Category: school days

Posted in Family, friends, Grace, gratitude, heaven, life, love, loving others, priorities, school days, Scripture, Southern born, thankful, Trials

Be You

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

God saw all that He had made, and it was very good indeed. Evening came and then morning: the sixth day.” Genesis 1:31

It was a profound statement.  It was 1967, and I was in junior high.  In Jacksonville that meant grades 7-9 and it meant a whole different world from elementary school.  For the first time we went to separate classes and got to choose some of our food for lunch in the cafeteria. I remember, for a dime, you could buy a bowl of French fries. While they weren’t anything like McDonald’s, I do believe they were potatoes, and they were long and skinny.

It may have been the sixties, but there were rules. For the girls skirts and dresses had to be of a certain length. For the guys your hair could only be so long and then there were the big three: shirt tucked in, wear a belt, and socks.  Break those and you and the principal had a date.  By the time I was in the ninth grade, things were relaxing a little and that included the big three.  On Fridays, boys were allowed to untuck their shirts, not wear a belt, and not wear socks. Holy moly, what was the world coming to?  Looking back, the cool thing was to take the socks that you weren’t wearing and put them hanging out of your rear pants pocket.  Every Friday, my shirt was out, my belt stayed home, and my socks were flapping in the breeze.  Do you know why?  It was cool…and I wanted to be cool. I wanted to be in. I wanted to be accepted.

As you know, over the years the trends have changed, styles have come and gone, and so have the labels.  In high school Gold Toe socks were coveted and so were Gant shirts. We couldn’t afford it either but when I joined the Air Force and could shop at the Base Exchange, they carried both and both became part of my world.  I was cool. I was in. I was accepted. Some things never change, and this is one of those.  There was always something that someone was wearing that if you had it, you just knew you would feel cool…accepted…part of the “in” crowd.  When I came to my current church, it was shirts with ponies and shoes named “Crocs.” Whatever the newest label, and there was always one, peer pressure and the desire to be cool, accepted, and in, pushed and pulled.  It seemed I always wanted to be what someone else was.

Thankfully, some of that has changed.  Ponies and crocs aren’t really that cool anymore, and I’m starting to realize that a label doesn’t define who I am.  I.Am.Me. In fact, my four favorite shirts are from Walmart and cost a grand total of $9.88 each. There’s nothing on the pocket—they are just plain shirts which is cool, because I define them…they don’t define me.

I read something one morning that was just profound.  Here it is. Are you ready?  “Each person was born an original; no one should die a copy.” Wow.  It goes like this.  Somewhere in heaven, God came up with a design plan for me.  He wrote the design and then declared it an original, and just right. In fact, in Genesis 1:31, the Bible says, “God saw all that He had made, and it was very good indeed.” And do you know what?  That includes me and that includes you. There is not another me or you, anywhere, and that was intentional. I don’t need to be you, and you don’t need to be me. We just need to be who God made us. Sure, fashion labels are fine, and I’m even sure there is a perfect weight and height, but those don’t dictate who we are…God does.

In the years that God gives me, I hope I will remember this.  When the clock stops ticking, the heart stops beating, and you are having a chicken dinner somewhere in my honor, I hope someone will be able to say, “That Dewayne, he was an original. God broke the mold when He made him.”  I don’t want to die a copy…I want to die an original.

Given my bent to be a people pleaser and desire to be cool, accepted and in, I’m sure that will be a challenge. Gratefully, my Dearest Daddy will be with me along the way to remind me that I am a custom-made job, and you are too.  And, if I am wise enough to ask and listen, He will help me be me.  Oh, and if I struggle, and I will, and you will too, just listen as He reassures us that, “He’s got this.” Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, fear, forgiveness, friends, Grace, gratitude, life, prayer, school days, Scripture, Trials

Scars are Stories

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

When Jesus stood up, He said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” “No one, Lord,” she answered. “Neither do I condemn you,” said Jesus. “Go, and from now on do not sin anymore.” John 8:10-11

It’s a great setup.  I’ve written several times about my early morning routine. It involves coffee, the weather report and Jesus.  I am a creature of habit, when something messes with my habits, and it messes me up. But sometimes I do something a little different that just works better.  Last year I tripped and fell as I was going onto our patio and messed up my hand, my wife Judy donated a little lap desk to help me study and write.  Well, I liked it so much I bought one of my own. I also found out that this little desk made a great addition to my routine as it is a great place to put my iPad and my coffee cup. Boom.  Things just got better.

