Mom was right. She had just made a statement about me, about my character, and I couldn’t help but chuckle because she was right. This whole deal about me loving my job just didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense given the fact that I have always had this…trait, this part of me that speaks so loudly of how I feel that even the preverbal blind man could see it.  

Josh once told a new girl friend that she would know whether or not I liked her. Jim Cassity, my ole golfing partner, once said “Kent, you’re amazing, sometimes another golfer can join us and you treat them like you are long lost friends, and the next time someone joins us you treat the poor person like they have the plague.” It is easy to know whether I like someone or not. 

Going back even further to my West Texas golfing buddies you’ll find the name “Little Caesar” attached to me. I was in charge and didn’t mind letting anyone and everyone know that I was in charge. I’ve been referred to with the letters BSSS by a man who had only known me for two or three days. Since you most likely haven’t figured it out yet I’ll tell you what the letters stood for; Big Shot Small Stature. I’ve been called arrogant, and I’ve been called an arrogant ….well let’s see how I should put this….think King James Version and it would be an arrogant donkey. I’ve even been called an intimidator by a former professional football player. 

As bad is it sounds, and as bad as it was and on occasion still is, I earned every one of those names and displayed every one of those mannerisms. Mom had just said, “Son, I guess I’m surprised you like your job so much given that it involves working with people, you don’t really like people.” 

Wake up call? No, not really. It was true, and sometimes still is true, but thank God it’s no longer me. Sure there are still times when I’ll think you dummy, or even worse. I still meet people that I may not want to become fast friends with, but now I’m most likely going to treat them with respect and courtesy. I am a work in progress so the changes in me haven’t come over night, and they are still maturing within me. I have a ways to go, but I am improving. 

A few years ago I sat in front of an audience of one hundred twenty-five people or so and poured my heart out. The name of my talk that evening was Facing Failure. I later included Facing Failure in my book Everyday Christianity. Since telling that story I have been making a change. I’ve slowly been able to forgive myself for failing Paula and the kids, and my business partners, and my God, and by doing so I am learning to be a more patient, caring, servant hearted man. For the most part, I look for the good in others first. For the most part, I understand that I am not right all the time about every thing. For the most part, I am coming to realize that just because your way is different from mine that doesn’t mean your way must have some kind of flaw. For the most part, I’ve come to realize that leading with a smile and a glad heart is better than demanding with an attitude of disgust. For the most part, I love people and I love serving people. With God’s help one day I’ll be able to remove “for the most part” from the above statements. 

So, yes I chuckled when mom said what she did because I knew she was right. When Amber and Josh were expecting Mary Alice, my first grand child, they asked me what I wanted her to call me. I didn’t even stop to think about it, I wanted her to call me “Grumpy.” There are a lot of folks who would tell you that I named myself appropriately because that is how they knew me. On the other hand my friend John Hendry told me to get rid of “Grumpy” once and for all because that is not who I am. In reality I didn’t name myself that because I viewed myself as being grumpy, I just liked the sound of it. 

Actually the name has served me well. If you “google” Kent Smith, you will find thousands of kent smiths before you find me. However, if you “google” Grumpy Smith, I am number one. Not bad for guy trying to sell his book, gain speaking engagements or get his blog read. When I worked at the Dr. Pepper Ballpark I wore my bucket hat with Grumpy in bold letters across the front and it served as a great icebreaker. It also led to many conversations about my book and my ministry for God. Now, I wear the name on my nametag everyday at the job I love. The job that entails serving people….literally. I take their food to them with a smile. I clean up after them with a smile. I mop the floor behind them with a smile, I listen to their complaints with a smile, and I fix their problem with a smile. I teach the young adults who work for me with a smile, and I even correct them with a positive attitude. 

Yes, it is news to me, my wife, my kids, my mom and dad, my sisters and everyone who belongs to them, my old business partners, my old golfing buddies, my old class mates, and anyone else who ever came across my path without viewing me through rose colored glasses, that I love my people serving job. 

