"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.
Friday, August 26, 2016
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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