They all were dressed differently from the norm in the mall.  But what really set them apart was the style and color of their hair.  One young man had pink hair on one side and green on the other side.  Several of the group had high spiked hair . . . and different colors.  One young man even had a ribbon in his hair.  The clothes . . . well . . .  I will not even attempt to describe.

But all of them were happy, jovial, and friendly.  As they passed by, I looked at them, but not in a condescending manner.  I smiled and nodded.  They smiled back . . . one or two of them raised their hand to respond.  I was not bothered by their appearance and I wanted them to know it.  I know nothing of their morals or conduct, but for that moment in the mall they were not different from others — except in their appearance.

I began to think about what I had just seen.  Have I changed?  Years ago I would have called them freaks!  Or weirdos!  I know that the word freak was a condescending term for years as it referred to some disability of a person, but in the 1960s and 1970s, the word freak commonly described a person with something unusual about their appearance or behavior.  The persons using the term to describe such were persons who used their standard as the norm.  These young people to whom I spoke were freaks by the standard of the norm today.  And some would have called them weirdos!

But we don’t really call them freaks — we just recognize that they are different!  Or so we assume.  Some of these young people may be attempting to make some statement . . . or they may just enjoy being different!  Perhaps I find myself being a little defensive for them.  Now don’t get me wrong.  I am not defending rudeness, immorality, rebellion, or whatever might cause some to dress this way, but I am  saying we don’t know their motives.  I want to be careful in my judgement.  I do witness some young people with hairstyles and dress that have attitudes that convey certain messages to me.  But I come back to those I saw in the mall.  There was nothing to cause me to think they were immoral, illiterate, or rebellious toward society.

Those young people in the mall caused me to reflect back on my days at that age.  I don’t know that I was ever called a freak or a weirdo,  but by the meaning of the term in the 1060s and 1970s, I may have been a freak at times in the 1950s.  I recall some dress styles . . . and hair!  I remember using peroxide to make part of my hair almost white.  I remember shaving my head bald like Yul Brynner.  I recall painting a pair of shoes with regular high gloss enamel paint.  And you should have heard the response when I walked into the gym that night at a ball game!  There was a time, perhaps even with the red shoes, when I borrowed some strange, weird looking vest from a friend to wear to a ballgame that was so loud you could never wear it on color television.  Or that pink shirt with a white tie and white suede shoes!

As I recalled some of these strange appearances . . . perhaps I could have been called a freak!  I don’t ever remember a derogatory remark . . . but I did get attention.  Was that what I sought?  Or did I just enjoy being different this way?  Is that what these young people in the mall wanted — attention or just to be different?  If so, I am glad I gave a positive response to them.

Perhaps they responded to my friendliness because they were thinking, “Man you look like one of us . . . just much older!”  We freaks have a way of identifying with one another!

” . . . live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble.”  (1 Peter 3:8)

Lawson

I always dreamed of being a soldier of fortune.  Understand, there are two uses of that term.  One means a mercenary.  That might have been part of my dream, but my thoughts were on the other use of the term.  An adventurer is also called a soldier of fortune.  Oh, that’s what I dreamed!

I never made specific plans.  I did understand that it would take money.  Would I earn lots of money, retire early, and be a world adventurer?   How much money would I need?  How old would I be before I could begin?  These were not serious questions, but they would pop up in my dreams of the future.  It was only after high school and dropping out of college that I thought more about it.  I did seek to start making money as fast as I could, and not always in a way that would reflect Christian values.

Somehow I got back on a reality track.  After a couple of years I found myself at Baylor University.  My route was still to make money, and I focused on business ventures.  However, through the influence of several young men, my mind and heart began to be open to what God might want me to do.  As I began to consider that, I set my parameters.  I would be a Christian business man or a Christian politician.  After a few months of that concentration, an inward struggle began.

I felt God was asking me to surrender my life to Him for ministry.  No, no, no!  That would not work in the plans I had for my life.  I would tell God that I would be committed to him as a lay person and witness for him wherever I went in the world.  I was even specific about what I wanted to do.  I would repeat to God that I wanted to go through those deep jungles, climb those high mountain, be welcomed in the high places of the world, and on and on, I would go.

