 "Smiling Eyes" Taken in the hills above David, Panama. Years ago, back in the early 2000’s, I took several mission teams down to Vulcan, Panama in Central America. On such trips our driver was always the same man, and he was a man after my own heart. He and I share the same name, Antonio, as well as a lasting friendship.
Antonio is a family man, a devout Christian and a fine fella; and under normal circumstances he is a calm, measured and a relatively sane individual. Put him behind the wheel of a bus, however and you soon discover that deep down, in the recesses of his heart, he has the soul of Richard Petty with a touch of Mario Andretti for flavor. I would trust Antonio with my life, and have done so on several occasions. So while I traveled along in comfort and peace with him at the helm, others found the experience a bit disconcerting. It was always a blast to watch the expressions and hear the gasps from the first time missionaries when first they set foot on his bus. I think it would be fair to say that their prayer life was improved due to the experience. Other than a good looking girl crossing his path, I didn’t think there was anything that would slow him down; but on one of my last trips to Panama, I discovered something that slowed even Antonio down a bit. It was a pothole like no other pothole before or since. Somewhere along the road between Vulcan, where we stayed, and Puerto Armuelles, where we worked, there was a vast expanse of nothingness through which we had to pass. When that angry black hole came into sight, even Antonio would come to a complete stop. Then he would meticulously work his way through the expanse until we were safe on the other side. Quickly thereafter he would slam us back in our seats, and we would be off again. It is difficult to see the countryside, much less the people of a place, while you are transitioning into light speed; but slow it down a bit, and it is amazing what happens. I am one who likes to keep my window open while on a bus. I like the fresh air, and I like to hear, smell and experience the country. So when we came to this pothole, I was able to hear and see outside once the dust settled. It was on the third crossing of the pothole, as we were heading to Puerto Armuelles from Vulcan to start our second day, when I heard the voice of a little girl quietly say “Hola.” As I looked closer, I noticed that a little piece off the road there was a mud sided, thatched roofed hut, and standing on the makeshift porch was a little girl of four or five. She had been playing hard that morning and was dusty from head to toe. In return I mouthed “Hola” to her and waved, and she ran back into the house as fast as she could terrified of the bearded gringo on the bus. The next morning when we stopped, she was there again, and once again I heard the “Hola.” This time I just smiled and waved, and before she thought about it, just before she bolted her little hand went up and waved back. To shorten the story, by the end of the trip our greeting had gone from “Hola” to “Buenos Dias,” and on our final pothole crossing, I will never forget the sight of that smiling little girl standing on that rickety old porch watching and waving for all she was worth until we were out of sight. I will cherish the memory of that little girl and the brief friendship we shared for the rest of my life. It was one of those precious gifts of God that we receive from time to time. Only God could throw together a relatively well-off Preacher and a little girl in abject poverty and allow them to realize that under it all we are the same. We all need a smile and a wave and the love of a neighbor, even the love of a scary looking gringo. And to think it was all made possible by a pothole. It has been a long year hasn’t it? Just a year or so ago things seemed so calm, almost sleepy. We were all getting ready for the Easter season thinking, in my case, that it would be like all of the other sixty-one Easter seasons of my life; a time of blessing and family. I expected that it would be a time to remember the Lord and His wonderful love and a time to take a look inside and clean up a bit. We were looking forward to a time of renewal and refreshment as we settled nonchalantly into another year, and then we hit a pothole called Covid19; and instead of just fixing the pothole, the powers that be decided to tear things up and repave the entire highway. Hindsight is always 20/20 though, so I’ll cut the powers that be a little slack on this one. One way or the other, it has been a doozy of a year. I can hear the amen chorus warming up as I speak. For many this has been a year of hardship and for some a year of tragedy and sorrow. For others it has merely been an inconvenience, but for all of us I dare say that this past year has affected us in more ways than we realize right now. One of those ways may be that the fragility of life and the transient nature of time have been made clear, and with that clarity a certain foreboding has cast a shadow over your spirit. Perhaps the words of the Psalmist have begun to ring true in your life. 4 Man is like a breath; his days are like a fleeting shadow. Ps 144:4 NIV If this is your condition, look to Easter and find hope. When Christ stepped from the tomb, He brought with Him a new paradigm in which life is no longer fragile, but eternal; and time is no longer transient, but nonexistent for the believer. There is no death nor are there timepieces in a new life with Christ. As Easter approaches and the miracle of rebirth is born, rely upon your Savior and know that no matter how uncertain the times or difficult the road, Christ has been there before you and will see you through safely to the other side. Happy Easter, Pastor Tony
0 Comments
 Uncle Shine, Granny and Grandpa Tharpe I will never forget her expression as Granny Tharpe stared down at me while I was laying in the bottom of an old beaten up jon boat feeling sorry for myself one morning. I was laying down there using an old bailing can for a pillow and weaving a tapestry of woe.
