Thinking Out Loud, Volume DVIII

I grew up on the banks of Hemps Creek in central Louisiana, and naturally I had my favorite spots on that creek. One weekend after I was a married man with a couple of small children, we had gone home to spend the weekend with my parents, and I decided I would take my six year old daughter to show her one of those favorite spots. It had been raining, but the rain had moved on out of the area, so we straddled our bikes and started our mile long journey down the dirt road toward our destination. She was not long past graduating from her training wheels, so this was quite an experience for her, and it also ended up being one I'll always remember, as it taught me an important lesson on encouraging others. When we had reached about half way, we came to a low spot in the road and for about twenty feet, the road was completely under water. I told her to just wait there and I rode on through the water to make sure it was not too deep and didn't have any slippery drop offs. I was assured that it was completely safe for a six year old, so I gave her the go ahead to proceed on through the water, but she was terrified, especially since she couldn't see the bottom. Finally, with my persuasion and the unwavering trust she had in her dad, she relented. As soon as her wheels hit the water, however, panic set in and she started screaming, "I can't! I can't!" All the while, I was standing on the other side, yelling, "Yes you can! Don't stop! Don't stop! Keep pedaling!! Keep pedaling!!" I kept thinking she was gonna give up any second, so I didn't let up with my "Keep pedaling!! Keep pedaling!!" There is no doubt in my mind that if I hadn't kept yelling those words to her, she would've stopped, and both of us would have been in trouble when we got home. Can you think of any times in your life when you were going through a very trying experience and someone who loved and cared for you talked you through it and refused to let you give up? Are you also able to look back and conclude that it was those words of encouragement that pulled you through? More than likely, you and I can recall times when we've been the encourager and other times when we've been the encouragee. I can even remember instances when I've offered words of encouragement to a friend, and then later when I was going through a trying time, that friend reminded me of my own words to them. The primary point I want to emphasize today, however, is that your friends will remember what you told them when they were about to give up. You see, that day when my little girl and I rode our bikes down to the creek, we also had to go back home, which means we had to ride through that same water on the way back. Yes, I did remind her to keep pedaling, but I have to tell you, she approached that water with a completely different attitude that second time. I guess what I'm trying to say is when we give encouraging words to a friend, those words will live on in their minds, and they will remember them the next time they face a similar problem. Many years after the "Keep Pedaling" incident, Rodney Atkins recorded one of my favorite country songs with the same basic message: "If you're going through hell, keep on going. Don't slow down. If you're scared don't show it. You might get out before the devil even knows you're there. If you're going through hell, keep on moving. Face that fire. Walk right through it. You might get out before the devil even knows you're there." Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DVII

There's not much I can remember about being five. In fact, maybe I was four...or six. It was definitely one of those years, but what I recall so clearly is what my dad wore to church that Sunday morning. It was a white shirt and dark gray pants. Between those two garments, it's the pants that are pictured so clearly in my mind, because after all, when the top of my head only reached the level of his pockets, his pants were all I could see without purposely looking up. When church was over and everyone was standing around talking, I focused on those gray pants to make sure I stayed near my dad. Finally, the gray pants headed for the door, and I followed. I knew where we had parked, because we always parked there, but the gray pants went a different direction, and walked to another car. That's when I looked up and realized I had followed Milton Paul to HIS car. He was a good man and a close friend to my family, yet he wasn't my dad, and I wasn't supposed to go home with him, but he and my dad had worn the same colors that day! A feeling of panic swept over me and I literally ran back inside and found the right gray pants and white shirt. One more incident: This one didn't involve me, but I heard the adults talking about it and they smiled as they spoke about the innocent faith of a child. We had been without rain for weeks, and the situation was getting desperate, with most of the conversation among the adults centered around that topic. In the home of a family who were some of our best friends, it was even discussed between the mother and her little boy, who was a couple years younger than me. He suggested they pray for rain. His mother told him that was a good idea, and so they prayed. What he did next was the same thing I would've done, which was the same thing most any small child would do: He went to the window and started watching the sky. The problem with growing up is that somewhere between those preschool and high school years, that innocent faith too often begins to evaporate and is replaced with doubt and skepticism. We can tell the six year old about Noah and the ark, and he believes it, while adults will question the practicality of such a story. I have a good friend who showed me a note she had found that was written by her seven year old daughter that said, "Daddy, Jesus loves you and he understands you. He wants you to be nice all the time. Jesus forgives you." (Incidentally, her daddy IS nice all the time.) I was so struck by that note that I had to say, "Way to go Mom and Dad! You're doing it right!" What can her parents do to make sure that beautiful little girl's faith stays with her into adulthood? Just keep doing what they've been doing and don't let up. Be consistent. When it comes to "training up a child in the way he should go...," we can't take breaks; the stakes are too high. Children have no say as to which home they're born into, or who their parents are. Shame on me if I don't thank God every day for parents who taught me the importance of prayer; for parents who not only knew the Word, but taught it to me as well; for parents who taught me by example the importance of regularly attending and getting involved in church; and for parents who never grew lax in any of the above principles. Now, I have to ask myself, "Will my kids be able to thank God for me consistently teaching them the same thing?" I've come a long way since the Sunday morning I followed the wrong pair of dark gray pants out to the wrong car, but there are some aspects of my childhood I pray I never lose. May I always hold on to the sincere, unwavering faith of my childhood, and may I pass it on down to the next generation. May I never forget the lesson I learned at the age of five: If I discover I've been following the wrong pair of gray pants, all I have to do is remember the words of my little seven year old friend, "Jesus loves you and he understands you..," and I can always turn around and run back inside and find the right ones. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DVI

