REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE REALLY YOUNG...
And your life was pretty much a hop, a skip, and a jump from one joy to the next...
Born.
"Come into our world, little one."
"It's a boy!"
You left a tiny little world of quiet darkness, and entered a massive, terrifying, exhilarating world of light and sounds.
A world of discovery.
A new life of joy at every turn.
Smile.
Laugh.
Recognise.
Talk.
Crawl.
Walk.
Run.
Jump.
Leap.
Light, newness, joy everywhere.
First day of school,
First real baseball glove, a Rawlings, Roberto Clemente,
Skipping rocks in White Rock Lake
First time to Six Flags
The Sears on Ross Avenue Christmas window display
Sleepless nights of anticipation before Christmas morning, before vacation.
Christmas morning
Running with friends until your side hurt
Hide and seek at dusk
Roller skating on the sidewalk
Crawdad fishing
Catching tadpoles
Lightning bugs in a jar.
Ant farm.... (This is my list. You have to make your own.)
Sorrows, hurts all smoothed away and forgotten by the loving arms, hands and words of your parents.
Then junior high came, high school, college, marriage, life.
Darkness began to overtake the light.
Everything changed.
You settled for just finding what happiness you could find.
Anything to cover the pain of this ever darkening world.
UNTIL....
Second Birth.
"Come to me, into my world, little one."
"It's a son. My son."
You emerge from a world of darkness, noise, and pain into a new, massive, terrifying, exhilarating world of Light, a new voice.
Joy waits at every turn.
Everything is new
There is a purpose to every sorrow, every pain, every loss.
You are comforted by the loving arms, hands and voice of your Father.
The Joy and discovery begins again.
EPILOGUE
You may still be trapped inside this dark world, scratching and clawing for whatever tiny bits of happiness you can find, looking for ways to numb the pain and sorrow that seem to overwhelm you.
There is a way out.
It's simple, but not easy.
If you feel the desire for more, if you feel the pull toward the savior, then all you have to do is yield your life to Him.
You will find His ways to be much higher than your ways.
If you do not have this desire, then my prayer is that you will.
Light can overcome the darkness.
Friday, December 16, 2016
Sunday, December 4, 2016
FORTUNE COOKIE
"You are going to have a very comfortable life."
I remember, in younger days, when I would have thought, "Hey, that's what I want- a very comfortable life."
Do I?
Sounds cozy, protected, the good life.
A "safe zone?"
Sorry, not for me.
Every meaningful event in my life has been preceded by a quite uncomfortable life.
Mistakes I made, experience gained, all after extreme times of discomfort.
Deep depression led to the moment that I gave over control of my life, to the One who made me.
What is life, anyway? Isn't life the whole range of emotions; joy, sorrow, pain, exhilaration, depression, contentment, longing, fulfilment, triumph, defeat, first place, last place, second place, (so close), heartbreak, love, separation, reuniting, broken relationships, restored friendships, getting hired, being fired, disappointments, God's silence, God's voice.
The comfort zone, the safe places, aren't really all that comfortable, or safe.
If you want to live, you have to feel.
Don't be afraid. You want to live, don't you?
Sorry, could I have a different cookie, please?
"You are going to have a very comfortable life."
I remember, in younger days, when I would have thought, "Hey, that's what I want- a very comfortable life."
Do I?
Sounds cozy, protected, the good life.
A "safe zone?"
Sorry, not for me.
Every meaningful event in my life has been preceded by a quite uncomfortable life.
Mistakes I made, experience gained, all after extreme times of discomfort.
Deep depression led to the moment that I gave over control of my life, to the One who made me.
What is life, anyway? Isn't life the whole range of emotions; joy, sorrow, pain, exhilaration, depression, contentment, longing, fulfilment, triumph, defeat, first place, last place, second place, (so close), heartbreak, love, separation, reuniting, broken relationships, restored friendships, getting hired, being fired, disappointments, God's silence, God's voice.
The comfort zone, the safe places, aren't really all that comfortable, or safe.
If you want to live, you have to feel.
Don't be afraid. You want to live, don't you?
Sorry, could I have a different cookie, please?
Friday, November 18, 2016
Maybe I made it all up
MAYBE I MADE IT ALL UP
My sister, Elaine sent me a Facebook birthday greeting. She reminded me of a couple of things we used to do together.
Marble races.
We would set up a ramp, line up two marbles at a time, and race them. Single elimination tournament. All the marbles til we got down to the final two. We would cheer for the winner of each heat as if they were human.
There would be one winner.
The world champion.
Magnattel dollhouse.
A one story dollhouse on legs with no roof. A mom, a dad, a girl, a boy, a dog, a cat, and a mouse all had magnets attached to their bottom side, or feet. There were wands that we would use to move the inhabitants through the house. They could open doors, move furniture, leave so the animals could have free run of the house.
We were the gods of this family. We planned their lives, arranged their circumstances, even gave them their words.
They were totally dependent on us.
There are four kids in our family ( well, we used to be kids) and my sister and I were the middles.
We had great imaginations and we spent countless hours together in her room, away from the other two, making up worlds and situations. We had cowboy and Indian figures that would have all sorts of terrifying circumstances to overcome.
All at our whim.
We controlled everything, every outcome.
Except that time when a bad guy captured my favorite cowboy, the one with the legs bowed so that he could ride his horse. I called him "Jim." (Good cowboy name, don't you think?) Anyway, the bad guy was trying to extract information from Jim and put him in his torture device, a gooseneck desk lamp. As the bad guy laughed maniacally, Jim's right leg melted off.
Nooooooo! He never rode a horse again.
There have been times in my life when I wondered if my imagination was the only reason I believed so strongly in God.
Except, I was never able to plan His moves, His words, His life.
I was the one under His power. He orchestrated my circumstances, the lessons I had to learn, the trials I had to endure, the joys I got to experience.
Maybe he gives us imagination so that we can begin to anticipate the unseen invisible world around us, and to receive visions and dreams to propel us forward into a LIFE of His planning.
Thanks, Elaine, for sharing that most important part of being prepared for what is yet to be.
My sister, Elaine sent me a Facebook birthday greeting. She reminded me of a couple of things we used to do together.
Marble races.
We would set up a ramp, line up two marbles at a time, and race them. Single elimination tournament. All the marbles til we got down to the final two. We would cheer for the winner of each heat as if they were human.
There would be one winner.
The world champion.
Magnattel dollhouse.
A one story dollhouse on legs with no roof. A mom, a dad, a girl, a boy, a dog, a cat, and a mouse all had magnets attached to their bottom side, or feet. There were wands that we would use to move the inhabitants through the house. They could open doors, move furniture, leave so the animals could have free run of the house.
We were the gods of this family. We planned their lives, arranged their circumstances, even gave them their words.
They were totally dependent on us.
There are four kids in our family ( well, we used to be kids) and my sister and I were the middles.
We had great imaginations and we spent countless hours together in her room, away from the other two, making up worlds and situations. We had cowboy and Indian figures that would have all sorts of terrifying circumstances to overcome.
All at our whim.
We controlled everything, every outcome.
Except that time when a bad guy captured my favorite cowboy, the one with the legs bowed so that he could ride his horse. I called him "Jim." (Good cowboy name, don't you think?) Anyway, the bad guy was trying to extract information from Jim and put him in his torture device, a gooseneck desk lamp. As the bad guy laughed maniacally, Jim's right leg melted off.
Nooooooo! He never rode a horse again.
There have been times in my life when I wondered if my imagination was the only reason I believed so strongly in God.
Except, I was never able to plan His moves, His words, His life.
I was the one under His power. He orchestrated my circumstances, the lessons I had to learn, the trials I had to endure, the joys I got to experience.
Maybe he gives us imagination so that we can begin to anticipate the unseen invisible world around us, and to receive visions and dreams to propel us forward into a LIFE of His planning.
Thanks, Elaine, for sharing that most important part of being prepared for what is yet to be.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Hanging on
WHAT DO I HAVE TO GIVE UP?
Rich young ruler.
One time, a man who was highly favored in the community came to Jesus to learn about this "eternal life."
"What must I do?" he asked.
Jesus pointed out some commandments that he knew the guy had kept.
The young man was already feeling pretty good about himself. People had probably told him that he ought to go see Jesus, that he would really be someone that Jesus could use. That he was such a good guy.
With Jesus' first list, he checked them off, one by one. He thought, "I've got this. I have earned this."
Jesus looked at Him with a deep, deep love.
Jesus saw the one thing in his life that would always interfere with his devotion to the One who carried the LIFE.
The one thing that would constantly interrupt the communication that would come to him if he were following the One.
The one part of his life that would always pull him away.
Away from that meaningful conversation.
Away from that time of understanding.
Away from that trust in the only way to Life, the only way to Joy.
That one need that he had that could override any "command" from the Giver of LIFE.
"If you love me, you will obey me."
He couldn't give up this one thing, because it was his everything.
It was who he was.
It was the one thing that he didn't think he could live without.
He was important.
Who would he be without it?
Nobody.
He couldn't give it up.
The trust was not there.
What about you?
What are you hanging onto that you just can't live without?
The one thing that keeps pulling you away from the One that will fill you with Joy, with Life that has no bounds.
The one thing that you just can't believe that you can live without?
Rich young ruler.
One time, a man who was highly favored in the community came to Jesus to learn about this "eternal life."
"What must I do?" he asked.
Jesus pointed out some commandments that he knew the guy had kept.
The young man was already feeling pretty good about himself. People had probably told him that he ought to go see Jesus, that he would really be someone that Jesus could use. That he was such a good guy.
With Jesus' first list, he checked them off, one by one. He thought, "I've got this. I have earned this."
Jesus looked at Him with a deep, deep love.
Jesus saw the one thing in his life that would always interfere with his devotion to the One who carried the LIFE.
The one thing that would constantly interrupt the communication that would come to him if he were following the One.
The one part of his life that would always pull him away.
Away from that meaningful conversation.
Away from that time of understanding.
Away from that trust in the only way to Life, the only way to Joy.
That one need that he had that could override any "command" from the Giver of LIFE.
"If you love me, you will obey me."
He couldn't give up this one thing, because it was his everything.
It was who he was.
It was the one thing that he didn't think he could live without.
He was important.
Who would he be without it?
Nobody.
He couldn't give it up.
The trust was not there.
What about you?
What are you hanging onto that you just can't live without?
The one thing that keeps pulling you away from the One that will fill you with Joy, with Life that has no bounds.
The one thing that you just can't believe that you can live without?
TIME OR ETERNITY (Part 2)
TIME OR ETERNITY (Part 2)
God had opened the envelope every time He had given a prophet a glimpse of what was coming. Think about it. How could anyone accurately predict a future event, unless God, who exists in eternity, outside of time, revealed it to him?
He stepped out of eternity into time to give an old priest and his childless wife hope.
A child to an old couple. He was to be the one the prophets predicted, a messenger in the wilderness, one who announced the arrival of the coming savior.
His name was John.
A cousin of Jesus.
He would reveal that light that had been since the beginning, the One who carried the eternal life. The One who was in the world already, who had been born six months after John, miraculously in Bethlehem, as the prophets had predicted, even though his parents were from Nazareth, a town about 100 miles away.
