“But the people refused to listen to Samuel. “No!” they said. “We want a king over us. Then we will be like all the other nations, with a king to lead us and to go out before us and fight our battles.” – 1 Samuel 8:19-20
Americans get pretty worked up over election results. The stakes always seem so high…
Donald Trump promised to Make America Great Again. Who wouldn’t want that?
Barack Obama offered Hope and Change. Sign me up!
George W. Bush served up Compassionate Conservatism. Give me a double order of that, please!
Dwight Eisenhower said he would bring Peace and Prosperity. How soon can we start?
Even as young student, I voted for Student Council President candidates who promised longer recesses, less homework, and field trips to Disney World. If we can just elect the right person, surely good things will happen and our lives will improve.
The Israelites were no different. Although God promised to lead them and make them prosperous as their eternal king, that wasn’t enough. They wanted an earthly king like the nations around them. With the right earthly king on the throne, they would find success in battle and economic prosperity…or so they thought.
The note from the margin reads: We still want a leader to fight our fights and fix our problems. Rather than put our trust in God, we look to earthly leaders for solutions to what ails our society and our lives. Rather than seek to become more pure and Christ-like as individuals, we focus on an earthly king who promises to make our nation greater. Rather than put our hope in a Savior who can change us, we order up hope and change from a mere mortal.
I’m not against political parties, politicians, or free and open elections. Earthly kings, from the United States President down to the 8th Grade Student Council President, can inspire people and bring about great change. Some leaders even pray to God and ask him to guide their actions and decisions.
But the biggest choice we face isn’t at the ballot box. What’s truly at stake isn’t dependent on which political party holds office for the next four or eight years. While those things matter, there is a matter of greater consequence. Will we, as a nation and as individuals, choose to follow God? Will we trust in the one who created us, loves us, and sustains us?
The warning from 1 Samuel 12:25 seems fitting: “Yet if you persist in doing evil, both you and your king will be swept away.”
“Sometimes a change of perspective is all it takes to see the light.” – Dan Brown
Every once in a while, I cross paths with someone who I believe, in retrospect, must have been placed there by God. Someone who, perhaps unintentionally, refocuses my attention and stirs me to action. Someone who, through sheer force of their example, makes a difference in my life.
In the Fall of 2017, my wife and I were doing disaster relief in Beaumont, Texas, following the devastation of Harvey, a category 4 hurricane. One day, we were assigned to work with a team from the College Church of Christ in Searcy, Arkansas. Our task was to “gut” a home that, 30 days earlier, had been under eight feet of water. Mold covered the walls and possessions. Furniture was tossed about. Total destruction. The owners, a sweet couple in their mid-80s, had been evacuated in waist-deep water in the middle of the night as Harvey moved in.
Our quickly assembled team donned protective gear, gathered wheelbarrows and crowbars, and began tearing out moldy, water-soaked drywall. We carted and carried a lifetime’s worth of now ruined possessions to the mile-long debris pile along the street. On a return trip through the house, I walked by the dining room and glanced over at a curly-headed, perspiring, middle-aged man who resembled Mark Twain. As he struggled to lift a water-logged carpet, he looked up at me and said, “Hey…uh…Doofus…come over here and help me with this.”
I sat my wheelbarrow aside, walked over to him, and firmly gripped the carpet. As we dragged it through the front door and across the lawn, I couldn’t help but laugh at this man who didn’t know my name. I found it quite humorous that of all the possible substitute names this man, our team leader, could have chosen for me… “Brother,” “Friend,” “Dude,” or even, “Hey, You”… he had instead gone with “Doofus.” (BTW, “Doofus,” according to Webster is, quite simply, “a stupid person.”) Even funnier was that I had immediately responded to that name and answered his call for help. Which begs the question: If you answer to Doofus, does that make you a Doofus? Perhaps.
So, for the rest of the week, my new friend called me Doofus and I called him Mr. Twain. We quickly realized we shared two passions: (1) disaster relief work (more specifically, slicing up trees with chainsaws); and (2) coffee (at any hour of the day or night). By the fourth or fifth night, we were hanging out at the laundromat at 11 p.m., sipping caffeinated coffee, and watching our funky clothes agitate in the washing machines before us. This is how friendships are forged.
Over the past few years, our paths have crossed a handful of times. Each time, Mr. Twain (real name: Chris Adams) has found a way to encourage me or motivate me. On one occasion, at a Starbucks in Searcy, Arkansas, we discussed and shared insights on the challenges of caring for aging (and dying) parents. I don’t remember all that he said, but I walked away feeling encouraged that another soul “got” what I was going through and had gone through, having navigated similar waters.
More recently, my iPhone rang and I glanced at the caller I.D., which read, “Mark Twain.” I smiled and answered, anticipating the next word I would hear. “Doofus! It’s Chris.” (I’m glad he identified himself because, you know, with so many people calling me Doofus I wouldn’t know who I was talking to.) He continued, “I’m taking a team to Louisiana in a few days. I know it’s short notice, but are you in?” After quickly glancing at my calendar, I asked, “Will you buy me a cup of coffee?” “Of course,” he answered. “Well, then, I’m in.”
Before I could say, “Hurricane Laura,” I was in Pineville, Louisiana, knocking down trees and drinking coffee with Mr. Twain, his team (including our mutual friend, Keith Picker), and another of my long-time friends, Chuck Leasure. Twain introduced me, appropriately, as “Doofus,” and, in turn, I reflected on his rise to literary prominence in the river novels featuring Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.
At night, we collaborated on the size and composition of teams to send out the following day and where they would go. During the day, our teams turned downed trees into firewood and sawdust. Then again at night, we snuck off just before the stores closed to buy cartons of ice cream for the assembled workers back at the building. By Sunday morning, Doofus and Twain were preaching and leading singing, respectively, for the Pineville Church of Christ, our hosts.
Fast forward to this past Friday. After finishing an afternoon run on the most perfect Fall day here in Maryville, I received a text from Chris with a bunch of photos. He and his team were in Lake Charles, doing disaster relief with the Church of Christ Disaster Response Team. Then he called me. “Doofus! It’s Chris. I’m here in Lake Charles. We’re feeding people today…hundreds of ‘em. Somebody donated a ton of pork butt and we’ve been prepping it. Do you know what’s involved in turning a ton of pork butt into sandwiches? (I did not.) Also, I just sent you some pictures that I just took. The photos are from the same spot, but I’m looking in different directions. It’s all about perspective. Write something about that.”
My first thought: You’re Mark Twain, a renowned author. Write your own story!
Instead, I looked at the photos, and realized he was on to something…
In the first photo, you’re in Lake Charles looking down a mostly desolate Enterprise Boulevard, lined with trash and lawn debris. The blue-tarped roofs are a reminder of the back-to-back storms which have trampled this community, city, and region. No children playing. No Fall flowers being planted. Mostly dirt and debris. It’s cleaned up, at least, but still conveys kind of a hopeless feeling. That’s one perspective.
Perspective 1: Hopelessness
In the second photo, you’ve rotated your position and changed your perspective. You’re now looking at the front of the Enterprise Boulevard Church of Christ. Out front, a sign reads, “Church of Christ Disaster Response Team.” In this picture… from this perspective… hopelessness has turned into hope. Where you find the church building, you may be near the actual church—the body of Christ, and that means there’s hope.
Perspective 2: Hope
And where you find the DRT sign, you’ll find a group of volunteers who want to feed you, supply your needs, clean up your home and community and, in the name of Christ, help you get back on your feet. From this perspective, there’s still no activity… just a sign. But the sign gives hope.
In the third photo, you’ve rotated again and start to see evidence of activity. More signs, but perhaps some movement as well. An open car door. An open tool trailer. Cars beginning to queue. There appears to be some activity. Maybe what’s going on here is more than just a church building… more than just a sign. Something is happening at this place.
Perspective 3: Happenings
In the fourth and subsequent photos, cars are lined up. Cars full of hungry people. On that day, about 900 people were served. People whose lives and neighborhoods have been wrecked by back-to-back major storms. People who, for the time being at least, are among the “least of these” contemplated in Matthew 25. If they were hungry, they drove away full. If they needed clothes, they were clothed. If they needed supplies, they were supplied. If they needed a roof tarped, drywall hung, or debris hauled, those requests were taken and would be eventually honored, as well. And whether they requested it or not, they would be prayed for—daily—by people who believe in the power of prayer.
