Last week CNN ran a series of reports on the high cost of medical care. In one of the reports it was suggested that a patient should question the need for procedures, and even offer advice on occasion. Well first off, my friend Turkey Tom Moseley says “If you don’t know your jewels you gotta trust your jeweler.” I know we are talking about medicine here, but I hope I don’t have to explain the connection. Anyway, I once offered advice, or at least made a request of a nurse, and I’m quite sure I’ll never do it again.

After being completely eat up with a case of the stupids and turning myself into a human candle, I found myself in the hospital being scrubbed raw two times a day for the next seventeen days. I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone by the way…well there is that one guy I might not be too upset about…oh rip, Jesus said to love your enemies’ so never mind about that one guy. Anyway, they had me hooked up to an IV with a port attached to it so they could administer pain killer directly into my blood system anytime I needed it. I for sure needed it two times a day, one at 8:00 am and another at 4:00pm. Those were the times of day that I was taken to the Hubbard Tank and scrubbed back down to the raw to get rid of the “bad” tissue that had grown over the burned area.

These pain killer shots, main lined into my vain were at once a delight and an agony. You see, I could immediately feel the comfort rushing through my body as the medicine took effect, but I could also feel the pain of the medication as it entered my blood stream at the end of the needle. The IV drip that was entering my body constantly was room temperature whereas the pain medicine was kept in a refrigerator.   Now when that cold pain killer hit my blood vain it burned like a big dog. Ya know what I’m saying? To put it in terms you can understand, it hurt, and it hurt the most when administered quickly!

So, in walked my morning shift nurse, I have forgotten her name because I’ve tried to block out all of the folks who have done me dirt in the last fifty-three years. As she began sticking the needle into the port I asked her to please administer the shot slowly. Now at this point I can only guess why she reacted the way did so here goes, 1) Her husband forgot to kiss her goodbye that morning. 2) Her husband forgot her birthday. 3) Her husband remembered her birthday, and gave her a vacuum cleaner as a gift. or worst of all, 4) She had to use fat free milk on her corn flakes that morning. At any rate, she hit that plunger with two thumbs instead of one, while at the same time rising to the balls of feet in order to gain leverage, and then she leaned her over weight body mass into the effort thereby shoving the plunger to the bottom of the syringe in Guinness Book of World Records time. The end result being that the needle almost came off of the syringe because of the back pressure force of so much liquid being forced through a very confined space in less than a millisecond. WOW THAT HURT!!!!  

So, the take home from this story? Always make sure your health care professional has plenty of ice cold, wholesome whole milk for their corn flakes before offering advice on the administering of pain killers.

Till next time,

Grump

Within the last month or so two highly influential men have passed away. Their names? Willard Tate and Jack Exum. Willard Tate was a teacher/preacher/speaker extraordinaire. He had the ability to bring laughs and tears simultaneously. His messages always touched the hearts of his listeners, and his class rooms always overflowed with fans who loved his presentations. Honestly, I was only able to listen to Willard a few times, but I always longed for the opportunity to hear him again. I can say without hesitation that the one of the best compliments I have ever been given was when I was told “You remind me a little of Willard Tate.”

Jack Exum was the first preacher I ever saw who used props in his lessons, and it really helped his message stick with me. He came to Denver City, Texas a few times when we lived there, and I always learned from him, and I believe I can remember more of his lessons then just about any speaker I have ever listened too. The lessons I learned from Jack didn’t end at the end of his presentations. I was privileged to drive Jack to the Airport in Lubbock one Sunday afternoon, and consider that drive one best learning experiences of my life. For those of you who enjoy my use props and singing in my presentations you can thank these two men for their influence on my style.  

As I think about these two men I have to ask myself this question, am I living the life and leaving the long lasting impression I should be? You see, I believe everyone is somebody’s hero. You and I have someone we influence every day, and we need to live a life that would lead that someone to a better way of living.

Dear Father,

When my friends and family gather around my body of dust, and remember the life I have lived, I pray that they will be able to say, “I’m a better person because I knew ole Grumpy.” Please help guide me, and use me to influence someone the way I have been influenced by Willard and Jack.  Amen.

Till next time,

Grump

bump, bump, bump another one bites the dust, clap, clap

bump, bump, bump, another one bites the dust,

and another one’s down, and another one’s down,

another one bites the dust…

Ahh, the hero’s anthem. The victor striding across the field with his head held high after taking on one more unworthy opponent. Or, maybe it’s the song of the Cinderella team enjoying an unexpected breakout year. Picture Mike Tyson in his prime as he stands over one more victim with more guts than brains. You get the picture? We’ve all seen it before, right?  Only this time it’s not what you think. This time we’re not talking about victory and defeat. There are no victims being left in the path of a hero. Naw, this time we’re talking about cups. Styrofoam coffee cups.

