Mind The Step

Growing in Christlikeness takes brains.

Not brilliance. Not genius. The Christian Faith isn’t privately reserved for Nobel Prize recipients in science and medicine. Indeed, any trusting, open-hearted child may drink deep of the waters of salvation.

But serious Jesus-followers setting out to grow as his disciples are not ones to check their brains at the door. To them, good sense reflected by sound thinking is essential – a no-brainer, you might say.

Unfolding the topography map (Google Earth wouldn’t debut for another decade) I was soon taken by the stunning landscape spread out before me. Even when merely displayed on landscape parchment, the vast range of Kili’s expanse – her ravines etching wrinkles across her ancient face – captivated me.

The mountain’s greens, from rich shadows to hues showcasing rain forests and highland grasses drew me in. Into dreaming. And more than that. To thinking.

How often do we give it consideration, this quality of thought. Its power and its necessity. The uniquely human capacity to consider, to surmise and decide – that is, to use our brain?

Before any venture can get underway – from the Wright brothers winged launch into North Carolina skies to the designing and building of India’s dazzling Taj Mahal to putting together the kids lunch bag for school – the mind must stir.

Surveying Kilimanjaro’s image that morning, my mind did that. It stirred. And a dream was born.

I would set out to climb this mountain. . . and do it with my kids. At the very least, I could try. But there would be a needed sequence about such a heady vision. Some mental pacings must precede the actual ones. Before the climb could ever begin, I must further engage my mind. Questions asked. Mysteries uncovered.

When is the best season of year for such thing? – Which route promises the best chance of success? – Supplies – what equipment, survival gear and food stuff do we gather If my two teens and me are to set foot on Africa’s legendary rooftop? – What will it all cost? (this was a Biggie)

Does this make any sense? Could we actually achieve it? Thoughts. These demanded logic, rationale, kinds of things I’m not so famous for. Still, the thinking part, I came to realize, was indispensable to a happy, adventurous – and completed – climb.

I got encouraged, enthused actually. The task would be daunting, but it was reachable. . . I felt certain. I had lived at the foot of this glorious giant long enough to learn some secrets, catch some glimpses of the possibilities.

Thinking had been happening a while.

So simple strategies began playing in my head – vague and ill-defined at first – of taking on this vast, snow-crowned volcano.

I peered again at Kili’s image lying there atop our dining table, the table itself crafted of timber harvested from other African slopes – Kenya’s Mount Elgon.

On and on I continued thinking. . . and on.

Trekking a mountain to her summit may be much like walking with Christ, I mused. One [sensible] step at a time.

©2018 Jerry Lout

 

 

The Creason Effect

The people who influence you are

The people who believe in you

                                                     – Henry Drummond

Three brothers of the same household believed in me. Each played an influencing role. Each introduced me to something or someone – marking me for life. For good.  I’m in their debt.

The Creason brothers. Common men of uncommon influence.

Troy (small business-owner, cattle-tender) sat with eleven and twelve-year-old boys in a tight, window-less room. Seated on straight-back chairs and short benches we boys formed a square – most of our backs touching a wall.  Ricky, Larry, Dwight, Tim, James. . .

Brother Troy’s King James Bible lay open before him. With a calloused forefinger he tracked the sentences as he read. His instruction in down-to-earth terms supplied me and the others with building blocks of truth. For life. Though we likely retained only a trace of the Biblical riches dispensed, Troy showed up week by week.

What he shared, he lived. The truths could bring us into and through a meaningful life. He knew this. He introduced us to Christ. His nature and character. Truthfulness, perseverance, responsibility, faith. A life with Jesus was the life to live. Nothing else made sense. I never doubted Troy’s motives, his reasons for showing up. Why would I? The reason was obvious. He believed the book. He believed in us.

Melvin (farmer, welder)

Melvin totally wowed me as a youth leader. He and his gracious auburn-haired wife, Joan, endeared themselves to all the teens.

Melvin was never splashy, sensational. But engaging, sincere. Attentive.  If in my teen years I relished anything to do with church it was tied to Melvin.

Brother Melvin, could you teach me to make a necktie knot?

Sure. Just a second, while I adjust this mirror.

The white Ford Mustang breezed along Hwy 75 – Melvin and his wife up front. We were going to a Monday night youth rally. I was squeezed between other students in the back seat – positioning my Adam’s-apple to meet Melvin’s focus through the rearview mirror.

My clumsy fingers fumbled with my tie as Melvin – steering wheel firmly in hand – talked me through.

Ready Jerry? Thread the broad part over, then under and through (pause); now up and out the triangular opening, then. . .

Melvin glanced first to the mirror, then to the road and back again. This two-step rumba continued, alternating between the highway and my knot-tying exercise. He patiently took me through the steps, assuring me along the way. Melvin believed in me.

would get this knot tied. I knew it.

If you hold rich memories of some person who made a positive influence in your life, be assured. That person was an encourager.

I heard this piece of wisdom years ago.

The neck tie incident – one in a long list of treasured happenings with Melvin – illustrated the truth.

