THE POSSUM CONNECTION

I was in the fifth, or sixth grade when I found them; Two baby Opossums. Back then everybody I knew just called them Possums, without the O in front. Their mother had been killed while trying to cross the highway, most likely under cover of darkness. I saw her when I was wandering around outside early one morning before school. I went down to the road to see what it was. The closer I got, the better I could see, and I soon realized it was a possum. A car passed by just as I reached the end of the driveway. Just then I heard a strange noise; a kind of hissing sound. At first, I thought she might still be alive, but then I saw something moving on her back. Just then another car zoomed past, and I heard the noise again. It was a baby possum. I waited for the traffic to clear, then I ran into the road to rescue the baby. As I reached down to pick it up, I saw another one. I grabbed them both and quickly ran back to safety.

I ran back up the hill, and into the house to show my grandmother what I had found. Since they no longer had their mother to take care of them, we got to keep them. I grabbed a shoebox and an old broom. I cut the broom handle into short pieces the width of the box. I spaced them out evenly and nailed them to the open top of the box. Then I turned it up on its side, and they had a cage with bars so they could see out. We fed them some milk, then went to school.

Guess what we did as soon as we got home. We ran to see our baby possums. I hadn't put the bars close enough together, so one of the babies had gotten out. We quickly began searching for it and found it in just a few minutes. We had to get a bigger box to keep them in, but they were always trying to escape. Another time one of them got out of the big box and disappeared. We searched the whole house. We searched for hours. Hours turned into days. Then three days later he came out from behind the refrigerator. He was tired and hungry, but he was okay. We were so glad to see him.

We loved our baby possums, and they grew pretty fast. With them getting bigger, and constantly getting out, and making a mess, our grandmother made a decision. We had to get rid of them. We were so sad, but we knew a woman who wanted them. She came to our house, and took them home with her, and raised them like cats. I’m glad they had someone to take good care of them. Someone to love them as much as we did.

When I was sixteen, I went to live with my dad for a while. He had found a grown possum, and was keeping it in a cage outside. One day he got another one and put it in the same cage just before he left to go somewhere. It wasn’t long until I heard a commotion outside. When I went to see what was going on, I found the two possums fighting. The new resident was losing the fight, so I opened the door to get him out, so he wouldn’t get hurt any worse. When I reached for him, he turned around and attacked me. His sharp teeth ripped a hole in both sides of my index finger. I still have those scars on my hand today to remind me not to mess with wild animals when they’re fighting.

A few years later, a guy brought a possum to work to see if anyone wanted it. I remembered having those two as pets when I was younger, so I took this one home with me and put it in a cage. I soon realize it was too old to tame, and I thought about setting it free, but I was glad I didn’t when I saw a few babies crawling around on her back. Soon I saw more and more. I secured her where she couldn’t bite me, so I could count the babies. I took them all out of the cage and found that there were eleven of them.

I started taking a few out each day to play with them. I wanted them to get used to me so I could keep them as pets. As they got older, I saw it wasn’t working. When I would go out to see them, the mother would always hiss at me. Soon all the babies were hissing at me, too. They would go crazy when I would pick them up. I think I would have had to take them completely away from the mother to tame them. I knew it was too late for this bunch, so I decided to let them go back into the wild. I lived in an area with lots of woods and lots of other wild animals. There was a river and several springs where they could get water. So, I opened the cage door one night after dark. When I went out to check on them the next morning they were all gone. I felt good knowing they were free.

My last attempt at keeping a possum for a pet was just a few years ago. My mother-in-law had found a young albino possum in her dog food bag. I went over to her house as quickly as I could and brought it home. My youngest son and I spent half the day building a cage for it. Although it was young, it was still afraid of us, and it kept trying to run away. I kept it for a week, or so before I decided to release it back into the wild. It wasn’t warming up to us at all, plus it was just too messy. We took him to a big wooded area, by a big waterway, so it would be able to survive. We let it go and watched it quickly disappear into the safety of the woods.

When God created animals, he meant for them to live peacefully with each other, and with mankind. He brought them all to Adam for him to give them all names (Gen. 2:19-20). There was harmony between man and animals until sin entered the world. After God destroyed the earth with a worldwide flood, he gave man permission to eat animals. He told Noah that the animals would now fear man (Gen 9:1-5). Today, we have domesticated animals, and we have “tamed” many wild animals, but that fear is still there, and it manifests itself in many forms and degrees in different kinds of creatures. It makes us feel good when we “tame” a wild animal. It gives us a sense of accomplishment, and we like to have pets that others don’t have, or at least ones that are not that common. Some animals are dangerous and unpredictable though. It’s probably best to leave wild animals alone entirely.

