have transportation,  and on and on—now Mimi is being cared for by other servants.

I am grateful for unsung heroes who work with the aging and dying. They are true servants just like our Mimi. Take time to thank those who serve this sometimes-neglected generation.

If you want to count your blessings during this past week, count how many times you have been a blessing to others through serving them.

We are blessed to be a blessing.

Coach

Coaches can have an extremely positive impact on us. Personal and executive coaching has become a massive industry in many countries around the world. I could name a dozen friends who support their families by coaching leaders.

During my youth, athletic coaches have had a huge influence on my life. I played a lot of baseball growing up, and I also ran track and played some tennis. I have fond memories of most of my coaches.

I did not play any college sports, but two semesters of physical education were required. One particular PE instructor was a lineman coach for the college football team. He was a gruff son of a gun, and I disliked him because it seemed that he did not like anyone unless they played a college sport, and if you played a college sport, physical education courses were not mandatory. Therefore, this coach seemed to not like any of us!

Later in life when I returned to my alma mater, Mississippi College, to work as an administrator and teacher, our family were members of the same church as this gruffy coach. This coach was a greeter at church, and he covered the door where our family entered each week. As I watched the way he greeted our daughters, I was amazed at this tenderhearted man and how he could make Amanda and Allison feel like princesses arriving at their castle. The girls always wanted to go in the coach’s door so they could see him. It was amazing to me how sweet and gentle this gruffy old coach could be. During that time, he became my favorite coach.

But I now have a new favorite coach named Bill Thornton. For months Coach Bill talked to me about playing pickleball. I had never heard of it at that time, so I politely listened because this man is a legend in our community. Everyone in our church calls him “Coach” as he coached many of our members at our local high school. The recreational center in our area is named after him. Before he helped introduce pickleball in our area, he was already a legendary tennis player and promoter. Largely due to a small group of people including Bill Thornton, today Rome, Georgia has the largest hard-court facility in the nation with 57 courts including 3 stadium-style courts and 6 indoor courts.

Coach Bill is a persistent man, but I did not accept his invitation to play pickleball until April 2023. The first day I showed up I was a bit nervous, but Coach Bill came alongside me and gave me valuable tips and encouragement. Over the past 10 months he has become my all-time favorite coach. In a gentle, yet direct and assuring way, he has made me a passionate pickleball player. Our group plays at our church gym every Tuesday and Thursday morning on a schedule that is conducive to the Coach taking care of his ailing wife.

Coach Bill has recently been diagnosed with a serious life-threatening health challenge. Instead of sitting in his recliner and bemoaning the end of his earthly life, he continues to play pickleball every week, and he has been talking to our pickleball group about giving pickleball lessons to some church members.

In a phone call this week, he said to me:

“Churches do a good job of teaching spiritual and mental aspects to its members, but they do a poor job of teaching the importance of developing physically and taking care of our bodies. Each life is a miracle of God. We need to help with this situation, and teaching pickleball is how we can do that. If children learn to play pickleball, they can play it for the rest of their lives.”

To the best of my ability, I am going to work with my pickleball colleagues to help Coach make this dream come true.

We will celebrate Coach Bill’s 90th birthday tomorrow! When I grow up, I want to be like Coach Bill Thornton.