Facts and Faith

Facts and Faith

In my daily quest to be a better person, my mind sometimes dives deep into some subjects, one thought leading to another sometimes getting so off track that I can’t remember why I ended up where I am with my current thoughts.  Peggy says that I am an example of extreme ADHD, yeah, that sounds like a good excuse to me.  But, while driving across Arkansas this week, I kept wondering why people were or are surprised at the comments of Phil Robertson, the Duck Commander.  There is no shortage of his views and core beliefs on YouTube with video of him telling why he believes the way he does.  But, not to argue the points of his statements, I ended up thinking about my own beliefs and most importantly WHY I believe what I do. 

I am not a preacher, only a Christian, who believes that people should know what I stand for.  The Apostle Paul teaches this as to encourage us to not be ashamed.  A tenet of my beliefs is taught in the children’s song, to let my ‘light shine’, not ‘hiding it under a bushel’ of shame in public.

First, I must provide some background.  I was raised in Bigelow, AR, with one brother, and parents who were married until I was 20 and my brother 16.  My parents taught me about the importance of community service, helping others, bringing honor to my family through good behavior and actions, and teaching me the Bible, especially with emphasis on treating others as I would want to be treated.  We attended church as devoted members who planned events around church activities.  We felt that our church was the best way to support our community and keep our family strong. 

I asked the lord to forgive my sins and come into my heart at the age of 12.  From then on, I had a heavy conscience, which I believe was the Spirit of God, leading my actions when I would let it.  And I stress that last point, it’s a choice to listen and follow.  A lot of the time I haven’t.  But as one of my best friends, Chris Carden, pointed out to me, ‘we might be sinners, but, we can’t say we haven’t been told’.

I went on to graduate from Central Arkansas with a degree in Public Administration, with the hopes of working in public service (which didn’t work out, at least like I expected it).  All throughout my education, I was an avid questioner of fact.  I would love to debate any point about authority, justice, regulations, daily life, and history. 

There was never a day that I didn’t think about the Christian perspective during these debates in class.  It was so prevalent in my papers that I would get points knocked off on each of them for being argumentative and subjective and not so objective.  But I couldn’t help getting in my shots to make a point, no matter what it cost me.  In reality, I wasn’t doing it on purpose, it was in my fabric. 

From the time I could understand what I was hearing, I was listening to the guidance of people who loved me and loved Jesus too!  But, I was an able debater, even so able that I could take the antagonist view in debates with subjects that questioned the balance of justice, and in the most heated debates, social injustice, while studying the issues of the 60’s through the late 80’s, when I was in college, and win those.  I was taught to be objective, which is to say, totally understand why your opponent in the debate takes a certain stand.

In the case of Phil Robertson, he loves to come off as a red-neck white trash backwoods southern country good ole boy.  Thing is, this is probably a very accurate description of him.  But, add the education, and you have to discredit all the claims that he’s not smart enough to ‘avoid’ controversy with his selection of words. 

I personally believe that he knows what he’s doing, which brings me to my personal thoughts.  I couldn’t get the teaching of Paul, in his letter to the Galations, out of my head.  Galations 6:1 reads, ‘Brethren, even if anyone is caught in any trespass, you who are spiritual, restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness; each one looking to yourself, so that you too will not be tempted’. 

Two key words caught my attention, even and gentleness.  Even is used as to say unfortunate and sad.  We should never want controversy, but if it is necessary, the second word, gentleness, should be the tone.  Cynics about the Duck Commander controversy seem to attack every aspect of his interview.  They are totally ignoring what the basis for his statement is, The Bible.

People, as Christians, freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution, does not excuse our unwillingness (Refer to Dr. Bill Brown about sins of omission, sermon in 1982 at Bigelow Baptist), to speak to our brothers and sisters in Christ.  Be gentle, get along with each other, don’t judge, but at the same time you have the responsibility to ‘call out’ your brother, when done with love and as Paul writes, with ‘a spirit of gentleness’.  What cynic can attack those values?  Non-believers that’s who!  Christ’s teachings and the further word spread and taught by Paul are not intended to make sense or appeal to non-believers. 