What I am about to say is no exaggeration. Every day I share a part of my story, a part of my failure, a part of my transition, a part of my victory in Jesus, a part of my experience, or a part of my service, with a guest or an employee at my Chick-fil-A. Why? Because every day I hear the following statement. “Grumpy? Why are you called Grumpy? That doesn’t fit you at all!”  

Till next time,

Grump

Long before there was a Timothy program to teach boys how to serve, and even longer before there was LTC which offers young people the opportunity, to preach, lead singing, and show their tech skills in telling about Christ, there was a man who sat on the front row every Sunday evening teaching young boys how to lead singing in church.

I always wanted to get to church early on Sunday night because the earlier I got there the closer I could sit to him, and the sooner I could lead my song. By the time church started there would be six or eight of us, all young and all eager, lined up down the front row ready for our individual turn to lead a song. It was easy to lead a song with Keith McConnell sitting on the front row because on the first note, the first word of the song, his strong solid voice would chime in in perfect pitch to help a frightened six year old boy gain confidence in his song leading ability.

Keith spent his life as The Voice among some very good voices at the church of Christ in Loop, Texas. We were a small congregation but we had a well deserved reputation as a great singing congregation. We didn’t need an instrument to accompany us; it would have just added unnecessary noise to the beauty of the voices. I grew up in that small West Texas congregation learning to lead singing, and being given the opportunity to preach at a young age. I remember attending singing class and learning how to read music from Keith. He taught us how to beat time, and count music. We learned songs by singing the notes of the song before we sang the words of the song. That whole doe, rea, me thing meant something and he wanted us to know what it meant.

The small congregation has gotten smaller over the years; the reality of a dyeing farm community is taking its toll on the membership. The congregation has gotten older with the passing of each generation, and the young folks moving away. What was once an attendance of one-hundred is now an attendance of thirty or forty. What were once strong young voices are now weak older voices. The desire and the mind of worship are still there but the ability has diminished. The last few years have been hard on Keith. He just kinda started fading away mentally. His voice was no longer strong.

I visited my old congregation in August of this year and I was able to teach and preach on that hot summer day. I saw the faces of all those folks who had watched me grow up. I heard their voices as they sang praises to God, and I communed with them that day. I was glad to be back, it was good to be back, but one of the saddest things I will ever see was when I stood up to preach that morning and there sat Keith McConnell. This time he wasn’t on the front row giving me support as I lead singing. This time he was on the back row and as I began to speak it occurred to me that he most likely didn’t even realize what he was there for. As my lesson was over, and I stood on the steps of podium I realized that a voice I had loved to hear was quiet. I looked to the back row and saw a man whose voice had gone still.

Keith McConnell passed away last week. His funeral was held yesterday in that little church building where he had sat for the better part of eight-six years singing and teaching singing. I wasn’t able to be there so I’m not sure who lead singing. I don’t know if the voices were strong or weak. What I do know is that every voice that was heard yesterday was made better because they had had the opportunity at some time or another during their life to sing with Keith.

You know, I really have no idea what heaven is like. I don’t know if we will just sit around singing praises all day, or if we will have task to perform. I don’t know what our rewards will be. I personally hope there’s a golf course there that I play without hurting when I swing. I know those who lived and died in pain will have bodies that cannot experience pain. I know that we will never grow old, and I know Keith will have a singing voice like he could only dream of while he was living here. And, I hope to see him sitting on the front row ready to help me lead my first song in heaven like he was when I was a shaking, smiling, six year old in Loop, Texas.

Till next time,

Grump

I’m back! Well, kinda…sorta…back. It has been quite a while since my last post and it may that long before I post again. I do appreciate those of you who have let me know that you miss my ramblings. I’ve heard from a lot of people and I must admit that I have been surprised to learn that so many folks actually read this stuff.  Thanks to all of you, and I hope that my random streams of thought can somehow have a positive impact in your life.

I want to tell you about one of best evenings of my life. It happened this past summer and I am so happy that everything came together so I could live these amazing hours with one of my best friends, Major Gray Smith.