I also think we all sometimes try to recapture or recreate some things that brought us joy when we were children, but many times it’s not exactly like we remember; Like a certain food, we loved as a child, or a TV show, or movie, or even special pets. I think maybe, sometimes it was more the circumstances, and maybe the people we were with at the time that made those things so special, and no matter how hard we try, we will never be able to get that back. So we just need to cherish those fond memories, while we make new ones with the people we love.

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DON'T JUDGE ME

“Don’t Judge Me” is a favorite phrase of those who don’t want to be told they are doing something wrong. None of us like to be told we are doing wrong, but what if we are doing something that could cost us our life? What if it could cost us eternal life? What if it could mean the difference between heaven and hell? Is warning someone of danger judging them? Is telling someone what God says judging them?

Let’s pretend for a moment that we all know this certain teenager. His name is Billy. He just got his driver’s license. Everywhere he goes he’s always speeding, even though he knows he’s breaking the law. He drives way too fast, in spite of all the warnings from his family and friends. Over the next year, he has several accidents, and several close calls, so he decides it might be best to slow down, and obey the speed limit.

As he grows older he becomes more responsible, and actually becomes a Highway Patrol officer when he is old enough. Now, it’s Billy’s duty, and responsibility to enforce the same law he once so carelessly disregarded. If he sees someone breaking the law, it is his duty to let them know there are consequences for breaking the law. Sometimes the consequence is a fine, and sometimes it may be the loss of your life or the life of someone else; Perhaps someone we love.

Billy is not the judge and making people aware of the law, and the consequences for breaking it is not judging. It’s the same with born again believers. It’s our duty, and responsibility to warn others that there are consequences for breaking God’s law. We are nobody’s judge. We are children of God who want to obey him because we love him.

People who truly know the love of God, want others to experience that love, and we don’t want anyone to have to pay the penalty for their own sins. Romans 3:23 says, “All have sinned.” Romans 6:23 says, the wages of sin is death; By sinning, we’ve all earned Death. This is not just the physical death that everybody dies, but eternal death; the second death, in hell fire (Rev. 21:8). Jesus paid the penalty for sin when he died on the cross, but we must be born again for his sacrifice to be applied to our account (John 3:16, 3:3-7). Knowing this, and keeping it to ourselves while millions are headed to hell, is not acceptable to God. He wants us who have been set free from sin to tell others the good news, that they can be set free, too.

I’ve had people tell me I had no right to tell my children not to do certain things because I did that when I was younger. I strongly disagree with that statement. Just because I did something doesn’t make it right. Just because I did it doesn’t take away my responsibility to warn others of the dangers that come with doing it. Especially my kids. Come on, now.

Likewise, just because born again believers once lived a life of sin, with no regard for God’s law, doesn’t abolish our “right” or responsibility to warn others of the dangers of sin. We’ve been there. We know what it’s like to be a slave to sin, and what a blessing it is to be delivered from sin. On top of that, God tells us to warn others.

Matthew 28:19-20
19 Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: 
20 Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen.

This is what we call the great commission. A command for us to go into all the world, and teach others what Jesus wants us all to do. That command is not just for missionaries going to other countries. It’s for any disciple, anywhere we may be. God wants us to tell others about his love, and he wants us to tell them what will happen if they refuse to follow his rules. Not because he is arrogant, or wants to be a dictator, but because he is wise, and knows that sin destroys us. God even warns us of what will happen if we don’t warn others.

Ezekiel 3:18 
18 When I say to the wicked, “You will surely die;” and you do not warn him, nor speak to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life; that wicked man will die in his sins, but his blood will be on your hand.

Ezekiel 3:20
20 Again, when a righteous man turns away from his righteousness and sins, and I place an obstacle before him, he will die; since you have not warned him, he shall die in his sin, and his righteous deeds which he has done shall not be remembered; but his blood will be on your hand.

Ezekiel 33:6
6 But if the watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet, and the people are not warned, and a sword comes and takes a person from them, he is taken away in his sins; but his blood will be on the watchman’s hand.

The Bible tells us many things we should not do. Believers are told, by God, to warn the people who are doing those things so they will know and have an opportunity to stop. This includes other believers as well. If we don’t warn people their blood will be on our hands. Here’s another reason.

Rev 20:15 
And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.

