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"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me." (I Cor. 13:11)
Good night, all. Sweet dreams. See you all, come the morning. Then it happened. Unexpectedly, I must admit.
I suddenly found myself back in my old neighborhood. Elm Street hadn't changed very much. Those big, leaning elm trees still shaded the old, cracked sidewalk, with a well-placed blossoming apple tree, now and then.
Strolling down the street, the scenery hadn't changed much, as well. The old home place looked as good as ever, including the big TV motorized antenna. And the big dining room window fan for summer comfort, which seemed to cool the food before we got a chance to eat.
There was that new '55 Chevy still gracing the same garage. It was the one vehicle that held the distinction of finally beating the Ford in the Saturday night neighborhood drag race. What a thrill that was!
The old clothesline is full of wet clothes, so it must be Monday morning all over again.
The old hot rod scooter, the one with the upside-down soap bucket to resemble a motor scooter is still parked by the garage, just waiting to take off again down the sidewalk.
The old mud puddle, with all the marbles inside the drawn circle, seems not to be disturbed. Even my old, trusted steely winner was just waiting for another chance.
As if by some divine intervention, my old basketball goal was still standing in my backyard, all in one piece. In fact, I felt like jumping from my vehicle and taking a few shots. Where's my cane?
Oh yes, my young puppy love's house was still visible. What memories we had sitting in that old squeaky porch swing on Friday evenings. That is until her Dad would give that dreadful warning.
Yes, what good times. But wait a minute, just how did I get here? It's been at least four or five generations. Is this just another of my weird dreams I've been having lately? I just can't shake off these dreams.
I hope I don't run into any of my old school pals. Why, they wouldn't recognize me, nor me them. Time has a way of taking its toll on us all.
"Hello, Tommy, how you doing this fine summer day? Not out for basketball practice, I see."
"Well, if isn't Pastor Phil, You're out kind of early, preacher."
"Yes, my son, just getting my morning walk in. This is my routine now, hopefully to regain my health. By the way, we've been missing you in church lately. The choir is just not the same, without your deep bass voice," he smiled as he spoke.
Being taken by surprised, I replied with my usual boyish grin, but that didn't satisfy Pastor Phil.
"See that old park bench over there? The one on which your Mom used to rock you to sleep as a small baby? Why don't we sit a spell and talk a bit?" he suggested.
"Sure pastor, why not?" I answered, all the time thinking how I may politely get out of this situation.
Giving me a great big smile, he pulled a New Testament from his pocket and began reading. "I hope you don't mind, my child, but since you have missed out on my recent sermons, I thought I'd give you the five minute crash course," he said with a smile.
"Not at all Pastor Phil, go for it!" I replied.
Then away he went, in his normal preacher mode, even on that old park bench. His little sermon centered around the familiar "Prodigal Son" Scripture passage, reading from (Luke 15:11-32).
After reading this Scripture, he gave me his own commentary. "The gist of the parable is basically this, my son."
"Here we see a rich father having two sons, a younger and an older. The younger son was rather impatient as far as his inheritance was concerned, so he asked for his inheritance, which his father granted."
"However, the younger son was extravagantly wasteful with his fortune, to the point of having nothing left. He was forced to return home empty-handed, begging his father to take him back simply as a servant."
"To the son's surprise, he is not scorned but welcomed back with a celebration. The elder son became jealous, refusing to take part in the party. However, the father reminds the older son that one day he would inherit it all. They should now celebrate, for the younger son was lost and is now found."
"The meaning of this parable is that the father's joy described in the parable reflects divine love, the boundless mercy of God, and God's refusal to limit the measure of His free grace.
Again he pulled out his Bible and read from (Ephesians 2:8-9).
"Now, my son, how does this parable relate to today's living? And how does it relate to you?" he concluded.
With tears pouring down my face, I barely manage to say, "Ok, pastor, I get it now. Thank you for your well-placed thoughts. Pastor, pastor! Where did you go? We need to talk. I need to hug your neck and thank you."
Oh well, that conclusion to our little park bench meeting never happened. For you see, awaking out of my dream, I was covered not by tears but by sweat, with the phone ringing off the wall.
It was my mom, saying, "Son, I've been trying to call you for hours. I have some sad news. Our beloved Pastor Phil has been called home to glory land, and the entire church is in tears. Son, son, are you still there?"
"Yes Mom, everything's all right now, believe me.. Let me just tell you about my dream," I responded not with sweat now, but with big crocodile tears.
After the talk with Mom, you guessed it. I read the entire story of the Prodigal Son on my knees and in quiet prayer.
And to make a long story short, I have just been ordained as our church Associate Pastor. Amen!
Yes, you can go back home again for a brief visit, in person, as well as in dream land. So I think I'll ask Alexa to turn to the '50's radio and enjoy real music, from my trusty recliner and dream on.
Honey, will you please hand me the paper? I did, Dear, it's on your lap. Yes, God is good. Amen!
Author's Postscript
Dreams, we all have them. As for me, some are good, others rather spooky. So do you ever dream of going back home? Do these back home dreams ever turn into reality?
They do for me. Growing up, as a "PK" (short for preachers kid) I remember early on in life, our family moving around the country, according to the wishes of the Salvation Army leadership. Then, as Dad's seniority grew with the Army, we were not moving as often. Having lived in Panama City FL for most of my school years from late Grammar school through High School, I kind of call PC home.
And when we go back to PC beach on vacation, I will oftentimes take a drive back over to Panama City proper, driving around my old stomping grounds. Occasionally I will even go into town and attend the Sunday morning service. All though many friends have passed on, there are still a few of my fellow church members to visit.
Yes, just for a season, thoses happy days were here again.
(Following taken from a Birthday Card from my loving wife)
MEMBER WHEN , Grown-ups seemed glamorous ? You expected each day to be fun ? When people said "thank you" and "please ? When Moms called you in for supper at dusk ? When you played hide-and-seek ? When you climbed trees ? When downtown seemed so far away ? When you caught lightning bugs in a jar ? When drugstores had fountains ? When most kids had a bike ? When you had a wish for each star ? When no one had pedigreed dogs ? When you read comic books by the ton ? When you bought penny candy ? When you drank chocolate milk ?
If these simple things bring a smile to your face whenever they're heard or they are told, it means you were lucky to have such good times. It also means you're kinda old !
Yes, time was good growing up in the good ole fifties. Life was packed full of happy memories. So, I trust you give out a little chuckle when reading this blog. If you are in my age range, that is.
If not, maybe your pa-paw will understand these times. You see I readily boast of being older than dirt, and twice as gritty. In fact, I'm old enough to have my Bible autographed.
PLEASE VISIT MY WEB PAGE http://ccrobey.wixsite.com/themessage
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