Madison (Mattie is what her family and friends called her)slipped the mini-skirt out of its hiding place. Today would be the day. Mom was not back from work yet (she worked the 11 PM to 7 AM shift) and she had been dying to wear this new skirt for days now. She slipped it on, and was just finishing her bowl of cereal when Mom walked through the door. After the initial shock, there was an immediate confrontation. It ended with her Mom threatening to call her Dad and placing her on restrictions for the rest of her life. She changed her skirt in anger and rebellion. She stomped through the living room, flung the door opened and just before she went through it, she turned and in a hateful and angry voice, said to her Mom, “I hate you!” She stomped out the door slamming it behind her. Four hours later the principle called her out of her class and informed her she needed to go home, that something had happened and her Dad wanted her home. To her horror she learned that her mother had died shortly after she left for classes. That whole morning scene replayed itself now with an accusing finger pointed at a frightened teenager’s heart. “I killed my mother.” Over and over, this scene played out its message in unmistakable terms.
All of Mattie’s family and friends say the same, “She was never the same after her mother’s death.” After the funeral she was uprooted and sent to live with an uncle and aunt. She learned a trade and she also learned that the love of men could not atone for the grinding guilt she felt for what she had done. She went from one husband to another, until God in his great mercy brought Sam into her life. He was quiet, calm, strong, rock solid, and at peace with himself. Everything she needed. They got married and spent several years together. She let everyone know that those were the best years of her life.
We had her funeral today, she was 54. What caused her to die? We could say it was an ulcer in her stomach that allowed juices to leak into her intestines. We could say it was peritonitis that killed her. To the Doctors and the Medical Examiner that would appear to be a satisfactory explanation. But that is not what killed her. It was the 39 years of living with the fact that the last thing her mother ever heard her say was, “I hate you!” After 39 years of living with that awful truth, it finally ate a hole in her stomach and killed her.
My point is this: Love really does cover a multitude of sins. Love will remove the guilt and heal the ulcer. Never allow yourself to leave the presence of a loved one when you are angry, or have said something hasty or hurtful. It is an awful burden to carry in your body. It will kill you, it did Mattie.

THE SCREECH OWL

I haven’t heard one of these little creatures in quiet a while. In fact, the last one I heard was back in the ‘40’s. The only ones I ever saw was after it had been stuffed and in a museum. They were called Screech Owls, and for a good reason. If you were outside after dark and just a little jumpy to boot, and one of these darlings of God’s creation cut loose - it would scare the living breath out of you. Their call, for all the world, sounded like a woman in severe pain, like she was being tortured to death.
It just so happened that the first time I heard Mr. Screech Owl, I was with my Dad. Still, my blood ran cold, and I looked at Dad half expecting him to be as scared as me. “What was that?“ I demanded, and in a quiet and calm voice, he said, “Oh, that’s only a screech owl.” “Well,” I responded, “it sure scared me.” Dad chuckled, and owned up to the fact that it scared him too, the first time he heard one, but that was when he was only a boy too. They became so common place in his day, that he hardly paid attention to them anymore. But this one sure set my heart to racing, big time. They are a small creature, only about nine inches long, and weighing less than seven ounces, but when they cut loose you can hear them from several hundred yards away.
Later, when any of my friends were with me and heard the sound they made, it was my turn to act all calm and cool about the matter. “Oh, that sound, it’s only a screech owl.” Dad even picked up some information on the birds for me, and understanding more about them, I lost all fear, and even came to welcome their eerie night time calls.
But, like a lot of God’s special creatures, their ranks really dwindled to the point, that they may even be extinct. It has been well over 50 years since I last heard one. They were harmless to people. Other than scaring the bejeebers out of you, they posed no threat at all. But, there are some special things I learned from these unusual birds, and that brings me to my point.
There are some things that frighten us, or at least, they do me. They bring “sudden” fear upon us. Death, suffering, even the presence and purpose of God are just a few. I was afraid God would call me to preach, or to serve him in some capacity. When the thought came to my mind, “sudden” fear would come upon me again. That caused me to put off surrendering to God’s call on my life for about four or five years. Why was I fearful? It was because I didn’t have enough information as to what God wanted to do with my life. The more I learned about the screech owls, the less fearful I was of them. The more I have come to know God and his will and purpose for my life, the less fearful I become of God. The more I know God and the more I listen to him, the more I know his yoke is easy and his burdens are light. Besides, perfect love casts out all fear.