Jesus wants everyone to go to heaven, and spend eternity with him. Contrary to popular belief though, everybody is not automatically going to heaven. You have to be born again in order to go. You have to be “SAVED” from sin. If anyone ends up in hell, because we didn’t warn them, their blood will be on our hands, and we may not get to go. Ezekiel 3:20 tells us that even a righteous man can turn away from his righteousness, and sin. We are told to warn them so they can have an opportunity to repent. Warning someone of danger is not judging. Telling someone what God says is not judging. We just need to do it with love, and not condemnation. Some will repent and turn to God, and others will not, but if we do what God has told us to do, their blood will not be on our hands.

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MY SECOND CAR; WORSE THAN THE FIRST

I told you about my first car several weeks ago. I wish I could tell you I had a better experience with my second car, but it is what it is; Adventure and adversity. I had a 19-inch TV I had either bought or acquired in a trade. I don’t really remember. My uncle, being a master trader, convinced me to buy a CB radio from him, and offer both the TV and the radio in trade to a man he knew, for a car he had. It was a 1975 Mustang. You heard me right; a 1975 Mustang. The ugliest Mustang body style ever made. It was red with a white rag-top, with dulling paint. It had not been well taken care of. It was sitting in his yard just rusting away. It had all kinds of problems, but my uncle assured me that he would help me get it going. He was a master mechanic, and I knew he could do it, so I made the deal, and started home. Immediately I noticed the smell of burning oil. The left side of the rear was lower than the right. The tires were bald and it smoked, but I had a car.

We got the car to my uncle’s house, and he looked it over to see what it needed. It needed to be jacked up, and a new car slid under it. That’s a funny way of saying it was a pile of junk. The motor was shot, and the transmission was on its way. The body had problems, and it was really unsafe. Well, there was nothing I could do but park it in the yard, and let it rust, or drive it until it wouldn’t go anymore.

My dad told me about an old car he had owned when he was young. It was a mess, and he couldn’t keep it running, so when he got it going one last time, he drove it into the woods toward the river as fast as he could. He ran over briers, bushes, saplings, and trees until he could go no further. He then got out, and walked away, leaving the car there to rot. He laughed when he told me an older man he knew found the car, drug it out of the bottom, fixed it, and drove it for several years.

As much trouble as I was having with my car, I wanted to do something similar, but I was thinking more along the lines of driving it off a cliff. I imagined jacking it up in the back just enough to get the tires off the ground. Then I would start it up, place a large stone on the gas peddle, and push it off the jack. In my mind I could see the car burning out, slinging dirt everywhere as it flew off the cliff, and then exploding into a ball of flames as it tumbled to its resting place, or rather, its rusting place. There were a few snags in making my fantasy a reality, though. One, I didn’t really have a cliff anywhere close. Two, I was sure it would be a crime to do something like that, especially if I didn’t own the property where this imaginary event may occur, and three, I didn’t have a large stone for the gas pedal.

In reality, I didn’t really have the courage to actually destroy the thing, so I just drove it around, visiting family, until it would die. My cousin rode around with me, and when it would die, he would jump in the driver’s seat, and I would push the car. He would let out on the clutch, and hopefully, it would crank.

One time when it died, we were going up a hill. He got behind the wheel, and let the car roll backward. He couldn’t get it to go into gear to crank it. He was so focused on the gear stick, he didn’t realize he was about to go off the road into the river. At the last minute, he turned just in time to avoid the water and ended up in some bushes.

Another day, we were off on an old gravel back road, and the thing died. It was flooded out, and wouldn’t start. The road was pretty flat, and the gravel was thick, so there was nothing we could do but call someone. We called my uncle, and he headed our way. There was only one problem; He was drinking. When he got there, he didn’t have a chain, or a tow strap with him, so he said he would push us. Now, the reason one side of my car was lower than the other was it had air shocks, and the left one had a leak. I had aired it back up, and now the rear of the car was pretty high. It looked kind of like a dragster. When my uncle started pushing us, the bumpers seemed to match up, but as he drove faster, my bumper slid on top of his, lifting the back wheels off the road. I couldn’t get the car started that way.

Having not been driving long, I was pretty nervous anyway, but knowing my uncle was drinking, I was downright scared. As he accelerated, we became terrified. We wanted him to stop, but we had no way of letting him know that. For a minute the bumper of my car was stuck on top of the bumper of his car, but when he stepped on his brakes we came loose. I tried engaging the clutch, but it was useless. The car wouldn’t start. The tires just kept sliding on the gravel.

