We were just a couple a young bucks having fun. Back in the day, Uncle Raymond and I worked together for my dad at Five Points Gin in Seagraves, Texas. I was still in High School, and Raymond was an actual grown up guy who worked full time for Dad. It was summer, and I was helping Raymond with the repair work that had to be done between ginning seasons to the old worn out cotton gin. I guess we felt like we deserved a break from our hard work so we took a couple of days off, while still being on the payroll, and still showing up at work everyday, to build a dune buggy.

Now really we didn’t build anything. What we did was more like destroy something. I had bought an old Ford Fairlane from somebody, and wanted to cut it down into what we called a dune buggy. In reality it wasn’t a dune buggy in the sense that it could go places that a normal car couldn’t go. It probably couldn’t even go a lot of places a regular car could go. We didn’t put balloon tires on it, or jack it up for better ground clearance. By stripping it down the way we did we took a lot of weight off of it, something that caused the breaks not to work as well as they should. I found that out one day when driving home from work. I was on a dirt road with the peddle to the metal when I rapidly realized that I was approaching an intersection. Standing on the break I swiftly came to the conclusion that I might be about to meet my maker, cause I was simply gliding across the washboard caliche road on locked up wheels. Two things saved me that day, the first was no traffic on the intersecting road, and the second was the continuing road on the other side of the intersection, which meant no sharp dead end of a three-foot deep West Texas bar ditch.

Anyway, we went about our business of cutting down this Ford Fairlane. By the time we were done all that was left of the car was the frame, drive train, the front seat, and the windshield. The mighty two-ninety-two six cylinder engine was exposed to the world, striking fear into..the..oh, never mind a two-ninety-two never struck fear into the hearts of anybody. In fact a kid today wouldn’t even recognize it as an internal combustion engine. Something else they wouldn’t know what to do with is three-speed column shift lever. Isn’t it sad to think of all the things this generation of kids is missing out on? OK, back to the story. Which by the way, I’m not sure ever existed. Yup, you just read right, I’m not sure there was ever a story here, at least not one with a point of socially redeeming value. Hummm…let me think about this a minute. …UREIKA!!! I’ve got it! I’ll turn this into a story about controlling you emotions. (read temper)

Since I’ve already wasted your time I’ll just cut to the chase as I somehow try to give you something worthwhile here. We finished cutting down the car, and were ready to the thing to the road for a little test run. Now at the time, Raymond and I both liked to start, and end our adventures with a nice hit of tobacco. His choice of poison was roll your own Prince Albert smokes, while mine was a nice juicy bite off of a plug of Days Work chewing tobacco. Now that we were ready to roll we hopped in and took off across the gin yard with tires spinning and us bouncing with every bump. We didn’t have a plan, and we were happy about it. We were just two contented guys enjoying the moment, and the fellowship. I hit the black top and headed east for a ways until we came to field we felt like we could tear across without upsetting anyone, and spent a while just having fun. I took us back to the road and headed back to work (lol) when the testing of his temper took place. As was my custom in those days, the foot-feed was fully compressed as we zoomed down the road. The windshield was keeping the wind out of faces while we held our caps in our hand so they wouldn’t fly off our heads. I turned toward Raymond to say something when I abruptly came to the conclusion that I needed to spit before I could say a word. Still turned toward him, I let’r rip, a good full mouth worth of tasty brown juice erupted between my puckered up lips, and seemed to just hang in mid air while trying to determine where it wanted to go. Once the decision was made by the wind swirling over the extended windshield, the gob of goo wrapped around my Uncle Raymond’s face about three and a half times. I would have killed me at that moment if I’d been him, but he just laughed while wiping the gross gunk from his mustached face.

I worked with Raymond off and on for many years, and I can honestly say I never saw him mad. I never saw him loose his temper, or go off on anybody. Raymond Wright was a gentle man. A man who enjoyed life, and relationships, a man who controlled his emotions. 

