I Think Maybe I am Getting Old

I think maybe I am getting old. In recent weeks I have had a hankering to make contact with some old friends. I followed through on those yearnings. I called an old friend I had not spoken with in a few years. He told me the sad news of his oldest son being killed in an automobile accident. In the course of that week I spoke with another old friend and learned some of the stresses of his life. It is late in the year and I had some vacation time I needed to take. So this last week I drove to Missouri to see an old friend. We had an enjoyable visit.  But he has a few health problems that concern me and I know they trouble him. I move on and go see my mother and father in-law. I enjoyed the evening listening to their stories. They don't have any sons but since I married one of their daughters they claim me and I am proud of their claim. On the way home I meditate on my visits and I have a fresh reality that getting old has some challenges. And I think maybe I am getting old.

 

I get home and sleep in my bed one night and then take off in the in the other direction to Kentucky. My purpose is to attend a funeral visitation for the father of a pastor friend of mine. My friend is not as old as I am but I know from experience that losing your father will make you feel old. I continue on my journey and go spend the night with my aunt. We set up and talk past midnight and I am pretty sure that is past her bedtime. But I don't want to miss the opportunity share some old memories. Because, I think maybe I am getting old. Next morning I drive over to the town where I grew up. I go to the cemetery to visit the graves of my father and mother. I inspect the flowers resting on top of their stone and I surmise that they are in good enough shape that they don't need to be replaced just yet. I had made arrangements to see another old friend. His son is about the same age as me and I had spent a lot of time at his house when I was growing up, particularly on Sunday afternoons after church. We have a lot of church stories to tell and a lot of people to memorialize. I discover that this old friend and I have more friends in common that are dead than are alive. I think maybe I am getting old. 

 

I get home and I read an obituary in the Illinois Baptist. A pastor friend with whom I have enjoyed many moments of sweet fellowship has lost his wife of 52 years. I call my friend and he reminisces about her life and her home going. She had been suffering from cancer and her death is bittersweet. I think my friend feels old and I think maybe I am getting old. 

 

So I am absorbing my recent experiences with old friends. It causes me to understand that I don't want to spend much time in puny arguments. Life is short and there is simply too many difficulties and too much sorrow to waste energy squabbling. I would rather give my life to loving one another and rejoicing in the love of others.  That is my opinion. But maybe I am just getting old. 

Quinton Rutledge

Quinton Rutledge was in my 5^th grade class at Eastern Elementary School in Scott County, KY. Miss Carpenter was our teacher. I recollect that Quinton was slender and had brown wavy hair. He sat parallel to me in the row to my left. I remember him as being a quite person. I don’t recall him complaining about not feeling well. But one day he went home from school and had an appendicitis attack. They took him to the hospital but his appendix had ruptured and he died. He left school one day and the next morning we got the news that he was dead. You don’t get much school work accomplished after giving or receiving that kind of news. Quinton’s mother was the secretary at our school. So she had to come to work at the school where her son was supposed to be and watch the activity of other children and then go home without her son. Quinton’s father was a farmer. He had to work the fields around their farmstead with the constant reminder of the emptiness left by his absence. The school bus I rode went by the white two-story weather boarded house where Quinton lived.  Every day I would look at that house and sense the sadness and pain that surely dwelled within those walls. I listened to my own mother express sorrow for the family. Mother always shuddered when a family lost a child the same age as one of her own. That has been 48 years ago. But that is the kind of thing one does not easily forget.

There is a lot of pain and suffering in the world. I have been right in the middle of a lot of it. The longer I live and the more I see and the longer I reflect the more I am determined not to be involved in fussing about small things. There are too many important things and hurtful things that need my attention and emotion. I cannot solve all or even most of the problems I encounter. But I can soothe them. I can share the truth of God and exercise the love of God and pray for the power of God. And my feeble lips can deliver a word from God in the hope and belief that it will bring hope and comfort to tortured souls. Life is too short and often too tragic to do otherwise.

The Loss of a Great Friend

Yesterday I wrote in good humor about saying goodbye to my old friend Flip Phone. Today I am mourning the loss of a really great friend. My new phone rang this morning at 8:45 CT. My brother was calling and the news he bore broke my heart. He called to tell me that our dad, Larry Cloyd, had died this morning of an apparent heart attack. The news was not surprising. My dad was 79 and suffered with numerous illnesses. I usually spoke with him 2-3 times a week. We spoke for the last time this past Saturday morning. I was sitting in the Dairy Queen restaurant and “Flip Phone” rang. Like always dad said “tell me some news”. I did not have much news to tell him. We did not talk long. He seemed tired. Now he is gone. So today with fragile mind and voice I have been calling and texting and emailing my brothers and sisters. We are planning a celebration of my dad’s life. Why not? We have something to celebrate. We had a good dad who loved his family and provided for them. We grew up watching a man who worked hard and lived honestly. We got to observe a man of faith who lived his life with generosity and pursuing what was right. So on this coming Sunday afternoon Sept. 8 from 2:00 -5:00 PM we will gather at the Tucker-Yocum-Wilson Funeral Home in Georgetown, KY to receive friends and family and to laugh and talk and remember the life of my dad Larry Cloyd. The next day, Monday Sept. 9 at 10:00 AM we will gather at the Buck Run Baptist Church near Frankfort, KY for a funeral service. I will be speaking at that service. I will do that with honor and at my father’s request. There will be tears and there will be sadness but there will also be rejoicing not only in a life well lived but in the eternity that my father now enjoys. So if you knew my dad, come help us as we share memories and celebrate.