God wouldn’t turn loose.  It was soon clear that God was going to win.  My inward feeling was God  insisted that I trust Him.  That He had the best for me.  There finally came that day I surrendered.  “Alright, God, I give up.  You win.  I turn loose all those dreams of being that adventurer, that soldier of fortune.”

It is such a joy to acknowledge that with all the wonderful life God has given me, I got the bonus of getting all those early dreams fulfilled.  God gave me everything.  I have gone down those rivers in dugout canoes, climbed those volcanos, walked through dense jungles, been a guest in villages where they had never seen a white man, sat in the high places in the Orient, and been a guest in the White House and Oval Office.  Yes, God can be trusted.  Give Him all that you have and you will get all you wanted!  Oh, it may not be the geography, travel, or wealth, but you will discover that you never came up short!  God is so good, loving, and kind.  Trust Him for what He has for your life!

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”  (Jeremiah 29:11)   “Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”  (Proverbs 19:21)

Lawson

But those times of going to sleep easily seem to be only for a nap.  Getting a night’s sleep is often different!  I have thought about the ease of going to sleep at certain times . . . and my mind raced back to times that I was “put to sleep.”  You know . . . at the dentist office or the hospital?

This thought came to  me some time ago and I made a note of some memories soon after the event.  It was another of those trips to Moffitt for a procedure.  As we walked in, I was greeted with hugs from several of the nurses who have come to know me so well.  My comment in response to the welcome, “I believe we are coming here far too often!”

As they began to prepare me for the procedure, the anesthesiologist came in.  He began tell me again the details of how he would anesthetize me.  I am so grateful for such comfort that comes by knowing I will not be aware of anything.  And being “put to sleep” is so fast these days.  After all the “hook ups” were completed and would only take opening the valve, the nurse asked, “Are you ready?”  Knowing I only had a moment to respond before the anesthesia would take effect, I responded, “Good night!”  And I was gone to “never-never land.”

Today such general anesthesia is so instantaneous.  Anesthesia has come such a long way, even in my lifetime.  The purpose, of course,  of anesthesia is the blocking of or temporarily taking away pain.  Most of you know the various types: local, regional, and general.

I well remember the use of ether.  I had it administered to me on several occasions.  It was never instantaneous.  The first time was with the removal of my tonsils.  I recall the doctor having me count backwards as he placed this mask on my mouth and nose and began to spray the gas on to the mask.  I remember a terrible dream — or something.  I was spinning around in a tunnel and there was a big spider trying to grab me as I was spinning close to its web.  Suddenly it was over!  Maybe the spider grabbed me –  perhaps that was the moment my tonsils were removed.  Who knows?  I do recall a sick feeling for hours after that experience!  I remember the time well — and the slow waking up in contrast to today’s  anesthesia.

The only good thing to say about ether is the origin of the name.  Ether in Greek means heavenly!  I suppose it is heavenly compared to the pain one might feel without it being administered – but for me, there was nothing heavenly about the fear I had in that dream while under the sedation that came from it.  Yet, the ether did prevent me from knowing the pain . . . and even the fear . . . of having my tonsils removed.

The experience  years ago with the dentist was much the same way — as to the administering of it.  But I don’t know if it was ether or  nitrous oxide.  Nitrous oxide is commonly referred to as laughing gas.  Nothing to laugh about as far as I was concerned –nothing was funning about the experience.  Laughing gas supposedly gives you a euphoric feeling.  I cannot recall any feeling like that!  And now that I know of other uses of nitrous oxide — it probably put me in obit!  Did you know that they use nitrous oxide — laughing gas — in rockets . . . and in motor racing?

I am happy we have progressed from such administering of anesthesia.  I rejoice with the ease of the injection today of an anesthesia.  It is not only instantaneous, but there is no dreaming . . . and no remembrance of the procedure.

Don’t you wish going to sleep at night was always that instantaneous?  Restful?  And not dreaming or remembering the night?  But we set ourselves up for a delay in falling asleep.  We are suddenly quiet . .  and our mind becomes active.  We lay down and begin to think of what we didn’t get done on that day . . . or we start planning the next day . . . and on and on.