I love the way Angie says hello when I call her on the phone. Of course, she knows it's me who's calling, and she answers like I'm someone she wants to talk to. There's almost a song in her hello. This is the season when I'm really busy working trade shows, and when I'm in my booth, I'm working in close proximity with the people in neighboring booths, and sometimes it's impossible NOT to hear their phone conversations. Let me compare two different conversations I recently heard while sitting in my booth. Naturally all I could hear was one side of each one, but judging by what I did hear, I think I can imagine what it sounded like on the other end. The first one I'll tell you about is the most recent from a lady next to me at the Biloxi Gift Show. The tone was almost like "Why are bothering me?" There was no smile, and here's what I heard: "Hello. What. I don't know. Well, you ask her, I don't have time. Okay, whatever. Bye." The other call I heard was was the previous week in Dallas. It was a woman in her late forties working with her grown daughter. When the phone rang, I heard her tell her daughter, "It's your dad." Then, with a smile on her face and in her voice, she didn't say hello, but started with, "Well, did you finally get your job completed?" During the rest of the conversation there was a lot of laughter, and it was evident those two people were enjoying their conversation. When she had hung up, I heard her tell her daughter, "He is so funny." In no way am I suggesting that the lady I told you about first didn't love her husband, but any joy she had in talking to him was kept well concealed. Angie is a strong, independent woman, and the things she is passionate about are not always the same as my passions, but one thing we do share is a passion for each other, with a fire that has been burning strongly for more than forty-three years. Too many times, however, I hear people use the phrase, "The fire has gone out," and we have to ask how and when did it happen. Well, there are a couple things I've learned about fires: We have to stoke them and continue fueling them to keep them burning, and if we put water on them, they will go out. One source of fuel is nice, pleasant conversation, while cold, harsh conversation is like putting water on the fire. I call home every night when I'm traveling, and I have no doubt that if I started using a less friendly tone of voice, she would reciprocate in kind, but what I really want is for her to look forward to me coming home. It reminds me of the country song by Mark Chesnutt that says, "It's too hot to fish, too hot for golf, and too cold at home." We can all handle low temperatures, but none of us want to go home to an icy atmosphere where the conversation is cold and terse. How does it get that way? How do we ever get to the point to where we talk to the ones we love in a less cordial tone than we would talk to a stranger? In my opinion, if my conversation with my kids is more friendly than it is with my wife, I'm starting down the wrong track. If I love my wife, I need to make sure it's evident in my tone of voice. At the time I'm writing this, I'm working out of town, but I'll be calling home tonight. I can't wait! Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DV

Some of you have lost your marbles. All of them. In fact, I'm getting pretty close myself. If you're under the age of forty, this will likely not impact you the way it will us from the older generation. Please allow me to explain what I'm talking about. As always, I had to be in Dallas the weekend when it was Vision Sunday at our church, so I was watching on line as our pastor was delivering the Vision Sunday sermon. The part that stopped me in my tracks and jolted some reality into my brain was when he referred to Psalms 90:10 that says: "Seventy years are given to us. Some even live to eighty....." He then used the illustration that if we had been given a jar with seventy marbles when we were born, and we take a marble out each year, how many marbles do we have left in our jar? I would have six. SIX!?!?! Yep, I've about lost my marbles too. Even if I'm one of those who by "reason of strength" can make it to eighty, then there's still only sixteen marbles left in my jar. I'm a pretty average guy, so with this in mind, let's take a look at the averages. The average life span in the U.S. for a man is seventy-six years and for a woman it's eighty-one, which would leave me with twelve marbles. Twelve years!! How many do you have? What are we gonna do with the marbles we have left? First of all, it's entirely possible I could leave while I still have some marbles in my jar, so my most important duty is to make sure I've made the proper preparations to have "my house in order" for when that day comes. Just be ready for that day whenever it is. Once I've done that, I have two choices as to how to spend those years. I can spend these next twelve years dreading when that inevitable day arrives, or I can put a smile on my face and choose to make the days I have left happy ones. I can deprive myself of the joys of life or I can make the best of what I have left. I choose the latter, but what does "making the best" mean? Keeping in mind that going crazy and failing to use wisdom in my choices will not bring me a happy life, I will refuse to live a life of deprivation or denying myself the things I love. I will enjoy an occasional bowl of ice cream. In fact, I might even eat a donut from time to time. If I see something I want, and can afford it, I will buy it. I will love my wife, my kids, and their kids with more fervency than ever before. I will accept the fact that not everyone will like me or say nice things about me, wiping those negative thoughts out of my mind, focusing only on the good. I will cherish the friends I do have, and do my best to make them happy and proud to be called my friends. I will park myself in my recliner only when my health forces me to do so. I will keep running as long as possible, then walk when the running days are over. I will be more charitable to the less fortunate. I will be more tolerant as the fads and trends of the day change with the younger generation, remembering how they did the same when I was young. I will not hate those whose political views are different from mine. In short, I hope to use up the remainder of my years in such a way that the only difficulty the preacher who delivers my eulogy will face is his sadness at seeing me go, while finding good things to say about me will be the easiest job he's ever had. The marbles I have left are extremely valuable, and I will treat them as such! Preston