Finally, we came to a stop in the middle of the road. When we looked back to see where my uncle was, we saw him speeding toward us, apparently with no intention of stopping. My cousin screamed, “He’s gonna hit us.” That’s exactly what he did, and we were going again, with the back wheels up in the air. Finally, the car started, and I put the pedal to the medal, hoping he would quickly realize the thing was running on its own. I drove straight to his house and parked that death trap for a while, to let my nerves settle, and I didn’t start it back up until I knew he was sober.

Another time the car died, and we couldn’t get it to start at all. We were on the road just outside my uncle’s sister’s house. We went to call him on her CB radio. She wasn’t home, but her son was, and he was drunk. He let us make the call, but I believe my uncle was sleeping, or not at home, or something. I don’t recall just why but, he wasn’t coming anytime soon, so I told my cousin, we would just have to push the car home. I jokingly said, something like, “Come on and help us push this car home,” to my cousin’s cousin. He was the guy who was drunk. He just looked at me, and I went on out to my car. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, there he was. He was acting insane, cursing, and saying all kinds of crazy stuff. He wanted to fight about what I had said. I told him I was only joking, but he wouldn’t stop. I was scared, but thank God for sending help. One of his friends came along and convinced him that I didn’t mean anything by it.

I really wanted to get my car away from there now, as quickly as possible, and I wasted no time getting it rolling. I stood up on the foot threshold and steered the car until it slowed down, then I would step off, and get it going again as fast as I could, then I would jump back up on the threshold again. I did this a couple of times, then when the car started slowing down again, I stepped down one last time.

The car was rolling much faster than I thought, so when my feet hit the ground that time, it was like they stuck to the pavement. Down I went on my left knee. It hit hard, and it’s still damaged to this day. I got up as quickly as I could to see where the car and my cousin were. He was still standing on the threshold of the passenger side. The car was still rolling with no driver. Just then it left the road and rolled up a steep embankment. It came to an abrupt stop as it hit something; Either a light pole or a fence post. My cousin fell onto the ground, and I believe the car would have rolled over on him if the door had not been open. It stuck in the ground beside him at a ninety-degree angle, preventing it from crushing him. I finally gave up and got rid of that thing, and I was glad I did. I was better off without it. It was just too much trouble.

My experiences with that car remind me of sin. We think it’s something we want, and if it’s not exactly what we want, we think we can fix it. We keep playing around with it even after it has caused us problems, and even after it almost kills us. In Job chapter 1, God said that Job was a righteous man, and he avoided evil. We need to be like Job. We need to learn to identify sin and avoid it. We will be better off if we never get caught up in it in the first place.

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THE VOLKSWAGEN, THE PRINCIPAL, AND THE SWINGING BRIDGE

I think this may be my last post about my time at Gift school. For alas, today I will have exhausted my memory banks of those joyful days of my youth at that fine institution of learning. I don’t even remember what grade I was in when these memories took place, nor which one came first. So, without further ado, I present the last episode in this series.

One day, when it was time to go home, as we were waiting for the buses, a group of older students picked up a teacher’s Volkswagen Bug and wedged it in between a big Dumpster, and a Gas tank. When she came out to leave, she was furious. There was no way for her to go forward, nor backward. She started asking who did it. I didn’t say a word. When she started demanding that whoever did it, undo it, the parties responsible came forward and moved the car back for her. She got in the car, started it up, and drove away, smiling.

Another time, when we were gathering outside to go home, I did something stupid. For some reason, I just tossed a small rock and hit the bus. The Principal saw me and grabbed me by the arm. He told me I was getting a paddling. Since the buses were about to leave, he said I was to come to his office first thing the next morning.

Well, I didn’t want a paddling. I had heard they had an electric paddle in the office, and I thought I had seen it one day when I was walking past, and the door was open. It was bright green. Since I had only seen wooden paddles before, it had to be the electric one. I could imagine how painful it would be. Getting shocked with electricity with every lick. I might die. So, as soon as I got home, I jumped off the bus and ran inside. I ran to my grandmother and told her what had happened. I poured out my heart to her and told her about the electric paddle that I might be subjected to the next morning. I begged her to write the Principle a note telling him not to paddle me.

Kids learn early how to manipulate, and I was no different. I don’t remember everything I said to my grandmother, but she wrote the note. I do remember thinking the teacher would be more likely to listen to her if she addressed him by his first name. It just so happened that I knew his first name. It was George. I had heard a teacher call him that one day, so I told my grandmother to start the note with, “Dear Mr. George.”