Recommendations have always come “to count sheep.”   Honestly, does anyone ever do that?  Now there are some things that can begin to relax us or divert our thoughts from regrets or plans.  Counting our blessings is good!  As a believer in a Heavenly Father, suddenly we are thanking God for those blessings!  Sometimes we can seek to quote a Scripture.  But if we don’t know any, we may frustrate ourselves — but we can certainly paraphrase some Scriptures we remember. Or, we can seek to sing (only in your thoughts) some hymns we have learned.  What I am recommending is to turn your thoughts toward God and it will amaze you how peaceful you become  . . . and soon you are asleep!  It is better than anesthesia!

“You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trust in you.”  (Isaiah 26:3)

Lawson

In my word studies, my book Protected recounts many times God has protected me.  I also suggest many ways that God intervenes  to protect and care for His children.

As a young man, I worked in a large department store in Atlanta in the receiving department.  We would unload and unpack merchandise from clothing to appliances.  There was a large freight elevator used to transport these items to the various floors.  The receiving department was closed on Saturdays while the retail part of the store was open for the busiest day of the week.  Because of this, there was a need for someone to be in the receiving department to deliver special items that might be purchased.  Because of overtime pay, I volunteered for the job. That meant that during the day I would move items to various locations in the store.  The freight elevator was my responsibility.  It was an old elevator with rough walls and no interior door.  You had to be careful not to allow your arms to touch the sides of the shaft.

The elevator predated the present codes that require many safety features.  It did not even have some of the protection of the passenger elevators because it was simply built to transport freight.  One day I was leaving the seventh floor of the store and going to the basement.  As I moved the lever forward to descend in the elevator, I immediately sensed that it was moving at a faster speed than normal.  Within seconds I realized that the elevator was out of control.  Before I could react, I saw the first floor, then the basement, and subbasement floors.  I knew the elevator would hit bottom.  And that it did!  Within  minutes of coming to a crashing stop, I realized that I was standing, and had received no injury. This fall actually was measured as a nine-story fall.  As people scrambled to provide rescue, all marvelled at the fact that I could walk away with absolutely no harm.

Now I ask, “How is that possible?  No one can fall that distance in an elevator and sustain no injury.”  My conclusion is it was God! However, I must confess it was not my response at that time of my life.   But now I know!  Yes, my God, my Heavenly Father, who has unlimited power, who can be everywhere at one time, and who can rescue and protect, was there with me.  Again, it is to praise Him that I convey this experience.

Consider some circumstance in your life where you can look back and exclaim, “God was with me!  I perhaps did not recognize it at the time, but I see now that He was there and He protected me!”  Thank Him again and again!  Our Father does look after His own!

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous hand.”  (Isaiah 41:10)

Lawson

Not too many years ago it would have been the source of gossip . . .  the hugging of two men!  Men never touched men.  There would be a handshake, but that was the extent.  Men didn’t always go out of their way to shake hands.  It might have just been a lifting of the head backwards — chin coming up — as an acknowledgement to another man.  But, today, everywhere — even among athletes and  hard core laborers — there will be an embrace.

Hugging and embracing is seen everywhere . . . everyday!  It can be at a sporting event, in Walmart, at church, or anywhere two friends greet one another.  And it is not limited to men, of course.  Ladies are even more demonstrative about it!  And such overt expressions of hugging . . . and even a kiss on the cheek is seen between men and women!  What a different world!

Too bad we were not doing this back in my high school days — I mean the hugging between men and women! But regretting is not my purpose in this blog.  It is really one of celebration.  The world is better with this touch of friendship.  Reaching out and touching someone with a hug is a way of saying you care . . .  and it makes both feel better.  It overrides any inner feeling where one is hesitant to speak to another.  But when the two greet one another with a hug, the words that follow in conversation are always with a smile and interest in the other person.

Personal lives are better as a result of this touch — in fact, it is perfectly healthy to  touch in such a manner.  Touch is important.  Some in psychiatry say that hugging is great therapy.  There is a promotion among many professional counselors and medical professionals who recommend hugs as part of your daily routine.  These professionals believe hugs contribute strongly to our well-being.