Well, one morning I was sipping coffee and using my iPad to read a couple of devotions.  The guy I was reading wrote about scars and as I was reading…I was looking.  You see, my hands have several scars, and each one is a story.  On my right thumb is one that reminds me of the ten-year-old (or so) Dewayne who was cutting watermelon and ignored his daddy’s advice about how to use a knife. On my middle finger of my right hand, right on the knuckle, is an inch long scar caused by my careless use of an X-Acto knife I was using to build a model car or plane.

Let’s look at my left hand.  On my index finger are two scars…close together.  One was when I was riding with my sister and her then boyfriend in his car.  The car in front of us stopped…and he didn’t.  This was before seatbelts and when I headed for the windshield, I threw my hand up to protect my head.  I guess it worked, but I did cut my hand up in the process. The other scar was a woodcutting thing.  I didn’t cut it with the saw, or you might be calling me “Three Fingers.”  No, a piece of wood that I was cutting was in a bind. It slipped and whacked my hand leaving a nasty gash.

There are a couple of smaller scars on both hands, but their birth didn’t garner a memory.  I do have a couple of scars in other places, like the one by my eye which happened on a racquetball court.  A guy hit me with his racket on that one.  But by and large most of my physical scars are on my hands because that is where all the action is.  In other words, whatever you put out there in life will probably get scarred…like our hearts.  All of us probably have some scars left when we put our heart out there and someone wounded us.  It’s just life.

But now for the bigger story.  Remember that scars may be a sign of a painful wound…but they are also a sign of healing.  The scars that are on my hands were bleeding and painful when they happened but gradually, the bleeding stopped, and they healed over. That’s a good thing.  Now you know and I know that wounds on our heart are a whole different animal.  They may heal but it often takes more than some antibiotic cream and a Band-Aid. They say that time heals all wounds and that might be partially true.  Time does help but time can’t always heal.  The good news is there is something…Someone…who can heal, and His name is Jesus.

My friend Jesus is a healer of hearts.  When He walked the earth, He amazed the people in many ways…twice He gave everyone a free lunch.  But countless times He would take the broken, the castaways and lovingly put their lives back together.  I love the story when a woman was caught in adultery.  The religious people wanted to stone her, but Jesus chose to love her.  I suppose in my life, and in yours, there have been some stoning opportunities but here is one thing I know.  Jesus isn’t a rock chucker—He is a heart healer, and He wants to help heal yours today.

So, how about it?  Do you have some wounds on your heart that time just hasn’t taken care of? Are you still hurting from a train wreck in life years ago?  Why not give Jesus the opportunity to help?  “How” you might ask?  Well, why not try asking?  It is called prayer and trust me it is worth a shot.  The other key element is faith—believing that He is there listening.  Don’t be surprised if one of the first things you hear is Him asking you to forgive. Why? Because forgiving others always helps heal our own wounds.  So, when you are done reading, why not start praying.  He is waiting and He is willing.  He’s got this. Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, fear, forgiveness, friends, Grace, gratitude, life, loving others, prayer, school days, Scripture, thankful, Trials

I Hated Him

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

And be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as God also forgave you in Christ.” Ephesians 4:32

His name was Richard Jackson and I hated him. I know, I know…hate is a strong word, and you aren’t supposed to hate someone or anyone.  But lying is wrong too and the truth is…I hated him.  Besides all that I was in the eighth grade, so it was a long time ago. I’ve wanted to write this story before, but I’ve always put it off. Not anymore.

