Archive for the ‘love’ category
May 29, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. May 29, 2017
I get asked the question numerous times each day.
“How are you?”
I’ve come to the point that I usually give a one word reply.
“Great!”
When I’m at school it is the response I ALWAYS give! Not hokey, or inauthentic, but truthful…I’ve come to the point that I realize that I’m doing great! Not “am great”, like a star strutting down the sidewalk like a peacock, but rather living life one day at a time and doing great! In a middle school environment giving that one word response takes the conversation in a positive direction. At the end of the school year when I was encountering tired teachers, unmotivated students, and overloaded administrators one unexpected word perhaps planted a seed of pondering about attitude and the possibilities of a new day.
I use that one word response because I seem to encounter a lot of people who are “Woe be me’s!”, or seem to be apathetic about this life we are blessed to live. That’s not intended to be a knock against them. Many people are in the midst of life situations that are difficult and heartbreaking. One student I had last week was telling me about a couple of life situations he is in the midst of. Not momentary bumps in the road of life, but rather ongoing circumstances that he has no control over involving family dynamics. I listened to his wearied words, but also conveyed in my teaching and storytelling a delight for being present with him and his classmates.
Even in the down times I know that I’m blessed and, more importantly, loved. And so I give the one word response to a question asked half-heartedly.
“Great!”
A couple of weeks ago I asked one of the 8th grade classes to share one thing about that maybe no one else there knew about. One beautiful young lady responded, “I’m often depressed and feel lonely.” I thanked her for sharing, and in the last two weeks of school I sought to subtly share the joyful side of life. I caused a few smiles and grins to emerge on her face. Nothing earth-shattering, but perhaps she caught a sense that life can be more than dreariness and dreadfulness.
And lastly, why is life great for me? Well…today I’ll have three grandkids jumping on me. Tonight I’ll take a walk with my wife. This afternoon I’ll get to talk to my dad on the phone…just three weeks away from his 89th birthday.
And when my dad, who has a frequent flyer membership to his local hospital asks me how I am I’ll be able to respond from the depths of my soul…
“Great!”
Categories: children, Freedom, Grandchildren, love, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: 8th graders, attitude, delight, depression, doing great, How are you?, joy, joyfulness, living life, loneliness, middle school, middle school students, middle schoolers, positive attitude
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May 28, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. May 28, 2017
Yesterday the ashes of a dear friend of mine were scattered from the top of a hill and wind-blown down into the valley of his grandfather’s land…a place that he loved to be in his growing up years and even when he decided he was finally an adult. His wife posted pictures from the family gathering on Facebook and my eyes watered from their effect.
It was appropriate that the family has chosen Memorial Day weekend, a time of remembering and cherishing, mourning and blessing. I’m sure that as they stood on the top of the ridge they shared stories and Greg’s brothers recalled brother exploits of the past that have taken their places as family legends.
My soul rumbled with quivering peace to know that they had paused to remember their son, husband, dad, and brother. Remembering is underrated these days! Speeding into the unconquered future and new experiences is the lane of life most traveled.
Where we’re going, however, can not clearly be understood without a grip on the past. One school day this past year when I was teaching seventh grade social studies at the same school that Greg taught for fifteen years, I wore a pink shirt that our area basketball officials were wearing before basketball games to emphasize, and remember, that the fight against cancer is ongoing. Greg had dealt with a cancerous brain tumor for six years before his death last October. On that school day I retold his story to each class. I brought them with me on his journey that was punctuated by devastating medical reports and MRI’s of good news. We remembered together even though most of them had never known him.
Remembering is a gift. It has meaning and substance. Greg’s nine year old daughter will remember yesterday’s gathering on a ridge for the rest of her life…the scene, the smells, the words of her grandparents, uncles, and mom…and there will be a sweet humming in her soul. Losing your dad at such a young age is something that many kids never recover from. The road of healing is always shaded by the stories of remembrance.
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, love, Nation, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: family stories, grief, grieving, losing a parent, losing someone close, Memorial day, mourning, recalling the past, remembering, remembrance, reminiscing, sharing memories, spreading ashes
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May 21, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. May 21, 2017
My dad turns 89 on June 18! Unfortunately, on May 18 he was a patient at St. Mary’s Hospital in Huntington, West Virginia! He will continue to be there for two or three more days as he deals with a heart situation and limited strength.
