Some people are supposed to live forever. I know better in my head. But my head isn’t the space where I’m roaming at the moment.
Since 1972, when I first heard him preach, I have looked to Fred Wolfe as my pastor. Over time he became much more than that. He was mentor, friend, and profound encourager. A discipler in his own way. A mentor and coach of preachers, including the dozens of men whom God called into vocational ministry out of his.
I was one of those.
You could always tell when I had spent any time with him – I came away talking just like him. Other people, me included, try to shed the accents of their childhood. Not Brother Fred. He was as true to his South Carolina roots last month as he was when I first heard him. In my eighth-grade reckoning, to me he sounded like Jerry Clower.
That was fast! But today, May 10, 2019, we welcomed you into
our world. And I’m sure your parents and some new friends are happy you gave
them a few days to arrive in Colorado (8 to be exact) before you decided to
make an early entrance!
But enter you did! All 5-14 feisty little pounds of you.
This is the tenth such letter I have written, but only the
second I’ve ever written to a granddaughter. In between you and Queen Laura
Kate is a merry band of boys, three of whom lay claim to being your brother.
Every one of your cousins and siblings is remarkable in his or her own right,
but I have no doubt that you’ll take your own place in the grand design of
things.
It’s been more than 40 years, but the scene hasn’t changed all that much. Downhill run, dirt road, just north of the family farm. Back in the day I was driving my Granddaddy’s pickup and my grandmother was in the passenger seat. I don’t remember the occasion, but most likely we had taken Lucy or Dot or some other domestic help back to their house, and we were headed back.
Just as I cruised down the dirt road, flexing my pride in the manly art of driving, the pickup slipped off the road into a shallow little ditch.
“Ditch” is too harsh a word. More like a little soft trough where rain water would gently ease down the hill. Really wasn’t that big a deal.
“Oh, no, we’re stuck,” Grandmother said immediately.
Ridiculous! It wasn’t deep, we were doing downhill, and all I had to do was give it a little gas, turn the wheel, and…
In a year filled with sorrows, disappointments, and a little health scare of my own, I had about decided to forego the attempt to frame this year around a central theme – my one word. (You can read more about the idea as a substitute for New Year’s resolutions here.)
Cynical candidates for this year included such cheery themes as Coast, Surrender, or Vegetate. Nothing else really seemed to resonate, so I had decided, despite a couple of really good suggestions from my daughter, to pass this year. That’s when I decided to take a walk yesterday.
And about the same time the Holy Spirit seemed to whisper, “Yes. Walk.” [click to continue…]
One of my many “therapists” who came into the hospital room.
Well.
That was different.
It’s one thing to waste time. Save time. Time to stand still.
I’m making up for lost time.
Literally.
I seem to have misplaced about four hours last week. Oh, I lived it. And was pretty agitated about it. I just can’t remember it.
TIA, they called it. Which led to an MRI, an EEG, and a hospital with a big FEE.
I crack myself up.
That was not exactly how I had planned my day to be. But life – and LifeVesting – has a way of throwing curves. And those curveball experiences are their own version of sowing and reaping.
This post is part of a series of posts celebrating Father’s Day titled, “That Time My Kids Hacked My Blog.” To read more, click here.
Dear Dad,
You may not remember the day that I learned to ride a bicycle, but I do. We were living in Fayette, Alabama and all of my friends had already figured out how to ride and graduated to ten speeds. After spending several weeks trying to figure out how, I had resigned to give up.
I am not sure how long it was, in my mind it seems like it was years but I am sure it was only a few weeks, that Mom brought up the topic at dinner. I remember telling her that I couldn’t do it. While I am sure mom said something encouraging it was your response that made a lasting impact. You said, “Yes you can…let’s go.” Then you stood up and the two of was walked downstairs into the basement took the training wheels off my bike and went to the driveway. The next hour I fell several times but each time I did you picked me up, told me I was okay, and encouraged me to try again. It wasn’t long before I figured out how to balance and pedal. Up to that point in my life I am not sure I had ever felt so accomplished and to this day I still love riding a bike.
That day you taught me how to ride, but what I didn’t know at the time was that you were also teaching me how to live life. Time and time again I have seen you act in a similar manner. [click to continue…]
This post is part of a series of posts celebrating Father’s Day titled, “That Time My Kids Hacked My Blog.” To read more, click here.
Daddy,
One of my favorite things about you is how you relate to people. You don’t make other people fit in your box, rather you relate to them in a way that not only allows them the freedom to be themselves but you encourage it. You seek out the unique things about a person that make them, well, THEM. The way you have parented follows suit. I have watched you relate to Cassie and Joel at times and noticed how different it is from how you and I relate. I’ve never felt sad about that because I know this great quality about you. In fact, it makes me feel more special because I know that our relationship is one of a kind, even though you have three kids.
I like to think the way you and I relate is through “moments”. These little snapshots of time that make up significant and meaningful times that we share. We’ve never really talked about it out loud before, but sometimes when we catch each other’s eyes I feel like we are on the same page, having a moment. (If that’s not what you are thinking will you just pretend that it is since this is a public letter??) Some of our moments are big and life changing and some of them are just small conversations that soften my heart. All of them I treasure.
{Disclosure: This blog has been hacked. This blog post and the three that follow today do not represent the thoughts, ideas, intelligence, creative perspective, sense of humor, theological viewpoints, or grammar skills of Andy Wood Ph.D. and he is hereby released from any responsibility, liability, culpability, and general other abilities related to said posts. He did, however, sire, raise and influence all three authors – so make what judgments you will.}
Today’s a pretty significant day. It’s a day that is set aside to purposefully honor fathers, or father-like figures in people’s lives. Now, we might be a little biased, but we kind of think that we hit the jackpot when it comes to dads. Our father is loving, creative, funny and has spent his life pointing us to Jesus. He is an excellent communicator, a generous giver, and puts up with our family vacations to Disney World. So it makes pretty logical sense that on this day dedicated to dads, we would want to come up with a really cool gift idea, right? Right! Let the brainstorming begin! [click to continue…]
I got chided a little this morning for good reason. Some desperately hurting people had written comments to this post, sharing the depths of their pain, fear, frustration and even torment, and I had failed to respond to any of them.
And though it’s a little foolish to lump the hurts of people all together in one reply, I did. You can find this response also in the comments section there (#10 added later), but I thought I would share it with a larger readership with the hope that maybe it would be an encouragement to you or someone you care about. God knows it isn’t the last word on pain. It’s just what I’ve learned through some of my own.
It was one of the many differences between us. Maybe it was generational. Maybe it had more to do with personality. I don’t know. To me it was silly at best, annoying it worst.
Corny, that’s it. It was corny.
But my dad did it without apology, and routinely yucked about it.
“This is so-and-so,” he would say, “but I call him [insert nickname here].”
To know him well enough to banter at all – which for him meant more than one conversation – usually earned you some sort of nickname.
The manager of the local bank: “I call her Cuz.”
A friend and pastor’s wife: “Here comes Trouble.”
His and Dean’s friend Dolores got a play on the pronunciation, for no apparent reason: “Doh-loh-reez.” [click to continue…]
Dear Dad,
Daddy,
Today’s a pretty significant day. It’s a day that is set aside to purposefully honor fathers, or father-like figures in people’s lives. Now, we might be a little biased, but we kind of think that we hit the jackpot when it comes to dads. Our father is loving, creative, funny and has spent his life pointing us to Jesus. He is an excellent communicator, a generous giver, and puts up with our family vacations to Disney World. So it makes pretty logical sense that on this day dedicated to dads, we would want to come up with a really cool gift idea, right? Right! Let the brainstorming begin! 
