Just So Far Can Be Far Enough

          The best I can recall, it was about three thirty in the morning way back in the mid-nineteen sixties, and I was sitting on the cracked vinyl of an old bench across from my Grandpa Tharpe in a corner booth. We had settled into a little diner situated on the corner of 15th Street and whatever road it was that ran past Grant’s department store down to the ice house. Sunrise was still a little ways off so the fluorescents in the place blinded me a bit as we walked in, but the oscillating fans up on the wall made for adequate compensation. It was already getting hot; or rather it had never cooled down. It was, after all, July in Panama City, Florida and the sweat was already starting to pool on the vinyl up under my knees when the waitress came over to take our order.  

          I was kinda new at this so I was watching Grandpa carefully so as to do it right. He grinned up at the waitress as she asked him, “Will the regular do this morning?” He said “Sure” as the waitress, Sally, or Judy or Jane by name, gave him a sweet smile in return and said “Coming up, Clayton.”

          I don’t think I have ever gone into a diner, or a Waffle House, or a Denny’s for that matter since that morning and not ordered “two over well, with grits and bacon,” for breakfast. I have also learned that Grandpa’s little grin goes a long way to making your stay much more pleasant while you’re there. Heck, it has worked for fifty five years, so why change?
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            As most of you know my Grandpa was a milkman and this was nothing new to him, but to me it was brand new; and in spite of having to get up well before dawn, it was exciting to me. I was going to get to ride on the milk truck with him that day. Granny didn’t like the idea all that much, but Grandpa said I wouldn’t be too much trouble and besides he could use the help. I might let you in on the story of the ride next time, but for now let me tell you about my discovery at breakfast.

          As we sat down in the booth that morning, well actually as we were walking to the booth, I was amazed at how everybody seemed to know my Grandpa. Up until that time I knew him to be a quiet, introspective man, almost shy by nature. I had also simply assumed that he was my personal property; but from the moment we walked in and the waitress asked him if he wanted his regular order until the last bite was taken, people were laughing and talking to him, and he was laughing and talking back. Now what really surprised me that morning was the fact that they didn’t just know him, they all seemed to know me as well. It seems that my grandpa had been talking out of turn.

They knew my name, how long I was going to be there and they had even heard about the big bass I had caught off of the dam down in Wewa the Wednesday before.

For a child of nine or so, this was a revelation. My grandpa knew people outside the family, and they knew and seemed to love him and love me by association.

Later that morning as we were in between calls, just riding in the truck, I finally screwed up the courage to ask Grandpa how he knew all those people. I was still amazed. It seemed to be so out of place and character to my young mind. He said he had just gotten to know them over the years. They all just seemed to land at the same place at the same time every morning, so they had become a little early morning family, he said.  

Then, with a bit of suspicion in my voice I asked him how they knew so much about me. He said, “Well, they were his friends and friends like to hear about other friend’s lives.” I didn’t fully understand, so I asked him again. He smiled his quiet smile and said, “They know about you because you are such a big part of my life.”

          I can still remember the feeling I felt that morning when I first heard those words. I was ten feet tall.

          To this day, when my strength begins to waver, I think back to that morning, all those years ago, to regain my strength. I think back to those loving words, spoken by a man I revered, and I reclaim my stature and carry on.  
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          When I started this little story, I had plans to use it to address some of the troubles we are going through at the moment. I wanted to bring comfort in the era of Covid19 and wisdom in the era of civil unrest. We preachers tend to bite off more than we can chew sometimes.

Well, the Lord saw the error of my ways and gently reminded me that like most folks, my voice only carries so far. He also reminded me that just so far can be far enough if I remember just how important words of encouragement and love can be to those who hear them, especially when they fall on young ears.

          In time we will get past the current crop of crises. Life will settle back, and we will all be able to breathe once again. Your legacy and mine for this time may very well rest upon the words we have spoken or left unspoken.

          In years to come, those who surround you today may very well harken back to your words to find comfort and peace, strength and stature. When they look back, what will they find?
 
Love,
Pastor Tony.
           

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