Some Simple (and Merry) Pre-Christmas Thoughts

Folks in the first century celebrated Jesus' arrival as the coming of the Good News, the announcement of the Abundant Life, the gift of Salvation, with an overwhelming sense of the authentic speaking to a super-powerful worldly authority in Rome.  Though that authority would collapse, it was not evident then.

Disciples faced persecution in Jerusalem in the 40's and James and John died there.  In the 50's, the Jerusalem congregation went to a small desert town to escape public anger.  By the 60's Rome was growing tired of Jerusalem, and began to create a closed city.  By the 70's, Paul and Peter had died, the Gospels were circulating, Jerusalem was destroyed, the Church was expanding, and John was going to Patmos to write.

At no point did the celebrants have freedom, a political voice, savings accounts, personal property (worth talking about),  living in a society where there was no freedom of religion, no freedom of speech, and no way to vote on anything.  What they did have was an abundant life and a shared joy that challenged Rome by singing in the face of death, and refusing to deny Christ in the Coliseum.

Today, our joy won't match theirs by speaking more, voting more, exercising our rights more, possessing more, having more retirement security, or securing out place in the world through personal or corporate or governmental might.  Just doesn't happen that way!

Christmas is that magnificent statement that the abundant life is a gift, given by the one born in the manger, secured by his incredibly terrible death, and the amazing miracle of the resurrection.  No attempt to empower ourselves can touch the vivid and vibrant life that is God's Christmas gift to us.  And God's gift allows us to feel sufficiently confident to fearlessly face the cruelty and evil in the world, and do self-less battle for the sake of others.

No escapism here!  For 2,000 years, this has been the moment that propels a committed heart to attempt great things for the sake of others.

Great gift.  Receive it in a joyful heart.  Then set to work making answer to it!

Merry Christmas.

Cutting Trees, or........

In Washington, D.C., in the American History Building of the Smithsonian, I went one day to look at a display of a Civil War gun boat that had been raised, almost intact, and brought in for display.  Remarkable artifact!

Just next door to that display was a room of Civil War weapons, beautifully maintained firearms, rifles from that massive conflict.  And between the two major displays, there was a small square glass display case, about three feet square and five feet tall.  Inside that case was a tree-stump, the bottom of which had been cut from the roots with an axe.  The three-foot tall stump had been taken from the battle-field and given to the winning commander as a trophy of the battle.

At the three-foot height, the tree had been cut down by rifle fire.  The shredded top had been pulverized, dropping the tree, at a diameter of probably 18".  The bark was studded with an enormous number of large and small projectiles.  As I looked at the shredded top of the stump, I wondered if anyone could have survived anywhere near that tree.  Probably not.

The casualties of that battle were horrific, like all the battles of the Civil War.  Over and over, the battles were fought because two sides refused to find a political solution, and thus shredded trees and lives, and have warped lives to this day.

The source is sometimes debated, but the truth of it stands:  "We have met the enemy, and he is us" is a lesson not quite learned.  Humans are the source of the carnage, and any diversion from that is simply denial of what human nature can do.  God doesn't permit it, or send it, or punish "Group A" for believing differently from "Group B".

By His own choice, it is not up to God, except as He inspires and encourages us, to find solutions.  We will set up road-blocks on the paths that lead to horrific instances, or we won't.  We will learn the things that make for peace, or we won't.  We will "let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream", or we will sing pious songs of denial.

A thousand rifles (or one modern one) can cut down a tree, and once cut is cut!  There is no divine guarantee that damage will not come, but there is the divine mandate that we are to find ways to harness and restrain human nature in honor of God and in anticipation of finding the best of life.

In this difficult time, we will find ways to do that, or we will simply discover terrible monuments to, yet again, missing the better way.

The Way It Used to Be: Grandpa's Guns

In my grandparents bedroom, simple furniture was the rule.  A telephone for those late night calls, a clothes rack for the quick-to-go clothes for him.  Simple and neat.