And I am five states and two time zones away…in Colorado! My sister, nominated by me for sainthood, lives close by and keeps watch over Pops. I am so thankful for her tireless efforts to make sure he is okay. She has her own younger family generations to keep watch over, including seven grandkids, but she always finds the time to check in on Dad.
The assuredness of her on-site supervision gives me some degree of peace, but not totally. I’m experiencing what so many adult children are going through…living a long distance from their elderly parents. Some families move mom or dad, or both, close to where they live. Sometimes that works, but often it’s the worst solution. To move Mom or Dad away from where their peers live is usually emotionally and socially damaging.
Having my sister two miles away from Dad, and my brother about a three hour drive away, means I don’t have to worry about moving Dad to high-elevation Colorado. That thankful solution, however, does not eliminate the sense of helplessness. Carol and I will be flying back to Ohio in just about three weeks- being there for his 89th!- but each day of separation from my father includes an ongoing element of emotional anxiety. A question wraps itself around my mind: Is he okay today?
There was a time when we wanted distance from our parents. They were impeding our independence. They would ask us embarrassing questions in front of our friends, like “When are you going to be home?” We didn’t want to hear any more of their questions. In our opinion, they didn’t know anything! They were old-fashioned and not understanding of the times. Many of us went through that phase. We wanted to go away to college…so they wouldn’t see some of the things we wanted to do!
But then we hit the mid-twenties and had kids! And suddenly we had the questions and we needed them for answers as we entered the new territory of parenthood. The public library had books on parenting, but nothing came even close to the wisdom of our parents. They counseled us through those “life lab” situations.
Like a light switch we’ve flipped back and forth with our parents as life circumstances have changed, from dependent to independent to dependent to independent…
Perhaps at this time in my dad’s life, in a strange way, I’m even more dependent on him. He is the solution to my helplessness. My emotional wellness is dependent on knowing he is okay and cared for. That comes from the memories of experiences. Dad taught me how to ride a bicycle and a few years later how to drive. He taught me how to mow the lawn and how to tie a neck tie. He became my mom’s caregiver as she struggled with health problems. He modeled a walk with Christ, taught Sunday School for years and was, and is, a deacon.
It does something to you when you go to the cemetery with one of your parents, see where the other parent has already been laid to rest, and see the name of the one still standing beside you already on the grave marker. It hits you deep in your soul that these days with him are precious and few in number.
In reflection, I am thankful for these feelings I have of helplessness. They are the dividends of relational investment.
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Grandchildren, love, marriage, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: Aging, aging parents, caring for our parents, cemetery, dying, elderly, elderly parents, grave markers, Growing old, hospitals, Huntington, Old age, senior adults, St. Mary's Hospital
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May 14, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W May 14, 2017
My wife Carol gets described in an assortment of ways. I was talking to a middle school teacher on Friday and I mentioned that I was married to Carol who works with the special needs students. The teacher’s first question was, “Is she kind of short?” When I said yes, she replied, “Ohhh…she is so nice!”
Our youngest daughter would come to me a few times over the years when Carol was in the midst of a situation that was raising her blood pressure and she would warn me, “Mom is about to go Italian!” Her maiden name was Faletti, and sometimes the “excited exuberance” of her father’s ethnic roots would rise to the surface. (Did you notice how I said that in a complimentary kind of way?)
But Carol has been a mom to a number of kids that aren’t related to us. Last year our grandson’s soccer coach presented her with a tee shirt at the end of their season with the team logo on the front…and “Number One Fan” emblazoned on the back.
Even though our kids have long since graduated, she attends Liberty High School athletic contests on a regular basis…basketball, soccer, volleyball, baseball, swimming, football, JV contests, lacrosse…it matters not! From time to time she will even put her “Lancer Lunatic” shirt on that the students also wear.
When I went to coach at a different high school she adopted those players as some of her own. She prepared the fixings for the team dinner at our house, and chuckled from outside the circle as the players played “Mr. Boodle.”
Carol’s motherly nature, however, comes out as she helps students with special needs. A graduate from Texas Christian University, this Horned Frog got her degree in deaf education and taught preschool deaf kids for a few years before we got married. In recent years she has worked as a para-professional with the students at Timberview Middle School. If you are not familiar with the position, it takes a great amount of patience and energy. It also takes love and compassion. It takes putting the needs of the autistic student above your own. It takes the willingness to be sneezed on, change the diapers of twelve year olds, deal with parents who are rightfully very sensitive about their special children, having your hair pulled, being punched or pinched, and often not being considered part of the educational process by the administrators and teachers they rub elbows with.
