A Tree Grows Through It

I apologize for not blogging any more than I did in July, but getting my feet on the ground at Buford Street has been more time consuming than I imagined. There are plenty of good people and a dedicated staff, so my adjustment time should not be overbearing.

Yesterday, Kathy and I went to Asbury Hills to pick up two of our sons. In addition to a wonderful summer camp for United Methodist Youth, it is a great place for a family reunion or a personal Sabbath retreat. One of my most endearing memories of Asbury Hills is from Thanksgiving 2006 when our family gathered there for the holiday. Although we did not know it at the time, that was my brother Eric’s last Thanksgiving and really the last time our entire extended family gathered in one place to share a traditional family holiday. It was a cool Thanksgiving morning, but warmed as the day progressed. Eric had just been discharged from the hospital the previous day and was not quite at a 100%, but he made the most of the day and our time together.

Many of the family went down by the stream to throw rocks in the water or just hear the roar of the mountain-fresh stream. Most family gatherings involve a camera, and that day was no exception. Eric and I made our way to a nearby bridge and posed for a picture there. That picture is found to the right of this column. It is a wonderful moment for me digitally frozen in time. Unfortunately, that moment would not last. Eric held his own for a while but steadily declined by Easter. On May 6, 2007, Eric died from complications of lung cancer.

Going back to Asbury Hills brings back memories as well as hope for the future. Yesterday, I passed by the bridge in the picture. Things have changed in the 20 months since the picture was taken. It looks like a small tree is growing between where the camera was and where Eric and I stood on the bridge. Time does have a way of moving forward.

Seeing the bridge and picture site reminded me of one of my favorite movies of all time A River Runs Through It. It is the story of a Presbyterian Minister and his two sons in the beautiful scenery of Montana. As the story moves, and the three men move through life (often in different directions), it is the fishing along the river that unites the three. Ultimately, the river and the fishing are not enough to keep life from moving forward to the tragic end of one of the sons. As the movie closes, the surviving son fishes the river in his old age, remembering his dead loved ones but living forward.

Moving through the months since Eric’s death has not always been easy. The picture has been a reminder of him and of that special time. There have been months of moving on and past his last days (a time of living forward), punctuated by days of remembering all that was and mourning all that might have been. The new tree next to the stream at the picture site reminds me that time does move on, leaving us with memories and no way to freeze the past to re-live again, but also with a growing, emerging hope. It is the special hope for all of us who mourn loved ones and lost futures that a tree does grow and that we too can also grow past our brokenness with God’s help.

A tree grows in that special place now. A tree which grows stronger as it moves farther away from a sunny day of a certain November. May God bless us as we grow in similar ways.

The Anti-Thesis of Mamma Deacon's Quiet, Sunny Place

Mamma Deacon wrote about her nice, quiet place in the house last week. It is nice if you like sunshine and a view of the outdoors. The basement downstairs has been deemed the Mancave and the James boys are making it a comfortable place. Since Mamma has taken the boys to the beach this week, I have had time to prepare my side of the ManCave.

As you can see by the pictures above, I do have a single window! It allows me to see outside from below ground level the kudzu growing in the field next to the parsonage. The room is done in early American Bomb Shelter with authentic cement blocks. When I sit in the chair I can see how the washer and dryer are coming along. Notice my own personal unique kindergarten artwork hanging on the wall; I think it would bring top dollar on EBay. I think the ascetic look is in for the contemplative crowd this year... maybe I will start a trend. For the record, those are not Steve Taylor's sermon files on my desk!!

In all seriousness, I like my quiet spot too. There are few distractions (except when the dryer is finished) and in the still of the early morning it makes for a worshipful space. Our home is quite comfortable and we are blessed to be here.

Daddy's got a New Crackberry

This past week I had a cellphone upgrade due and I got a new blackberry. I have had fun trying to figure out how to work it. Pictured above is the Athlete goofing off over his dinner at a local Gaffney pizza place. I also have taken pictures of my feet, a wall, and the back of my hand trying to figure this thing out.

Ringtones are also lots of fun. Trying to find the perfect ringtone for those people in your address book has been a challenge. Ringtones these days are recordings from TV shows, movies, music and popular culture. Finding my incoming call ringtone was a hoot. I found lots that I would have liked to have while I was in college---but wouldn't dare want ringing while I was in a church meeting or with the district superintendent (by the way, his unique ringtone on my phone will be "Hail to the Chief"). I settled on "Soul Man" by the Blues Brothers as my general call ring tone. I haven't picked out LPCoolJ's yet (I want his input), but I have the "NFL on Fox" for the Athlete and the " James Bond" theme for the Cadet Airman. For my cousin, Danny, I chose "As Good As I Once Was" by Toby Keith... which I could have also used for myself.

Now for Mamma Deacon, I had lots of choices. I thought about the "Imperial March" from Star Wars or "Happy Wife, Happy Life." I went instead with the first song that I remember after we started dating--- "She Drives Me Crazy" by the Fine Young Cannibals... good (better) choice, don't you think?

I am still working through my address book--- what is your ring tone?

