Old Coots

November 30, 2018

Once in awhile the things for which I am thankful are pretty significant, but mostly they are small blessings and experiences of life that are in themselves so inconsequential that it feels odd writing about them. Like today after our Sinclairville writer’s group, four of us old codgers stood around talking and laughing for another half hour. Rell, retired owner of a HVAC company, told about some of the hair-raising experiences he has had in the business. Clark, retired college Spanish professor, and George, retired university mathematics professor, talked about old DeSotos and other jalopies they once drove. I listened mostly, except for contributing a couple clunker tales of my own. 

Interesting how we so often categorize men by what they do, or did, for a living. Maybe that’s why so many of us cash it in so soon after retirement. If our identity is in our job or career, who are we once all that is over? I could have as easily described these men by their religion or ethnicity. Clark is Jewish, George is Lenape Native American, Rell has Scandinavian heritage, and I am Heinz 57, mostly German and English. We are Christian and Jew, with a bit of Native American spirituality thrown in for good measure. I might have said that George and Clark are published authors, while Rell and I write primarily for our own amusement. Politically, we are pretty much in agreement, but even if we weren’t, we’d still be friends because we respect each other.

What is most important is not all the categories our increasingly crazy culture uses to divide people into its version of privileged and oppressed, but (dare I say it?) our maturity, both in years and in emotional groundedness. We’re four old coots who enjoy life and each other. Our differences are part of the glue that holds us together as we share our collective wit and wisdom (probably more of the former than the latter). We are not famous, powerful, rich, or particularly handsome. We’re not particularly ugly, either, but one could say the jury is still out on that.

So tonight I am thankful for these three friends. I have many others, but seeing these guys on Friday mornings fills an empty spot in my soul. Like that Facebook post that’s making the rounds, we’re “old codgers giving advice. It may not be right, but it’s free.” If you happen to be an old codger or curmudgeon yourself, and are looking for some fellow travelers, you might want to check us out. Before we do. Check out, that is.

4:30 am

November 29, 2018

Crawling out of bed at 4:30 am is not exactly on my bucket list, but that’s what I did this morning. My son needed my tractor and bucket to spread gravel in the muddy driveway of one of his rental properties. His schedule for the day required him to be in town by 8:00 am, so he needed to be able to load it on his trailer by 7:30. Had it not been snowing non-stop for two days, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but snow it did. Another six inches overnight meant another couple hours of plowing before I was willing to part with my equipment. 

Lest this sound like a complaint, rising at 4:30 has its charms. The snow was silently drifting earthward, sparkling and dancing like summer dust motes in the headlights of the tractor. The throaty growl of the motor was the only sound piercing the silence, and the smell of the diesel as I filled the tank had an earthy fragrance all its own. It wasn’t one of those bitterly cold mornings that sting the lungs when you inhale. Carhartts, insulated leather mittens and Muck boots kept me quite toasty.

I am grateful for a warm bed at night, the love of my life breathing softly beside me, ears that though far from perfect, could hear the alarm, for strength and health enough to do the job, for equipment that makes it possible for this old body to clean out the driveway, for a clean bill of health from today’s checkup, and for my faith in Christ that gives meaning to it all. The life I’ve been privileged to live is more than I could have ever imagined, and far more than I deserve. “To whom much is given, much shall be required,” says the Scriptures, and is one reason my retirement was so short-lived. Like St. Paul, I am indebted not only to God, but to those who gave me life and education, and opportunity, but unlike most debts, it is not a burden from which some day I hope to be free, but a responsibility I hope to fulfill faithfully until God in his mercy calls me home.

Resurrection

November 28, 2018

“If all we get out of Christ is a little inspiration for a few short years, we’re a pretty sorry lot. But the truth is that Christ has been raised up, the first in a long legacy of those who are going to leave the cemeteries.” —1 Corinthians 15:16-20 MSG

“It’s resurrection, resurrection, always resurrection, that undergirds what I do and say, the way I live.” —1 Corinthians 15:30-33 MSG

 The other day I was talking with a young man about turning his life over to Christ. When he’s not in jail, he lives on the streets, popping in to our Willow Mission every couple weeks for food and clothing. I found myself telling him how much better his life would be with Christ. That much is true, but I also told him that in some ways it will be much harder with Christ. Jesus never promised an easy road; instead he spoke much about persecution and trials that would mark our pathway. One thing I neglected to mention happens to be the focus of the Gospel, which is the resurrection. It’s interesting how we’ve twisted the Message into a religious version of the American Dream of the better life. St. Paul put little stock in such thinking. Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of 1 Corinthians 15 pretty well sums up Paul’s thinking and theology: “If all we get out of Christ is a little inspiration for a few short years, we’re a pretty sorry lot.” 

