Simpler Times

I sit literally astonished at the craziness of society. The hatred. The entitlement. The arrogance. The total disdain for life. The intolerance of a God centered world view. The constant reshaping of values through movies, sitcoms, and other media outlets.

I find myself longing for simpler times. Like when I grew up in the country for a few years. I contented myself with an old broom handle and a rope. That broom handle became my horse charging into all sorts of make believe adventures. I galloped on that horse from our hose to all my daddy's family living around us. I went from field to field and forest to forest.

I remember walking out into the garden with a salt shaker in hand and eating vine ripe tomatoes to my heart's content. I remember picking blackberry and eating them. Nature provided the best snacks back in simpler times. I picked watermelon and cold not wait to dive into one. We didn't mind the seeds. We had contests to see who could spit further.

I watched my paternal grandfather break up the ground with a mule and plow. He did not use a tractor. Hard labor. He worked on all his own cars ad did the reset of my family. A talent I did not inherit. I saw him and my uncle kill and slaughter a hog right before my eyes. They dipped in a boiling black cauldron to peel the hide off him. My paternal grandmother taught me how to milk a cow and gather fresh eggs. There was always something to do in the country. Now I get these things at the grocery store. What will happen when the shelves are empty and there are no more groceries to be bought.

I had relatives with no indoor plumbing. They used old fashioned outhouses. So did I when I came to visit. I explored in the woods around our place. I remember getting scared to walk under the large oak tree at night  with branches hanging over the road down the hill from my house no my way to my cousin's house. I always thought a boogey bear might be up in those limbs. I usually sprinted past those branches.

I fell in love with reading out in the country. I also fell in love with sports. One birthday I got a baseball mitt, baseball, and a backstop. I threw that ball against the spring loaded backstop  fielding endless grounders and pop flies. I taught myself how to dribble a basketball devoting free time during P.E. to it.  Nobody on my father's side of the family played sports. I guess my love of sports came from maternal grandfather who was a four spot letterman back at Lufkin High School. He was my hero.

We played games out in the country like hide and seek, freeze tag, king of the hill, and cowboys and Indians. We never heard of a video game. It never crossed our mind to stay inside to watch television except on Saturday mornings when the cartons played. I did enjoy watching Disney shows on Sunday evenings. I did not know we were pretty poor. It did not matter. I had everything I wanted or needed on my grandfather's old farm. I had tee shirts, jeans (many with holes in the knees from my sliding in them.) We invented faded and ripped jeans before they became a fashion statement. There was always plenty to keep a young boy preoccupied.

The worst times were nap times. I often pretended to be asleep, remaining still and quiet, while my brother and cousins squirmed and kept getting in trouble. I confess it. I FAKED ALMOST EVERYONE OF THOSE NAPS! The end result is I got to go back outside and play sooner than anyone even, though I did not take a nap either.

Racism did not enter my mind. My best friend in fifth grade was a black guy named Dennis. I had many black friends in high school. Some of them were afraid to get off the bus at a football game where the KKK were known to be active. I assured them I had their back and told them to follow me.

Now it is BLACK LIVES MATTER, ANTIFA, WHITE FASCISTS, NEO NAZIS, KKK, WHITE SUPREMACY, and a world filled with hatred fixated on color. People act as if shouting louder is going to make everyone join their side. Pundits spin everything on the news programs further propagating their point of view. Protests turn violent. Nobody listens to voices of reason.

I am for black lives. I am for white lives. I am for brown lives. All lives matter. I hear so much shouting about color but so few shouting louder that the only color that really matters is the blood of Jesus  that forgives people of all races  their sins. Only Jesus can transform. Only Jesus can redeem. Only Jesus can unite people of different cultures. Only Jesus can solve the ills of society.

President Trump can't. Congress sure can't. Judiciary members can't. ONLY JESUS CAN. The further our society drifts away from Him and His truth the worse things are going to get. We need bold gospel preachers to preach the blood of Jesus in a world where color means everything. Black, White, Green. All have significance. Well I am here to promote red. Red for the blood of Jesus. That same spilt blood redeems the black, the white, and the brown.

I long for simpler times. When you could just talk and say what was on your mind without worrying about being politically correct. Where words were not redefined. Where gay meant happy and not an alternative lifestyle. Where there were only two genders. Where guys went to the men's restroom and gals went to the women's restrooms. When the marriage covenant meant something and people stuck out the hard times until the good times came again. Simpler times when a man's handshake meant something. When his word was his bond. Simpler times when kids played outside without fear of abduction or gun violence. When an outing at the movies could be wholesome clean entertainment. Where kids did not have to have the latest fashions and where parents were more concerned about being parents than their child's bests friend.

Simpler times when kids had chores. They were expected to do their part. A time when kids learned the value of hard work, commitment, dedication to doing their best, and living a God honoring life. Simpler times when we prayed at school, read the Bible, and even tallied how many went to church each week between the girls and guys. Mrs. McKinney tallied the results and the winner each week got a special privilege. I know what she was doing now. She was encouraging all of her students to worship somewhere each week. That was well over three and half decades ago and I still remember her asking for a show of hands and making her tally marks on the black board.

Simpler times when church did not feel programmed and synchronized. When preachers preached hared truth that did not tickle the ears. Simpler times when little black boys and girls and little white boys and girls could play on the same teams not concerning themselves with the prejudice of adults who spewed their hatred.

Simpler times. Now the times are complicated. The problems are multiplying. Every expert thinks they have the solutions but nobody who gets elected really makes things better. Here we are. Sitting on a powder keg as a nation about to explode. Tensions are boiling feverishly and will overflow the great melting pot if God does not rescue us from ourselves. Does anyone else long for simpler times?