A Letter To Kate Elizabeth and Ella Grace Kirkendall

Here is the letter that I wrote to Ella Grace and Kate Elizabeth Kirkendall.  I read this at their Daddy's funeral on December 27.  I will give copies to Holly to give to the girls when they get older.  Several people have asked for a copy of the letter.  Here is the letter as I read it at the service.

December 27, 2013

Dear Kate Elizabeth and Ella Grace,

        One day you will read this letter and you will read about one of the most remarkable, courageous and influential men I have ever known; your Daddy.  You were only 3 when your Daddy died, he was only 40.  I know you probably have some memories of him and you have grown up seeing pictures and hearing many people talk about him.  Let me tell you how I knew your Dad.

        I first met your Daddy when he was only 16 years old and a sophomore in high school.  I had moved to Lexington as the new minister at First Baptist Church and Chad was in the same class as our oldest son.  He always had the greatest smile and seemed so happy.  I remember when he graduated from high school in 1992 and went to Chapel Hill to the University of North Carolina.

        When your Daddy went into business, he quickly became known as someone people could depend on.  He had such a great personality and was always positive and optimistic.  When you needed him, he would be right there.  We had an emergency one day when the kitchen sink overflowed and the next day the floor started to buckle.  I called your Daddy and in no time he was there, setting up fans under the house and in the kitchen.  He saved our kitchen floor, and when I asked him how much I owed him, he wouldn’t let me pay him.  “All I did was set up a few fans,” he said.  “And I wasn’t going to be using them anyway.”  Your Daddy was a man of integrity who was honest, dependable, and trustworthy.  Everyone loved your Dad. 

        He was a faithful Christian and his dedication and kindness led to him being elected as one of the youngest deacons in our church.  The way he lived his life was an example for everyone to follow.

        Everybody in town was excited when your Daddy and Mommy found each other and announced that they would be married.  We all believed that it was a match made in heaven, and I really think it was.  They were such a happy couple and we all wanted them to live happily ever after, but as you know, real life doesn’t always have happy endings.

        On a beautiful Saturday morning, April 28, 2007, your Grandfather died suddenly.  Your Daddy loved his Daddy and they were very close.  I had to call your Daddy and tell him the terrible news.  He was devastated, but knew he had to be strong and brave for your Grandmother.  He quickly came to comfort your Grandmother.  While your Daddy was heartbroken, he told me that he knew his Daddy was in heaven and one day he would see him again.

        I’ve never known your Daddy to be a public speaker, but he stood up at your Grandfather’s funeral and gave a moving and heartfelt tribute.  So did your Aunt Kristi.  Everyone was deeply moved.

        The sadness over your Grandfather’s sudden death was later tempered by the news that your Mommy and Daddy were having a baby.  Everyone was so excited over this good news!  I remember people saying that if anyone deserved a precious little baby, it was Chad and Holly.  Your Daddy worked so hard to get the nursery ready.  On July 29, 2009, your Mommy went to the hospital to give birth to your little brother, Matthew.  But something went terribly wrong and Matthew did not live.  Your parents were devastated.

        The funeral for little Matthew was one of the saddest gatherings I have ever seen.  Everyone’s heart was broken.  There were many, many tears.  Your Daddy had a very hard time dealing with Matthew’s death.  For the first time, I thought his smile might go away.  But it did not.  Because your Daddy had a remarkable faith that was deep and strong, he worked through his grief.  He knew that Matthew was in heaven, and that somehow, in ways we could not understand, God had a bigger plan and purpose.

        We were all praying that God would bless your parents with another baby.  Not only were our prayers answered, but God provided a double blessing when you girls were born on September 29, 2010.  Your Daddy was so proud and so happy.  His smile was brighter than ever before.  He had two precious baby girls and he loved you so very much.  On Mother’s Day, 2011, your Daddy and Mommy dedicated you to God.  Never has a Father been any prouder of his children as he and your Mom stood holding you with a great, big smile.

        Your Daddy had already been through so much sadness and tragedy that I couldn’t believe that there would ever be any more.  But there are so many things in life over which we have no control.  I saw him at the church one day late in 2012 and noticed he was limping.  “What happened to you?” I asked.  “I don’t know,” your Daddy responded.  “I don’t know what I have done.”

Your Daddy had not done anything.  Little did he, his doctors, or anyone else know that a deadly cancer had attacked his body.  It wasn’t until later that it was diagnosed and when it was, he started a long and courageous battle against the disease, finding the best doctors and treatment that were available, and all the time believing that God would work through the doctors to heal his body.  We all believed he would be healed.  We prayed and prayed.  Through social media thousands of people learned about your Daddy and prayed for him. We all wore blue ribbons and had prayer vigils when he had surgery at Duke Hospital in May.  His story inspired people he never even met and brought people in our town together in a marvelous way.  Your Daddy’s friends came together and provided remarkable support and love for him and your mom.  In all my years of ministry I don’t think I have ever seen such an amazing outpouring of love and support from an entire community.