Friends, I told this story while speaking at my dear friend, and Uncle’s funeral service a few years back. I’ll tell you this right now. I would be a better man, husband, dad, friend, and Christian if I controlled my temper the way he did.

Till next time,

Grump

The Cleburne Carnegie Players is a theater troop with a long history of performances in Cleburne, Texas, a small town in Johnson County Texas. Every year the Carnegie Players perform two plays a summer musical, and a Christmas production. Paula and I have had the privilege of watching a many of their productions over the course of the last few years. The primary reason for us taking an interest is because Mary Alice, our oldest granddaughter has participated in a number of their productions. I think she has been in three of four Christmas productions, and two of the groups summer musicals. She was one of the orphan boys in their production of Oliver summer before last. She had a little problem with the idea of being a boy at the time, but soon got over it and enjoyed the experience.

When Mary Alice first started acting in these productions she was the youngest member on the stage. She didn’t have any lines, but that didn’t keep her from putting her all into the production. By show time of each performance Mary Alice could quote everyone’s lines, and knew where each actor should be at all times. Well, this year Mary Alice will once again be the youngest on stage with a significant part in the production of The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever.  Last Saturday Josh took Mary Alice over to the tryouts for this years Christmas production. She had set her sights high, but had a contingency plan, just in case she missed out on her first choice. Her first choice was to land the part of Maxine, but she also tried out for a character with a smaller speaking role, and then auditioned for a part in the children’s chorus.

Paula and I were at Josh and Amber’s house when Josh brought Mary Alice home from the auditions. Amber asked her how she thought she did, and Mary Alice, full of confidence said that she had done well. When asked about her confidence, she said “I knew the lines for my part, the other kids didn’t.” The next day Josh and Mary Alice went back to Cleburne for the results of the auditions. Mary Alice got the part of Maxine, her first choice! Now here is the kicker, Mary Alice is eight years old. Her understudy is twelve. In fact everyone who had auditioned for the part of Maxine was at least two years older than her, and some were even four years older.

You know of course what this means. Paula and I will now have to drag ourselves down to Cleburne, at least an hour and a half drive, to sit and watch some silly Christmas play. You know, this being a grandparent is hard work, but somebody has to do it. Thanks for allowing me to brag a little today. Paula and I are so proud of our little girl we could burst, and I may just find myself making that drive down to Cleburne more than once for this year’s performance. I’m thinking this may just be the greatest performance ever of The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever.

Till next time,

Grump          

A proclamation, confirmation, or announcement tells the world that you believe in something. It lets others know how you feel about a certain person, subject, or position. When I married Paula thirty-three years ago, I made a proclamation, a commitment that she was mine, and I was hers. I promised to give myself to her only, and that I would live for her, and love her above everyone, or anything else. If I don’t live up to that commitment I have failed her.

Forty-three years ago, I made a commitment to God that I would give my life to Him. I proclaimed to the congregation that evening that I believed that Jesus is the Son of God, and that He was my Savior. Edwin Young baptized me into Christ and I have been a child of God ever since. I must confess that I have tried God’s love for me many times over the last four decades. I have said and done things that by human standards would make me unlovable, but God is not human. God is love.

Sometimes I forget my commitment to God, and there have been times I have ignored my commitment to God. I have found however, that when I continually proclaim that I am God’s child, I have an easier time saying no to Satan. When I continually wear His name as part of my identity, it makes me more accountable. When others know that I belong to Jesus I have a standard to uphold. I feel the privilege, and even the obligation to live up to my calling.

On a dark day in the history of mankind, one of Jesus’ best friends tried to hide. He even proclaimed with a curse, “I don’t know the man!” (Matt 26:74 NIV) Yet, a few days later that same man stood before a crowd of thousands and preached one the most powerful sermons of all time. Then and there Peter proclaimed that he belonged to Jesus.

If you are struggling with weakness, if you sometimes deny Jesus through your actions, let me encourage you to let the people around you know that you belong to Jesus. By doing so, you will have a responsibility to live up to. You will have accountability to yourself and to Jesus, and I believe that your life can, and will become a living sermon for Jesus.