Anyone who knows anything can tell you that junior high, or middle school as they call it now, can be difficult…and mine was.  I never was in the cool crowd at school…I just didn’t make the cut. And add to that I was a little too short and a little too pudgy and I guess that just made me a target. Richard Jackson wasn’t in the cool group either he was in that nether land where people go who aren’t nerdy but aren’t cool either.  In another world, Richard Jackson would be a target like me…but he wasn’t.

Richard Jackson wasn’t a target because he was the one who targeted others.  By a twist of fate, he was big, real big.  I’m not sure if he was big because of his DNA or the fact that he probably spent too many years in the eighth grade.  Regardless, he was big and for whatever reason, when he looked for someone to push around and bully, he found me.  We didn’t share classes, we didn’t live in the same neighborhood, and we sure didn’t go to the same church.  Come to think about it, I’m sure Richard Jackson didn’t go to church.

Anyway, Richard Jackson, for most of my eighth-grade year made it his business to make me miserable. He would push and shove and threaten me almost daily.  To make matters worse, Richard Jackson had a lackey who would hang around him.  If Richard Jackson was big, Mark Williams wasn’t. He was skinny, almost scrawny, but all that didn’t matter because he belonged to Richard Jackson.  Well, Richard Jackson decided that Mark Williams should beat me up and one day he said just that. He promised to ride my bus and get off at my stop and pummel me.  That was a long day as I waited all day to get beat up.

Well, I got on the bus, they got on the bus and when it came to my bus stop…we all got off.  Richard Jackson instantly started in on me and at the same time encouraged his lackey to hit me.  Well, he did, square on the mouth and then we took to the ground and wrestled around a bit before it was all over.  Well, every day for months I would take my tongue and feel the large knot on my lip.  Every day for months I relived those few moments trying to make the outcome different.  It never was. To this day, I hate that day.

I think, though I am not sure, that soon after this Richard Jackson lightened up some.  In fact, by the time high school rolled around he was almost civil.  His lackey Mark Williams went somewhere…maybe parole school for all I know.  All I know is for a long time I allowed that day to define me.  For a long time, I allowed the fear of another bully showing up to cause me to live in fear.  And then finally, slowly, the fear disappeared but the scar remained.

As I write this, I still can feel the emotional pain that Richard Jackson and Mark Williams inflicted on me.  And, honestly, it wouldn’t be too hard for me to hate them all over again but then I realize that wouldn’t accomplish anything.  I’ve given them enough free rent in my brain already.  Besides all that since those days I had another important day—I met a Man who loved me enough to die for me.  I met a Man who forgave me of everything I had ever done wrong.  I met a Man who said since I have forgiven you don’t you think you should forgive him…forgive them.  And I realized He was right.  If I didn’t, I would be no better than they were.

Is there a Richard Jackson or a Mark Williams in your past…or present?  Is there a scar on your heart the size of Texas because someone decided to put it there?  Maybe just maybe it is time to let it go.  Maybe it is time to forgive.  I was watching The Chosen last night and one of the big truths was Peter’s unwillingness to forgive Matthew and Matthew’s failure to own his sin. It was a powerful moment. You see, if we are the offender we need to own our part and if we are the offended—well, we need to let it go.

As I wrote this, I was amazed at the emotion that still lingers in my heart and in my memories and I realized this forgiveness thing isn’t as easy as it seems.  But that’s ok because the One who asked me to forgive stands ready to help me to forgive.  He stands there ready to help, whispering, “It’s ok, I’ve got this.”  Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, fear, forgiveness, Grace, gratitude, life, loving others, prayer, school days, Scripture, thankful, Trials

It Was an Accident

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

Don’t be deceived: God is not mocked. For whatever a person sows he will also reap.” Galatians 6:7

I’m sure the doctor just rolled his eyes.  When I was eleven or twelve, you know about sixth grade, my Daddy and Momma got me one of the coolest Christmas presents ever.  Most of you have seen the movie “A Christmas Story” about a kid who wanted a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas. Well, this story isn’t like that, but it’s about something even better than a Red Ryder BB gun.  That year, wait for it, they got me a Daisy double-barrel BB gun.  It was designed after a real double-barrel shotgun.  It had two barrels (you probably figured that out), two triggers, and even broke in the middle to cock it. It was amazing.