  Your Daddy’s life, his courageous fight against cancer, and his unquenchable faith touched and inspired thousands of people.  Your Mommy was right there with him the whole time.  She was so strong and brave.  When I would tell your Daddy how many lives he was touching and people he was inspiring, he would smile and say he was thankful that God was using him.  But there were two lives that he was most concerned about, and that was you, his two girls.  This is what I want you to tell you about your Daddy:

Your Daddy’s faith in God, his courage in suffering, his powerful spirit will always be there for you as a witness and an example in times of trouble.  I hope and pray you will never have to go through the hard times that your parents went through, but we never know what life will bring.  But always remember that when trouble comes, when you find yourself in a painful situation, when there is suffering and heartache, you can work through it, you can overcome it, you can emerge victorious because your Daddy did.  He never gave up, he never lost hope, he never quit believing that God had a bigger plan and purpose for his suffering.  I know that God used your Daddy’s faith to inspire other people, and I also know that God will use his example to guide and inspire you throughout the rest of your life.  If ever you find yourself in a situation in which you are simply overwhelmed and feel like giving up, remember your Daddy and know that you can find that same strength, the same faith, and the same courage that he had.

Ella and Kate, the most important thing I want to know is this:  Your Daddy will always be with you.

How do I know this?  Because your Daddy loved you than you can ever imagine.  And love is eternal.  The Bible tells us that love never ends.  Death can destroy a lot of things, but it cannot take away love.  The power of love is greater than sickness, suffering, disease, pain, and death.  Your Daddy’s love will always be with you.

Whenever you accomplish something great in life, your Daddy will be with you, his smile and his love will surround you.  When you graduate from high school and college, your Daddy will be right there with you, smiling with pride over all you have achieved.  One great day, when you find the right person for your life and it is time to walk down the aisle of the church to exchange your wedding vows, your Daddy will be walking right beside with the biggest smile as he shares in your joy. 

And one day, many, many years from now hopefully, when death does come as it comes for all of us, do not be afraid, because your Daddy will be standing right there with Jesus to welcome you home.

A few weeks before he died, your Daddy told me that he was not afraid of death, but he didn’t want to leave his family.  And then he said, “I don’t want my girls to forget me.”

I assured your Daddy that it would never happen and that is one reason I wrote you this letter.  I wanted you to hear my story of one of the most courageous and faithful men I have ever known in all my years of ministry.  He loved God.  He was a faithful friend.  He loved his family.  He loved your Mommy. And he loved his baby girls.  I will never forget him.  I’m a better person because of him.  Your life will always be enriched, empowered, and inspired because he will always be with you. 

Sincerely with love,

 

Ray N. Howell III

 

       

My Friend Chad

        My friend Chad Kirkendall fought the good fight.  If ever anyone fought the good fight it was Chad.  He was strong, courageous and faithful against impossible odds.  His entire life was an inspiration, his optimistic spirit was contagious, and his unquenchable faith was a powerful witness to all. 

        I first met Chad when he was in high school.  He always had that winsome personality and that charming smile, even as a teenager.  I remember the excitement when Chad and Holly were engaged and we planned their wedding.  It was a unique time of joy and happiness for all of us.

        Then came that terrible Saturday when I had to call Chad and tell him the news over the phone that no one should ever have to hear that way.  His father had died suddenly of a massive heart attack.  Joyce and I had gone to the house to tell Becky.  Kristi and Dave were on the church retreat down at Caswell.  Chad didn’t deserve to hear the news that way, but at that moment I reasoned his mother needed him more.  We didn’t feel that we could leave Becky, so I called Chad to not only tell him of the tragedy of his father’s death, but that his mother needed her son.  In just a few minutes he was there. 

        I remember how, even then, he handled that devastating news with such dignity, courage, and grace. 

        Bobby was gone, but the sadness that Chad and all the family felt was soon tempered by the joyful news that Holly was expecting.  Chad would soon be a daddy and they were having a baby boy!

        We left to go to Belize that summer on the youth mission trip knowing that the baby would probably be born while we were gone.  I remember Chad’s joyous grin as he relished in the excitement and anticipation of his son’s birth.  I remember saying something to Chad like, “You’ll be a daddy by the time we get back.”

        He was.  But once again there was tragedy.

        Matthew was born but there were immediate complications.  Shortly after his birth he died.  Chad and Holly were devastated.  It should not have happened.  Especially not to this deserving couple.  They had recently experienced one tragedy, now another.  He had lost his father.  Now he lost his son.

        I arrived home in time for the funeral.  It was one of the saddest gatherings I could ever recall.  Little Matthew’s casket was so small, yet the grief was so large.  A very big crowd of mourners, everyone with broken hearts, stood by—everyone wanting to do more than was humanly possible.  Everyone was united in a common grief. 

        I remember going to see Chad and Holly shortly after the funeral.  As a minister, I deal with sadness and crisis on a daily basis, but rarely had I ever experienced anything as heartbreaking as this.  Chad and Holly were thrown into a deep, dark pit of grief.  The pain was agonizing. There was a void, a gap, never to be filled.