But Carol’s motherly nature comes out as she walks down the hallway with the child who just needs someone to come alongside her. She is her advocate and protector as self-absorbed 8th Graders threaten to topple her over. When Carol comes home at the end of a school day she’s spent!
For years she was the Children’s Church leader at my last church pastorate. Kids would share their heart-felt burdens with her, as well as other problems. A typical Sunday might include everything from “My Granddad is really really sick and in the hospital” to “Pray for my dress, because I got peanut butter on it and my mom is going to be really really mad!” Carol listened with empathy and understanding. Many in the church never knew what a gift she was. They were just glad they weren’t being asked to do kid’s church! Since I retired almost a year and a half ago, I’m pretty sure…she misses those times of children gathering together in worship.
She is a mom to three grown children and “Grammy” to three grandchildren, and she is “Mom” to countless others who have passed through our home, her classroom, or even walked down our street.
She is a mom. It is what she is comfortable with. It is who she is!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Freedom, Grace, Grandchildren, Humor, Jesus, love, marriage, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: autism, autistic, children's church, going Italian, helping kids, Horned Frogs, Italian, Liberty High School, middle school, Mom, motherly, Mothers, Mr. Boodle, para-professionals, special education, special needs students, Texas Christian University, Timberview Middle School
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May 9, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. May 8, 2017
I arrived with my friends Ed and Diana at First Baptist Church in Simla, Colorado this past Sunday for morning worship. We parked in one of the “parking suggestions”…that means there are no lined spots to steer the vehicle into. You just park it in the general vicinity!
Thelma, one of the church saints, was standing on the front steps. And then it hit me! I didn’t have a key, and Thelma, who had arrived early to prepare communion, didn’t have a key.
“Do you have a key, Pastor Bill?”
“No, Thelma, I don’t! And I’m assuming that since you’re standing here on the steps that you don’t either.”
“No, I came early to get communion ready.”
“Oops!” I walked around to the area on the other side of the steps that disguises itself as a landscaped garden of shrubs and plastic flowers. In the past it also had served another purpose. A key to the church was hidden underneath one of the rocks that decorated the area. I commenced to turning each rock over and seeing if a treasured key was to be discovered.
Polly came walking around the corner with a cane, but no key.
“Good morning, Polly!”
“No key!”
“Not yet! We may have to worship on the front steps this morning.”
“That would be okay!” she replied. One of the wonderful things about this small congregation is that no one gets bent out of shape when a crisis…like no key…happens. In a town of diminishing population and limited opportunities…life happens! Polly had been gone from the church for years and has recently returned. When she attended years ago she didn’t have to have a came along wth her, but now mobility issues abound. Her church family offers her encouragement for the slowed-down journey.
I came up empty on my hidden key search amongst the rocks. John and Sherry pulled up and we all looked towards them with limited hope.
“Good morning, John! Good morning, Sherry!”
“No key?” they question.
“Not yet!” The probability of worship on the steps was increasing! John and Sherry were okay with that. They’ve headed up a summer experience called “Cowboy Camp” for years. It meets in the midst of someone’s pasture for five days in late June. People from miles away bring their campers and lawn chairs for the preaching, teaching, and music. It’s all outside, so John and Sherry might feel more at home on the steps than in the pews. John’s cowboy hat is an indication of this.
“I wonder if Henry and Mildred have a key?” Thelma asks. “I know they did years ago.” Henry and Mildred are the ninety-somethings of the fellowship. They are about the dearest people you could ever meet, now in the last years of their journeys. Henry has limited vision and Mildred has limited hearing. Mildred went through a tough time recently when their family dictated that she could no longer drive. It was a hit to Mildred’s independence and purpose. Struggling through each day with limited energy, driving the Town Car around town whispered to her that she could still do things. Taking the car keys away, even though it was a decision made in love and a needed development, edged Mildred towards the pit of depression.
“I think Angie is picking them up today, so we’ll see soon,” Sherry said.
Our growing cluster stood around the steps and chatted about communion grape juice, rain showers, and the Methodists. I was formulating a revised worship order in my mind that could be accomplished on the steps. We could pick out a couple of songs that we all were familiar with and go to town A cappella with them. John’s cowboy hat could be the makeshift offering plate. It was doable!
But about that time Angie arrived with her two kids…and Henry and Mildred.
