In the Places Where She Lives

In the Places where She Lives

We are in a time of “contact tracing,” trying to slow the spread of the covid virus. It started me thinking of “influence tracing” and the width, breath, depth, and height of a parent's influence across a life time.

In some ways it was easy to trace my father's influence because growing up in a service station, I had more time with him than most children would have with their fathers. I easily attribute to his influence integrity, generosity, and reality.

Integrity because he would rather take the loss than for a customer be dissatisfied. He said what he would do and he did what he said. Simple, clean, and unwavering.

His generosity was on display with how he employed his alcoholic brother, his aging father and mother, and mother's mother to provide a way for them to provide for themselves and their families. Dad bought grandmother a modest house, and later his brother a new Buick. More than that, he was kind to the widows who found their way to the station. He offered an opinion and a person they could trust. He and Mom”s goal was for us to go off to college with cars we had worked to pay for. However, due to a series of unfortunate events, my car had been in four accidents(none my fault) so that when I started preaching at Howard Payne and coming in late on Sunday evening, they decided I needed a safer car. So they bought me one.

Reality because Dad saw folks for what they were. He never much talked about the “church folks” who were in and out of the station, but he noted (perhaps for us guys) they weren't always the “Christians” one would see on Sunday. I remember he remarked only once our pastor cheated at “42,” and always seemed to be focused on money. He noted when a neighborhood pastor would push past the limits a member set on his business account for filling up the church buses. Both of those were indicators of character issues.

There was also the pride in a job well done. This may have been one of the most difficult traits to work with as a pastor. Growing up I saw the muddy, filthy car roll into the wash bay, and then the car we cleaned up and vacuumed. It was clear when the job was done. Ministry—not so much.

Finding mother in my life, was a little more challenging. One of the revelations I received in my years working in the prison was the affection offenders had for their mothers. Huge, hulking African American offenders would come to tears thinking about their mothers. So many of the offenders grew up in single parent families and most often that was the mother.

Mom's “influence” was more subtle, more behind the scenes. She was passionate about her husband being the hero in our family story. She was the mediator between us and Dad when we were teens and could not always see the big picture. She was the faith anchor which made sure we were always at church when we should be. I do not remember a time when I was not attending our neighborhood church and because Dad worked on Sunday, it fell to her. I have often thought of my mom when Paul wrote to Timothy about his sincere faith which “first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice”(II Timothy 1:5) She was the quiet powerhouse of faith in our family. As we turned into teens, Mom and Dad announced they had renegotiated Dad's lease and he would be closing on Sunday so he could be in church with us. Dad lost some business from the church folks down the street because it was no longer convenient to drop off their company cars for him to clean up while they were in church. God provided.

I am not one of those sentimental folks who says things to make people feel better,(this happens a lot around funerals and death) but what I have learned is Mom lives on in the influence she shared with me about kindness, love for God, love and care for others. In fact, I feel a camaradeship with Timothy whose faith was a deep gift from his mother and grandmother.

You might have met Mom over the last ten years and seen her dressed in coordinated colors,(always bright), matching jewelry, ear rings, and make up, and never know what experiences had shaped her and forged the settled faith on which her life rest. Born during the depression, father dying when she was 7-8 from a ruptured appendix leaving her mother, two older brothers without any source of income. An older sister had married and moved away. Mom told me on one occasion she grew up believing she was like everyone else which meant they were poor. Until one day she went to school and several girls had their heads together and they pointed to her and said, “She's poor.” Mom never knew. She thought she was like everyone else. In her teenaged years, a sister of mother's who married a man with money took Mom and another cousin into her home and exposed them to the nicer things in life. They paid for her to go to business school in Lubbock and then she met Dad, a wounded soldier coming home from the war. Three children later, settled in Odessa, they worked to provide a living for those they loved. Dad opened a Gulf Service Station and 22 years later closed it and was shortly thereafter diagnosed with cancer of the larynx. Together they battled it, through radiation, surgeries, chemo, with Dad dying on November 4, 1982. I was concerned about how Mom would do, but after a time, she came out of the shock of loosing Dad and set about to care for her mother for the years that remained in Grandmother's life. Grandmother died at the age of 97.

I never really knew how much it meant to Mom that I had ventured into the ministry(called of God to care for souls) until as she got older, moved to San Angelo, she took delight in introducing me to her friends. The introduction went something like this, “This is Mike, my son who is the preacher.” As she got older, moved to the Nursing home, it was “This is my preacher boy Mike.” Said with affection and pride, I believe it went to the real heart of her faith.