It is said by some that we need 4 hugs a day for survival — I am not sure how they define survival.  If they mean just staying alive, then hugging is critical to life itself!  Those professionals say that we need 8 hugs a day for maintenance.  Again, no definition of maintenance, but I am assuming they mean staying healthy.  12 hugs a day, they indicate, will produce growth.  Again, is growth in mental health, physical, or both?

The explanation has to do with the  release of oxytocin into our blood stream.  Now, hear me, I don’t know what I am talking about — just repeating what I was told!  But it was said that hugging  releases the oxytocin which can help protect us from heart disease.  Again, I don’t know . . . but if true . . . then hugging is healthy.  Even if it was only to aid in a healthy heart . . . I am for hugging because it makes me feel good!

I believe much of today’s hugging is the result of the Hippie Movement.  Oh, they liked to hug!  The hugging with that generation increased their social network.  That is a good reason also for us to hug today . . . and the larger your social network, the more happiness one discovers.  An increase in friends is always healthy.  And hugs create a bond that a mere smile or handshake will not always accomplish.

Since thinking on this subject, I have observed several types of hugs:  The gently leaning forward and cheek to cheek hug; the embrace with an arm on the shoulder or around the neck; the side to side hug where the heads just touch; and then the well-known bear hug where the larger person lifts the other off the ground.  I guess I could list one more — not that I have seen it in public –  but that is when you hug yourself.  You know, get up in the morning and put your arms around yourself.

As you participate in hugs, or observe people hugging, you will often note a low sound coming from each . . . like a hum!  I remember when I hugged my accordion — squeezing it — a sound always was heard!  Truly, hugging brings an expression in many ways!

Yes, times have changed.  Hugging is beneficial.  Hug your spouse.  Greet your friends with a hug.  Even greet a new friend with a hug if it seems appropriate.  Even ask . . . or say, “I am a hugger.”  You will sense if they give you permission.  And if you need to get  your recommended 12 hugs a day all at one time (that would be 84 for the week), come to our church!  Hugging abounds!

Lawson

Most folks have heard the expression “flying by the seat of your pants.”  And most of us have some idea of what it means.  It is, of course,  old aviation slang.  Early flying was not by navigational equipment, but by the pilot’s judgement.  Sitting in his seat at the controls, the pilot would be sliding forward or even lifting himself slightly out of the seat to see the terrain and perhaps some familiar markings.  He had to depend upon his vision and some knowledge of the geography.

Much like the bush pilots of today.  The pilot does not file a flight plan because there is no registered airfield where he will land.  He simply knows something of the terrain and navigates by sight.  The navigation is by the pilot’s own initiative and perception.  He does not have an exact, predetermined plan.  He may make sudden changes in his flight.  Sometimes it may be a good decision, and sometimes it can be a costly decision.

God  reinforced in my life that I could not “fly by the seat of my pants.” We lived in San Jose, Costa Rica, but sought to minister in Limon.  Limon was an isolated city.  There was no road by which you could reach this city.  The only way to reach this city was by air or train.  The train was often unavailable because of washouts or landslides.  When the train was available, it was a nine-hour trip for the 90 miles distance by rail.  Flying time was very brief, usually only 30-35 minutes.  The shortest route was  a straight line between the two.  But even by air that was not possible.

Flying to Limon gave you that feeling of “flying by the seat of your pants.”   Imagine a small plane. Imagine dense jungle and high mountains.  By air  from San Jose it was necessary to go over the great continental divide.  The plane could not get enough altitude to go over that mountain range so it was necessary to fly through the  pass. In fact, it was almost like a snake to go though  several passes.  This meant a lot of turning and twisting, and for most flights the turbulence was strong.  It was always frightening to the children, and Judy and I would seek to calm them even when we felt fear.

“Flying by the seat of your pants” would take us through these mountain passes to Limon.  As we would clear these mountain ranges, ahead of us was  the beautiful Caribbean.  Before landing  we would see the beautiful blue water and the white, sandy beach.  The turbulence had released us and it was smooth flying now.  However, there was little time to enjoy the calmness and beauty.  Quickly we needed to land.  There was no airstrip, and so the beach became the runway.  After the landing and engines were shut down, we would debark with a sense of peace and thanksgiving.