Till next time,

Grump

Anyone else would have been without the Internet for a few minutes yesterday morning, but I ain’t anyone else. I’m mister “I can barely turn the dumb thing on.” So after a few worthless tries at getting everything to work I went to work. Then after work I started to figure things out, I got on line, but had no network for the laptop so I spent a little time trying to figure that out. Once I got frustrated (read mad) I decided to just check email and deal with the network thing later. While pounding out a note to my mom in my patented slow motion style, I received a call from the Chick. Could I come in and put together an order so large that it would take me three hours to put it together, and deliver it within two hours to a business that was ten minutes away? I quickly hit send on the note to mom, and hit the door running. Well maybe not actually running, cause running hurts, and if these people needed food at 5:30 they should have ordered it before 3:30 which in my book made them unworthy of me suffering pain so let’s say I walked out briskly. All that to say, the reason I didn’t post yesterday is because I was having Internet trouble. It’s amazing to me that we can put a man on the moon, yet my neighborhood’s electricity can be wiped out by a dog marking his territory, that is how delicate our power grid is on my street.

OK, so here are a couple of thoughts for today. First, my friend Trey Morgan, a preacher from Childress, Texas posted a blog of “Man Laws” yesterday. Now Trey has quite a following, so much so that if you comment on his blog link that he provides on FaceBook you will spend the next three weeks wading through the notices that someone in Tasmania has commented on Trey Morgan’s post that you commented on so long ago that you already forgot that you ever even commented on it. So, I didn’t comment on his post because I can mention it here, and if I get a comment it will most likely be from mom because she loves me and doesn’t want me to feel unappreciated so she feels obligated to comment on my post. I’m sure glad I got mom or sometimes I would think that when I hit post on my blog page the blog really just goes to my personal page, and then is lost to the world.

Back to Trey’s “Man Law” thingy. One of his “Man Laws” was that men should never talk to one another while in the men’s room. He says, and I agree, that a simple nod of acknowledgement is sufficient. If the men involved have something to say to one another they can take it outside, and spare the rest of us the creepy crawlies that set in when men get friendly in the restroom. Now that you know how I feel about the matter, imagine how taken aback I was a few years ago when during a layover in Houston on the way to Honduras, I walked into the loo and heard a three way conversation taking place between men seated in three stalls spread out across the wall. It was revolting, and I have no idea what the conversation was, all I be knowing is that these weirdo’s were talking to each other between private walls in a men’s room! Had it ended there maybe I could have gone about my business and enjoyed the next seven days of the trip, but it didn’t end there. I soon came to realize that the conversation was being held by members of my traveling party! Suffice it to say that I lost a lot of sleep that week. I can sleep through the roosters crowing all night, the dogs barking all night, the donkeys braying all night, and men sounding like saw mills all night, but I can’t sleep in a room with men who have carried on a conversation while taking care of business in a men’s room. 

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest let’s move on to the next thought for today….I will now move on to the other thing I wanted to mention….Let’s see…that other thing…Well, I’m sorry. I got so upset while talking about the first thing, I guess I forgot the second thing. Hum…Oh well.

Till next time.

Grump

I want to offer up a question for you. You know give you something to think about this weekend. It’s really a serious matter, and while I don’t want you to make yourself sick over it, I would like for to consider this. We know the tale goes that a cat has nine lives, although it seems to me I’ve never witnessed one of them get and run off after being pan caked on the street, so how many lives do you have? How many have you already had? The reason I’m bringing this up is simply this, everyday people from all over the world leave home every day, and never return. They didn’t plan to die that day, but they did. Without actually giving it much consideration, we all seem to think that the bad stuff always happens to someone else, but is that true?

Since I’m the one who brought this up, I’ll go first. I’m going to list the “lease on life’s” I’ve been given. At least the one’s I can remember.

