14 January 2016, what a special day! In the midst of transition and challenges (the stuff of which life is made), I experienced the hope and promise in which I so tenaciously believe and hold. I find it amazing at how easily people forget how someone has helped them in deep and important ways. I don’t want to be that kind of person. As I walked across the parking lot near the MLK MARTA Station there before me was a penny. It looked up at me with a smiling face. It seemed to say, pick me up, take me home, don’t forget me, cherish me. Like that penny, many of us know what it feels like to be forgotten, no longer valued, expendable, and not cherished. “What’s a penny worth? Nothing!” I slowly bent down picked-up the worn penny and slipped it into my pocket. We would now trek together. At least we had each other. On the way home my iPhone chimed. A dear friend, had sent me a message, she had found a penny, and thought of me! Then, it chimed again, another dear friend told me that she had picked up a penny and prayed for me! WOW! First base, second base third base, then came the home run. Tucked safely away on the porch at home, the mail carrier had left an envelope. It was dark as I picked it up, dark outside and dark in my spirit. We’ve all felt like that. But, to my surprise a precious friend had sent me a book. Not just any book, but a book from Michigan’s Sleeping Bear Press, “Penny: The Forgotten Coin.” What a FANTASTIC story with such meaning on every page. I had never heard of this book. But, it went straight to my heart. Isn’t that just the way the Holy One works — with serendipity (which is NOT dumb luck). I had spent part of the afternoon with Sister Angela at Mercy Care (a GWC partner). We had quietly and optimistically talked of the future. We had reflected on the past. She is a Sister of Mercy. She is a prayer partner. She cares for and encourages, even a Baptist. She doesn’t limit her mercy to Catholics. I love Sister Angela. So amidst our gray skies the Holy One sends The Light. That light is often delivered by friends who become Torch Bearers and help us to be Brave Heart. Thank you special friends! I am deeply grateful for your encouragement that comes in many ways. I’m humbled that you care. Sister Angela ended our conversation by quoting Romans 8:28. “All things work together for good …” So, it’s #RunVinceRun Blessings abound. Look around. Hold forth! The day and the NIGHT belong to the Holy One. And, I do still like Bass Weejun Penny Loafers!
Month: January 2018
Facing a Cold Wind
It was a cloudy, cold 28 degrees, wind chill factor 17 degrees. The Sleighbells on the Square 5K had been postponed because of December snow and ice. It wouldn’t be postponed because of January cold. Sometimes weeks are shrouded in a montage of grey clouds, uncertainties, immobility, and moroseness. Such can seep from one day to another, then another. It’s cold and very windy. No one will know if I show up or not. I’m almost 68 years old. Who gives a rip? The run cause is good, contribution made. Who needs another t-shirt? In the quiet darkness of a warm bed, I remember. I care. No one else, just me! We are not racing against anyone except one’s self. Final conclusion — I’ll know. Life is so often like that. We know. No one else may know, but we know. Bundled, layered, wrapped, and gloved, I quietly leave in the darkness. With a cold wind in my face I run the fierce Marietta hill on which I injured a knee three years before. I noodled, today, where is that fierce hill? And, so another race is run and done. Good 2nd Place time in the old men’s age-group. On my way home I stopped by my WW Group location. There was a meeting in progress. I smiled. Today, is the 4th Anniversary of my waking through that door. Thanks Lisa and Nan for the ongoing WWencouragement. Today’s run was therapeutic; pure therapy! #JourneyOn #WW #RunOn #RunStrong #RunATL
Trash Long Forgotten
On the occasion of the 150th Anniversary Year (2018) of First Baptist Church, Dallas, Texas, here’s a personal story and special remembrance. In the first half of the 70s, I was privileged to serve on the staff of FBC. It was a life-changing and directing experience in many ways. My last assignment was Minister to Jr High Youth. One day while working with some of the maintenance staff cleaning out a long forgotten and unused area of the Burt Building I came across a small pile of old wood with square nails and several pieces of slate. I was told that it was trash and the maintenance crew put it in a pile to be disposed. Upon further inquiry, I learned that it was remnants of the old steeple that had been replaced much to the dismay of Dr. Criswell. I went back and pulled a piece of the wood with nails and a few pieces of slate from the trash bin. Later, I made this wall hanging. It has always been precious to me. Several years after the Burt Building experience, the Criswell Building was being spruced-up and the beautiful doors that faced San Jacinto Street we’re being refinished. I was walking through the basement and tunnel to the Sanctuary late one evening and there in the big rolling, circular trash container were pieces of the renovation being thrown away. Near the top of the trash pile was the brass 1707 door plate which had been replaced by a 70s “stylish” plastic 1707 which “matched” the numbering system being used in the renovation. Out with the old, in with the new! I attached that special numbered brass plate to the top of the old piece of steeple wood. I smile every time I see this special heirloom, which I know means little to anyone else, but I cherish. After more than 45 years and multiple moves across four states, I’m blessed to still hold it. I was in my early 20s then, now moving into my late 60s. Not sure what prompted me to pickup those pieces, but I’m glad I did. Actually, I guess I’ve always liked “garbage-picking.” There’s a sermon in that — God picked me up from a forgotten trash pile and holds me close. I’m grateful!