As many of you know I worked in the food service department at the Dr. Pepper Ballpark here in Frisco. On this particular evening I was looking forward to grilling on the pool patio again, and this time I was going to bring Major to the game with me. I was disappointed however, to learn that afternoon that the guest had canceled and I would not be working. I knew how much fun Major would have in the pool that night and helping me “work” so I was a little put out. Then the light came on. Hey dummy, you can still take Major to the game.  

I need to catch you up to speed just in case you’re new here. Major is my six year old grandson, and he is a sports nut. He loves baseball, basketball, football, bowling, golf, and just about any other sport you want to mention. If you take Major to a restaurant with TVs on the wall and there is a game of any kind going on you can count him out of any conversation. He will be glued to the proceedings.  If you are anywhere close to a ball of any kind he is going to be throwing it so you better be ready to catch it.

During the last baseball season Major could tell you at any given time how the Texas Rangers were doing, and who was doing it for the Texas Rangers. He knew how many hits Michael Young, Ian Kinsler, and Josh Hamilton had gotten in the last game, and whether or not the pitcher had had a good game. The strange thing about it is that he rarely gets to watch the Rangers on TV.  His parents have made a decision to protect the kids from everything that goes on in TV land and while a baseball game is acceptable the commercials that go along with the broadcast are not. I sadly agree with their decision and I wish things were different.  I think it is tragic that six year olds learn about erectile dysfunction for thirty seconds and then see erectile causing under dressed women the next thirty seconds.

“GRUMP!!!”

“What?”

“Get off your soap box and get on with the story.”

Oh, yes, the story about one of the best nights of my life. Major and I went to the Roughrider game that night and I had one of the best times of my life. First I took him to the office so I could introduce him to all of my friends and co-workers at the ballpark. Then we went to the warehouse so he could see where we keep all of the things needed to feed five to eight thousand fans a night. From there it was on to the kitchen to introduce him to the chef, and show him where all the food is prepared. I took him into the walk-in cooler to show him all of the produce and dressings and deserts that are served during the games. Then it was on to the walk-in freezer to see the huge stacks of boxes filled with beef, chicken, and pork. For some reason it didn’t take him long to look at the things stored in there.

We walked down to the field and watched the Manager enter the dugout. Then I started looking for the game host to see if I could set up a surprise for my main man. I was blessed to be able to line him up as the Jr. P.A. announcer for that night’s game. With that done I had two more stops to make. The first involved taking him to the press box to introduce him to the game announcer, John Clemens. When we arrived at the fourth floor and the elevator doors opened we were faced with another set of doors that had these words written on them, AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY. He questioned whether or not we could go in but I told him it would be ok, so we entered the booth and he met John. It was fun to watch John interact with Major and show him how he did his job throughout the game.  Then we went next door and were shown the control room where they control the video and music for the big screen in center field. They even let him push the button that started the next video. We were having a good time and game had not even started yet.

We ended the tour in the JC Penny Club. The JC Penny Club is a reservation only restaurant at the ballpark. They always have a great buffet there and that night was no exception. We went through the line and I filled my plate with prime rib, potatoes and a couple of nice salads while he filled his with…a hot dog. Oh well, what kid wants prime rib when a perfectly good hot dog is there for the taking?

The game finally started and we had been told by the game host to be standing at the top of the stairs in a certain area at the top of the second inning. Major had also been told that he would be announcing the first batter for the Roughriders in the bottom of the second, and they had told him to practice his announcement. They had no idea what they were in for. When the time came Major and the game host walked down the steps and stood on top of the Riders dugout. Then the music ended and John Clemens announced, “Tonight’s Jr P.A. announcer is six year old Major from Crowley, Texas!” The game host then held the mic in front of Major expecting him to introduce the next batter, and he did…after taking the mic from the game host hand and holding it himself. Those of you who know me know what happened next. Ole Grump got misty eyed. Major had just announced “Now batting for the Frisco Roughriders! Number twenty-one Joeyyyyy Butlerrrrr! Go Roughriders!” As he jumped down from the dugout and began his ascent up the steps he must have high fived ten people, and I soaked up every minute of it.