1. Checking to see if there were any cars coming up behind me while riding my bike. I did this by changing lanes and looking over my shoulder. I don’t know who the lady was, or how she missed me. I am also sure I didn’t tell mom about it when I got home. I think I was around eight at the time.
2. That thing with getting caught up in the driveline on the Tri Matic Irrigation System was pretty scary. Were it not for a worn out Levi jacket, and Dad being so close, I could have been gone at age ten.
3. Pretty sure it could have been lights when that piece of red-hot cast iron came by my head close enough that I felt the wind. After all it did go through the sheet metal wall of the cotton gin. (circa 1973)
4.  I’m not sure this really counts, but Coach Holt once took credit for saving my life. When I asked him when, he said, “Every Friday night when I kept your butt on the bench.” OK, so maybe that one is a little weak.
5. Let’s see, I think the plane crash probably ranks pretty high on the almost meeting my maker meter. I think that was in the early nineties.
6. Woops, I guess I just bypassed two other events. There was that little matter of seventeen days in the hospital, after playing with a gallon of gas in a very bad location. And…then number seven.
7. I am thankful that the big man knew that fatally injuring another individual was a sin, otherwise I might have turned toes up the night I told Chip Bennett, a former college football star, and NFL alum to sit down and shut up. 

Well, I could most likely keep going, and list a number of other times that I could have died, but I think you get my point. Every one of us has most likely had a few close calls, and I think we need to come to grips with it. So, I want to encourage you to live the rest of your days like each one is your last one, and I want to insist that you live the way God wants you to live. That way if, or when, you become one of those folks who don’t make it back home the next time you leave home, at least you and your loved ones can rest in the assurance that you have actually made it Home.

Till next time,

Grump

The second day in a row of other obligations is taking a bite out of bloging time. This morning I will go in for my annual physical. I did my blood work over a month ago, at which time the Dr. said if there is anything out of line we’ll call you, if not we’ll just talk about it when you come in for the second part of your physical. They didn’t call, so I assume the numbers were good. The really great thing about going to see my Dr. about anything is his promptness. I don’t know how he does it. He is always on time. I never have to sit in the lobby waiting for hours or even minutes to be called. If my appointment is at 9:20, I’ll be called within a minute of two of 9:20. It’s really frustrating to grab a magazine, look at the table of contents, and decide on a story only to be called in before I can actually get to the story. Yea, right.

After the physical it’s back to the Chick to prepare meal boxes for tonight’s volleyball games. I enjoy working the Chick-fil-A, if a body has to have a part time job it’s a good place to be. The only problem is that it eats into the time I need to spend building and promoting my ministry. Having said all that, I want to leave you with some words to think about. Below are the words from a country song written by Jennifer Nettles, Kristian Bush, and Scooter Carusoe. Jennifer and Kristian are the country duo known as Sugarland. I don’t know if it ever crossed their mind that the words they have written could have been a direct quote from God, but it sure seems to me they could have.

Fall Into Me 

When the weight of the world
Bares down so strong You leave footprints on the street
And theres too many miles to face
Without a few more hours sleep
The storm clouds overhead won’t shed
Any rain to quench your thirst
I wanna be the one you reach for first

When your faith is stretched so thin
That you can see right through your soul
And you cant find a nickel to buy a smile cuz all ur pockets all got holes
You wanna shut the door and
Hide before the day can get much worse
I wanna be the one you reach for first

Fall into me
My arms are opened wide
And you dont have to say a word
Cuz I already see
That it’s hard
And you’re scared
And you’re tired
And it hurts
And I wanna be the one you reach for first

I wanna be the bottle you’ve been drinkin with your eyes
Or the road you run away on
You’ve been runnin all your life
The third row pew that you last knew
As a child in church
I wanna be the one you reach for first

Fall into me
My arms are opened wide
And you don’t have to say a word
Cuz I already see
That it’s hard
And you’re scared
And you’re tired
And it hurts
And I wanna be the one you reach for first

