| October 06 '07 |
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| Volume 592 |
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Homeward Bound
A Short Reflection
The first verse of an old hymn
speaks of the pull of a Christian’s life beyond the grave. That pull
is so strong for some that we can say with confidence that our present life
is simply part of a greater journey, one whose destination is heaven.
This World Is Not My Home
Albert E. Brumley - Mary Reeves
This world is not my home I'm just passing through
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue
The angels beckon me from heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore.
For Christians, the fact that this world is not our home in no way diminishes
the love we have for the place we identify as our earthly home. In my case,
that place is Pontotoc. While there are hundreds of places whose landscapes
are more picturesque, whose climate is fairer, where economic opportunity
is greater and life more culturally enriching, it’s Pontotoc - the land,
and Pontotoc - the people, that are dearest to me.
I was born in Pontotoc, inside the city limits. My father moved our family
to other towns and cities in North Mississippi during his years as a manager
for Kroger, but he eventually brought us back to Pontotoc, nine years after
we left my birthplace.
During my college years, I resided on the campuses of Northwest Mississippi
Jr. College, Senatobia, MS, and The University of Mississippi, Oxford, MS,
and was glad to return to Pontotoc at least every other weekend.
In 1965, I left Pontotoc to pursue a teaching career but returned with a
wife five years later. In 1990, Barbara and I left Pontotoc for work in Indianola
and Greenville. We didn’t move, but we bought a house in Greenville
for our use during the workweek and returned to our Pontotoc home for the
weekends. It was by no means the best arrangement, but it was of our own
choosing and one we endured for roughly ten years.
Barbara was born in Ripley, Mississippi, but she considers Pontotoc her home.
She’s not ashamed of her birthplace, but having lived in Pontotoc most
of her adult life, Pontotoc feels like home to her. In the event I pre-decease
her, she has no desire to return to her birthplace. Instead, she’ll
strive to live out her days in her adopted hometown.
Throughout my life, I’ve had the opportunity to live away from my hometown,
but it’s always been good to return. My earthly life has been lived
in such a way that I continually find myself homeward bound. Either I’ve
lived away and have returned or else my work has carried me miles away to
work each day as is the present case.
Last Sunday, I was the usher pre-selected to lead the offertory prayer, the
only Sunday Morning Service prayer still relegated to those of us not in
the "ministry" or on the church staff. Having been notified of this duty
several days earlier, I had time to consider the wording of the prayer. In
my reflection, I remembered a prayer a former pastor used more than thirty
years ago.
I think I startled some members of the congregation by announcing that I
had something to say before I led in prayer. I simply shared how the offertory
procedure was carried out long ago and explained how Dr. W. Levon Moore had
deviated from the normal procedure to lead the prayer himself. Then, I repeated
the brief but beautiful prayer as I remembered it.
Bless, O Lord, these thy gifts, and bless our lives as we strive to become
living sacrifices for thee.
After the church service several members thanked me for sharing a memory
of a pastor, whom they, too, had respected and appreciated greatly.
I thanked them for their comments and shared a few additional thoughts that
I had concerning the pastorate of Dr. Moore.
"Dr. Moore’s years of service spanned a number of important years in
my life," I recall sharing. "In the fourteen years he was here, I graduated
high school, graduated college, started and ended my teaching career, got
married and started raising our two children."
It’s important to note that in my Christian pilgrimage, First Baptist
Church has been the church I consider home, and just as Pontotoc has always
been my hometown, FBC, Pontotoc has been my home church. I attended First
Baptist, Senatobia somewhat irregularly with my aunt and uncle when I was
on campus during my junior college years. After meeting and marrying Barbara,
we attended Springdale Baptist Church of Ripley, but I never felt at home
at either church and never moved my membership from FBC, Pontotoc.
The older I become, the easier it is to look upon the past and see how God
has moved and directed me during the many years I have sought His ways and
tried to walk the paths set before me. I’ve another home that’s
nowhere near Pontotoc; it awaits me "somewhere beyond the blue." And, if
I live long enough, I imagine I’ll experience the draw of a different
sort of homeward bound, one described in the hymn as "The angels beckon me
from heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world anymore."
Highway
Gore It's A What?
Have you ever wondered what the technical term is for that part of a street
or highway that tapers from wide to narrow and is often marked with bold
white or yellow stripes? These areas serve notice to motorists in a variety
of formats. At certain exits they guide motorists to the off ramp. They often
appear where a single turn lane is inserted into a strip of two-lane highway.
Still don’t know what it’s called? Okay, it’s a gore.
Gore seemed an unlikely name for it when Larry Schmitt mentioned it to me
several months ago when he helped me with a software update for MicroTrax
in Columbus, Mississippi. As I recall, Larry saw a striped section and was
reminded of a traffic citation he received for driving on the gore.
"A cop pulled me over and told me I was in the gore!" Larry remembered. "The
cars in front of me were turning left, and I just followed them. Yeah, he
wrote me a ticket."
Until Larry told me about his ticket, I had not heard the word "gore" used
in that context. I was only familiar with the term as it is used to describe
a puncture, such as a wound inflicted on a matador by a bull’s horn
or horns. And, it seems, I once figured that audience members who had long
since grown weary of a boring speech by Al Gore, might be depicted as "gored"
to death or "gored" stiff.
"I’m not familiar with all the definitions of gore; I’ll have to
look that up," I responded to Larry.
Weeks went by before I thought to actually do so, but when I finally remembered
it, I checked a couple of dictionaries. Sure enough, the American Heritage
Dictionary had three definitions for gore, and the second one fit the bill.
gore1 (gôr) tr.v. To pierce or stab with a horn
or tusk.
gore2 (gôr) n. 1. A triangular or tapering piece
of cloth forming a part of something, as in a skirt or sail. 2. A
small triangular piece of land.
gore3 (gôr) n. Blood, especially coagulated blood from
a wound.
They say, "Ignorance of the law is no excuse," so, the next time you’re
tempted to use a gore as a turn lane, don’t do it. Otherwise an officer
may issue you a citation for driving in a gore.
Bodock Beau What
Does Love Mean
A group of professionals posed this question to 4 to 8 year-olds, "What does
love mean?"
The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined.
See what you think:
"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her
toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when
his hands got arthritis too. That's love." Rebecca- age 8
"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just
know that your name is safe in their mouth." Billy - age 4
"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and
they go out and smell each other." Karl - age 5
"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries
without making them give you any of theirs." Chrissy - age 6
"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired." Terri - age 4
"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before
giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK." Danny - age 7
"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing,
you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like
that. They look gross when they kiss" Emily - age 8
"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents
and listen." Bobby - age 7
"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who
you hate,"
Nikka - age 6
"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday."
Noelle - age 7
"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends
even after they know each other so well." Tommy - age 6
"During my piano recital, I was on a stage, and I was scared. I looked at
all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the
only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore." Cindy - age 8
"My mommy loves me more than anybody You don't see anyone else kissing me
to sleep at night." Clare - age 6
"Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken." Elaine-age 5
"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer
than Robert Redford." Chris - age 7
"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all
day." Mary Ann - age 4
"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes
and has to go out and buy new ones." Lauren - age 4
"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come
out of you." Karen - age 7
"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross."
Mark - age 6
"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean
it, you should say it a lot. People forget." Jessica - age 8
And the final one -- Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about
a contest he was asked to judge…to find the most caring child.
The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly
gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little
boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat
there.
When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said,
"Nothing, I just helped him cry"
Shared by H.P. Prewett, Jr. - Tennessee
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