The 3 Word Journal

During the celebration of the 150th year of Texas’ independence from Mexico, I took my family to visit the San Jacinto Battlefield where this freedom was won. As we walked through the museum built on the site, my eye caught an old, worn looking flag. The caption under the flag read, “This is the flag that flew at the Battle of the Alamo.” A chill went through me as I thought of that event and the men who were willing to fight for their lives for freedom. Next to the flag encased in glass was a letter from Colonel William Travis, the commander of the 182 men who fought and died at the battle of the Alamo. I had to wipe away a few tears as I thought of the courage of these great men who died so I could be born in a free Texas. The letter was an appeal for help. It was addressed “to the people of Texas and all Americans in the world.” It read:

“Fellow citizens and compatriots am besieged, by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna    I have sustained a continual bombardment and cannonade for 24 hours and have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken    I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat. Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism and everything dear to the American character, come to our aid, with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily and will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his honor and that of his country    Victory or Death.”

Colonel Travis had underlined the last three words three times. A short time later, Travis and all his men gave their lives for their cause rather than surrender to the enemy. Some things like our families are worth standing up for regardless of the consequences. Because of those like William Travis I am a fifth generation Texan.

I had a very embarrassing moment while serving as a member of a Boy Scout Committee. One of our responsibilities was to meet with boys who were going up for rank advancement. After meeting certain requirements the boys were called in and asked several questions to see if they were ready to advance to the next level. Even though I was on the scout committee I actually knew very little about scouts. On the night our second son Nolan was to appear before our committee I had to leave early. I reminded him to make sure he got his scout uniform on and to make sure his mom had him to his review at the scheduled time. Right before I left he came in and told me that he couldn’t find his scout uniform and thought someone had stolen it. I told him that I was fairly certain that no one had broken into our house to steal his scout uniform and to go find it and to be on time.

Later when his time came, Nolan walked in with what looked to be his older brothers scout shirt on. I was certain but he also looked to be wearing sash with all of his brothers merit badges on it. As soon as he sat down, the questioning began from our scout committee chairman who was a retired former marine sergeant. .

His first question was, “Nolan, what are the three rivers in the Three Rivers Council? I thought surely he would know the Neches, Sabine and Trinity Rivers since they were located closest to our home. No such luck! He got the Neches right, but he couldn’t remember the other two. I was a little embarrassed since I knew that the fathers of the parents of the boys were supposed to have their sons ready for the reviews.

Next he was asked what the scout motto was. After a long pause Nolan said that he always got that confused with the scout law. I could feel my face turning red. I hoped he would not be asked the next obvious question, but no such luck. The committee chairman said, “O.K., what is the scout law?” As I figured, Nolan said he always got that mixed up with the scout motto. I found myself looking down and saying a little prayer for him to do better on the next questions but actually got worse.

He was asked to tell about several of the merit badges he was wearing. A typical answer was, “I got that one a long time ago and I can’t remember it.” I felt like crawling under the table but knew I couldn’t. The thing that got to me was that Nolan didn’t seem one bit embarrassed or even uncomfortable with his lack of knowledge. I was so embarrassed because it was as if I was the one up there since I hadn’t prepared him. In reality I think the only question I could answer with absurdity that night was the three rivers in the council name. One thing was obvious and that was that neither Nolan nor his parents had done one thing to prepare for his big night.

At one point he was asked about a merit badge that simply had a fingerprint on the patch. Surely he can’t possibly miss this one even if it is his brothers. He replied that it was the fingerprinting merit badge. I was pleased. Once a scout was asked about a merit badge they were expected to tell what they had learned while obtaining it. Nolan said that a policeman had come and took their finger prints. The chairman asked if he had anything else to say about that experience but he said “that’s about it!” Many times during the grilling I had my hands over my face and could feel my face burning with embarrassment. I could hear another committee member and family friend who sitting beside me giggling off and on during the grilling.