Don in Georgetown.

HE QUIT

His name was Billy Jack Hoover, he was my wife’s younger brother’s best friend. They were inseparable. Billy Jack and Charlie went to the same school, from kindergarten through the twelfth grade. Both played sports, and both had a Cushman scooter on which they rode up and down highway * with abandon. Why they were able to remain good friends is anybody’s guess. They played some of the “dirtiest” tricks on one another that you can imagine. Charlie was a people person. He always had to have his friends around and he never met a stranger. You would see Charlie talking to someone you did not know, and you would swear they had been acquaintances for years. When they finished their conversation you could ask him, “Who was that” and he would reply, “I don’t know, we were just talking.”
Anyway, over the course of time Charlie made friends with a farmer who lived down the road a couple of miles from their house. He even worked for him some. One of the farmer’s cash crops each year was watermelons. He would give Charlie one or two to take home with him at the end of each day’s work. He even told him anytime he wanted a melon, just come by and get it. Here’s where the plot began to thicken. Charlie told him he would like to play a trick on his friend. It was okay by the farmer, so at an appointed time, (read after dark) he and Billy Jack arrive at the watermelon patch, to “steal” a couple of the farmer’s products. With perfect timing he shows up with shotgun in hand and Charlie conveniently flattens out in a furrow and behind some rather thick watermelon vines. Billy Jack froze in terror when he heard the booming voice asking, “Boy! What do you think you’re doing?” And then the deadly sound of a shotgun being cocked for serious business. The unwitting victim was close to tears when Charlie rose up off the ground and he and the farmer enjoyed a hearty laugh at his expense. A real tussle broke out between Charlie and Billy Jack.
That’s only one of may instances I could site, but the real point of this article happened a couple of years later when these two friends were in high school. It was track season. Charlie was a letterman in four different sports all four years of high school. In track he ran the open quarter and was the anchor leg on the four-by-four hundred relay, and the mile relay. They were competing in the regional finals. The meet was held in an ancient stadium in Kilgore, Texas. To show you how ancient, the track ran in front of the bleachers on one side of the field, and behind them on the other side so that during the race, the participants were hidden from view down the back stretch. It came time for the half-mile race. That was Billy Jack’s event. All went well on the first lap, then during the second lap, they disappeared behind the stands. We waited expectantly to see how he was doing. The other runners sprinted from behind the stands and as we identified each one, we realized there was no Billy Jack. We waited five or ten seconds more, but no Billy Jack. I begin to think it in my mind, but then a voice from behind us articulated it for everyone, “He quit.” Sure enough, when they went to look for him, he was sitting on the curb, arms folded over his knees and his head resting on his arms. He was fine, but he would not look at or speak to anyone. He was ashamed. In his shame, he wanted no companionship at that moment. He had quit.
My point is this; I’m sure that all of us have thought about it at some time in our ministries. “I think I will just quit!” It’s alright if you think about it, but not too much. Just don’t do it. Someone has said, “The only sure way to fail is to quit.” Don’t let it be said of you that, “He quit!” What and awful epithet to carry to our grave, to be engraved on our tombstone, “He quit.” You will reap in due season if you faint not, that is, if you don’t quit.
Don in Georgetown

From left to right is Adel and Bill Reese then Gladys and J.W. Steadman. J.W.'s letter jacket is from the Fighting Yellow Jackets of Cleburne, TX. The little building in the back is our restroom, and the hoist in the tree was used by Papa to fix his car engine.