Perspective 4: Healing
Four photos. Same spot. But four different perspectives, depending on which way you’re facing. Cycling through the photos, we move from hopelessness to hope, from hope to happenings, and from happenings to healing. That’s how God uses his people to change the world. And he gets all the glory!
DRT workers doin’ work!
I don’t know exactly what perspective Chris had in mind on the different perspectives in these photos, but two applications come to mind for me:
First, two people at the very same spot may have very different perspectives on their circumstances depending on which way they are facing—what they are focused on. For example, one person looks at 2020 as a wasted year, due to COVID-19, social unrest, political division, and other negative factors. They focus on the first photo—the desolate street.
Another person, standing in the same spot, views 2020 not as a waste, but an opportunity. An opportunity to sew masks for healthcare providers. An opportunity to buy groceries for an elderly neighbor with pre-existing health conditions. An opportunity to pay a few bills for a friend who is out of work. Both people are confronted with the lemon that is 2020, but only one has chosen to make lemonade. Same spot. Different attitudes and perspectives.
“Pork butt sandwiches! Did I mention the 4 hungry kids in the trunk of my car?”
Second, as we reflect on these photos, I think individuals and churches should ask which photo best depicts how we are seen by others—by the outside world. What perspective do they see in you? When someone among “the least of these” encounters your life, do they see Christ? Do they move from a sense of hopelessness (photo 1) to a sense of hope (photos 2-4)? Or, is my “I’m a Christian!” sign merely a mirage?
Do our church buildings have impressive signs out front, but not much going on beyond that? Are we mostly in a comfortable, self-preservation, maintenance mode? Does our sign read, “Free Food Here! Come and Get It!” or merely, “We Wish You Well in Finding Food!” Are we the Good Samaritan who stopped and helped, or the priest who walked on by? Speaking for myself, too often I’ve walked on by.
But maybe… just maybe… our lives and our churches can be more than just signs. There can be activity beneath the surface and behind-the-scenes… something amazing going on beyond the signs. We can go where we need to go and do what we need to do to bring hope and relieve suffering. We can try, as difficult as the task may be, to be the eyes, ears, feet, and hands of Jesus. It doesn’t take driving to a disaster area or wielding a chainsaw to do this. There are hurting people all around us.
Friends, if I may speak from the heart for a moment. We don’t need more grandiose church buildings or fancy signs. We don’t need more cross necklaces or Christian fish bumper stickers. Instead, we need more people willing to roll up their sleeves and get to work, meeting the needs of a hurting world. A world far more likely to listen to our “saving gospel message” if they’ve already seen Jesus at work in our lives. That’s what the world needs. And it starts with me.
Chris Adams, my friend, aka Mark Twain, gets that. He’s one of those servant-hearted people. A guy all-in on disaster relief—one downed tree and pork butt sandwich at a time. A Photo #4 guy who is all-in on Jesus. A guy who appreciates a good cup of coffee and a well-oiled chainsaw.
A guy who calls me Doofus.
Chris Adams, aka Mark Twain, leads a team devotional using Spiritual Pursuit, a book by Doofus
Starting Location: Anthony Creek Trailhead, Cades Cove
Distance: 16.1 miles
Total Elevation Gain – 3500 feet
Highest Elevation – 5440 feet
Level of Difficulty: 9
Pictures: Available on my Facebook page
Getting There: Travel to Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Make two lefts into the picnic area and park at the far end of the picnic area parking lot.
Poet Carroll Bryant once wrote, “Don’t bite off more than you can chew because nobody looks attractive spitting it back out.”
Most people comply. We sink our teeth into safe, manageable bites. We follow the familiar. We undertake the understood. We pursue the predictable.
Nothing wrong with that. The bulk of life consists of competently handling safe, manageable tasks. A guarded, conservative approach, according to Poet Bryant, saves us the embarrassment of spitting out excess food. No one wants to be the young, red-faced bovine mishandling his first cud.
Let’s get this party started!
Every once in a while, though, I recommend biting off more than you think you can chew. Be bold. Color outside the lines. Choose a task that awakens your butterflies, dilates your pupils, and tightens your sphincter.
A few months ago, I was approached by Erika, a friend who shares a common Christian faith. That, and a love for Mexican food, is about all we share. (I’ve also shared carne asada and a hot tub with her padre, Flavio, in northern California, but that’s a different blog.)
Erika is an energetic, Hispanic Pocahontas. I am a sluggish, Caucasian Captain John Smith. Erika is a young, flexible teacher of yoga. I am an old, frangible writer of blogs. Erika is short, thin, brown-skinned and fit. I’m the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Erika is married to Kevin, a bearded outdoorsman cut from Duck Dynasty cloth. I’m married to Janet, a beardless crocheter. Erika doesn’t hike. I’ve done some hiking. We’re different.
Erika wanted to go on a challenging hike—to bite off a little more than she could safely chew. The kind of hike that, if accomplished, she would never forget. A trek that would, at first thought, awaken our butterflies, dilate our pupils, and tighten our sphincters. Rejecting Poet Bryant’s advice, Erika wanted to throw caution to the wind and venture out into the wilderness. She had entered my wheelhouse.
Joining us as charter members of the Eastside Striders were Brian, Valerie, and Bri Wininger—one half of a sweet, home-schooling family from our congregation. Unlike Erika, they had done a fair amount of hiking, though nothing north of 10 or 11 miles.
It fell on me, Fob W. Pot, to choose our route. I wanted a Smoky Mountains hike that would be long, physically challenging, and would reward us with stunning, panoramic vistas, lots of rushing water, and some time on my beloved Appalachian Trail. Our chosen trek would begin with a nearly 6-mile, 3500-foot ascent, followed by 10 miles across and down a ridge, which would add up to 9+ hours of hiking and over 40,000 steps! Chew on that cud!
We made it to the Cades Cove parking lot by 8:05 a.m. on Saturday, October 3rd, 2020. We walked over to the picnic area restrooms and I discovered that the restroom door I had entered on my previous visit had a picture of a woman in a skirt next to it. To the woman who was in the stall next to me, in case you ever read this, I sincerely apologize for my creepy behavior.
We, the Eastside Striders, said a prayer and were on the Anthony Creek Trail by 8:15 a.m. As the designated tour guide, I knew that we needed to keep moving at a decent clip to finish before dark. Within the first few hundred yards, I realized that wasn’t going to happen. After about three minutes of hiking, Erika stopped to bond with a butterfly and collect the first of a dozen or so colorful Fall leaves she would adorn herself with. Brian released the first of several dozen booming, mountain-shaking belches. Meanwhile, teenager Bri posed for scenic photo shoots and Valerie stopped to listen to and identify birds. Based on our pace over the first half mile, I calculated we would finish our hike by Thanksgiving.
I exhorted our crew with a cry of “Vamanos, por favor!” After being informed the “V” is silent, I started calling Valerie “Alerie” and that stuck as her trail name. We eventually got into our hiking groove and began the 5-mile ascent along the Anthony Creek and Bote Mountain trails to the Appalachian Trail. Along the way, we talked. By that, I mean Erika talked. Erika has a lot to say and makes a point to say it all. She learned to talk shortly after exiting the birth canal and hasn’t stopped. Fortunately, she’s interesting. I learned Mexican history and several Hispanic words, including “Órale!” (an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement) which, for the rest of the day, I unfortunately pronounced “Orajel!” (a pain relief gel for severe toothache).
As we hiked, I watched Erika and Bri stop at interesting rocks and downed tree limbs to raise their legs above their head because…well…they can. In 2000+ miles of hiking the AT, I can’t recall a single time a fellow hiker stopped, looked at me, and then raised his hiking boot over his head. Yoga people are odd.
Aum!
I was also asked to lead us in several mini “dance parties” featuring songs from Queen, Prince, and The Greatest Showman soundtrack. Yes, rather than complain about the long, arduous climb to the top, we partied like it was 1999. Never a dull moment with this crew.
