My greatest generation
Posted: July 3, 2012 Filed under: life | Tags: america, armed forces, christian, dedication, encouragement, faith, family, fear, freedom, God, grandfathers, grandmothers, independence, story, worship 3 Comments »
My paternal grandparents, Pop and Georgette, lived in a quiet little house in a quiet little neighborhood in the suburbs of Atlanta. In their living room, was a small shelf that was built into the wall, right next to their chiming alarm clock that hung above the couch that I slept on when I stayed over.
On this shelf, they kept knick knacks and keepsakes. There were matching coffee mugs with their names on them. There were pictures of my great grandparents and other relatives that I had never met. There were statuettes of birds and angels and dust covered artificial flowers. The shelf was full of things that they collected over the years. Things that meant somethings to them, memories.
On one of the lower shelves were pictures of my grandparents when they were in their early twenties or younger. The picture of my grandmother was beautiful with her big blue eyes and white smile. She was a looker; Pop was a lucky man.
The black and white picture of Pop is one that will never fade from my mind. He was in all of his military gear. He wasn’t a very big man so the gear and the uniform seemed to swallow him up. He looked too young to be wearing it all, like a child in a halloween costume.
The one outstanding feature of this photo was the big smile on his face and the look in his eye. He looked happy, excited, nervous. I could tell that he was happy to be a soldier. He wanted to serve and fight for his country despite not knowing exactly what he was about to face. I wonder what kind of memories Pop formed while he served, the friends he made, the friends he lost.
I’m not sure of what branch of the armed forces Pop was in or where he traveled to but I’m proud of him that he did. It’s humbling to know that he risked his life for his wife, children and grandchildren.
It’s heart warming to know that the same man who took me camping, held my hand, bought me happy meals, taught me about faith and made me pancakes, put his life on the line to protect my freedoms.
Because of Pops service and all of those who serve and have served, I am able to live in a country where I can freely worship God. I’m free to live the life that I choose.
I’m free to write this post on my couch, in my quiet little house in my quiet little neighborhood in this suburb of Atlanta.
Outlaws To The End
Posted: May 8, 2012 Filed under: faith | Tags: christian, christianity, church, faith, family, God, grandfathers, misfits, outlaws, poker Leave a comment »
My mother tells me wild stories of how my grandfather and his brothers lived a wild life. Back in the old days, they would travel all over the southeast to play in back room poker games and participate in other illegal activities. I imagine they lived a life that mirrored those of old west bank and train robbers. The likes of Butch Cassidy, Sundance and Billy the Kid. They were outlaws. Outlaws to the end.
My grandfather had six brothers in all. They were a motley crew of murderers, thieves and drunks. One of them was murdered during an argument. One of them murdered a man but escaped the authorities and two of them were convicted felons, nabbed for forgery and grand theft. That criminal mentality runs deep in my family. We were born to be outlaws.
I saw a piece of my grandfathers outlaw life with my own eyes. He was an auto body repair man by day but he ran an illegal poker game in the back room of his garage when the business day was over.
The back room contained shelves of tools and brushes and wreaked of paint and plaster. The windowless room had one single light that hung from the ceiling, just over a big wooden table surrounded by eight wooden chairs.
I learned that the game was frequented by prominent business men, city officials – even the chief of police. My grandfather rarely played in the high stakes game but he always took a percentage. A smart outlaw gets his share up front.
Despite all the infamous stories and adventurous tales that I hear about him, I don’t remember my grandfather as a criminal. He was always kind and gentle to my siblings and I.
He drove me around in his pick-up truck, bought me ice cream and taught me how a full house always beats a straight. In an act of heroism, he appeared out of nowhere and saved my mother and I from an attacking dog by hitting it over the head with a shovel.
Those weren’t the acts of an outlaw. They were the acts of a loving and devoted man.
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When I think of my infamous heritage and the gentleness of the grandfather I knew, I think of how Christ was an outlaw as well. He was seen by his enemies as a man who wanted trouble. He challenged the status quo. He disrupted the peaceful existence that the authorities had established.
He wasn’t a murderer, cheater, smuggler or thief. His only crime was bringing the truth and showing the love. And because of that, he was branded an outlaw by the powers that be. And all of those that professed His message were branded outlaws as well. They were hunted, imprisoned and executed, all in the name of Jesus.
As Christians, we are still living the outlaw life. We reject what the world defines as a truly happy, successful and meaningful life. The world sees us as trouble makers and misfits. We live differently and love differently so they label us as outlaws.
We attempt to live our lives in the same way that Jesus lived His. He was an outlaw. We are outlaws.
Outlaws to the end.