“Good morning!” everyone greeted one another.
“Any of you have a key?” Thelma asked.
“I do!” replied Angie.
“Praise the Lord!” echoed a couple.
“I’m not sure if it fits the front door or the back door.”
“As long as it fits a door that’s all right,” I chirped.
It fit the back door! Angie’s daughter, Lena, made her way from the back of the church to the front and we all laughed and gleefully chit-chatted our way into the sanctuary.
I thought to myself that whether a key was found that day or not, we still were going to have church…and we were the church!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Freedom, Grace, Humor, Jesus, love, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: church life, congregational functioning, congregational life, doing church, fellowship, fellowship of believers, followers, Saints, Simla, small church, small churches, small town church, Sunday worship, the benefits of small churches
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April 16, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. April 16, 2017
It’s Easter Sunday! As followers of Jesus we point to this day as the changing agent in our faith journeys. It gets referred to as Resurrection Sunday, sometimes with conviction and commitment…and sometimes because we’re paranoid people about the Easter Bunny! In about two hours I will be standing in front of a small town congregation of about 25 people proclaiming the hope of life after death, and life out of death. It has caused me to reconsider what resurrection means for this group of faith journeyers, and for myself.
When my friend Steve Wamberg and I started traveling out to Simla, forty-five minutes east of Colorado Springs, a little over a year ago, we encountered a church that had experienced its heyday two or three…or four decades ago. Some of the people still recall the Sundays when the sanctuary pews were filled in a place that seats about one hundred and twenty-five.
But things changed! The main industry in town shut down. Kids grew up, went off to college, and didn’t come back. Other people grew old and passed away and there were no others to take their places. Baptists did battle with Baptists and left for the Southern Baptist church on the edge of town. Other Baptists just turned on the TV and watched Charles Stanley.
When Steve and I started driving out and speaking on Sunday mornings we encountered a church that had a fear of closing. They can’t afford a pastor, even though there is a parsonage right next door to the church. I’m not sure if and when they will be able to afford a pastor.
As the weeks and months passed, however, there was a growing sense of hope in the midst of that small group. We’ve found what I like to call “the rhythm of community.” There’s been a couple of conflicts along the way, but you know what they say about Baptists…where there’s two Baptists there’s at least three opinions!
It has caused me to redefine resurrection. Whereas in many churches the success of Resurrection Sunday is tied into how many showed up, in Simla resurrection is tied to the growing hope of new life in the midst of an aging building. It is intimately tied to the hope of new life in the midst of impending congregational death hanging over the people.
Personally, it has brought new life into the spirit of a tired and fried pastor. You see, resurrection isn’t just about the people in the pews. It’s also about the people who lead the people in the pews.
Last summer we were able to get a few kids to go to church camp, the first time that has happened in recent memory. This year there is a congregational effort to get each of the children who are age-eligible to camp. Resurrection can sometimes grow from a seed of hope into a tree of determination.
This morning I look forward to hearing a ninety year old man named Henry lead one of the prayers. In his speaking to the Lord he anoints my soul. I look forward to seeing the five or six kids we have enjoy an Easter egg hunt after church. I look forward to hearing of this week’s farm stories from two sisters who run the family farm. I’ll chat with a former county commissioner named John about how blessed he and his wife are and how thankful he is for the grace of God. Victor, a fifth grader who comes by himself, will show up in his Sunday suit. Three year old Eric will arrive with his Minion hat on and be cared for during the children’s story by the older kids as we sit together at the front of the sanctuary. We’ll endure the music from a music machine that is about as Mayberry as you can get! The church moderator- a man named Ray who talks kind of like Andy Griffith- will lead the worship.Two of the kids will take the offering up.
Resurrection gets experienced in the shared life of the saints, and this group of saints has come to understand the hope of an empty tomb in an entirely new way.
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Freedom, Grace, Humor, Jesus, love, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: congregational life, dying, dying churches, Easter, Easter Sunday, empty tomb, hope, new hope, new life, Resurrection, Resurrection Sunday, small church, small churches, small town church, the empty tomb
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April 9, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. April 9, 2017
On Friday I had the opportunity to spend the day with my just-turned two year old granddaughter, Corin (Rennie). Her regular child care provider was battling a sickness so “Granddad” got called up from the Reserves to Active Duty.
About an hour into our time together I thought that I caught a whiff of something…potent! Time to change the diaper, so I said, “Rennie, let’s go change your diaper, okay?”