But in Grandpa's closet, a pair of pistols and a Winchester rifle.  And in Grandma's dresser, the wide middle drawer was the ammunition cabinet, quite full.

Looking in his closet one day, I asked why he had the guns in there.  "Oh, they're from a long time ago, Bryan.  I carried them when I took the buggy out from Corrigan toward Livingston, riding from one lumber mill to another as the doctor."

"But why?, asked the young Bryan.  "Well, grandson, you just never knew when you might meet a snake!"

East Texas Big Thicket 110 years ago was a no-man's land, a Wild West area.  No phones, no law enforcement, no help, sparsely populated.  And there were "snakes" living there.  The history of that time and place reads so distinctly foreign to the way we see the world today.

Grandpa had fire-power for self-protection.  He also was a sportsman who loved to hunt with a .410 shotgun, because it was so much smaller, and therefore more "sportsman-like" than the big shotguns.

It was a different world.  His fire-arms were for respect of life, to be touched only by adults, to be used in an ethical and careful and thoughtful way.  But it was a different world.  In the small Methodist Church where they were married, in Moscow, Texas, there was a grooved and worn place on the right side of the surface of the pulpit, where a gun was kept.  The pastor put it there the Sunday after someone in the congregation put a bullet into the wall just behind the pulpit, apparently displeased by the pastor's sermon.

Looking back, we can't take into today's society what we remember (or heard about) from another time and place.  I'm so thankful for police, the Sherrifs, the Rangers, and militias of all kinds, up to the National Guard, that keep back so much (but never all) of the evil this world can generate.

I'm grateful for mental health professionals who can use good counsel and good medicine to control the worst and most troubled among us.

And I'm thankful to God for the grace and courage to move around in  a sometimes evil world, for he enables all of us to do the very best we can in TODAY's circumstances, fully intent on making all of life good for others.  Life is always full of difficult choices, and by the love of God, you can always find the encouraging grace with He offers.

Find a way to share that encouraging grace with someone.  And we'll find ways to share that with the youngest who are yet so innocent about the world around them.

The Hardest Things

My grandfather never talked about the hardest things in his life.  Never.

And what were they?

When the Great Storm hit Galveston in 1900, he was on duty in the Medical School and its hospital, a massive, make-shirt emergency room.  When the New London School exploded, he was a first-responder.  Neither event was ever discussed, even in the family.

He and Pearl lost their first girl at the age of 4 months; the young doctor could not prevent it.  When his first son died at age 30, and his second son at age 36, the doctor's skills had no effect.  He was a battler against death, always, and kept much of his pain to himself.  Don Pevey said at his funeral:  "He battled for others at the gates of death time after time.  When the gates opened for him, he quietly walked through as one who had a friend in now-familiar territory."

It is good to know that when Isaiah looked forward to the coming of the "man acquainted with grief", that hope could be fulfilled in Jesus.  Even today.

And when the world gives us new grief, we not only take that NEW grief to the Lord in prayer, but somehow all those old griefs come along with us in that moment.  And in that moment, we intercede for all the others who grieve today.

Pray for all who mourn today.

The Bad Day In Connecticut

Paul asked it of the Romans:  "What then shall we say to this?"

What DO we say in the face of incredible tragedy, such as the Connecticut shootings today?  Do we launch into a gun control argument?  Or do we get more fundamental?

Paul makes it clear:  un-redeemed human nature is just not good!  It's not "neutral" until an outside force acts upon it, it's just not good and in need of redemption.  Period.  Sin is INSIDE until cleansed AND CONTROLLED by the Holy Spirit.  People can live by nature or by the guidance of God.  Period.

Laws can take away the TOOLS human nature uses.  Only God can take away the destructiveness and the cruelty that dwells in an un-redeemed heart.