        Chad’s effervescent smile didn’t disappear completely, but it was mighty dim.  Slowly, gradually, and painfully, he started to recover.  Matthew would always be a part of Chad’s life, in a much larger way that any of us could imagine at the time, but we could see Chad and Holly emerging from the valley of darkness and slowly returning to the light. 

        There is always a light that shines in the darkness.  There is always hope on the horizon of despair.  One day we heard the exciting news that Holly was expecting again!

        Chad and Holly were blessed again with the gift of life, only this time it was a double blessing!  After the tragedy at Matthew’s birth, there were many, many prayers as Holly approached her delivery date.  God answered those prayers in a wonderful way when Ella Grace and Kate Elizabeth were born.  Everyone who knew Chad and Holly rejoiced.  Yes, God is good . . .

        And then . . .

        The first time I realized something was wrong with Chad was late last year when I saw him at the church.  He was limping and I asked him what was wrong.  He didn’t know.  I never thought it would be anything serious.

        I saw Chad again early in the year.  His limp was much more pronounced and Chad was very frustrated that the doctors could not figure out what was going on.  He was going the next week to have some more tests run.  Surely, there is an explanation.  Surely, this is something that can be resolved. 

        There was an explanation . . . .

        Most of you know the rest of the story.  The news kept going from bad to worse.  Chad never got a break.  Sunday morning Chad died at the Hinkle Hospice House.  Life isn’t fair and if anyone has experienced this truth, it has been Chad.

        Throughout this entire ordeal I have witnessed the most remarkable and courageous journey of faith.  Chad never gave up, never lost his faith, never lost hope.  Even in the end when it was apparent that physical healing would not take place, Chad believed that God had a bigger plan.  Chad is one of the strongest, most courageous men I have ever known.

        Chad’s journey has been an inspiration to thousands of people.  He has touched people in ways that we will never know.  Through social media, his story has been told across the nation.  God has used Chad in a powerful way.

        I don’t pretend to understand why good people like Chad suffer.  Several people asked me if my last article about hoping in the “not-yet” was about Chad.  It wasn’t directly, but I certainly had him in mind.  (The article is below this one)

        Last week I had a visit with Chad.  I said, “Chad, I don’t have any answers.  I don’t even know the right questions.  But something tells me that a thousand years from now it will not matter.  We will all be together and we will all understand.”

        Chad smiled—that amazing smile.

        On Sunday morning Chad smiled as never before when we walked into the arms of Jesus, and his daddy, and his son . . .

       

ADVENT: HOPING IN THE "NOT-YET"

        The emaciated body of my friend was difficult to see.  He sat in a recliner but was not comfortable.  There were gaping holes in his hair as the chemotherapy was taking its toll.  The radiation had left burn marks on his skin.  He was a relatively young man with a family.  He was athletic, strong and active; always healthy—until this—until this cancer had ravaged his body and was hammering away against his soul. 

        “There is one thing I don’t understand, preacher,” he said with a pained and weary expression on his face.  I waited a moment.  He was in deep thought.  The silence was pregnant with the somber fact we both knew he was in his last days. 

        “I’m on prayer lists all over this country.  People I don’t even know are praying for me.  I’ve always tried to be a good Christian.  I have lived my life doing the right thing.  So many people are praying for me—and I’m not getting any better.  I just don’t understand.” 

        As an old preacher who has been around for a long time, I don’t understand it either.  A few weeks after my friend shared this with me, he was dead.  Some people would say he didn’t have enough faith.  (That’s baloney!)   Others might say that it wasn’t God’s will for him to live.  (Really!)  Some well meaning people even said God needed him more than we did.  (What kind of God would do this?)  But people of the deepest faith acknowledged that our finite understanding will not allow us to comprehend this great mystery.  We simply do not know why. 

        Many of you will listen to the words of the prophet Isaiah in the morning as you worship on the Second Sunday of Advent.  You will hear how animals who are natural enemies will lie down together and a small child will play with them.  Last Sunday we heard about the day when swords would be beaten into plowshares and nations would not lift up swords against other nations, neither would they learn war any more. 

        The season of Advent poses a big dilemma for us that in many ways relates to my friend’s situation.  During Advent we hear these Old Testament prophecies of the coming one who will defeat the powers of evil, reign triumphantly over his people and establish peace and harmony in our troubled world.  He will be the “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace.” 

        Well, he came.  Christ was born.  The Son of God came and lived and preached about the Kingdom of God.  But 2,000 years later we continue to be plagued by wars and the forces of evil.  There is much suffering and pain.  People continue to die of cancer even though they are on prayer lists all over the country.  How do we reconcile this dilemma?

        The coming of Christ was the beginning of hope.  His advent propelled us into a world of promise which is understood in terms of expectation.  Yes, our world is full of pain and suffering and death, but it is also full of hope and promise and life because of Christ.  As people of hope we are constantly drawn toward the future as we walk on that narrow ridge between the disappearing “now” and the ever newly appearing “not-yet.”  Paul wrote that if we hope for what we do “not-yet” have, we wait for it patiently. 

