The Thoughts and Poetry of Glenn Ervin

Friday, September 30, 2011

"Trouble Me Not"

"And he from within shall answer and say, Trouble me not: the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot rise and give thee." -- Luke 11:7

     Ok. I'm the kind of guy that it bothers to be "bothered." If you want to irritate me, just catch me busy with something and demand that I drop what I'm doing and take care of another task...now. My daughter even used to do a pretty good imitation of me. She'd pretend to be sitting at a desk and start moving her hands all over the "desk top" while saying, "Not now, I'm busy...I'm busy."
     In Luke 11, Jesus is teaching about prayer. His point is that if we keep asking and believing, that God will respond. I know I'm about to take the Scripture a bit out of text here, but please, bear with me. I was laying in my assigned place in the bed this evening (the middle, so I can have Rachel on one side and Jordan on the other) watching Shrek 2 for the eleventy-seventh time when the above portion of Scripture came to my mind.
It troubles me that there are only so many more of these moments. I want to look at life and say, "don't trouble me; don't demand for time to go on. Don't make kids grow up and get married and have my grandchildren and move them to Greenville."
     I know...I know. I know all about the will of God being that a man is to leave his parents and cleave unto his wife. I know that my son-in-law is answering a call upon his life that requires this move. I know what an important part of that calling my daughter is to his ministry (at this point, I may know that better than even she does.) I know from my own experiences in this very field. Been there. Done that. I understand and support them in this venture.
     But right now, while Shrek and Donkey try to rescue Fiona, don't trouble me with all of that. The door is now shut, and my (grand)children are with me in bed; I cannot rise and give thee. Just leave me alone for a little while...I'll be ok.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

With Strings Attached

I came home from work last night to the sound of a blood curdling scream coming from the guest room. I hurried down the hall to the bedroom to find my oldest granddaughter, Rachel (6) standing in the full-length mirror examining her mouth with Nana right behind her, telling her to "Push up on it!" I asked what was going on, and Rachel turned her tear-streaked face towards me, revealing a long string dangling from a very loose and yet still intact tooth.
Losing teeth is a big deal when you're 6. It's an event. And if you're Rachel, it's a dramatic event. Pretty soon, the whole family was involved. I called in some over-the-phone backup thinking that Rachel may settle down if she heard her mother's voice. Nope. Rachel had changed her mind about having the tooth pulled, and was by this time on the verge of hysteria at the thought of parting with it. The problem was that afore mentioned string had now slipped up over the top of the tooth at the gum line, and the only way to remove the string was to extract the tooth.
It was about this time that my middle granddaughter, Jordan (4), nonchalantly leaned back on the bed and said "This is going to take all night" and suggested that she and I go to the other room and watch a movie. As appealing as that suggestion sounded, I was determined not to forsake Nana, who was being fought loose tooth and claw. That tooth had to come out.
About that time the phone rang; Papaw Terry was sending in his support. Rachel took the phone and through sobs and tears, with afore mentioned string flapping on her quivering chin, explained to Papaw that she was just not willing to let that tooth be pulled.
Terry's phone call did however allow Nana to catch her breath and refocus. After the phone call ended, she announced, "Let's change tactics. Papa, let's pray." This is getting desperate. Now we've gotten Jesus in on this thing.
What's that Scripture about the violent taking it by force? That was finally the path we chose. I had Nana to hold Rachel from behind in a big, gentle bear hug. My plan was to take hold of afore mentioned string and give it one sharp, quick yank. Simple. And now with her arms gently pinned to her sides, I reach for afore mentioned string...and discover that my baby knows tae kwon do (if you've ever seen Billy Jack, think of the fight scene in the park.)
Now fearing for my own teeth, I held her legs with one hand and in one sweeping move grabbed afore mentioned string and plucked out the tooth.
Phone calls were made, congratulations given, I held Rachel and petted her, begging her not to be mad at me, was assured by her that I was forgiven, and that night Nana slipped five $1 coins under her pillow. I personally remember a quarter being the accepted payment for a tooth, but then, that was a long time ago (and without the drama.)
I love my family. And I particularly love the way we all come together, even by telephone, just to get a child's loose tooth pulled. Strings are not always attached to loose teeth, but they are always attached to tight familys. I guess that's what is meant by "family ties."

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Something Greater

Sunday, September 11 is Patriot Day. The following poem is a small, yet heartfelt tribute to the heroes of 9/11, and to the everyday heroes who touch our lives just by living theirs. (John 15:13).

The shadows finally come to claim each man of woman born.
Darkness finally overtakes the life of every morn.
A life that’s but a vapor is the only hand we’re dealt,
But heroes live to die for something greater than themselves.