After this experience on many occasions, one cannot help but hear a teaching from the Lord.  Life is not to be lived by “flying by the seat of your pants” but with a flight plan!  A flight plan can give the surest and safest route through life.  Whenever I have attempted to live my life on my initiative, things generally don’t go too well.  There are too many crashes if I am at the controls.  I soon discovered that my perception of my journey was based on instinct and personal want.  That was not the plan of God for my life.

God has a divine will for each of us.  Joy, peace, happiness, satisfaction, and add all those words we would like to use to describe our life can be ours.  But that life can only be experienced if we follow the flight plan God has filed for us.  We may not know our full destination in this world, but we can trust Him as the Pilot.

Take some advice from one who knows.  I spent too many years “flying by the seat of my pants.”  It did not bring fulfilment to me, and it caused me to waste many years of my life when I could have known the  joy and peace I have today.  Let God lead you each day through every mountain pass.  You will be safe, and you will have joy.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.”  (Proverbs 3:5, 6)

Lawson

Evidently the man did not care personally to have a tattoo.  And . . . perhaps he was giving testimony that he had scars on his body — probably from battle!  Nevertheless, the message on his shirt spoke to me . . . and I began to reflect.

Scars . . . most people have them . . . men and women . . . and in all shapes, sizes, and places!  Scars are those marks left from a wound, sore, burn, cut, fall, injury, or however you desire to describe it.  I have a few scars . . . like everyone else.  And, like my friend with the shirt . . . my scars have a story to tell!

Perhaps you read my blog about my tattoo!  No story to tell there!  The tattoo was simply a statement.  Most people get a tattoo as a memorial to someone, a testimony of a religious stance, a statement of status, a pledge of love, or belonging to a particular group.  Of course, there are multiple reasons why people get tattoos, but what is significant about tattoos today . . .  this body art is a choice of the person.

Scars are not by choice . . . oh, most scars that we bear come without choice.  Suddenly we fell on a jagged rock that tore our skin, or there was a car accident and glass cut our face, or we touched that hot stove and burned our hand severely.  These are but a few of how we get scars.  The process of that injury healing, left a scar.  Scars are not something we choose to have . . . they came quickly and unplanned.

I thought of some of my scars.  Across the bottom of my foot is a large scar that is the result of my jumping from the barn roof as a boy and landing on some old boards with rusty nails.  One of the nails ripped open my foot!  There is a scar on my head from a knife when in anger a neighbor and I were throwing knives at each other. Then in my hand is a scar where a casing from a rifle blew up and the firing cap tore into my hand.  On that same hand is a scar when my hand got caught in a winch. And adding to that scar are the scars from skin grafts.  And then on my lower back is a scar from the surgery of removing a tumor.

Why do I have the scars?  What caused them?  Could they have been prevented?  I began to examine the reason I have scars.  Most  of them can be blamed on no one but myself.  They are not the result of intentional acts . . . but accidents!  And for me, accidents that perhaps could have been avoided.

No reason to address the reason for a scar from surgery.  The surgery was necessary . . . and the scar was inevitable.

Scars . . . we do all have them.  and we have them for different reasons.  Some can be prevented if we are mature, cautious, alert, and careful.  Some scars are not our fault . . . an accident caused by others . . . or surgery.

Are there any scars we would choose to have!  I mean . . .  would we be willing to deliberately bear a scar?  Getting the scar is never pleasant . . . it is usually painful.  Who would we choose such pain?

Well, I know one person who made choices and if scars were to be the result –  so be it!  He may not have known scars would be his . . . but after the first scar, he did not run away or seek to escape having more scars.  I am speaking of the Apostle Paul.  He had scars from beatings,imprisonment, and being stoned.  They were painful!  But these scars were evidences of his commitment to Jesus Christ.  He did not coward after the first scar, but received many because he desired a relationship with his Lord more than to escape receiving such scars. ” . . . I bear on my body the marks of Jesus.”  (Galatians 6:17)  His scars were not only visible on his body, but he bore scars of isolation, being misunderstood, and persecuted.