        Every Sunday of Advent we light a candle to signify the light that shines in our darkness.  No matter how desperate the situation, no matter how dark the night, there is always light, there is always hope.  We look to the “not-yet” of fulfillment, healing, love, and peace. 

        I didn’t have an answer for my friend that day.  All I could tell him was that even though I don’t understand, I do know that this is not the end.  There is more, there is always more.  Cancer, sickness, suffering and death are never the final answers.  There is more that we will experience one day, but “not-yet.”  Simply knowing this makes life better.  Our hope of the ‘not-yet’ in the future transforms life today and gives us reason to keep on believing.  No, I didn’t have an answer for him that day—but he has the answer now!

 

                                               

       

November 22, 1963

   

          I can see the image in my mind as clearly as HD television.  Mr. Gilbert, our principal, standing at the door of Miss Price’s 4^th grade class with a somber look on his face.  We knew something was wrong. 

          “The president has been shot,” he told us.  That was it.  We didn’t know anything more.  I’m not sure what happened next, but it was only a short time before Mr. Gilbert was back with the stunning news, “The president is dead.”

          We were taken into the school auditorium where the school’s only television was showing images of Walter Cronkite reporting in his shirtsleeves.  School was soon dismissed, although I don’t remember an announcement.  I do remember walking home. 

          In my memory, which has been filtered by a half-century of age, a car stopped and the driver said something to me.  My mind has reconstructed the memory to a mysterious woman asking me if I knew about the president. 

Last weekend we made a visit to Alabama to visit my mother.  We celebrated her birthday on Saturday and it was good to be with her and see everyone in the family.  I took two of my children by the old school building that has since been converted into an Arts Center, and showed them where my 4^th grade class was located.  There were numerous specials on television about the Kennedy assassination.  We were talking about the assassination one night and I asked mother how she heard the news.

          “I heard the terrible news on television,” she said. “I needed to go to the store and knew that you children would be coming home soon, so I was driving to town when I saw you walking down the street.  I stopped and told you that I would be back home in a few minutes.”

          So that mysterious woman who had become a stranger in my mind was actually my mother!  Funny how the mind plays tricks on us.

          But in a way it was telling.  As a child, my mind was not preconditioned by political bias.  JFK was not very popular in Alabama, primarily because of his stand on Civil Rights.  But I wasn’t old enough to be political and my parents didn’t discuss politics with us.  I was inspired by Kennedy.  We tried to imitate his Boston accent.  (Alabama boys speaking with a Boston accent!)

          His words, “Ask not what your country can do for you, . . .” resonated with me and stirred me as did Martin Luther King’s lofty rhetoric.  My world was shattered on November 22, 1963.  All the adults had their own political bias, as I do now, but 50 years ago I was innocent—until that fateful day.

          The next summer my grandmother took me to Washington, DC.  We rode the train, visited the monuments and memorials, saw the Declaration of Independence and spent hours in the Smithsonian.  We went to see John Sparkman, the Alabama Senator from our hometown.  We toured the White House. 

          My grandmother told me she would buy me a souvenir.  I looked and looked but finally settled on a small bust of JFK.  I know it must have cost more that my grandmother had planned to spend.  And I still remember the shop owner giving me a lecture on the fact that “this is not a toy.  You don’t play with it.  If you drop it, it will break.”

          He probably didn’t think I would get home with it.  Maybe my grandmother didn’t either, but I did.  In fact, it’s in my office today.  And when I look at it, I remember November 22, 1963.  That was the day my world changed, and our nation has never been the same.

A First Class Veteran In Pain

He sits in a wheelchair at Lexington Health Care due to both legs being amputated. "Are you in pain?" I ask. He nods his head yes.

Junior Anderson has known pain before. In 1944, near Naples, Italy, he was shot in the left leg while dragging a wounded soldier to safety. Risking his life for his fallen comrade and for the cause of freedom, he was rewarded with three bronze stars, a purple heart, the Victory Medal, Good Conduct Medal and several campaign medals. Then he came home.

The decorated war veteran who was wounded in action, who was willing to lay down his life for our freedom, came home as a second-class citizen. You see, Staff Sgt. Junior Anderson, who was a part of the 370th Infantry (Combat Team) of the U.S. Army during World War II, is a Buffalo Soldier. He is one of only two Buffalo Soldiers who survive in North Carolina. Buffalo Soldiers served our nation from 1866 to 1951. It was a name given to African-American cavalrymen by Native Americans.

Anderson came home to a society where black citizens were not treated as equals, regardless of their military service or sacrifice. It was the same society I grew up in where my friends Herman and James were not allowed to walk down Main Street simply because they were black. Even so, James went to Vietnam where he served his nation with valor and courage like Anderson. He was every bit a first-class soldier. I stayed home and went to college. James could not afford to go to college, so he went to Vietnam and was killed. His body came home where he was still a second-class citizen, even in death.