John was out in the country, preaching to large crowds, telling them to turn their lives back to their God, to turn away from their wicked ways.
He told them that the eternal kingdom was about to be revealed.
How did he know?
The envelope had been opened.
John 1: 6-9
There was a man sent from God whose name was John.
He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe.
He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.
The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.
God had opened the envelope every time He had given a prophet a glimpse of what was coming. Think about it. How could anyone accurately predict a future event, unless God, who exists in eternity, outside of time, revealed it to him?
He stepped out of eternity into time to give an old priest and his childless wife hope.
A child to an old couple. He was to be the one the prophets predicted, a messenger in the wilderness, one who announced the arrival of the coming savior.
His name was John.
A cousin of Jesus.
He would reveal that light that had been since the beginning, the One who carried the eternal life. The One who was in the world already, who had been born six months after John, miraculously in Bethlehem, as the prophets had predicted, even though his parents were from Nazareth, a town about 100 miles away.
John was out in the country, preaching to large crowds, telling them to turn their lives back to their God, to turn away from their wicked ways.
He told them that the eternal kingdom was about to be revealed.
How did he know?
The envelope had been opened.
John 1: 6-9
There was a man sent from God whose name was John.
He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe.
He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.
The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.
Friday, November 4, 2016
TIME OR ETERNITY
TIME OR ETERNITY (Part 1)
WARNING: IF YOU ARE NOT A BELIEVER IN THE GOD OF THE BIBLE, DON'T READ THIS! IT WILL EITHER ANGER YOU ( and isn't there enough already to make you angry?), CONFUSE YOU, OR SEEM RIDICULOUS TO YOU.
My friend, Joni Sunderland, was sharing with me last week some insights on the "water into wine" episode in the book of John. (More on that, later.)
My thoughts returned to the days, before I was changed, when I was working my way through that very book. I think I will begin that journey again.
Slowly.
What Joni had shared, was that this time thing, time, that we base everything on was also part of the creation.
We, as beings of flesh and blood, are bound by time, controlled by time, limited by time, at the mercy of time.
Waiting for a meal.
Trying to pay off a loan.
Making a living.
Waiting for Christmas.
Elections.
Traveling.
Vacations....
Everything has a reference point. Time.
It doesn't stop. No matter how much you want it to, it just will not stop.
"I need more time!"
Sorry.
So, we are trapped in this progression of seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, decades, centuries....
Things wear out. Time.
We get older, we get old. We wear out. Time.
But, in the beginning, before time,
with God, was the Word,
the Maker of all things,
the carrier of life,
eternal life,
the life that would become the light for all mankind,
a light that would shine in a darkness,
one that would not be overpowered by the darkness.
He was not limited by time, because He was outside of time.
We couldn't see him, because we were enclosed in that envelope he had created.
Time.
The only way we could see Him,
He had to open the envelope.
John 1: 1-5
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
He was with God in the beginning.
Through Him, all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made.
In Him was Life, and that Life was the light of all mankind.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
WARNING: IF YOU ARE NOT A BELIEVER IN THE GOD OF THE BIBLE, DON'T READ THIS! IT WILL EITHER ANGER YOU ( and isn't there enough already to make you angry?), CONFUSE YOU, OR SEEM RIDICULOUS TO YOU.
My friend, Joni Sunderland, was sharing with me last week some insights on the "water into wine" episode in the book of John. (More on that, later.)
My thoughts returned to the days, before I was changed, when I was working my way through that very book. I think I will begin that journey again.
Slowly.
What Joni had shared, was that this time thing, time, that we base everything on was also part of the creation.
We, as beings of flesh and blood, are bound by time, controlled by time, limited by time, at the mercy of time.
Waiting for a meal.
Trying to pay off a loan.
Making a living.
Waiting for Christmas.
Elections.
Traveling.
Vacations....
Everything has a reference point. Time.
It doesn't stop. No matter how much you want it to, it just will not stop.
"I need more time!"
Sorry.
So, we are trapped in this progression of seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, decades, centuries....
Things wear out. Time.
We get older, we get old. We wear out. Time.
But, in the beginning, before time,
with God, was the Word,
the Maker of all things,
the carrier of life,
eternal life,
the life that would become the light for all mankind,
a light that would shine in a darkness,
one that would not be overpowered by the darkness.
He was not limited by time, because He was outside of time.
We couldn't see him, because we were enclosed in that envelope he had created.
Time.
The only way we could see Him,
He had to open the envelope.
John 1: 1-5
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
He was with God in the beginning.
Through Him, all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made.
In Him was Life, and that Life was the light of all mankind.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Lessons from the Jury Room
LESSONS LEARNED IN THE JURY ROOM
After four long days of jury duty, starting on Monday morning, and ending on Thursday night at 8:00 pm, here are a few of the lessons I learned.
Realize, that October is my busy time of year, and, while I don't mind serving on jury duty as a rule, October is not the best time for me.
1. God may disrupt your schedule. Your inconvenience is not as important as His plan.
2. There are twelve jurors for a reason. Every one has a different life story, a different idea as to what is just, and feels pretty strongly about what he considers right and wrong.
3. Complaining about your circumstances in life does not make things better. When the court was going through the final numbering phase, putting the potential jurors in order of possible choice, my prayer had been "Please let me have a high number."
When they assigned the number 2 slot to this really big guy, I knew, that I would be next.
"Number 3. Randall Epps."
I think you could hear my disappointed sigh.
4. Accepting God's plan will bring a measure of peace.
"Okay, God, if this is what you want for me, I know you have a reason. Your will, not mine. But, please, don't make me foreman."
5.First day in jury room. Very little conversation. Most on phones, reading, or calling bosses, or family to let them know that they had been chosen. I was calling all my customers to reschedule the week's work. Judge said trial will probably be through by Wednesday morning. I could do quite a bit of work on Wed afternoon and all day Thursday. We had to go to Dallas on Friday for a wedding. Plenty of time to salvage part of my work week.
6. Don't believe the judge's timeline.
7. Day 2, the trial starts, and immediately your preconceived perceptions of who is probably right begins to change.
JURY room conversations MAY NOT INCLUDE TOTAL TALK.
So chit chat begins.
No bonding.
Shared imprisonment.
Talk of work, some family talk.
8. Day 3, you start to realize, this could take a while. You also start to think about things that are not said as well as things that are.
Jury room conversations begin to be a little more personal.
Tattooed guy with spiked hair has a young son who is in remission from a deadly form of cancer. He took time over summer, without a job to spend the time with his son.
Youngest guy on jury works for Target warehouse, lives in a small apartment, struggles with having enough to pay bills. Likes to party on Friday nights.
Mike loved to talk about the Cowboys. Knew to avoid politics.
Older man lives on Lake Winnsboro, and has killed dozens of copperheads on his property.
Shows pictures.
Young woman whose boss is kinda upset that she is off, says her 7 year old already "knows everything" and that her husband always thinks he is right about everything, and "unfortunately for me, he usually is."
9. Day 4. Are you kidding me? We have to finish today. I have to go to Dallas tomorrow. Cancelled Thursday jobs. Starting to lose the peace.
Jury room.
Everybody is emotionally drained, upset over trial, didn't sleep well.
Someone decides we need to know each other's names.
Johnny, Sean, Galen, Mike, Randy, Michelle, Rebecca, Taylor, Juanita, April, Linda, Shirley, and Vicki. Anyway, there were 13. Someone, we don't know who, is an alternate. Hears the whole trial, doesn't get to deliberate.
Judge reads charge to jury, closing arguments by lawyers, juror instructions, including choosing the foreman .
Judge says to Taylor, "Ms._______, you will need to remain here."
I whisper to her, "It's been nice knowing you."
"Don't say that!" she responded, a bit of fear in her eyes.(She hadn't yet realized that she was the alternate.)
We retired to the jury room to choose a foreman, and begin deliberations.
10. God doesn't always answer your prayers the way you want .
Sean, the young guy, said, "I am willing to be foreman, if no one else volunteers."
I kept quiet.
A couple of people said they definitely did not want to do it. One of the ladies asked me, "What about you, Randy? Would you do it?"
(Silent scream!)
"I wasn't going to volunteer, but if y'all vote me in, I am willing to serve." (Seriously, Lord? You think I need to do this, too?)
Unanimous. I am it.
11. There is a strength that comes from above. There is an ability that God provides when he chooses a job for you.
Five and a half hours of deliberations.
We were able to merge our opinions, beliefs and come to a conclusion.
12. Forced closeness can build friendships.
When it was all over, we had turned in our judgment to the court and were waiting to be called back into the courtroom, I was able to share my Jesus with the other jurors, in a personal, natural conversation about my daughter's life, and the circumstances behind our raising my granddaughter.
I really felt like we had become friends, even though we didn't know each other's last name.
Close friends.
Thanks, Lord.
You knew all along.
After four long days of jury duty, starting on Monday morning, and ending on Thursday night at 8:00 pm, here are a few of the lessons I learned.
Realize, that October is my busy time of year, and, while I don't mind serving on jury duty as a rule, October is not the best time for me.
1. God may disrupt your schedule. Your inconvenience is not as important as His plan.
2. There are twelve jurors for a reason. Every one has a different life story, a different idea as to what is just, and feels pretty strongly about what he considers right and wrong.
3. Complaining about your circumstances in life does not make things better. When the court was going through the final numbering phase, putting the potential jurors in order of possible choice, my prayer had been "Please let me have a high number."
When they assigned the number 2 slot to this really big guy, I knew, that I would be next.
"Number 3. Randall Epps."
I think you could hear my disappointed sigh.
4. Accepting God's plan will bring a measure of peace.
"Okay, God, if this is what you want for me, I know you have a reason. Your will, not mine. But, please, don't make me foreman."
5.First day in jury room. Very little conversation. Most on phones, reading, or calling bosses, or family to let them know that they had been chosen. I was calling all my customers to reschedule the week's work. Judge said trial will probably be through by Wednesday morning. I could do quite a bit of work on Wed afternoon and all day Thursday. We had to go to Dallas on Friday for a wedding. Plenty of time to salvage part of my work week.
6. Don't believe the judge's timeline.
7. Day 2, the trial starts, and immediately your preconceived perceptions of who is probably right begins to change.
JURY room conversations MAY NOT INCLUDE TOTAL TALK.
So chit chat begins.
No bonding.
Shared imprisonment.
Talk of work, some family talk.
8. Day 3, you start to realize, this could take a while. You also start to think about things that are not said as well as things that are.
Jury room conversations begin to be a little more personal.
Tattooed guy with spiked hair has a young son who is in remission from a deadly form of cancer. He took time over summer, without a job to spend the time with his son.
Youngest guy on jury works for Target warehouse, lives in a small apartment, struggles with having enough to pay bills. Likes to party on Friday nights.
Mike loved to talk about the Cowboys. Knew to avoid politics.
Older man lives on Lake Winnsboro, and has killed dozens of copperheads on his property.
Shows pictures.
Young woman whose boss is kinda upset that she is off, says her 7 year old already "knows everything" and that her husband always thinks he is right about everything, and "unfortunately for me, he usually is."
9. Day 4. Are you kidding me? We have to finish today. I have to go to Dallas tomorrow. Cancelled Thursday jobs. Starting to lose the peace.
