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.

At Galilee

I walked one day where Jesus trod
In a village along the shore
I stood upon a sloping hill
Where he preached to five thousand or more

I ventured out onto the sea
Where Peter and John plied their trade
With mine own eyes I saw the place
Where Jesus taught and disciples made

I viewed the hills panoramic
Stoic, stately, still, and compact
From this backdrop He gave meaning
To faith, hope, and love so abstract

I recalled Peter and the others

When a fierce wind they had to face
Then came Jesus on the water
Reaching His hand of saving grace

I thought of how much in common,

Though it has been two thousand years
We have with those who lived in that day
How Jesus still can calm our fears

Jesus did not consider great
Those who held power in their hand
But had respect and compassion
For the weary who worked the land

I was there with many travelers

In their tears I discovered a clue
In each was a burdensome story
They had only told to a few
 

As I looked upon the marvel

I sensed a word to my hungry soul
Take my yoke upon your shoulders
Together we will reach the goal.

Somewhere Near Here

While traveling in Israel I wrote a poem and shared the poem with our group at our last devotional time in the Jerusalem.

In old Jerusalem near cross and sepulcher

Transgressors and confessors searching for a cure
Weary Pilgrims assembled in this place ornate
Guilty, broken, sad, sickened, from life’s heavy weight

Here we remember how our sin once did molest

How selfish deeds and hateful thoughts God does detest
Yet for us sinners Christ in love performed His grace
His sacrificial work makes this a holy place

Somewhere near here religion organized deceit

They drug him to the pavement to make his end complete
Somewhere near here truth was twisted, justice denied
Somewhere near here, misinformed, crucified they cried

Somewhere near here with cruel whip his back was beat

Somewhere near here Rome drove nails in Christ’ hands and feet
Somewhere near here the savior wore thorns for a crown
Somewhere near here the savior’s blood trickled down

Somewhere near here they punctured a sword in his side

Somewhere near here for our sin our blessed savior died
Somewhere near here, hanging shamefully on a cross
Jesus was sacrificed to restore human loss

Here listening to vile words the crowd did sputter

An announcement of forgiveness he did utter
Here on these grounds the lamb without blemish or flaw
Orchestrated the salvation the Father foresaw

The execution done His body was removed

The task was now completed, the Father approved
In a tomb near here his slaughtered corpse was encased
Still, dead, and buried, His accomplishments erased

For three days in the dark of the earth he did lay

While the Sabbath left His friends to mourn in dismay
But on the third day, somewhere near here, before dawn
There came a rumble and He awoke without yawn
 

Somewhere near here before the daylights detection

Breath was restored in mighty resurrection
The women and the disciples saw him near here
Then to more than five-hundred he dared to appear
 

I’m quite impressed with these walls and decorations

But they provoke neither joy nor celebration
For I’m on a journey to see the saviors face
And perhaps that’s the lesson of this wondrous place

For nails, nor cross, rocks, or cave can keep Jesus still

Resurrected our savior moves around at will
He will not be confined to places around here
But where ever we go our living Lord is near.

 

The Report From Bethlehem

For the past several years I have written a Christmas poem. Following is this year's poem.

Emperor Augustus made a decree

No option was given to disagree

Each person must travel to their own town

To take the census ordered by the crown

 

The census occurred to figure the tax

Emotions were tense, no one could relax

Though family matters called for delay

Joseph made the decision to obey

 

They made the journey, Mary great with child

Up to Bethlehem, now busy and riled

Unable to acquire a resting place

A stable was located by God’s grace

 

In this environment, rude, cold, and cruel

A baby was born, a heavenly jewel

In that lonely barn smelling of manure

They fashioned a bed for this child so pure

 

In the atmosphere of Caesar’s command

The crowds failed to notice what God had planned

To accomplish a mission of high degree

God sent His son as heaven’s deportee

 

But to the shepherds on the hillsides near

A throng of singing angels did appear

Their voices could not hold back the story,

Of His majesty, purpose, and glory

 

This child would address man’s misbehavior

Through sacrifice, forgive, be our savior

Deliver us from sinful sways and strays

Bring peace to all who would follow His ways

 

The shepherds hurried to town with great glee

One so marvelous they wanted to see

Seeing, they reported all that they knew

Jesus is His name, He came to save you.

 

Ice Water Baptism

My Dad received Christ as his savior in his 21^st year on this earth. A short time before he and my mother were married he waded into a farm pond with a country preacher and farmer that everyone affectionately called Preacher Kirby. It was January. There was a thin skim of ice on the pond. That day in front of a crowd of witnesses and at least one camera he was baptized “buried in the likeness of Christ’s death and raised to walk in the newness of Christ’s life”. This week we buried my Dad’s body beneath yellow Kentucky clay. But absent from that body he was already living in the presence of Christ.

George and Barbara

I was pleased and honored this morning that my Uncle George Williams and his wife Barbara were a part of our worship service at North Side Baptist Church. Afterwards my wife Jeanette and son Brock enjoyed visiting with them as we shared a meal together. We were their last stop on what had been a 10 week, 14,000 mile circuitous trip that took them north from London, KY, across Canada, into the Yukon Territory, into Alaska and back via the northwest and mid-western parts of our nation. Truth is, life has been a long and circuitous trip for George and Barbara. They met at a roller skating rink and have been rolling along together ever since. George was 20 and Barbara was 17 when they got married. That was 52 years ago. Not long after they were married George joined the Army. The Cuban crisis was happening and he was soon shipped off to Panama for two years. My memorabilia box still contains a Panama quarter he gave me upon his return. After Panama George went to Officer Candidate School and was commissioned a Second Lieutenant and sent to Vietnam. He had two one year tours in Vietnam and later a temporary assignment there as well. They also spent two years in Berlin and during that time they toured much of Western Europe in a tent. (That sounds a bit more rustic than the 40 ft. travel trailer they made the trip to Alaska in).  Somewhere in the midst of all these adventures they had their daughter Tammy. After ten years they decided they had had enough of Army life. They were living in northern Virginia at the time, Barbara had a job she liked and George began a career in sales. Then at the age of 40 he went back to school, received his Bachelor’s Degree in Nursing and spent the next 21 years working the night shift as an ER nurse. Over the years they have together visited all 50 states. Upon retirement they moved back to their home town of London, KY. I would call that a long circuitous trip. I am so glad I got to share a small piece of their life journey with them today. George and Barbara, I do not know how long it has been since you have had on a pair of roller skates, but some how or another find a way to roll on.