It Ain't Old... It's Got Character

There are always just a very few things on my bedside table: A lamp, one of the books I'm reading at the time, and my alarm clock. My wife doesn't understand one of those items, the alarm clock. To understand her dismay and dislike of my timekeeper that she finally accepted over the years of marriage you have to know that it is an old wind-up alarm clock with a bell that would wake the dead when it's time to get the day started. Chrissy didn't like hearing the constant tick-tick-tick-tick, I like it and it actually lulls me to sleep, it's not like I keep a siren or an airhorn blaring through the night. Those ticks are just reminders of a second gone and as I explained to her, the less ticks you hear the more sleep you're going to get. And God knows Chrissy better get sleep or else, let's just say it ain't pleasant. Chrissy mentioned that I had to wind the clock every day or it didn't work. No problem I see it right before I lay my head down to sleep praying to the Lord my soul to keep. On her bedside table is a Bose Alarm Clock with a CD player that will allow her to have her chosen song softly awaken her in the morning, gently increasing in volume until the spoiled owner of such a contraption finally decides to greet the day. She still hasn't realized that just because she has such a fancy alarm clock that silently keeps time until her favorite singer whispers a song in her ear, she can't clap her hands and have our servants bring her breakfast and a cup of tea. For one, we don't have servants, heck, our kids won't even do what we say. But also, I figure you're spoiled enough if you have an on demand DJ to awaken you in the morning. By the way, just this past Sunday night and early Monday morning a powerful storm came through our little town of Forney toppling fences, whirling shingles from rooftops, collapsing portable buildings, blowing over trucks, and unearthing power poles. While we slept, we had no idea that we were without electricity, so Chrissy's bedside boyfriend was rendered useless, but old silver clock kept the time and let us know what time it was and when it was time for feet to hit the floor and get going. Over the course of our marriage Chrissy has bought me a couple of comfortable cushy recliners. They looked nice, and were comfortable, and I was glad for any guest to sit in them when they came to our home. But my sweet wife couldn't figure out why I chose rather to sit in one of two straight back wooden rocking chairs. To her it didn't make sense, but, I don't make sense to her a lot of the time. I find them the two most comfortable chairs in the house, but there's more to why I like them. The wooden rocking chair that sits in our downstairs living room is special to me for a variety of reasons. This particular chair came from the nursery of a small east Texas town where I was serving in my first pastorate. As I walked down the hall I saw our custodian carrying out the three rocking chairs to put on the curb for trash pick-up day. "Whoahhhhhh! William, what in the world are you doing?" I asked. William, our custodian answered me with a startled look on his face, "Well, the ladies in the nursery (all older ladies who had been members of the church for many years) told me since we finally had a baby in the nursery for the first time in so long they decided they would buy some, what'd they call them... Oh yeah, glider rocker chairs or something like that. Anyway these are going to the trash." That first baby in the nursery in years was actually my infant daughter, and I don't reckon she would've minded being rocked in one of those chairs. About an hour later I went out to the heap and carefully pulled out the three chairs that had been in that nursery since Abraham was still in short pants. I looked them over and loaded each rocking chair into the back of my Ford Explorer. When I got home I unloaded them into my garage and began to assess what needed to be done to make them completely steady and began my work on them. When I ran into trouble I asked next door neighbor to the North if he could give me a hand. He was a retired gentleman, an elder at the Church of Christ, and always brougt me some crappie whenever he went fishing. We worked together on those chairs until they were like new. I offered for him to have one if he needed or wanted it, so he took his favorite. I put one on my front porch, and put my favorite in the living room. It was my favorite because that was the chair the ladies always rocked Caitlin in during church services. When we moved, I left the porch chair for an elder at the church who collected antiques, but my favorite was loaded on the moving truck and it's been my chair since. It may not be soft but it's the most comfortable chair in the house. It's helped rock babies in the middle of the night, been the companion to reading plenty of books, from that chair volumes of journals have been filled with thoughts, and in my appraisal, it looks mighty fine right where it is. The porch rocker I call the, "pondering chair." It's not nearly as old as his inside companion, but, plenty of character nonetheless. I find myself in that chair in the cool of the morning and evening, sometimes after a walk or a run, sometimes with my dog Sammie sitting beside me. I think through problems, dillemmas, and conundrums. I ruminate over ideas for ministry, sermons, lessons, special speeches. Many times it is a chair of prayer where I lift my love, adoration, thoughts, worries, praises, and life before God in the quiet that doesn't exist in the city anywhere. From that chair whether pondering, thinking, praying, writing, petting Sammie, or on a few occassions just dozing off I hear the distant train whistles I've come to love. I love quilts and afghans. Chrissy and I are blessed to have quilts and afghans made for us, or inherited from the ones who had them before us. They're warm and comfortable, but better yet they are symbols of the work of the hands of our Grandparents, Great Grandparents, a Great Great Grandmother, a Great Great Aunt, and others who are just like family to me. I'd take an old slightly tattered quilt with love so saturated in it's very fabric over the most expensive bedroom whatever-you-call-'ems any day. They're special, you'd never catch me using one of those quilts to wipe up a spill or clean grease off of my hands. My Great Grandmother sat carefully laboring meticulously with her own hands something to keep her family warm, now warms my heart and soul and I wouldn't take a million dollars for them. Alright, that's