A Cursing and a Blessing

It’s a humbling thing when you can actually, visually see the impact you have on a life. Tom was a rough-hewn trucker who swore like a sailor, smoked like a freight train and drank like a fish. He would just as soon cuss you as look at you. He was not a very pleasant person to be around and you definitely didn’t want to make him mad. Tom’s reputation around Boone County was not exactly stellar and he had been kicked out of nearly every drinking establishment in a three-county area.
I remember one time a customer refused to accept a shipment from Tom because he was an hour late getting there. Story has it that had a local Sheriff’s Deputy not been at the store Tom would have mopped up the parking lot with the store owner. The Deputy convinced the store owner to allow Tom to deliver his load and called my office to let me know about the situation. I knew how volatile Tom could be, but I jumped in my truck and drove the 5 miles to the store where he was; praying the whole time I could say the right things.
As soon as Tom saw me get out of the truck, he ran up to me and started spouting words not fit to repeat on this blog. As I stood there listening, Tom’s energy and his stubbornness began to wane. When I spoke, I was nearly whispering and told Tom that I understood his frustration…but got him to try and understand it from the store owner’s perspective. Before it was all said and done, Tom had apologized to both the store owner and the Deputy Sheriff.
I climbed up in the cab of Tom’s rig and talked to him about his anger; that’s when he began to tell me his wife of over 20 years decided to leave him and was also turning his grown daughter against him. This burly, swarthy, brawling man began to weep as he told me how much he loved his wife.
We must have talked for over an hour in the cab of his truck that day. I would like to say Tom was able to patch things up with his wife and lived happily ever after, but I can’t. Tom’s wife filed for divorce and it took nearly five years for his daughter to let him back into her life. He did adjust; he did change…slowly. Tom immediately gave up cigarettes; the only person I’ve ever seen, other than my mother, to quit cold-turkey after years of smoking. Within a couple of years, he gave up drinking. He didn’t quit cussing, but whenever I was within earshot I didn’t hear the four-letter words that would almost blister paint like I used to.
Tom and I had a very good relationship after that; I could ask him to do just about anything and he was willing to help me out. We promoted him to bulk plant manager and even though he struggled through personal problems, he became more professional in his work ethics. One of the things I did as his boss was to sit down with him and spec out a new truck. I listened to his ideas and between the two of us we came up with a state-of-the-art fuel delivery truck that became a model for other companies in the business. You would have thought I had given Tom a shiny new toy for Christmas; he was so proud of that truck.
When it came time for me to move on, Tom gave me the biggest bearhug and I could have sworn he had tears in his eyes. He liked to call me "boss-man" and as we were saying our goodbyes he said, "Well, boss-man, it's been one helluva ride. Don't take no s*** and give 'em h*** 'cause I got your back." I couldn't help but laugh.
Years after I left that company, I received a phone call that Tom had developed leukemia and would probably have less than a year to live. But, the best news was that Tom had given his life to Jesus Christ and he was ready to die if that was what God wanted for him. He even reconciled with his wife and she took care of him during his sickness.
Nearly a year later, I received another phone call that Tom had passed away. I think about that day in the cab of his truck and I’m amazed all over again that someone like Tom could make the transition from a mean, hateful, foul-mouthed brawler into a humble servant ready to do his Master’s bidding. He was my friend, all because I took the time to simply listen.