I can remember going outside to shoot that gun…there was not another one like it in the whole neighborhood.  I wish I could tell you how well I took care of it…especially since, if you can find one now, they would sell for well over a thousand dollars.  But honestly, it was well used, and under cared for, and one day one of the barrels stopped working.  Well, I always enjoyed fixing things, so I just started taking things apart to work on it.  I figured out that the left barrel wasn’t working.  So, I took the “BB thingy” inside the barrel out, cleaned it good, oiled it, and then stuck it back in.

After I put everything back together, I cocked the gun and pulled the trigger, but as far as I could tell it still wasn’t working.  I decided that I would put my finger over the bad barrel to see if I could feel any air coming out.  Now, I know that sounds like a really, bad idea, and it was.  I know it was not smart or safe.  I know it was just pure old dumb.  But, regardless, I did it.  I sure wish I hadn’t.

Well, things wouldn’t have been so bad because as it turns out the barrel wasn’t working.  The problem was that I had my finger over the wrong barrel and pulled the wrong trigger and as I squeezed that trigger, the gun fired, and a BB went right into my finger…clear to the bone.  Oh, and yes, that was a dumb idea, and yes, it did hurt…boy, did it hurt.

I put the gun down and ran into the house holding my throbbing and bleeding third finger on my right hand.  Momma didn’t have time to give me a lecture or even holler at me.  We headed straight to the emergency room.  After checking in we saw the doctor who when he heard the story gave me that, “what a really a dumb idea” look. After numbing things up, he proceeded to dig around with a medical tweezer until he found the BB, got ahold of it and pulled it out.  Shot or no shot—it hurt.  I got a nice bandage and the opportunity to make a story up on what happened.  I wasn’t about to tell the truth…that was way too embarrassing.

If you look on my right hand and at my ring finger you can still see to this day a nice little dimple where the BB went into my finger.  It is there to remind me not to stick my finger over the barrel of a BB gun…or any gun for that matter.  It is there to remind me that there are consequences when we choose dumb over smart, or wrong over right.  It reminds me of that part of the Bible that says the rules of God are always right…whatever you plant, you harvest.  Do dumb and you get dumb consequences…every time.

I hope this Grits will help me and you both to think before we act…you know, to think things through.  Fortunately, God is more than ready to help us make the right decisions if we are willing to ask.  Uh, I didn’t ask that day and when we just don’t get around to doing that…well, He is still there to help us deal with the consequences too.  I’m glad He doesn’t act like the doctor, rolling His eyes at my mistakes.  No, He is too loving to do that.  In fact, if you listen, you will hear Him say, “Don’t worry, dumb or not, I’ve got this.”  Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, friends, Grace, gratitude, heaven, life, love, loving others, school days, Scripture, Southern born, thankful, travel

Daily Reminders

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

“For this is how God loved the world: He gave His one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16

It was a great adventure.  I don’t know what your experiences with going to grandmother’s house were like…but mine, well, it really was a great adventure.  Granddaddy and Grandmother lived in Gainesville, Florida and we lived on the west side of Jacksonville.  And, more than occasionally, we would load up in our car and drive down to Grandmother’s house.  It’s funny…it was never Granddaddy’s house…it always seemed to belong to her.

When we got there, we have our time of greeting and then, usually, there would be work to be done…at least for Daddy and me and our domain was the yard.  Grandmother had some beautiful flowers and my Daddy loved flowers too. We would walk around the yard admiring the handiwork of our Creator and planning what needed to be done.  And, before long, we would get to work.  There was weeding, mowing, picking up debris left over from the last Florida “frog strangler rain” and a host of other chores.  Fortunately, it wasn’t an all-day deal because there were adventures waiting.

Grandmother’s house was located on a main street but in a quiet neighborhood.  From the large front porch, with large white rockers, you could sit and watch the traffic go by.  If you went out the back door, there was the quiet world of the garden.  Beside the house was one of those narrow side streets that you only travelled on if you knew it was there.  We went down that road and the blocks behind the house to collect coke bottles for the two-cent deposit.  Two cents meant two pieces of penny candy…what a bargain. Besides the bottles, there was another treasure trove that we visited every time we visited Grandmother.