Paul was speaking reality to these early Christians who by and large were composed of the poorer segments of society. He was under no illusion that the Gospel was a ticket to an easier or better life. His own calling and experience said otherwise. To become a Christian, to be baptized, was often a self-imposed death penalty. The only better life Paul had to offer was the resurrection life that only really kicked in upon death. The Life Christ gives does impact this earthly existence, but mainly by giving us strength and hope to hold the course, trusting that God would keep his promise of eternal reward for faithfulness. By contrast, much of our modern thinking and vision has become constrained till it reaches no further than the grave. 

Resurrection is not a postscript to the Gospel. It is the central promise of our faith. It is not escapism to hold forth the doctrine of resurrection; it is being faithful to the original message and unleashes the same power today that transformed the first century world. I am thankful tonight for Paul’s message in 1 Corinthians 15 that like a divine GPS recalibrated my thinking and preaching till they align with the eternal Message that has been entrusted to me.

Living Faith

November 27, 2018

Unfortunately, we were too busy to take photos, but if anyone wants to know what Christian love and fellowship looks like, we were surrounded by it this evening. Last weekend, our son’s friends moved back home to Sinclairville in two 20 foot moving vans, one of which was filled with shop equipment—heavy stuff like an 800 lb milling machine, a metal lathe, industrial table saw, compressor, drill press, etc., the other with household items. It was a LOT of stuff!

Yesterday they put out a call to their friends at Park church, and tonight, nearly twenty young men and women showed up to muscle machinery and furniture through the snow and cold into a barn and a storage bin. These young adults don’t just attend church; they cut and split firewood to give to needy people, they come together to help a friend needing moving muscle, they give generously and love extravagantly. I was privileged to be their pastor for a good many years before I retired, and now get to see their faith in action. The Bible says, “faith without works is dead.” Tonight, with a grateful heart, I saw faith very much alive.

Let God Be God

November 26, 2018

“So, my very dear friends, when you see people reducing God to something they can use or control, get out of their company as fast as you can.”

1 Corinthians 10:14 MSG

We don’t reduce Christ to what we are; he raises us to what he is.

1 Corinthians 10:15-18 MSG

I don’t want you to become part of something that reduces you to less than yourself.

1 Corinthians 10:19-22 MSG

Peterson takes some liberty with his paraphrase of Paul’s words, but in doing so reveals the power within it. We are constantly tempted to reduce God to something we can control, expecting him to jump like a servant whenever we give the orders in our prayers, and we become angry when he acts like the God he is instead of as the slave we wish him to be. It’s not easy being a believer when life comes crashing in against us, beating us to our knees. A diagnosis of cancer, being served divorce papers, losing a job, or watching a loved one slip further and further into addiction, we pray fervently with heart and soul, often to seeming no effect. We want—no, we need—God to act, but he remains silent. In times like this, we want to give God orders, command him to do something, not realizing we’ve reversed the roles of Master and Servant. In our humanness, we become discouraged or even angry because God isn’t doing what we want him to do. It is here where many simply give up on God and quit praying. “It doesn’t work,” they explain. Of course, it doesn’t. Prayer isn’t designed to work. Prayer isn’t like putting a coin in the vending machine, choosing our result, and pulling the correct knob.

God desires to fill us with himself, but before he can do that, he must empty us of ourselves. It’s that emptying we don’t like. 

We prefer (as Peterson puts it) to reduce God to our level instead of letting him lift us to his. In doing so, God may become manageable, but he also becomes less than God. And we ourselves are reduced to less than he created us to be. Letting God be God is not easy, but it is necessary. This is why Jesus says we must pick up a cross if we are to follow him. We ourselves are on that cross, dying daily, as Paul puts it, that Christ might live in us. 

Thankfully, I’m still learning what it means to let God be God, to let Christ’s glory shine, revealing who he really is, and to become all he has called me to become. I am grateful for today’s Scripture and it’s challenge to become all he created me to be.