So, what to do?  Argue Guns? or get to the point.  1)  Pray for those hurt.  2)  Find ways to restrain those who are a danger to themselves and others.  3)  Build communities of caring, now, because we live in a world that has always been dangerous.

Wasn't it Isaac Watt who asked in that great hymn:  "Is this vile world a friend to grace, to help us on to God?"  Never has been.  Prayer and personal commitment grow in committed hearts.  And that's what needs to "express" today!

The Financial Barometer

My friend John, now departed, was once a leading finance man, with a large downtown accounting firm in his own name, occupying a whole one-block-square floor (plus a little) in a prestigious block of a strong city.  One day over coffee, John was reading want-ads, looking at the employment section.

I raised a question:  "John, are you looking for a job?  Tired of retirement already? (with a laugh!)"

"No," he said, "Just doing investment research of the most fundamental kind.  If a company is hiring workers, that means it is healthy.  While published reports might or might not be truthful, no shrinking business hires anybody.  So, this is how I evaluate my investments."

I'm sure not an expert, but that research made John substantial amounts of money.  We've lost sight of that basic, particularly in Congress, these days.  John understood that "job creators", to use a broad and often undefined term from the last election, are actually the sales force!  Sales managers create production jobs by selling the product!  If the firm is selling, they are buying new labor!  If they are laying off, it is not because they are heartless, it's because sales are shrinking.  John recognized the barometer!

I never met a business executive who was passionately eager to hire more and more people, and looked for excuses to do so.  Every one I ever met was eager to increase the bottom line by efficiency, and profits, that NEEDED more help to keep going!

Maybe we need to write a congressman and suggest THEY actually consult with successful managers (a friend suggested WalMart executives, for a starter), instead of yet another layer of political speech-writers.  Might even make for better conversation for everyone.  Might even help folks SOLVE our nation's problems, whether they ever found someone to blame or not!

If you want, Google can even help you find your representative's address, if you're so inclined.  After all, someone has to do it.

Oh, Christmas Tree

Bill called:  "Let's go cut a tree in the woods."  Because he was a good friend, I said yes.   Not that I WANTED to go, because I had had my fill of scrawny, apologetic Christmas trees, taken in from the woods just because they were free.  Or so we thought!

So the four of us went out east of Marshall on Highway 80, made a left turn, and drove through a broken-down gate.  A two-track, never maintained road through the deep grasses, into the trees.

I knew this was different when we went past a 9 foot globe of a pyracantha, then past a huge mound of an untrimmed holly tree, and into the evergreens.  Years before, Alcoa had bought the place, then built a plant on the other side of the farm road, and left this side abandoned.  Once a fine tree farm and nursery, it had been left untended more than a decade.

We got out of the truck in an area of enormous blue spruce trees.  Bill picked one out to fit the high ceilings in his den, and began cutting a 15 foot beauty.  I picked a smaller one.  As soon as the saw began to cut, the sweet magnificent aroma of the spruce was there, new to me and so impressive.

Back home, there was a trip to get a larger stand, preparing the tree, and setting it up.  It was more than enough for our small den, and the aroma was so full and rich in there.  There I stood looking at the most beautiful Christmas tree I had ever had, and realized that the unexpected beauty was something my negative attitude had not really deserved!

There never has been a more beautiful tree in our house, and we have never forgotten that one of the beauties of Christmas is the unexpected joyfulness of the surprises.  When God's greatest gift spins off unexpected new gifts in surprising ways, Christmas gains a freshness, a today-ness, that is a magnificent blessing.

May you discover this year's unexpected Christmas surprise that God uses to freshen the miracle right inside your heart!  Jesus' birth is an old story;  let God make it fresh within you;  be looking!

One More American Dream

So, Art's story is of a great beginning, inspiring folk to get off their rear and take life by the horns, and all related wisdom.  It's a great beginning.  Climbing from nothing to something.  So, how did it end?  What came next?