Anderson came home a wounded warrior. His fight, however, was far from over. He has been fighting another battle in recent years as he has suffered two strokes, survived colon cancer and endured three different amputations due to gangrene. His wife, Peggy, shared with me that the struggle is more than physical. She has encountered one obstacle after another as she tries to get him the treatment he needs through the VA Hospital. She dreams of bringing her husband home, but at this point their house cannot accommodate a wheelchair. That situation can be corrected.

The Banks Miller American Legion Post 255 recently honored Anderson. You may have seen the inspiring article in The Dispatch on Oct. 9. There are also some grateful citizens who are working with Lexington Housing CDC to make the necessary renovations to their house so he can return home. Please contact the agency if you would like to help a war hero come home.

Words are not adequate to express our gratitude to Anderson. Valiant in war, victimized at home, and now suffering from numerous illnesses, yes, he has known pain. On this recent Veterans Day weekend, we will try to say thank you. Thank you to Staff Sgt. Anderson; thank you to all the courageous men and women who served faithfully and risked their lives for freedom. And thank you to my friend, James, and all who never came home. "Greater love has no man than this, that one lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13.

If ever there was a first-class citizen, it is Junior Anderson who sits in his wheelchair at Lexington Health Care. I shook his hand and said, "Thank you Mr. Anderson. Thank you for your service to our country. Thank you for all you have done to make me free." He meekly lowered his head and nodded it affirmatively. I saw the tears in his eyes. I'm not sure if he saw the tears in mine.

 

 

The Original Marion North Carolina

          Here’s a story I bet you didn’t know.  It has to do with Marion, North Carolina.  No, not that Marion.  I’m talking about the original Marion that almost became the County Seat of Davidson County. 

          On November 22, 1822, Joseph Spurgeon introduced a bill in the North Carolina Senate to divide Rowan County.  The official Act establishing a separate and distinct county by the name of Davidson was formally ratified by the General Assembly on December 9, 1822.

          The citizens of Lexington assumed that their town would be named the new County Seat.  Lexington was the oldest and only established town in the new county.  A provisional court was often held in Lexington and the townspeople were confident that only the formalities needed to be addressed before Lexington became Davidson County’s Seat of Government, but the good people of Lexington were about to be disappointed.

          The General Assembly wanted new County Seats to be located as near as possible to the geographic center of the county.  A survey was made and it was determined that the geographic center of Davidson County was located on the farm of Martin Owens, in present day Holly Grove.  On April 17, 1823, the county purchased 108 acres from Mr. Owens for the sum of $300.  The land was laid off in lots and an auction was held.  Many lots were sold in the new County Seat which had already been given a name.  Frances Marion was a Revolutionary War hero known as the “Swamp Fox.”  The new County Seat of Davidson County would be named Marion, North Carolina.

          The people of Lexington were not happy with this unexpected turn of events.  One of Lexington’s leading citizens, Dr. William R. Holt, decided to do something about it.  The town’s first physician, an 1817 University of North Carolina graduate, had moved to Lexington in 1920.  Dr. Holt, a close friend of John Motley Morehead, was an influential and persuasive man.  His beautiful 1834 Greek Revival home, “The Homestead,” remains an active and charming residence to this day.

 

He took the matter to court arguing that the results of the survey were in error.  On October 30, 1823, the Court of Pleas and Quarter Sessions ordered that the survey maps and papers be turned over to Dr. Holt “in order that he may have the center of Davidson County ascertained, certified and delivered” to the General Assembly by no less than, “The President of the University,” the Rev. Dr. Joseph Caldwell. 

A former professor of mathematics, Dr. Caldwell was President of the University of North Carolina from 1804 to 1833.  He was widely known in the Carolinas for his expertise as the “Astronomical Advisor” for the running of the boundary between North and South Carolina and Georgia in 1807.  An “Astronomical Advisor” was an expert in establishing boundaries. He was the most qualified man in the state to settle the Davidson County Seat controversy.

A former student of Dr. Caldwell, Dr. Holt persuaded him to disqualify the original survey.  We are not sure how Dr. Holt did it, but his friendship with his old professor certainly helped!   He could not, however, convince his aging old friend that Lexington was the geographic center of the new county, primarily because it was not.

          Dr. Caldwell was not unsympathetic to the needs of one of his former star pupils.  He stated that as long as the Courthouse was within five miles of the center of the county, there should be no problem.  He went on to argue that the County Seat should be placed in an established town so that the county folk upon visiting the town might return home “with improved feelings, minds enlarged, information increased, their various business in courts and stores finished to their minds, and their publick (sic) spirit, gratified and excited by the scene of general activity and prosperity.”

          Unfortunately for Lexington, the people who had purchased lots in the new town of Marion were not persuaded by the enlightened Chapel Hill rhetoric.  They demanded another survey which was done, but the results favored neither side.