The rest of the night was spent watching the game and hoping for a foul ball to come our way. Guess what? He did leave with a foul ball. It was given to him by another boy who had landed two that night. Yep, we had a great time that night. A special night for a grumpy ole granddad and his awesome grandson, two guys who love sports, and love each other. I will always remember that night for what it had been, but it was about to get even better. As we walked across a weed covered vacant lot on the way to the car, talking about the game and how much fun it had been Major said, “Hey Grump, are you an important person?”

I laughed and said “No Maj I’m not an important person, why would you ask me that.”

“Well, we got to go to the place where only authorized people could go, so I was wondering if you were an important person?”

“No son, I’m not important.”

We walked in silence for a few more steps and he said, “Well I think you are.”

Till next time,

Grump

A boost, that’s what they are, a boost. I love “atta-boys,” they give me a boost that helps me keep on keeping on. I taught a series of lessons a few years ago using Dr. Gary Chapman’s book The Five Love Languages as the basis. While I taught the class I discovered that my love language is compliment followed closely by touch. I love being appreciated and complimented, that’s what drives me. I thrive when I know that what I’m doing is being noticed by others in a positive way. I also love being touched by people. I enjoy being hugged, or patted on the back. When you think about it my two love languages are great for everyone. Just think about it, in order to thrill me you don’t have to spend a dime. In fact I’m a very cheap date. All you have to do is tell me you think I’m great while giving me a hug and I’ll jump off of the highest bridge in Loop, Texas for you.  

“Kent, there ain’t no bridge in Loop, Texas.”

“Oops”

Anyway, I’ve received three pretty nice “atta-boys” in the last twenty-four hours and I want to tell you about them. The first came yesterday afternoon while I was putting Chick-fil-A meal boxes together for a High School baseball team. My phone rang and it was Mike Starnes, a good friend who worships with me at McDermott Road. He said, “Kent I was sitting here looking at my sales and my prospects and I realized that I should be feeling down because I have no sales, and at this point I have no prospects, but I have been feeling great all day. So I ask myself why I was feeling so good and it dawned on me. It was the song service that Kent led us in last night at church.” He even said, “I wish you would lead songs more often cause you just pick us up when you lead singing.”

Well, that about sent me to heaven right then and there. We were on the phone so there was no hug, but I still felt it. I still felt the love and it put a spring in my step as I went about the rest of the day. The second “atta-boy” came from Paula last evening. Paula is a school teacher and she works many times harder than I do, so I try to do things around the house. Last night I made up a batch of guacamole and a dish of flat green beef enchiladas for supper. We are so busy, and I work so many nights during the baseball season that we don’t eat at home very often so Paula was happy when she got home and I told her that sup was in the oven. We snacked on the guac while waiting for the enchiladas to cook, and she complimented me on the fresh homemade dip I had made. Then after taking the first bite of enchiladas she said this is really good. Now, I’m a fairly good cook for ole farm boy but when I took a bite I said, “Wow, these are good!” The best thing about the evening was when she got up and dipped up a second helping. “Ca-ching!” A silent compliment that confirmed her words, she really enjoyed the meal.

The third “atta-boy” came this morning when I opened a Face Book message from an old friend back in West Texas. He said, “Kent I’m half way through your book, and I just wanted to let you know how much I’m enjoying it.” He went on to say “I’ve been going through a rough time lately and your book is really helping me see things better.” I’ll be on cloud nine for the rest of the day just because he took the time and effort to say thanks. When I hear from people, men especially, about how my book has helped them it always gives me a boost. Let’s face it takes time and effort to write a note like that, and I know that men have a hard time opening up and expressing their feeling, so for him to that is really special.

Thanks to my wife and those two men for make my day, I hope I can pay it forward to someone else today.

Till next time,

Grump

This past Saturday was a day I will not soon forget. Paula and I headed down to Crowley to see Josh and his family, and to go to Mary Alice’s second piano recital. The recital was great and it was nice to get to spend time Milla. I guess the only disappointment is that Major was gone to his cousins B-day party so we didn’t get to spend any time with him.