So Mom lives on by influence in the conversations I have with couples, with veterans, and with individuals who struggle from past and present trauma.

The truth is, what truly endures in this life and the next are the people we invest in pointing them to the Kingdom, helping them move toward the Kingdom, and making the Kingdom real in each day we live. When all the stuff of this world is carried to the junk yards of life, what remains and what lasts are those who have found Christ and lived for Him. Thanks Mom for showing me that.

Wash your hands, wear your masks in respect for others, mind the gap, and be kind.

Loss and Grief

This evening is my first journal post after learning of my Mother's passing Saturday morning. Our beloved physician told my brother, Jim and his wife, Linda, it was time to put Mom in “End of Life Care.” Mom died the next day. I am not surprised because Dr Cerna, was blindsided by Mom “return from the dead” after the physician said she had done all she could. Her clinical assessment in September of 2018 was to keep her comfortable and wait for the end. Mom rallied and made liars of us all.

So Mom died. Really, it should probably be said, “And Mom died.” So Anna and I raced to San Angelo to help my oldest brother and his wife make the funeral arrangements. Jim and Linda Chancellor have led their family to make sure Mom wanted for nothing. They are an incredible family—incredible love, empathy, and dependability. Mom was well served by the attention of my older brother's family. More than that, Linda, an in-law to Mom could not have loved a woman more. Linda is a woman of virtue.

So driving home from the funeral planning meeting and after suggesting to the funeral director who was also the owner that this family should get a discount because we are fun to work with, he laughed. Funeral Directors know of which I speak. Some families should be worked with boxing gloves on.

Most pastors will rarely claim it, but if they have been a pastor for any time at all they are both expert and student. It is a part of the calling. My records show over 500 funerals across 33 years, and thousands of grieving members. It is the nature of the work.

Coming home today, I was thinking of grief as being both mystery and art. Mystery and art. Mystery because we cannot know or predict how deeply influential a person is until they have died. Anna and I often joke about the inscription on so many gravestones, “Gone but not forgotten.” It could be understood positively or negatively. However, we do not really know until the person has died. That is the mystery of grief. It is seductive because we can be unaware of how this person has poured life and joy into our hearts. Only when they are gone, can we truly get a sense of how influential the person was in our life. They could be a steadfast anchor for the living of these days, or a faulty reference point of where we go off track.

Art describes for me the mosaic each person weaves from their individual life and experiences. Today, one of the nieces posted on the family page one of those rare relationships with Mom—of which I had no clue but I could not help but swell with pride—not for anything I had done, but what Mom had done. Art is good description for the way a person chooses to live their life. It is a great metaphor for how folks take difficult experiences and push ahead, believing God and knowing one can literally walk with God.

Art is what we make with our lives. I seemed to always been attracted to the art of stained glass windows. For me it is a visual of what God does when he takes the brokenness within us and then makes them into something of beauty.

Mom was not saint. She struggled when my dad was diagnosed with cancer of the larynx in 1979. It was the most difficult time in her life. She and Dad loved each other and losing him almost dragged her into death. Upon her death, sadly, she had live more years without him, than with him. However, I have not doubt they will be together again.

Thanks for all the encouragement and prayers The next few days will challenge us all.

Wash your hands, wear a mast because that is what neighbors do, and be kind

Racism and kindness

Mom and Glory

This morning, I received a call from my oldest brother, Jim, in San Angelo. He called to tell me Mom has pretty much been unresponsive for the last few days. This week, the decision was made to allow Jim and Linda to go in. Baptist Memorial in San Angelo has this vibrant senior ministry, nursing home, houses, and assisted living apartments. Jim told me that today, there had been no one in care, no staff, or any workers test positive for COVID. They are taking this virus seriously and I appreciate it. Mom's doctor has talked to my brother and sister-in-law about moving mother into “end of life care.” Dr Cerna tells them it is not Hospice, and she will remain directing the care for Mom but we are at that point. Anna and I hope to get there Friday and spend some time with her.

Our church is part of a media and preaching emphasis “What's After? ATX” (https://www.whatsafteratx.org/ and it has been an incredible series. The book, “Imagine Heaven” by John Burk explores the scientific and medical studies on what we have come to know as “Near Death Experiences.” If we get to San Angelo before Mom goes on to be the Lord, I will sit by her bed and talk to her about her journey which will take her from that room into glory. Whether or not I am there when it happens, it will happen and what I am learning is that most folks don't need a tour guide.