Non-believers live life based on fact.  That’s their peace.  Knowledge is key to their security.  Having it all figured out is their comfort.  I sometimes fell victim of that line of thinking.  But, for the believer, of which, one I am, there is faith.  Faith and grace is all I need.  My faith, and God’s grace! 

Paul goes to great length to explain that no amount of works can provide you with the happiness only known to those who know Christ as their Savior.  You can be of any faith and know the love of Christ, but life everlasting is only through him.  I know that there will be some who will un-friend me from Facebook because of this post.  That’s fine, just like Phil, and A&E, you have the right to do or say anything that you want.  But I stand firm on the teachings of my parents.  I choose to love everyone, be nice to ones I come into contact with, and help those who I can, and hopefully through me a little love of Christ can be seen.  If I ever become involved in such a situation that is similar to Phil Robertson’s, I hope to follow the admonishment of the Apostle Paul, and approach it with a spirit of gentleness and love, and never try to judge anyone.  I know some of you will see me as a hypocrite, that’s deserved.  Please forgive me, I am a sinner.

This Christmas season, please remember even the cynics acknowledge the fact that if not for Christ we would not be having Christmas, and that’s because of generations of faith that’s been tried, tested and found true for over 2000 years.

Love to All,

Merry Christmas,

Don

Daddy......What do I do?

Jordan approached me with a look on his face that described his every feeling.   He had recently graduated high school, with his whole life in front of him.  What could worry him?  He’s my firstborn son, always wanting to be involved in every little thing that I did.  This was common with both he and Spencer, 2 years younger, jumping in the truck with me to feed the animals, work at the shop, go to the Buffalo Grill to help bus tables, teaching them all that I could, and always jamming out to our favorite music, both in the truck and at home.  I have always been able to detect the mood with my boys, no matter how secretive they tried to be with me (as all teens do). 

However, on this day, I couldn’t quite read deep enough to get a firm grasp on the nature of what was to come.  With every effort of my mind, as gears were turning, I became sure that it wasn’t him with a problem.  He just wanted me to listen to him.  It was something of a change for us.  I’m the one who did the talking.  He did the listening.  But, why the look, I thought.  It’s part of my chemistry.  Be thinking ahead as if there were going to be a prize to win for reading his mind.   All he wanted to do was to discuss his future.  That was nothing.  No biggie.  Couple of quick answers and I could be on my way.  First thing out of his mouth was this.  “Daddy…… what do I do?”  The tone was one of concern, not a casual discussion, or me just looking over my shoulder and telling him, “See there, that’s what you should do”.  This would not be easy, at all!

At that moment, I felt several things.  But, the one thing that a father would not expect was the biggest thing on my mind.  First, I had created an environment for him that made him feel like he should have the answers already, and he was uneasy to approach me for advice.  This was the biggest problem I had at the time.  The other thing which should have been the only thing for me to worry about was this fact.  It was his life, not mine.  For Jordan, this conversation had a lot riding on it.  How would I be able to answer correctly?  Even if I didn’t like it, the answer had already been given.  It was in my life that I had shown him.

I have always hoped that my children would learn from my mistakes.  I’m one of those who think that the deeper impression you make the longer it will stay with someone.  I wanted to be strong with my kids and really drive home our values, and have high expectations.  That’s my job, right?  I sure had made a lot of mistakes, and most of them right in front of him.  Not necessarily about behavior, but, the direction of my life, decisions about career, financial choices, moral choices, the really big stuff.

While looking at him, I almost welled up with tears, as I realized that he needed me to be stronger now than ever before.  He didn’t need the macho dad, he needed the caring dad.  The one that he hoped would be there that day to help him figure his next move, possibly the biggest of his life.  

As I get older, and my children are making their way into a new phase of their life, I can’t help but look at back and realize the blindness at which I approached many of the decisions that affronted me while trying to provide advice and guidance to each of my children. 