I took the note to his office the next morning and handed it to him. After reading it, the first thing he said was, “How did she know my name was George?” When we’re in danger, human nature kicks into the “Fight or Flight” mode. Children often don’t have that option. They can neither fight, nor run, so they lie, and that’s what I did. I shrugged my shoulders, and said, “I don’t know.” Well, I don’t know exactly why, but he didn’t paddle me, and I was sure glad.

I remember a Fall Festival one year, where we had some sort of pageant, with a King and Queen. I remember standing in line behind the stage in an auditorium full of people. I must have been pretty nervous because I don’t remember walking out. I know I did because I have a picture of me standing on the stage with a brown suit, and the paper pumpkin with the contestant number on it. My sister ended up being chosen as Queen, and Mark, the one who almost drowned in the pond, was the King.

It may have been the same night, but I’m not sure. I just remember having games and playing outside in the semi-dark. We bobbed for apples, and fished behind a curtain, using a fishing pole with a clothespin instead of a hook. We caught some cool prizes. I do remember not wanting the fun to end that night, but as with all good things, it did.

Another time we took a field trip to Tishomingo State Park to visit “The Swinging Bridge.” I’ve always had a vivid imagination, so when I first heard we were going there, I imagined the bridge was like a swing in the schoolyard, only bigger. I was excited, and nervous at the same time. The day finally came, and we were on our way. I still remember how awesome it was when the bus was coming into the parking lot. When I saw the bridge, it wasn’t what I expected. It was even better. A huge, majestic arch stood before the bridge. It was amazing. The whole day was amazing. Even eating my brown, paper-bagged lunch there was amazing.

The thing I’ll never forget though is something that happened on the bridge. A girl named Kelly was already scared, and she was holding on tightly to the side of the bridge. I was just about to walk onto the bridge when, all of a sudden several of the older boys started pulling and swinging on the cables, and the bridge started swinging and rippling, and Kelly started screaming as she was hurled back and forth trying to hang on for dear life. The look on her face told me she was terrified. I wanted to help her, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t believe anyone could enjoy causing another person so much turmoil. Those boys thought it was funny; that is until one of the teachers came and made them stop. I know that was a terrible experience for Kelly, but it could have been a lot worse.

There was a large area in the basement, beside the lunchroom, where we sometimes played when it was bad outside. A while before the school closed down, they started having old people come for a few hours each day, and play games, and visit, and whatever old folks do. Most of them were friendly, and we got to know some of them pretty well. A few of them even came outside and played with us at recess. On the first day back to school, in the fourth grade, there weren’t enough students to justify keeping the school open. So, we had to go to Kossuth school, and they closed Gift School.

After the school closed, they still had the old folk's center for a while, and other local things were held there from time to time. Now, there’s nothing left of the school, but a cracked, grass-covered basketball court, and a few old memories; Memories that I cherish.

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TADPOLES, MOLES, AND EASTER EGGS

Wow! I can’t believe all the memories I have stored in my brain from just five years at Gift school. I could probably write a book, but for now, I just want to share these memories, and maybe encourage someone else, or make someone smile.

I remember my first-grade teacher’s name was Miss Gay. Her mother, Mrs. Minnie V. was my second, and third-grade teacher. Both the second and third-grade classes were in the same room together. I never thought that was weird back then because we saw schools on TV where kids from every grade were all in one room.

I had a lot of fun at Gift, and I enjoy remembering those times once in a while. There was lots of water around the school, and there were lots of frogs and tadpoles. I told my grandmother about them, and how they turned into frogs, but she didn’t believe it. I guess that seemed like evolution, and she didn’t believe in that, and rightly so. That’s not proof of evolution, by the way. It’s nothing more than a frog egg developing into a frog without the confines of a shell, as many other egg-laying creatures have.

Anyway, I found a big can from the lunchroom, collected some tadpoles in some water, and took them home. I wanted my grandmother to witness them growing into frogs. Well, low and behold, my little sister happened upon my makeshift aquarium. She didn’t know my plan. I don’t even know if she knew what was in the can, but she poured the water out, and the baby frogs along with it. Ugggh! All that trouble to get a can, and getting the tadpoles in it, and all the trouble getting it home on the bus, without spilling it. All that effort down the drain. But, I loved my sister, so I forgave her.