It was finally decided that an election would determine the location of Davidson County’s Seat of Government.  Representatives from the new county needed to be elected for the State Legislature and the “hot button” issue quickly became the location of the County Seat.  A vote for Alexander Caldcleugh for State Senate would be a vote for Lexington.  A vote for I. Smith would be a vote for Marion.  In the State House, Jesse Hargrave of Lexington was running against William Bodenhamer who was an advocate for Marion.  Caldcleugh won his election by four votes (409 to 405) and Hargrave was victorious by two votes (649-647).    The men still faced a fight in Raleigh, but they were successful in establishing Lexington as the County Seat of Davidson County. 

The land that had been sold in Marion was purchased back by the county.  Davidson County later used the land that was once part of Martin Owens’ farm to build the County Home.  Today, the Davidson County Schools Administrative Offices are located on this property.  Close by you will find the only reminder of what almost became Marion, North Carolina, a street named Marion Drive.

When McDowell County in the western part of the state was formed in 1843, a similar controversy arose between those who wanted the new County Seat to be in the established town of Buck Creek and those who wanted to create a new town at the county’s geographic center.  In this case, a new town was created and on March 14, 1844, there was finally a County Seat named Marion.  It’s located in the geographic center of McDowell County.

But aren’t you glad Lexington became the County Seat of Davidson County.  After all, Marion just wouldn’t do. They didn’t know how to barbecue!

 

                  

DID I SAY THAT!

       I’m preaching a revival this week at Paul’s Chapel UCC Church.  The revival started Sunday night and will continue through Tuesday.  I’m doing the preaching and the church has invited a different gospel group each night to sing.  Last night a local gospel bluegrass group named “Second Chance” provided the music.  They were very good.  If you like bluegrass, you will love “Second Chance.”  After “Second Chance” finished their selections, a young lady sang a solo. 

       When it was time for me to preach I started by thanking the congregation for the opportunity to be with them, then I thanked the ones who provided special music.  I made a mental note of the young lady’s name before I stood up, but as I was starting to say something about the music I realized I had forgotten her name.  But at the last minute it came to me and I thanked her (calling her by the right name) for the wonderful solo.  At that point I also thanked the gospel group—or at least I thought I did.  Joyce told me after the service.  “Do you realize what you said?  You didn’t thank “Second Chance” but “Second Wind!” 

       Many of you know “Second Wind.”  Alan Williams and Mark Motlow are two of the band members.  But they were not playing at Paul’s Chapel on Sunday night—“Second Chance” was.  The visiting preacher, however, got up and talked about how wonderful “Second Wind” could play.

       Did I say that!    I guess I did.  I’m getting old you know—or at least that’s my excuse. 

       I’ve always had a fear of calling someone by the wrong name at a wedding or a funeral.  I’ve done hundreds of weddings and funerals through the years, but so far I’ve called people by the right name.  (As far as I know!) 

I did a wedding years ago for a fellow named Norton.   Only problem was Norton was not his real name.  His real name was Paul Lathan, but no one knew that—except his mother who insisted I call him by his given name.  So when the wedding started I announced that we were there to witness the wedding of Paul Lathan and his bride,  The congregation gasped.  They were sure I had called him by the wrong name.  Only his mother knew why Paul Lathan was getting married rather than Norton.

       So thank you “Second Chance” and thank you “Second Wind.”  You can call me Ray!

TCBBQ

 

            Have you seen the promotional brochures and the posters for the 30^th Annual Barbecue Festival?  Over the image of the old courthouse you will see a banner that reads:  TCBBQ—Takin’ Care of Barbecue.  I was intrigued by the new slogan so I contacted Stephanie Saintsing Naset, the festival’s executive director who told me that the clever acronym was created with Elvis Presley in mind as he had adopted “Takin’ Care of Business” (TCB) as his personal motto.  His band was named the TCB Band and he even had TCB painted on the tail of his private jet.  In Lexington we “TCB—BQ,” we take care of BBQ!

            Two weeks from today over 175,000 people will pack the streets of Lexington town to celebrate our signature product—pork barbecue.  (Of course its pork!  Is there any other?)  From the day old Simon Peter had his vision on the rooftop in Joppa and God announced: “Q is good for you!  Take and eat with a little red slaw.”  (Lexington Standard Version), to BBQ pioneers Jesse Swicegood and Sid Weaver, and to today’s plethora of Barbecue establishments in and around town, that simmering, delectable, slow cooked pork shoulder just gets better and better.  Thirty years ago Dispatch Publisher Joe Sink along with Kay Saintsing created the first Barbecue Festival.  From the very beginning the festival has been much more than our delicious barbecue; it has been a celebration of community, a venue to share talents and crafts, a showcase for entertainment, and an affirmation of what is right with our world. 

            Lexington barbecue developed out of a basic need.  As the county seat of Davidson County, people would flock to town on court days.  They came not just to seek justice, but to shop in the stores, obtain professional services, and enjoy the fellowship of friends and family.  There were not enough restaurants to accommodate the large crowds, so entrepreneuring individuals decided to provide temporary food services.  They would dig a pit in the ground where they would slow roast pork shoulders over hickory wood.  Lexington barbecue was born!  The first official “restaurant” opened in 1919 when Sid Weaver set up a tent in the center of town.  Jesse Swicegood soon followed, and today there are over twenty barbecue restaurants that TCBBQ!