After a few hours of hiking, singing, dancing, panting, navigating rhododendron tunnels, and listening to Brian belch, we arrived at the AT and turned left (AT North). Had this been June, we would have been overwhelmed with the most spectacular display of mountain laurel on Planet Earth. Even in October, the grassy pastures, shade trees, and variety of flora and fauna were reminders of a loving, Creator God.
Arriving at a particularly scenic spot along the ridge, I informed the group it was break time and that Fob wanted to take a short AT nap. Ten seconds into my nap, I heard “dog pile!” and soon felt Erika (aka Loca Leaf Catcher) and Bri (aka Panting Puppy) crowding my personal space and wanting to play. After a few more yoga poses and photos and a handful of Swedish fish and beef jerky, we continued our journey northward.
About a mile and a few more ups and downs later, we reached the summit of Rocky Top, a rocky peak along Thunderhead Mountain. How appropriate that as I rested along the rocks and sang Rocky Top, the Tennessee fight song, the Volunteers were in the second quarter of their game against Missouri. We took in the views of Fontana Lake, Shuckstack Fire Tower, Clingmans Dome, and Mount LeConte, ate lunch, and visited with a handful of other hikers enjoying the rocky summit.
The View from Rocky Top
After a half hour enjoying each other’s company and God’s magnificent creation, we began our descent off Rocky Top. Brian motivated us with another in his repertoire of ear-splitting belches. Alerie called him the “Belchin’ Yeti” but I misunderstood her so he ended up with the trail name, “Belgian Yeti.”
We made a quick detour over to the Spence Field Shelter so the ladies could experience the joys of an AT privy (outhouse). Then we traveled three mostly flat miles along the AT, highlighted by more yoga posing, mushroom sightings, bird identification, and dance parties. By the time we reached the Russell Field Shelter, which sits right along the AT, we were exhausted. I know this because Erika had (momentarily) stopped talking. After visiting with some section hikers at the shelter, we began the 5.1-mile descent back to Cades Cove.
Our descent was notable for what didn’t take place—complaining. Yes, we were tired and aching. Our legs were wobbly. Our armpits were clammy. My feet were mostly numb. We reeked of sweat and beef jerky. We were ready to be done. But we didn’t complain. I love that. I have a deep respect for any person or group of people who have every right to complain—to moan about their circumstances—but choose not to. Complaining is contagious. So is having a good attitude. This group chose the latter approach and, by doing so, passed the most important test of the day.
My take-aways…
Don’t enter a restroom if there’s a picture of a lady in a skirt by the door.
Life is about the journey, so try some yoga poses, listen for birds, collect pretty leaves, and have a dance party or two.
Appreciate Christian friends. You’ll need their encouragement to finish life’s journey…and they’ll need yours.
Don’t complain.
Once in a while, bite off more than you can chew. Those bites are the ones you’ll remember.
Additional Photos –available in an album on my “Author Steve Johnson” Facebook page
Getting There
Travel to Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Take the one-way loop road 4.8 miles to the far western end. Just after crossing Abrams Creek, turn right on a gravel road and travel .4 miles to the parking area and trailhead.
A hike can be memorable for the trail itself—the flora and fauna, sweeping vistas, and geological features encountered along the way. The main attraction may be the destination it takes you to—perhaps a historic lodge or a spectacular view. A hike can be memorable because of the people you are with—the friendships formed or renewed along the way. A hike can also be unforgettable due to a wildlife encounter. Let’s take a look at these factors in order.
As a trail, the Abrams Falls Trail is average. I mean, it’s fine…there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just not exceptional, noteworthy or particularly challenging. It runs alongside Abrams Creek, but the water is mostly inaccessible due to thick rhododendron growth and steep drop-offs to the creek. There are no sweeping, panoramic views.
What sets Abrams Falls Trail apart, and makes it special, is the destination…the magnificent water oasis known as Abrams Falls. Love this place! The falls themselves are gorgeous—worthy of a selfie or two. Even better, the falls dump into a grand watering hole that is perfectly cool and refreshing after a 2.6-mile hike in hot, clammy armpit weather. This is a place where you can spend all day—and many families do.
A water park in the middle of the Smokies!
Which leads to warning #1. In the late morning of July 16, the day we visited, the place was packed…especially along the rocks surrounding the falls and watering hole. I would guess there were 200 people playing in or near the water, picnicking, and enjoying nature. Despite the close proximity along the rocks, I didn’t see a single person in a mask. Not one. I’m not judging—everyone has to make a personal call on when to mask up. I fall somewhere in between the “never maskers—it’s all a conspiracy” and the “always maskers—any time you step outside.” I’m just letting you know that if you plan to sit on or meander along the rocks at Abrams Falls on a busy day, you will likely have people travel well within 6 feet of you, and they will likely be unmasked. My personal choice was to mask up until I was alone out in the deeper water, and then back on the trail. You do what’s right for you.
Warning #2: The water near the base of Abrams Falls can be deadly. In fact, there have been 29 water-related deaths on this trail since 1971. As a result, Backpacker Magazine once listed the Abrams Fall Trail among the Top 10 most dangerous hikes in America—not for the trail itself but for the water hazards. The Falls are inviting, but strong currents at their base have swept even capable swimmers into unseen traps. You jump off a rock into seemingly deep water and land on a log, or slide off a slick rock, or get sucked underwater by a strong, unseen undertow. There is plenty of safe water to play in at Abrams Falls—just be smart about it.
Thus far, I’d give this trail a C for the trail itself and an A+ for the destination—the falls. How about the company? That calls for an A+. I was accompanied on this hike by my beautiful wife, Janet—more on her in a minute. We were joined by Brad and Jenny Diamond, some of our closest and dearest friends on the planet. We could walk 5.2 miles in circles around a Walmart parking lot and enjoy our time with these people. I don’t know if it’s our shared memories, common interests, Christian bond, or some combination, but we are truly blessed to know them. And I was thrilled to have them on this hike.
My Peeps!
Throughout the hike, Brad peppered me with questions about my AT hike, and I offered my perspective on gear, suitable tenting locations, and other topics. I never tire of talking about my favorite trail. As we climbed a hill on our return journey, I was waxing eloquently about some AT topic and turned my head to look at Brad and Jenny, who were right behind me. With my focus off the trail, I stepped on an unstable rock and fell flat to the ground, skinning my knee. No one else in our foursome fell that day—only the “AT expert.” Humbling.
Brad (world-renown tenor) and Fob (son poops on trails)
Finally, we come to the fourth factor in grading a hike—cool wildlife encounters. And, yes, we had one! About halfway to Abrams Falls, as we approached a 90-degree turn to the right, Lil Jan was in the lead, followed by Jenny, and then Brad and me. I suddenly heard Janet softly say, “Whoa!” I looked up just in time to see a medium-sized bear exit the trail directly in front of her and head up the bank!
A few observations:
I hiked 2189.1 miles on the AT and saw a total of 5 bears—none closer than maybe 10-15 yards. Jan goes less than 2 miles on Abrams Falls trail and practically high-fives a bear…not fair!
I did some research on her reaction…saying “Whoa!” The “whoa” cue or command is considered essential to the training of a pointing dog. Whoa means to stop and stand still until released. In hunting situations, you can imagine how valuable this command is. In hiking situations, a few feet from a bear, said command is far less valuable or effective, especially when spoken softly.
Sadly, my instinctual reaction to seeing the bear was to extend my left arm across Brad’s chest to stop his forward momentum—to save him. In effect, I was saying, “Brad, do not go forward—there’s danger ahead! Whatever this bear plans to do to my wife of 32 years is something she must deal with on her own.”
As we collectively caught our breath and wondered whether we had a change of underwear in our packs, a man who had been hiking about 15 yards in front of us approached. He said, “I got it on film!” and proceeded to show us several pictures of Janet, the bear, and Janet with the bear. The bear looked chill. Janet had that same look on her face as she gets when she catches me washing whites with colors.