Nursing a Grudge

I met Kandi in one of those Internet chat rooms back when chat rooms were barely known. There was a room called “Thirtysomething” on America Online and was frequented by middle-aged computer geeks and geek wannabes before broadband connections and Google captured their attention and carried them away to other realms of cyber-junkyism. I remember the room was limited to like 20 people and to get into the “main” room you would have to try for hours before a slot would open up. They even had little software patches like an automatic redial which would keep trying the room for you until a spot opened up. But the regulars were almost always there. I was never a regular, but I did get to know several of the denizens by name and carried on many interesting conversations ranging anywhere from the weather in various parts of the country to more thought-provoking topics like right-to-life and separation of church and state. You have to remember, Thirtysomethings then were fringe baby-boomers who grew up in the 60’s and 70’s and their opinions were often liberal or at least left-leaning. It was difficult for a Christian conservative to get a word in edge-wise.
Anyway, I was in the chat room one evening when KandiNurse popped in. Right away I could tell she was a newbie and, without some guidance, could easily be a target for ruthless guys looking to get their jollies by asking a female about her breast size and whether she was wearing any panties. Afterall, with a name like KandiNurse, you can just imagine the sleaze she could attract. AOL had terms of service that disallowed use of vulgar and obscene conversation, but you had to either be caught at it or be turned in by someone else in the room. So, by that time, a pervert could get by with a lot.
I quickly IM’d Kandi outside of the chat room and warned her about the impending litany of cat calls she was about to receive just because of her screen name. Sure enough, Kandi had just signed up for AOL service the day before and had stumbled onto the Thirtysomething chat room. She had received a couple of crude IM’s already, but had brushed them off as a fluke. Kandi never changed her screen name, but at least she was aware of the perverts who cavorted on-line lurking for an unsuspecting female to cyber-accost.
Kandi was a divorcee who got her nursing degree and was raising two children on her own after leaving a husband who basically told her she was worthless and would never amount to anything. She finally had enough when she found out her husband had an affair with a co-worker and she mustered the courage to take the children and figure out a way to make it on her own. Life was certainly not easy for her, but perseverance and determination got her a quaint little rancher in a family neighborhood, a nursing position at a local hospital and the dignity and respect she deserved from friends and loved ones. By all rights, she was doing rather well for herself. Still, a healthy confidence doesn’t always make up for a life shattered by abuse. I’m not saying Kandi was a needy person. Indeed, she is one of the bravest, most independent people I know. But, there were times when she was fragile and vulnerable and a friend with a shoulder to cry on was worth more to her than a thousand drop-dead gorgeous men with thick wallets.
We became close friends and remain so to this day. We don’t get to talk much anymore…usually no more than two or three times a year…but it’s gratifying to know that either of us can pick up the phone or send an e-mail and get a friendly response. Kandi has learned (often the hard way) to deal with things life throws at her and she handles them with poise and dignity. I hope in those early days so many years ago I had an influence in her life just by listening, comforting and affirming what was deep in her heart all along anyway. I remember the very first day I talked to her online; she had a catastrophe at her house. Apparently some guys from the city sanitation department were on her street “flushing” out sewer lines, but they flushed a little too hard and raw sewage backed up into her house so much so she had to call ServPro to come clean it up. I listened to her cry about the mess they made (and the fact the city denied any wrong doing), and then we laughed hysterically because you might as well laugh about something like that or it will eat you alive.
At any rate, Kandi taught me a lot about making lemonade when life throws you lemons and I think I helped her smile no matter how sour the lemonade was.

Sunday School Antics Part 2

Brice never ceases to amaze me. From that ornery little boy in my Sunday School class he has grown into an incredible young man with so much potential. Even in the face of adversity, Brice has a zeal about him that just makes you want to run wide open and cheer for him....sorta like in the lockerroom before a basketball game and the coach wants to get you fired up before hitting the floor.

Back in the summer, Brice was enjoying the break before beginning his senior year of high school. Being an avid skateboarder, it wasn't unusual to see him on his board all hours of the day and night. One of the favorite hangouts for boarders was close to a local railyard and they had to cut through the railyard to get to the park.

This particular railyard is in a fairly rural area and is not heavily used by the railroad. You could go days and not see any train activity in the yard. (I know you are already seeing where this is going). On a particular day, Brice and some of his board buddies were walking through the railyard and there happened to be a train on the tracks. Nobody knows for sure exactly what happened, but Brice lost his footing and fell on the track. The train was moving and before Brice could get away, one of the massive truck wheels of the train severed his foot right at the ankle. The initial shock of getting hit by a train sent Brice reeling and he momentarily blacked out. When he came to, he realized the train had severed an artery and his lifeblood was pumping out into the sooty gravel of the railyard.

I know you are thinking, "poor Brice, such a tragic thing for such a young man." But I'm here to tell you there is bad news and good news to this story.

As horrific as that accident was, God was and is ultimately in control - in control of the situation and in control of Brice's life. One evening I sat back in utter amazement while Brice's folks recounted that horrible day. Not in a way you would expect, but in complete confidence that God does not make mistakes. They told how Brice, with the help of his buddies, made it out of the railyard and to an area where he could be attended by medical professionals. They told about the hospital helicopter that was only minutes away because they had just dropped off another patient. The told of Brice's courage and even humor in the midst of tragedy. They told of how he sang praise choruses while waiting for the EMT's. They told of Brice's amazingly quick recovery and his desire to go to school and get on with his life.

A few nights ago, I was able to visit with Brice as he was showing off his new "foot". His "foot" is an interesting looking prosthesis which resembles a miniature snow ski. He demonstrated how it attached to his leg and the adjustments he could make to it. Then he proceeded to tell me how he had been playing flag football and when he finished making a touchdown he looked down and his new foot was pointed out to the right instead of straight ahead. He told me about some of his basketball games in the church league and how many rebounds and assists he had. All I could do was sit there, grin and shake my head from time to time.

But the best part of the evening was when Brice told me again of his plans to attend Bible college and study Youth Ministries and media. He and his folks had already visited the school and he is so excited about starting a new period in his life. The conviction in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes and the determination in his spirit let me know this young man will be touching heaven and changing lives.