I saw them thrown to the ground. I witnessed them being slung to the ground. I observed as they were simply dropped from his hand. Most of the time they did hit the dust, but sometimes in fit of disgust they would be dashed onto the hard concrete surface of the truck scales, the continence splashing in all directions. Coffee, gallons of coffee wasted while people in deepest darkest Africa starved to death.

Circa 1978, Sawyer Flat, ten miles south east of Loop, Texas, a cotton gin stands at the intersection of a black top road, and a dirt road. The gin has just been bought by a group of five farmers and a gin manager. The gin manager has extensive experience in the industry. He is looked up too by farmers from three small farming communities in the area. A man of integrity, knowledge, and a work ethic above all others, however this giant among gin men has never encountered, a steady flow.

A steady flow is a simple machine that keeps the same amount of cotton flowing through the cotton ginning machinery at all times. It contains a hopper that fills with cotton as it comes into the gin by way of a suction tube operated by an individual. If the hopper gets full of cotton it stops the air flow of the section tube, thereby stopping more cotton from coming into the gin until there is room for more in the hopper. A good suction tube operator could work hard for a few minutes in an effort to fill the hopper. Once he had filled the hopper and the air had been shut off he could rest for a few minutes. Dad was not used to a man being able to rest while running the suction. All of his ginning experience told him that if the section operator stopped there was trouble in the gin, and trouble in the gin was never a good thing. He’d spent years watching out the window of the office to make sure that the suction tube was moving back and forth delivering a supply of cotton to the gin. Year after year he had opened the door of the office and headed to the gin every time the suction stopped moving because he knew something was wrong, and every time he headed out that office door he seemed to have a cup of coffee in his hand. Invariably that coffee cup ended up on the ground as he threw, slung, or dropped it so he could start putting on a pair of gloves and get to work helping fix the problem in the gin.

It was instinctive for him to leave the office, and go out to the gin to see what the problem was. He did it without thinking, it was ingrained in him because of prior experience, but now things were different. That tube stopping didn’t automatically mean that there was trouble in the gin. Now he was jumping to the conclusion that there was trouble. Now he had a knee jerk response to a non-existent problem, and that’s the reason I told you this whole story. I think there many of us who need to stop jumping to conclusions. I think there are a many of us who need to take a sip of that nice hot cup of coffee, and think before we act or react in a way that would keep us from enjoying the warmth of life.

Till next time,

Grump

It seemed kind of strange when it occurred to me; life repeating itself through the family. It really doesn’t mean anything special, or important, it’s just a little ironic that’s all. Paula and I spent Sunday with Miranda, and Ranger. Chad was out of town, and we had stayed the night with Miranda, and Ranger, and then gone to worship with them. After worship we went back to the house and started watching the Olympics. As we sat watching the Gold Medal Hockey game it dawned on me how little I watch Hockey.   I’ve been to two Stars games, I watched the finals a few years ago when the Stars won the Stanley Cup, and I watched the “Miracle on Ice” back in 1980. That’s about it.

Sunday, Paula was doing her best to keep up with Ranger, while Miranda and I watched the game between Canada and USA. Somewhere during the game it hit me. When Paula and I had sat in our “Trailer House,” as it was known back then, and watched the “Miracle on Ice” she was, ever how you want to say it, “with child,” “expecting,” “carrying,” “in a motherly way,” “had a bun in the oven,” or “knocked up.” Our second “bundle of joy” was due in September, and her name would be Miranda Darice Smith. Sunday I sat on the couch and cheered with, moaned with, and held my breath with Miranda, as she sat on the couch watching Team USA play for the gold, with a slightly protruding belly that is the home of her second child that is due in September.

Like I said, it doesn’t really mean anything in the grand scheme of life, but it was kind of neat to think about.

Till next time,

Grump

Before she was conceived she was prayed for. Before she was born she was talked to, read to, and sang to. Before she left the hospital she heard prayers lifted to God on her behalf. Before she rolled over by herself she listened each night to scripture being read to her. From the time she was two months old until now she has “been to church” every time the doors are opened. She has witnessed service, work, responsibility, and love as it was lived by her parents and grandparents regularly during her short life.

I will admit that as I saw the event of her new birth on the horizon I thought, she is too young. I questioned how anyone eight years old could be guilty of sin in God’s eyes. I saw innocents in the life of a young child who plays with dolls, and pretends to be Snow White. I wondered if she could really make a lifelong decision, a lifelong commitment, to follow Jesus. Then it came to me. This is what we had prayed for. This is what her mom and dad had petitioned God for from before she was born. This is a child touched by God. Who am I to question God’s timing? Who am I to say “You’re too young.”?