Jury room.
Everybody is emotionally drained, upset over trial, didn't sleep well.
Someone decides we need to know each other's names.
Johnny, Sean, Galen, Mike, Randy, Michelle, Rebecca, Taylor, Juanita, April, Linda, Shirley, and Vicki. Anyway, there were 13. Someone, we don't know who, is an alternate. Hears the whole trial, doesn't get to deliberate.
Judge reads charge to jury, closing arguments by lawyers, juror instructions, including choosing the foreman .
Judge says to Taylor, "Ms._______, you will need to remain here."
I whisper to her, "It's been nice knowing you."
"Don't say that!" she responded, a bit of fear in her eyes.(She hadn't yet realized that she was the alternate.)
We retired to the jury room to choose a foreman, and begin deliberations.
10. God doesn't always answer your prayers the way you want .
Sean, the young guy, said, "I am willing to be foreman, if no one else volunteers."
I kept quiet.
A couple of people said they definitely did not want to do it. One of the ladies asked me, "What about you, Randy? Would you do it?"
(Silent scream!)
"I wasn't going to volunteer, but if y'all vote me in, I am willing to serve." (Seriously, Lord? You think I need to do this, too?)
Unanimous. I am it.
11. There is a strength that comes from above. There is an ability that God provides when he chooses a job for you.
Five and a half hours of deliberations.
We were able to merge our opinions, beliefs and come to a conclusion.
12. Forced closeness can build friendships.
When it was all over, we had turned in our judgment to the court and were waiting to be called back into the courtroom, I was able to share my Jesus with the other jurors, in a personal, natural conversation about my daughter's life, and the circumstances behind our raising my granddaughter.
I really felt like we had become friends, even though we didn't know each other's last name.
Close friends.
Thanks, Lord.
You knew all along.
Sunday, October 9, 2016
Phyllis Clopton's School of Dance
PHYLLIS CLOPTON'S SCHOOL OF DANCE
Do you have any of those times in your past that your mom decided you just had to do something?
"One day, you will really be glad for this."
You know what I'm talking about. We all have those lessons. Moms.
Ballroom dance lessons.
Why in the world does a sixth grade boy have to take ballroom dance lessons?
"One day you will be glad you did this."
Fall of 1963, Monday nights for six weeks. The Garland,Tx community center old annex building.
Phyllis Clopton's ballroom dance class.
Oh, man. Could I be any more uncomfortable?
I had to wear a coat and tie to the stupid class.
Phyllis knew enough about the age to make her own pairs.
My partner was not too bad looking.
Phyllis demonstrated a style, explained that at the end of the course we would have a real dance, where we would invite a dance partner to come and witness our amazing new grace on the dance floor.
Anita.
Since first grade, the apple of my eye.
Around the fourth grade, she had gone to the country school outside of Garland, Rose Hill School, and I no longer could watch her dreamily across the room.
In the summer after fifth grade, Rose Hill burned down. Garland had built a new elementary school, Southgate Elementary, and had ripped some of us Caldwell students and all the Rose Hill students away and put them together in Southgate.
And there, sitting across the room of my sixth grade class was Anita.
I had gotten a five year diary for Christmas in the fifth grade, and most entries were, "Not much happened today."
But one entry stood out.
"Anita looked at me today."
So, I figured, after I master this ballroom dance thing, me and Anita were going to finally be together. Forever.
So for six weeks I endured. I actually kinda liked it.
My dance partner was quiet. Soft. Calm. Shy.
No unnecessary uncomfortable conversation.
Just a shared enduring of the task at hand.
Box step. Foxtrot. Waltz. (No samba, rhumba, cha-cha, tango, paso doble. Just the simple stuff. Sixth graders, remember?)
I remember my partner's smile. A quiet, nice smile, teeth not perfectly straight, but pleasant.
I don't remember her name.
Phyllis walked around the dance floor, correcting postures, fixing holds.
"Don't rock, don't sway. Smooth movements. To the music."
Six weeks. Next week was the big day.
Days of rapid nervous heartbeat. Sweaty palms. Trying to summon the courage.
Do it.
In those days, most houses had one phone; in a special cubby, built especially for the telephone in the hallway.
For privacy, you stretched the phone into the bathroom, shut the door and hoped that no one could hear this conversation.
"Hello. Is Anita there?"
"Uh, Anita, this is Randy Epps. Would you go to this dance with me next Monday night? Oh, okay, no that's okay, no, I understand. Goodbye."
I wonder how much this crippled my future relationships, this first rejection.
The next Monday came, my dance partner came alone, we paired up, shared refreshments, and had a really nice time.
Years later, Wendy and I were married, had just moved back to Garland, and, like most young couples, we were really struggling to get our bills paid.
One day, the phone rang.
"Randy Epps?"
"Yes, this is he." (Grammar)
"This is J.C. Penny's collection department. You are behind on your credit card payments. We need to get a payment."
"Oh, yeah. I will mail it this week."
"Okay, thank you. We will be watching for it........Did you go to Southgate Elementary School?....This is Anita_______......Do you remember me?"
Soon after this, we got rid of all our credit cards.
By the way, that dance thing, never really took hold.
Thanks, Phyllis, at least you tried.
Do you have any of those times in your past that your mom decided you just had to do something?
"One day, you will really be glad for this."
You know what I'm talking about. We all have those lessons. Moms.
Ballroom dance lessons.
Why in the world does a sixth grade boy have to take ballroom dance lessons?
"One day you will be glad you did this."
Fall of 1963, Monday nights for six weeks. The Garland,Tx community center old annex building.
Phyllis Clopton's ballroom dance class.
Oh, man. Could I be any more uncomfortable?
I had to wear a coat and tie to the stupid class.
Phyllis knew enough about the age to make her own pairs.
My partner was not too bad looking.
Phyllis demonstrated a style, explained that at the end of the course we would have a real dance, where we would invite a dance partner to come and witness our amazing new grace on the dance floor.
Anita.
Since first grade, the apple of my eye.
Around the fourth grade, she had gone to the country school outside of Garland, Rose Hill School, and I no longer could watch her dreamily across the room.
In the summer after fifth grade, Rose Hill burned down. Garland had built a new elementary school, Southgate Elementary, and had ripped some of us Caldwell students and all the Rose Hill students away and put them together in Southgate.
And there, sitting across the room of my sixth grade class was Anita.
I had gotten a five year diary for Christmas in the fifth grade, and most entries were, "Not much happened today."
But one entry stood out.
"Anita looked at me today."
So, I figured, after I master this ballroom dance thing, me and Anita were going to finally be together. Forever.
So for six weeks I endured. I actually kinda liked it.
My dance partner was quiet. Soft. Calm. Shy.
No unnecessary uncomfortable conversation.
Just a shared enduring of the task at hand.
Box step. Foxtrot. Waltz. (No samba, rhumba, cha-cha, tango, paso doble. Just the simple stuff. Sixth graders, remember?)
I remember my partner's smile. A quiet, nice smile, teeth not perfectly straight, but pleasant.
I don't remember her name.
Phyllis walked around the dance floor, correcting postures, fixing holds.
"Don't rock, don't sway. Smooth movements. To the music."
Six weeks. Next week was the big day.
Days of rapid nervous heartbeat. Sweaty palms. Trying to summon the courage.
Do it.
In those days, most houses had one phone; in a special cubby, built especially for the telephone in the hallway.
For privacy, you stretched the phone into the bathroom, shut the door and hoped that no one could hear this conversation.
"Hello. Is Anita there?"
"Uh, Anita, this is Randy Epps. Would you go to this dance with me next Monday night? Oh, okay, no that's okay, no, I understand. Goodbye."
I wonder how much this crippled my future relationships, this first rejection.
The next Monday came, my dance partner came alone, we paired up, shared refreshments, and had a really nice time.
Years later, Wendy and I were married, had just moved back to Garland, and, like most young couples, we were really struggling to get our bills paid.
One day, the phone rang.
"Randy Epps?"
"Yes, this is he." (Grammar)
"This is J.C. Penny's collection department. You are behind on your credit card payments. We need to get a payment."
"Oh, yeah. I will mail it this week."
"Okay, thank you. We will be watching for it........Did you go to Southgate Elementary School?....This is Anita_______......Do you remember me?"
Soon after this, we got rid of all our credit cards.
By the way, that dance thing, never really took hold.
Thanks, Phyllis, at least you tried.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
BLESSINGS
BLESSINGS
"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
This morning in our men's Bible study, we were discussing Solomon's apparent frustration level as he neared the end of his life. (Ecclesiastes 2). One man remarked that it was kinda weird that he would feel this way after being so obviously blessed by God in every area of his life; riches, possessions, territory, inventions, women, fame.
I wonder of those really were blessings.
It's easy to think that way, especially growing up in the United States, where success has become the accepted measure of a man or woman.
Funny thing, though, Solomon had everything you or I might desire to obtain, and he found it to feel kind of empty. He would die, and he would be forgotten. What was the point?
Maybe, the real "blessings" that God sends our way are not the good happy times that we have previously thought.
Maybe, those moments of deep pain and loss, the times when we come to the end of our means, the end of our strength, the end of our human understanding, maybe those are the blessings that God sends.
I have found in the later years of my life, that, feeling God's pleasure is a greater satisfaction than any human accomplishment I have ever had.
And when did I feel His pleasure?
Those times when I could no longer see a possible way out, or through, without putting ALL of the burden on Him.
The times when I saw no possible way to pay the huge bill.
No possible way to fix the trauma in personal relationships.
The time on the side of the highway, standing outside of our wrecked car, knowing my only child had just this moment preceded me to eternity, her young daughter turning blue from internal injuries.
The moment when everything you had planned is changed forever.
When you change your plans
For his plans.
When you KNOW...
HE IS HERE!
That would be the blessing....
"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
This morning in our men's Bible study, we were discussing Solomon's apparent frustration level as he neared the end of his life. (Ecclesiastes 2). One man remarked that it was kinda weird that he would feel this way after being so obviously blessed by God in every area of his life; riches, possessions, territory, inventions, women, fame.
I wonder of those really were blessings.
It's easy to think that way, especially growing up in the United States, where success has become the accepted measure of a man or woman.
Funny thing, though, Solomon had everything you or I might desire to obtain, and he found it to feel kind of empty. He would die, and he would be forgotten. What was the point?
Maybe, the real "blessings" that God sends our way are not the good happy times that we have previously thought.
Maybe, those moments of deep pain and loss, the times when we come to the end of our means, the end of our strength, the end of our human understanding, maybe those are the blessings that God sends.
I have found in the later years of my life, that, feeling God's pleasure is a greater satisfaction than any human accomplishment I have ever had.
And when did I feel His pleasure?
Those times when I could no longer see a possible way out, or through, without putting ALL of the burden on Him.
The times when I saw no possible way to pay the huge bill.
No possible way to fix the trauma in personal relationships.
The time on the side of the highway, standing outside of our wrecked car, knowing my only child had just this moment preceded me to eternity, her young daughter turning blue from internal injuries.
The moment when everything you had planned is changed forever.
When you change your plans
For his plans.
When you KNOW...
HE IS HERE!
That would be the blessing....