Finally he was asked what scouting had done for him. He gave a very brief summary that wasn’t all that bad. Then he was asked: “Nolan is there any reason why you should be advanced to the office of a Life Scout?” He didn’t hesitate at all and said, “Yes!” The chairman what was his reason for feeling justified in being advanced. I think at that point everyone in the room looked up to see what he would next. He said, “Well I knew more than I thought I would.” At that point I think everyone in the room burst into laughter. It took me quite a while to think it was fun. A few years later Nolan earned his Eagle Scout award. Was he a great scout? I think you know the answer to that. How did he get the award? Nolan had one quality that helped him greatly and will help all of us if we will do it. His secret was that he was always where he was supposed to be. I have learned that good things happen when you are always where you are supposed to be. Most success in life is just showing up and sticking to a task

Our family loves basketball. We try to be generally informed and follow the games at all levels. During a tight playoff series involving my favorite professional team, I was disappointed to be involved in taking care of a household chore during a critical point in the game. Seeing that Nichelle, our eight- year-old daughter, was not busy, I asked if she would mind going downstairs to check the score of the game. I was pleased that she was so willing to help me out with something that was so important to me. After being gone for a while she came back up and said the score was 101 to 97. I was really proud of her for being so responsible. I waited for her to tell me who was winning, but it became obvious that she had nothing else to say. Finally I said, “Nichelle, which team is winning?” She looked at me very strangely and said, “Duh, Dad, the team with 101 points.”

 When I was in the ninth grade, I wanted badly to be a basketball team. I didn’t make the school team but our church had a team that all were welcome on. Almost every day after school, I walked down to an outdoor basketball goal that was placed at the end of a cement slab and practiced. After a great deal of work, I found myself becoming much better at the game, and I actually became a ‘legend in my own mind.’ By the time bas­ketball season came around I felt very confident that I was going to be the star player. Our coach (who had never played bas­ketball before) gave us what I thought was a great pep talk before our first game. He said, “Okay, guys, if you want to win this game, you are going to have to give the ball to Randal and let him shoot. If he misses, get the rebound, pass it back to him, and let him shoot again.” He had watched me enough to know that I was the best player on the team which in retrospect wasn’t saying anything. I thought to myself, “This coach is a genius!” I was excited to show off my superior basketball ability.

We lived in the country and none of our players didn’t have as much money as the city ward (Beaumont) we were going to play. Their entire team had matching uniforms with names on the back of their jerseys and nice Converse All-Star basketball shoes. None of our players had bas­ketball shorts or jerseys, and only two even had basketball shoes. Two other players went barefoot, and I wore my scuffed-up Sunday shoes, which I also wore Monday through Saturday. As we began warming up before the game, the opposing coach complained that my hard-soled shoes were scuffing up the gym floor. After some discussion, I became the third member of our starting lineup playing barefoot. ­

When the game started, I excitedly followed the coach’s advice. On offensive plays I dribbled the ball down the court and shot every time I got near the basket. If my teammates got a rebound, they passed the ball back to me and I shot again. I was also excited because there was a young lady in the stands I really wanted to impress. What better way to do this than for her to see that I was the star of the team. As the game progressed, I continued to shoot the ball over and over again. I could hear one of the fathers of a teammate screaming at me during the game to “pass the ball off,” but I ignored him and followed my coach’s pre-game instructions to shoot every time I touched the ball. I figured that he was just jealous because his boy was not nearly as good as me. I decided his son had had the same opportunity to practice each day, and it certainly was not my fault that he had failed to do so.

Into the second quarter, I discovered I had a problem. I was not used to going without shoes. My feet hurt and blisters began to form. Finally, with about two minutes left in the game, the pain became so intense that I had no choice but to ask the coach to take me out. The first time my replacement got the ball, he made a jump shot and scored two points. The crowd roared with excitement. The final score that day was Beaumont 52, Williamson, 2. My replacement had scored our team’s only points of the day. Needless to say, I was humiliated by my ‘off day.’ In fact, I didn’t want to go to church the next day to face those who had witnessed or heard about the game. It is times like these, when we are down and discouraged and our self-­esteem is low, that we need a friend to say, “Just because you had a bad day doesn’t make you a bad person or a failure.”