The man with the “money shots” offered to send us the pictures, so Janet gave him her e-mail and phone number. As I write this, nine days later, we’ve yet to hear from him. Major bummer! Lesson learned: always exchange contact info, so you’re able to follow up. Maybe someday we’ll hear from him.
Janet and I discussed her bear encounter and tried to recreate the scene from memory—everyone’s relative distance from the bear and each other, Janet’s and the bear’s reactions, etc. Not having an “actual” photo to share with you, we found one that best represents the scene as we remember it.
That’s our story…and we’re sticking to it!
Final Grades for Abrams Falls Trail:
The Trail: C
The Falls: A+
The Company: A+
Wildlife Encounters: A- (w/ potential for upgrade if/when we receive photo)
Bottom-Line: This is an enjoyable, fairly easy hike for people of all ages; not so much for the hike itself, but for the outstanding Abrams Falls that await you. Wear swim trunks and bring a loved one. If your loved one shows even the slightest inclination to skinny dip in The Falls, just reach out your hand, stop their momentum, and softly whisper, “Whoa!”
Today, my father-in-law, Raymond Climer, turned 87. I love this man from the bottom of my heart, as does everyone who knows him. Here are 87 reasons why…
His unique way with words. After he and I recently lost three consecutive games of Hand & Foot to the ladies, he tried to console me by declaring, “Sometimes bad luck runs in squirts.”
His willingness to go with me for a Krystal burger, regardless of the time of day, whether he’s hungry, or any other factors.
The way he sits on the back porch and watches the birds at the feeder, then later recounts to us exactly what went down.
His daily pattern of spending time reading and studying God’s Word. No exceptions. No excuses. He just does it.
How, whenever he’s asked to lead singing, we’re going to hear his favorite song, “He Will Pilot Me.”
His wardrobe which contains only what I would call “dress clothes.” There are no shorts, jeans, or t-shirts, which is what my wardrobe mostly consists of. As a result, his legs have never seen the sun.
The fact that, in the 36 years I’ve known him, and 8 months I’ve lived with him, I’ve never heard him saying an unkind word about anyone. Not one word. If you ever wonder if Papa is talking negatively about you behind your back, I can assure you he’s not.
The way he looks after and protects Shirley, his wife, aka Mamaw. Like an air traffic controller monitoring planes, Papa constantly monitors Shirley’s whereabouts and well-being.
The way he lowers the seat and naps in the Walmart parking lot while the ladies make a “quick” Walmart run.
His off-the-chart gardening skills. The church garden and our backyard garden are evidence that he knows how to plant, cultivate, and harvest a wide range of vegetables.
Green Thumb
How he compares the quality of any restaurant with La Fogata Mexican restaurant in Union, South Carolina. “That’s good salsa,” he’ll say. “But not like La Fogata’s.”
The way he and Mamaw go into their sitting room at night, put on their headphones, and watch shows that almost always feature a horse.
His love for the Atlanta Braves. Plop him in front of a television set with a Braves game on an he’s in his happy place.
The faint, but high-pitched squeal his hearing aids make, especially noticeable in the car. When we ride through our neighborhood, dogs start barking.
The 10-15 minutes he and Mamaw will spend studying and analyzing the menu at a familiar restaurant, like Cracker Barrel, even though they always end up ordering the same thing and splitting it.
His unmatched ability to make the most delicious S’Mores you’ll ever eat, featuring graham crackers, peanut butter, walnuts, marshmallows, and chocolate. If you improperly space any of said ingredients while helping him, he’ll gently remind you of the correct way.
His half-smile when he beats me in a game of basement pool. He always comments on being unable to see across the table on long shots, right before sinking a long shot to win the game.
Showing the girls how it’s done
His willingness to weed the yard for me while I mow. It cuts yardwork time in half.
Weed Wacker
The trash-talking between him and his best friend, Clarence, over who caught the most and biggest fish. He’ll look at one of Clarence’s fish and comment, “You might be able to use that one as bait.”
His ability to put a family, church, or personal issue or concern in a larger context that reminds me that everything is going to be okay.
His love for the Duke Blue Devils. If you want to locate Papa in heaven, he’ll be the guy in the Duke jersey and Atlanta Braves hat.
The precious look on his face when Carolyn, a teenager from our church, showed up outside his window with a birthday sign and bag of goodies.
A special bond between Mr. Raymond and Carolyn
The way he responds to Mamaw when she asks for his opinion on curtain height, television volume, soup temperature, or most other matters. “That’ll be just fine.”
His certainty that Mamaw always gets the good luck and good cards in any board or card game. “I tell you, that Shirl…”
His deep love for small red garden tomatoes.
The way he laughed at me when, the day after planting jalapeno pepper plants, I complained that there were no peppers on the vine.
His unwillingness to get rid of old fishing reels that are no longer serviceable. There’s an expectation that someday, somehow, we’re going to need an old fishing reel with brittle line.
His daily trip to the mailbox, around 2 p.m., to retrieve mail which will most likely contain a personal letter to him from Publisher’s Clearinghouse.
His fascination with Zoom. How do all those people get inside the boxes on the screen?
The look he gave the man who told him it would be $650 to repair his car door handle and tail light. “I think I can fix this myself.”
The look on his face when Mamaw adjusted the speed on his treadmill upward about 80% without warning him.
His 40 years of faithfully preaching the gospel at congregations in Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia.
His ability to please his family (myself excluded) by making a fresh, warm batch of chocolate gravy.
The time I got up the courage to call him to get his permission to propose to Janet, after dating her for four years… “Hello, Mr. Climer?” “Yes, this is him.” “This is Steve.” “Steve who?”
The way he walks around the house at night in his pajamas, with his pajama shirt tucked into his pajama pants, and his pants tucked into his socks…like an old, white Urkel.
The way he sometimes gently challenges the accuracy of something Mamaw says with, “Well, I don’t know about that.”
His uncanny ability to catch crappie by flicking a jig up against a pier under the bridge at Lake Greenwood in South Carolina.
His 10 years of tireless missionary work in India, baptizing more than a thousand people along the way.
How his family thinks he can fix anything, and he usually can…often by applying duct tape and Gorilla Glue.
The way he calls all soda pop “drink.”
The way he uses “carry” instead of “take.” … “Should I carry her some cucumbers?” “I’ll carry you to the store.”
Similarly, he doesn’t get things—he fetches them. Similarly, “over there” is “yonder way.”
His faithfulness in teaching and reaching several hundred people around the world through online Bible correspondence courses.
The way he teared up this morning while recounting his love for Mamaw and the profound impact she had on his life by introducing him to Jesus.
The look on his face when Erika and her family and Valerie and her family showed up recently and served us an amazing lunch. They not only made his day, but lifted all of our spirits.
The time he stored $1000 in cash in his shoes while shopping for a couch, because “a robber wouldn’t think to look in my shoes.”
His certainty that if you press a certain place on one of your thumbs for 45 seconds, you’ll go to sleep within 7 minutes. Where is the location? He doesn’t know.
His 2 years of service to our country in the United States Army.
His tendency to believe that online remedies are true. (He passed this trait onto his youngest daughter.) (The two are convinced that wrapping his body in tin foil will cure his arthritis.) (On the night he does this, I plan to don my full-body Simba halloween outfit and recreate a scene from The Wizard of Oz.)
That he doesn’t avoid social situations/gatherings simply because he doesn’t hear well. He participates in the conversation to the extent that he’s able, and doesn’t worry that he can’t always follow along with what’s being said…and occasionally says things completely out of context.
The way he sometimes changes lanes and only then looks to see if anyone is in that lane.
His consistency in throwing a ball right down the middle and earning a split in Wii bowling.
His fascination with my ability to loudly play YouTube bird calls that match the type of bird that is currently on the feeder.
His complete contentment with a flip phone that is primarily used for one thing: flipping.
The look on his face that time, while dating his daughter, when I opened a bottle of sparkling grape juice on New Year’s Eve and the cork hit the ceiling and left a slight grape juice stain on it.
The occasional toot that can be heard by everyone in the room but himself.
The voracity with which he and Mamaw review, analyze, and take advantage of Hardees and Burger King coupons.
His memorization and recall of applicable Scripture, even at 87.
