WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Letting Go of The Basket

     When my three boys were young, a set of Winnie the Pooh tapes were all the rage in the Stroupe house. When one boy outgrew all the gang in Winnie's hundred acre woods, along came a younger Stroupe boy to pick up the slack. As a result, I know every single word, phrase, and song from each of the episodes and can recite them with incredible accuracy to this day (perhaps unfortunately).

     During those days, and to be honest even to to this day, I catch myself speaking in Pooh language from time to time. For those of you who are not familiar with Pooh, my apologies in advance for the next few sentences. But for those who have watched, join me in some Pooh vernacular if you will.

    Since I am terrible at identifying trees, plants, or shrubs, I refer to every plant in my yard as a Gorse Bush. Every time it looks like rain, I make mention of a little black rain cloud. When I'm told it's too soon to eat a particular item of food, I say, "I wasn't gonna eat it, I was just gonna taste it." When an idea doesn't cut it with me, I say, "That would not be a very good plan." On the occasion of more than one person accomplishing something significant, I can be heard to utter, "Could we make a one hero party into a two hero party." 

     I can go on so I will. When an important event has arrived, I proclaim "Today's the day, Hooray, Hooray!" Others include "My spelling is a little wobbly", "Is that you there? I don't think so, it isn't meant to be" and "I was the recipient of a loud bounce."And when my wife leaves to go out and reminds me to look after the dog, I say "Don't worry, I'll take care of the little nipper."

     Please bear in mind I'm not proud of this. It's similar to me being able to recite the lyrics of most any song from the 70s and 80s, when my young mind was infiltrated by the Top 40 music of that era. You never forget those, though I wish I could in some cases. So to be able to speak Pooh language is as much of a curse as it is a blessing. But at least it distracts me from reciting phrases and tunes from the dinosaur named Barney, which nearly drove me to the brink of self implosion during its heyday. Fortunately the Teletubbies never said or sang anything I could understand. 

     Which leads me to a recent Pooh moment. An episode permanently etched in my brain is the scene where all the Pooh gang stands on a bridge dropping sticks into the water and then running quickly to the other side of the bridge in anticipation of their objects emerging later, a game known as Pooh sticks. An impatient Pooh mutters at one point, "Perhaps my stick's stuck" to which a wise friend replies, "It always takes longer than you think". 

     All three of my sons have grown up and moved out of the house now. Two have graduated college and have big boy jobs and the third is a college student nearly two hours away. The Pooh tapes are collecting dust somewhere in the attic, awaiting the moment a future grandchild's interest is piqued someday. Of course the VHS tapes will be utterly useless then as they pretty much are now, so we will have to come up with another method of watching Pooh. 

     A week or so ago, our middle son over-packed his Honda and set a course for Northwest Texas to chase a dream and start a new job with a company twenty-one hours away from Mom and Dad. Except for some dog whimpers it was quiet for a few hours the morning he left until finally Mom broke the silence. "We've got to let the basket go down the river," she said, talking as much to herself as she was to me. 

     The Bible story she was referring to was the one where Moses' mom put him in a basket and placed him in the Nile River to protect him from being killed due to the mean Pharoah's order. Exodus 2 paints the picture as she gently pushes away the basket containing her infant son and painfully watches it float downstream to an uncertain destiny. Agonizing moments pass as Mom loses sight of her child and wonders if the basket has gotten stuck among the reeds in the Nile. Perhaps during those moments of anguish as she helplessly waited for the basket to reappear from the reeds, someone near hear whispered, "It always takes longer than you think".

     I was told often as a young father to grab on to my kids and hold them tightly and never let go. Mom and I did that every chance we got. But even so, at some point, the basket has to go down the river. The caterpillar evolves into a beautiful butterfly and floats off with the breeze. A child who was singing a nursery rhyme with you yesterday is today departing the driveway in his car to venture off to a new job, a college, or some other destiny that doesn't require his parent's accompaniment. 

     But like Moses' mom, accompany we will, in spirit at least. It's a parent's destiny to hold them tight then have them whisked away from our grasp, though they will never be free of our prayers and our love.