Angels Rejoicing

November 25, 2018

He ambled my way, head down, walking slowly. When I called with the usual “How ya doing?” he answered, “OK.” I looked him up and down and when I said, “You don’t look OK,” it all poured out. We’d had similar conversations before, so I told him, “You’ve been sitting on the fence for quite awhile, one foot in both worlds. You need Jesus, and you gotta make a decision. Are you ready to do that?” 

“Yeah, I am.” 

I said, “I’ll pray for you, but I can’t ask Jesus into your heart for you. You have to do that yourself.” So he prayed; not an ordinary conventional prayer to receive Christ, but genuine and heartfelt. He gave me a big hug; I went on my way to Dunkirk, and he to worship.

Sharing this story with Debbie, a co-worker at Dunkirk, she smiled and said, “Last Monday at Willow (our food pantry), Gabe and two of his friends prayed to receive Christ.” Then this evening, I ran into pastor Joe.

“What great news!” My young friend literally dragged him and Fred (another friend who is passionate about Jesus) to the parking lot, pointed to the ground and excitedly said, “Right here! Right here is where it happened!”

So tonight, the angels are rejoicing over four young people snatched from the grasp of the Enemy and ushered into the glorious Kingdom of God. And with them, I too am giving joyful thanks.

Finished!

November 24, 2018

Tonight’s thankful note is short. I am tired. What I have to say will interest no one but myself, my wife, my son and daughter-in-law: the bathroom project is finished! Two full days of tiling and today for cleaning the grout lines and grouting wraps it up. There is about an hour’s worth of shiplap to install, but it hasn’t been painted yet and I think Matt and friend Bob plan on tackling that. 

It all began in August, installing an upstairs shower so the family wouldn’t have to beg baths from neighbors during the remodel. Complete demolition down to studs and floor joists, followed by relocating the shower head, installing new fixtures, making some aesthetic changes, drywall, new electric and completely replumbing the entire house. A tile floor and shower surround completed the job. 

In case you’re wondering, the answer is No, I’m not available for hire. I have a life to get back to, and am looking forward to it. Thankfully

The Center

November 23, 2018

“the powerful action at the center—Christ on the Cross”

—1 Corinthians 1:17 MSG

This phrase from Eugene Peterson’s New Testament paraphrase came in quite handy today. St. Paul is careful to remind us that Christianity is more than the mere moralizing we often make it to be. I’ve heard (and preached) too many sermons that amount to little more than “principles for the good life.” The Gospel is not a principle, and won’t necessarily give anyone the “good life,” at least how we usually define it. 

Christ crucified is the powerful action at the center. Sometimes it doesn’t seem very powerful. The world doesn’t listen, and we still struggle against sin. But we’re still in the fight, which consists mainly of keeping Christ at the center—that’s where the power is.

As I said, this came in handy today. Linda and I were quite angry with each other earlier, on my part, so much that I knew if I said anything at all, I would later regret it. So while I inwardly fumed, this verse kept coming to mind and I had to ask myself, “Is Christ crucified at the center of my life or not?” I had a choice; let go of my right to be angry or to let the Christ of the Cross powerfully act at the center of my being. When it really matters, it’s rarely an easy choice. Like Jesus praying in Gethsemane, it is a spiritual battle to get to the place where I say, “Not my will, but Thine be done,” because God’s will always leads to a cross. It took some time, but thankfully, I got there, and tonight we lay side by side not only in body, but also in heart, for which I am very thankful.

96 and Counting

November 22, 2018

Three years ago, when my mother was 93, her physician told her she had congestive heart failure and a leaky valve. The former was basically untreatable, but if she would consent to surgery he could replace the valve. “So, what difference would that make?” she asked. 

“Without surgery, you probably have a year to live. With it, I could pretty well guarantee you another five or six years,” he replied. 

“I can’t see to read, I can barely hear, I can’t taste my food, and I can barely get around. Why would I want five or six years of that?” she retorted. 

Three years later, she is still with us. She is failing; she gets around even less and is noticeably more frail, but her mind is good and she still keeps house, cooks for herself and manages quite well. I try to see her every couple weeks, and we’ve spent the last five Thanksgivings with her, thinking every year that this could be her last. Today she was surrounded by all three of her children, all but three of her grandchildren, and I won’t even try to count the great-grandchildren. All told, her home was host to about thirty of us. She sat in her chair surveying the chaos with great pleasure. My brother and sister in law did the bulk of the cooking, while the rest of us contributed various dishes to round out the meal. 