Although his meals consist of what I would consider tiny portions, he will eat every tomato slice offered to him, regardless of how many.
His deep love and concern for his three daughters and their well-being. Same goes for the rest of the family, but there’s something special about the relationship between this man and his daughters.
With 2 of his 3 girls on Father’s Day
Due to pain levels or general restlessness, how he’ll spend time on a typical night in bed, then on the recliner sofa, and then flat on his back, with his feet propped up on the recliner sofa.
His knack for finding the best in people, and pointing it out to others.
That time we were playing Codenames and I was trying to get him to choose “Agent” and “London” with the clue “James Bond.” His response: “Who’s James Bond?”
More generally, his complete lack of interest in popular culture—music, celebrities, and most current events. He loves God, his family, the Bible, the church, his friends (most especially Clarence), the Braves, the Blue Devils, and gardening. He doesn’t follow or get too worked up about much else. I love that about him.
His typical response to anyone complaining about aging or an ailment: “It doesn’t get any better.”
His deep appreciation for strawberry strudel. The time Carolyn, a church teenager, brought him several boxes of strudel may have been his favorite moment of 2020.
The way he gently couches advice, even on things he knows and feels strongly about, with “You may want to consider…” No one is less bossy.
His love for people, regardless of age, gender, race, or background. He promotes equality not through divisive social media posts or slogans, or by toppling statues, but rather through a long-time relationship with Clarence, his best friend and fishing buddy, who also happens to be African-American.
Papa and Miss Edith enjoying a Krystal burger on her porch
The way he looks people in the eye and gives them his undivided attention when he listens to them.
The time he tried to kill a snake near Clarence’s boat by swinging an oar at it. The snake was unfazed and Clarence suffered only minor injuries.
The time Janet made him and Mamaw a photo book of our RV journey out West, containing both real and photo-shopped photos of them. He’s looked through that book countless times, laughing out loud, and shares it with almost every visitor.
His knack for not looking at the camera whenever a photo is taken of him/us.
Look this way
His faithfulness in visiting and sharing God’s love with residents of nursing homes.
His ability, at 87, to stuff bags of cereal for 3 consecutive hours at Maryville’s Second Harvest Food Bank…or harvest garden vegetables for an hour in 90 degree weather.
Cereal Killer
The time I picked him up and lowered him in my hammock for a book photo shoot. (Someday, I need to retrieve him.)
His concern for his reputation when I made him and Mamaw pose for a picture in front of the Clinch River Tattoo and Coffee shop.
The time he fell in a Hardees parking lot during a pounding rainstorm, then popped up, got in the car and looked at me with a big smile.
His theories on why half of the corn crop at the church garden got knocked over. As best I can tell, it was some combination of wind shear, ornery deer, rabid raccoons, and hungry widows.
His wood-working skills, which he has used to make people bookshelves, quilt racks, and assorted other things.
That, while disciplining his girls during their childhood, he would always start out planning to give them a few soft licks, but would get tickled and be unable to continue.
The time he dressed up as a woman, Ramona, for a Bible Camp skit.
The time I was replacing their bathroom sink plumbing and he was helping me. I took off the sink trap, full of dirty water, handed it to him and asked him to pour it out in the tub. Instead, he poured it out in the sink, dousing my head with dirty water.
The smile on his face when Brad and Jenny Diamond sang a special version of the Birthday Song to him this morning, along with a beautiful rendition of “Father God.”
His tendency to hum around the house throughout the day. We’ve been unable to determine which song he’s humming.
His knack for using almost any interaction with a stranger to encourage them, get to know them, and invite them to church.
How everyone who knows him considers him a “gentle giant.” Those who know him best know this is true, except when he’s losing at cards or any game.
More than anything, his unwavering love for God and desire to please God by the life that he lives. What an example! What an inspiration!
My quest to hike the Top 20 trails in the Smoky Mountains continued on Thursday with a trip up the side of Mount LeConte, the third tallest peak in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Tale of the Tape – Mount LeConte:
Elevation at Summit – 6,593 feet
Starting location – Alum Cave Trailhead
Total Elevation Gain – 2,763 feet
Average Elevation Gain/Mile – 500 feet
Level of Difficulty: Strenuous, overall; more specifically, Trailhead to Arch Rock – 2; Arch Rock to Alum Cave – 4; Alum Cave to Summit – 7 (add 1 to those numbers in winter/icy conditions)
Roundtrip Length – 11 miles
Side trips near summit to Cliff Top and Myrtle Point – 1.1 miles
Total miles hiked – 12.1
Getting There:
The Alum Cave Trailhead is located 8.7 miles south of the Sugarlands Visitor Center (near Gatlinburg), along Newfound Gap Road. The parking lot is on the left, although you may have to park along the road due to the popularity of this hike, especially during peak tourist season and on weekends.
Bottom-Line Up Front:
This is a spectacular hike! Nowhere else in the Smokies will you find the combination of stunning vistas, flora & fauna, a challenging (but reasonable) climb, a flowing river, interesting geological features, history, and a historic lodge and shelter near the summit. I hope to do 18 more hikes in this series, but I doubt I will find one that surpasses the overall experience climbing Mount LeConte.
July 9, 2020:
After a 1-hour drive from my home in Maryville, I parked my car along Newfound Gap Road, across from the already full Alum Cave Trailhead parking lot. In response to a lecture from my VA doc earlier this week on skin care (melanoma runs in the family), I sprayed on some SPF-30 and then coated that with a layer of DEET. With that pungent combination of chemicals on me, it was unlikely anyone would violate my 6-foot COVID protection zone.
Alum Cave Creek, a playground for kids of all ages
After a quick glance at the trail map, I stepped on the trail at 8:27 a.m. Right from the start, you can’t help but fall in love with this trail. For you parents with kids, elderly, or disabled, the first mile of this trail is a soft gentle slope that runs along the gorgeous Alum Cave Creek. The inner kid in me kept finding perfect spots for walking the creek, soaking my feet, having a picnic, or just hanging out. Along the way, there were several neat footbridges, with cables to hold on to as you cross. If you can’t do the 1.3 miles (2.6 round trip) to Arch Rock, do a mile. If you can’t do a mile, do whatever you can. Some trails make you work to get to “the good stuff.” This hike starts delivering the good stuff within the first few steps.
Fob about to enter Arch Rock, portal to Narnia
After 1.3 miles and about 30 minutes, I reached Arch Rock, a giant rock that has eroded from many years of freezing and thawing. That erosion has left a hole in the center of the rock, and the trail takes you through the hole via a winding staircase! As you exit Arch Rock and the rhododendrons that surround it, you will be in Narnia! Not really, but you will say goodbye to Alum Cave Creek. However, there are smaller trickles of water that flow off the mountain at various points throughout the hike, and a water pump at LeConte Lodge, so water is plentiful.
From Arch Rock, the trail picks up a little intensity but is by no means difficult. I continued passing individuals, families, and small groups—97 people in all, during my ascent. (Yes, I kept count. Why? Because I’m a total nerd and must always have some sort of data to process. Don’t judge.) The payout for continuing along this stretch is that you begin to catch some panoramic views—specifically, the Anakeesta Ridge off to the left. The other thing I noticed was that I was sweating profusely. Seriously, I know a lot hikers—and none of them can out-sweat me. Not even 2 miles into the hike, my shirt and shorts were drenched and drops of sweat mixed with DEET and SPF-30 were flowing into my eyeballs, causing irritation and blurred vision. Not cool!
Lots and lots of steps
At Inspiration Point, I stopped to view the sweeping vistas and take a few pics. I also overhead a woman hiker tell a friend to take a few steps along an opening in the branches to the left at the far end of the Point and then look down. I followed suit and discovered one of the scariest drop-offs I’ve ever seen. (If you do this, be sure to take 3 steps and not 4!)
