Victory in Jesus

This weekend, Brian and I took a short trip to the metroplex to celebrate our 29th anniversary.  In between other things, we went to see my grandfather, Bun Bun, at the nursing home in Arlington and stayed with him for the afternoon.

Bun is a fiercely independent guy who has been laid low by old age and near-blindness. He grew up on a farm in Fairy, Texas (the closest “big” town is Hico), the oldest of four siblings and the only boy. Theirs was a hard-working life, but was also full of laughter, family, and music.  I can remember times when we would get together at their house, and one of my great-aunts would play piano, Bun would play the organ, Mom (my great-grandmother) would play the fiddle, and Pop (my great-granddad) would play harmonica.

Johnny, Vernon (Bun Bun), and Valeria Jackson, mid-1920s

When Bun Bun graduated from high school, he decided farm life was not for him and embarked on quite the adventure.  He and three of his buddies pooled their resources, drove to Los Angeles, and applied to work at Lockheed. It was the war boom in aviation, and he went to school to learn the fine art of riveting, bucking, and sheet metal assembly.

My grandparents on the flight line with the North American P-51, early 1940s

After his training, Bun Bun came back to Texas and was hired by North American Aviation in Dallas, right by the Dallas Naval Base. He worked his way up to supervisor, and it was there he met my grandmother, who was an executive secretary on the night shift.  Eventually he bought a vending route and began building a business, with my grandmother at his side.  He taught himself to play the organ, fished a lot with Uncle Milton, raised two girls, served on the school board, grew a massive garden, and was an elder in the church. When the grandkids came along, he occupied his time with mischief (mainly related to teasing the pets and doing practical jokes).

Something interesting happened to Bun Bun in his older years. He was raised by a staunch Church of Christ family that had a very black and white view of the world. Add that to his natural temperament – a “lion,” my-way-or-the-highway kinda guy – and you get a man who didn’t have much room for anything beyond the party line. But then….then Bun Bun discovered the Holy Spirit (or maybe I should say that the Spirit finally broke through to him). Suddenly the boundaries of his world expanded and a softness grew in him. I got to witness this firsthand, since I worked for him one summer in college, and then later after Bekah was born. The change was amazing.

Over the last 20+ years, he and my grandmother have hosted a prayer breakfast every Saturday morning, rain or shine. It’s a very ecumenical group of prayer warriors and a beautiful testimony to the power of a changed life. Back before it was commonly accepted, Bun Bun would raise his hands in worship, unashamed to praise the God who saved him.

Fast forward to 2012. When we arrived at the nursing home, Bun was asleep; when he woke up, he was pretty disoriented.  My aunt Jorja had given me two helpful tips: (1) they were serving ice cream in the common area at 2:00; and (2) there was a piano and the residents would like it if I played. So we trooped down and got him a big bowl of strawberry ice cream for the win. 

The piano was nearby, with a lone hymnal perched on the music rest.  Brian served as conversation partner, and I began to play the old hymns. At first it was quiet, but then I played “I Come to the Garden Alone” – a sweet voice behind me began to sing. Then there were a few amens. Then more residents came, and several sang along. A lady sang “How Great Thou Art” at the top of her lungs. When I played “Spirit of the Living God,” my granddad said, “Hallelujah!” After about an hour, we wrapped up with “Victory in Jesus.” It is a marvel to me how our shared story of song cuts through gender, age, race, denomination, and social distinctions – at that moment in time, we were all the same, all thankful for the work Jesus has done in our lives.

I personally think it’s pretty great that a man who is 90, mostly blind, mostly deaf, weaker than he would like, and with trouble remembering can still celebrate Jesus’ saving grace. Back at the room, some old friends came by for a visit, and Bun Bun insisted that we have a time of prayer together, with everyone participating. Praise and prayer – his life is wrapped up in these two things. I can’t think of a better legacy.