I am thankful tonight for another year and another Thanksgiving with my mother. I don’t take them for granted. This actually could be her last, but if it’s not, we will celebrate once more the marvelous gift God has given us in her. Together with my father, her character, faith, and love have been a solid foundation upon which my brother, sister, and myself have built our lives. The blessing has as the Scripture says, passed to the third and fourth generation. Thanks be to God!

Grace and Goofiness

November 21, 2018

It is good to have a day dedicated especially to the giving of thanks. We tend to think thankfulness is something you have to feel in order to offer it, but this isn’t true. Sometimes we give thanks in order to feel gratitude. Sometimes we give thanks and the feeling still eludes us. But still we give thanks because we need to remind ourselves that much of life is a gift that we neither earn nor deserve. 

Tonight was the Bailey family Thanksgiving, with our three kids, their spouses, and all our grandkids. This year we added two of Alex’s college friends and our friend Bob. The evening consists of three clearly defined parts: Cordon Bleu dinner, the Thankful Tablecloth, and our own recreation of the leg lamp scene from “A Christmas Story.” Words cannot do justice to the fullness of the evening as we laugh, sing, eat, and give thanks for the blessings we have experienced through the year. 

The tablecloth especially is our record of gratitude spanning more than fifteen years. It is crowded with notes, drawings, little kid handprints, a legacy of love in ink and fabric. We trace our lives together on that cloth. Like any family, we have our moments, issues that need working out, bumps in the road we must navigate, but our bond not only in blood, but in the blood of Christ holds us together as we live, forgive, and love one another through circumstances that tear many families apart. That tablecloth is testimony to the grace that has guided us for these many years.

The Leg Lamp ceremony is testimony to the goofiness that has accompanied our journey. Grace and goofiness—that pretty well describes our family. It is that for which I give thanks tonight.

Valerius

November 20, 2018

We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing;

He chastens and hastens His will to make known.

The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing.

Sing praises to His name; He forgets not His own.

Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,

Ordaining, maintaining His kingdom divine;

So from the beginning the fight we were winning;

Thou, Lord, were at our side, all glory be Thine!

We all do extol Thee, Thou leader triumphant,

And pray that Thou still our defender will be.

Let Thy congregation escape tribulation;

Thy name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!

From my youth onward, I had always assumed this old hymn to be a Pilgrim hymn to God for his protection and guidance through the trials of persecution that drove them to the New World in search of religious freedom. Turns out it was indeed a celebration of religious freedom, but was of Dutch rather than English origin.

In 1597 the Dutch were engaged in a war of national liberation against the Catholic King Philip II of Spain. "Wilt heden nu treden," "We Gather Together," written that year by Adrian Valerius, resonated because under the Spanish King, Dutch Protestants were forbidden to gather for worship. It first appeared in print in a 1626 collection of Dutch folk and patriotic songs, and made its first appearance in an American hymnal in 1903. It had retained popularity among the Dutch, and when the Dutch Reformed Church in North America decided in 1937 to abandon the policy that they had brought with them to the New World in the 17th century of singing only psalms and add hymns to the church service, "We Gather Together" was chosen as the first hymn in the first hymnal.

The hymn steadily gained popularity, especially in services of Thanksgiving. According to Carl Daw, executive director of the Hymn Society, the "big break" came in 1935 when it was included in the national hymnal of the Methodist-Episcopal Church.

It has since become a seasonal staple, sung traditionally the Sunday before Thanksgiving. I remember it as such from the time I first started attending the Westside Baptist Church in 1961. We sang it last Sunday, along with “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come,” and “Now Thank We All Our God,” a veritable trinity of Thanksgiving hymns that still feed my soul. I love and appreciate contemporary Christian music, but when it comes to praise, it’s hard to top these words that have stood the test of time. We came from various parts of the city, gathering together to thank our God for his many blessings as we lifted our voices in praise.

Rinkart

November 19, 2018

Martin Rinkart was a Lutheran minister who came to Eilenburg, Saxony at the beginning of the Thirty Years' War. The walled city of Eilenburg became the refuge for political and military fugitives, but the result was overcrowding, and deadly pestilence and famine. Armies overran it three times. The Rinkart home was a refuge for the victims, even though he was often hard-pressed to provide for his own family. During the height of a severe plague in 1637, Rinkart was the only surviving pastor in Eilenburg, conducting as many as 50 funerals in a day. He performed more than 4000 funerals in that year, including that of his wife. Before the epidemic was over, he buried some 8,000 people, often in trenches and without services.