            Last Sunday was World Communion Sunday and I couldn’t help but notice the connection with our upcoming BBQ Festival.  Both celebrations focus on a table that brings people together.  A big, big table---it takes a big table to serve BBQ for 175,000 and an even bigger table for all God’s children to gather as they receive the bread and wine.  Both tables address basic needs:  the need for nourishment for our physical bodies and the need for spiritual nourishment for our souls. Both tables invite the creation of community.

            The table of our Lord is a table of love, mercy, and grace.  We come to the Lord’s table out of great need.  We need the Lord.  We need his mercy and grace that we find at his table.  But there are so many more people who are not in our churches.  Many are suffering.  They have medical needs.  Children are hungry and there are those who need encouragement and a helping hand. As we shared the bread and wine this past Sunday, I challenged my congregation to take God’s mercy and grace out of the walls of the sanctuary to the community where people are in need. If they are not coming to the Lord’s table, we will take the table to them.

Two weeks from today it will be my great joy to “Bless the BBQ” as part of the Opening Ceremony.  What I’m really doing is simply expressing gratitude to God, because he has already blessed us with a loving and caring community that loves to throw a party.  We’ll be ready to welcome the tens of thousands of guests who come to the celebration.  Don’t worry, we know how to TCBBQ.  We also TCGPT.  We’ll take care of God’s people, too!   

 

Where Children May Safely Play

        Tucked away in the little Old Testament book of Zechariah is a beautiful image of old men and women walking around the city of Jerusalem with canes while children play in the streets with laughter and joy.  It is a prophecy of life the way it is supposed to be—life in the Kingdom of God.  Dr. Eugene Peterson  in his presentation of the Bible called “The Message” shares the verse this way:  Old men and old women will come back to Jerusalem, sit on benches on the streets and spin tales, move around safely with their canes—a good city to grow old in. And boys and girls will fill the public parks, laughing and playing—a good city to grow up in.

        This is our hope for this community and every community.  But sadly, in a world of great evil and many manifestations of darkness, it is not safe for children or adults to be in many streets for fear of gunfire, bombs, or even a chemical attack.  The heartbreaking images of the bodies of innocent children in Syria are impossible to erase from our minds.  We are devastated by such horrific events and we want to respond, to do something—but what?  I don’t know what the answer is, but I don’t believe it is found in missiles and airstrikes.  When will we learn that a violent response to violence only perpetuates more violence?  I want to “study war no more!”

But violence is not confined to the Middle East.  Gun violence in Chicago is an epidemic with over 500 homicides last year and already over 300 this year.  Over 30 percent of the victims are teenagers and children.  Where is the blame?  Gangs, drugs, poverty, inequality?   All of us?   What is the answer?

        As much as I would like to help the suffering in Syria, Chicago, and other faraway places, there is little I can do.  But I can do something about the suffering in Lexington and Davidson County.  Around 45 percent of the children in Lexington live in poverty.  A couple of years ago the Southern Education Foundation ranked the Lexington School District the 66^th worst in the south in extreme child poverty.  Twenty-one percent of its students were living below 50 percent of the federal poverty level.  Most of these children are not laughing and playing in the streets. Many go to bed hungry. 

        Where do I start?  I begin by making a difference in the life of one child.  There are a number of community agencies, programs, and initiatives through the school systems that give you an opportunity to help children in need.  Mentors, tutors, encouragers, leaders, and helpers are needed.  They need financial support and administrative skills. You can get involved directly or indirectly.  The Backpack Program, Communities in Schools, Smart Start, The Boys and Girls Club, Project Potential, the YMCA, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, the 4-H Program, CHILL, Special Olympics, and a host of other programs make a qualitative difference in the lives of children.  Call your local school or an agency to see how you can help!

        You can even make a difference in the life of a Davidson County child by attending next week’s Davidson County Agricultural Fair.  Every summer around 180 deserving children are selected by the Department of Social Services to attend a week of summer camp where they can safely laugh and play.  Since 1946, the Lexington Kiwanis Club has operated the annual county fair to raise the revenue to operate Kamp Kiwanis.  Your $7.00 admission to the fair next week will help some child attend summer camp next year.  Have fun at the fair and help a child!  Now that’s a win-win!

        The needs of our world and even our own community are often overwhelming.  We cannot meet all of those needs, but we can meet some.  If everyone reading this column would do something---get involved in a program, make a financial contribution, volunteer your services—we can turn the lives of many children around and give them hope for the future!  And in the process we will be building the Kingdom of God, creating a community where children may safely play. 

                                                                       

 

FAITH/HEALTH AND THE KINGDOM OF GOD

        Most everyone in Lexington knows “Durango.”  I learned a few years ago that while everyone calls him “Durango” he prefers his given name, Kenneth.  Kenneth lives in Bob’s Board House on Main Street in downtown Lexington.  He is a fixture at American Legion Baseball games and the Davidson County Fair.  Years ago he rode a bicycle all over town and beyond.