That's not to say Brice will not have his down days. I can't even begin to imagine being that young and facing life with a major prosthesis and I'm sure those thoughts have crossed Brice's mind a time or two as well. Still, his outlook on life humbles me and I find myself asking forgiveness for whining about my little aches and pains.

I think about that little boy in my Sunday School class and thank God I did not squelch his enthusiasm or drive him away because he might disrupt my class. I am grateful to have been just a small part of a life I know will do great things for our sovereign God.

Schleprock

Do you remember Pebbles’ and BamBam’s friend, Schleprock, from the old Flintstones cartoon? He was the one always going around with a dark cloud over his head and it seemed everything bad happened to him. If lightning was going to strike, don’t be standing around Schleprock! Don is my Schleprock. There have been times I would be standing next to Don for some reason or other and pray that a thunderstorm didn’t pop up. The only problem is, most of Don’s issues were self-inflicted…or at least self-indulged.
Around the office we would all place bets (pretend bets, of course) about what calamity was going to happen to Don on his next vacation. Invariably each year some catastrophe would happen whether something happened to his vehicle or someone would get sick or something would happen with hotel reservations…you just knew SOMETHING was going to happen. Even before he would leave on his trips, getting his car into traveling shape was an ordeal. One year, he traveled out west and I think repairs to his vehicle cost more than the vacation.
Don is the kind of guy who doesn’t like confrontation and it’s easier to bear a burden rather than have someone else mad at you. The problem is, that gives other people an open invitation to walk all over you. Even Don’s family took advantage of his gentleness and generosity. Here is a guy putting in 40+ hours per week and his wife is a “stay-at-home-mom.” Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s absolutely wonderful when a wife is able to stay at home and look after her children and provide a safe haven for her husband when he comes home from work. I know that is an archaic view, but I believe a Biblical one nonetheless. The problem was Don would leave his job and go home to walk the dog, cut the grass, make dinner, get in a load of laundry, wash the dishes, walk the dog again, help with homework and put in an hour or two of work he did on the side to make ends meet. Only to fall in bed and have his wife wake him up in the middle of the night with some hair-brained scheme of how HE can make more money! He made me tired just listening to the stuff he did.
And listen I did. A lot of times Don would stop by my office just to unload or to look for a tiny bit of sympathy. I don’t know how many times I would sit and shake my head as he would talk about his 22 year old daughter with no ambition or his 14 year old son who spent most waking hours playing video games or his wife with grand ideas of starting an Internet business. I knew he was tired a lot and often yawned throughout the day…he was even diagnosed with sleep apnea. I don’t think the poor man suffered from sleep apnea…he suffered from sleep deprivation! While he was at work during the day, his family would sleep and loaf and lounge…then they would be up all night while he was trying to catch up on some desperately needed sleep.
It didn’t take a clinical psychologist to see what was going on, but until Don saw what was happening it would be a never-ending downward spiral until he crashed and burned, leaving behind a family with no means of support. I don’t know how much good our “counseling” sessions did for Don, but I hope and pray that even the verbal and emotional support I provided gave some relief from undue pressures oppressing him…not only emotionally, but physically and spiritually as well.
I’ve always said you don’t have to look far or hard to find someone worse off than you. Don is the perfect example of that. But, I wonder how he would ever find someone worse off than him.

Sunday School Antics

For several years I taught the Junior Boys Sunday School class comprised of 4th, 5th and 6th grade boys. As you can imagine, there were Sundays when I would scratch my head to try and figure out the purpose for putting myself through that kind of torture. I usually ended up with a headache on Sunday afternoons after trying to instill the simplest of Bible knowledge into the heads of those hyper-active boys. Don’t get me wrong, there were many good Sundays too when I could go home with the satisfaction these boys were going to grow up with so much wisdom they would all look back and accredit me the depth of their spiritual discernment. Yeah, right!
Brice was one of those kids you could look at and know he was thinking of some way to disrupt the class. He wasn’t mean; he just loved attention and the notoriety he got from being the class clown. Unfortunately, at that age, the class clown can wield more influence than the teacher. One particular Sunday, Brice was determined he was going to rule the class that day. As I was imparting my vast wisdom to their young, pliable minds, Brice began drawing funny pictures. The funny pictures escalated into caricatures. Before I knew it, nearly the entire class was drawing funny faces of people in the church while I was trying to teach the Ten Commandments or some other worthy Biblical topic. Between sentences I would have to raise my voice and say, “Guys!” or “Ok guys, listen up.” much to no avail.
Finally, I had all I could take and I gave Brice a stern look and told him if I heard one more peep out of him I would send him to his mother. He knew I meant business and I’m not sure if he was more afraid of getting sent to his mother or if he was horrified at the thought of me being mad at him….maybe both.
The very next Sunday as I was in the classroom preparing visual aids, Brice was the first one to the room and he sheepishly came up to me and slowly handed me a 3”x5” index card with something hand written on it. I thanked him and he turned to take a seat and folded his hands on his lap with his back straight against the chair. I sat in my chair and read the card he had handed me:

“Dear Mr. Taylor,

I am sorry I am bad at Sunday school. I will be good for now on. You are a good teacher.