Love is the grounds for sacrifice, the greatest one can give.
When death becomes an honor so that others get to live.
A mother faces agony, a soldier wades through hell.
All heroes live to die for something greater than themselves.

There are those who live their lives and never heed the call.
They never look death in the face and agree to give their all.
Their greatest gifts are offered on the altar to the self,
But heroes live to die for something greater than themselves.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Southern With A Capital "S"

I wrote the following several years ago and it is one of my personal favorites. It has appeared as a column in both The New Albany Gazette and the Pontotoc Progress newspapers. Hope y'all enjoy it.

There simply exists no other culture on earth like that of the South. You will note that I use a capital "S" for South. The reason for this is, where Dixie is concerned, South isn’t a direction, it’s a place. Southern is a mind set; a way of life. Indeed, Southern is a culture.
For instance, we Southerners may share a common language with the unfortunate masses who live outside of The Land of Cotton, but we speak it with our own distinctive dialect. I never hear Southern English being spoken without pausing to listen for and to appreciate every syllable...or the exclusion thereof. Whenever I try to educate people who are from directions instead of being from the South (you know, "up north," "back east," or "out west") I always point out that to speak like a Southerner, one must insert syllables where they do not belong - as in ca-yab for cab - and omit syllables where they do belong - as in Miss-sippi for Mississippi.
Other than our language, another Southern distinction is our food. Oh sure there are "Boston baked beans" and "great northern beans," but how can beans ever hope to compete with Southern fried chicken, Mississippi fried catfish, Memphis barbecue, or a Louisiana crawfish boil? We Southerners take our eating seriously. The first thing a Southern family will want to do for their guests is to feed them. In fact, any and every event worth celebrating (birthdays, holidays, weekends, having all the young ’uns over, etc.) calls for what my late father-in-law called a "feed." Any true Southerner will tell you that a good "feed" involves cooking something outdoors, whether on a grill, in a fish cooker, or over an open fire. If it requires outdoor cookin’, then its sure to be good eatin’.
While we’re on the subject of Southern dining, I should also point out the that our beverages are as unique as our food. I’ll give a brief nod here to the mint julep, as well as to a certain elixir which is famously stored in Tennessee’s wooden barrels, but the beverage I have in mind has been called The house wine of the South. Of course, I am referring to sweet tea. I remember once while attending a conference in Cincinnati, Ohio, that while ordering lunch at a local restaurant, I quite innocently ordered sweet tea with my meal. The waitress looked at me as if I were from another country and informed me that the tea came unsweetened. She did however point out the white, pink, and blue packets on the table with which I could sweeten my own tea. Come to think of it, I guess I was there from another country. You can get your tea sweet or unsweet in Dixie. But if you want something other than tea, you can always order a co-cola. Not a pop, not a soda, but a coke. There are many varieties of cokes in the South. There’s Pepsi, Mt. Dew. Seb’m-Up, Sprite, RC. (RC is the required beverage if you’re eating a Moon Pie); we have all of these cokes and more down here. You can even get a Coca-Cola coke.
Then there is Southern music. Whether its Southern Gospel or Southern Rock, the sound is every bit as unique as the people who play it, sing it, and listen to it. To the Southerner, the term classical music means Elvis, B. B., Hank (Sr. and/or Jr.), Skynerd, and the Florida Boys. There are of course many, many other great Southern artists which time and space prohibit mentioning, and we also appreciate classical music in its traditional context: Beethoven, Bach, Chopan and the like, even tough those boys weren’t from the South. But music ranks right up there with family and food in Dixie.
Now, religion is another thing that shapes the Southern mind set. This is where family, food, and music all come together. Regardless of your denominational persuasion, your church experience is lacking if you have never attended an all-day singing with dinner on the ground. This is the Bible Belt, and that's how we we were raised (obey the Bible or get the belt).
Close to religion is Southern sports (sometimes its hard to tell them apart, except where nine people in black robes have the audacity to tell us not to pray). Everybody everywhere loves their teams, but Southerners seem to take it to the max. I have worked security for the Ole Miss vs. LSU game. I know what I’m talking about. And don’t forget that NASCAR is a Southern sport. There are too many more to mention.
It would be stating the obvious to say that I love the South, but I do love the South. I love slogans like, American by Birth, Southern by the Grace of God." I love the South without apology or hesitation. Whether its magnolias, fried chicken, cornbread, the Stars and Bars, or the South’s National Anthem, Dixie, I love all things Southern. Dixie always has been and always will be my homeland, and home just seems to mean a little more down South. That is, down South...with a capital "S."