Now you understand where my thinking went as I read the words on that shirt.  I so hope that whatever scars I have tell a better story than any tattoo.  And as I could not see any scars on my new friend . . . he knew they were there!  I do not seek visible scars from my commitment to Christ, but I pray that I will be faithful to Him –  whatever the cost.  My tattoo was removed . . . but may any marks in my body for serving my Christ be there always . . . for His glory!

Lawson

In the closing weeks of his life, I would call him.  In one call, I told him I needed to say two things.

“First, I want you to forgive me,” I said.  Then I began to relate something that happened when we were in the fourth or fifth grade.  I could not recall our exact age, but the location of the incident was well remembered by both of us.  I asked him if he remembered how we got in a terrible fight when our School School teacher had taken us to a cabin in the mountains.  There were six or seven of us young boys.  And as I continued to tell him of the scene . . . he responded, “I remember well.”

“I want you to forgive me for attacking you,”  I said.  “I think I was just trying to be a ‘big man.’”

He responded that we were both just trying to prove something.  But I asked him to forgive me for that.  Isn’t it strange that we can recall such an incident?  Certainly, we had fought and fussed many other times, but that one fight had been on my mind of these years.  It was so good to be released from that regret.

Then I told him that I wanted to thank him for something.  I began to tell the scene. We attended different high schools.  I would have been there in high school except for our family having relocated just prior to my high school days.  The two high schools played one another in football on that Friday night.  The game had been played on the field of the high school which I attended.

Our school won.  It was always a bitter rivalry between the two schools . . . regardless of the sport.

He remembered the game.  I asked him if he remembered what happened when his team bus arrived back at his high school.  Before he could respond, I continued with the scenario.  I had driven from our school to the parking lot of his campus to pick up my date who was required, as a cheerleader,  to return on the bus.

The players . . . most of them knowing me as we had gone through elementary school together . . . were still angered about losing the game.  Several of the players came over to my car and began to rock it and daring me to get out.  Suddenly I was becoming the scapegoat for their anger.  They were ready to drag me out of the car.  It was at that time that my cousin came over.  He was in a dilemma.  Would he stand with his teammates . . . or stand with family!

I said to my cousin, “  You chose family.  You went against all your friends.  You intervened . . . and you rescued me.  I want to thank you. I know it was not easy.  But, thank you.”

He made no real response, but said, “I remember.”  I am sure he remembered because it placed him in an uncomfortable position.

Like asking forgiveness for the fight, I felt a peace that I had  thanked him for that intervention.  Again, strange that the event had lingered with me all these years.  More than anything, I rejoiced that I could say those words to him.  Oh, I realize that they perhaps did not need to be said . . . but, then again, I believe they did.  Why else would they have been on my mind?

There are many other people who I need to say such to.  There are many memories.  There are others in my life where I need to say I am sorry — for cruel words, a snobby attitude, an act of disrespect, an anger expressed, and I could probably elongate the list!  Then I also need to say to so many how I appreciate their influence on my life, how they brought joy to me, showed patience and kindness to me, and how they will always be a part of my life.  And again, the list could continue!

Some of these people have completed their days on this earth . . . some, I have no idea where they are today . . . and probably none of them read this blog to identify with what I say . . . but who knows . . . perhaps they have forgiven me and one day in heaven I will be able to say thank you.

Consider my experience . . . give appreciation and thankfulness to those who have influenced your life.  And, certainly, if needed, seek forgiveness from those you have offended if you have the opportunity.

“Bear with each other, and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another . . . .”  (Colossians 3 :13)

Lawson

Wolfe’s novel talked of changing America.  He made the point that it is impossible to recapture what has changed.  Today, the expression “You can’t go home again” has become part of our American speech.  It means that after you have left a place, you cannot return to relive those youthful memories!

But I will say, “I can try!”  And that I did just recently!  Oh, I have returned several times to those places of my youth.  But this recent tour seemed to have more significant meaning.  Perhaps as we get older, we want to make “one more” journey to those places filled with so many memories.  And so on a recent trip, we simply went to the places of my childhood and youth.  Names may not mean much to many of my readers, but there will be many that recognize locations such as Stone Mountain, Clarkston, New Deal, Pine Lake, and Pea Ridge.  There are other names, but the very names suggest special places.

