“Have you ever had pun’kin blossoms?” Elmer asked.
“Pumpkin blossoms? No,” I answered tentatively. “What are they?”
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Stella McVey
Stella McVey was a member of my church but she never heard me preach. I had never seen her in church, because she was confined to a nursing home. She had lived in the little cross-road village of Brandon for years. Her daughter was married to the County Sheriff and they lived on the margin of the village. Her daughter also played the piano at the Methodist Church just across the road from the Baptist Church where I was the pastor. She appreciated me visiting her mother in the nursing home from time to time.
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Tongues of Men and of Angels
I have done some crazy things to win a hearing for the truth. A couple years ago I was preparing to speak at camp. Standing in the front of the chapel the camp pastor was talking about the previous speakers who used some pretty zany attention-getting antics. My friend said; “One guy rode a skateboard down the aisle and jumped the altar when I introduced him.”
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Truth Seed and Heart Soil
Get in your car some evening this week. Get out of town. Let the radio rest in silence for right now. Listen to the sounds of the countryside. Turn off the air conditioner and roll down all the windows. Drive slowly down a country road with the cool of evening coming on. Breathe deep and look close. Notice the honest smells of soil and living things on the evening air. Do you see it? Do you feel it?There is abundance all around you.
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Petty Games At the Foot of the Cross
One Sunday night when I was a boy Steve Davis and I were pitching pennies in the basement of the church. One of the deacons saw us. He sternly warned us that we were never to play such games in the house of God and confiscated our pennies.
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How Much Do I Owe You?
My Grandpa was a country parson. Dad is a village pastor too. So it is something I understand and love. It is a part of my earliest memories. When I was a little boy we lived in a wonderful farmhouse, near Wayland, Michigan, which was loaned to the church for a parsonage. It was a big bungalow-style house surrounded by barns, a chicken-house and other outbuildings, a working windmill, and a lane trailing back to a mysterious wood. A huge coal furnace in the basement warmed the house. The massive furnace always fascinated me probably because Dad once used it to illustrate the horrors of eternity away from God. He opened the big door and said; “Can you imagine suffering in fire for all eternity?” Those kinds of things tend to stick in your mind. Not all my memories are so sobering.
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