Before you turn the key
Before you fall asleep
Before you drift away
To fight those demons waiting for you
In your dreams
Before your arms stretched wide open
Before you’re reaching to the sky
Before you’re searching for direction
And all the answers to your whys

Fall into me
oh my arms are stretched wide open
You don’t have to say a word
Because I already see
That its hard
And your scared
And your tired
And I know it hurts

Yes, its hard
And your scared
And your tired
And it hurts
And i wanna be the one you reach for first

Till next time,

Grump

Rangeroo was restless. It had been an awesome day filled with activities. He had played in his red, drop top, chick magnet car. He had play with the half dozen plastic eggs. He had tried to eat them too. He had been around the block in his stroller a couple of times with Nonnie serving as his push power. He had spent fifteen minutes exchanging spit with Grumpy as they made funny noises while blowing air their flapping lips. He had eaten what Grumps thought was chocolate pudding only to find out it was really puréed prunes. But now Rangeroo was restless.

A few short minutes ago he was kicked back enjoying life when Nons suddenly picked him up, hauled him off to the guest bath, turned on the water and dropped in. Normally he loves taking baths, but something was wrong about this bath. Maybe it was the suddenness with which it all occurred, or maybe it was the strange tub. Either way he was upset and he was letting everyone know about it. The commotion coming from the bathroom was such that Grumps thought about calling the authorities in to take Nons and Goob away, but thankfully the torment had ended, and he was now back in the comfort of the living room. He continued to sob. He was shaking, and voicing his opinion of how badly he had been treated in words that only the Holy Spirit could interpret, and he looked like a little wet pup sitting on the back porch step begging to be let in out of the cold.

Suddenly, he heard a sound,…no, the sound that made all the difference, the sound of his favorite video. So he turned his head, looked at the TV, and instantly ceased his course of complaints. He listened to the music, was comforted, and all was well. It had been an awesome day.

Have you listened to the music?

Till next time,

Grump

I’ve only been in one fistfight in my life. It was a scheduled event, the grocery store, after Babe Ruth baseball practice. It was a spectator event, maybe half the high school showed up. I’d say, twenty or so of ‘em. The match? Lopsided. We stood toe to toe; I tried to talk some sense into him. When you’re too small fight, and too slow to run, diplomacy is the best policy. Somewhere during my diplomatic endeavor he struck, one blow to my right cheek. I hit the ground, got up, and asked if he had had enough. Thankfully he said yes.

The fuel for the fight was my mouth. A few days earlier I had told him to mind his own business, he took offence and things went down hill from there. I learned two lessons because of that event. I needed to watch what I said, and I needed to be a better diplomat.

When working with my editor on Everyday Christianity I had to fight, in a sense, to keep in a word that he said wasn’t a word and therefore should be changed. In fact he wanted to remove an entire phrase. He said it didn’t make sense.  I won this one. Maybe it didn’t make sense to him because he hadn’t really thought about what I was saying. I wanted my point to be memorable; I wanted it to stick with the reader. The phrase; “You can’t unsmush bread.” God forgets, humans don’t it’s as simple as that. Whatever I say to hurt, or defame, or slander another individual lives with them for the rest of their lives. Many strong willed individuals will forgive, and carry on a good relationship with the offender, but they never forget. Many more will forgive, but distance themselves from the offender. Most will not forgive at all. The damage has been done. The heart crushed. The feelings hurt. The relationship destroyed.

Smush a loaf of bread and see what you have. Some slices are still useable in the aftermath, maybe a little skewed, maybe a little smaller, maybe a little deformed, but still usable. Other slices will need reconstructing so you try to stretch the bread back to its original shape, but in doing so a tear appears. The slice can still be used but part of the jelly is lost through the hole that’s been created. Most of the slices however are rendered useless. They’ve been compacted so that the consistency, the very makeup of the slice has been altered, and no matter how hard you try you can never make a sandwich, or a piece of toast with it.