Another time there was a mole in the schoolyard, and we could see it moving beneath the ground. We wanted to see what a mole looked like, so we chased him down, and cut him off at both ends of his trail. One kid dug from one side, and I dug from the other until we had it cornered. Then we removed the last bit of dirt, and there it was. We didn’t get much of a look at it, though. It ran out of the hole and disappeared under the leaves. It was so fast. All that time, wasted, and we still didn’t know exactly what a mole looked like.

In the first grade, we got to watch a movie once in a while in the afternoon. Sometimes we got to watch TV for class, and I remember watching Sesame Street, and The Electric Company during recess sometimes, especially when it was raining, or cold outside.

I remember one Easter, it was wet and nasty outside, so we hid the eggs in the classroom. We hunted until the teacher thought we had found them all. Turns out, we stopped just one egg short. Later on that summer, someone found the egg behind something on a shelf. We were so excited. You would have thought we had found a hidden treasure. We all knew it was rotten by then, but we had to see how bad. We took it outside and gathered around the student who had the egg. He threw it on the ground, and before you could say Ty-Con-De-Rogga, the smell penetrated our nostrils, and the whole class erupted in a torrent of screams and yells. Gagging, running, and falling followed. Finally, the teacher restored order and got us all safely back inside. What a beautiful memory. I can almost smell it now, as I think about it.

Well, that’s as far as I want to go down Memory Lane today. It’s always fun to visit those places and savor those memories. It’s good to know that I have so many good memories to reflect on in this world of growing turmoil. I pray that someday when we look back at our past, there will only be good times to remember.

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FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

For the love of God. Where is the love of God in the world today? Is love reserved only for our family members? Should we only love those who we agree with or only people who look like us, or act like us? Should we only love those who commit sins we can relate to? Is a certain sin worse than another just because we have never committed that one before? 

We all need to ask ourselves these questions, and ask Jesus to change our hearts of stone into hearts that overflow with love for every person on the planet; No matter what religion they practice, no matter their social status, no matter the color of their skin, no matter how they may treat us, and no matter what degree of sinner they may be. 

We don’t have to agree on everything to love each other. We don’t have to look alike to love each other. God made us all, and God loves us ALL, and he commands us to love each other. Look what Jesus said in the book of John.

John 15:12
12 This is my commandment, that you love one another, as I have loved you.

He also said we are to love our enemies. 

Luke 6:27
27 But I say unto you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,... 

Brother Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Love is the only thing that can turn an enemy into a friend.” How can love do that? 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 answers that question.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8
4 Love is patient, and is kind; love is not jealous; love does not boast, is not prideful, 
5 Love does not behave itself unseemly, seeks not her own, is not easily provoked, thinks no evil; 
6 Love does not rejoice in sin, but rejoices in the truth; 
7 Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 
8 Love never fails:

That’s a beautiful truth. “Love never fails.” Love is the answer. It always has been, and it always will be, but a love that “covers a multitude of sins” is hard for humans to grasp (1 Peter 4:8). In the same way that disagreement doesn’t equal hate, loving everybody doesn’t mean you have to agree on everything. That’s where people are confused. True love is balanced, and it can only exist in our hearts if the God of Love puts it there. 

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I'M NO SAINT

“I’m No Saint, but”.... That’s usually the way the quote goes. Have you ever heard someone say that? Perhaps you’ve said it yourself. I’ve heard it many times over the years, and yes, I’ve said it myself. What does it mean? Well, when most people say it, they mean they are not perfect. Are saints perfect? Do you have to be perfect to be a saint? What exactly is a saint anyway? We’ll see what the Bible says in a minute, but first, let’s do an internet search to see what definition we come up with.

The first search result is from the Oxford Dictionaries  

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SAINT

[sant]

NOUN 

1. a person acknowledged as holy or virtuous, and typically regarded as being in heaven after death.

2. used in titles of religious saints:

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The second search result comes from Dictionary.com. 

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SAINT

[seynt]

NOUN

1. any of certain persons of exceptional holiness of life, formally recognized as such by the Christian Church, especially by canonization.

2. a person of great holiness, virtue, or benevolence.

3. a founder, sponsor, or patron, as of a movement or organization.

4. (in certain religious groups) a designation applied by the members to themselves.

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It seems there are several definitions of the word “saint.” Most of them are along the lines of the sainthood teachings of the Catholic church, but none of them agree with what the Bible says a saint is. Number 4 from Dictionary.com comes close though. It says, “(in certain religious groups) a designation applied by the members to themselves.” Some “religious” people do call themselves saints because that’s what the Bible calls us.