I met Matt at a youth program for high school students in Michigan. He introduced himself after one of my presentations. I was immediately impressed with him. He was a nice looking boy but I was a little disappointed, when he took off the hat he was wearing to expose his shaved head. My first thought was, “Why do you have to follow the professional basketball crowd? Why don’t you just be yourself?” As we talked, he told me where he was from which surprised me, because it was the distance I also lived in. I asked him why he had not gone to one of the programs closer to home. He told me that he was going to three of these youth programs that summer. Knowing how much the programs cost I thought, “It must be really nice to have enough money to travel around the country like that. Many youth can’t afford to even attend one of these sessions!” But of course I didn’t say anything to him.

Later that afternoon, Matt came up after another one of my talks. This time I noticed his crutches. I asked him if he had hurt himself. He seemed to hesitate, but then said something that sent a shock wave through me. He then told me that he had cancer in his leg. He was wearing shorts, and I could see a badly swollen knee. He then said that the disease had also spread into his lungs. These words seemed to hang in the air and caused a feeling of guilt to sweep over me. I had misjudged this young man just a few hours before. I thought he was following the crowd because he had shaved his head, when in reality his hair had fallen out because of the cancer treatments he was receiving.

Then I thought of the three programs that he was attending that summer. I had misjudged him for being a very lucky rich kid being sent around the country to have fun. In reality it was a terminally ill young man who just wanted to be with other youth he loved knowing he probably would not be alive the next summer. Why can’t I quit judging others and just love everyone? I tried to spend time with Matt, knowing it would probably be the last time to be near him during this life. I made new commitments to treat everyone with love and respect and to quit judging. Later that fall I was reading a newspaper, I saw the obituary for my young friend Matt. When we judge others, we usually have no idea what they are like or what they are really going through.

 While in college I took a youth leadership class from a very popular professor named Rulon Skinner. One day he brought in a beautiful cake and set it on the desk in front of the class. I think that most of us were hoping we’d get a piece of that the cake. That day we discussed how we should present ourselves to others and the importance of dressing appropriately for future job interviews and in our employment. He emphasized that it really matters how things are presented and reminded us that others make judgments about us and who we represent based on how we appear.

About ten minutes before class was over, he commented that his wife had made a cake for our class. Since it was almost lunch time, I was excited about that news. He then asked how many people wanted a piece of cake. Almost every hand in the class immediately shot up. He then distributed a paper plate, spoon and napkin to all who raised their hands. Next, he picked up the beautiful cake and walked up to the nearest student with his hand up.

I noticed that the cake had not been sliced and the teacher didn’t appear to have a knife with him. Suddenly he put his hand directly into the cake and brought up a mangled glob. He then squeezed it a little and plopped it down on the girl’s plate. She was obviously disgusted with the glob of cake. He then proceeded to do the same thing to every student that had raised their hands. Of course, not one of us made any effort to eat the cake on our plates. We wondered why he would ruin such a beautiful cake when we were so hungry. Without comment, he returned to the front of the classroom, took a towel out and cleaned his hands off slowly. He then looked at us and said, “You see, it does matter how things are presented doesn’t’ it.” I will never forget this powerful message. It really does matter how we present ourselves and the example we set before others.

I always thought it would be great to have a home with a little land with it. That is until we bought a home with almost three acres of yard. It turned out to be a huge headache and I spent much of my free time moving that yard. One day my father-in-law felt sorry for me sold me his riding lawn mower after purchasing a new one. Even though he had used it several seasons, the mower was in very good shape because he carefully followed the manufacturer’s preventive maintenance program. When he delivered it, he gave me very specific instructions about taking good care of the motor, so I wouldn’t have any problems. He especially emphasized checking the oil regularly and changing it after so many hours of use. I was excited to finally have a riding lawn mower, but paid little attention to these warnings and never opened the maintenance booklet.

