Simpler times. I suppose we all reminisce about simpler periods of our lives, whether it be our childhood or another time that we often think of. I can’t help but go back to the memories of my childhood, visiting my grandparents, riding dirt roads, playing outside until late at night, or backyard football with neighbors and friends. I can still hear the creaking of the old screen doors opening and the sudden slam of that thin, wooden frame slamming as it closed.

But there are certain things that trigger past memories. Certain smells, tastes, sounds, or images have unusual power to transport us right back in time, whether it be five years, ten years, or thirty years back. As I sat here writing, contemplating sharing many of my own personal memories, I thought, “Now, other than your own momma, who would really care about your own memories?” Instead, I thought of a handful of folks, many of whom have gone on to their eternal reward, and the influence they had on my life. I’d like to share them with you. I have replaced their names in case they had family that wouldn’t appreciate me writing about them. In fact, some of this is pure fiction, just using my imagination to share, stories I have mixed with fact to deliver an entertaining and inspiring piece of work.

The Farmer: It certainly wasn’t nothin’ fancy. I reckon it is sort of clichè to sit here and talk with you about a farmer and bring up his relationship with a tractor. Sort of like talking about a doctor without mentioning’ medicine. But, that rigid, metal seat would cut right through your behind after sittin’ on it all day. I can’t imagine spending all day sittin’ on a  piece of metal. Folks nowadays would have a hissy-fit about breathin’ that much exhaust, much less sitting on a hard piece of metal. But that farmer taught me a lot. I try my best to find a lesson, something I can learn from anybody I meet or have interacted with. The farmer worked harder than anybody and saw good times and bad. In his particular case, he saw far more hard times than good. But, he persisted and he continued to trust in God. I remember seeing this farmer standing in church one day, ole’ filthy overalls (you could tell they had been worn quite a bit) and those worn out boots, callused hands, and a face covered with deep, thick wrinkles. None of that held him back from giving the biggest smile anytime you talked with him. He’d stand up in church and tell of God’s faithfulness, how He’d send the rain just in time, and how he just knew God would give him the harvest of crops he needed to take care of his family. He talked with a deep, slow, southern drawl. One of those drawls that some folks would need an interpreter to understand, but we knew right well what he was saying.

It didn’t matter how bad things were, my friend, the farmer, would set his leathered-looking face to God and trust Him no matter what. Coffee was especially good with my farmer friend. We’d sit out by the pond, and just listen, not much talking going on. He didn’t talk a whole lot, but when he did, I knew to listen. The farmer taught me what it meant to not just trust God, but to keep moving in hard times. A lot of folks nowadays will just throw you away if you mess up. The farmer? No sir. Just like he took care of his own livestock, equipment, and tools, even when they broke or messed up on him, he wouldn’t give up on another person, no matter what. I sort of think that is a characteristic of God, and the farmer showed me that characteristic of God in action.

The farmer taught me what it meant to be consistent, getting up every day, putting in my share of hard work, and trusting God to deliver the harvest.

The Preacher: Now, I know what you’re thinkin’; you don’t care nothin’ about a preacher, a car salesman, or a politician. Well, neither did I, until I met the preacher. The preacher didn’t have a big, fancy church. In fact, most of the time, there weren’t no more than 10 or 15 folks in the congregation. Most of ’em came from a poor community, but the preacher had earned their trust. He didn’t beat us over the head about money, but if we were getting off track, he’d meet us where we were and love us. I remember a time when, as a young fool, I was in desperate need of guidance. I was a terribly good sinner. I drank like a fish, cussed like a sailor, and would flirt with any woman that had a heartbeat. Sad, but true. One day, after my first wife had left me, this preacher came to me. I was out of work, and at a low point. Nearly twenty years ago or so I suppose. If I remember right, he was close to his 70s at the time. But those eyes and hands of that preacher would tell a story.

With trembling hands, which was probably due to a hereditary condition, streaming tears down his wrinkled face, and trembling lips, he sat down in front of me and said, “Son, I want you to know something. I want you to know that, no matter what, I love you. I know things are hard for you right now, I know you probably don’t see how things in this life can get any better, but if you will just put your trust in God, He will be faithful to show you the way.” Somebody cared. The old church where he preached regular wasn’t nothing to brag about. That’s probably why I fit in so good. The preacher showed me what it meant to love people in their mess.

We can learn a lot from folks around us, folks we are probably taking for granted. But, just like the smell of grandaddy’s cherry tobacco pipe, or granny’s fresh-baked pie, or mawmaw’s perfect coffee and scrambled eggs, or the smell of old cigarettes in the shop, they’ve all left a mark on us. They aren’t all good, I’d be foolish to think such a thing. But, in everything, there’s a positive. I’ve got so many more I could craft into characters and share, but these were on my mind.

So, here’s to simpler times here in the south. Times when a Coke was a lot cheaper than $2.00, when we could call our folks on an old rotary phone, or when watching tv meant everyone could watch and we didn’t have to worry about filth. Here’s to more Sunday drives in the country, walks in the field, and fishing. A lot more fishing would probably change our country for the better. Times in our country when families prayed together, when communities stuck together, times when patriotism was a given, not a rare treat we were surprised to see on tv. Here’s to times when we knew our mechanics by first name, our doctors made personal calls to check on us, and when politics wasn’t near as divisive. Here’s to times when we’d spend all day playing outside and come in smellin’ like “outside” (I’ve never been able to define what smelling like the outside means.) Maybe the folks in your memory files aren’t preachers, farmers, mechanics, or salesmen, maybe it’s your daddy, your momma, maybe it’s a complete stranger. Either way, if we think about it, there’s a thread, a fiber if you will, of our past that, if properly implemented today, could help salvage our way of life, and I believe that fiber is faith, hope, trust, and love. All of which are characteristics of God.

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