THE VERY FIRST ALAMO BOWL

I knew nothing about football games and teams. All I knew was what I played in my front yard with June Cowan, or with other friends on some vacant lot in the neighborhood. I had not yet been introduced to Southwest Conference football, or to announcer Kern Tipps who described the games over the radio. All that was about to change. Our favorite Uncle and Aunt paid us a New Years visit. I had no idea why they were at our house, but I heard something about going to a football game the next day. So, early the next morning Dad woke me out of a deep sleep, I put on my warmest clothes and Dad, Uncle Eldon, and I drove to San Antonio to watch a football game being played in what was called The Alamo Bowl. This was January 1, 1947 and I was 10 years old. I only found out yesterday (December 27, 2006) that game was the first ever played as the Alamo Bowl. It featured Hardin-Simmons Cowboys of Abilene, Texas against The University Denver Pioneers of Denver, Colorado. It was colder than blue blazes. We had to chip ice off the bleachers before sitting down. Hardin-Simmons won that day behind the running of their tailback, a young man they called Doc Mobley. He scored two touchdowns, and their tight end, J.W. Steadman, caught a pass for the third. The final score was 20-7.
That time with Dad and Uncle Eldon at the football game, visiting J.W. and his beautiful wife Gladys in their hotel room after the game - as you can tell it really made an impression on a ten year old kid. You see, J.W. was Uncle Eldon’s oldest son. That would make him my cousin. Of course, J.W. didn’t take after the Ledbetter side of his family - he was over six feet tall and weighed in at 200 pounds. I can still see him now, faking the block on a lineman, then slipping down the field behind all the defenders (who were zeroing in on Doc Mobley) hauling in the ball like it was something sacred and outrunning them to the end zone. It was a gray, cold, icy day, but it burns brilliantly in my memory to this very hour.
My Point Is This: There is some kid in your life. He may even be like me and not have a clue about what is going on - but take him and make a memory. It will stay with him far longer than you can imagine. He will love and be grateful for you all the days of his life. It’s worth your time and effort. Don’t wait, do it now.
Don in Georgetown

WASH DAY

The wash was done, the plug on the old wringer washing machine had been pulled, and the rinse water had been drained into the flower beds. The wash was hung on the line to dry, tenderly flapping in the gentle summer breeze. Mom’s voice, demeanor and intentions were clear and direct to my sister. “Mary Jo, this is the third time I have told you, go bring those close in off the line. If you wait till it’s dark, you’ll have to gather them anyway.” Sure enough, the sun set with the clothes still on the line. I had already gone to bed, not to sleep, but to listen to Red Skelton and Judy Canova on the radio. In the midst of my entertainment, I again hear Mom’s level but insistent voice, “Mary Jo, did you bring the clothes in?” “No Mam.” “Then get out there right now and get them in.” Instant weeping and wailing. “But it’s dark, and I’m scared of the dark.” “I don’t care, I told you, now you go bring the clothes in.” More weeping and wailing. “Young lady, you have a choice. Bring in the clothes or get a spanking, which do you want?” “Okay, I will bring them in.” More weeping and wailing. But in the midst of this character building lesson, an idea struck me like a bolt from the blue. I unlatched the window screen beside my bed, slid through the window and across the porch, down the side of the house and arrived at the back door well ahead of my reluctant sister. I waited. Still weeping and wailing she pushed the screen door open and all I did was raise up with my arms spread, my eyes bugged, and my mouth wide open. Now the weeping and wailing turned to screaming and running in place. Above this frightful den I heard my Dad’s voice, “Donald Lloyd!” I retraced my previous route as quickly as I could, but he caught me coming through the window. I got a whack on my thinly clad pajamaed bottom, one that would usually have stung worse than a nest of yellow jackets, but the prank was well worth the whack. Also, I had to go help her bring in the clothes. I didn’t care, I was still ahead in this game!
My point is this, when God lays something on our heart, especially something that needs immediate attention, it is better to obey. To put it off can be scary and painful, but too often, we choose to put it off. But unlike my prank, the consequences for our procrastination are far worse than we ever anticipated. Like the old invitation hymn says, “Almost is but to fail.“ To obey is good, to obey immediately is far better.
Don in Georgetown

LESSONS FROM TOM AND TOM.