     And hopefully as in the story of Moses, Mom and I have helped make the world a better place by releasing the baskets and sharing them with the world. Moses would go on to be rescued from the river and change the course of history. Only God knows what will happen with the Stroupe boys. So we wait patiently, all the while hoping God has designed the river in the shape of a circle.

     

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: The Spirit of a Wise One

     There are lots of things fifth graders learn. Bein's how my mom is a retired fifth grade teacher, I consider myself somewhat of an expert on the subject. And for the record, I did learn in 5th grade that "bein's how" is not exactly good English, but I also learned to write from the heart, as if I was having a conversation with someone. So there you have it.
     Fifth graders learn about American history, often for the first time in an academic setting. They also learn how to apply their math skills to figuring out basic geometric shapes. Creative writing is introduced for the first time to many fifth graders. They learn about citizenship, the scientific method of solving problems, and the branches of the government.
     For a fifth grader, the world is a huge round ball of opportunity and possibility. Fifth graders are ridiculously honest, extraordinarily compassionate, and infinitely curious. And I think fifth graders, for the first time in their lives, really want to understand more about God.
     In most cases, they've been hearing about God ever since they can remember. They've recited prayers, sat as still as possible for as long as possible in church, and have tried hard to make Christmas as much about the Baby Jesus as they can, despite the distraction of Santa Claus- whom their continued belief in is hanging by a stocking thread.
     It's been many years ago, but I think the above descriptions are fairly accurate in describing me as a fifth grader. I had a wonderful teacher at school who taught me all the aforementioned things and who encouraged me to shoot for the stars, so to speak. She went on to her heavenly reward several years ago.
     But another one of my teachers from that year is alive and well. When I returned to my hometown to attend the Christmas Eve church service a few weeks ago, I made a beeline over to her pew to give her a hug. She was my fifth grade Sunday School teacher and I will forever love and appreciate her.
     I'm sure my squirmy rear end struggled to remain in its assigned spot in the little wooden chair in her class. I suspect her patience was tested by the energy we boys exerted each and every Sunday morning as the girls sat quietly, wondering why boys always seemed to have ants in our pants. I can't remember us being disrespectful but I can imagine my teacher deserved a good Sunday afternoon nap after surviving her appointed hour with us each week.
     My teacher told us one Sunday that she had dropped out of school when she was in the 8th grade to get married. I later learned in Sociology class in college that teenage marriages hardly ever survive. But apparently nobody ever told Miss Sarah because she remained devoted and faithful to her husband until he died a couple years ago.
     Miss Sarah taught me many things about the Lord. I can't recall them all specifically, but I can remember as if it were yesterday the day we were all confused and at the same time curious about the Holy Spirit. Some of us were a little spooked because of our fear of ghosts. Others wore question marks on our faces because we had been told you can't see or touch the Holy Spirit. "So how do you know it's there," we inquired. Miss Sarah explained the Holy Spirit to the gathering of fifth graders that day in such a way that I still remember it to this day.
     "No, you can't see it with your eyes," she began. "And you can't hear it with your ears. But you can feel its presence. It's like if I was to open the window and a breeze came in. You can't see or hear it, but you know it's there. It flows throughout your body and you feel it on the inside. You can tell when it has taken over a room because it produces a strong feeling of warmth and love that can't be described in words."
     On that day in that Sunday School room when I was eleven years old, I believe a miracle occurred. Not the kind where God reveals Himself in the form of a shadow on the side of a building or a dying person is miraculously healed, but the kind where for the first time in a child's life, he understands and feels the presence of the Holy Spirit. How could I not feel it, I was looking into the eyes of Miss Sarah, and the Holy Spirit was definitely revealing itself in her smile. I decided that day I would no longer fear the ghost- the one they referred to as the Holy Spirit in Big Church a few steps away from our Sunday school class. I smiled because I finally got it. I smiled because I knew God loved me and so did Miss Sarah.
     Jesus reminds the disciples in Acts 1:8 that "you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you." There are lots of people in the world who have authority, but none are more powerful than a Spirit-filled Christian who seeks the Lord with an open heart.
     A few years later when I was an eighth grader, the Holy Spirit broke out around a campfire on one of our youth retreats. Eventually every teary-eyed teenager there made some level of commitment to living their lives for the Lord. One of the strongest testimonies that led us to our knees that night came from, you guessed it, Miss Sarah. She didn't have a Doctorate or a Master's degree- but she was then and is now one of the wisest people I have ever met.
     I hugged Miss Sarah tightly when I saw her on Christmas Eve. I told her I loved her and appreciated all she taught me. She asked me to pray for her as it has been hard being without her husband for the past two years. I will pray for you, Miss Sarah. Your smile, your love, your spirit and your willingness to share it may not have changed the world. But it changed the life of at least one squirmy little fifth grader.