Rinkart was an accomplished musician as well as a pastor, and in 1647 wrote one of the most revered hymns giving praise to God for his blessings. Considering all he had experienced, his hymn is testimony to a faith even deeper than the adversity that had filled so much of his life. In a day and age where so much Christian music consists of little more than love songs to Jesus, Rinkart’s words stand faithfully defiant against all the ills this world can throw at us. I am thankful tonight for this man of God who directs us to the Triune God no matter what comes.

Now thank we all our God, 

with heart and hands and voices,

Who wondrous things has done, 

in Whom this world rejoices;

Who from our mothers’ arms 

has blessed us on our way

With countless gifts of love,

and still is ours today.

O may this bounteous God 

through all our life be near us,

With ever joyful hearts 

and blessed peace to cheer us;

And keep us in His grace,

and guide us when perplexed;

And free us from all ills, 

in this world and the next!

All praise and thanks to God 

the Father now be given;

The Son and Him Who reigns 

with Them in highest Heaven;

The one eternal God, 

whom earth and Heaven adore;

For thus it was, is now, 

and shall be evermore.

Alford

November 18, 2018

Not everyone has received the benefit of growing up in a time of great hymnody and coming of age during the advent of contemporary praise music. My children and theirs are deprived of many of the great hymns of the faith that nourished me from the early years of my faith. They are bereft of the cadence and comfort of good theology put to verse and melody, and of the soulful benefits of having sung them repeatedly. Having been bound into hymnals, they didn’t go out of fashion like so much modern Christian music, following as it does the Christian version of the hit parade.

Thanksgiving was inevitably celebrated with three songs—“Come, Ye Thankful People Come,” “We Gather Together,” and “Now Thank We All Our God”—all hymns deeply theological as they reminded us to give thanks in both bounty and want.

This morning I began worship in a more contemporary setting before driving to Dunkirk where to my great delight we sang all three of these hymns. 

“Come, Ye Thankful People Come” was written by the Englishman Henry Alford in 1844. Alford wrote a number of poems and hymns, but most were unfortunately quite forgettable. He was much better known as a scholar and textual critic of the Greek New Testament version that to this day bears his name and remains a foundational text for students of the Greek New Testament. This hymn reveals a masterful mind that has dwelt thoughtfully on the Scriptures and seen parallels in ordinary life that reflect the work and will of God throughout the ages.

Originally having seven verses, his verse was set to George Elvey’s tune “St. George’s Windsor” in 1858, giving the poem a cadence and majesty befitting the lyrics. The four verses in our hymnal  begin with gratitude for a successful harvest. Alford moves in the second and third verses to the parable of the wheat and tares in Matthew 13, concluding in the last verse looking to the end of the Age and the eternal rest of the saints. 

Come, ye thankful people, come, 

Raise the song of harvest home! 

All is safely gathered in, 

Ere the winter storms begin; 

God, our Maker, doth provide 

For our wants to be supplied; 

Come to God's own temple, come; 

Raise the song of harvest home!

2. We ourselves are God's own field, 

Fruit unto his praise to yield; 

Wheat and tares together sown 

Unto joy or sorrow grown; 

First the blade and then the ear, 

Then the full corn shall appear; 

Grant, O harvest Lord, that we 

Wholesome grain and pure may be.

3. For the Lord our God shall come,

And shall take the harvest home; 

From His field shall in that day 

All offenses purge away, 

Giving angels charge at last 

In the fire the tares to cast; 

But the fruitful ears to store 

In the garner evermore.

4. Then, thou Church triumphant come,

Raise the song of harvest home! 

All be safely gathered in, 

Free from sorrow, free from sin, 

There, forever purified, 

In God's garner to abide; 

Come, ten thousand angels, come, 

Raise the glorious harvest home!

Tonight I give thanks for Henry Alford, for his scholarly Greek New Testament; but also for this hymn which has for generations led countless Christians in thanksgiving.

Gratitudinal Assistance

November 17, 2018

When I was growing up, written prayers were not considered real prayers to us Baptists. A good Baptist didn’t need someone else’s prayer, and considered prayer books and liturgies to be remnants of a corrupt ecclesiastical system. We prayed our own prayers, thank you! And we didn’t follow written liturgies that one could recite mindlessly. Of course, we assumed that’s exactly what happened; it never occurred to us that the liturgy could bring life and vitality to worship. 