The most memorial part of the day was helping Josh, well ok mostly watching Josh and handing him a thing-a-magig every once in a while, as he gave Paula, his mother and my wife, a root canal. That’s right I watched him do a root canal on his mom. Now, I am the world’s greatest authority on root canals from the receiving side of things. I have had so many root canals that I’ve now had my root canals root canalled. Let me tell you something. Those of you who complain about getting a root canal have never experienced the real pain of NOT having a root canal. If you have been hurt while receiving the big RC you need to find a new dentist cause it doesn’t hurt, in fact I have actually slept through a root canal and the relief that it provides is wonderful.

Anyway back to the RC I helped do on Saturday. It was so neat to watch the procedure from the Dentist point of view. Let’s start by making this statement. There is a reason your Dentist uses stealth instruments when working on you. You know what I mean. Have you ever really seen that three inch needle headed toward your tinder gums? No! You know why you have never seen that thing? Because these folks spent four years in school learning how to hide the things they are about to use on you. In reality the pig iron Josh used on his mom Saturday was rather benign compared to some of the items they use to do other things. Saturday, Josh only used long very sharp needles. Real honest to goodness drill bits, just like you would use to drill a hole in an I beam, and files. Think hoe file, not finger nail file and you are beginning to get the idea.

Your favorite dentist uses things with names like Minnesota, which is by far the friendliest thing they will ever stick in your mouth. Some of the other things are explorers, elevators, and cow horns. COW HORNS? Yes, cow horns and I ain’t talk’n bout baby back rib cow horns, I’m talk’n full grown Texas Longhorn cow horns. Now the cow horns they use on your bottom teeth are very nice looking compared to the cow horns they employ on your upper teeth. An upper cow horn looks like something the bad guys are about to use on Jack Bauer just before he escapes, after having been shot, stabbed, pipe wrenched, and drawn and quartered by a dull machete wielded by a guy with facial scars the size of the cracks in a New Mexico highway. If they, the dentist, didn’t keep those things hidden from the average patient their children would starve to death cause their daddy the dentist would be flat broke. I spect even the ninety pound, eighty year old Granny Clampit would turn into the Incredible Hulk while trying to escape the dentist trying to use those things in her mouth. (I probably just left two generations scratching their heads wondering who the heck Granny Clampit is.)  

OK, enough of that. I didn’t mean to scare anyone who might be going to the dentist today. I guess sometimes I kinda get like Jim Carey in Liar Liar; I didn’t have to tell you what the dentist didn’t want you to know. A very wise man, namely my dad, Homer Smith has always told me, “Son ya don’t have to tell everything ya know.” He usually told me that as we were finishing up the ice cream bar we got at Walter’s Grocery Store that he didn’t want mom to know we had. Well not really we, she most likely didn’t care if I had an ice cream bar or not cause he was the one that looked ten months prego with twins. ACK, there I go again! I better let well enough alone and just ease on outta here. Hope you have a great day, and if you do in fact have a dental appointment today don’t you worry bout thang. I mean most of those guys are pretty good at wielding cee tee pliars, all you have to worry about is whether or not your dentist falls into the “most of those guys” category.

Till next time,

Grump

It’s not going away you know, this whole dying thing. It’s going to happen no matter how much you don’t want think about it, or talk about it. So why not think about it and talk about it? First off make sure your loved ones know how much you love them. Last week I drove down to Crowley to get my teeth cleaned. Just in case you are new here let me tell you why I drive an hour in DFW traffic to go to the dentist. Because Wilson, my old dentist kicked me out! No that’s not right, I drive an hour to go to the dentist because my son, Josh, is a dentist and that’s where his office is. Josh and I went to lunch then went back to his office where one of his hygienist cleaned my teeth. After the work was finished and with a middle aged man sitting in the chair next door, and his four office ladies all telling me goodbye Josh said, “I love you dad.” He didn’t care who was listening, he didn’t think of the times I have let him down or disappointed him. He loves me enough to forgive, and forget. He loves me for who I am and he is not ashamed to say it out loud as he hugs me.