“Okay!” she replied, a sure sign of the fact that she had made a direct diaper deposit. She headed for the stairway leading to the upstairs, and proceeded up the steps…one step at a time like her brother on the playground monkey bars. I followed along behind ready to stop a tumble. My focus, although she didn’t know it, was on her.
A few minutes later, now wearing a dry diaper and the clothes for the day, she began going back down the steps…one step at a time. She would sit on a step and slowly slide her feet off of the step below it while also sliding her butt off the step she was sitting on.
I went before her! I positioned myself below her, but facing her, and made sure she safely came down the stairs one step at a time.
I’m speaking at church this morning about Psalm 23, the Lord is my shepherd! It tells us about the protection of God and the care of God. He is a Shepherd that goes before us, but also follows along behind us. In essence, he is always there for us.
Rennie is only slightly aware that her granddad is looking out for her, being in the place and position I need to be in order to make sure she is okay. I’m like the shepherd of the stairs for her!
My guess, however, is that she is more aware of my protection on the steps than I am of my Shepherd’s presence of protection! Today, at least, I’m going to seek to have a heightened awareness of what my Lord is doing, where my Shepherd is leading, and how my God is following!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Death, Faith, Freedom, Grandchildren, Humor, love, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: caring for one another, coming down steps, God's protection, going up steps, grandkids, grandparenting, Phillip Keller, Psalm 23, safety, sheep, shepherd, shepherd of my soul, stairs, stairway, the Lord is my shepherd, the Lord's protection, two year olds, watching out for each other, watching over
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April 3, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. April 3, 2017
Our family of ten (Mom, Dad, 3 kids, two son-in-laws, and 3 grandkids!) just returned from Carlsbad, California yesterday after five days of vacationing. The resort we stayed at is directly across the street from Legoland, an unbelievable place of creativity and imagination.
I grew up with Lincoln Logs, wooden planks that could be put together to build…a log cabin! Yes, that was pretty much it! Now there is a plethora of different Lego “pieces!” When our kids were growing up, and were playing with their first Legos, they were able to choose between a block that was rectangular or another one half the size that was square. That was pretty much it! A little more flexible than my 1950’s Lincoln Logs…but not much!
At Legoland I discovered a whole new Lego language has been invented. I felt like an alien trying to order from a dinner menu without pictures!
I trailed the two older grandkids (6 and almost 9) into a “creating room”, filled with tables that contained various pockets of Lego pieces. Jesse and Reagan comfortably plopped onto two seats at one of the tables and started jabbering. I sat between them and looked confused. “I need a body,” Jesse exclaimed like a surgeon hovered over his latest transplant patient. “Here’s one, Jesse!” Reagan passed a Lego piece that was no more than two inches long to him. I sat there like a Basic Math student who had been mistakenly placed in a Calculus class.
“What’s this?” I asked, holding something that looked kind of like an ‘L’, “a leg maybe?”
“No!” Reagan snickered like I’d just told the world’s funniest joke. She didn’t go further, however, and tell me what it WAS, just what it wasn’t!
The two of them were creating Lego hero figures. After a few minutes I figured out what a body was and actually attached another piece to it. Understand that I did not know what the other piece was that I attached to it, but I did make it click into place. For all I knew I just attached a Lego throw rug to my body’s back!
The two builders were enthralled by the whole experience. I was enthralled by their understanding of this new language. I was not a good foreign language student in high school, college, or seminary. Spanish, Latin, and Hebrew were three attempts at being bi-lingual. Each one of them affected my GPA…in negative ways.
And now here was a new, innovative modern language that had no verbs. A generational gap language that required more than a Lego bridge to cross! And it is amazing! Sometimes when a person is confused the coolest thing is to just step back and watch. In the distant hazy memory behind the two builders I could still see my Lincoln Logs, remembered the hours of happy play I had with them. That was now my connecting point with the “grand creators”, happiness! Happiness is a common language that crosses generations and circumstances.
Outside our creating room I could see a life size Lego person smiling at me! He understood!
Categories: children, Freedom, Grandchildren, Humor, love, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: building blocks, creating, generation gap, generations, happiness, innovation, Lego blocks, Lego building, Lego innovation, Lego pieces, Legoland, Legos, Lincoln Logs, play, toys
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March 8, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. March 8, 2017
In sports there is a saying that rings true. If a team needs a basket, a first down, or a final out they have a “go to” player or play that they are confident will give them the needed result. It is not a coincidence that the Cavaliers get the ball to LeBron James in crunch time, and that the Golden State Warriors get the ball to Kevin Durant…er, Steph Curry…er, Klay Thompson. Okay, okay! The Warriors are not a good example for me to use!