Mom has been a remarkable woman, not quite a force of nature, but she did stir up a lot of dust when she was around. She had a wonderful sense of humor as did Dad, and between them, well, it is hard to tell where her's left off and Dad's began. They both could be funny. I was at the station one late afternoon when one of the regulars came in after a really tough day. He wanted his company vehicle washed and serviced. Dad asked, “So Truman, what do you want us to do to it.” To which the customer replied, “You can burn the d_ _ _ n thing up for all I care.” So someone rode with the customer and when he got back, Dad and Mom took us out to eat. They had a favorite place, and about half way through the meal Dad was paged. Dad would never, ever get a page when we were out. He got up and went to answer the phone then came back and said, “There's been a fire at the station and we need to leave now.” So we did. Arriving at the station, we got the full story. Company cars were often covered in oil so the person who washed them would wash them down with kerosene. It was winter time, and he was out of kerosene, so he got some gasoline which was not unusual, but then threw it on the hot hood and it vaporized and exploded because there was a gas stove lit to keep the insides and workers warm. It blew out the windows in all the bays, and only scorched the man who was washing the car, but it smoked the white car. Dad, having made sure everyone was safe, went in and placed the call. “Truman, do you remember what you told me when we took you home about your car?” He replied, “Yea, I told you, you could burn the d_ _ _n up for all I care.” Dad said, “Well, you will be happy to know that is what we just did.”

I have walked with lots of folks over the years as they have buried a parent, and later another parent. It is a profoundly significant time in a child's life no matter how old they are. I know that good parents become the first to create a loving, safe, secure environment for each child. That sets the stage for all of life to come. In a home of faith like mine, it also gave me my first glimpse of the unseen God as Mom and Dad were the hands and feet of the God who loved me. Their influence in a child's life is huge. If home is not a good, safe place and many aren't it leaves childhood trauma that lives on in the body, heart, mind, soul of the person.

I have noticed something else as well. Not often addressed or thought about, but the death of a first parent is powerful. Dad died when I was 32 and Tim and Joseph were about 4 and 2. I knew they would never remember him, or get to spend time with him. He would only be a picture without a point of reference. For me, it was a deep loss because,well, he was my Dad. Dad hunted a little, loved fireworks, and hated to take us three boys fishing. He did it once and swore he would never do it again. However, what my Dad gave me was lifelong lessons in character, honesty, integrity, and doing the right thing no matter what the cost. Fortunately, God guided us to a new church after Dad was diagnosed with his cancer of the larynx which made the drive to Dallas quicker, but more than that, loved on us the first 3 years we were there because during those times, they only knew their pastor as “his Dad was dying,” and then “he lost his Dad.”

What I have learned from 33 years of walking with mostly adult children who have lost their last parent, is such a loss marks the end of a lifelong story. The parent who knew us longer than any other person in our world is now gone. Of course for our sibling group her passing will end an important chapter in our lives. It will end lengthy relationships our wives have shared with Mother. It will end the life long relationships grands and great grans have shared.

Mom has always been pretty independent, even after Dad died. In some ways it surprised me because they were always together always, Mom and Dad. My siblings and I entered a new chapter with her as she updated her will, put us all (sons and spouses) on her medical power of attorney, and then after about three years in the country began a process of downsizing. So, she would call us and say, “Come move me, I've found a house in town, I can't keep the other one up.” Then some years later she would call and say, “Come move me. I can't keep this house up so I have found an efficiency apartment.” She set aside all the things she wanted to keep and gave us the opportunity to carry off the rest—which we did because well, Dad told everyone when she worked at an Ethan Allen gallery, she took her pay in stuff.” It was nice stuff, so she wanted to pass it down. Then she found a new apartment across town, the phone ran and it was “come move me.” During these years, I was the one who had more control over my schedule so if a problem developed—mostly health, I would head out and communicate with the others about what was going on. At some point, Mom picked up the phone and said, “Come move me to San Angelo, it is too hard for you boys to help me out here where there is no family. So we moved her to San Angelo, and Jim, Linda, Jeff, John, Julie, and their families made sure mother wanted for nothing. It was awesome and in God's timing, it left Anna and I free to turn our attention and presence to Livingston where her only surviving sibling was taking care of her mother and step Dad. It was at times overwhelming. So we surprisingly, but wisely, uprooted ourselves from an awesome church, and moved off the grid to Livingston. It was there, I got an education in life in the shadows of Texas and perhaps the United States. I dreaded telling Mom because we were only 90 miles away, the closest we ever lived to her, but with her grace, she said “of course you need to go. I have had you for so long taking care of me. You are needed down there.”