Second, make plans for it. I knew a lady who sat by her dying husbands bed for months holding his hand and loving him until the end, but she didn’t have a clue what to do once he was gone. She didn’t know how much money they had. She didn’t know if they owed or if they were owed. For some reason they didn’t want to talk about what happened after he was gone. Talk about those things. Make your own funeral plans so that those left behind don’t have too. Make a will.

Now as far as being a fortunate as Phil was in yesterdays post, that is most likely not going to happen. There is a very good chance you’re not going to know that you are about to die. It may not happen just the way you want it like it did for Phil. Never the less be ready. I have had two uncles and a brother-in-law pass away before we thought it was time. Two of them died of heart attacks. They had no idea when they left home that they would never return. They were young; one of them was forty-four, the other fifty-nine.  The other one knew he was dying, he had pancreatic cancer, and he was forty-two years old when he left us. So for you folks who think you are young and invincible think again.

If what you have read so far has made you uncomfortable I am warning you now that it is about to get worse, at least for me. What I am about to say may make you mad, or you might agree. There may even be a few people who call me out, or choose to never speak to me again. I hope not but I can live with that if I have too. I am saying this because I love you, and because tomorrow may never come.

One of those men I mentioned above has a family that is torn apart. The kids don’t speak to one another. Some of the grandkids barely acknowledge their grandmother. There is animosity driving them apart, and that is not the way it should be. There is nothing more important or more fulfilling than close family ties, except salvation it’s self, and I question salvation being possible if there is no love present.

 Now to everyone who just read these words, whether I know you or not, if the shoe fits wear it. Don’t get mad at me for calling you out. Think about what I have said and make amends. Phil died with his family gathered around him, a family that loved one another gathered around him, and his son said, “It was just like he wanted it.”

Till next time,

Grump

Everyone knew the end was near, and that’s why they were all gathered around him. Only yesterday he was up and about as much as he could be. It seemed as though he could still be hanging on for quite some time. Philip, Phil’s son had sat with him on Sunday morning and had the usual visit which meant listening to Phil tell some story or another.  That afternoon Philip had taken his son to a Roughriders baseball game. The family has always loved baseball mainly because Phil loved and lived baseball. After the game Philip had gone back by his dad’s house to check on him and to tell him he would see him tomorrow.

Philip got a call from his mom during the middle of the night. She told him that things weren’t looking good, and that his dad seemed to be struggling. So, the family gathered, prayed, and talked of their life and what Phil had meant to each of them. Phil was being kept comfortable by pain killers and he drifted in and out of reality. Finally, he took a deep breath. It took the family a minute to realize that it had been his last breath. Just like that Phil was gone.

As I talked to Philip after the memorial service on Friday, he told me how his dad had died and he said “It was just like he wanted it; he was at home in his favorite chair surrounded by his family…. It was just like he wanted it.”

I have to agree that there would be no better way to go then the way Phil went, surrounded by his family. I don’t know that I have ever seen a family any closer than the Phil Pierce family. They did everything together, and spent just about every evening together. To Phil nothing was more important than family, and all of his family felt the same way. Philip and I continued to visit for a few minutes and the conversation turned to how we just couldn’t understand moms and dads who were not involved in the children’s lives. We talked about families who had drifted apart for one reason or another, and how we felt sorry for them.

Friends, I want to encourage each of you to grow your family relationship. Make it strong. Make it healthy. Don’t gather around a dying loved on with a virtual stranger, or with someone you have been feuding with for the last ten years. Gather around your dying dad, mom, brother, or sister with love and relationship in full bloom. Don’t regret lost time after its too late.