I remember we would go into the backyard and there was a trail of sorts going through some woods.  At the other end of the trail, on the next block, sat a small warehouse.  Today I suppose you would call it a large storage shed.  To my sisters and me it was heaven.  A man had a Jewel Tea franchise and that was where he stored his merchandise.  And right next to the building was a pile…a glorious pile of…stuff.  It was like having our own treasure chest except there wasn’t a chest.  It was all there, free, for the taking.

What was there?  Well, there were all kinds of items…things for the house or for personal care.  Honestly, you never knew what you were going to find…it was the great adventure.  It was not uncommon for there to be candy and snacks.  Now keep in mind this was in the sixties and everything was still wrapped up tight.  We would have a ball pilfering through the pile.  Sometimes of course there wouldn’t be anything but the anticipation of going to the Jewel Tea warehouse was so exciting.  The only thing better than finding bottles and collecting our two cents each, was finding the mother lode at the warehouse.

Perhaps you can’t imagine rummaging through a pile of boxes left outside.  Perhaps you can’t imagine opening some candy someone had discarded but somehow, someway, it just seemed ok and normal back then.  It really was a great adventure. We didn’t have a lot and because of that we didn’t get a lot so when you could find bottles and get two cents or when you could get something for free…well, it was pretty good day.

Somehow, I missed those days…days of simplicity…days of being satisfied with little and needing less.  These days we are surrounded by so much and yet today, enough never seems to be quite enough.  What used to fill our cups seems now to be but a drop in the bucket.  I think we have lost our way…detoured down a road of discontentment where sunrises are ignored, and a beautiful flower missed as we rush by.  Love notes from our Dearest Daddy, strategically placed along our paths, go unread.  We need to slow down, we need to smell the roses, we need to read the notes.

Today, this day, why don’t we make a conscious decision to find something simple and marvel in it again and why don’t we start with a simple fact.  And what fact is that?  It is that God so loved this broken, crazy world we call home, so much that He allowed, He sent, His Son into it and made a promise. The promise is anyone who believes in Him can have eternal life.  Think about that.  Loved by God with heaven thrown in…now that’s a good day.  And if you need a booster shot of “feel good,” just remember this.  No matter what comes your way today…well, He’s got it.  Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, friends, gratitude, life, love, loving others, prayer, priorities, school days, Scripture, Southern born, thankful, wisdom

Lasting Words

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

Teach us to number our days carefully so that we may develop wisdom in our hearts.” Numbers 90:12

It wouldn’t cut soft butter today but back then it was cutting edge. I’m a tech guy.  I love the newest and greatest technology.  When a new something comes out, if I’m not careful, I am on my way to grab one.  Of course, the funny part is it usually ends up sitting around somewhere.  Even my iPhone is mad because of the hours it sits on the counter—unloved and unattended.  Frequently I must apologize for not returning a call or not answering a text…not because I’m ignoring a person—I’m ignoring my phone.

This love affair with tech began when I was a kid. When it came time for Christmas, I would browse the Sears catalogue and dream of the cool gifts that might come my way. And somehow, Momma and Daddy, with a little help from Santa, would pull it off.  Of course, sometimes they surprised me.  It would have been Christmas of, oh, 1966 and I received something totally unexpected and totally cool. It was a small, battery powered, portable reel-to-reel tape recorder.  This was before eight-tracks, before cassettes…before anything.  The size of large book, it gave me the ability to record something and play that something back.

One time I took my recorder to my grandparents’ house in Gainesville, Florida.  My grandfather (there was no “Papa” with him) was talking with my Daddy and was telling a joke.  I decided to start the recorder and record what they were saying. Sure enough it worked and later, I played the tape for everyone, and we all marveled at the ability for something so small to do that.  But here is the amazing part.  Somewhere in my stuff, is a small reel of tape and on that tape is my grandfather and Daddy’s voices…probably one of the few recordings to exist.  Even though they are gone…their voices live on.