Next time you’re gossiping, accusing, put’n ‘em n ner place, or telling them they’re worthless, try to remember ole Grump and his crazy analogy. “You can’t unsmush bread.”

Till next time,

Grump

We appear to have a serious problem that I was not aware of until this morning. The following is a copy and paste from an article written by Laura Rowley of www. moneyandhappiness.com

A recent study found that showerheads are apparently a nightclub of sorts for bacteria — a warm, dark haven to party and multiply. An analysis of 50 showerheads from nine U.S. cities found about 30 percent contained high levels of a strain of bacteria that can cause lung infections when inhaled or swallowed. The levels were 100 times higher in showerheads than in typical household water, the researchers found.

Now what do we do?!!! We can no longer take showers! My first thought is that if you are married, and only if you are married, you could shower together. That would mean that two bodies were absorbing the load of danger instead of one. I think that means an individual body would only be getting half the dangerous exposure. Wait…is that right? Hum…maybe not. Well in that case we need to look for another solution.

We all have to take baths from now on. That’s the answer…maybe…I really don’t know though because as I think about it the first thing to enter the bath water is a pair of stink’n feet, followed closely by a, how should I put this…oh yes, a dirty derriere. Now we are going to wash the rest of our bodies, including our faces with water that has been you know where. Yes, but it will be soapy derriere water, that aught to count for something. Which by the way brings us to the rinse cycle. After the bath comes the rinse, and that means pouring or splashing that wonderful soapy rear end water over our “clean” bodies. Seems kinda hard to get soap off of a body with soapy water doesn’t it? So after the bath we should rinse off by using one of those hand held show…er…hea…no that won’t work it’s full of the bacteria that started this mess in the first place.

Ok,ok, I got it! The last time I was in Honduras we all bathed in the river. That takes care of the contaminated showerhead thingy while at the same time making it possible to rinse off with clean water. The soapy water has been taken down stream by the flow of the river. That only works of course providing there is no one bathing up stream from you, cause if someone is up stream you are rinsing in their soapy, dirty, derriere water, or should that be soapy, dirty derriere water, well whatever. So, if you find yourself having to bathe with a group of other folks you have to always make sure you are up stream from everyone else. If someone has died and made you boss you can simply tell the others in the group that you will be up stream. If you have not been empowered by being proclaimed boss then you just have to get in the water and out run everyone who is trying to get up stream further than you.

Now let me explain the other problem with this “let’s all go down to the river to bathe” thing. Bathing in the river whether in ones BVDs or necked is proof positive that all men are not created equal. That realization can be very damaging to ones self-esteem. I mean if you, like me, can be described as looking like a nine-months pregnant skin covered skeleton, you don’t want to be wet’n and wipe’n next to some two hundred pound chunk of sculptured steal. There is one other aspect of Honduras river bathing to be considered. When you head to the river you seem to draw a crowd. Every kid in the area gets word that the Americans are bathing in the river, and they all make their way done to join you. Suddenly that small group of four dirty dentist and their two filthy assistants has now become a community cleansing. Well, I guess that kills the river washing thingy becoming popular in the US, I mean kids and grown ups sharing a soaping is not a good thing.

Till next time,

Grump

Jimmy Summerlin was a man of God. He was a man who cherished his family. He wanted the best for them, not in terms of belongings, but in the sense of belonging. He protected his family, and he served his church family. It may be that Jimmy’s love and protection of his wife and kids was instigated by a conflict, a conflict that raged for most of his adult years. It was hard for Jimmy to open up to the extended family. The love for us was there, but it was restricted by a pull from his side of the family that said, “You don’t need them, we are all you need.” His mother spent all of his adult life making demands that her children love her the most. She would tell, at least her two youngest children, that their in-laws were out to get them. That they should not love us, or trust us, and that we were inferior to her. She constantly demanded that they make choices between her, and us. They were even expected to choose her over their spouse.