Friday, September 23, 2016
FOCUS, PART ONE: MULTITASK FAIL
A kinda typical day in the life.
Two chimneys to clean in Sulphur Springs. First one, a banker named David F. His father-in-law met me there.
On the way to the second, I received a text message from home.
Gary Harrison, HLR, HBBC, with a phone number.
Chimney to clean.
Called David F. to arrange payment.
Called the number for Harrison.
After the call, I added the number to contact list.
David Harrison, with his address.
Finished second chimney.
Passed a BBQ restaurant.
Hmm, barbecue sandwich sounds really good.
U turn, went in. No barbecue on menu, but I did have a good lunch of catfish and fries. (Out of coleslaw.)
Drove to Holly Lake for the next chimney.
Man sitting on the porch.
Me: Oh, I recognize you. I've seen you at church.
Him: I guess we haven't been officially introduced.
Me: I'm Randy Epps. Are you David Harrison?
Him: Gary Harris.
Me: Oh, Gary Harrison.
Him: Harris.
Me: David Harris.
Him: Gary Harris.
( I know, my wife always tells me I never listen.)
We both laughed, shared stories of forgetting people's names. He complimented me on my backing skills.
I cleaned his chimney, we shared more stories, he ordered a chimney cap, I loaded my stuff and left.
I called the guy that makes my chimney caps, and was explaining to him what I wanted him to do, my phone beeped, caller ID says David Harrison.
I have to remember to change that name.
I wonder if I left something there.
U turn, pulled over, finished conversation with chimney cap guy, called GARY, and, sure enough, I had left my tarp and vacuum cleaner in front of his fireplace.
Me: I'll be right there.
I remembered the Hendricks wanted some eggs, so I called Ralph to tell him when I would bring them.
Shoot, I passed the street.
Pulling a trailer, I opted for next cul de sac for turnaround.
I joked with Ralph, turned around, he joked with me, I drove back to the front gate, and headed home.
Shoot! I forgot to get my vacuum.
U turn. Third time through the gate.
I shared my story with Gary.
He laughed.
Wendy has always told me that I cannot multi-task.
But I can make a u turn.
And I'm pretty decent at backing a trailer.
FOCUS, PART TWO: THE BRAIN AND THE EYE
I was driving the other day, and I started noticing how good my eye was at focusing.
Seriously, it's really incredible. I can look at something way down the road, and watch it all the way until I get to it.
It never goes out of focus.
When I look at something up close, focus.
I quickly look far away. Focus.
I can see stuff all around it the whole time, but nothing is totally in focus, except for the one thing I am fixing my eye upon.
There can be two signs, within a few feet of each other, but the words are only legible on the one I am looking at.
If I look away, the thing my eye lands on is immediately in focus.
Now, I know that the eye has the mechanics to do this. But the eye is not a brain.
While I am driving my truck, listening to my radio, watching the road, thinking about my destination, where to turn, what I want to eat, how did that magician do that on America's Got Talent....
I don't have to think at all about focusing my eyes.
My brain is still perfect about keeping that eye in focus.
FOCUS, PART THREE: THE MIND
So, what do all these observations have to do with anything?
This book I love tells me how I am supposed to run this race we call life.
Consider that I am being watched. All the time.
Get rid of all unnecessary weight. (Worries, fears, selfish desires....)
Be aware of possible trip wires. Don't trip.
Stick to it. Run with endurance. Don't give up. Even when you start to think you have totally messed it all up.
Keep your focus on the goal. If your goal is anything other than Jesus, you will trip and fall. You will not win the prize.
When you fix your mind on the one thing, the One Person, the focus will let you see everything else clearly.
FOCUS!
A kinda typical day in the life.
Two chimneys to clean in Sulphur Springs. First one, a banker named David F. His father-in-law met me there.
On the way to the second, I received a text message from home.
Gary Harrison, HLR, HBBC, with a phone number.
Chimney to clean.
Called David F. to arrange payment.
Called the number for Harrison.
After the call, I added the number to contact list.
David Harrison, with his address.
Finished second chimney.
Passed a BBQ restaurant.
Hmm, barbecue sandwich sounds really good.
U turn, went in. No barbecue on menu, but I did have a good lunch of catfish and fries. (Out of coleslaw.)
Drove to Holly Lake for the next chimney.
Man sitting on the porch.
Me: Oh, I recognize you. I've seen you at church.
Him: I guess we haven't been officially introduced.
Me: I'm Randy Epps. Are you David Harrison?
Him: Gary Harris.
Me: Oh, Gary Harrison.
Him: Harris.
Me: David Harris.
Him: Gary Harris.
( I know, my wife always tells me I never listen.)
We both laughed, shared stories of forgetting people's names. He complimented me on my backing skills.
I cleaned his chimney, we shared more stories, he ordered a chimney cap, I loaded my stuff and left.
I called the guy that makes my chimney caps, and was explaining to him what I wanted him to do, my phone beeped, caller ID says David Harrison.
I have to remember to change that name.
I wonder if I left something there.
U turn, pulled over, finished conversation with chimney cap guy, called GARY, and, sure enough, I had left my tarp and vacuum cleaner in front of his fireplace.
Me: I'll be right there.
I remembered the Hendricks wanted some eggs, so I called Ralph to tell him when I would bring them.
Shoot, I passed the street.
Pulling a trailer, I opted for next cul de sac for turnaround.
I joked with Ralph, turned around, he joked with me, I drove back to the front gate, and headed home.
Shoot! I forgot to get my vacuum.
U turn. Third time through the gate.
I shared my story with Gary.
He laughed.
Wendy has always told me that I cannot multi-task.
But I can make a u turn.
And I'm pretty decent at backing a trailer.
FOCUS, PART TWO: THE BRAIN AND THE EYE
I was driving the other day, and I started noticing how good my eye was at focusing.
Seriously, it's really incredible. I can look at something way down the road, and watch it all the way until I get to it.
It never goes out of focus.
When I look at something up close, focus.
I quickly look far away. Focus.
I can see stuff all around it the whole time, but nothing is totally in focus, except for the one thing I am fixing my eye upon.
There can be two signs, within a few feet of each other, but the words are only legible on the one I am looking at.
If I look away, the thing my eye lands on is immediately in focus.
Now, I know that the eye has the mechanics to do this. But the eye is not a brain.
While I am driving my truck, listening to my radio, watching the road, thinking about my destination, where to turn, what I want to eat, how did that magician do that on America's Got Talent....
I don't have to think at all about focusing my eyes.
My brain is still perfect about keeping that eye in focus.
FOCUS, PART THREE: THE MIND
So, what do all these observations have to do with anything?
This book I love tells me how I am supposed to run this race we call life.
Consider that I am being watched. All the time.
Get rid of all unnecessary weight. (Worries, fears, selfish desires....)
Be aware of possible trip wires. Don't trip.
Stick to it. Run with endurance. Don't give up. Even when you start to think you have totally messed it all up.
Keep your focus on the goal. If your goal is anything other than Jesus, you will trip and fall. You will not win the prize.
When you fix your mind on the one thing, the One Person, the focus will let you see everything else clearly.
FOCUS!
Saturday, September 3, 2016
NEW LIFE
NEW LIFE
Just to be clear, I am not inclined to seek thrills.
Comfort zones, good.
The thrill rides at the fair never had that much appeal.
The only reason I ever tried them was peer pressure.
If I record a football game to watch later, I don't mind learning the outcome before I watch it, so I don't have to feel that stress.
If my team lost, I don't really need to see how.
Adrenaline, while necessary in certain situations, kinda makes me jumpy and nervous. I am not addicted to it.
I like people to like me.
Never have liked to make people around me uncomfortable.
I was always "decently athletic", strong for my slight build, having pretty good hand-eye coordination, pretty fast runner.
But training was not my strong suit.
Laziness was my default position.
So mediocrity in athletics was the usual result.
School was easy for me, at least through high school.
I didn't have to study. I just got it.
In college, that "lazy gene" got me.
College, not so easy.
I didn't do well.
In love, well, don't we all want what makes us happy?
In work, wanting to be liked, I always tried my best to please my bosses.
I usually did.
Sometimes, life would throw me a choice that was difficult to reconcile with my easy-going nature.
The stress of that type of decision made me jumpy and nervous.
I chose badly.
Once, I got fired for stealing.
Once, I got fired for lying about getting fired for stealing.
Not my comfort zone.
Generally, everything I ever did in any area of my life was for my own self-preservation, anything I could do to keep my life from being too hard.
Even line on a level slope.
"When I became a man, I put away childish things."
May 8, 1978 everything changed.
The focus of my life that had always been inward, suddenly began to be upward.
The God that I had ignored most of my life, suddenly called me to come to Him.
I heard.
I came.
I find myself being pushed to "step out of my comfort zone."
My tendencies are still there, to hide, to put up walls.
But, there is a power that is not my power, that moves me, directs me, talks to me, teaches me, understands me.
Loves me.
"And when I run with Him, I feel His pleasure!"
Just to be clear, I am not inclined to seek thrills.
Comfort zones, good.
The thrill rides at the fair never had that much appeal.
The only reason I ever tried them was peer pressure.
If I record a football game to watch later, I don't mind learning the outcome before I watch it, so I don't have to feel that stress.
If my team lost, I don't really need to see how.
Adrenaline, while necessary in certain situations, kinda makes me jumpy and nervous. I am not addicted to it.
I like people to like me.
Never have liked to make people around me uncomfortable.
I was always "decently athletic", strong for my slight build, having pretty good hand-eye coordination, pretty fast runner.
But training was not my strong suit.
Laziness was my default position.
So mediocrity in athletics was the usual result.
School was easy for me, at least through high school.
I didn't have to study. I just got it.
In college, that "lazy gene" got me.
College, not so easy.
I didn't do well.
In love, well, don't we all want what makes us happy?
In work, wanting to be liked, I always tried my best to please my bosses.
I usually did.
Sometimes, life would throw me a choice that was difficult to reconcile with my easy-going nature.
The stress of that type of decision made me jumpy and nervous.
I chose badly.
Once, I got fired for stealing.
Once, I got fired for lying about getting fired for stealing.
Not my comfort zone.
Generally, everything I ever did in any area of my life was for my own self-preservation, anything I could do to keep my life from being too hard.
Even line on a level slope.
"When I became a man, I put away childish things."
May 8, 1978 everything changed.
The focus of my life that had always been inward, suddenly began to be upward.
The God that I had ignored most of my life, suddenly called me to come to Him.
I heard.
I came.
I find myself being pushed to "step out of my comfort zone."
My tendencies are still there, to hide, to put up walls.
But, there is a power that is not my power, that moves me, directs me, talks to me, teaches me, understands me.
Loves me.
"And when I run with Him, I feel His pleasure!"
Friday, August 26, 2016
SEX, DRUGS, and ROCK AND ROLL
"SEX, DRUGS, AND ROCK AND ROLL"
THE NUMBING OF AMERICA
I was not aware of it in its early stages, but I began to feel its draw in the late sixties, and, more so in the early seventies.
"If it feels good, do it."
"If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with."
"Lucy in the sky with diamonds."
"We don't need no piece of paper from the city hall,
Keeping us tied and true...."
On and on and on.
