This past weekend, I was honored to have been asked to conduct two wedding ceremonies down in the Atlanta area.  In the first one, I wore a black suit.  In the second one, I wore my black ministerial robe.  In both ceremonies, however, I also wore a little something extra:  cat hair!  Those of you who attend our church regularly already know of my ongoing frustration with my wife's cat, Rudy.  Technically, she is a long-haired white Turkish Angora.  From my perspective, she's a self-centered, egotistical tyrant - a rival, who steals my wife's affection and inflicts humiliation on me at every conceivable opportunity.  Apparently, her number one purpose in life (or so it appears to me) is to persecute me with a neverending deposit of cat hairs.  She evidently does a good job of it, especially when I am dressed in black as I was this past weekend.  Right up to the time of the ceremonies, I was preening myself of cat hairs.  All the while, in my mind, I could just see the beast laughing at me!  In light of that, I thought I would share a poem someone sent me recently.  If you are the victim of a bullying cat like me, maybe you can appreciate the following piece (author unknown). 

ODE TO A SHEDDING CAT

I think that I shall never see
A cat that sheds as much as thee,
Thy fur that sticks is all around
On chairs, on mats, in little mounds,
I sweep the floor, you shed some more
I wash the rug and you just shrug,
You should give thanks I tolerate that
Or you would be a crew-cut cat!
 
Thank you! 06/14/2010
 
Yesterday was a bittersweet day in the Jackson house as we took our oldest son up to the Air National Guard base in Knoxville to be deployed overseas for a portion of his military service.  As is the case with most all who have members of their families serving in the military, we are justifiably proud of him.  At the same time, we are understandably concerned for his safety during this time.  We appreciate your prayers for him while he is away.  In light of that, along with the fact that it is now approximately half-way between Memorial Day and Independence Day, I thought I would post a copy of a poem that I recently read from the pulpit.  It is part of a collection of original poems recently copyrighted by Pat Walker, a dear friend and precious lady who is a part of our church family. 
It is titled simply "THANK YOU".

Thank you just doesn’t seem enough
For all that each of you have done
Taking a stand, defending our freedom
Marching on till the victory was won.

For us who have never been a part
Of battling for our country’s rights
We really can truly never comprehend
All you went through as you fought the fight.

But because of brave men like you
Who kept going through every trial and test
We Americans can freely and thankfully say
In all the world, the USA is the very best.

Thank you for your service
For your commitment to the Red, White, and Blue
For protecting the “Sweet Land of Liberty”
We forever from our hearts want to say – “Thank You.”

Remember, freedom is not free.  Especially during this time
of the year, please take the time to seek out and then express your appreciation to our service men and women, both  veterans and those currently serving.  It will surely mean
a lot to them.
 
The Farm Kid 06/07/2010
 
As we undertake Vacation Bible School this week at First Baptist Church in Lenoir City, we are utilizing the Lifeway format titled "Saddle Ridge Ranch".  As I shared this past Sunday morning, growing up in the country certainly has its advantages.  The following piece, sent to me by my mother, illustrates this well.  It is titled "THE FARM KID".  Maybe you can relate.

Dear Ma and Pa, 

I am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before all of the places are filled.  I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m. but I am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot, and shine some things. No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing. 

Men got to shave but it is not so bad, there's warm water. Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food, but tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by the two city boys that live on coffee. Their food plus yours holds you until noon when you get fed again. It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much. 

We go on "route marches," which the platoon sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it's not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks. 

The country is nice but awful flat. The sergeant is like a school teacher. He nags a lot. The Captain is like the school board. Majors and colonels just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none. 

This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a chipmunk head and don't move, and it ain't shooting at you like the Higgett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes. 

Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. You get to wrestle with them city boys. I have to be real careful though, they break real easy. It ain't like fighting with that ole bull at home. I'm about the best they got in this except for that Tug Jordan from over in Silver Lake. I only beat him once. He joined up the same time as me, but I'm only 5'6" and 130 pounds and he's 6'8" and near 300 pounds dry. 

Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.

Your loving daughter,
Alice

For my part, I'm thankful for the privilege of having grown up on a farm.  True, at the time, I didn't like it very well - not with having all the chores to do, or worrying about whether or not the well would run dry, or whether or not the pipes would freeze, etc...  But in retrospect, I now realize just how much my values and my perspectives about life were formed and developed as a result.  These days, I rarely worry about all the sorts of issues I used to worry about back on the farm.  In fact, I find myself looking forward to vacation each year, so I can run by and see once more the old farm where I grew up.  Funny, isn't it?  That place I once so desperately wanted to get away from seems to beckon me back all too frequently these days.  

Maybe that's because I now realize that the trade-off for all the hard work and hassles I experienced back on the farm was the foundation I would need for the life and ministry God would one day call me to.  I thank God for that foundation.  It has served me well.