Another Monday is at an end, and we are again reminded of the fleeting and relentless nature of time. It slips away so easily, and yet is so brutal in its neverending push toward our last day. This is indeed Monday night, and before we can think many thoughts, it will be Friday night again. But for now, the cats are content to enjoy a cool Monday night in the mountains.
We just came inside from walking and romping with Bonnie the budding farm-dog. She has developed a very humorous technique for prolonging our outdoor time. She will do her "business," as it were, and then meander around, perhaps eat some grass, lift a paw and "point" at some cows, etc. And then when she senses that it's time to go back inside, she will grab the leash in her mouth and pull us sideways, trying to start up a tug-of-war. She will also leap into the air and twist around as if she's having an epileptic fit. Or channeling Joe Cocker (spaniel?). While she's doing this, she has the most effulgent dog smile on her face. It's a grand game. But now she's settling down, pacing from room to room, trying to decide on whether to gnaw her Kong toy or take a pre-bedtime nap. If one were to replace the words "Kong toy" with "some of MeeMaw's cookies," one would have a fairly accurate description of PeePaw's nightly routine, too.Last evening when we were sitting outside, all of the barn cats came out and lined up to watch us. When Bonnie stood up and snorted, they all zipped off in different directions. Bonnie was smiling, I think.
Yesterday, we had our homecoming service at church, and it was very interesting and pleasant to witness. The homecoming tradition is very common in the mountain culture, although this was the first homecoming service (as far as the records show) in the congregation's entire 137 year history. Perhaps because they've always felt it wasn't sufficiently Presbyterian? Who can say? At any rate, the basic gist of the homecoming service is that invitations are sent far and wide to former members and attendees who no longer attend or live in the area. The session oversaw a separate homecoming committee, and the ladies on that committee worked very hard to try and contact as many "old timers" as possible. Praying that the response would be good, we set up the fellowship hall to hold the worship service, since the regular meeting hall only holds 75-80 comfortably.
Come Sunday morning, we ended up with somewhere in the neighborhood of 120-150. We very much enjoyed meeting some people who had been members years ago and moved away. The service was joyful and majestic (and the music sounded much better than in the meeting hall, since the acoustics are livelier). Afterwards, we had a fellowship meal, and then there was a slide show with old pictures all the way back to the 1930's.
The highlight of the day for us was getting to meet a teaching elder emeritus named Frank Chapo. Mr. Chapo is twice-widowed, and lives in Johnson City. Even though in his eighties, he still attends as many presbytery meetings as he can, and seems to have enormous physical energy and natural force. A trim, tidy little man with a crewcut and deeply lined wrinkled face, he exudes love and Christlikeness from the minute one encounters him. Mr. Chapo (who was born in Poland) was drafted into the German army in World War II and, according to his own words, looted and stole things during the course of the war. He was converted to Christ after the war, and then later went back into the countries where he had stolen things and returned these things and made restitution to the owners. He has translated some gospel tracts into Polish and delights in passing literature to anyone who will take it.
When John (our pastor) introduced MeeMaw and me to Mr. Chapo, he took my hand in both of his and looked into my face with the kindest look I've seen in many years. After we exchanged pleasantries, I gestured to MeeMaw and said, "May I present my wife...?" and Mr. Chapo took her hands in his and said, "Ah! And you are the queen!" MeeMaw was so charmed and flustered, she could only blush and say, "Thank you! Thank you!"
What was really interesting was a little later when we met a former pastor of the congregation. I approached him because (a) he was by himself and (b) I didn't recognize him. He was leaning up against the wall, hands in his pockets, whistling to himself. When I introduced myself and MeeMaw, he gave me a big ol' used car salesman handshake and started up a snappy, semi-sarcastic line of patter. We excused ourselves after a few minutes. And though we didn't talk about it until we were driving home, we were both thinking the same thing: the contrast between Mr. Chapo and the former pastor could not have been more dramatic.
Another lovely memory of Mr. Chapo for Meemaw...while we were singing "And Can It Be (That I Should Gain)?" in the service, MeeMaw noticed that Mr. Chapo was singing while looking around at the congregation, attempting to catch peoples' attention and beaming his great smile. She said it was as if he were singing TO the congregation, exhorting us, encouraging us. Being in this man's presence for a few minutes is like a tonic for the heart. Bless him. We're hoping to contact him and invite him to Possum Cough for a meal and some old-time visitin'.
With regret, we had to leave before the slide show because at that point, Bonnie had been in her crate for over four hours and we needed to get home and let her take a bathroom break. When we started to pull out of the parking lot, I stopped while MeeMaw put hand sanitizer on my hands and on hers (all the hand-shaking with all the folks with colds is NOT a good thing, and this is our usual custom). Then we left the parking lot and headed home. Some of you will recall that Bloomingdale Road (on which the church building is located) is a narrow, very winding two-lane country road. We were just a mile or two from the church when around a sharp corner came a kid (looked to be about 17 or 18) in a fast little car. He was going at least 60 (in a 45 mph zone), the car almost over on two wheels...and he was in our lane, headed right for us. Both of us inhaled - that's truly all we had time to do - and braced for impact. At the very last moment, the car veered over into its own lane and whipped past us, disappearing in an instant. My heart was pounding so hard I couldn't speak. MeeMaw's eyes were as big as saucers. And we both whispered, "Thank you, Father." On the ride home, we were very aware of how He had protected us. If we had been just five or ten seconds farther down that road, the kid would have hit us head on at over 60mph. If we hadn't stopped to sanitize our hands, we would have been badly hurt at the very least...and perhaps worse. We are comforted not only that we were protected, but that the smallest details are in the hand of Him Who loves us.
The time has slipped away even more, and it is time to prepare for sleep here at Possum Cough. Rest well, loved ones.