I remember the first time I experienced—I mean REALLY experienced—liturgical worship. I’d had my fill of the kind of liturgy my Baptist upbringing abhorred, but when invited by a Franciscan lay brother to an upper room in the Old Town of Chicago, I experienced the power of people who knew the liturgy, who stood around a rough-hewn table singing and praying it with tears streaming down their faces as they worshipped the Christ whose Presence they acknowledged and celebrated. Those written prayers and words of affirmation by the priest allowed—no, propelled—them to pray more deeply and worship more authentically than had they merely spoke whatever words came to mind.

Once in a great while, Linda will say, “I can’t think of anything for dinner tonight. Let’s go out to eat.” Mind you, it doesn’t happen often; Linda likes to cook and loves being home. But when those rare moments come, we get in the car and drive to whatever restaurant we’ve chosen. We order from a prepared menu, the dinner is served, we enjoy it and pay the tab and the tip. We don’t head for the kitchen to clean up. 

Written prayers are like that. Sometimes we just don’t have the words, so we use what someone else has prepared, relishing the taste of phrases different from our own, enjoying what is set before us. And we don’t even have to pick up the tab! Our souls are nourished beyond what we could have provided ourselves.

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I think gratitude is much like prayer. We run out of things for which to give thanks, not because there is a lack of them, but because there is a lack in us. I started writing these nightly meditations using a list prepared beforehand. I was unskilled in thanksgiving and needed help. Even today I sometimes get stuck, feeling like my poor words are too repetitive or too mediocre. I fail to see the countless blessings and acts of God all around me. I turn to my list (liturgy?) of suggestions and am almost always rewarded with a new way of seeing life and giving thanks. I am thankful tonight for the invaluable assistance given me by Ann Voskamp and her “Joy Dare” calendar. It literally transformed this old melancholic cynic into a man of joy and peace.

This Marvelous World

November 16, 2018

The vineyards shiver before the wind blown snow, bereft of foliage, mere stock and canes clinging to their wires. A mere two months ago, they were pregnant with promise, grapes hanging plump and sweet in their clusters. Now they rest, awaiting the vinedresser to come with pruning shears, cutting off all that would drain the vine from strength needed in the springtime for new buds.

We live in an amazing world. The clothes I wear, the plastic of my keyboard, the glass of the screen, the metals that form connections for the circuits, even the coffee sitting beside me—everything is product of this planet earth, a gift from a creative and loving God who gave it to us to tend and keep as his emissaries. 

The ingenuity and intelligence he placed within us has enabled us to achieve wondrous heights, but also allows us to plumb abominable depths, both of which we humans have often done with abandon, forgetting that we are but stewards—managers of all he has placed before us. Before the weekend is done, I will have taken products of this world and shaped them into panels and tiles for the bathroom project. My daughter in law thinks I am wonderful for this, but it is only possible because of the gifts this world and its Maker have bestowed. I am but a small piece of the puzzle, but am thankful for the strength and knowledge to do what I can. Any time we use what God has given to make even a small part of this world a better place, we participate in his Creation story, giving him praise. How neat is that?

Children and Fools

November 15, 2018

“God watches over children and fools.” Wherever I first heard that, I cannot say, but I do know I was no child at the time. That narrows the options considerably. Linda and I were students at Houghton College, and together we led a youth group at a small Evangelical United Brethren church in Salamanca. My roommate was from Corry, PA, and I had spent the previous weekend with his family. I had inadvertently left my guitar at his house, and only discovered it just prior to heading out for the evening’s meeting with the Salamanca kids. This necessitated a trip from Houghton, past Salamanca, down to Corry, and back to Salamanca. I couldn’t tell you how many miles that entails, but let’s just say it’s more than two hours from Houghton to Corry, and at least another hour back to Salamanca. 

Did I mention it was winter? And my car was a ‘67 Falcon? Rear wheel drive? And I was a dumb college kid with more enthusiasm than brains. We took that entire trip at speeds upwards of 65 mph on snow-slick roads and constant flurries. “What was I thinking,” you ask? Obviously, I wasn’t. As I said, God watches over children and fools.

I thought of that tonight, driving home from a funeral on greasy roads. I’m a bit less of a fool today; traffic was creeping along at a snail’s pace, which was a good thing. Two vehicles in the ditch on the way into town, and two on the way home was adequate reminder of what could have happened so many years ago. Wisdom may come late to this old soul, but I am thankful that it did eventually pay a visit and I am safely home tonight.