I find myself in deep thought a lot of the time while driving throughout Arkansas.  Many times, Peggy will mention that I haven’t said anything for a while, and sometimes it doesn’t even register with me that she’s talking to me.  I have a tendency to get real dark with my thoughts.  I am a real pessimist at times, especially when I worry about my kids, while reflecting on something they’ve done or have asked to do.   But mostly, thinking about my own actions, missed opportunities due to my own choices, and the consequences for me and my family because of those choices. 

I don’t think that it can be understated how much we make decisions for the kids out of the need to rush through and get done with whatever the kids need.  Daddy, will you help me?  Daddy, will you……..? Brushing them aside with a quick answer, just so I can dismiss them, so I can get on with a watching a game or something.  It’s not all that big of a thing when it’s just once or every now and then.  But, it’s like the slow drip on the rock, eventually, you have a hole.  The water keeps on dripping, slowly eating away at the most durable of things. 

Do you ever think about an adage we have always heard ‘old habits are hard to break’?  Well, most habits don’t form in short order, they happen slowly over time.  Building up, or in the case of the drip, eating away at something that you thought you would never be able to tear apart.

Most parents I have known feel the relationship they have with their kids are as strong as that rock.  Maybe some of them are like me, and have discovered that they have mental walls between themselves and their kids.  Sometimes we find that our kids overcome our faults and find themselves on a path to happiness anyway.  How fortunate for the kids.  The parents find out that it’s their loss in the end.  A hole created by a slow drip of selfishness which deafens our ears to the most precious question a child can ask about direction in their lives.  “Daddy……What do I do?”     

Today, as Jordan and Torrie celebrate their engagement, I know the correct answer to that question he had for me almost 5 years ago.

Do just what you did Son!  Do exactly, just what you did!

Congratulations to you Both,

And to Victoria (Torrie),

Welcome to your new and very large family!

A kick in the head led to a walk with God

Yesterday I received a great gift from my Aunt Nora Bennett.  She is notorious for saving things and having a taste for yesteryear and things of the past.  In this case, it was old pictures she had saved from my early childhood that contained photos from the old grocery store, our first home, my brother in his first year and some others from that time in my life.  But there was one that really got my attention.  The picture of me and my brother, Kevin, in our best clothes with our hair all perfect, (or as perfect as mom could make my curly hair, Kevin's hair was easy, his is straight!), and yes that fateful scar on my face, received by an act of disobedience.

In this day we live in, excuses are the norm, failure is accepted without a second thought, and expectations of our children are at, what I think, is an all-time low in America.  Some would say that I was only a kid, but I would argue then and now that kids, most of the time, even at the age of 5 know right from wrong, and they sure know what they are doing when dealing with their parents and trying to manipulate them to get what they want.  But what I did was a simple act of disobedience of waiting until I thought nobody was looking, and then doing what I was told that I couldn't do.  As I looked at the picture, I began to recall what happened that day.

Early in the week, I'm not sure what day of the week it was, or even the time of the year in 1971, my father, Donald Lee, and Bill Baker, had delivered a horse to our cattle farm from Oklahoma.  As I watched the beautiful horse in the holding pen, I couldn't wait until Daddy would take me for a ride on it.  I had heard Chris Carden, Brett & Bartt Johnson, my closest friends, talk of riding horses, and I couldn't wait for my turn.  I was so excited.  I wouldn't realize it for several years, but the days that followed would shape my attitude of life forever.

My father worked at the local mobile home plant and a contractor, and on the family farm, and my mother taught piano lessons to many local students after school and on Saturday's.  After we left the barn one morning a couple of days after we got the horse and went home.  I remember Kelly Eoff being at our house for a piano lesson and I was outside playing on the swing set.  I had interrupted my mother and Kelly at least two times to ask to go see the horse.  Mom simply told me know and to either go to my room and play or stay in the yard and play.  I had asked Daddy earlier if I could ride the horse and he told me, 'we can't ride that horse'.  He also told me to stay away from it as to not get hurt.  Dad was working on some houses he was building on the south side of town, the current houses that Vonda Akridge currently lives in and some in the area.  He left for work with me playing on the swing, all the while, I was planning on going to the corral to see the horse.