I heard about a mansion He has built for me in glory,
And I heard about the street of gold beyond the crystal sea,
About the angels singing, and the old redemption story,
And some sweet day I’ll sing up there the song of victory.
Oh, victory in Jesus! My savior forever;
He sought me and bought me with His redeeming blood.
He loved me e’er I knew Him, and all my love is due Him,
He plunged me to victory beneath the crimson flood.

My dad's better than your dad

Do you remember those verbal wars with your friends over whose dad was the best dad? I can recall some heated arguments on that subject from so many years ago. And, quite frankly, I would go to the mat on it even now.

My dad with his parents and sister

My dad was born to J.P. and Lizzie Young in Plainview, Texas. He had one sister, twelve years older, and a host of aunts, uncles, and cousins. They spent time in Abernathy, then Carlsbad, and then moved to Mancos, Colorado when he was a teenager. They ran cattle, raised hay and feed, rode horses, maintained a series of irrigation ditches around the property, and had a large garden, so there was always plenty to do!

Dad celebrated his first Father's Day a month shy of his 21st birthday. My brother, Jay, was born about 18 months later. So he and Mom did what most of us do - they learned their parenting through the school of hard knocks. I was pretty much born talking and running amok, then when Jay came along it was times two.

Over the years, my dad did lots of things. He worked on the ranch with his father; he ran vending machines for his father-in-law; he moved to Brenham to work in urban renewal during a time of great racial and social change; he bought a struggling business and made it work. On the side, he served as an elder and deacon, coached my brother's little league team, sat through many a band concert, and taught us to ski during family vacations. Now that he's in the "second half" of his life, as it were, he leads Faith Mission, a ministry in Brenham that provides a broad array of social services to individuals in Washington County - a role that is the culmination of so many experiences.

When I married Brian 29 years ago and gave birth to Katie five years later, I saw my parents transformed by the experience of grandparenthood. There is something very beautiful about seeing the love you experienced for your whole life multiplied and poured out on your own children. Katie and Bekah now have a rich and full relationship with them both.  What a blessing! I saw Dad rock, hold, tickle, make popcorn, take them fishing, make swings and merry-go-rounds, and be the encouragement to my girls that he always was to me.

Katie with Grandy - popcorn time!

Bekah playing with Grandy

Dad has taught me many things, but here are just a few.

• There are always two sides to everything.
• Even when you don't feel beautiful on the outside, a father's love can see you through it.
• Love God and look for Him in Christians of all flavors - you'll find precious believers everywhere if you'll just be available and open.
• Love your spouse, and keep laughter in your marriage.
• Be a person of integrity - if you promise to do something, do it.

This Father's Day I also celebrate the father that Brian has been to our daughters over these many years. He has endured girl drama to the max and managed to retain his sense of humor.  Brian did many of those same things that my dad did. He's been a trooper through piano and dance recitals, band and choir concerts, plays, movie musicals, and basketball games. He's taken the girls on dates as they grew up so that they could have special time with him and see what kind of treatment they should expect from their future boyfriends and husbands. He demanded respect from them toward me as his wife. He's taught them how to build models and change tires and love God.  I am so very thankful for the man he is and for all he continues to do to bless all of his girls.

 

So, Dad - and Brian - please know how grateful I am for you both, and for your fathers and grandfathers who helped show you the way(Psalm 78:1-8). Thanks to you, new generations of Christ-followers are here, and there are many more yet to come.

Sing to me of heaven

A confluence of circumstances brought times past to remembrance in an intense way this week. On Thursday I was invited to eat lunch with some of my Young family cousins.  Yes, hilarity ensued, but at the same time there was sweet sharing of stories about our ancestors, those dear ones who helped make us the people we are today.

The third couple from the left is J.P. and Lizzie Young, my paternal grandparents,
and sitting in front of them is my great-grandfather, Mike M. Young Sr.

On Saturday I got up early to go to the farmers' market downtown, and I came home with a beautiful batch of produce. Tomatoes made me think of my granddad; squash reminded me of my grandmother; and those purple-hulled peas! As I shelled them later that day, I thought of the many times I sat beside my great-grandmother, Valeria Jackson, in her tiny little house, shelling peas for what seemed like forever. I could see her smiling eyes, her gnarled hands, hear the laughter from her kitchen. Saturday was also the day my grandfather Bun Bun Jackson had a health scare that landed him in the hospital for a few days, so I had him on my mind as well.