1 Corinthians 14:33 For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints. 

Psalm 50:5 Gather my saints together unto me; those that have made a covenant with me by sacrifice. 

If you have been born again, you are a saint. You have made a covenant with God by sacrifice.

Romans 12:1 I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.  

Ephesians 2:19 Now, therefore, you are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints, and of the household of God; 

That’s awesome! We are the saints of God. That doesn’t mean we are perfect or without flaws. It’s a name God uses to describe us, like the word Christian, which means follower of Christ. The word saint means holy, but it’s God who makes us holy, not we ourselves. It’s all God. 

So the next time you hear someone say, “I’m No Saint,” you’ll know what they probably mean, and you’ll know what the Bible says. The followers of God are called saints.

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BILL, IN THE WOODS, WITH THE ROPE

Back to my years at Gift School, and a couple of funny memories I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I told you about my friend Bill saving Mark from drowning in an old frozen pond in the woods. Well, Bill was a lot of fun to be around. I don’t know how much older he was, but he was in a higher grade than me. He was tall and thin and full of energy. He was always getting us chased by some older students.

I remember one day he was going to do something to a group of older boys. He knew they would chase him, so he told us to go in the restroom, and wait for him to run in. Then we would all hold the door so they couldn’t get to him. We went to the restroom and waited. In a few minutes, we saw him running toward us as fast as his long legs could carry him. As soon as he came through the door we slammed it shut. We couldn’t get it to close all the way for some reason, so we kept pushing, and shoving. When Bill started yelling, I realized why we couldn’t get the door to close. We had shut it just a second too soon, catching his foot in the door. I’m sure it was pretty painful to him at the time, but thinking about it now is so funny, I can’t stop laughing.

Another time, we were playing in the woods, and Bill had a jump rope. He laid it on the ground across the path, between two trees. Then he covered it with leaves to camouflage it, so nobody could see it. He told us to hide behind the trees, and he would go get the older boys to chase him. He said he would lead them down the path, and as soon as he ran past us, we should pull the rope tight, tripping whoever was chasing him. It sounded simple enough, but I guess he forgot the fiasco with the bathroom door, and we were only second graders.

We waited for a few minutes, and we heard Bill coming. He was yelling something, and for some reason, just as he reached the rope, we pulled it tight and tripped him instead of his pursuers. He hung his foot in the rope, and went, face first, down on the ground, and rolled like a barrel. All I could see were arms and legs and leaves flying. I’m sorry Bill, but I still laugh every time I think about it. That was so funny.

I’m sure all of us have bad memories we wish we could forget. I know I do, but I have so many good ones. When I’m feeling sad, I try to remember some good times in my life. When I do, I find myself traveling back to my early childhood. I have great memories of my grandmother and my school days.

When I think about all the fun I had with family and friends, sometimes I smile, and sometimes I laugh out loud. Then, if I haven’t yet, I write them down because I know someday those memories won’t be as easy to pull up on my old worn-out computer we call a brain. I wish I could upgrade my hard drive, my memory, and even the case, but that will come later at the second coming. Then Jesus will upgrade it all for me; a new body, and a new mind, with a new source of energy and ultimate memory. I’m looking forward to that day, but until then, I have that promise and my memories. Thanks for these two, Bill.

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GRANDMA AND THE OLD CLOCK

More memories from my school days at Gift are still rattling around in my head. This time we go back to Kindergarten. The first grade was not in the same building as the second through eighth-grade classes, and the Kindergarten class wasn’t either. In fact, it wasn’t even in the same lot. There was the School, a big, brick, and concrete building. The first grade was in a mobile home that had been converted into a classroom. It was located behind the school. The Kindergarten class was in a house on the other side of the playground, and across a field with some trees.

I remember playing outside in the sandbox. It was fun, but I liked exploring more than digging around in a sandbox that a cat had used for a litter box. I went all over the yard, as far as I was allowed to go. One day I found an old alarm clock in the weeds. I was always intrigued by things like that; things I could take apart to see how they worked.

I went and showed it to one of my teachers, and she said I could have it, so I took it home. When I got there that evening and started playing with it, my grandmother asked me where I got it. I told her, but she didn’t believe me. I don’t remember telling a lie until a few years later in life, but maybe I did. Whatever the reason, she told me to take it back, and tell the teacher I had stolen it. 

I took it back the next day and tried to give it to the teacher. I told her I couldn’t keep it, and I told her what my grandmother had said. My teacher came to see my grandmother at our house and straightened it all out. My grandmother apologized to me, and I got to keep the clock. 