So that is Mom. One of the last conversations on the topic of her dying was when she was in a lot of pain, almost given up for dead, and earlier had expressed to all of us, “Quit praying for me to get better! I want to go on to Heaven.” So on that day, Joseph and I were getting ready to leave to get him back to catch a plane from Houston for home. I said to her, “Mom, I need to tell you that everyone—absolutely everyone in the family has quit praying for you to get better. However, if God chooses to spare you(and He did) you will have to take it up Him. We are not responsible!” Yep, we had that conversation.

So, the news today was not completely unexpected, but such news begins a process of grieving because a chapter will be closing, my last parent will go on to glory. And we will miss the dust.

Wash your hands, wear your mask as a sign of caring about others, mind the gap, and be kind.

Left Leaning and Racism

Today, I got a little “push back” from my journal post last night. Apparently I am a “woman” and “left leaning.” My gracious “push back” was met with a more mellow response and then an agreement to disagree.

I have never known I was “left leaning” until today. The swipe reminded me of a story Dr James Shields told in one of his classes about a student who went home over Thanksgiving to his parent's peanut farm. The son said, perhaps unwisely, “Dad, the way you talk about your peanut farm you would think it is the center of the universe.” The father looked at him and said, “That way is north, that way is east, that way is south, and that way is west. If this is not the center of the universe, I would like to know where it is!” So, left leaning is left of where we “stand” and what we “believe” which is always correct and in our Baptist world always conservative as we are “conservative.” “Left leaning” is a curse phrase spat with derision and contempt. In this culture war of today, “left,” or “left leaning” is always bad and is somehow flawed or cursed.

I read an Ethics Today post by a black pastor, Tyrone Keels(see in an earlier post) about why is “now” the time. I hear the anger and the pain, and I have no good answer. I believe that such questions will never have good answers. Watching the first season of “The Chosen” I was reminded of the slaughter of innocents in Bethlehem at the time following the birth of Christ. Why was only Joseph warned in time to rescue Jesus? What about the other mothers and fathers who watched helplessly as the Romans slaughtered their children two years and under?

This is what I do know. I know these recent deaths of African American men and women have somehow touched the heart of White America for reasons I cannot explain. I know, for me, there is something in me that says, “When is enough going to be enough?” “When is racism finally going to be faced, and resolved?” “When are we all going to be people equal in the sight of the law as we are before God?” “How long will our Constitution and Bill of Rights only apply to a few and not to all?”

After all these years, it is more than time for us to stand up(all of us) move forward to make the promise of this nation real and just for all. Some months ago, I started a couple of journal entries by saying, “I don't understand Black people. One of the things I had in mind is the reality that African Americans, Hispanics, and other people of color enlist, serve commendably, and yet come home to a culture in which they are not fully accepted. I don't understand how one can do that. However, I know thousands have, and continue to enlist and serve. The rights which should fall to all Americans should not have to be earned. They should not have to be proven in terms of worthiness but each and every day, soldiers of color prove their valor, their loyalty, their courage and hopefully return home only finding so little change for their people.

Why must the “white community” get behind the march for equal rights? We are over 60% of the population while 37,144,530 non-Hispanic blacks, comprise 12.1% of the population. That is why. That is also why People of Color have not had the opportunities and access to power which could tilt the scales of justice to more equality. When you look at those numbers above, Martin Luther King Jr did an amazing work of leveraging action from his marches and influence. However, today, I want to believe there are far more White Americans who realize it is time for this nation to get up, grow up, honor all as equal participants in this opportunity and enterprise. Listen to the African American voices. We cannot wait any longer.

Wash your hands, wear your masks respecting others, mind the gap and be kind.

The Idolatry of Religious Conservatives

I did not know or perhaps at a certain age chose not to know that my faith community was seduced by the Southern culture of slavery. By that I mean, they willingly chose to put their culture over God and allow the pulpits of our faith community and teaching to support the institution of slavery.

In these days of unrest and racial strife, I cannot help but look back and see how my whole faith roots were nurtured and blossomed in the toxic soil of slavery. The Bible was used to support the unsupportable, to defend the undefendable, to proclaim with pride what should have been whispered in shame. That is the legacy of my faith family. The Southern Baptist Convention over the last twenty years has made some weak efforts to repent of that ancient sin, but it has not either been enough or has informed leadership today.

The Christian faith is first and foremost about the Kingdom of God. It has always been about the Kingdom of God. From the beginning of God showing Himself and making a covenant with His people He has revealed Himself as Holy and Righteous. It was true for Israel and it is true for the Church. However, in countries like the United States, where freedom allows us to speak freely, worship freely, and participate in government, it is difficult for the Church to remain prophetic and independent listening only to God, obeying only God, and living out the character and fruits of the Spirit of God.