Saturday evening Mary Alice Smith put on Christ in baptism. Saturday evening she became something greater than my granddaughter, she became my sister. Saturday evening she became to God, as I have always considered her; sinless.

Mary Alice is the first born great-grandchild of Homer and Glenda Smith. That doesn’t make her better, or more privileged than the twelve other great-grandchildren they have. She just happened to be the first of the next generation in the Homer Smith family. Now, Mary Alice is the first born into God’s family. She is the first, of the next generation, of the Homer Smith bloodline to become a child of God.  

Praise God!

I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

3 John 1:4

Till next time,

Grump

Hi Blog fans. I want post a little something to let you know that I haven’t forgotten about you even though it’s been a few days since my last post. I am always encouraged by the nice comments I receive from you. Some have even claimed that I am their favorite blogger. Thanks. Anyway, I hope to be back into the swing of things next week with at least three or four post per week. In the mean time thanks again for your words of encouragement and love.

Till next time,

Grump

It ain’t worth squat but here is what I think about a few things.

1. There is a lot of good talent on American Idol this year, but most of it is on the female side.
2. Shelby Dressel the beautiful girl from Avon Park, Florida got ripped big time. I cannot believe they cut her.
3. This season of 24 is not up to par. I don’t like the President and whatever’s going on with the blond girl and her crazy ex-lover needs to get over with quick.
4. This season of Survivor is going to be one to remember. It is going to be hard to watch Tribal Council every week because I don’t want to see any of them go. Well, ok, I could stand to see Randy go, and Coach.
5. I am ready for baseball season.
6.  Tiger Woods will have his press conference, and then go win just as he always has. He will also gain back his endorsements, they may be from different sponsors, but he will be back. After all any country that can forgive a President for having extra-marital sex in the hall next to the Oval Office will surely forgive the greatest golfer of all time.
7. I say power to the Tea Party as long as it doesn’t turn vigilante.
8. I still love the final words from Alan Jackson in his song Where Were You

…but I know Jesus and I talk to God
and I remember this from when I was young
Faith, Hope and Love are some good things He gave us
and the greatest is Love

Till next time,

Grump

A few months after having my day announced on KSEL radio I had another honor that I had never thought about having. In the fall of 74 I sat in church one evening and listened to a preacher that the Loop congregation was supporting. Larry was his name and he was preaching in Blackfoot, Idaho. I remember him saying how much he would like to have someone from Loop come up and visit sometime. Now I’m thinking to myself, Kent you got nothing to do after the ginning season, why not go up there for a few weeks? On my way out that evening I told Larry that I would be up to visit as soon as the ginning season was over. Earl Owens was standing nearby and said “Kent if you’re serious I’ll pay your way.” Things were now set, I was eighteen years old, freshly out of High School with no real responsibilities, and I had just been offered an expense paid trip to Idaho. Sometime between the fall of 74 and the spring of 75 I was going to have to look at a map and find out where Idaho was!

In March of 75, less than a month after having my day on the radio I was headed to Blackfoot, Idaho. I was about to make some good friends, and I was about to have experiences that I would remember for the rest of my life. My six week trip soon turned into a six month stay. During that time I met Steve and Penny, a young married couple that I still keep in contact with. I met Elna Berry, a lady who took to me as if I were her son, and as it turned out she kind of had plans that I would be her son. She had a daughter a year younger then I, and she had us put together, in her mind, the day she met me.  

That was the beginning of my next honor, an honor that would come from that daughter, and her closest friend. They made up a song about me. Hold on now folks, yes it was those two girls who made up and sang the song, not Randy Newman and his song about Short People having no reason to live. Short People didn’t come along until 77, and it was twenty years before Tom T Hall, wrote, and Alan Jackson, sang, Little Bitty so that’s not the song I’m talking about either. My song was Little Blue Frog.

NOW STOP THAT! IHEARD YOU LAUGHING! I THOUGHT THEN, AND STILL THINK NOW, THAT BEING CALLED A LITTLE BLUE FROG IS KINDA SPECIAL!

Tammy and her friend lived in Idaho Falls, and I lived in Blackfoot. As soon as arrived in Blackfoot, Larry’s wife Glenda started saying, “There’s a girl in Idaho Falls that you have to meet.” Well it didn’t take long for that to happen, and when I did meet her, I was decked out to impress. To tell you the truth meeting her had nothing to do with the way I was dressed. I was always a well dressed young man. The day I met these two girls I had on my finest and newest leisure suit. I am so sorry that an entire generation has grown up and started families of their own without the pleasures of leisure suits. This particular leisure suit was powder blue, and I mean it was styling.  I wore the suit with a wide white belt, and I had the prettiest pair of white wing tip platform shoes that anyone had ever seen. When I wore those shoes I was on top of the world standing tall at maybe, five foot-six. A man could get nose bleed with a sudden change of elevation like that. So now I know you can easily understand how Tammy and her friend could have been inspired to sing about being in love with a little blue frog.