Toward the end of the first summer of use, I went out to start the engine, but found that it was totally frozen. It would not even turn over. I called my father-in-law and asked if he had any idea what could be wrong. He asked a question that immediately brought to mind his previous instructions. “Did you check the oil?” I quickly changed the subject, got off the phone, and ran outside to check the oil. Wouldn’t you know it? It didn’t have one drop showing on the dip stick. I thought–you dumb lawn mower! I asked the mechanic if there was an “easy way out of this.” He laughed at the question. After spending almost $300 to replace the engine block, I learned to check the oil. I never did like the lawn mower after that.

For the next three years the mower was nothing but trouble. I wasn’t going all that fast when I hit a little tree stump, bending the rod that controlled the steering. This required another expensive trip to the mechanic shop. I’ll admit I may have been going a little faster than I should have when I hit the stump the second time, but it shouldn’t have torn the whole blade system out as it did. That was one sorry excuse for a lawn mower!

I did learn, however, to check the oil occasionally, adding more when it was low. Then one day as I was out mowing some very high grass, I heard a strange knock in the mower’s engine. As I continued to mow, the sound grew louder. Finally there was a very loud noise and the engine quickly died. I looked back to see the piston actually coming out of the engine block. Again I talked to the mechanic to see what had happened and if there was an easy way out. He asked if I had followed the safety guidelines and changed the oil as I was instructed to. I tried to change the subject, but we both knew the answer to the question.

After spending another $300 to replace the engine block, I had an even more intense dislike for that undependable mower. After further troubles, like bending the frame after sliding into a ditch and having the seat deteriorate because I left it outside in the heat and rain a little too often, I ended up giving the lawn mower to my brother. It never was anything but a piece of junk anyway! It never occurred to me until much later that possibly the operator was the problem.

I was asked as scout committee member to accompany a group of scouts on a river rafting trip in the Texas hill country. We were to camp on a Friday night and then spend all day Saturday on the river. Upon arrival, three other adult leaders and I started setting up the tent we had borrowed. No instructions were included, but since our group consisted of two men holding master’s degrees, one with a dental degree and one a Ph.D., we weren’t worried. We soon discovered that the tent we had borrowed was undoubtedly defective. After all, if we couldn’t figure out how to put it together, something must be wrong with it. We were somewhat puzzled, however, since all the pieces appeared to be included, and the tent looked almost new.

For the next two hours we tried everything possible to get that tent set up–without success. Finally, in total frustration, one of the leaders got out ropes and tied the tent off to several nearby trees. However, it hardly even resembled a tent. When the scouts came back from a short hike, they laughed and laughed at the mangled looking thing draped between two trees. It was a very embarrassing situation for the leaders. While most of the boys slept out under the stars that night, the leaders decided to appear united and sleep in their makeshift tent. During the middle of the night, one side of the tent collapsed–on top of me. After crawling out, I attempted to sleep in my car the rest of the night. It was then that I saw another leader sleeping in the back of a pick-up truck.

 When morning dawned, we found ourselves miserable because of lack of sleep. To make matters the boys continued to laugh at us.
As we prepared to put the raft into the river, two college-aged girls drove up to a camping spot directly beside ours and unloaded several items from their car. I watched as they brought a fairly large tent out of the trunk. What a coincidence! The tent appeared to be almost exactly like the one we had borrowed. Shortly before they drove up, we had untied our tent from the trees and put it back in the van. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself, as we watched the girls prepare to assemble their tent. I knew there was no way they could put it up. I watched as they pulled out what looked like a little book of instructions. They studied it for a moment then quickly organized the different pieces into groups. Clearly they had never put the tent up before, because they constantly looked back and forth at the instructions. Once the pieces were in place, they spread the tent out and within fifteen minutes had it completely put together and their camping gear moved in.