Love,
Brice”

I choked back the tears (because it’s not manly for the teacher to cry in front of his students) and I realized I was there for a reason; if for nothing else than to be a beacon to guide Brice’s wandering ship.
Brice has since moved away, but I still carry that index card in my Bible to remind me that God does use each of us to impact the lives of others. Even though Brice is now grown and headed off to college, whenever he is in town I can count on a firm handshake and a hug around the neck.

--"What matters in this life is more than winning for ourselves. What matters is helping others win, even if it means slowing down and changing our course."

Joker of the Day

I worked with Jack for a couple of years. We hired him as a maintenance man, but soon found out his talents and abilities were amazingly broad. He could wire an electrical circuit, change a tire on a road tractor and rebuild a pump dispenser in the amount of time it would take anyone else to decide where they were going to eat lunch.
Jack was a huge man…not obese or husky…Jack stood about 6’ 6” and had a size 14 foot; he was just a giant of a man. He was swarthy looking especially when he would let his beard grow out and not get a haircut for awhile. He wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody and his sheer size would make most people afraid of him. Not that everyone backed away from him. Jack had seen his share of bar fights. When he was several years younger he got into a fight and a guy smacked him across the face with a 2”x4” and knocked most of his teeth out. I can promise you, the guy swinging the lumber got the worse end of the deal.
Behind the toughness, though, Jack was a kind-hearted and generous person and he loved to laugh. One sure way to make him laugh was a good practical joke. One day I stepped out of my office just in time to look down the hall and see Jack roll a lighted firecracker underneath the men’s room door. He didn’t run, he stood there with a huge grin on his face with his hands over his ears. I wondered who in the world was about to be blown off the toilet. All you could hear was, “Oh, Jeesh!....” and the scuffling of feet. Suddenly, there was a blast…at least the initial blast of the firecracker, but then you heard the expletives rolling out of that tiny room louder than any pyrotechnic you could imagine. Next thing I knew, the owner of the company came running out of the restroom still zipping up his pants and he railed on Jack for doing such a stupid thing. Jack stood there enduring the barrage and when the boss was finished, Jack just patted him on the back and said, “have a nice day, Chief.”
There was another time when the boss was away on vacation and Jack contrived an April Fool’s joke to play on the Vice President. Jack called all of the truck drivers on their two-way radios and told some of them to call in sick and some of them to out-and-out “quit” before noon. The Vice President was late getting to the office that morning, so Jack had plenty of time to plot his scam. As soon as the acting boss made it to the office, the dispatcher showed him a stack of orders which had not been filled and proceeded to tell him things were beginning to back up. The first phone call came less than 10 minutes into his morning; a driver called in and said he wasn’t feeling well and was going home. Ok, that’s not so bad…we can just divvy up the rest of his order with the remaining drivers. But then, Jack’s plan began firing on all cylinders. Within 30 minutes the boss had 4 drivers quit and 6 drivers with some kind of illness or another, leaving him with a handful of dispatch orders and no way to deliver.
I was standing in the warehouse talking with Jack and a couple of other fellows when the door burst open and the Vice President stood there with a look of dismay on his face. Almost in a panic he began asking for suggestions and advice. Jack stood quietly, letting the man suffer for several minutes and then put both of his big hands on the boss’ shoulders, looked him square in the eyes and said, “April Fools.” If it weren’t for the rest of us in the room, Jack would have been fired that day.
Still, Jack had a serious side about him as well and I would often find him sitting across the desk from me talking about spiritual matters. Jack had had a triple by-pass surgery about 10 years previously and it seemed like he was preoccupied with dying and constantly worrying about when his heart would give out, but that never slowed the ox down…he smoked two packs of cigarettes a day and enjoyed his beer to wind down after work. He could work circles around most of the younger men around him.
Jack respected and trusted me and would talk about things with me he wouldn’t even imagine saying to other guys. It gave me plenty of opportunity to share my faith with him. He would call me Brother Dave and often promised me that he was going to take his family to church.
One day, Jack’s heart did finally give out on him. He was driving his service truck home after a typical day of work. Just a few miles short of his driveway, a massive heart attack took his life; he never even felt the impact when the truck dove off the road and hit a tree.
I don’t know how much good those talks in my office did for Jack, but I do know his death shook up a lot of the other guys around the shop and caused them to wonder about their own mortality and their spiritual status.