A slow and gradual questioning of the morals passed to us from previous generations began to grow, and flourish, to gain acceptance in all areas of society.
Behaviors which used to be kept hidden, practiced with the hope of no one discovering, began to be accepted as lifestyle choices.
Belief in God began to fade, and honoring God was disappearing from the culture.
Our focus in life became "Please yourself; don't worry, be happy; don't let anyone judge you; everything is okay as long as you don't hurt anyone; religion is the opiate of the masses...."
Our focus grew inward. We wanted what we could get to stop the pain, feel the thrill.
Alcohol.
Drugs.
Sex without boundaries.
We expected moments of ecstacy to be the source of our happiness.
We had to find new and greater thrills; previously forbidden acts became the drug du jour.
We had taken the bait, believed the lie, followed the path to a paradise that turned out to be a ghetto after passing the glittery, shiny gate.
We found the gate to be locked when we tried to escape.
So we stayed.
We found new ways to numb the pain, to forget the emptiness, to pretend that we were alive and "living the life."
But, every so often, we would hear that whisper.
"Come to Me.
I will give you Life.
Come to Me.
I have a purpose for you."
Usually, we turned up the noise, to drown out the whisper.
More numbness, to relieve the disappointments.
But.
Some said, "I'm coming. I want what you have for me. I am Yours."
The numbness was gone.
The pain, the sorrows, the trials, the victories, all became the essence of a life. Being alive meant feeling.
Feeling all levels of what the Life brought, gave us the ability to know love, to love, to be loved.
And to know the One who made us.
THE NUMBING OF AMERICA
I was not aware of it in its early stages, but I began to feel its draw in the late sixties, and, more so in the early seventies.
"If it feels good, do it."
"If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with."
"Lucy in the sky with diamonds."
"We don't need no piece of paper from the city hall,
Keeping us tied and true...."
On and on and on.
A slow and gradual questioning of the morals passed to us from previous generations began to grow, and flourish, to gain acceptance in all areas of society.
Behaviors which used to be kept hidden, practiced with the hope of no one discovering, began to be accepted as lifestyle choices.
Belief in God began to fade, and honoring God was disappearing from the culture.
Our focus in life became "Please yourself; don't worry, be happy; don't let anyone judge you; everything is okay as long as you don't hurt anyone; religion is the opiate of the masses...."
Our focus grew inward. We wanted what we could get to stop the pain, feel the thrill.
Alcohol.
Drugs.
Sex without boundaries.
We expected moments of ecstacy to be the source of our happiness.
We had to find new and greater thrills; previously forbidden acts became the drug du jour.
We had taken the bait, believed the lie, followed the path to a paradise that turned out to be a ghetto after passing the glittery, shiny gate.
We found the gate to be locked when we tried to escape.
So we stayed.
We found new ways to numb the pain, to forget the emptiness, to pretend that we were alive and "living the life."
But, every so often, we would hear that whisper.
"Come to Me.
I will give you Life.
Come to Me.
I have a purpose for you."
Usually, we turned up the noise, to drown out the whisper.
More numbness, to relieve the disappointments.
But.
Some said, "I'm coming. I want what you have for me. I am Yours."
The numbness was gone.
The pain, the sorrows, the trials, the victories, all became the essence of a life. Being alive meant feeling.
Feeling all levels of what the Life brought, gave us the ability to know love, to love, to be loved.
And to know the One who made us.
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
THE LAST TIME I PLAYED FOOTBALL
THE LAST TIME I PLAYED FOOTBALL
Now, before I start, you guys I knew from high school remember me as a 130 pound semi nerd. ( I hope "semi.")
You're thinking, "Right. When did he ever play football?"
Well, think again. No longer 130 pounds, tipping the scales at a healthy 150, I am talking about a time, about 5 years ago, in my 60th year in this world.
I was a part time teacher of math at a private school in Tyler, and homecoming week had arrived. A touch football game had been planned for the Saturday morning of the day of the homecoming dance. I remembered the old days when there were faculty/ student games, and I had always thought that would be fun. Wendy had volunteered to decorate for the dance, so I went to Tyler early for the game. I thought, "We teachers will show these kids some stuff."
We teachers was me.
All the players on the field when I arrived were the current football team, the former players, and the 30 year old coach. Wearing cleats, athletic shorts, exuding youthful unbounded energy.
And me, balding old guy in jeans and tennis shoes. With glasses.
They were doing warmup pass routes, so I got in line, then ran five yards up field, cut right, and caught the pass thrown at me. Cool.
I did another. Caught. Yea.
Kinda winded now. A little bit glad when one of the players says, " Mr. Epps, we don't need you on offense, but you can play defense."
Okay.
When defense came, I discovered that there was a reason these guys wore cleats. Every time I reached for a flag, the guy would cut, and I would slip down.
Man, I was really getting tired, too. Sucking that water down when the offense was on the field. The other teachers ( on the sidelines in lawn chairs) tried to encourage me.
In a little while, one of the guys had to leave.
"Mr. Epps, you wanna play some offense?"
They had already huddled, and no one thought it mattered whether I knew what they were doing, so I lined up on the line, went down five yards and cut across. (Just like I practiced.) The quarterback sees that no one is guarding the old guy, throws the pass, I reach up, catch,(picture perfect), cut to the left to turn up field, slip and fall down. (Just like I practiced.) Still, a five yard gain. Couple of plays later, same route, catch, slip down, first down. Yea. (Felt a little pop in my knee. Uh-oh. That's not good.)
Time to leave the comfort zone.
I decide to go long.
Apparently, the guys decided to go with me this time. I'm running full throttle for the post, defenders strolling along with me. Seriously, guys? Four of you to defend an old man? I look back, and I see the quarterback decided to try me again, the ball was in the air, my feet pounding the turf, my glasses bouncing up and down. I'm thinking, "Even if I catch up to where that ball is going to land, there is no way I will be able to catch it," because it appeared to be bouncing up and down in sync with my glasses. I was five yards too slow. Interception. I'm done.
"Sorry guys, I have to go help my wife decorate for the dance."
They bought it.
Drank more water, drove to the school, parked and got out of my truck.
Suddenly, every move hurts. Two by four beating kind of hurt. I was fine five minutes ago when I left.
I limped for three weeks.
"Wendy, if I ever tell you that I am going to play football, just say, 'No!'"
Hmmmm.
Maybe basketball?
Soccer?
Ping-pong?
Words with Friends?
Now, before I start, you guys I knew from high school remember me as a 130 pound semi nerd. ( I hope "semi.")
You're thinking, "Right. When did he ever play football?"
Well, think again. No longer 130 pounds, tipping the scales at a healthy 150, I am talking about a time, about 5 years ago, in my 60th year in this world.
I was a part time teacher of math at a private school in Tyler, and homecoming week had arrived. A touch football game had been planned for the Saturday morning of the day of the homecoming dance. I remembered the old days when there were faculty/ student games, and I had always thought that would be fun. Wendy had volunteered to decorate for the dance, so I went to Tyler early for the game. I thought, "We teachers will show these kids some stuff."
We teachers was me.
All the players on the field when I arrived were the current football team, the former players, and the 30 year old coach. Wearing cleats, athletic shorts, exuding youthful unbounded energy.
And me, balding old guy in jeans and tennis shoes. With glasses.
They were doing warmup pass routes, so I got in line, then ran five yards up field, cut right, and caught the pass thrown at me. Cool.
I did another. Caught. Yea.
Kinda winded now. A little bit glad when one of the players says, " Mr. Epps, we don't need you on offense, but you can play defense."
Okay.
When defense came, I discovered that there was a reason these guys wore cleats. Every time I reached for a flag, the guy would cut, and I would slip down.
Man, I was really getting tired, too. Sucking that water down when the offense was on the field. The other teachers ( on the sidelines in lawn chairs) tried to encourage me.
In a little while, one of the guys had to leave.
"Mr. Epps, you wanna play some offense?"
They had already huddled, and no one thought it mattered whether I knew what they were doing, so I lined up on the line, went down five yards and cut across. (Just like I practiced.) The quarterback sees that no one is guarding the old guy, throws the pass, I reach up, catch,(picture perfect), cut to the left to turn up field, slip and fall down. (Just like I practiced.) Still, a five yard gain. Couple of plays later, same route, catch, slip down, first down. Yea. (Felt a little pop in my knee. Uh-oh. That's not good.)
Time to leave the comfort zone.
I decide to go long.
Apparently, the guys decided to go with me this time. I'm running full throttle for the post, defenders strolling along with me. Seriously, guys? Four of you to defend an old man? I look back, and I see the quarterback decided to try me again, the ball was in the air, my feet pounding the turf, my glasses bouncing up and down. I'm thinking, "Even if I catch up to where that ball is going to land, there is no way I will be able to catch it," because it appeared to be bouncing up and down in sync with my glasses. I was five yards too slow. Interception. I'm done.
"Sorry guys, I have to go help my wife decorate for the dance."
They bought it.
Drank more water, drove to the school, parked and got out of my truck.
Suddenly, every move hurts. Two by four beating kind of hurt. I was fine five minutes ago when I left.
I limped for three weeks.
"Wendy, if I ever tell you that I am going to play football, just say, 'No!'"
Hmmmm.
Maybe basketball?
Soccer?
Ping-pong?
Words with Friends?
Monday, August 15, 2016
LETTING GO
Though Zoë was twenty, we still thought we would see her off when she boarded the Southwest Airlines flight to St. Louis with her cousin, Staci, for a business convention.
So, Wendy and I drove them both to Dallas Love Field with plans to stand in the airport by the window and watch her walk onto the plane, wave goodbye, then watch as the plane taxis down the runway and leaves the ground, disappearing into the clouds.
In high school, way back in the late 60's early 70's, Love Field was a favorite inexpensive date. Pre 9/11, anyone could go into an airport, go anywhere in an airport, right up to the point of actually boarding the plane. We would ride the moving sidewalks, watch people waiting to be carried away to new destinations, and watch plane after plane take off through the windows overlooking the runway.
Wendy and I haven't been on an airplane since 1973. Apparently, things are different now.
We stopped the car at the curb, took their bags out of the car, hugged Zoë goodbye, and drove away. That's right. DROVE AWAY!
New technology allowed Zoë to send us pictures and text messages from her seat on the plane before and up to takeoff.
Not the same.
So, Wendy and I visited a place that hadn't changed, Flagpole Hill. One of our first dates, in 1972, we had ridden 10-speed bicycles and carried a picnic lunch to the wonderful Flagpole Hill, another place for a free date.
So, I mentioned Zoë is twenty now. She really didn't want us to go inside the airport anyway.
I understood.
For Wendy, it was much more difficult to accept.
I think, we have reached a place in our lives where we have given her everything we can give her in the way of life training, and we have to let her go out on her own to put her in position to exercise those lessons we have been planting, watering, and weeding.
I think she will be fine.
God looks on us as we move through our lives. He never leaves us, but He says, "I have given you everything you need for life and godliness. Remember what you have learned. Remember I am always with you, and that you can hear me anytime you listen for my voice.
Remember, walking in my plans for you will bring you joy.
I know, you will be fine."
Though Zoë was twenty, we still thought we would see her off when she boarded the Southwest Airlines flight to St. Louis with her cousin, Staci, for a business convention.