“Here he comes!” That bit of information grabbed our attention, we left what we were doing and scrambled to the end of the city block on which we lived. Mom wouldn’t let us cross the street, but as soon as Uncle Enos got there, we ran out into the street and climbed aboard his wagon, and rode to the other end of the block, bid him good bye, jumped off the wagon and run back to the house to continue what we were doing.
It was in the early ‘40’s. Uncle Enos had a team of mules. He and his mules plowed the ground for the spring gardens, or in order to keep the growth of weeds in check. Every now and then, he would pick me up and allow me to go with him (with Mom’s okay of course) as he did one of his jobs. I noticed one day as he called out his orders to his mules, that he was only calling out one name. “Giddy up there Tom!” he would call out. Or, “Whoa Tom! Gee Tom!” Curiosity got the best of me, so one day I asked the obvious, “Uncle Enos, which one is Tom?” “Both of ‘um.” I was incredulous. “You named both of ‘um Tom? Why’d you do that?” “So’s I don’t have to be calling out two names every time I need something done.” Uncle Enos’ attempt at energy conservation. His energy, of course.
Something else I noticed. He treated those mules with tender kindness. He made sure their shelter was closed and tight enough to keep them out of direct exposure to the north winds during the long cold winters. They had plenty of food, he rubbed them down after a long days work, and some times he even doctored them. He took real good care of those mules and they weren’t the stubborn, hard to get along with creatures that most mules were. They were his pets and when it came time to work, they were ready. He didn’t have to yell, cuss, or crack a whip. They could start early and stay late, and did lot’s of times.
My point is this. Uncle Enos was illustrating that Proverb that says, “A righteous man regards the life of his beast; but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.” Without any intention of comparisons, I wonder, how we sometimes treat those who supply our income, bread, or butter? More times than not, people are the ones who supply us with our daily bread, in one way or another. Yet we treat them rudely, or with disdain, lie to them, or cheat them when ever we can. We might learn a good lesson from Uncle Enos. We need to care for those who provide for us.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, but there it was on the front page of the local newspaper. One of my high school coaches was coming to the town where I was pastoring to accept a coaching position at the local high school. As soon as I could, I went over and visited and we recounted old times. When I graduated from high school our local football team made it all the way to quarter finals in the class 3A division. A fairly good feat in the football minded state of Texas. Coach Jim was on that coaching staff, as the offensive line coach. We had a lot of catching up to do. He did come visit our church, but never joined.
Anyway, as football season got under way I went to see the Jr. varsity play, one the young men from our church was on the team. They played on Thursday afternoon, and I was there early. No reserved seating and I wanted a good seat. As I was walking through the gate, Coach Jim spotted me and invited me to sit on the sidelines with him. You have to understand, Coach Jim’s invitations were more like the commands of a drill instructor in the Marine Corp. You didn’t turn them down.
As the game progressed one of the young men on our team did something the Jr. varsity coach didn’t like. He came charging down the side line like a Bradley Tank in full battle array, with fire in his eyes, yelling instructions to the young man in very colorful, but unrepeatable language. As play resumed, he come walking back, still scowling and casting evil glances in the direction of the team in general and the offender in particular. Walking past Coach Jim was not something he should have done and although it was good natured ribbing, he got the verbal jab just the same, “If you coach’em during the week, you wouldn’t have to yell at them on Thursday afternoon.”
The offended coach made some off handed remark as he resumed his position on the sidelines. I looked at Coach Jim and he had a twinkle in his eye. “I love to get under their skin,” he explained. We had a good laugh. My point is this, as pastors, parents, or leaders of anykind, I wonder how much time we spend yelling at people, rather than “coaching” them. The closest thing to coaching we have is “exhortation.” We are encouraged to do that often, in fact daily. So, the next time you are tempted to yell at one of your "plebs", think, “Have I coached them sufficiently in this matter?” Sometimes it seems like fun to yell, but it is more profitable to coach.
Papa Don

Nostalgia



Art Wilson, me, Terry Sears and Dad.