Their.Voices.Live.On.  Think about that for just a moment.  Both men who influenced me so much have long since passed away. But through technology their voices can still be heard.  Oh, I know it is not a big deal now but back then…it was so unusual and that makes the recording valuable.  They are, if you will, speaking from the grave.

In one of those moments of clarity, I recently realized that I too, one day, will speak from the grave.  My life, my actions, my priorities, my values, sermons I have preached, and stories I have written, will all be left behind and all will speak.  And I wonder…what will they say of me and what will they say of who I was?  When my great grandchildren hear the stories of their great Papa, will those stories be stories worthy of sharing? Will the words encourage them to live right and do right, or leave them scratching their head like a batter thrown a good curve ball on a hot Saturday afternoon? We should all hope to leave a story that is worth telling…one that brings some light and laughter into their world.

There is a verse I keep coming back to time and again.  Moses wrote it thousands of years ago and yet is as fresh as today’s news.  He asked God to help him number his days that he could gain a wise heart.  He wasn’t asking for his math to be accurate when he counted birthdays.  No, he was asking that he be wise enough to make the most, the very most, of every single day.

Legacy.  It is a great word, and we are all leaving one.  The only question is, “What kind will it be?” That is up to us.  Five days a week I publish a short story with a big truth but in reality…I write one everyday…and so do you.  Let’s be sure to write one worth telling.  Fortunately, there is a publisher who is all about helping us and if we are Jesus followers, we call Him Dearest Daddy.  He is more than willing to help us write a best seller…after all, that’s just one more thing He does.  He’s got that too.  Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, friends, Grace, gratitude, life, love, loving others, school days, Scripture, thankful

God and Graders

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

This is My command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9 NLT

It was a boy’s dream come true. One thing I love about being born in the fifties was the world in which we lived. Things were so much slower and simpler.  Television consisted of three channels and the big news was the day we had four.  And hang on, no toys I owned required batteries or had a screen. All I had to do was look around at what was laying around and boom…welcome to toy land. One of my favorites was a piece of chain that quickly became a train. I would drag it through the sand and as the links cut through the sand it and at least through my eight-year-old eyes and mind…it looked like train tracks.

As my wife Judy and I were recently traveling through South Georgia, the land of grits, butter and salt (no sugar, thank you) we saw a road grader doing its grader thing. This magnificent machine  had six large tires and a blade the size of Texas.  With the right operator, they could quickly turn a rutted, dirt road into a silky country highway. Now, and especially back when I was eight, it was a boy’s dream come true.

When I saw the grader that day, my mind flashed back to a time when they were grading the dirt road in front of my house. Later on they would pave it but before that it was dirt and one day the county decided to pave it. This was big excitement for me so I ran out and watched with fascination as the operator carefully and skillfully operated the grader and then something happened.

The man stopped the grader right in front of where I was standing and invited me to join him in the cab. While this probably would never happen now, back then it could and did. He idled down the motor and hollered, “Do you want to ride for a while?” So, with a wave of his hand, I joined him in the cab. He shot the juice to the giant engine and off we went. It was amazing. I may be dreaming but it seemed he even let me steer the massive machine. Too soon, he had to get back to work and I had to come back to reality.  But it was a dream come true.

That was a memory to remember but there is one that is so much bigger than that and that is the time God invited me to come and sit in the cab of life with Him. Just as the grader was changing the local landscape, so God invites us to change the landscape of life and lives. With His hands on the controls, we have the opportunity to allow Him to guide us and we have the privilege of helping others and serving Him. It is a game changer and adds so much meaning and purpose to our lives.

Let me encourage you today to move from the roadside and join your Dearest Daddy in the cab. There is no limit to what He and you can do together. You don’t have to have degrees or zillions in the bank to be used by Him.  All it takes is a willing heart and saying yes to His great adventure for your life. Remember, don’t be afraid to climb on board…He’s got this. Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, fear, friends, Grace, life, loving others, prayer, school days, Scripture, thankful, travel, Trials

Lost in Niger

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

 He counts the stars and calls them all by name.” Psalm 147:4

 Don’t follow me. I’m lost.  That may sound like something a pastor should never write but at least one time in my life, that was the message.  It seems like I was probably ten years old, and Momma and Daddy bought me a new bike for my birthday, and I was so proud of that bike. I remember it having the little “streamy” things that kids used to put on their handlebars so they could wave in the breeze.