As a result of the turmoil it wasn’t until the latter years of his short life that Jimmy came to show his love for us. As he came to see the situation as it really was he confronted his mother, and began to cherish the extended family more and more while not casting her aside. He came to realize that everyone could be loved equally. Jimmy was my brother-in-law. He died of a massive heart attack at the age of forty-four.

Craig Hunt is a man of God. He loves and cherishes his family very much. He has taught his children values, and raised them to be servants of the Lord. He protests his family and they are second only to God in his life. Craig has embraced his in-laws as his on from the time he came into the family. In fact he considers his wife’s mom and dad to be his mom and dad. Craig is the product of a broken home. He is the product of mental abuse. He is a man who only saw conflict in his family life as he grew up. To him there was really no love in his family. Because of that experience, Craig has embraced us as his own, and shown us all love without reservation. He is so close to his children and their families, and to his mother-in-law, and father-in-law, that they literally live in houses attached by an above ground deck that extends from one home to the next. He hugs his family every day. He works, if you can call it working, with his father-in-law everyday. He serves his family, and God’s family everyday. Craig is my brother-in-law.

Please allow me to explain why I have introduced you to these men. I wanted to show you how much family means, or meant to each of them, and the roads they traveled as they matured in love. Now I want to show you another aspect of injuries that can hinder a family body, a physical family body, or a spiritual family body.

We talked yesterday about Mike’s physical injury not allowing his body to function, as it should. Today I want to talk about the mental injury that can cause even more destruction to the family.  Jimmy and Craig were both Troopers with the Texas Department of Public Safety. Both have experienced danger, and witnessed death. Both have worked horrific accident scenes. Both have witnessed the crying family members as they look at the mangled remains of a loved one taken from them forever. Both had to learn to deal with the harsh reality of what they saw at the scene of an accident.   

I was riding with Jimmy one night as he worked. We had stopped a few drivers on I20 and given them the opportunity to pay the State for their heavy foot. Around midnight we drove over to the courthouse and got a cup of coffee. While we were there the conversation turned to an accident they had all worked that afternoon. There must have been eight or ten men from different law agencies gathered that evening, and each of them had their input into the conversation. The accident had involved only one vehicle, but four men had lost their lives that day. As the Officers talked about the carnage the story began to take on a life of it’s own, and soon they were all laughing, as each gave his take on what may have cause the accident. Then they began laughing as they described how ridicules it was watching as the paramedics did CPR on a hopelessly dead body. When Jimmy and I got back in the patrol car I asked, “Jimmy how can do that, how can you laugh like that?” He said, ”You have to laugh at it to keep from going insane.”

I never rode with Craig while he was on duty. I don’t know why, I just never did. I do remember the time though after he had been with the DPS for a few years. He called me and asked if I knew whether or not Shell Oil was hiring. I told him I didn’t know, and then asked why he wanted to know. “I don’t think I need to do this anymore.” he said. That day Craig had been sent to work an auto accident. When he got there he saw the bodies of a young mother and her child. He worked the accident like a professional, and was not affected by what he saw. It was later that day, after he had gotten home from work that he came to realize something that shook him to his core. He had not been affected by the scene. He had been cold to the horrors of reality. Two young souls had died, and he didn’t care.

Both men had become cold, and heartless. Both had been affected while protecting themselves by not being affected. When we as members of the family body become unaffected, and cold to the overall good of the body it is worse then being physically injured in the body. It’s when we just don’t care about, or choose to ignore the needs of the body that we do the most damage. Jimmy went on to tell me that evening that to him those bodies were not people. 

I don’t fault either man with their way of handling the death they saw. They had to protect themselves. Eventually both men left the patrol division of the DPS, and became License and Weight Officers. That change took them away from what they had come to hate, and it allowed them to feel again. You know friends, if you are cold to God, if you are not affected by the hurt of a family member, if you cause division in the family because you just don’t care, or you think you are better than them, you need to change. A body with a hardening heart will die. A body with a cold hard heart is already dead.

Till next time,

Grump