Art taught himself all he could learn about projectors, and the behind-the-scenes work in a movie theater.  But time came to move on.  Taking the same attitude, Art decided to move to California, and found a job in a theater beside a major college campus.  On the side, he found extra work repairing things.  And building friendships.

(I once had a friend who worked for Western Electric in Shreveport.  "What's your job there?" I asked.  And he replied, "Oh, I don't really have a title;  if something breaks, they just send me to fix it!"  From broken locks to huge electric motors, to production line machinery, he was the go-to guy for the plant!)

Art got to that point with the theater-across-the-street, then moved to employment on campus.  Reliable, cheerful, agreeable, and almost miraculously skilled as the "fix-it" man, he discovered new opportunities every day.  When Art retired, he was in charge of the college campus maintenance force:  buildings, climate control, electrical, plumbing, the whole package.

By the time I met him, Art was still encouraging people, being a very welcome citizen of Wichita Falls, living in a comfortable retirement, joining his wife in checking out some of the fascinating ghost towns in Texas.  Sit down-retirement wasn't his "thing", so well past his 80th birthday, Art had a schedule and a fascinating love for figuring out puzzles and fixing things others could not.  And I really believe Art NEVER had a boring day!  Not ever!

The Benford Sawyer

It started as a polite conversation with new friends, finding a common interest.  Texas history quickly moved to Texas ghost towns, and our new older friends lighted up!  She was a student of Texas ghost towns, so when I asked if she knew about Benford, she told its story, and he was delighted.  They knew Benford.

Mr. Bennet and Mr. Stanford partnered in a small mill, and built a railroad siding to reach it, just north of Livingston and west of Moscow, Texas.  They called the mill, and the Post Office, Benford, Texas.

Art, our new friend,  had left home at 13, looking for work, arrived in Benford and went to the lumber mill.  Not hiring today.  He waited until the boss got busy, then picked up a broom and started sweeping.  The next day, showed up early and started sweeping.

"I didn't hire you", the manager said.  "O.K.", said Art, and kept sweeping.  The manager shook his head and got busy.  The sawyer, who ran the big saw, watched it all, and called Art over.  "I need help, but you need to learn to sharpen this saw", and a deal was struck.

Art learned quickly.  Two weeks later, an injury disabled the sawyer.  But Art had learned quickly, stepped in, and suddenly had the best paying job in the small mill.  It was a classic tale of  "pulling myself up by the bootstraps".

The mill closed the next year, leaving Art with no work, at 15.  But he already had his game plan in place:  Art went to the theater in Livingston, applied for a job, was denied, hung around and found a broom!  Art swept until the manager hired him, and eventually moved up into the projection room.

By this time, Art knew a lot about cutting wood, running projection equipment, and was a natural fix-it man for anything you put in front of him.  He had become a walking skill-set with great self-confidence.

Next up:  and just where DID Art go next?

Clayton: Engineer and an Echo

Growing up in the Big Thicket was great.  Deep woods, a swept yard, simple house, with a big dog and a small rifle.  He was the older brother, after all, and life was going just his way.  He was too young to realize the impact when his little sister died at 4 months, but he had an imprint deep down of a gloomy fog.  He was a big brother to Myron, who was 6 to his 8.  And they were a tree-climbing team!

Clayton learned from his mother in those early school-age years.  Benford, Texas, just a small lumber town, had no school, and really had no future.  By 1908, the family moved.  His father saw the future of clear-cutting and looked to Jacksonville, an agriculture town with a fine future.  A doctor would do better there than as a circuit doctor for the mills.

Neches Street in Jacksonville limited Clayton's hunting career early on, but great schools got him up to speed.  Learning became the powerful magnet!  And Texas A&M became the target.  (Follow his father into medicine?  Not so much.)  Roads and bridges fascinated, and became the new life-ambition.