For those who don't know the history of the land behind Nora's house, the green building was built there to manufacture trusses for the local mobile home plant, after my grandfather had sold his dairy cattle and converted to beef cattle in the late 60's.  The dairy barn and corral was located adjacent to that green building and was partially torn down to make room for the green truss building.  My parents lived where my Dad currently lives approximately 1/4 mile east on top of the hill, literally a few hundred yards away from the swing set that I was on looking down on that horse, that wonderful horse that I named Red.

Somehow, after being told not to go down there at least 3 or 4 times, I thought it would be OK to go, and furthermore as I was walking, I don't remember when it happened, but I convinced myself that I was going to get on that horse and show everyone that I could ride it.  Now, this was going to be a big step for me, if you see pictures of me (refer to Facebook) next to my dad's blue Super Bee with a white top, you'll notice that I barely came up to the window on the door, and probably couldn't open it without help.  And here I was, going to ride this really BIG horse!  I had the key problem of getting on the horse all figured out, I was smart.  I had watched my uncles, aunts, and cousins, mount horses by leading the horse near the rail, tie it up and climb up the fence rails and just like that they were on that horse.  So what would be so hard for me, all I had to do was catch the horse.

As I made my way to the dairy barn and holding pen I remembered that I had watched Daddy on several occasions load cattle into a trailer or up a shoot or ramp by extending the lariat rope and waving it in circles at his side to shoo them in a certain direction.  This gave me the idea of getting the bridle and reins and doing the same thing to get the horse in position to catch it.  I don't remember us having a formal tack room, just a post with nails that we hung everything on inside the dairy barn, but it was adjacent to the holding pen or corral, and I went inside and got it and made my way into the corral where the horse was waiting to see what I was going to do.

It didn't take long for the horse to figure out my plan, as I climbed over the fence and into the corral which was square or rectangle in shape.  This was good for my plan as I could get him into a corner, throw the reins over his neck and tie him up.  Up to this point, this is what happened even though all the details aren't clear in my memory, and my frame of mind was one of have fun but don't get caught or you'll be in trouble. To this day, I don't know what I was going to do if I ever got on that horse.  Dad was going to tear my butt up if he ever found out.  But that obviously didn't stop what I was about to do.  I didn't know it but in another 30 seconds it would all change.

As I climbed into the pen, I started waving my arms and the reins to get the horse into the corner.  This was my first mistake, as I made the horse nervous and ran it round and round the pen several times before it evidently got frustrated with me and just turned away with its' head over the rail in the corner.  To me this was a plan gone perfect, but in fact, it was the perfect storm gone bad.  I always watched and tried to learn how to handle animals, and with a horse, they are easily spooked when they can't see something behind them, especially in a new situation.  I noticed that as Daddy had walked under or around a horse or cow, no matter how tame, he would always be touching it as he made his way into the animals' blind spot.  This seemed like a good idea to me, except, I forgot the important point of starting where the horse could see me.

I was calmly talking to Red, shushing him and telling him to take it easy, as I approached him from behind. This is the part that becomes foggy, I remember reaching with my left hand to touch his back hip, I see a leg pull up and a hoof, and the next thing I know is I'm laying on the ground.  My world had gone dark, I'm not hurting, and I'm not afraid.  I'm wondering what to do.  I know I'm injured, but I'm not in pain. To realize that I have been kicked in the face by a huge horse, was bad enough.  But you see, for those who don't know me well, I had also suffered a gunshot wound to the left temple of my head when I was 6 months old, leaving me blind in my left eye from damage to my brain where my optic nerve connects to the brain.  And as things turned out, the horse had landed his hoof squarely centered on my right eye!  The only remnants of sight I have is vague light and shadows with absolutely no detailed visions to help me home.