UNCLE ARTHUR

I didn’t know him that well and when I did begin to be aware of him and who he was, he was well into his forties. He was tall, dark, and a quiet man and was married to Aunt Clarise, and had been ever since any of us could remember. Together they had one son, his nick name was “Tuffy.” Tuffy was not as tall as his dad, but was a strong, muscular, athlete. During World War II he was a tail gunner in one of the “Flying Fortresses.” But, he is not the one about which I wanted to talk. It was Uncle Arthur that is supposed to be the center of attention here. He was my Dad’s half brother. He was the third child of my Grandfather’s first wife. Her name was Mina Aloura and she died shortly after giving birth to Uncle Arthur. That posed only a small problem. The woman who was to become his second wife, and my Grandmother already lived in the house with them. Her name was Maud Echo. So as soon as was deemed socially acceptable, Granddad and Grandmother Ledbetter got married. Why? According to Grandmother she didn’t want anyone to raise Arthur but her. And that was the way it was.
Uncle Arthur reached the age of eighteen years shortly after World War I began. He volunteered and went off to boot camp to train for whatever roll they deemed best for him. It turned out, he was one tough cowboy. He could ride anything with hide and four legs. They set him to breaking and training horses for military use. There was not too many mechanized vehicles at that time. When the Army talked about a Calvary Division, they really meant Calvary, like in horses and mules. The Army bought the raw and even wild stock, because they would be cheaper, and it was Uncle Arthur’s job to see that they were ready for use when the superior officer called.
On one occasion, my Dad got to watch his older brother perform. Some of the stock would give up without much of a fight, but then there were some jug heads that would fight to the bitter end. Only giving up after hours of the most physical engagement you can imagine. That happened on the day Dad got to observe his brother “in action.” If my memory serves me correctly, it was a mule he was working with, a large, strong creature that stood quiet and still until his restraints were removed. He would then launch into a low altitude orbit of some of the most intense action you could ever imagine. Dad said Uncle Arthur rode that beast until blood was running out of his nose and ears, and yet he still hung on and maintained his balance on the hurricane deck, as their saddle was called. And like he thought, soon enough, the animal would give in, and Uncle Arthur could pass on another valuable creature to the one who would train him to serve our country.
My point is this, what Uncle Arthur was doing was teaching these dumb animals the true meaning of meekness. The horse or mule just a few minutes before was wild and undisciplined. Now their will was broken, and subjected to the one who would be his master. He was just as strong as before, just as fast as before, only now he had learned “meekness.” That is, the strength of the animal was brought under control so he could serve a useful, practical, and necessary roll in the military. That’s what meekness is and does for you and me. We are still just as strong, intelligent, emotional, and even just as spiritual, only now our strength is under the dominion of our dear Lord. Now we say, not my will but thine be done. Now we are useful for eternal work, we are useful for God’s work.
Don in Georgetown

TREASURE WHAT YOU HAVE!

He would be able to prove himself, finally! Granddad offered Dad a piece of bottom land on which to plant and harvest about twenty five acres of cotton. Dad had to plow it, fertilize it, chop the Johnson grass down so it wouldn’t over run the cotton, sweat out the sun, untimely rains, and even the creek flooding. Finally it all came together and the day of harvest had arrived. The cotton was tall, the leaves about the consistency of tan parchment paper, the bowls had opened, and the cotton was showing snowy white. Dad hitched the team to the wagon before daylight, got plenty of cotton sacks, and carefully slipped the scales under the seat. He wanted to make sure the weights were right, and get all the money coming to him. With the help of a few of his friends, they picked the stalks clean. You could hardly find a white spot in the field when they finished. It’s surprising how well a person can work if the money belongs to him. Anyway, when all was weighed out and expenses paid, Dad had $150 coming to him. That was somewhere around the fall of 1927 or ‘28. Believe it or not, that amounted to a years salary for a family, but this was all Dad’s. It would be a very prosperous and fun year for an eighteen year old.
Now enters Dad’s brother, my Uncle Ray. He had the Sunday afternoon off and decided to spend it with a friend down the road. They loaded up their pockets with .22 caliber bullets and carrying their old single shot rifles they headed for the barn to shoot rats. Something that would offer them fun, and provide a necessary service for the farm. Things were going well until Uncle Ray’s friend fail to practice the safety rules his father had taught him. He fired a shot, broke the .22 down, took out the spent shell, put in the new shell, and then locked it back in place while the muzzle of the rifle was pointed right at Uncle Ray. The gun fired striking him in the abdomen and lodging within a fraction of an inch of his spine. That same bullet is still in his body to this very day.
Of course, the family was devastated, they rushed him to the Dr‘s. office, which was in his home, as quickly as they could. Dr. Yeater, a veteran of World War I, and skilled in wounds of this kind, quickly stopped the bleeding and informed the family that it would be too risky to operate. Uncle Ray was kept immobilized for days until the wound began to heal. The doc looked in on him often and the cost of all of this medical attention was (you may have guessed it by now) $150. Granddad didn’t have the money for the care, he had a family of seven to support. He went to Dad and explained the situation. Although he was highly disappointed he readily agreed to use his money to pay the bills. What looked like a fun year just a few days before would now be reduced to having spending money only when he could find a job. That is, find a job that would pay him money. There was always work to do, you just didn’t get paid for it.
Whether he intended to use this as a character building situation or not is still questionable, even to this day. However, that’s the way it turned out. From that experience Dad learned to treasure what he earned and to carefully administer what he had. “You never know what’s coming to take what you’ve got away from you,” was one of my Dad’s oft repeated warnings. And that’s my point. Treasure what you have right now. You may not get to keep it for long. The more you treasure it now, the easier it is to lose it and not lose your character when its gone.
Don in Georgetown