It is too easy to get entangled and become an advocate for what on the surface appears to be a noble thing. So, once again, the evangelical church has been snared by the culture and become a mouthpiece for the blaring racism, hatred, divisiveness of this current president all for considerations related to evangelical causes(more conservative judges, more legislation against abortion, more restrictions on LGBT persons, more visibility of extreme hate groups)

Some weeks ago in my journal entry for the day I mentioned the “despair” and “desperation” that has fueled faith leaders during this time. It is these two elements which drive this race to unholy alliances. Conservative religious leaders are afraid of losing the “blessing of God on America,” because of social sin/sins. However, this despair is focused on the wrong institution. Conservative religious leaders feel like godlessness has crept into the culture while God is more concerned about the godlessness that has crept into the churches who confess the Lordship of Christ. It is that age old issue Jesus spoke about when He(Matthew 7:3) spoke about removing the speck from from the eye of another but ignoring the beam in our own eye. Conservative religious leaders wring their hands about the state of the culture but are without tears for the condition of the Bride of Christ. The desperation then is using the tools of the world to somehow correct the morals of the nation. It has never worked, and will not work now. How many times must we go back and relearn this lesson? There has never been, nor will there ever be a ruler, a nation, a kingdom, a dominion which can legislate morals and character. It is folly to attempt it, and folly upon folly not to have learned this lesson. Law does not touch the heart of a person. It does not convince one of the right way and provide motivation to walk in it. The Conservative religious leaders should know this if they have read Romans at all. The law is powerless to change the hearts of people and turn people into citizens of character and compassion. Still we try, foolishly we try. The end result is always failure.

So one again, the stubborn heart, the frightened heart, the despairing heart, the desperate heart attempts to do what can only be done in crying out to God long enough for God to open the heavens and unleash the Holy Spirit in might and power. In my 70 years of life, I had heard the frustration of many people who were chaffing under some law they thought discriminatory. However, I have yet to hear any person complain when they have been captured by the grace of the Living Christ. It is like that!

Wash your hands, wear you masks for others, mind the gap, and be kind.

Law Enforcement and racism

One of the fun things I do under my counseling umbrella is what is called a “Substance Abuse Professional.” I am sure like everyone else you have no knowledge of what that function would be. Actually, it is a responsibility created by the Department of Transportation when they designated certain jobs and responsibilities as “safety sensitive.” Safety sensitive positions generally are jobs that impact the safety of the public. So as you would expect, 18 wheelers, delivery trucks, school buses, and all facets of pipe-lining, pilots, train transportation individuals, and many more fall into this category.

My responsibility is to look out for the safety of people who might be impacted by carelessness or intoxication whether alcohol or drugs. If a person who falls into these categories is positive for prohibited substances in a UA(urinary analysis) , then they get referred to me. What I tell the person often amounts to this if they have been caught with using an illegal substance—most often marijuana, “Your employer may be willing to overlook one positive UA and put you back to work, but if you get another, you will need to find another career.”

I believe this same approach should be made with law enforcement and the use of unnecessary force(including unarmed persons). “We understand how you may have gotten all revved up and used more force than was necessary, but after the investigation is done and you are cleared, if it happens again, you will be terminated!” Perhaps the use of force was so outrageous, it merits termination within itself.

Some of what we are seeing is a pattern of some law enforcement officers repeated cited for unnecessary use of force. This needs to end. I believe most of us intuitively believe each uniformed officer represents first himself/herself and then all who wear the uniform or carry the badge. Aggressive officers mar the reputation of all who wear the uniform or carry the badge. It also becomes time for officers of integrity which most are, to no longer support those who use the badge and their authority to abuse, coerce, and hurt others needlessly. A team can only be a team if all play by the same rules working toward the same goals. Some law enforcement officers cannot and should not be allowed to endanger the reputation and safety of others who serve honestly and honorably.

It is difficult for any profession to police themselves. Physicians should do it but look the other way. Counselors should do it but often look the other way. It is also sadly true for law enforcement. However, law enforcement has a history in America that needs to be “redeemed.” That is, strides must be taken to show that law enforcement serves all equally.

There is a part we are all going to play in moving this nation forward beyond the racism of the past and even the present. Law enforcement is one institution which must become more transparent and sensitive to their history of oppression and their real responsibility in a modern society which strives for all to be treated fairly.

Tomorrow, the institution of Southern religion in justifying oppression and slavery.

Wash your hands, wear your masks in respect for others, mind the gap, and be kind