Stone Mountain had changed even more since my last visit.  But there was a “feeling” as I would stand in those ancient places!  The big house at the top of Main Street where I grew up is no longer there — nor the small house built in back.  The entire place is now a funeral home and parking lot.  The old schools are not there — but the old rock gym stands as a historical site!  I tried to remember the route of the streetcar as it came to town.  I would point to a high stone wall where I remember jumping down on a bully after school!  I saw where family lived for generations — the houses were not as large as they seemed when I was a boy.  I can not bring back those days — but my memory cannot forget.

It was on to Clarkston – the days of my youth.  The large family store that had stood for years is a used car lot today.  I sat and remembered the Jolly’s General store. It was a large building, but later petitioned to provide for Dr. Flower’s Drugstore, the Post Office, later replaced by Gibson’s Radio and Television.  The family home has been replaced by a business; the bridge is no longer over Peachtree Creek; and the land and homestead of my grandparents has been replaced by hundreds of apartments.  Oh, the changes!

Names of streets and roads had not changed however.  So many bear names of family –  Jolly Street, Jolly Road, Lovejoy, Hairston, and others.  I would point out places — there is where my first love lived, there is where I got beat up after school one day, and there is where so-and-so lived, and on and on I would go!

Changes, changes, changes!  In the use of the term, it is true, “You can’t go home again.”  But nothing can erase what I have in my memory.  Most of the changes are disappointing . . . but the memories become more treasured each day.  I rejoice for a sound mind that can enjoy such memories.

Lawson

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Stone Mountain — Part 1  www.lawsonjolly.com/2009/12/27;   Stone Mountain — Part 2  www.lawsonjolly.com/2009/12/28; Clarkston, GA – www.lawsonjolly.com/2010/01/04;  Jolly’s Store — Part One  www.lawsonjolly.com/2010/01/12.;  Jolly’s Store — Part Two  www.lawsonjolly.com/2010/01/13

As my wife and I were travelling recently, we passed a certain college.  I am not sure who spoke first, but we both asked, “Ever wonder what if?”  The reference was to the college and a position I had been offered.  That began a series of mentioning several things where we had not taken that road . . . and wondering what it would have been like if we had said yes.

I am not talking about some of those things people speculate about:  What if I had married so and so?  What if I had gone to another school?  What if I had not resigned that job?  What if . . . what if . . . what if?  It might be a mental game some people play . . . but it is probably not a healthy game to play!  Too many people believe something else would have made them happier or brought about a different circumstance in their life.

What Judy and I talked about were not choices that we might have wished would have been ours — like it would be easy for me to say “I wish that certain church had called me as pastor.”  Foolish to consider that.  There was not a choice.  I am talking about choices we did have.  Offers and opportunities to which we said “no.”  That is where our game was — invitations and opportunities to which we declined.

That college — so many years ago.  The invitation to become the vice-president.  What would it have meant to our family?  From that we began to thing about several such opportunities and how we might rank them.  There was nothing serious and regretful about our declining them, but it was fun.

We listed a particular church in a a distant state — we listed an opportunity to be on the staff of a Baptist State Convention — we added to the list the invitation to be a part of our National Convention.  Four opportunities we listed.  They were all very prestigious positions.

I do not share this to boast, but to share a truth.  I would like to believe that God allowed those opportunities to come as a challenge.  God has a plan for our lives.  The plan can be missed by individuals because they become flattered with the position offered . . . and prestige becomes the ruler of that life.  But prestige is not synonymous with happiness!

In each situation, after much deliberation and prayer, we concluded that God wanted us where we were at the time — to be the pastor of a church.  I can never totally explain it because I am amazed that I did not jump at the opportunity.  Even with God perhaps testing my commitment, I believe it took something stronger than my character.  Who doesn’t want prestige . . . and such?  I contribute saying no to a faithful, praying wife and the Spirit of God seeking to give guidance.

Prestige, fame, and fortune should never dictate our lives.  I am so grateful for God’s leadership over my life — as a result, my life has had more adventure, joy, and happiness than one could ever expect.  For that reason, I join with the anonymous person who said, “I would rather be the pastor of a church than the President of the United States.  To become President would be a step down!”

Every person must know and do what God has desired for our life.  Therein . . . and only therein . . . is genuine happiness.

Lawson