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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 Near the top of the trash pile was the brass 1707 door plate which had been replaced by a 70s “stylish” plastic 1707 which “matched” the numbering system being used in the renovation.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!

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.

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 …

As darkness swamped ATL the news continued to reverberate with updates from London. There our friends were reeling from another terrorist attack in the city. Such events almost seem ordinary, now. As our small planet has become ever more divided and filled with hate, anger, cruelty, and disdain. Ironically, we seem to be divided by the very things that should bring us together. We could make a better world for all, except we don’t. They say that love makes the world go ’round. So, I guess we no longer spin on our axis, but rather are standing on our head, caught in a trap that won’t let go — quicksand of the heart, mind, soul, spirit, and will, so to speak. As night gave way to day, the news was no better. More deaths, more uncertainties, more terrorists, more glee from the dark side, more tears, more anxiety, more fear, more of everything that those of us that were children of the 60s thought we had somewhat overcome. Such is certainly not the case this day. Morning has given way to afternoon and with resolute determination evil has dug in its heels.

Saturated with news of rampant evil, I turned off all media and sat in silence. It seemed easier to avoid and ignore than to face the realities about us. I suspect some of you may have done the same. But, in the silence came the reminder of chores to be done and kilometers to be run. Nah! Outside of my safe cocoon is a world of unknowns and uncertainties. Yet, the nudge would not let go! The nudge prods. The nudge pushes. The nudge says, “Lace-up those kicks! Journey on! Run on!” Finally, the nudge wins. Ever so slowly I begin to prepare for the journey, to exit to life on the streets. The real world awaits. You’ve been there, too!

I decide to run 5K and on the return address the chore list. It’s cool and breezy, but sunny.  I lock the door and head out of the safety zone of Springer Street and into the bustling noise and traffic of Howell Mill Road. This will be an out and back run, with a few purposed hill detours. I breathe. I run.

As some of you know, since I found the first penny in the doctor’s parking lot on the day I received my prostate cancer diagnosis, I seemed to have been drawn to stray coins. That day, I said that the found coin would serve as a blessing reminder, even in the face of cancer. The coins are a reminder that everyday, in all things, in God we trust. Running south on Howell Mill Road, I paused at the light at Chattahoochee and looking down there to my amazement was a penny. I reached down, picked it up, and gave thanks to the Holy One for having nudged me out into the world.

Running at a bit faster clip than usual, I discovered my second find of the morning. A small round disc with a hole in the center. Some of my friends call them washers, and I guess such is the case. But, for me they mean something so much more. It was in late autumn, eighteen months ago, when my world would change again. I remember that day so clearly. You’ve had days like that, I’m sure, that are seared into the fiber of your being. Nothing I could do or say could undo the reality that I faced. Running that evening, with iPod playing in my ears, the old Christian hymn, ‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus, began to quietly play. I ran, and ran some more, as the hymn played. Coming to a cross street, I looked down, and there at my feet was a small round disc, with a hole in the center (a washer). It was rusted and had obviously been there a long time. The falling autumn leaves somewhat hid it in the street’s gutter. But, to be sure, it was there and there for a purpose. My broken spirit was drowning in tears and hurt, when a nudge came to me and whispered, “That disc, it’s a reminder that you are Encircle By God’s Great Love. I will never leave you or forsake you. Trust me, even in the darkness. I am with you.” I suspect that some of you, too, have felt the hurt of brokenness, fear, separation, disappointment, medical trauma, unrealized dreams, and loss. Such hurts! Emotional pain can be more severe and longer lasting than physical pain. The old hymn that was playing gave way to a new tune, and who would believe it, Fernando Ortega was singing and playing, Give Me Jesus. The song said it all. I reached down, picked up that small round disc, rubbed it between my fingers, and standing in the darkness of night, prayerfully listened to the song, holding this newly found reminder disc. As the song ended, I realized for the first time that I was standing beneath a street light at that dark corner, but more than that, I was standing in The Light. At that moment, Niagara Falls had nothing on me. Indeed, I was standing at a life corner. I had to make the turn, but I wasn’t on the journey alone. I ran on.

It has been 18 months, since I found that first small round disc and 2 1/2 years since I found that first coin. Over and again, since those days, I have found blessing reminders and discs reminding me that we are Encircled By God’s Great Love. I have a few jars filled with those reminders. I look at them and give thanks!

Back to today! Who would believe it? It seemed as those the street had been strewn with small round discs, just as the Holy One had left manna for the Hebrews on their journey to the Promised Land. As I gathered the handful of discs, I received a nudge. It was as if someone was saying to me, “You didn’t want to get about the journey, today. So, I decided to inundate you with reminders that you are Encircled By God’s Great Love.” I picked up those discs as gladly as did the Hebrews pick up the manna. The only difference was they had baskets. I simply had two full hands.

The Holy One is like that. Two full hands outstretched in Calvary love. Two full hands holding us when we are sinking, thinking for a moment that we could walk on water. Two full hands uplifted in blessing. Two full hands touching and healing the broken and leprosy diseased parts of our life. Two full hands wrap us in hope when all seems lost. Two full nail-scared hands that open and hold us safe and secure in life’s dark moments.

The Holy One is nudging all of us, in the midst of the broken and depraved world in which we find ourselves on this day — from London, Paris, Lockerbie, Oklahoma City, Nairobi, Little Rock, Benghazi, San Bernardino, San Antonio, Chattanooga, Tel Aviv, Berlin, New York, Washington, Boston, and places in-between — nudging us to get about the journey. Run on. Run strong. You are not alone in the chaos. Finding the blessings — they are there, and remember that we are encircled by God’s Great Love.

Drifting gently now.

Drifting leaves resemble life,

Drifting ever away.