At this point, I began to worry, not know how badly I was injured, that my parents would scold me for not minding their instructions and staying where I was told to play.  I can remember a lot of the walk home.  I can remember the thought of putting up the reins in the dairy barn, but I couldn't see to find them.  I crawled to my feet and felt my way to the side of the pen and crawling through the wooden railed fence.  I somehow knew which direction to go, which can only be explained by the hand of God reaching down and leading me the way home.  This may be a small thing to some or a coincidence to others, but I believe in God's guidance, literally!  I walked and I can remember fear overcoming me as I walked to a tree that is still standing today at the edge of the hill, and calling out to my Daddy.  "Daddy, is that you" as I reached out with open arms, "Daddy, please don't be mad at me".  Those words will never leave my memory as I grasped the bark of that tree in my hands.  From this point on, it can only be God's protection and guidance that brought me up the hill from that point.

At this point I lose memory of what happens until I stumble to the front porch of the mobile home which we lived.  Inside I could hear the piano being played, and I was more afraid that ever of having to face my mom and tell her where I've been, and worse, what I've done.  As I opened the door and stepped inside, "Mom, please don't be mad at me".  My mom, Faye, was instructing Kelly Eoff from the right side of the piano, turned and looked at me and screamed with horror at what must have been the second worst moment in her life, (I would provide more later in life, unfortunately), the first was me being shot as my dad held me in his arms.  I remember seeing them move across the room to me as it got darker when they got in front of the light and I told them what happened and where I had been, still worried that I was in trouble.  We rushed out the door as Dale Langston had arrived for his piano lesson, and into our white VW Beetle mom drove.

Mom was frantic, looking to find Daddy who was at work across town, which was only about a mile. (Bigelow's population was 258 at the time, tiny)  We ended up at Donald Ray and Vonda Akridge's house (next door to the dairy barn) and got a wet towel to cover the wounds to my face and head.  I remember waking up in Conway's hospital and hearing my dad tell someone that he was taking me to Baptist in Little Rock (where ACH is now).  The nurse said he couldn't, and to make a long story short, we took an ambulance to Baptist.

My first sight of my own wounds was several days later, when at my MaMaw & PaPaw Short's house in Conway, as I pulled my eye open just to see if I could see.  I didn't realize the power of miracles then, but this was a true act of God.  He had save my eyesight beyond impossible odds.  This accident had caved in my upper face to the point that I can still, 42 years later, feel the indention in the bones around my right eye.

As I healed, I was adorned with well wishes and prayers of thanksgiving for my recovery.  One day shortly after, my Grandpa Donald Langston took me to show me the blood stains on the wooden rails where I had climbed.  He told me how proud he was of me to be strong and get out and not lay there for the horse to trample me.  Several times I would hear him tell me that he would get a hold of me if I didn't mind after that day.

One of the most touching things for me to experience is when someone who was involved in my life tells me a little something of being there when I was shot (Blue Blair did this one week before he died), and later helping that day that I was kicked, and all of them always give God the credit.  The most vivid account was given one Sunday night a year or two before Grandpa Langston passed away in 1986.  At Bigelow Baptist Church, we used to take turns giving a testimony praising God for the good things that he has blessed us with.  On one particular night, Brother Zeke Lancaster, asked if anyone had any praise, and as usual, one of the most faithful Godly women I know, Rhonda Mayo stood up first, and others followed.  The thing that really got me was my mom, sitting at the piano, stood and thanked God for her family, and noted that if it weren't for God I wouldn't be here on at least 3 occasions, and my Dad stood and gave thanks also with tears of thankfullness.  This was very moving, but what happened next was totally unexpected.

Grandpa Langston, stood with Granny Marie sitting next to him, and said, "Preacher" clearing his throat and choking up a little, as I sat directly in front of him, with his hands on my shoulders clinching me as only a grandfather would, said the following.  "Preacher, this church has seen answered prayer through this boy right here".  The rest of what he said is foggy, but he explained, with tears rolling down his cheeks, how the entire church prayed many times that God put his healing hand upon me and save me and use me for his will.
There wasn't a dry eye in that small congregation that night.  What I realized at that time was that God is never-failing.  We may not understand, and we may have doubt, but he doesn't, he's always there.  I am an answered prayer.

I'm glad God walked me home that day, and so was Grandpa, his tears on my shoulder proved it.