My wife and I have raised three kids of our own now, and I think I understand a little of what my grandmother went through raising me and two of my sisters. It’s not easy. I remember several times when I thought my kids had lied, but I found out I was wrong. All I could do was say “I’m sorry” and move on. I hope they all understand that no parent is perfect, and if they haven’t already, I hope they’ll forgive me for the times I was wrong while trying to prepare them for adulthood. If they don’t understand now, they will as they raise their own children. I pray they will always trust God, and allow him to guide them in this very important responsibility.

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GOD PROTECTS AND PROVIDES

Another memory of my early childhood took place when I was somewhere between three and five years old. My sister and I live with our grandmother in a small house in Theo, Mississippi. We didn’t have running water, but God had put a spring in the woods behind the house. I don’t remember me and my sister going there many times, though. It was a good distance from the house and down a steep hill. 

I remember a man in an old green car bringing us water in glass orange juice jugs. His name was Jimbo. We helped our grandmother carry those jugs of water, that God had provided for us, into the house, and into the kitchen, where she put them on the counter, beside the sink. 

At some point, we got a water faucet outside, by the front porch. Then we didn’t have to carry water from the spring or have someone else bring us water. We were living the life then. It reminds me of the time God made water come out of a rock, to provide for his people in the wilderness.

One day I went to get some water from the faucet and saw a spider hanging there. When it saw me it quickly climbed up its web and went inside the faucet. I had my own “Itsy, Bitsy Spider.” At least that’s what I thought at the time. I was quite a bit older before I realized that a water spout and a faucet were two different things.

I remember a lot that happened while we lived there, in that little house in Theo. I remember my Aunt and uncle, and cousins coming to visit. Our cousins were older than us, but they would always make a mess in our kitchen, and leave without cleaning it up. After they would leave, we would help our grandmother clean up, and get the place back like it was before they came. We loved our home that God had provided for us.

One time, while our uncle and his family were visiting, my sister ran into his open car door and cut the corner of her eye. She did the same thing with our dad’s car door. I don’t remember which one happened first, but she ended up with almost identical scars on both eyes. She was blessed that her eyes were not badly damaged.

My grandmother kept food beside the bed for us in case we woke up hungry, and I remember waking up and eating in bed. I never remember going hungry. God has always provided food for us as far back as I can remember. 

Our neighbor would get drunk some nights and would be mean to his wife, and son. I remember waking up on more than one occasion and seeing them sitting in our living room in the middle of the night. God provided a safe place for them while that man was drunk.

Another time, a man was mowing our yard, and my grandmother was outside doing something. The mower hit a wire clothes hanger and flung it right into her leg. It made a big bloody mess. She came in with the wire sticking out of her leg, and if I remember correctly, she had to get some pliers to pull it out. She bled like a stuck hog, but thankfully, it didn’t do any real damage.

A few years before that, when my sister was two years old, she had a bad accident. It was winter, and we had a wood heater. Somehow she fell over on it, and just laid there screaming, with her head touching the heater, for what seemed like forever. I don’t even think she went to the doctor, though. They just put something in a tube on it and fixed her right up. To this day, though, there is a spot on my sister’s head where no hair will grow, but thankfully, it’s only about the size of a quarter, and her other hair covers it. 

We were in the garden one day, and my aunt screamed, grabbed me, and pulled me back. She saw the snake just before I stepped on it. I could have been bitten, but thank God I wasn’t.

Another time, when I was five years old, I was on the front porch, and a hornet stung me right between the eyes. I was allergic to bee stings, and I started swelling fast. There was a house church in our neighborhood, and they happened to be having service. My grandmother, and my mother, took me there for prayer. I remember everybody praying, and all the while, my eyes were swelling tighter, and tighter, until I couldn’t see anymore. I must have passed out because that’s the last I remember about that. 

For years, I thought God didn’t answer their prayer, but he did. They were praying for me to be okay, and not die. I did tell you I was allergic to bee stings, didn’t I? As a matter of fact, I was stung several more times over the years, and now I’m barely allergic at all. I guess my body has built up an immunity to the toxin. God knows what he’s doing. We can trust him, and as we look back at our past, we can see many times when God took care of us, protected us, and even though we may have suffered pain, he often saved us from something much worse.

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© 2016 Teddy Lynn – All Rights Reserved

My books are available in paperback and digital format on Amazon @ 
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