Be a blessing.* This tender mandate of heaven was personified in my youth pastor. He blessed us. By his devotion, by believing in us. Influencing us – well into the future.

When our thirty-fifth anniversary came, Ann and I renewed our marriage vows at the little church. Where my family worshiped. Where the two of us were wed.

As I dressed for the affair I threaded my green and white tie. I snugged the knot securely.  Melvin would officiate our milestone renewal. I reviewed my workmanship and smiled.

Would he notice the knot?

——      ——      ——      ——      ——      ——      ——      ——      ——      ——      ——      ——

(The third Creason brotherFred – introduced me to my bride.  An account for another day.)

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        *Genesis 12.2 Bible. Old Testament

©2015 Jerry Lout

Standing already. Why Not?

Why Not?

You did what?  My body, settled in the wheelchair, jumped a little. The doctor’s tone was sharp. He was not pleased.

Who told you to stand up?

It was Monday in what would become my final month at Hillcrest Hospital.

I had been at our Okmulgee home for a rare weekend visit. Sunday afternoon I rested on a living room sofa while mom busied herself in the kitchen.

A thought from nowhere suddenly stirred me.

Try your legs. Stand up. For a few seconds I gazed at my limbs. They hadn’t supported my body for months. What if. . ?

Why not?

I wobbled upward, drawing support from the sofa arm. Once fully upright I leaned against the nearest wall. Steadying myself I called out, Mother. Mother! She released her dish towel and it landed on the floor. Some quick steps from the kitchen and she was with me.  She steadied me a little. Then we stood together. Just standing without movement. Upright. My mom and I looked down and took in my spindly legs. Astonished.

Not accustomed to bearing weight, my legs quivered and Mother lowered me again to the sofa. It was then I smiled. Eager to tell the nurses – and the doctor. And Monday came.

Being a youngster, I had been scolded over a generous number of misdeeds before. But never rebuked for trying to walk. Scolded for using my limbs – by a person whose job it was to restore their use?  The thought bewildered me.

I saw later that recovery usually requires process. To put weight on my limbs too soon and without proper oversight could hurt – even ruin – any hope for recovery. Inside though, I couldn’t quiet the rush of emotion. I would soon walk. Walk.

Running with Meaning

In the first blog post of this series, Running with Meaning, I spoke of my dad having a limp of sorts – disadvantages in life. Then the idea of California, notions of work there, a place for beginning a family; these possessed his thoughts. Some why not dreams stirred in Clyde Baxter.

Perhaps you are meeting with hardship, illness or work troubles. Relational pain; maybe a personal struggle.

I think it can serve us well to look about (in my instance a new look at a pair of nine-year-old inactive legs). And to look up. Hope comes from a place beyond ourselves. Up.

We revisit Opaline – the angel of a shared affliction – and her narrative soon. Faith marked her journey –  differently in some ways than mine. Still with wonder. And surprise.

Why not?

©2015 Jerry Lout

 

 

Impressions. Polio, first round

Okmulgee_Sign

When the Okies left Oklahoma and moved to California, it raised the I.Q. of both states.
– Will Rogers

Impressions. Some are innocuous. Others are vital, setting life-altering forces in motion. An impression, when acted on, can foster adventure, inspire faith. Hardships seem postponed. Then they wash ashore and into our lives. Some in manageable waves. Others overwhelm us, tsunami-like, leaving us reeling til we re-gather ourselves. Hopefully in the comforting aid of others.

Impressions played their roles in the young Oklahomans. From their California arrival ten years earlier and going forward. .

Unexplained comfort administered through a sister-in-law’s hands drew them into a life new to them. They began the long journey of yielding themselves to the new way. A way of prayer. Of faith.

Clyde responded to a later impression, leading them to trust for added children.

On still another occasion Clyde met with an inner constraint. It was a tender, yet cautionary word while he was taking in a scene at a movie theatre. The path you’re on isn’t leading you to where your little boy has gone. He exited the viewing.

Then, on a Spring night in 1946 my mother, Thelma, dreamed vividly of our family travelling a long roadway.

Clyde, I feel the Lord saying we’re to return to Oklahoma.

His response was surprisingly sudden and certain. They both laughed. Sensing the guidance was sound, they followed the impression.

Okmulgee. Bubbling Water.

The winsomeness of its Creek Indian meaning was matched by the strangeness of the town’s name to an unaccustomed ear. (Ohk-muhl-gee)

I was five months old when we entered the land of my family’s roots. It would be my land, the place of my roots. We were home.

An aggressive disease showed up near my first birthday. The polio virus disabled my legs and feet before I had a chance to try them out. The assault was rapid and, thankfully, short-lived. It contorted my left foot, permanently curbing it’s range of motion. In time my left leg resumed growing. So the right leg trumps the left by more than an inch. The redesigned foot and the shortened leg combined to supply me with an uninvited trademark of sorts. A limp.

The disquieting polio intruder wasn’t finished. Awhile later the illness paid a second childhood visit. It was then the term iron lung entered our vocabulary.

©2015 Jerry Lout