My Father-in-Law: A Tribute
Today, 34 years ago, my father-in-law, Ray Arthur Threlkeld died. It was 1983. It was a bitter cold day on Springer Street and colder still on New Year’s Eve when he was laid to rest on Joe Johnston Hill at Crest Lawn Cemetery. He was only 63 years old. He had outlived his mother, father, and two brothers. I never got the chance to know him, up close and personal, but I do know him in a plethora of ways. I know his work ethic, because scores of people still tell me what a great automobile mechanic he was. They often comment that they sure wish they could take their car to him today, to fix. I know his penchant for perfection. I live it everyday with his daughter. I know his skill at organizing, because parts of his big garage are as he left them. Tools and papers organized to the max. I know his caring for boys that needed encouraging and help. He hired such young men to work in his garage. Being an orphan at age 13 (his Mother had died when he was 3 years old), he always tried to reach out to those that struggled, often no fault of there own. I still bump into adult men who were recipients of his kindness. I know he loved history, Deborah relishes (and I so enjoy hearing) in retelling the stories of Atlanta that her father lived and shared with her — 1939 Gone With the Wind Premier, Winecoff Hotel fire of 1946, Atlanta Crackers Baseball team playing at the Ponce de Leon Ball Park, The Varsity, Yellowjacket Hot Dogs, Krystal on Lee Street, and Sears on Ponce. I know he loved his family and helped them and stayed close to aunts and his two brothers, the older of which was KIA on Christmas Eve during WWII. And, he always made sure his father-in-law, John Wells, got to go fishing, even after Mr. Wells’ stroke. I know he loved his country. He always remembered and recognized his brother, Staff Sargent Richard R. Threlkeld, who was killed in action in World War II and is buried in France. I know he managed his finances well. He left no debt and owned few credit cards. He was a cash man, when it came to paying. I know he knew all about cars. He passed that on to his daughter. I know Mr. Threlkeld, because I know his daughter, who loved her Daddy very, very much … and misses him still. She was and is her “Daddy’s Girl.” He was a city boy (from Atlanta/Fulton County). He never enjoyed staying with his paternal grandmother during summers in very rural Elbert County. We have some “funny” family stories about those forays! I know him because his footprints and fingerprints are up and down Springer and White Streets. He speaks to me still. Shared in loving memory of Ray Arthur Threlkeld.
A Genesis Story
JUST A THOUGHT … Have you ever been in a situation “that” or known someone “who” literally sucked the joy out of the day? It seems to me that such is the Genesis story, and it is a story that keeps being repeated throughout the book. It’s a relationship story. The story of God and God’s very good creation. All creation was good, but when God put it all together it was very good. And, the very good came when ultimately God’s creation carried the image of the Holy One. So, in the Garden, God visited with, talked with, encouraged, provided for, instructed, guided, touched, and cared for. God got to know up close and personal the apex of creation. God journeyed with Adam and Eve in an On-going, committed personal relationship. Then, suddenly, they turned. They abandoned. They forgot. They ignored. They stepped out of the light and into the darkness. They stumbled. There was a fall. They sucked the joy out of the day! And, ultimately God had the joy sucked out of the day, too. There was a sad, dark invasion. Breathlessness shrouded the Garden. Adam and Eve lost their breath, their mooring. They cut loose from the Anchor. God grieved. Over and again, throughout Genesis, God’s creation would suck the joy out of the day. Maybe you, too, have experienced such in a relationship that fractured. Such is also the story of Abraham, Sarah, Noah, Isaac, Pharaoh, Joseph, Miriam, and Moses. It’s our story, too. Seems to me, it’s the Genesis Story. A story of joy being sucked out and found again. Everything God has done since God dispelled Adam and Eve from the Garden, has been to bring men and women back into that Garden Relationship. A relationship of joy and life. God says, I’ve come that you might have life, abundant life, not a life where the joy is sucked away, but rather breathed into you. And, God sent God’s only son, to ensure such. The hymn writer is right, “Breathed on me, breathe on me. Holy Spirit breathe on me.” It’s a Genesis story — creation, re-creation, knowing God — joy for the journey. So, the next time someone sucks the joy out of your day, do what the Holy One did, LOVE anyway! Just a thought …
StreetLife: A Runner’s Journey 