Visiting my great-grandmother, Valeria Jackson, in 1990, the year before she died.

Vernon "Bun Bun" Jackson in his garden, around 1990.

Then today at Minter Lane, something very special happened. We had a scripture reading by Tom Smith (age 85), another reading by Lloyd Boyll (age 95), prayers by Roland Johnson (age 99!), and song leading by Jack Boyd (as he put it, the "stripling" of the bunch at age 80).

All of these things combined caused the fabric between earth and heaven to seem very thin to me. And Lloyd's reading was from one of my favorite passages in 2 Corinthians 4 and 5. He started in one version, paused with a smile, and asked our permission to read from another version. I believe it was from the New Living Translation:

That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18, NLT)

While this passage may be encouraging for me, it is real for Lloyd - 95 years old, with a wife who's confined to home by illness. It's real for Roland, whose daughter today simply said, "Daddy's tired." It's real for Tom, who will have major surgery in the morning. And when I look at these men, I see the glory in them already - the glory that only the Father of light can give mortals in dying bodies.

So tonight I weep for loss that is sure to come, while also smiling to know the victory that awaits, humming that old hymn we know so well:

When our hearts are weary, when the days are long,
Sing to me of heaven, sing that old sweet song.

Sweet indeed! Praise God.

P.S. A beautiful modern song about heaven is "Sing Me to Heaven" by Jane Griner and Daniel E. Gawthrop. I recorded Bekah singing it with the Cooper High School Choir, and the lyrics are here.

Grackles are people, too

I love to watch birds. Everything about them fascinates me - the variety of their calls, the intricate details of their plumage, even their behavior in terms of raising their young and protecting their territory.

However, there is one exception: the ubiquitous grackle.

My grandfather called grackles "trash birds." If you've ever had your car pooped all over at the mall, grackles were likely to blame. They hang out in large groups reminiscent of "The Birds." And the sounds - the sounds seem better suited to an alien landscape than good old planet earth. They are annoying, irritating, and everywhere.

The other day I stopped at Wendy's for a quick bite to eat while in the middle of a bunch of errands. We had enjoyed a big rain earlier in the day. There were big puddles in the grassy area near the parking lot...and the scene was set for a grackle pool party!

For a moment, I was transported while watching the grackles play and splash. I forgot all my ill will toward grackles in general. Strangely, at that moment, they held all of the delightful characteristics of other birds.

This week I've been reading a book for work entitled Leadership and Self-Deception. It's one of those books that lays out principles that are simple on the surface, yet profound in scope. One of its key principles relates to how we view others - are they people, with hopes, dreams, and desires much like our own? Or are they objects to be used to further my purposes, or perceived obstacles impeding my own progress? Most of us operate as the latter, even though we don't know it. Something magical happens in the moment we really, really, look a person in the eyes and truly see them in all their humanity. Prejudice and anger melts away; respect and empathy grows; we are freed to love and be loved.

If you're not sure how this is done, look to the Master. Several stories from the gospels come to mind. The woman with the hemorrhage, touching the hem of Jesus' garment (Matthew 9:20-22, "Jesus turned and saw her."). The rich young ruler (Mark 10:17-31, "Jesus looked at him and loved him."). The woman caught in adultery (John 8:1-11). The Samaritan woman at the well (John 4:1-16). Each of these experienced something very special - Jesus looked through the exterior to see the hurting person beneath. He gave the gift of physical touch. He saw their humanity - actually, the image of God himself - and in so doing changed each person's life forever. Don't we all want to be seen and understood?

So, let me challenge you (and me!) today - who is the "grackle" in your life today? You know, the irritant, the one you avoid, the one you are sure has it out for you? Would you be willing to take a moment to sit and see this person in their God-created glory, and let Jesus fill you with the love he has for them? They - and you - will never be the same.