After a mile and 30 minutes from Arch Rock, I reached the next major milestone: Alum Cave. It’s not actually a cave so don’t get your hopes up. Instead, it’s a 500-foot long, 80-foot high, concaved bluff. Over the past 200 years, the bluff has been used for mining Epsom salt (to dye homespun clothing a reddish brown) and saltpeter (used by the Confederate Army to make gunpowder.) Depending on the time of the year you visit the “Cave,” you’ll be met with either trickles of water from the top of the bluff, or skull-piercing icicles. I found a nice, isolated spot in the shade of the bluff, next to a trickle splash zone, for a 10-minute break…where I consumed a Nature Valley Granola Bar and the first of 7 liters of water/Gatorade.
Sadly, most folks end their hike at Alum Cave. But if you’ve got the time and ability to continue on, continue on. This third and final section, from the Cave to the summit, covers about 3.2 miles and takes about 95 minutes, depending, as always, on your pace and number of stops for pictures. This final section is more demanding, featuring plenty of steps carved in stone or hand-made. At various points, typically near narrow jagged rocks next to drop-offs, there are cable handrails to assist hikers. I suppose they would be helpful in icy conditions, but they were unnecessary on the day of my hike. There are certainly narrow sections with sheer drop-offs where I wouldn’t let children run freely, but nothing too dangerous if you pay attention. Any trail can be dangerous if you’re stupid.
Alum Cave
As I approached LeConte Lodge, the trail flattened and I found myself surrounded by a dense spruce-fir forest. The slight breeze and cool temperature (68 degrees, roughly 23 degrees cooler than in the valley below) invigorated my wet skin with a tingling sensation like when you rub Noxzema all over your body. It reminded me of some of the alpine ridges I encountered in Maine and elsewhere on the Appalachian Trail.
At 11 a.m., I arrived at the historic and rustic LeConte Lodge. Nothing opened until noon, so I found a spot on a picnic table behind the Dining Hall to devour a PB & J and some Cape Cod sweet & spicy jalapeno-flavored chips. As I ate, a middle-aged woman exited the back of the building carrying a white bundle of linens. We exchanged greetings as she placed the bundle in a compartment under the building.
“So that’s where you hide the dead bodies?” I commented.
She smiled and replied, “You’ve got to keep that a secret. How did you know?”
“I know a dead body when I see one.”
“You sound like a funeral director.”
“No, but I’ve watched The Walking Dead.”
“Well, oddly enough, I happen to be a funeral director.”
She spoke those words just as I put the last big bite of PB & J in my mouth. As I slowly chewed, my brain was spinning. I know a good story when I hear one, and this one had potential. I mean, how does a funeral director end up at a lodge atop a mountain, doing laundry at 6400 feet? Just as I washed down the peanut butter and began to ask that question, she ducked back into the Dining Hall and I never saw her again. I guess you’ll have to make up your own plot for that story!
Recharged, I put my pack back on and continued the short hike to the summit, passing the LeConte shelter along the way. The shelter looks very similar to the many AT shelters I’ve seen and slept in, and offers a cheaper and even more rustic alternative than staying at the Lodge. Due to the virus, they are allowing, even encouraging, those with shelter reservations to tent nearby.
I briefly stopped at the Mount LeConte summit to snap a photo of the large rock cairn. There are no views at the summit, but if you continue on another .5 miles from the shelter (.7 from the Lodge) you reach Myrtle Point, which would offer the best views of the day, even with some clouds shifting about. Oddly, I had the Point to myself, so I sat on a rock, took in the nearly 360-degree views, and prayed.
Mount LeConte Summit
On my way back to the Lodge from Myrtle Point, I did a .5-mile loop that took me to another outcropping and viewpoint known as Cliff Top. Unfortunately, by the time I reached it, I was inside a cloud and my only view was of a squirrel having lunch. On my way back to the Lodge, I spotted a beautiful fawn off to the right, munching on grass and watching me closely.
Ahh, the views!
Back at the Lodge, I made my way to the office, donned my mask, and went inside to buy a Gatorade packet and t-shirt. Normally, there would be tables set up for people to hang out, play games, and visit, but COVID-19 sadly put an end to all that, at least for now. Instead, people were spread out on the grounds/benches across the sprawling compound, with a lot less mingling going on than I would guess is typical at this place.
Next stop was the Dining Room which was also cleared of tables and benches due to the virus. Fortunately, they were still making their famous homemade cookies, so I bought one and ate it outside as three squirrels threatened to take it from me. The cookie alone was worth the 32,337 steps I took that day. Sack lunches are also available.
Before moving on from the Lodge, a quick shout out to Paul Adams, an explorer who took dignitaries to the top of Mount LeConte to help convince them on the idea of a national park. He later built a cabin atop the mountain (which would eventually be transformed into the Lodge) and helped forge the trail up the mountain. Good work, Paul!
At 1 p.m., with thunder clouds booming nearby, I decide to begin my descent. Twenty minutes later, a light, refreshing rain began to fall and lasted for about 30 minutes. Just prior to reaching Alum Cave, I approached three young ladies in their late-teens/early-twenties staring at something on the side of the trail.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“I say it’s a mouse but she thinks it’s a rat,” one of them replied.
I drew closer and examined the rodent. “I’m afraid you’re both wrong. That’s a mole.”
“A mole! Seriously?”
“Yep, I’m quite familiar with them. One of them slept under my air mattress at a lodge in Maine a few years ago.” “Really? Wow!”
Noticing how impressed they were with my mole knowledge, I continued.
“These guys are blind.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, watch this.” I moved my hand closer to the mole and waved it but the mole didn’t react. “See.”
“Wow!”
Okay, technically moles are colorblind, not blind, although they see poorly. All I know is that at 54 years of age, there are few things I can say or do to impress young hikers. Apparently mole swag is one of them.
After a few more pictures and miles, I reached the trailhead at 3:15 p.m. and began the journey home.
Verdict and Recommendations:
An outstanding hike, with a little something for everyone. Be sure to check out photos from this hike in an album on my “Author Steve Johnson” Facebook page. You can also check out Benny Braden’s excellent video tour of the hike at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=piTbs37qzco.
If you have the money, and want to split the 11-12 miles of hiking in half, stay overnight at the Lodge. You’ll need to book a cabin well in advance—2020 spots are all full, as are the waiting lists. Lodge rates and other pertinent info are available at http://www.lecontelodge.com. (Also, FYI, a longer, but easier hike to the Lodge is via the Trillium Gap trail (6.7 miles), the less steep route the llamas use to resupply the Lodge three times each week.)
For a cheaper and more rustic experience, I would suggest tent camping near the shelter, which has bear cables. To do that, you’ll need a backcountry permit, available at https://smokiespermits.nps.gov/index.cfm?BCPermitTypeID=1
Or, do the hike all in one day, and then pop some Ibuprofen.
I suppose so.
Before my next hike, I plan to study moles in more detail. Did you know they use movement and scent sensors on the tip of their noses to find prey and other moles? Now you do.
Janet and I are heading to Birmingham this weekend for the wedding of long-time family friend, Carolyn Diamond, and her fiancée, Jay Rucks.
The Diamond family—Brad, Jenny, and their three girls, Carolyn, Mary Brook, and Ann Marie—are the quintessential kind, Christian family who light up the lives of everyone they’re around. When we moved to Brandon, Florida in 2008, Jenny was the first to knock on our door, introduce herself, and hand us a homemade pie. The only thing sweeter than the pie was Jenny herself. Regardless of the miles between us, her family has been with us, in one way or another, ever since.
I have vivid memories of little, red-headed Carolyn running around our living room as a child. She enjoyed games and everyone’s company, but also had the ability to go into her own little world while singing or, better yet, dancing. It’s no surprise she’s marrying a fellow, very talented dancer. Janet and I were blessed with two boys, but no girls, so Carolyn and her sisters have always been the daughters we never had. And now she’s getting married. That makes me feel old.
Although not technically Carolyn’s uncle, I wanted to be the “helpful uncle” for her wedding, so I reached out to the family…
“Do you need someone to officiate? I’ve done that before.”
“No, we got that covered.”
“How about someone to sing? I do a pretty good rendition of Stevie Nick’s ‘Edge of Seventeen’.”
“No. Thanks, Big Steve, but our music is all set.”
“How about Best Man? I could spend some time over the next few months getting to know Jay.”