It was mid-summer back in the sixties like a lot of my memories, and her expression was one of intense aggravation flavored with just a dollop of admiration. She had put up with me and my ways for a little over an hour figuring that a seven year old could never out last her; but when it came to pouting, nobody could do it better than me. So after a gallant effort, she finally had enough of the contest and played the Granny card. She looked down at me, whacked my leg with that little gator paddle of hers and said: “I’ve had it with you and your whining this morning. Either fish, cut bait or be bait. One way or the other, shut up, you’re scaring the fish.” Now my Granny loved me to death. I was by far her favorite grandchild, and I’ve always said that she would say as much; but from time to time, I would get in a mood where nothing would satisfy me. Then I would sit around and grumble about everything. I wouldn’t do anything about anything, mind you; but Lord have mercy, I could complain with the best of them. On this particular morning Granny, Grandpa and I had headed down to Wewa to do something that I loved almost as much as whining. We were heading down to fish for fresh water mullet and largemouth bass off of the Dead Lakes Dam. If you’re ever interested, just ask me and I tell you the secret to catching fresh water mullet off of a spillway. Now there had been a big rain upstream, it seems; so when we got to the dam, the water was too high to suit Granny and Grandpa. So they decided to head down to Willis Landing, rent a jon boat and check out the bream and shell cracker action on the Chipola River. The problem was they didn’t check with me, and as much I loved fishing on the river, I preferred the dam to the landing any day high water or no. When Granny threatened to tie an anchor line around my waist and throw me in, I was expressing my objections to the fishing spot, but mostly I just had my feelings hurt for want of consultation. My means of expression was complaining about the pole, the line, the hook, the sinker, the worms, the crickets, the boat, my companions, the color of the sky, and anything else that presented itself. I was doing anything but fishing; and nothing irritated my Granny more than driving to Wewa, renting a boat, digging worms and then watching her grandson waste the day fussing and fuming instead doing what he ought to be doing and fishing. So she told me to do something worthwhile in her own unique way. “You know how to fish.” she said, “So fish and stop bothering me with your blubbering.” Well she actually used one of her favorite lines, which is not particularly suited for fancy church writing, but it had to do with a pot for those of you old enough to be in the know. It has been a lifetime it seems since that summer’s morning with my Granny, but I can still pout with the best of them when things don’t work out the way I think they ought to. This past year, 2020, has been a year of things not working out like they ought to. We’ve all been thrown into a tizzy, as my momma would say; and between that and the fear of the unknown and the fear the known, many of us are a mess right now. Lots of folks simply don’t know which way to turn or who to believe, and because of that, they are frightened and paralyzed. Many in the Church of Christ have hunkered down to wait it out, and I suppose that’s fine, if that is what they need to do; but I can’t help going back to that summer’s morning and finding a lesson there. A lesson taught by one of the wisest people I have ever been blessed to meet, my Granny Tharpe. I have asked in the past, “What Would Granny Say?” As 2020 is slowly fading behind us in the rear view mirror, I have been asking myself that same question time and time again. In so many words, I believe that she would simply say this: “You’ve got one life, use is as you wish, but please don’t waste it.” No, that’s not it. It loses too much in translation. What Granny would actually say is simply this. “You’ve got one life. Fish, cut bait or be bait, you choose.” Ps 138:7-8 7 Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life; you stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes, with your right hand you save me. 8 The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your love, O LORD, endures forever. NIV That you can believe. Pastor Tony |
AuthorTony Rowell Archives
December 2024
Categories |
RSS Feed