a lie. I'd take the money, but we would share custody and have visiting rites with our quilts. Coincidentally, one of those quilts that was made for Chrissy by her Great Great Aunt stays folded and hangs over the back of my rocking chair. It's a good fit. I like old pictures of family, because each picture is a split second moment in time of a bigger story. Old pictures take our minds back to the event to relive them and laugh, or cry, or miss someone with an ache that feels right because of love. I know a lady who keeps all of her pictures and negatives by the front door of her house because she said that if her house catches on fire she knows she wants those first if that's all she can save. I look at the pictures of my children and can't believe how big they are. I remember rocking a little round handful of brand new gifts from God who are smarter than their Dad, and Caitlin's almost as tall as me. I'm going to ask Caitlin to tell all of these boys that are courting her all the time I learn about through code speak between Momma and daughter to subscribe to this blog and read this statement VERY carefully: "I understand you're interested in my daughter and would like to meet her at the movies or at Chili's or wherever. I understand because like her Momma she's beautiful. You need to understand my name is Mr. Stephenson to you, and at our house we say, "Yes Sir, Yes Ma'am, No Sir, and No Ma'am." You don't wear a hat in my house, and your underwear shouldn't be visible above your pants unless you're a useful plumber. Here's a test for you...are you going to give my daughter a reason to cry or feel bad? That's where you say, "No Sir." Now I know that Caitlin and whatever your name is and Jesus are all going to have a good time tonight. And I have guns. Y'all run along and have a good time. Nice to meet you." I like the times we eat off of my Great Grandmother's Special china dishes and drink from my Grandmother's crystal glasses. That means it's a special time, and the family members I've known the longest and loved the hardest and been loved back without condition have gathered to share a meal and conversation. It took many years before I learned that this was the more special time than when presents are opened at Christmas, or eggs are hunted, or even birthday cake is served. We'd never dream of taking that china on the veranda for a cookout with burgers or dogs. That china and crystal might be valuable on the Antiques Road Show, but they're more valuable to our family because they represent hard work, farming hard land to make the money to purchase them. They represent the care they receive as they are washed, dried, and put away in the proper place. They aren't just old they represent character. My Dog Sammie hasn't only got character, she is a character. But she's a loved member of the family. She never fails to want my hand on her head when she lays by my chair...She does sometimes escaped to explore and makes me want to drop her off in that mystical land called County Road Where am I. But then, she's an old member of the family, and we've got a lot invested in her and she in us. She was hit by a car years ago and had to have a hip replacement so we have literaly invested a ton in that four legged member of the clan. We live in an age of faster, quicker, newer, better. Go buy a cel phone or computer today and tomorrow you'll see an ad that something new and "better," do we have to get? My kid's talk in a technologically advanced language that sounds more like gibberish to me than anything else. When I have a problem with my iPhone, I just hand it to Caitlin, she hands it back, problem solved. What happened to those cel phones that were about a foot tall and weighed ten pounds (which were and still are the only reason for pants to be sagging). My kid's can't believe that telephones ever had cords, and I laughed out loud years ago when Caitlin couldn't figure out how to use a rotary dial phone. Faster, quicker, newer, better...better? I like talking to people that too many folks label as, "old folks." I love hearing stories from family members and church members that have lived much more life than I have and survived tougher times than I can imagine. And to think my Great Grandfather was a successful farmer and rancher without an iPhone, computer, television, microwave, or a Laz-e-boy chair. I'll bet he sat in a straight backed wooden rocking chair and ate the meals that my Great Grandmother made from the sweat of her brow. And I have a feeling that they were just as happy as my family is today with all the gadgets and doodads. I must say that I sure hope they had their coffee, because that's the best place to drink a cup is in your chair. Well, I guess my point is that you can't make my trusty bedside companion the old wind-up silver clock a clock 2.0. I don't believe that there's such a thing as the iQuilt, and the 6G network for china and crystal doesn't exist. Sammie the dog is an improved version of the original, but if robodog hadn't gotten her butt run over by a car she'd be just same ole Sammye. If you'll look around and see so much that you might think of as old, look closer those things might be filled with love and character far beyond old trash. And look closely at those people in your life that have touched your heart in a variety of ways, especially the one's that you've thrown away because of an argument, hurt feelings, jealousy, or just because you're so wrapped up in your own life you forget to value the character, wisdom, and love that can be poured into you when you pull out those relationships, dust them off, and put them in a special place in your heart. I have one more special item that is valuable to me, and was grateful to get it. I is my Great Grandmother's butter churn. When no longer used, a family friend painted a rural scene of a field and barn on that churn. It's been relegated to my office since I received it from my Grandmother because my wife hates it. I have no idea why. But now that I don't have an office for the time being outside the house, I will be marching downstairs to the garage and bringing my prized butter churn it's new home. I'm thinking next to my rocking chair in the living room. Maybe if I tell the kid's that it's a 4GiButterChurn3.0 they'll be on my side on this one. And remember, with each tick of my bedside bell-ringing, time-keeping machine another tick means another second is gone forever. Life is fast enough, so slow down and open your eyes to the character and character's all around you and your heart will be filled beyond belief.