   

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Father Time Won't Shut Down in the New Year

     A new year has arrived and those incorrigibles in Washington who run our government have decided to (temporarily hopefully) shut down the operation up there. Of course it's because of a dispute but I noticed they didn't shut themselves or their own monthly checks down. They just cut out other people's checks. Funny how that works.
     As part of the construction of my annual New Year's Resolution list, I have decided to offer my two cents- which is only worth 1.5 cents after the stock market performance this past December- as to how we can prevent our elected representatives from ceasing to operate in these situations. I say that for every day the government is shut down, all those involved have to have a tooth extracted at 5 pm if they didn't resolve it that day. Start with the back teeth and work forward. No pain killers allowed. We get a guy named Bubba from Alabama to use his trusty needle nose pliers to do the job. My guess is the shutdown would end quickly and we could get back to business and Bubba could get back to his rabbit and deer hunting before winter sets in too heavily.
     Part of the rest of my resolution list is the same old same old about how I won't join a terrorist organization in 2019, and how I will avoid telling Little Johnny jokes and will refrain from using the term "literally". And once again, after some partial success last year, I will try yet again not to butt dial folks with my cellphone. (With the help of a teenager, I learned how to use the lock/unlock feature on my phone. It drives me insane but does seem to reduce butt dialing incidences, though I did accidentally text a slightly inappropriate GIF to someone I hadn't spoken to in years.)
     My main resolution for 2019 involves Father Time. The poor old fella gets a bad rap if you ask me. Unless you're a teenager counting down the days until you can get your driver's license, nobody seems to like or appreciate his habit of making sure the clock keeps ticking. But if he didn't do his job, life would be like one of those old episodes of Twilight Zone where everyone is frozen in time while one poor soul walks around looking for signs of daily life. And do we really want to freeze and look like mannequins?
     Father Time accompanied me to eat at a KFC/Taco Bell recently. As I began to order, the sweet young teenager behind the counter cautiously suggested that I may be eligible for their senior discount. You can get the 10% discount if you're 55 or older, she said reluctantly. My eyes locked on to hers and for what seemed like two solid minutes, I stared a hole in her while my chin dropped down to the level of my navel. "Young lady," I began, "You're telling me that the only thing I had to do was make it to 55, and now I can save money every time I come in here for the rest of my life! This is the greatest news ever! My first ever senior discount! I just turned 55 a couple weeks ago. Here, look at my ID". (She told me that wouldn't be necessary but I insisted).
     Later, I did some online searching on my computer and discovered that Father Time had left me some other nifty discounts at lots of different places. Sounds too good to be true, especially since 55 is the new 40. But true it is, and Father Time is the one to thank for it.
     Psalm 118:24 reminds me that "This is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it", which incidentally, is the same verse I shared during last year's resolutions. It reminds us to treat each day as a precious gift from the Lord. So here's the way I figure it. If I'm receiving a gift each day, I shouldn't be complaining. The more gifts I get, the more thankful I should be, not sad or irritated. If I'm blessed to wake up tomorrow, there will be another day waiting to greet me, perfectly gift wrapped and ready to be opened.
    All that being said, my resolution is to embrace Father Time in 2019. I'm glad he doesn't shut down like the U.S. government occasionally does. That way Bubba and his pliers get to stay in Alabama where they're happy, at least until my proposal to start pulling politician's teeth goes into effect.
     I don't like everything about you, Father Time. But I will say that the job you do is necessary and underappreciated. Next time I'm at KFC, you're welcomed to accompany me. Discount lunch is on me.