        Jimmy Snyder has been a good and helpful friend to Kenneth for many years.  When I found out that Kenneth needed a medical procedure at Lexington Medical Center, I thought it might be a good “trial run” for FaithHealthNC. 

        The preparation for the procedure has recently changed and when Kenneth told me he wasn’t sure what to do, I looked at his instructions and it took me a while to figure it out.  This happens often with medicine.  Part of FaithHealth is helping people understand their medical orders. 

          Early Monday morning I picked Kenneth up from his apartment and took him to Lexington Medical Center.  Jim Tate, our FaithHealth Administrator had sent out an email last week explaining the need and had an immediate and positive response.  Gary Wikstrom had volunteered to pick Kenneth up after his procedure, so I had written down Gary’s phone numbers and also mine, but the nurse told me somebody had to be at the hospital during the actual procedure.  I told her that I would stay and then called Gary to let him know what was going on.  He came right on to the hospital.  We were both there when Kenneth came out of the procedure and we talked to the doctor.  

          Gary took over, taking Kenneth home and getting him settled.   Gary also provided a meal for Kenneth and later in the evening, Michelle and William Hopkins also brought him a meal.  They also called him and checked on him.

          Kenneth called me that night.  He was thrilled with all the attention he received and went into great detail telling me everything that was brought to him to eat.  He told me that would last him for several days.  Then he said, as only Kenneth can, “Thank you for all the nice things you did for me today.”  

          The greatest gift we gave to Kenneth was not transportation and food, although that was very important, but we surrounded him with love and support—and that meant more than any medicine or medical procedure. 

          Kenneth’s words:  “Thank you for all the nice things you did for me today” echo as a blessing and a challenge.   Isn’t this what Jesus had in mind when he talked about building the Kingdom of God?

 

A VOID, A GAP, NEVER TO BE FILLED

The tears streamed down, and I let them flow as freely as they would, making of them a pillow for my heart." — Augustine

It's been almost 35 years ago, but I will never forget that hot summer night when I heard some noise over at the church and went to investigate. It was late on a Friday night, and we were living in the parsonage next to the church.

I encountered a group of teenage boys who were riding around town on a dune-buggy, engaged in a water balloon battle with their friends. They had stopped by the church to replenish the water balloons with our outdoor faucets. I had a nice conversation with the boys and asked that they make sure the faucets were turned off when they finished. They wished me a good night, and I told them to be safe. Little did I know …

I was a volunteer emergency medical technician on the local rescue squad, and it was my night to be on call. Around midnight I was jolted out of my sleep by a loud alarm followed by an announcement that there had been a wreck with injuries on a dirt road out of town.

I met my partner, and we were quickly en route with lights and sirens blaring. As we pulled up to the accident I was shocked to see the same dune-buggy turned upside down in a ditch. Several bodies were scattered across the road — the boys I met at the church. We called for backup and quickly started to triage the injuries. Two or three of the boys were seriously hurt, but their injuries were not life threatening.

But then I saw that one of the boys was not moving. Rushing over to him I immediately recognized that there was nothing I could do. He had been thrown from the vehicle and was crushed as it rolled over him. We took a sheet and covered his body while we attended to the injured.

Other ambulances came and transported the victims to the hospital while I stayed behind with the state trooper. We thought that we should find out who the young man's minister was and ask him to go with us to notify his family. We found his driver's license and when I saw his name I realized that I was the minister! They were members of my church.

He was their only child. I will never forget the anguish, the panic, the shock and disbelief. The father insisted that we take him to the scene of the accident. Then we went with him to the hospital where he sobbed over his son's lifeless body. I was with the family most of the weekend. I preached the young man's funeral. It was one of the saddest things I have ever had to do.

I think of this young man from time to time, but especially when I hear of a tragic accident like the one our community experienced last month. I do not know the family who lost their precious little girl in the pool accident, but my heart immediately went out to them.

Nicholas Wolterstorff, a prolific Christian philosopher, shared the deep wounds of his heart after the tragic death of his son in a book titled "Lament for a Son." He talked about the great void that is left. "Never again will anyone inhabit the world the way he did. Questions I have can never now get answers. The world is emptier. My son is gone. Only a hole remains, a void, a gap, never to be filled."

Paula D'arcy, who lost a daughter in terrible car wreck, wrote of her anguish in a book, "Song for Sarah: A Mother's Journey Through Grief and Beyond." She made the statement: "God never guaranteed anything to be permanent except his love. I made all the other conclusions."

I have no answers to these tragic events. However, I must believe that God's love is all we have and all we need. God's heart is broken as heavily as the parents. And God understands.

Almost a year after the young man was killed, his father stopped by the parsonage with a gift. He made us a beautiful wooden bookcase. It was the work of a master craftsman. There were no nails. The wood was dovetailed together. I was deeply touched by his gift. He had spent hours and hours making it perfect. "When you look at it," he said, "think of my son."

I do, but I also think of the father for I realized that he was finally walking through the valley. There was life on the other side.