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When I was a young boy and spent much of my time down on the panhandle of Florida with my Granny and Grandpa Tharpe, there was one woman who fascinated me and of whom I was scared half to death. No, it wasn’t my Granny; I was in awe of her. It was Granny’s next door neighbor. Her name was Irene; and she lived in a little house to the left of the Granny’s, if you were facing the place. While Granny’s house was light and airy, Irene’s place was a dark affair. It had live oaks festooned with Spanish moss overhanging the front porch. Wisteria vines clung to the railings and worked their way up the cypress and catawba trees which shaded the rest of the house. Old tar laced roll roofing acted as siding so the house was a motley combination of brown paper and black tar, and the yard was in a perpetual state of disarray.
I don’t know why she scared me so. Perhaps it was the sheer size of the woman, or the evil glare from underneath those seldom washed black bangs of hers, or maybe it was the voice that sounded like a broom should be under it; but one way or the other, I avoided her like the plague. Nonetheless, I was a little boy and apt to be mischievous and a bit restless as most little boys tend to be. In that there were no video games back then to occupy my time and no Ritalin to quell my urges, I tended to get into a bit of trouble from time to time. That being said, I usually had some help. You see, I have a second cousin by the name of Scott, and back then he had a gift for coming up with devious things to do and having someone else do them; and in that I enjoyed his company, the role of someone else often fell to me. One late summer Sunday afternoon while the old folks were sitting around visiting, Scott and I were playing in Granny’s backyard. As the afternoon wore on interest in our normal pursuits began to fade, and we started looking for some adventure. After a while Scott’s gaze fell on the enchanted house next door and through a double dare and the dreaded phrase “What are you scared of?” he convinced me to sneak over to Irene’s house, knock on the door and run. Being young and stupid, at least one thing has changed since then, I decided to give it a try. So with a stealth that would make a sniper proud, I slithered through the forest of old pots, rusted car parts, and unkempt weeds without making a sound to her back door and knocked, not just once, but three times to prove I was immune to fear. When I heard her heavy footsteps coming in my direction, my immunity vanished and I turned tail and ran as fast as I could; but in the midst of my terror I somehow lost my footing, tripped over my feet and fell head long into her flowerbed. Laying there with a face full of forget-me-nots, I heard the back door open, caught just a whiff of sulfur on the air and heard those hobnailed boots coming my way. My life, short as it was, flashed before my eyes. It was then that I discovered three things. First of all a two hundred and fifty pound woman can be surprisingly swift on her feet, secondly a seven year old boy can’t get much traction with newly watered forget-me-nots under his feet and finally my second cousin could disappear faster than anybody before or since on two feet. I will dispense with the nasty details, but I soon found myself being held by the scruff of my neck in my Granny’s living room while a bunch of old ladies examined me. Most were just a bit shocked at my appearance, or maybe it was Irene’s. My Granny, however, just looked at me sternly with a slight grin, and I think a little gleam of admiration in her eye. She then asked for an explanation. I told her that Scott made me do it. I will never forget her reaction. From under her grin her teeth appeared, and then from behind the teeth came a glorious belly laugh. When she finally caught her breath, she simply said “Scott who?” I said “You know, Scott, my cousin.” Then she lost her smile and said “The only Scott I see is Anthony Scott Rowell.” Somehow I had forgotten that Scott was my middle name. I spent the rest of that day breaking the Sabbath by cleaning Irene’s house from top to bottom to pay for the flowers I had destroyed, and on Monday I replanted the garden, cleaned the backyard and mowed the grass or what passed for grass. Scott, my cousin Scott, on the other hand, headed off to the Chipola River and spent the day fishing. I tell this story for a couple of reasons. First and foremost I simply enjoy reliving days gone by when things seemed to be a bit simpler, and secondly I tell it as a bit of a warning to those of us who tend to try to cast off personal responsibility for our actions. Remember, if the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, the road to nowhere is paved with excuses. All too often the human tendency is to cast about for something or someone to blame when things don’t go our way. My challenge to all of us is to look upward and inward for solutions to the challenges we face in life. The possibilities are endless. Who knows what God has planned for your life? My prayer for you is that you allow Christ to set the agenda. With Christ at the wheel and the Holy Spirit filling your sails, you can have no excuse for anything other than a blessed life. Love, Pastor Tony