Paula and I are blessed with a close family. We have spent our life wrapped up in our kids’ lives. We drop other plans if we get the opportunity to do something with them. As I write this I have two children and their two spouses. I also have four grandchildren with two more on the way. Let me tell you how I would like for things end. I want it end with all of them loving each other. I want it end with all of them wanting to be together every chance they get. I want them to gather around my empty body talking about the great relationship we had. I want them to talk about my example, and want them to laugh as they each talk about getting “the look.” Finally, I want my boys, Josh, Chad, Major, Ranger and his little brother who is to arrive in this world in September, and ever how many more there might be, to pick me up and carry me out while singing “I’ll Fly Away.”

Yep, that’s just how I want it.

Till next time,

Grump

I want to give a shout out to the loving folks who choose to adopt children. I have a nephew and his wife, who adopted two kids from Russia about six years ago, and I have a niece and her husband, who are awaiting the call to go to a North African country to adopt two children. We as a family are all excited to meet the two new boys who will be joining the Homer and Glenda Smith clan. And, I want to thank God for the loving hearts of all people who reach out to children in need of a family.

Till next time,

Grump

Those of us who write or speak are somehow always looking for, or at least aware of applicable analogies. It’s not like I start my day with the intent of finding something profound or meaningful, it just seems that often an analogy will just come to mind. That is what happened yesterday as I was staining my backyard fence.

A few years back I set out to build my backyard fence. The old one was well past being in good shape, and it was my intent to build a bigger, better fence. The job ended up being done in typical Kent Smith fashion, which is to say haphazardly.   The job was also completed while I was in Honduras by Josh and a new guy who had been introduced into our lives named Chad Johnston. As it turns out the new guy is pretty handy to have around. He is good at repairing and building things. He has bought three houses and sold two houses using me as his Realtor. And he happens to be the dad of one Ranger “Roodog” Johnston, one of the coolest grandsons a guy could ever have. There was one other young man who helped build the fence, Ryan Gentry. Had he not shown up that first Sunday afternoon to take over my side of the hole digging machine I think I might be pushing up weeds right about now because that auger was more than I could handle. In fact that job was so strenuous that both Josh and Ryan, young flat bellies coming in at around two hundred pounds of muscle apiece looked like little whipped pups by the time that twentieth hole was dug.

“KENT!”

“What?”

“Get back to the point of today’s post.”

“Oh…what is the poin…oh, yes, today’s point.”  

Ok, once the fence was built I stained it a nice medium brown, and in an effort to keep it looking nice, and to protect it I have restrained it every two years. Yesterday as I was staining the fence I was thinking about how much stain the job was taking and I recalled that I have always used more stain than the man at Northside Fence estimated it would take. In fact, I use a lot more than he says it should take. As I thought about how much it was taking I took notice of wood and its reaction to the stain. It was almost as if the wood were alive as it drank in the liquid stain. I made a swipe with the brush and stopped to observe the stain soak into the dry wood giving it a new fresh look. I could go back over the same spot and watch the same thing happen again. The liquid would simply disappear as if the wood could not get enough refreshment, and the analogy came to mind.

As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.

Psalm 42:1

The dead, dry wood was drinking in the liquid that would help sustain it and give it a longer life. Look at that, dead and dry yet soaking in life extending moisture. Friends you and I are not dead, yet we are dead to the world.

As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature^[a] and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath. But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. Ephesians 2:1-5

The life giving liquid that we should thirst for sustains us, and gives us strength to live a life opposed to the world. We need to soak in the life of the Word. Proverbs 2:1-11 says:

My son, if you accept my words
       and store up my commands within you,

turning your ear to wisdom
       and applying your heart to understanding,

and if you call out for insight
       and cry aloud for understanding,

and if you look for it as for silver
       and search for it as for hidden treasure,

then you will understand the fear of the LORD
       and find the knowledge of God.

For the LORD gives wisdom,
       and from his mouth come knowledge and understanding.

He holds victory in store for the upright,
       he is a shield to those whose walk is blameless,

for he guards the course of the just
       and protects the way of his faithful ones.

Then you will understand what is right and just
       and fair—every good path.

For wisdom will enter your heart,
       and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul.

Discretion will protect you,
       and understanding will guard you.

Till next time,

Grump