Back to the point I was trying to make!
Churches have a “go to” also. Once in a while it’s a person, but usually it’s the bottom line of their congregational culture. Whereas with professional sports teams the “go to player” is a positive most of the time, in churches the “go to” is more often than not a negative.
Churches, in general, resist change. At best change is tolerated as long as it doesn’t threaten what people are comfortable with. When changes threaten the congregational culture there is almost certainly going to be a shaking that happens. Picture a tree in autumn. If a strong wind happens most of the leaves on the tree get blown or shaken off. What remains, however, is the tree trunk and branches. A church’s “go to” is the tree trunk. New ideas and thoughts might be present, but a wind of unrest will scatter them, leaving the church’s trunk in place.
Spiritually sounding churches will say that their “trunk” is Jesus, but reality says something else. Sometimes the “go to” is whatever the power family in the church says is going to happen. Pastors may come and go, but the power family dictates what will be and what will not be.
Sometimes the “go to” is more aligned with Old Testament judgment rather than New Testament grace. Church discipline becomes punitive and harsh rather than restorative and healing.
Church budgets are often indicators of what a congregation’s “go to” is. For instance, how much of the budget is focused on building maintenance and property compared to missions and community outreach? Going back to the power family, what do they support? Is their influence apparent in the breakdown of the budget?
The Cavaliers go to LeBron because they want to win. Churches yield to their “to go” because they fear losing. Losing, however, is defined as a family getting upset and leaving over a change they don’t care for; or it is defined as the loss of the church’s comfort zone; or “too many new leaves on an old tree!”
What is your church’s “go to?” How does it tend to react to problems and/or changes? More often than not, going to LeBron produces a victory. For churches, the tendency is to yield to the “go to” because they can’t afford to lose!
Categories: Bible, Christianity, Community, Faith, Freedom, Grace, love, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: church budgets, church culture, church decisions, church life, church priorities, comfortable, decision-making, go to, go to player, Kevin Durant, Lebron James, power people in the church, Steph Curry, the fear of losing, the threat of change, Threats
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March 7, 2017
WORDS FROM W.W. March 6, 2017
I got my hair cut on Saturday. Not an earth shattering event, I know, but one that I enjoy because of the person who cuts it for me.
Her name is Darla. I’ve known her for eighteen years and she always makes me laugh. I was her pastor for years and years, and there are just some people who you will always be close to even when your positional relationship with them changes.
Darla has a heart of gold. A couple of weeks ago a man that we both knew passed away. His daughter called Darla and asked if she could fix her mom’s hair. Darla, who works a ton of hours, made time to take that “worry” off of the grieving widow…hair that was showing the effects of sudden loss!
When I enter her shop, Locals Barbers, she greets me with a hug and asks me how I’m doing? Sometime in the first thirty seconds laughter erupts from each one of us! She plops me down in her chair and makes some comment about my hair or eye glasses, or the level of my tiredness. Her shop serves a free beer to its customers, but Darla knows that I hate beer so she offers to have one of her assistants go next door to Smashburger and get me a Coke.
Commence the chatter and conversation. With Darla there is no shortage of conversation. She flows one story into the next, always with a background of scissor snipping. She is my “Floyd!”, accomplishing her task while telling current day Mayberry stories.
I marvel at the importance that Darla places on fairness. She is the advocate for the mistreated, the balancer of the uneven. Her sense of fairness has cost her over the years. People who have looked to win or be right regardless of who gets hurt have turned their backs on her. They despise her emphasis on fairness. A previous employer was taking advantage of his employees so she stood in the gap for them. It cost her, but she can now look back at that situation knowing that she did the right thing.
So now I sit in her chair, laugh, listen, and talk as she sculptures my hair look. It is a time of pampering and levity that I am blessed to be the focus for.
We meet Jesus in different people. Darla has her limitations and challenges, but I see the reflection of Jesus coming through her. “Darla time” is always a time for being blessed.
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: a heart of gold, barber, being fair, conversation, cutting hair, fairness, Floyd the barber, hair stylist, hairdresser, Locals Barbers, playing fair
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Words from WW Blog 