So, Wendy and I drove them both to Dallas Love Field with plans to stand in the airport by the window and watch her walk onto the plane, wave goodbye, then watch as the plane taxis down the runway and leaves the ground, disappearing into the clouds.
In high school, way back in the late 60's early 70's, Love Field was a favorite inexpensive date. Pre 9/11, anyone could go into an airport, go anywhere in an airport, right up to the point of actually boarding the plane. We would ride the moving sidewalks, watch people waiting to be carried away to new destinations, and watch plane after plane take off through the windows overlooking the runway.
Wendy and I haven't been on an airplane since 1973. Apparently, things are different now.
We stopped the car at the curb, took their bags out of the car, hugged Zoë goodbye, and drove away. That's right. DROVE AWAY!
New technology allowed Zoë to send us pictures and text messages from her seat on the plane before and up to takeoff.
Not the same.
So, Wendy and I visited a place that hadn't changed, Flagpole Hill. One of our first dates, in 1972, we had ridden 10-speed bicycles and carried a picnic lunch to the wonderful Flagpole Hill, another place for a free date.
So, I mentioned Zoë is twenty now. She really didn't want us to go inside the airport anyway.
I understood.
For Wendy, it was much more difficult to accept.
I think, we have reached a place in our lives where we have given her everything we can give her in the way of life training, and we have to let her go out on her own to put her in position to exercise those lessons we have been planting, watering, and weeding.
I think she will be fine.
God looks on us as we move through our lives. He never leaves us, but He says, "I have given you everything you need for life and godliness. Remember what you have learned. Remember I am always with you, and that you can hear me anytime you listen for my voice.
Remember, walking in my plans for you will bring you joy.
I know, you will be fine."
Sunday, August 14, 2016
COFFEE!
I love coffee. My favorite is really strong, French roast. Hot. Black.
Iced coffee. Flavored coffee with cream and sugar. Those are desserts. I'll drink 'em, but that's not coffee.
It doesn't have to be French roast. It doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be hot.
Is this an obsession? Maybe.
When I was a kid, my dad worked for Nabisco as a salesman. In the summer he would take me to work with him. My day was usually on a Wednesday. I loved the first stop, the Coffee Shop, Lucas B&B, with three or four other salesmen friends. They drank coffee, black, laughed, told stories. I had chocolate milk and a cinnamon roll.
Family gatherings at my grandmother's, Mimo Epps' house (we all called her "Mimo" except for Chip (he changed his name, too) who, around the age of 10, decided that "Mimo" sounded babyish and started calling her "Grandmother." The rest of us stuck with "Mimo".) there would always be an urn of coffee (40 cup urn) percolating in the kitchen. Strong and dark. No one talked about drinking coffee, they just drank coffee, laughed, and told stories. The kids played. We didn't drink the coffee.
When I was sixteen, I worked for Safeway in Orchard Hills, in Garland as a bag boy, then as a stock clerk. We had a snack bar. Coffee cost a dime. I began to experiment. A cup of coffee, a teaspoon of ice, a teaspoon of sugar.
I soon dispensed with the ice and sugar. Black and hot.
My future wife worked in this snack bar for a while. Served me coffee and hamburger. She was pretty, a good cook, had a boyfriend. Future wasn't here yet.
When the future arrived, and we were married and living in Houston, I remember her giving me a coffee percolator with glass side instead of metal where you could see the coffee percolating. Once, she splurged and bought some Yuban coffee, the poor man's gourmet coffee. It was fantastic! Black and hot.
I wonder if we will have coffee in heaven. I think we will. The smell will waft through the streets. We will drink coffee, laugh, and tell stories.
For me, the coffee will be strong, black, and hot. You can have yours however you like. I can have as much as I want.
It will already be paid for.
Just like my ticket to get in.
I love coffee. My favorite is really strong, French roast. Hot. Black.
Iced coffee. Flavored coffee with cream and sugar. Those are desserts. I'll drink 'em, but that's not coffee.
It doesn't have to be French roast. It doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be hot.
Is this an obsession? Maybe.
When I was a kid, my dad worked for Nabisco as a salesman. In the summer he would take me to work with him. My day was usually on a Wednesday. I loved the first stop, the Coffee Shop, Lucas B&B, with three or four other salesmen friends. They drank coffee, black, laughed, told stories. I had chocolate milk and a cinnamon roll.
Family gatherings at my grandmother's, Mimo Epps' house (we all called her "Mimo" except for Chip (he changed his name, too) who, around the age of 10, decided that "Mimo" sounded babyish and started calling her "Grandmother." The rest of us stuck with "Mimo".) there would always be an urn of coffee (40 cup urn) percolating in the kitchen. Strong and dark. No one talked about drinking coffee, they just drank coffee, laughed, and told stories. The kids played. We didn't drink the coffee.
When I was sixteen, I worked for Safeway in Orchard Hills, in Garland as a bag boy, then as a stock clerk. We had a snack bar. Coffee cost a dime. I began to experiment. A cup of coffee, a teaspoon of ice, a teaspoon of sugar.
I soon dispensed with the ice and sugar. Black and hot.
My future wife worked in this snack bar for a while. Served me coffee and hamburger. She was pretty, a good cook, had a boyfriend. Future wasn't here yet.
When the future arrived, and we were married and living in Houston, I remember her giving me a coffee percolator with glass side instead of metal where you could see the coffee percolating. Once, she splurged and bought some Yuban coffee, the poor man's gourmet coffee. It was fantastic! Black and hot.
I wonder if we will have coffee in heaven. I think we will. The smell will waft through the streets. We will drink coffee, laugh, and tell stories.
For me, the coffee will be strong, black, and hot. You can have yours however you like. I can have as much as I want.
It will already be paid for.
Just like my ticket to get in.
Open letter to an Agnostic friend
Dear Rich, 6/12/2012
I have been rolling things around in my mind for a while, things that I have to tell you, so I hope you are not offended by my letter.
First, I think it is important for me to stress, I am 100% sure that there is a God, and that He is indeed the God of the Bible. In short, I have learned that He is True, not because " this religion thing" works in my life, but that "this religion thing" works in my life because He is True. Thirty-four years ago, my life REALLY changed, and I could spend hours and pages telling you ways I had changed. But suffice it to say, the new Randy entered into a new realm of life, sort of like if I had lived my whole life in a cave with only artificial light, and one day walked out into the sunlight.
So this new life... What is the difference? Before, while I considered myself a nice guy who really did care about people, I really was just a selfish guy who pretty much lived for myself. Even the " kind and unselfish" things were basically to help me uphold my own image of myself, so they even carried the ultimate goal of selfishness.
So one day, even though my life was pretty good, and things were pretty much going my way, I had this deep internal longing for "something more, something meaningful". I had been raised to believe in God, kind of a cultural Christianity, and I admit, I did believe in God, never really doubted, but, man, I sure did question the religious aspect that I had been taught. The whole church thing left me cold, like it was just part of a game. So when I went to college, I left the church.
Now, when I say I believed in God, I only prayed to Him if I was in a fix, or scared, and I always assumed that He had kind of protected me throughout my life. But I can honestly say that the first time I ever heard someone talk about the relationship aspect of belief in God, I think it just went right over my head. See, I had never really known anyone that was a Christian, who was any different from anyone else, except for going to church, and maybe not cussing or drinking. So, anyway, after college, young married guy with a kid, we move back to my hometown, join my old church, return to the same cultural Christianity I had been raised in. The trouble was, even as I took on responsibilities in the church, I just felt empty, shallow, like a kid pretending to be an adult.
Then, someone asked me to teach a high school Sunday school class, and I said I would. To be honest, I had hardly even read the Bible in all my 26 years of life, and here I was trying to teach it. Needless to say, I was pretty boring. Truthfully, I didn't see the magnificence that was the word of God, and I was only teaching it as some kind of good book of good sayings.
So the second Sunday, we came to this part in the Bible where some old guy named Nicodemus came up to Jesus to ask him a question. Now he was a religious leader, had all the fancy robes, all the respect of the common folk, but something about this young carpenter had him looking for something more, like he was beginning to realize that he felt kind of empty. So he asked Jesus what he had to do to find this eternal life that Jesus was talking about. Jesus looked him right in the eyes and said, "Unless a man is born again, he cannot even see the kingdom of God." WHAT? What the heck does that mean? (that's what went through my head , and that's what went through Nicodemas's head, too). Now remember, as I'm reading this, I have a bunch of sleepy, bored high schoolers sitting around me, waiting for me to explain something to them, and I literally don't have a clue. So I just skipped over it, and moved on.
The next morning, driving to my first stop( I drove a truck for Pepsi) I was in a funk, really feeling depressed, down, empty! Seemed like a time to pray, so I prayed. "God, why do I feel so bad?! I went to church, I taught sunday school. Shouldn't I feel good on Monday if I do that on Sunday? ..... And WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE BORN AGAIN??!!
Rich, I know I told you this story the day I met you, but I want you to see it written down, so indulge me , okay?
Anyway, I shuffled into the first grocery store with my head down, hoping I didn't have to smile or talk to anyone, because I just wasn't feeling it. Right at the back door, on the floor on top of a big pile of trash the floor crew had swept to the back, there was a little paper with bold letters, HAVE YOU BEEN BORN AGAIN? I picked it up, put it in my pocket, and walked out of the back room into the store. There was another one, with bold letters, WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE BORN AGAIN? I picked it up and put it into my pocket.
A little later, as I was leaving the store, I got into my truck, started the engine, and pulled both of these papers out, read them from front to back. At the end of each of them, there was a prayer, and I read it aloud, meaning every word. The words were something like accepting the idea that I can't earn my way into God's favor, but that Jesus had died for everything that I had ever done wrong, and if I would accept HIS payment, I could be born again into His eternal life. So... I said yes, I do!
When I looked up, everything seemed different. I had never, ever felt such a sense of peace, and it was almost like I was seeing color for the first time. When I was in fourth grade, my parents took me to the eye doctor, and I got my first pair of glasses. When I walked out and saw the individual leaves on the trees for the first time, I was almost overwhelmed with wonder. I hadn't even realized before that day that there was anything wrong with my vision. And before this day, I hadn't even realized that there was anything more to life.
Now if this was the only thing that happened, that really wouldn't be much of a story. But a new life began in me that day. Layers of richness started filling my day to day experiences. I began to have a sense of God's presence and leading in my life, and I started, for the first time, to feel His incredible love for me.
So now, Rich, I have been walking with this Jesus for34 years, being thrilled over and over again with the people he brings into my life, and the constantly new directions he guides me into! You were one of those people that he has never let me forget. How long did we chat, about 20 minutes? Yet He has kept you on my heart, and in my prayers for all these years!
Right before Jesus was arrested to be crucified, he told his followers that he was going to give them a peace like they had never known, not a world's kind of peace that only lasted as long as nothing bad happened, but a peace that would follow them everywhere, through all kinds of trials and persecutions. That peace, my friend, is real!
I really don't know you that well, but I do know that this love of God is real, and that He loves you in that same way! You once mentioned that you thought you might read the Bible. If you do, remember one thing. It is a spiritual book, and it won't be understood without having the spirit of God. If you are looking for the truth, it is there! If you are only trying to prove it false, go for it. But, I'm telling you , it is the most powerful, the deepest, the most life changing book I have ever read, and I am still reading it, and learning more each day! I pray, Rich, that God's spirit will draw you to himself as he did for me, and that you, too, will find HIM!