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I will never forget my first Christmas as a married man. Mary and I were living in an 8 x 36 foot trailer in Lexington at the time. I had lived in that thing with a cat named Charlie all the way through college and it was just the right size for the cat. Nonetheless we were happy as two bugs in a rug, as they say. We got ourselves a Christmas tree, piled some furniture up on top of itself so we would have a place to put it; and then we realized that we had no ornaments, no lights, and no money whatsoever. The being said, we determined that reality aside, one way or the other we were going to get that tree decked out right even if it killed us. So we found a couple of pennies to rub together down in between the cushions of the sofa and headed to the first Kroger store that ever came to Columbia; the one over there on Bush River road in a building that has since housed the Burlington coat factory, and lots of other business. I believe that building has been torn down now and replaced with a Wal-Mart. Time marches on I suppose.
Well, we both were as excited as can be. After all we were little more than kids ourselves. Mary had just turned 21 and I was only six months ahead of her. First of all we got a couple of strands of lights, and then we took a look at the ornaments. First things we found were some of those glass balls ornaments; you know the blue ones, the silver and the red ones. Cheap yea, but we still have a couple of them thirty seven years later. Of course the paint is about gone from them, and the springy things have sprung, but we just can’t bring ourselves to part with them. After that first box of bobbles was purchased, we went treasure hunting. What we found were four blue bells with silver sparkles on them. We had to have them. They were the things of which heirlooms were made. So we decided that beans would be ok for a week or so and bought them. When we hung them on that tree they glistened and were just about the prettiest things we had ever seen. When Christmas morning came that year, I do not remember a thing I received. I do remember those bells however and to this day as we continue the tradition of hanging those bells on our tree; I remember the innocence and the joy of that first Christmas with Mary. I remember all of the Christmases since; and I thank God for the joy of it all. I thank him for the gift He has given me of a godly woman, three wonderful children and seven beautiful grandchildren. I am amazed at His generosity to a man who gives so little in return. God is good, isn’t He? I will also never forget my first Christmas as a father. Sarah was all of four months old and Mary and I were both still a bit scared of her; but we were going to do it right you know. We were living in Gilbert by that time in an old house that we were in the process of fixing up. Well, actually at that time we were in the process of making it habitable. Habitable or not it was ours, and we didn’t have to turn sideways to pass one another in the hall anymore, which is a strangely satisfying blessing if you have ever been there. It was a really cold winter that year, and in that we had no heat but a woodstove it was a bit chilly in the house; but it was Christmas, we were young and in love and the weather meant nothing to us. We were living in just one room of the house, because the stove would only heat that room. Yes, it was a bit cramped, but it was ours and we had just been given a wonderful gift, the gift of life and family. Christmas morning dawned, and Sarah kept on sleeping. I don’t know why but I figured a kid, even a four month old kid, would know it was Christmas and come a running; but she just kept sleeping. Finally Mary woke her up and sat her by the tree. She just sat there staring at the lights and the presents, as few as they were, marveling; and once again I thanked God for my life, my family and His love. Since that time I have had first Christmases nine more times, and each and every time the kid just sits there and marvels; and I know how they feel. When I think of Christmas and its true meaning, I mean when I truly think of what happened on that starlit night, of the gift that was given; I am left speechless and amazed, and all I can do is marvel. As this Christmas season dawns, make sure you take the time to marvel as well. Merry Christmas!! Love, Pastor Tony |
AuthorTony Rowell Archives
December 2024
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