Of Silverware, Hospitality, and the Mancave

We are now at home in Gaffney. We got here about noon on Wednesday. It has been like Christmas, opening boxes and discovering what is in them. We finally found the silverware. Hopefully, flimsy plastic spoons will not serve as serving spoons ever again. I was able to go to the office and unpack the boxes there. But home is the first priority.

We have been overwhelmed with friendly people. The church gave us an old-fashioned pounding (stocked our food pantry) and they have given us a meal each night we have been here. I think it says something when people offer such hospitality to the newcomers in their midst.

The boys and I set up the Mancave last night. They have a place for their X-box and drumset and I have a place for my quiet time. Needless to say, I won't be having my quiet time when Halo 3 is blaring and the drums are beating. There is space, however, for all of us to feel at home.

Now it is time to work (again) on my first sermon...

Almost There

I told my family that the best Father's Day present this year would be to have 99% of the packing done by the end of Saturday. We will be close. It looks like we will have most of the boxes headed to the basement/mancave in Gaffney. It will probably look like a Costco storage room.

The Buford Street Parsonage Committee has been gracious and cooperative with helping us get acclimated. The parsonage is getting new paint and a room of new carpeting. They even went along with The Athlete's request for his room to be painted Georgia Bulldog Red. Perhaps it is a good thing Cadet Airman is away at JROTC Leadership camp; he might have wanted his room complete with camouflage paint and mosquito netting. Mamma Deacon didn't ask me what color I wanted for the basement/mancave (where all the boy's x-box equipment and daddy's desk are going). It probably wouldn't matter anyway... U-Haul box Brown is such a delightful color.

PS- It is amazing how many google hits my blog got with the words "triple bunk bed."

Connection and Continuity

This past Sunday, I led worship at India Hook as the pastor for the last time. It was a very special worship service: we had a baptism, we celebrated Holy Communion, and we had a closing litany to lead us to forgive, affirm, and release both pastor and people. We celebrated five years of ministry together with Sunday dinner and plenty of hugs.

As part of the final service, I wore an elder’s stole that was not bought for me, and I doubt I will ever wear it again. Remember that the stole worn by pastors in worship symbolizes our authority and our service as they are given to us at our ordination. The stole I wore not only symbolized the authority given to me to preach and offer the sacraments, but it also symbolized the continuity and connection of the clergy who serve the churches of this annual conference. I wore the stole of India Hook’s next pastor, the Reverend Steve Gaither. At the conclusion of Sunday’s service, I removed Steve’s stole from my shoulders and placed it on the Lord’s Table. On June 22^nd, Steve will place that stole on his shoulders. We as clergy are connected not only by the covenant we share, but by the people we serve.

The line of pastors at India Hook continues forward as it has for over 150 years. Steve will lovingly and passionately live out his call as he serves India Hook as I have had the honor of serving that church for the past five years. The continuity of the itinerant system is one of the strengths of the United Methodist Church. Long periods of time do not pass for a church to be without clergy leadership. Bill Heustess left India Hook on the morning of June 11, 2003 and I moved into the parsonage that afternoon. I was here for the unexpected death of a parishioner less than a week after Bill left and I arrived. On June 18, 2008, Steve Gaither follows me as the new pastor here, while I follow Scott Wachter as the new pastor at Buford Street in Gaffney.

That is if I can finish packing…

Triple Bunk Bed: $100 Memories: Priceless

This morning, we had our pre-moving yard sale. We had a bunch of stuff and most of it sold, thankfully. One of the items for sale was the boys’ Triple Bunkbed. When we lived in a parsonage in Charleston and space was at a premium, we found a gentleman who made bunkbeds in nearby Goose Creek. It was made of solid wood and we spent most of a Saturday putting it together; I think I know where all the wood from Noah’s Ark went! That thing was sturdy. It was real fun watching the movers disassemble it and carry it up the stairs at the parsonage at Rock Hill and reassemble it.

When I saw it today, the memories of the boys using that bed came flooding back. They were much younger then, and we stacked them in that bunk like a cord of wood. They put their names on the bunk (in permanent ink--- which I saw again today) and we installed shelves on the end for each of them. I remember telling them nightly bedtime stories as they all three got in their places.

We sold the bunk to a young couple with three kids under seven years old. It felt good that someone who would get some use out of it was able to get it at a very good price. The memories of my family’s time with that bunk, however, are priceless.

I also got to experience a new memory that brought back very old memories for me. My youngest son, LPCoolJ, enjoyed the yard sale. He enjoyed talking with people, haggling with them, and trying to convince them that they really needed to buy “this special homemade bubblegum machine.” He finally sold it. I enjoyed watching him this morning working for a sale.

LPCoolJ and his Yard Sale adventures reminded me of my brother Eric. Eric could sell ice to Eskimos and he enjoyed it all the while. As I saw LPCoolJ work the yard, I remember Eric haggling over prices with the guy at the clothing shop when he was about my youngest son’s age.

It has been a year this month since Eric died, and I still think about him everyday. Today was another happy memory of Eric lived out in the next generation as LPCoolJ discovered the flexible price below the number on the sticker.

All sales are final.