Your friend, in the love that comes from The Father,
Randy Epps
Dear Rich, 6/12/2012
I have been rolling things around in my mind for a while, things that I have to tell you, so I hope you are not offended by my letter.
First, I think it is important for me to stress, I am 100% sure that there is a God, and that He is indeed the God of the Bible. In short, I have learned that He is True, not because " this religion thing" works in my life, but that "this religion thing" works in my life because He is True. Thirty-four years ago, my life REALLY changed, and I could spend hours and pages telling you ways I had changed. But suffice it to say, the new Randy entered into a new realm of life, sort of like if I had lived my whole life in a cave with only artificial light, and one day walked out into the sunlight.
So this new life... What is the difference? Before, while I considered myself a nice guy who really did care about people, I really was just a selfish guy who pretty much lived for myself. Even the " kind and unselfish" things were basically to help me uphold my own image of myself, so they even carried the ultimate goal of selfishness.
So one day, even though my life was pretty good, and things were pretty much going my way, I had this deep internal longing for "something more, something meaningful". I had been raised to believe in God, kind of a cultural Christianity, and I admit, I did believe in God, never really doubted, but, man, I sure did question the religious aspect that I had been taught. The whole church thing left me cold, like it was just part of a game. So when I went to college, I left the church.
Now, when I say I believed in God, I only prayed to Him if I was in a fix, or scared, and I always assumed that He had kind of protected me throughout my life. But I can honestly say that the first time I ever heard someone talk about the relationship aspect of belief in God, I think it just went right over my head. See, I had never really known anyone that was a Christian, who was any different from anyone else, except for going to church, and maybe not cussing or drinking. So, anyway, after college, young married guy with a kid, we move back to my hometown, join my old church, return to the same cultural Christianity I had been raised in. The trouble was, even as I took on responsibilities in the church, I just felt empty, shallow, like a kid pretending to be an adult.
Then, someone asked me to teach a high school Sunday school class, and I said I would. To be honest, I had hardly even read the Bible in all my 26 years of life, and here I was trying to teach it. Needless to say, I was pretty boring. Truthfully, I didn't see the magnificence that was the word of God, and I was only teaching it as some kind of good book of good sayings.
So the second Sunday, we came to this part in the Bible where some old guy named Nicodemus came up to Jesus to ask him a question. Now he was a religious leader, had all the fancy robes, all the respect of the common folk, but something about this young carpenter had him looking for something more, like he was beginning to realize that he felt kind of empty. So he asked Jesus what he had to do to find this eternal life that Jesus was talking about. Jesus looked him right in the eyes and said, "Unless a man is born again, he cannot even see the kingdom of God." WHAT? What the heck does that mean? (that's what went through my head , and that's what went through Nicodemas's head, too). Now remember, as I'm reading this, I have a bunch of sleepy, bored high schoolers sitting around me, waiting for me to explain something to them, and I literally don't have a clue. So I just skipped over it, and moved on.
The next morning, driving to my first stop( I drove a truck for Pepsi) I was in a funk, really feeling depressed, down, empty! Seemed like a time to pray, so I prayed. "God, why do I feel so bad?! I went to church, I taught sunday school. Shouldn't I feel good on Monday if I do that on Sunday? ..... And WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE BORN AGAIN??!!
Rich, I know I told you this story the day I met you, but I want you to see it written down, so indulge me , okay?
Anyway, I shuffled into the first grocery store with my head down, hoping I didn't have to smile or talk to anyone, because I just wasn't feeling it. Right at the back door, on the floor on top of a big pile of trash the floor crew had swept to the back, there was a little paper with bold letters, HAVE YOU BEEN BORN AGAIN? I picked it up, put it in my pocket, and walked out of the back room into the store. There was another one, with bold letters, WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE BORN AGAIN? I picked it up and put it into my pocket.
A little later, as I was leaving the store, I got into my truck, started the engine, and pulled both of these papers out, read them from front to back. At the end of each of them, there was a prayer, and I read it aloud, meaning every word. The words were something like accepting the idea that I can't earn my way into God's favor, but that Jesus had died for everything that I had ever done wrong, and if I would accept HIS payment, I could be born again into His eternal life. So... I said yes, I do!
When I looked up, everything seemed different. I had never, ever felt such a sense of peace, and it was almost like I was seeing color for the first time. When I was in fourth grade, my parents took me to the eye doctor, and I got my first pair of glasses. When I walked out and saw the individual leaves on the trees for the first time, I was almost overwhelmed with wonder. I hadn't even realized before that day that there was anything wrong with my vision. And before this day, I hadn't even realized that there was anything more to life.
Now if this was the only thing that happened, that really wouldn't be much of a story. But a new life began in me that day. Layers of richness started filling my day to day experiences. I began to have a sense of God's presence and leading in my life, and I started, for the first time, to feel His incredible love for me.
So now, Rich, I have been walking with this Jesus for34 years, being thrilled over and over again with the people he brings into my life, and the constantly new directions he guides me into! You were one of those people that he has never let me forget. How long did we chat, about 20 minutes? Yet He has kept you on my heart, and in my prayers for all these years!
Right before Jesus was arrested to be crucified, he told his followers that he was going to give them a peace like they had never known, not a world's kind of peace that only lasted as long as nothing bad happened, but a peace that would follow them everywhere, through all kinds of trials and persecutions. That peace, my friend, is real!
I really don't know you that well, but I do know that this love of God is real, and that He loves you in that same way! You once mentioned that you thought you might read the Bible. If you do, remember one thing. It is a spiritual book, and it won't be understood without having the spirit of God. If you are looking for the truth, it is there! If you are only trying to prove it false, go for it. But, I'm telling you , it is the most powerful, the deepest, the most life changing book I have ever read, and I am still reading it, and learning more each day! I pray, Rich, that God's spirit will draw you to himself as he did for me, and that you, too, will find HIM!
Your friend, in the love that comes from The Father,
Randy Epps
THE DAY THAT FLIPPED OUR WORLD
October 7, 2002
Tomorrow was the day! Our annual family trip from Lake Hawkins to The State Fair of Texas. Chelsey, my 29 year old daughter, and Zoë, her 6 1/2 year old daughter were spending the night so we could get an "early start." We have made this trip virtually every year since Wendy and I were married in '72. I pictured our day. Wendy and Chelsey, now best friends as well as mother and daughter, walking through the fair, side by side, seeing opportunities for crafts, or cooking, or creativity in general, laughing, sharing the sights, sounds, smells of that wonderful place. Zoë and I in our own world, me seeing the things that she found interesting, through her eyes, showing her things that I found interesting (fair food, new inventions, midway games, rides, fair food, inventions(all those wonderful toys)).
Chelsey was a single mom, who succumbed to the temptations of moving into an independent life in her early twenties, had gotten pregnant, dumped by the dude, and had returned wholeheartedly to the faith she had strayed from, finding strength and purpose from her creator. She returned to college, discovered a passion for the American Sign Language and the deaf culture, and became an interpreter for the deaf. She also, after her work day, would pick up Zoë at our house, go home and make phone calls for my chimney sweep/window cleaning business, as my office manager, dispatcher. (In other words, she planned my days.) She always planned two days off during the week in October for us to go to the fair.
My tendency is to get pushy about the leaving time associated with the "early start", so, I actually prayed that night, "LORD, help me to realize that the time with family is more important than the arrival time. Help me to stay calm in the morning, no matter how late we leave."
October 8, 2002
The big day! Up at 7:00, everybody already starting to rouse. It takes me about three minutes to get ready, we had packed the night before, so I quietly began to load the car. It was incredibly amazing how calm I was. Not once did I tell anyone to hurry, or even mention the time.
We were actually in the car, pulling out of the driveway by 8:00.
Wendy was driving, I was navigating, Zoë strapped into her booster seat in the middle of the back seat, and Chelsey behind Wendy by the door.
I love this Christian talk radio station in Tyler, and we always listened to it as we drove.
Chelsey preferred the other one that played contemporary Christian music.
This day, my station was playing contemporary Christian music.
As we neared Terrell, Tx, Chelsey made the statement, "I am so glad your station is playing music today. I love this song! I've never heard it before."
I called the station, spoke with the announcer and found out the name of the song.
Chelsey beamed.
"Pull into this station, Wendy. They have Krispy Kreme donuts and good coffee!"
Zoë and Chelsey waited in the car while Wendy and I went in to grab a few donuts. All the favorites.
When we got back to the car, Chelsey saw one I had gotten for myself (I didn't think anyone else would want one) and asked if there were any more. I told her where they were, and watched her beautiful self as she strolled into the store, moved through the store, paid and got back in the car.
Back on the highway, music playing, coffee and donuts, on our way to the fair. Can it get any better than this?
Zoë had finished her donuts, was feeling kinda sleepy.
Zoë: Mommy?
Chelsey: Yes, Baby?
Zoë: I love you.
Chelsey: I love you too, Baby.
Zoë: You're my best girl.
Chelsey: You're my best girl, too.
Wendy: Oh my God!
I looked up. A two ton truck carrying construction supplies on the eastbound side of the highway had turned across the median and was barreling toward us.
Wendy had quickly moved from the center lane, to the right lane, to the shoulder, trying to get out of his way.
Crash! Impact into the side of our Suburban pushed us into the grass, and we began to spin around. A mini van behind us swerved onto the grass to try to avoid the collision, and hit us in the rear after we had spun one complete revolution, making us turn backwards, still moving, go down a hill, through a small gully, and up the other side, still facing backwards. Then we stopped.
Airbags had deployed in the front seat, coffee was everywhere, but I was totally okay.
My first thought: Well, I guess we won't be going to the fair.
As I turned to look back at Wendy, then Chelsey and Zoë, Zoë was still strapped in, crying, and there was a gaping hole in the side of the car where Chelsey had been.
"Where's Chelsey?" I yelled, jumping from the car, running back to find her.
I found her. Lying on the ground at the point of impact, clothes shredded, huge gash in the thigh of her left leg. No blood.
Her face. Peaceful.
I knelt beside her body, wordlessly letting God be there.
A woman's voice behind me, a hand gently stroking my back, "Jesus loves you."
I never saw her.
I walked back toward the car, picking up things I recognized from our car along the way.
Wendy was standing outside the car, talking on her phone to her mom, crying.
"Chelsey's gone," I said.
"I know."
Two men were standing to the side, one was holding Zoë. Her skin had a bluish tint.
(Wendy told me, later, that those two men were standing by the car as I jumped out. "Give me the baby," one said, and somehow, Wendy unstrapped Zoë and handed her to the men)
The helicopter arrived to take Zoë to Children's Hospital in Dallas.
I turned to Wendy, "How are we going to get there?"
"We'll take you." Two ambulance drivers were standing there. They took us.
When we got to the hospital, we were met by the Chaplain to take us where we needed to go. He did not say a word. Imagine what I was imagining, but afraid to vocalize.
My cousin, Glenn was there, to meet us.
"Zoë is okay," He said, and showed us where she was.
