First Princess

Tomorrow, November 1, is my daughter's birthday. Thinking of the day she was born makes me miss her more than ever.
I am fond of saying that of all of the things I've done wrong, Jennifer is one thing that I got right. Some may ask, "Do you think that your daughter is perfect?" The short answer? "Yes."
I wrote the following poem just a few months before Eliana was born. I'd been thinking about how much I doted on Rachel and Jordan and called them my princesses, and it occured to me that with all of the attention I was giving the girls I might be neglecting Jennifer, my first princess. The following poem was written for her. (Happy birthday baby girl.)

First Princess

Once my only princess, all lace and pretty curls

I had no way of knowing then, you’d have three little girls

The games we played, the memories made, are now with grandkids done

But not to worry princess, for you were my first one

Without you, there’d be no songs of crows out in the yard

No Cinderella slippers, no children’s handmade cards

A fairy tale is just a book, but children make it live

And because you were my princess, I have all these things to give

I love to watch your children play, but it’s really you I see

I thought that I was teaching you, but you were teaching me

Your little girls love Papa now, but I was first your dad

And I know how to treat a princess, because of the one I had

Little boys are wonderful, and in this world they have their place

But little girls are special, for they teach a man’s heart grace

There’s nothing like a princess, to make a dad feel like a king

And I can grow old happy now, for I’ve had everything

I’ve had music in my soul, and I’ve had singing in my heart

I’ve had little hands to hold, I’ve driven monsters from the dark

I now have two more little girls, and soon, another one

They’ll all be Papa’s princess, because you were my first one.



"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.

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."

Legacy

"I’ve got the Holy Ghost, down in my soul, just like the Bible said
I’ve got the Holy Ghost, down in my soul, just like the Bible said
Well I’ve been to the water and I’ve been baptized
My soul got happy and I’m satisfied
I wouldn’t take nothin’ for my journey now
Just like the Bible, just like the Bible, just like the Bible said"

     The old Pentecostal chorus rang through the Marshall county woods. It was a hot, sweltering Mississippi July 14^th, 1978.
     A 17 year old boy made his way to the altar. It was camp meeting time for the MS District of the Assemblies of the Lord Jesus Christ. It was life changing time for the young man.
     The services were being held in an open air tabernacle just down the hill from the Bethlehem Church of the Lord Jesus Christ in Potts Camp, MS (there is nothing in the world like an open air Apostolic church service.)
     At 17, I had not been raised in church and had never seen anyone receive the Holy Ghost. I just knew that I wanted, needed, the Lord Jesus to be my Lord Jesus. I lifted my hands in surrender to His Spirit and the next thing I knew I was speaking in tongues.
     I turned around to see that Vicky McDonald was standing off behind me with tears of joy running down her face. I made my way back to her and hugged her. Right there in front of God and everybody, I hugged Vicky McDonald.
     Exactly 33 years and one month later, Glenn and Vicky McDonald- Ervin’s oldest granddaughter, Rachel, received the same Holy Ghost.
     Rachel’s mother, My daughter Jennifer, received this Holy Ghost just before her 5^th birthday. Jennifer grew up and married a fine young minister named Delbert Tritsch. Rachel was with Delbert’s mother at church when she experienced this Holy Ghost.
     Looking back over my 50 years, I haven’t always done things right. But one thing I know I got right was embracing the Bible plan of salvation found in Acts, 2:38. Another thing I did right was to embrace Vicky McDonald that night at camp meeting.
    

A Bouqet of Weeds

As a child, did you ever pick your mother a big bouquet of flowers only to discover later in life that those "flowers" were actually weeds? Probably. So did I.
I was reminded of this not long ago while spending a little time outside with my two oldest granddaughters, Rachel and Jordan. I was showing them how to get a drop of "honey" from a honeysuckle (a rite of passage for all Southern children), much to their delight.
Jordan wanted to know, "What other kinds of flowers can we eat Papa?" At this point I began to question the wisdom of teaching this little honeysuckle trick to the girls...well, to Jordan anyway. I could just see her sampling every blossom, bloom, weed and leaf she came across. I did my best to let them know that only honeysuckles were permissible, and even then only under adult supervision (yeah, I know, good luck with that, Papa). The afternoon ended with Rachel picking a big bouquet of honeysuckles to take to her mother. I wonder, of all the ladies in the world who received flowers that day, how many got honeysuckles?
I remember picking my own mother a bouquet of bitter weeds when I was a kid. To have seen the look on her face and the fuss she made over them, you'd have thought that I'd brought her a dozen long stemmed roses. Once I found out that the "flowers" I'd been picking for mom were actually called "bitter weeds," I stopped picking them.
That's kind of sad, isn't it? Not that my mother didn't get any more bitter weeds, but that children reach a point to where they see a difference between flowers and weeds. From that point on, the world isn't quite as pretty anymore. Something of innocence is lost that we never quite get back. We begin to see people in the same way as we do flowers and weeds. That's when bullies and cliques are created.
I know that thorns and thistles were created as a curse upon the earth for the sake of sinful mankind, but I also know that Jesus wore a crown of thorns, not roses, when He died to redeem us from sin; my curse upon His head.
All I'm saying is that it will not surprise me a bit to get to heaven and find bitter weeds growing right along with the flowers. Not because they're weeds, but because they have pretty yellow petals. If they are indeed growing there, I'm going to pick a big bouquet of them for my mother.