Life Matters - June 5, 2024
The broad ribbon of slow-moving water, snaking its gentle way through the James River Valley, nurtures a lot of life along the way. A myriad of fish, including Northern Pike, Small and Largemouth Bass, Catfish, a variety of panfish, have made it their home until they land in the frying pan or die some form of otherwise natural death. The peaceful river has been known to overflow its banks, to the rude awakening of those who dared build on its flood plain. The flood plain is clear of houses now and is home to raccoons, deer, waterfowl, turkeys, many kinds of birds, etc. besides much of it being cultivated when the James River stays within its banks long enough.
Most of the time the river is so calm it reminds me of my dad, who in my teen years, I thought too placid and uncommunicative. I thought Mam would surely take up the cause for me when I complained about him to her, but instead she looked at me with that gentleness of her own in her deep, dark eyes and simply said, “still waters run deep.” That little remark struck home and found lodging in me as I thought, “hmm yea, that makes sense, she’s probably right… I know he observes more then he often shows… sometimes it comes out in ways that… cause me to wonder…”
I discovered one day that the emotions he didn’t show much of ran quite deep. That calm surface within its staid banks had its limits when pushed too far. My dad was a true gentleman. Calm, steady, dependable, honest, hardworking, an avid reader of news, a firm believer in his Bible, describes my dad, who was 40 when I, the 8th of my mom’s and his squalling babies in the span of 17 years, was delivered, for good or for ill, into his life. The latter half of my teen years proved to be “for ill,” as I got caught up in the rock & roll rebellion, still in its own second decade. The latter half of the 1970s were rough for me and, I can only assume, even rougher for Dat, who, as the gentleman he was, gave me some patient warnings along the way. But the day came when I pushed him too far and his patience “broke over its banks” in a furious flood.
I do not remember what the disagreement was, but I do remember that I gave him a snotty, disrespectful response, then turned on my heels to walk away when my pride was suddenly jarred, and partially imploded, by a booted foot hitting me squarely in the rear so hard it’s a wonder I stayed on my feet. My response was outwardly nil as I regained my balance and kept walking, but inwardly I gained a bit of respect for this man with a foot swing that, were I a football, it felt like I could have been seen floating between the goalposts about then. The message was clear, “that’s it, you snotty youngster, I’ve had all I can take.” I was a little embarrassed because I knew I deserved it, and more. Nor was I offended, it probably did me some good, though I still can’t freely recommend the above. I do believe there are better attitude adjusters. Biblically speaking, but I guess when a man is running out of tools he had best make do with what he’s got. In the two decades of my life in Dat and Mam’s home, this was my first and only encounter with Dat’s boot-powered attitude adjuster. I do believe it did me some good, but only because I didn’t take offence, nor did I seek others to take up an offence for me. Soliciting sympathy likely wouldn’t have worked anyhow. Afterall, we were only a few decades removed from the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl years, and a war that engulfed all the major powers of this world, claiming the young and vibrant lives of 15,000,000 military men, leaving 25,000,000 more wounded, and 45,000,000 civilians dead. Besides, we were of the stoic Swiss-German stock that had sought a home in the “new world” to escape religious persecution, of Reformers in general and Anabaptists in particular.
Beware now, lest easy times make us weak and ineffective. The emotional “snowflakes” of the left-wing Woke-pandering crowd, in trying to right all the wrongs in this world, are much like coonhounds barking up the wrong tree. The coon has long since moved from tree to tree and found himself a new nest. To take up an offence for other people’s real or imagined hurts differs from the coonhounds, however, in that, while the baying of hounds may be harmless, hurting people today because of yesteryears hurting people is more than useless, it also hurts more people.
As with all of us, my gentleman dad wasn’t perfect, and no, I can’t recommend boot-powered attitude adjusting. But I can, and do, recommend all recipients of the boot treatment to take whatever wrong attitude we may be tempted with to the foot of the cross and leave it there, to be disciples of Jesus Christ. Where still waters run deep.
Life matters!