“No, I think Jay’s got a plan for Best Man. Someone he knows. Plus, you know, with COVID and all.”
After three strikes, I gave up. Uncle Steve (well, not technically an uncle) would be reduced to a bystander, a mere audience member.
Just when all hope seemed lost, Jenny texted me. She felt as guilty as I felt distraught. I was back in play. The prodigal “uncle” had been summoned.
“Hey Big Steve, at the rehearsal dinner, or maybe the reception, we want you to do the Shoe Game with Carolyn and Jay. We want you to be the Shoe Game Guy. Are you interested?”
The Shoe Game Guy.
Was I bitter about her offer? No, not at all. Why would I be?
Was I hurt? Define hurt.
Will I hold this against the Diamond family? Certainly not. I’m bigger than that.
Why? Because Shoe Game Guys are the unsung heroes of any wedding event. While the Bride and Groom, parents, Best Man and Maid of Honor get top billing, what would a wedding be without the Shoe Game? And how are you gonna play the Shoe Game without a Shoe Game Guy?
I accepted Jenny’s offer. Thus, Uncle (not technically) Steve, among the Top 100 people without red hair that Carolyn admires, will be leading the happy couple through a series of revealing questions, aided only by 2 pairs of shoes.
Since I won’t be officiating, or giving a Best Man speech, or even a Distant, Uncle-like Figure Who Thinks He’s Relevant speech, I will not have a platform on wedding weekend to share my favorite Carolyn Diamond memories. That’s unfortunate.
But “Uncle” Steve does have a blog, so here goes. Jay, future husband, this is what you need to know about Carolyn…what you’re getting yourself into:
Episode 1 – The Hermit Crab.
During our Fishhawk days in Florida, the young Diamond girls had a variety of pets—gerbils, rabbits, fish, dogs, etc. Whenever we went to their home to play games, there was always a pet store vibe about the place. One summer, they acquired a pet hermit crab. Cutest thing…you would have liked it. One day, the girls apparently went out on the driveway and were playing toss with Little Hermie. Unfortunately, he bounced off someone’s hand and fell to the asphalt. As the girls screamed, Hermie lay there, still alive, but motionless. His soft, fleshy torso was visible through cracks in his shell…like something you’d see at Red Lobster.
Brad, the consummate father, did what fathers have to do, especially when non-technical uncles like me aren’t present. With a handful of salt and a rubber mallet, Brad put Hermie down. Though Jenny shielded her young girls’ eyes from the carnage, their eyes welled with tears. To this day, I get emotional thinking about that poor, helpless crab. Not just his death, but what must have been going through the decapod crustacean’s mind in those final seconds as he free-fell toward earth.
Wanting to heal the emotional wounds of these precious girls, like any non-technical uncle would, I wrote a poem about the incident to cheer them up. I emailed it to Jenny. Folks, it was a good poem—insightful, funny, one of my best. Jenny wrote back, “Thanks, Big Steve, but I can’t give this to them. It’s too soon. They’re too sensitive. You don’t have girls.”
That stung a bit, not unlike when your offer to serve as Best Man at a wedding is rejected. I kept thinking, “Too sensitive? They were playing catch with a hermit crab, for goodness sake!”
Jay, before saying “I do,” and before acquiring any family pet, know what you’re getting into.
Episode 2 – The Halloween Globe.
It may be hard for you to imagine, but I haven’t always been this thin. I used to have that middle-aged man, softish belly…the kind that absorbs your finger when you poke it. But it was not like other flabby bellies. I had the unique ability—some would say talent—to fully inflate my stomach, making it look like a giant globe. Don’t ask me to demonstrate this talent as my now taut, non-inflatable six-pack precludes me from doing so.
Anyway, at a Halloween party at our home, featuring S’mores and pumpkin carving, young Carolyn saw my giant, exposed, inflated stomach and became not just curious, but intrigued. She approached Uncle (not technically) Big Steve and asked me, “Can I paint your stomach bright orange, like a pumpkin?”
What kind of sick, demented, creepy child asks a middle-aged man if she can paint his inflated stomach orange? The same child who plays toss with a pet hermit crab!
Jay, know what you’re getting into.
Am I looking forward to Jay and Carolyn’s wedding? You bet. The love, the gathering of family and friends, the exchange of heartfelt vows.
But, mostly, I’m looking forward to the heart and sole of any wedding…the Shoe Game.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” – A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
While traveling on a Virginia interstate in a rainstorm last week, a wave of anxiety crashed down upon me. My normally upbeat self suddenly felt deflated and depressed. This feeling caught me off guard and, being the overly rational guy that I am, I searched for an explanation.
Maybe it was the gloomy Coronavirus forecast I had just read. Over a million infections. Tens of thousands of deaths. The invisible virus was running roughshod over the world as we know it, with no end in sight. God, please do something.
Closer to home, maybe it was my concern for my eldest son, Jason (a prosthetist/orthotist), and daughter-in-law, Laci (an occupational therapist), who continue to see patients and are unable to “shelter in place.” Like many others, they are risking their own well-being to serve and treat others. God, please protect them.
Perhaps it was my mixed feelings about traveling to North Carolina to help Jason and his wife, Rachel, move into their new home. Helping them seemed like the right call, and we would take precautions, but there were risks. Specifically, we would return home to my elderly in-laws who had pre-existing conditions. Were we recklessly putting their health at risk? God, if this is a mistake, please forgive me and make it okay.
Maybe it was the 40 minutes I had been on hold with a potential mortgage lender, trying to secure financing, and a suitable timeline, for the home we were trying to purchase. If we were unable to close in 30 days, we risked losing the contract. God, I hate to be petty, but please have someone answer the phone and give me a favorable response.
More simply, maybe it was my concern about having Janet, my wife, driving on the interstate in the rain, so that I could make some important phone calls. God, please keep her alert and slow the rain.
All of those concerns joined forces and made a frontal assault on my resolve to “not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6)
I have read and taught classes about that verse countless times. It’s so simple in concept, and so easy to do…in good times. The real test comes when you get that pit in your stomach during tough times. I wanted to believe that verse. I wanted to rise to the occasion. I wanted to practice what I had long preached and be a good example to my family. I wanted Jesus to be proud of me. But the pall of uncertainty and anxiety hung over me. Lord, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24)
And then, in this moment of intense anxiety, a song came on the radio. I wish I could say it was Bless the Lord, Oh My Soul or some old-time gospel favorite. It was not. I have no doubt God connects with his people, and they speak to one another with “psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit.” (Ephesians 5:19a)
But this was not a hymn I sang in worship. Perhaps God was taking me in a different direction. This was a song from the American rock band Styx—easily my favorite musical group during my formative middle-school years of the late 1970s. Unbeknownst to them, I sang lead vocals and backup air guitar, with the help of a basement 8-track tape player in our Dover, Delaware home.
The song was written by their front man and lead singer, Dennis DeYoung. It appeared on their 1981 Paradise Theater album, which falls roughly between 1977’s The Grand Illusion (my all-time favorite album) and 1983’s Kilroy was Here, which featured the ubiquitous “Mr. Roboto.”
DeYoung wrote the song as a paraphrase of the Charles Dickens’ line, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” In an interview with Songwriter Universe magazine, he said, “For me, the song is simple. It’s when the world goes mad, how do you cope? And in this instance, it’s the love between two people, that they make their own paradise within their companionship, their love for each other, and their own home. And that’s what ‘The Best of Times’ is about…it’s saying that The Best of Times are when I’m alone with you.”
While on a lengthy telephone hold, with the rain pounding on our windshield, and a pit of anxiety swirling in my stomach, I listened to the song. No singing. No air guitar. I just listened…
Tonight’s the night we’ll make history Honey, you and I And I’ll take any risk to tie back the hands of time And stay with you here tonight I know you feel these are the worst of times I do believe it’s true When people lock their doors and hide inside Rumor has it, it’s the end of paradise But I know, if the world just passed us by Baby I know, I wouldn’t have to cry, no no The best of times are when I’m alone with you Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime We’ll take the best, forget the rest And someday we’ll find These are the best of times These are the best of times The headlines read, “These are the worst of times” I do believe it’s true I feel so helpless like a boat against the tide I wish the summer winds could bring back paradise But I know, if the world turned upside down Baby, I know you’d always be around, my my The best of times are when I’m alone with you Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two The best of times are when I’m alone with you Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two
I don’t know that Dennis DeYoung could have foreseen a global pandemic that would wreak havoc on the world nearly 40 years later, killing (as of tonight) over 69,000 people. Still, he was on to something. So, let me repeat his earlier question: When the world goes mad, how do you cope?