I gotta tell ya friends, being loved and appreciated is a wonderful experience.  Having friends, old or new, who will sing your praises, and give atta-boys, and touch you, and affirm you and maybe even go over the top with their feeling for you is very special. People need people. People need to succeed. People need to be affirmed. People need to be loved.  

Till next time,

Grump

Saturday, February 15, 1975 was my day. I remember spending the day at a Turkey Shoot, or Skeet Shoot, if you prefer. The event was held behind the Loop Community Building and served as a fund raiser for some organization, but I don’t remember which. I remember that Dad was the manager of Five Points Gin, and that all of the gin owners showed up. Someone decided that all of the participants who represented the gin could shoot at the gins expense all day long, and I took full advantage of it. I have no idea how many rounds I shot that day. I do know that the event has had a lasting effect on me, but that’s another story for another day.

Today’s story has to do with it being my day on KSEL 950 AM Radio. That’s why I can tell you where I was, and what I was doing that day, because I can remember hearing the DJ that morning say “Kent Smith this is your day on KSEL!” I know, I know, KSEL Radio 950 AM gave away a day everyday, but so what I was still one of three hundred sixty-five people who a day on the radio in 1975. To tell you the truth what made it special was who had sent in my name to the station. That was a wonderful birthday gift, and I will never forget it.

I’ve had a lot of special Birthday’s in my life. I can’t say that I remember the specifics of most of them. I know that growing up my BD evening was most likely spent at Granddad Clark’s house with a fresh freezer of strawberry ice cream being the center of a lot of laughter and love. Since becoming an adult my birthdays have been spent with a very special lady, and through her the days have gotten better and better. Our family birthdays have rarely included gifts. They usually include dinner out somewhere, sometimes just the two of us, other times with the kids. I do have a gift in the drawer of a dresser in the guest bedroom that I will cherish forever, and it didn’t come from a store. This gift is a phone recording and it’s on an answering machine that hasn’t been used in quiet some time.

The recording is of Mary Alice and Major. Major was barely old enough talk, and understanding him was pretty hard, but the message is loud and clear. When the machine picked up the two kids started sing Happy Birthday, and when the song was over they both said “Happy Birthday Grumpy” with Major straggling a few syllables behind Mary Alice before turning the word Grumpy into a four or five syllable mess. That my friend is special. 

Today, I’ll get another call from those two, and this time I’ll hear Milla in the back ground saying something only another one year old can understand, and that call will be special. Miranda will call and try to get Ranger to say something on the phone, I may or may not hear a thing from him, but I’ll be able to see and hear him in my minds eye. Miranda will tell me she loves me, I’ll return the words, and I’ll feel warm inside. The phone will ring one more time. This call will be from Josh and he will more or less say the same thing Miranda said, and he will close with the same words of I love you dad. No that’s not exactly right. Here are the exact words that Miranda will say. “I love you Daddy.” Joshua will have a little different phrase, he will say, “Love you Dad.”

You want to know why those words are imbedded in my soul? Because they are the last words I hear from those two at the end of every phone call, or every time we part ways after being together. Monday, February 15, 2010 is my day. I won’t hear it proclaimed on a radio station, that wouldn’t be special enough anyway. I will hear it from a wonderful wife, and all of the children she has blessed me with. This is my day! Thank You God!

Till next time,

Grump

I had breakfast this morning with Richard Beasley. He and Mike Willoughby are teaching a class at church called Passing the Baton. The class is designed to help parents realize their responsibility to their children in terms of spiritual matters. As a way of wrapping up the series Mike and Richard are interviewing grandparents in an effort to show how grandparents play a role in passing on the message of God to their extended family. I want to share with you a few of the points that I made to Richard this morning.

1.  Parents and Grandparents must live Christ not teach Him. Our example, our life, is what speaks of our faith, not simply our words.
2. Spending time with our children and grandchildren is more important than gifts.
3. Teach responsibility at an early age. Give your children a job, a responsibility and hold them accountable.
4. Teach your children and grandchildren to show respect, and honor to others.
5. Allow your little ones to fail in small areas of their lives. Allow them to experience the feeling of being wrong or mistaken so they will know how to handle the larger failures that life is sure to bring.
6. Realize that your child can do wrong, and never facilitate them in passing their faults on to someone else. Your child is not perfect, so it’s not always the teachers, bosses, coaches, or friends fault.
7. If you truly love your children, discipline them. Discipline, applied correctly, is absolutely necessary for the child’s wellbeing, and maturity.  It really is for their own good, and yes there is a time, and a place for spanking. To believe otherwise is to say that God is wrong.  

Till next time,

Grump