The doctor was checking her over, touched her right shoulder and she winced, and he knew, rupture of the spleen and kidney.
In September of the previous year, we had started attending Hollybrook Baptist Church near Hawkins. We immediately joined a Sunday School class, even before we joined the church so we could get to know some folks. Debbie Havens, who had lost a grown son at a young age to cancer, had recently joined the same class and mentioned to us that there were several people in that class whose children had preceded them in death.
I remember later that day, Wendy saying, "I'm not sure I want to be in that class."
We did, though, and Chelsey and Zoë also joined the church.
Chelsey saw a guy signing during the songs one day, went up to talk to him after, and fought out that he had lost his hearing and he, Wally, and his wife, Billie had been asking God to bring an interpreter to the church so he could "hear" the sermons.
Chelsey became that interpreter, as well as the substitute pianist on occasion.
Those days, Chelsey would be playing the piano, would slide out when the preacher began to speak and sign for Wally, then slide back onto the bench to play.
There was always a supernatural glow around her when she was doing this.
So, the first people there, other than my cousin, Glenn, were Cramer and Debbie Havens, and Jim and Vicki Shaw, who had lost a son in a car wreck.
Both members of that Sunday School class.
Zoë was checked into a room. The doctor decided that surgery was not needed, but she needed to stay in bed and be observed for several days.
Zoë for the first day showed little to no emotion, stoic, not even crying.
That day, Wendy, having lost the numbness of shock, turned to me in Zoë's hospital room while Zoë was asleep. "Randy, I don't think I can do this."
The next day, they had to take a blood test, and in the process, Zoë lost it, became almost hysterical. Then she started responding to us, and others.
One conversation I had with Zoë.
Zoë: Hey, Pappy. I really liked that helicopter ride!
Me: What?! How is that possible? You are scared of heights, right?
Zoë : Yes.
Me: And you hate loud noises, right?
Zoë: Yes.
Me: Then how is it possible that you liked that helicopter ride? It was high, and it was loud.
Zoë: I know. But just turn it around, just turn it around.
I laughed. She laughed.
We felt the presence of God through that time. Physically felt him. An unexpected peace. The people who needed to be there for comfort being there. A sense of being able to live in the moment. A sense of being thankful. A deep, real sense of sorrow, with a strength that was not ours.
Our lives took a different path, not one we planned. Everything changed. We became Zoë's grandparents / parents. We became friends with people twenty years younger, who had kids in Zoe's generation. We had to stop being indulgent grandparents to become responsible parents. Zoë told me one time that she and her mommy would pray at night, "and Mommy would always say, 'and God, please send us a husband for me, and a father for Zoë."
Chelsey found her "husband's" arms on October 8, 2002.
I became Zoë's father.
Everything changed.
That day.
The weird, unhurried calm while loading the car.
The music that Chelsey loved filling her head on her last day here.
The last words between Chelsey and her daughter.
The sudden appearance of the woman with words of truth, "Jesus loves you."
The two men suddenly outside the car.
The ambulance ride.
The friends who were there, who knew what we felt.
The peace of Zoë's helicopter ride.
On and on and on.
But God never changed. He was there all the time.
October 7, 2002
Tomorrow was the day! Our annual family trip from Lake Hawkins to The State Fair of Texas. Chelsey, my 29 year old daughter, and Zoë, her 6 1/2 year old daughter were spending the night so we could get an "early start." We have made this trip virtually every year since Wendy and I were married in '72. I pictured our day. Wendy and Chelsey, now best friends as well as mother and daughter, walking through the fair, side by side, seeing opportunities for crafts, or cooking, or creativity in general, laughing, sharing the sights, sounds, smells of that wonderful place. Zoë and I in our own world, me seeing the things that she found interesting, through her eyes, showing her things that I found interesting (fair food, new inventions, midway games, rides, fair food, inventions(all those wonderful toys)).
Chelsey was a single mom, who succumbed to the temptations of moving into an independent life in her early twenties, had gotten pregnant, dumped by the dude, and had returned wholeheartedly to the faith she had strayed from, finding strength and purpose from her creator. She returned to college, discovered a passion for the American Sign Language and the deaf culture, and became an interpreter for the deaf. She also, after her work day, would pick up Zoë at our house, go home and make phone calls for my chimney sweep/window cleaning business, as my office manager, dispatcher. (In other words, she planned my days.) She always planned two days off during the week in October for us to go to the fair.
My tendency is to get pushy about the leaving time associated with the "early start", so, I actually prayed that night, "LORD, help me to realize that the time with family is more important than the arrival time. Help me to stay calm in the morning, no matter how late we leave."
October 8, 2002
The big day! Up at 7:00, everybody already starting to rouse. It takes me about three minutes to get ready, we had packed the night before, so I quietly began to load the car. It was incredibly amazing how calm I was. Not once did I tell anyone to hurry, or even mention the time.
We were actually in the car, pulling out of the driveway by 8:00.
Wendy was driving, I was navigating, Zoë strapped into her booster seat in the middle of the back seat, and Chelsey behind Wendy by the door.
I love this Christian talk radio station in Tyler, and we always listened to it as we drove.
Chelsey preferred the other one that played contemporary Christian music.
This day, my station was playing contemporary Christian music.
As we neared Terrell, Tx, Chelsey made the statement, "I am so glad your station is playing music today. I love this song! I've never heard it before."
I called the station, spoke with the announcer and found out the name of the song.
Chelsey beamed.
"Pull into this station, Wendy. They have Krispy Kreme donuts and good coffee!"
Zoë and Chelsey waited in the car while Wendy and I went in to grab a few donuts. All the favorites.
When we got back to the car, Chelsey saw one I had gotten for myself (I didn't think anyone else would want one) and asked if there were any more. I told her where they were, and watched her beautiful self as she strolled into the store, moved through the store, paid and got back in the car.
Back on the highway, music playing, coffee and donuts, on our way to the fair. Can it get any better than this?
Zoë had finished her donuts, was feeling kinda sleepy.
Zoë: Mommy?
Chelsey: Yes, Baby?
Zoë: I love you.
Chelsey: I love you too, Baby.
Zoë: You're my best girl.
Chelsey: You're my best girl, too.
Wendy: Oh my God!
I looked up. A two ton truck carrying construction supplies on the eastbound side of the highway had turned across the median and was barreling toward us.
Wendy had quickly moved from the center lane, to the right lane, to the shoulder, trying to get out of his way.
Crash! Impact into the side of our Suburban pushed us into the grass, and we began to spin around. A mini van behind us swerved onto the grass to try to avoid the collision, and hit us in the rear after we had spun one complete revolution, making us turn backwards, still moving, go down a hill, through a small gully, and up the other side, still facing backwards. Then we stopped.
Airbags had deployed in the front seat, coffee was everywhere, but I was totally okay.
My first thought: Well, I guess we won't be going to the fair.
As I turned to look back at Wendy, then Chelsey and Zoë, Zoë was still strapped in, crying, and there was a gaping hole in the side of the car where Chelsey had been.
"Where's Chelsey?" I yelled, jumping from the car, running back to find her.
I found her. Lying on the ground at the point of impact, clothes shredded, huge gash in the thigh of her left leg. No blood.
Her face. Peaceful.
I knelt beside her body, wordlessly letting God be there.
A woman's voice behind me, a hand gently stroking my back, "Jesus loves you."
I never saw her.
I walked back toward the car, picking up things I recognized from our car along the way.
Wendy was standing outside the car, talking on her phone to her mom, crying.
"Chelsey's gone," I said.
"I know."
Two men were standing to the side, one was holding Zoë. Her skin had a bluish tint.
(Wendy told me, later, that those two men were standing by the car as I jumped out. "Give me the baby," one said, and somehow, Wendy unstrapped Zoë and handed her to the men)
The helicopter arrived to take Zoë to Children's Hospital in Dallas.
I turned to Wendy, "How are we going to get there?"
"We'll take you." Two ambulance drivers were standing there. They took us.
When we got to the hospital, we were met by the Chaplain to take us where we needed to go. He did not say a word. Imagine what I was imagining, but afraid to vocalize.
My cousin, Glenn was there, to meet us.
"Zoë is okay," He said, and showed us where she was.
The doctor was checking her over, touched her right shoulder and she winced, and he knew, rupture of the spleen and kidney.
In September of the previous year, we had started attending Hollybrook Baptist Church near Hawkins. We immediately joined a Sunday School class, even before we joined the church so we could get to know some folks. Debbie Havens, who had lost a grown son at a young age to cancer, had recently joined the same class and mentioned to us that there were several people in that class whose children had preceded them in death.
I remember later that day, Wendy saying, "I'm not sure I want to be in that class."
We did, though, and Chelsey and Zoë also joined the church.
Chelsey saw a guy signing during the songs one day, went up to talk to him after, and fought out that he had lost his hearing and he, Wally, and his wife, Billie had been asking God to bring an interpreter to the church so he could "hear" the sermons.
Chelsey became that interpreter, as well as the substitute pianist on occasion.
Those days, Chelsey would be playing the piano, would slide out when the preacher began to speak and sign for Wally, then slide back onto the bench to play.
There was always a supernatural glow around her when she was doing this.
So, the first people there, other than my cousin, Glenn, were Cramer and Debbie Havens, and Jim and Vicki Shaw, who had lost a son in a car wreck.
Both members of that Sunday School class.
Zoë was checked into a room. The doctor decided that surgery was not needed, but she needed to stay in bed and be observed for several days.
Zoë for the first day showed little to no emotion, stoic, not even crying.
That day, Wendy, having lost the numbness of shock, turned to me in Zoë's hospital room while Zoë was asleep. "Randy, I don't think I can do this."
The next day, they had to take a blood test, and in the process, Zoë lost it, became almost hysterical. Then she started responding to us, and others.
One conversation I had with Zoë.
Zoë: Hey, Pappy. I really liked that helicopter ride!
Me: What?! How is that possible? You are scared of heights, right?
Zoë : Yes.
Me: And you hate loud noises, right?
Zoë: Yes.
Me: Then how is it possible that you liked that helicopter ride? It was high, and it was loud.
Zoë: I know. But just turn it around, just turn it around.
I laughed. She laughed.
We felt the presence of God through that time. Physically felt him. An unexpected peace. The people who needed to be there for comfort being there. A sense of being able to live in the moment. A sense of being thankful. A deep, real sense of sorrow, with a strength that was not ours.
Our lives took a different path, not one we planned. Everything changed. We became Zoë's grandparents / parents. We became friends with people twenty years younger, who had kids in Zoe's generation. We had to stop being indulgent grandparents to become responsible parents. Zoë told me one time that she and her mommy would pray at night, "and Mommy would always say, 'and God, please send us a husband for me, and a father for Zoë."
Chelsey found her "husband's" arms on October 8, 2002.
I became Zoë's father.
Everything changed.
That day.
The weird, unhurried calm while loading the car.
The music that Chelsey loved filling her head on her last day here.
The last words between Chelsey and her daughter.
The sudden appearance of the woman with words of truth, "Jesus loves you."
The two men suddenly outside the car.
The ambulance ride.
The friends who were there, who knew what we felt.
The peace of Zoë's helicopter ride.
On and on and on.
But God never changed. He was there all the time.
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