My Ol’ Friend Jack
My blog usually stems from something that happened in the past week. A little thought or happening that gets my mind turning and my pen starts to write and the next thing I know, I have a blog written. The guilty culprit this past week just happened to be a painting that our friend Peggy Nixon had painted. It was a painting of a Jack in the Pulpit and at the top of the picture was the words, "there was my old friend Jack in the Pulpit, preaching 'bout the Good News of Jesus".
I love things that are a little bit on the far side. You know, a blatant truth that is covered up by a funny little quip, which when you get it, it makes you smile. For those of you that don't get it, the obvious part is that Jack looks like a preacher in a pulpit which is where he gets his name. It's impossible for him to verbally preach, but he can say a lot just by standing there.
The blatant truth is that Jack can preach a most powerful sermon without saying a word, even if it's not in the way we would expect. He is doing exactly what he was meant to do, bringing beauty into the world and helping all of us that love the natural things, realize that there is a Creator.
Just so that I don't lead anyone down the wrong path, I'll just say that there's more to the gospel than just looking pretty and doing good things. The gospel is that there is a good God that loves us and that he sent his son Jesus to this not so good earth, to make an easy way for us to get to heaven and to make this a better place. When we accept that free gift, he gives us other gifts that allow us to be a part of his work which includes telling others about the free gift mentioned above and helping to make this a better place. Those gifts usually stem from our natural passion and zeal for something. Some people think that the gift is a burden, that you need to walk around preaching and teaching and singing. But I think they miss the point. On the other hand, some people love preaching and singing and I truly believe that is their gift and so preaching and teaching and singing is exactly what they need to be doing.
Of course, there are those of us that struggle with all of those things. And realizing that we don't have those gifts would be just fine except that sometimes it feels like others in the fold expect us to do them anyway. Or even worse than that is when we try so hard to meet other people's expectations that we miss out knowing what our own gifts are and then don't get to receive the joy of doing and sharing our gifts with others.
This last week we went with some of our friends to the Goodwill Nursing Home to give a little half hour program to the older folks. This is the home where my dad is currently at. The nursing home does a great job of getting different people and groups to come and sing and talk or whatever, and bring in a little cheer to the people. We felt like we could surely find some way to contribute. Luckily we do have a couple of musicians amongst us, but a lot of us fall into a different category. Jared sang some songs and played the guitar and my son Blake played some songs on the piano.
I had recorded my dad telling one of his coon hunting stories from his childhood and so we printed out the story pretty much word for word and I read that. The hope was that it would at least bring back some good memories for my dad and my uncle Roman who is there as well.
After that, Anthony and Amanda brought in their coon dog Zena, and let it lick and love on all of the residents that were there.
Now Anthony and Amanda are dog people for sure. I'm not sure if most people would recognize this as a gift, but I definitely do! Anthony is a really good welder, but what he loves to do is to hunt with his dogs. And what Amanda loves to do is show her dogs. So for the most part, their lives revolve around keeping up with their kids and their dogs. There probably isn't much that Anthony would rather do than sit with his friends and listen to his dogs run and bay.
The people really loved that dog, probably even more than the dog loved them. It was such a joy to see everyone smiling.
When I think back on the last couple of weeks, the evening at the nursing home, the painting of "My ol’ friend Jack", and seeing the joy on the residents' faces as Zena made her way around the crowd, I can't help but think and to be thankful that we can't all sing. I guess I'd have to say it's just best if we share our gifts that we've been given and let others share theirs.
And back to Jack, well if you still think that Jack ain't a preachin', well then, I don't know what to say, other than maybe it's time that you change your way of thinkin' too!
-Dwight
Here's my dad's coon story. . .
I used to run a trapline before school each morning. I’d get on my pony and take a gun and my dog Rover, and we’d head over to the other farm to check my traps down along the creek. Well one morning when we were on the way to check the traps, Rover took off barking and the next thing I knew she had treed a coon. Well the coon went up the tree, way up in the branches and I just couldn't hold the light right and get a shot all at the same time. So I decided to climb the tree and shake out the coon and then Rover would catch it and kill it. So I started climbing the tree. The coon climbed up the tree in front of me all the way to the top. The limbs got skinnier and skinnier and the coon was on top swinging back and forth and all of a sudden he jumped and the next thing I knew it hit the ground. As loud as it sounded it should have killed the coon when he hit the bottom but it didn't. The next thing I knew it took off running towards the creek, ol’ Rover after him. And I tried to get down out of the tree real fast but I'm kind of slow. By the time I got down they were heading down the hill. And by the time I got my pony down through the field, they were down at the creek, just a fightin’ away. I tied the pony to a fence post and ran down to the creek. The old coon, he’d get a hold of Rover and throw him across the creek one time and the next time Rover would get the coon and throw him over. And I thought boy this ain't workin’ to good.
I had borrowed my brother-in-law Raymond’s twenty-two. And when I got down there and saw how big that coon was I said oh my goodness I believe I gotta do something with that coon, because it was much too big for the dog to handle. So, I got the 22, and when it was safe to shoot at the coon without shooting Rover, I shot him in the head. Or at least I thought I did. And I thought that would kill him, but it didn’t and he just kept fighting. I was young and not real familiar with the gun and must have been doing something wrong because I jammed the gun. It was a 22 semi-automatic and for some reason I couldn't get another shot in. Now what am I gonna do, I thought to myself? Well I just left him have his fun with old Rover and when he was trying to get Rover I snuck in behind and grabbed the old coon by the tail and lifted him up and pulled him away from the dog. I didn’t have a sack to put the coon in and I couldn't get the gun and the coon and the pony and carry the coon all at the same time, so I thought that I'd just carry the coon up to the barn and put it in a feedsack. Then I’d get the pony and take the coon home so that I could show everyone. I carried him in one hand for a while and then I’d switch to the other hand. My arm would be gettin’ tired and tired and tired and going down and going down. I was carrying him all the way from down in the woods the whole way up to the barn up there to get a feed sack to put him in so I could bring him over to the farm where we lived. Everything worked pretty good, but about half way up to the barn I couldn’t hold him up high enough, so I let him down and the old coon grabbed my leg here on the side, and I still have scars from it. I kept him away from my leg after that. Well, I made it up there to the barn and put the coon in a feed sack, and then he settled down. I took him home to the farm. I thought that he was going to be ok and so I thought that I would keep him alive. So I carried him over to the farm and put him in the chicken shelter and I went to school. When I put the coon in the chicken shelter I gave him a dead chicken to eat and I figured, oh he’d be ok until I got home from school. In the evening I went in and here the old coon had died.