One year at Lon Morris College, then off to A&M, and Clayton was in what the old folks called "hog heaven", enjoying more than he ever expected.  Graduation in 1922 opened the doors.  Moving up with road and bridge firms became a comfortable and happy niche for Clayton.  Inside, he was still the boy that loved to build things, and climb things.

Something went wrong on New Year's Day, 1930, and he never shared much.  He withdrew into work.  Back on the job on the 15th, he poured himself into his work on the U.S 90/Trinity River bridge at Liberty.  Up before the sun, working into the night, Clayton sometimes climbed, just for the exhilaration of it.  On the 26th, he climbed.  With a huge smile, he called down to a friend that it was like being a boy in the Big Thicket all over again, up in his favorite tree.

Mid-day, a sudden thunderstorm caught Clayton on the bridge.  He fell.  A short life full of adventure and accomplishment will leave echoes, always unexpected.  Stories of what might have been, have consequences.  Memories become seeds that may lie dormant for a generation, then "break ground" as new leaves with new promise.

And grief turned into a passion for service for Pearl, who saw her boy Clayton in little children everywhere.  Her energy surged that year, and for the rest of her life, for Albert Schweitzer's Lambarene work, and the Methodist Children's Home.

The Lord loves boys who love climbing trees, doesn't He?  And He loves mothers who mourn all the way into renewed life, and sing praise to His grace.

No Name for Baby, Yet

September 7, 1900 first light of day, Pearl felt the first pang and knew the baby would be early.  Two weeks earlier than she had thought, and before Bryan Canon would be home.  Oh, well, the name would just have to wait, then, until he got back from Galveston and the medical seminar.

That evening, un-named baby boy arrived, and as the family gathered, Pearl shared the news:  "We wait until Bryan's home for the name."

As the sun went down on Galveston that night, the weather-man decided to ignore the exaggerated reports coming in on the wire from Cuba.  "Those folks always want to make a big deal of almost nothing", he said to his helper.  By morning, clouds had an ominous roll, and the surf was doing a "storm-in-the-Gulf" style of breakers.  He rode his horse through the town to warn folks, specially along the beach, but it was already almost too late.  Landfall at 5:00 p.m., storm surge at 14', winds measured at 145 before a gust took the wind gauge.  8,000+/- died in the heaviest storm to hit the US, as Galveston was destroyed.

In the medical school, Bryan had come the week before to learn a new surgical procedure.  Now, Dr. Canon, sleeping in the Old Red building, was on duty in an improvised emergency room.  The school building survived the storm, along with a few Galveston landmarks such as the Bishop's Palace, most being the work of Nicholas J. Clayton, the architect now even more famous.

Finally home, Bryan was the first to hear Pearl's announcement:  "The name for my first son is to be Clayton. He's the man whose work kept you alive!"

Next up:  Clayton, Aggie engineer.

Doing History

How do you "do" history?  When enough of us share memories and insights, then a picture develops.  I like to share family and other stories that are just good, and provide some historical insight.  Here's a part of the picture that sent me down this road.

For a long time in Texas public schools, J. L. Clark's textbook on Texas history was the standard for junior high school mandatory classes.  My mother was his secretary for a season, and one afternoon when I was 9,  sitting in his office, he offered me a simple project.  Fold some paper, and seal it with sealing wax.  Blue and red were available, along with a signet ring with a large H.  I did a few, and stamped the insignia in the wax with the ring.

I looked over at him and he asked if I liked the process.  "Yes, but what is the H?

"Sam Houston", he said.

"The college?"

"No, Sam himself.  That is his kit and his ring you're using.  If you're through, I need to take them back to the museum this afternoon."

That capital H became more than Houston in that moment.  It became a new face for History!  History in your hands is just not the same as history on a printed page!  It takes on a life of its own, and grows when it is shared.

History is not irrelevant stuff you gotta memorize!  History is the retained past, things other people did in their own "moment" when they were all involved in their "today".

When you track your own heritage and history, and understand how things got to be the way they are, you're equipped for tomorrow, as well as you can be.