I was hoping we could leave before our scouts noticed the girl’s nearly identical tent, but it was too late. We took their taunts and teasing like men. However because we were miserable from lack of sleep, we couldn’t really enjoy the river trip. I found myself wishing that the girls had arrived prior to our “tent problem” so that we could have borrowed their instruction book. I have found over time that life goes a lot smoother when we have an instruction book to follow. I have also noticed over the years that it is the nature and disposition of most men to not read instructions even when they are readily available. But they do no good unless we pull them out and follow them.

One holiday I was looking forward to a restful day off since I had had several stressful days coming into it. My wife had gotten up very early to go walking with a friend. When she got home, I was still in bed. She said there was tree limbs and debris throughout the neighborhood caused by high winds the night before. Then she said that the old widow lady who lived down the street was out with her walker tying to clean her yard. At first I thought, ‘Let her kids clean her yard. She has plenty who live in the area.’ Then the thought of her falling over in her walker and I got up but I was not happy to have my day off interrupted. Do you think I was going to let our five children sleep in while we went down and worked in the neighbor’s yard? ‘Everyone get up!’ I ordered. ‘We are going to help our neighbor clean her yard.’ You would have thought they’d been asked to get a couple of teeth pulled. After much coaxing, everyone finally got up and put on their work clothes. As we walked down the road, my wife looked happy.

As we arrived with rakes and a wheelbarrow, we found our neighbor attempting to clean up the rubble. She was using her walker to keep her balance. As we worked in her yard, she commented to me and my eleven-year-old daughter, Naomi, “I’m just a poor widow lady and don’t have any money to you.” Naomi said, “You don’t need to pay us. We want to do this!” I thought, “You little hypocrite! You were just griping as loudly as I was a little while ago and now you’re trying to be the hero!” As we raked and picked up the trash, a warm feeling began to grow inside that is hard to describe. I felt a spiritual lift just picking up branches and raking leaves.

Walking home after several hours of work, Naomi said, “Dad, let’s do that again! I had so much fun.” I think what she really meant was, “Dad, I like the good feeling I get when I serve others.” I felt a very special closeness to my children that day.

 Brandi was very excited. She was a popular cheerleader at her high school and she had been invited by her best friend to go to a large amusement park in Houston, Texas. This outing would be a going-away party for her friend, whose family was moving soon. She ran into the house to tell her mom who was happy for her. Then they looked at the calendar and realized that the date of the trip was the same day as a youth service project. Her mother told her that she would not be able to go to the amusement park with her friend. She was not happy about that.

The service project was to paint the house of an old widow lady named Louise. On the morning of the service project, Brandi arrived and was obviously not happy to be there. She had obviously gotten up and put on her make-up so she could look good for the boys. It was a very hot and humid summer day. At one point I looked up to see Brandi was on top of the house, hot and sweaty in the August heat with all of her make-up gone and replaced with paint spots. She was dipping her brush into a bucket to finish off the last little bit of the eaves. Just to kid her a little I asked her if she was having fun, knowing that she had been upset about not being able to go with her friend. “Yes, I am,” came her reply. “I really am! I’m so glad I’m here! At first I thought she was being sarcastic, but I soon realized that she was serious. She really was glad to be a part of the service project.

There is something amazing about serving. You almost always feel good about it when it is over. All of the youth took great pride in their work that day. Several drove past the house several times afterward to see the difference that coat of paint made on the widow’s home and to remember the good feelings that came from their act of service. The youth received the following letter from the widow: “I want to thank all of the young people and their parents for painting my house. I still go outside and walk all the way around just to look at it and be sure it isn’t something I’d dreamed about. It’s all true, and there are young people in this world who are taught to love and serve elderly people who can’t do everything for themselves. I pray the Lord will bless each and everyone. I hope they remember, too, that in doing for ‘the least of these,’ we are serving him.