For many, the world has gone mad. It’s the worst of times. The headlines confirm that. Our world has been turned upside down. We’re locking our doors and hiding inside. We feel like helpless boats against the tide. Rumor has it, it’s the end of paradise.
Still, we long for a world turned right side up. We pray for calmer waters. We wish for summer winds to bring back paradise, or at least some semblance of normalcy.
Despite all the chaos and uncertainty, DeYoung finds hope in the one he loves. Being alone with her is enough. He looks back on fond memories of yesterday that will last a lifetime. He focuses on the best and tries to forget the rest. He takes the good with the bad, the rain with the shine, and commits to a brighter future.
Although DeYoung’s outlook, at least in this song, doesn’t expressly include God…mine does. God has promised Christians a bright future and a happy ending…the best of times. God also tells us to pray to him, to make our requests known, in every situation.
So, as we drove down the interstate last week, I prayed to God…
God, please do something. God, please protect them. God, if this is a mistake, please forgive me and make it okay. God, I hate to be petty, but please have someone answer the phone and give me a favorable response. God, please keep her alert and slow the rain. And, God, one more thing…thank you for giving me a wife and best friend to ride out this storm with.
If you’re struggling with anxiety, or even if you’re not, let me suggest you wake up every morning with a prayer on your lips and a couple of Bible verses memorized and on your heart. I recommend…
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” – Philippians 4:6
“Be still and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10a
Finally, if you haven’t done so lately, be sure to tell the ones you love that you love them. Don’t let a day go by without your loved ones hearing those words.
Let me begin.
To my children, my daughters-in-law, the rest of my family, and my friends…I love you guys!
Janet…I love you! The best of times are when I’m alone with you.
Among many excellent lines from my favorite movie, The Shawshank Redemption, we find this one from Andy Dufresne, played by Tim Robbins:
“Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”
Andy held on to a tiny strand of hope, despite being wrongfully imprisoned and enduring years of unimaginable hardship. He was raped and beaten multiple times and spent long periods in solitary confinement. Fortunately, Andy’s positive attitude and hope for the future helped him survive the ordeal. In fact, at the end of the film, we find him on a secluded Mexican beach, restoring an old boat as he had long dreamed of doing.
Sadly, Andy’s elderly friend, Brooks, who lacked hope, takes his own life following his release from prison. This is unfortunately playing out in real life, as we hear reports of people who have committed suicide as a result of pandemic-induced feelings of hopelessness.
It seems the presence, or absence, of hope can make all the difference in the world.
For the past several weeks, as we’ve dealt with the Coronavirus pandemic, I’ve observed far more examples of fear and anxiety than hope. The news channels focus almost exclusively on the bad news—the numbers and rates of infection, the tragic deaths, lost jobs, and other catastrophic impacts. Bad news drives fear, and we easily take the bait. We’re afraid of things we can’t control and this pandemic seems to fit that definition.
I’m not denying or underestimating the devastating impact of this virus. Lives have been changed forever. More lives will be lost. But I don’t want to write about that. You can find that gloom and doom elsewhere. If you’re looking for more soul-crushing, negative virus news, you won’t find it here.
Instead, I want to share some good news. I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy. My hope is that the following good news will generate just a little hope in someone who feels, well, hopeless.
1. The checks will soon be in the mail. Congress is on the verge of passing legislation that will boost unemployment insurance, incentivize businesses not to reduce payroll, and provide a desperately needed cash infusion to millions of Americans. That gives me hope.
2. While some businesses are having to close, reduce hours, or lay people off, others are hiring. The list of those hiring is long and continues to grow:
If you’ve been let go from your job, I hope this list provides some hope.
3. The most powerful computer in the world, along with some of the brightest researchers on the planet, are aggressively working the problem. The Energy Department’s Summit supercomputer, located at Oak Ridge National Laboratory just 30 miles north of my home, recently identified 77 potential COVID-19 treatments, and then the Top 7. Read more about that here:
The research has a ways to go, but the progress to date gives me hope.
4. The number of new cases is falling where the outbreak began. The epidemic in China and the Republic of Korea has declined significantly. Wuhan province, where the virus began, recently reported no new local cases for the first time since the outbreak began. While the Chinese numbers are difficult to verify, the reports of the pandemic declining at ground zero give me a measure of hope.
For now, at least, let’s drop the “may be” and just call it good news. News that gives me hope.
6. Most people infected with COVID-19 recover. While many thousands will die from the virus, and that’s tragic, estimates are that 99% of those infected will not. I pray that no one in your family or mine become infected. But if that were to happen, there’s a decent chance they would recover. That gives me hope.
7. Children seem to be infected less often and have milder disease. So far, the vast majority of infections have afflicted adults. For those with children and grandchildren, that’s got to increase your hope for a better tomorrow.
8. Churches are discovering new, innovative ways to conduct Bible studies and worship services online. If Satan thought this global pandemic would bring about the end of the church, he was badly mistaken. I know of one man who hasn’t stepped foot inside a church building in some time, but was willing to listen to a livestream of a worship service with his wife. That’s progress. A virus which could take his life might ultimately save it. That gives me hope.
9. Families are rediscovering family time. Sure, we’ll have bouts of cabin fever and will get on each other’s nerves from time to time. My wife, Janet, is concerned about my pledge to not shave until the virus has run its course—understandable if you’ve seen my Spanish moss beard. But, on the whole, this has been good for family time. We’re doing puzzles, playing games, watching sunsets, doing devotionals, and going for family hikes together. That’s more than Ann Frank got to do while hiding in an attic for two years. Our renewed family time gives me hope.
10. Christians will have a whole new appreciation for not just worshipping together, but simply being together. I bet we’ll never take fellowship—the being together in a common bond of love—for granted again. It’s also interesting that we have a renewed interest in checking in on our widows, shut-ins, and elderly…even an organized approach. Something we should have been doing all along, perhaps? This renewed interest in our friends, neighbors, fellow Christians, and the most vulnerable among us gives me hope.
11. While we can’t fully control the outcome of this pandemic, we can take reasonable steps to avoid infection. Wash your hands regularly. Practice social distancing. You know the drill. If you follow the rules, your hope of avoiding infection will increase.
12. Janet returned from our local Walmart this afternoon and said there was “plenty of toilet paper…the shelves were full.” If that doesn’t make you want to open a can of refried beans and shout praise to the Lord, then maybe hope, for you, is elusive.
13. This, too, shall pass. We’ll get through it. We’ve survived a Civil War, world wars, terrorist attacks, the scourge of slavery, The Great Depression, and other pandemics. I can’t tell you how long we’ll be in this tunnel, only that there is a light at the end of it. That gives me hope.
14. God hears our prayers. He understands our anxiety, our pain, and our doubt. He’s on the scene and He’s involved. Keep praying for the victims, those in quarantine, our doctors and nurses on the front lines, and the researchers and scientists trying to develop a cure. Knowing that God (not me, the government, or anything else) is in control and hears my prayers gives me indescribable hope.
15. Ultimately, my hope is in Christ and an eternal home with Him in heaven. Whether I’m done in by the virus, a car accident, cancer, or old age, I’m not getting out of this life alive. You aren’t either. We’re all terminal. Like Job, our days are “but a breath.” (Job 7:16) Knowing that, I always want to be in a right relationship with God. When I am, I can echo the words of Paul who said, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” Our hope for glory is found in Christ and Christ alone. (Colossians 1:27)
So, when you hit the pillow tonight, I hope you’ll consider the above 15 points along with Andy’s words to Red: Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
Christians have hope. Hope for good things. Hope for the best of things. We know that our stories will end well, regardless of how or when they end. Virus or no virus, our future is secure.