There was one other thing that set it apart.  Attached to the back of the seat was a little “tag” (you know, like a license plate but a lot smaller) and it said, “Don’t follow me. I’m lost.”  I don’t know if Momma and Daddy bought it and put it on the bike or if it came on it. However, since I was like most ten-year-old boys—it was probably appropriate.  Of course, at that time I had no idea that one day I would be a pastor and do my best to help people find the right path in their lives. We all know how imperfect preachers are but hopefully there is one thing that we can do and do right—show people how to follow Jesus.  After all, we all get lost, and we all need someone to point us in the right direction.

More than a few years ago, we were in Niger, West Africa and we were in the Sahara Desert.  We were traveling from one small village in the middle of nowhere on our way to another slightly larger village in the middle of nowhere.  Keep in mind this is West Africa and more often than not, you are going to end up on a road made of sand with only an occasional road sign.  Our friend was driving a 4X4 and we thought we were heading in the direction of Abalak—a medium sized town in the middle of the desert.  We drove and drove, and she was pretty sure we were going in the right direction but who knew?  After all, it was West Africa, it was the desert, and signs were few and far between.

We drove for several hours till we came to a place where in the distance we could see a couple of tents and a few camels standing around.  I remember there was a young lady sitting on a donkey who looked like she could pass for Mary on her way to Bethlehem but there also was a man. We opened our window and our friend greeted him and he asked where we were going.  She told him we were going to Abalak.  I remember his reply. In his local language he said, “Not this way, you’re not.” He also said that he had a cousin in Abalak.  Of course, in West Africa, in the middle of nowhere, it seemed everyone either knew or was related to everyone.  But he offered to guide us to Abalak if he could ride along.

Well, we readily agreed and off we went with a new friend pointing the way. Remember the song we sing at Thanksgiving about over the river and through the woods?  Well, it was just like that except it wasn’t Thanksgiving, there was no river and there were no woods but after several hours we did find ourselves in Abalak.  It turns out our new friend was just the person we needed.  We were lost and he pointed us in the right direction.

You know, sometimes in life we get lost too, don’t we?  Don’t be shocked and don’t make me turn in my “man card,” but I’ve actually stopped and asked for directions. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t, but it was always reassuring when the landmark the person mentioned or the right color of house on the corner appeared.  It was always about then I knew we were on the right path, and everything was going to be ok.

As we emerge from the pandemic and all of its craziness and if you are feeling a little lost, remember it is ok to ask directions.  It might be a trusted friend or someone you know from church, but it is ok to get a little help. I’ve found a Friend that always points me right where I need to go.  He never gets lost because He made everything and He is never wrong because, well, He’s just never wrong.

There is a place in the Bible where it says that He knows the total number of stars in the heavens, and He calls them all by name.  And I figure if He knows the stars…He probably knows the way I ought to go.  How about that?  So today, if you’re feeling a little lost, just ask Him.  He loves pointing people in the right direction and, as always, you can rest assured that “He’s got this.” Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, fear, forgiveness, friends, Grace, gratitude, Integrity, life, loving others, prayer, pride, school days, Scripture, Southern born, thankful, Trials

Crime of the Century

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

As Jesus went on from there, He saw a man named Matthew sitting at the toll booth, and He said to him, “Follow me,” and he got up and followed Him.” Matthew 9:9 (CSB)

It was the crime of the century.  Somewhere right around the time I was learning how to cut watermelon with a butcher knife, I was learning how to be a criminal.  I already had the regular sin thing down by then.  I could be jealous, tell a lie, be angry, be envious and be selfish—yup I was a pretty good sinner.  But one day, one ordinary day, I became a thief.  I became the “Al Capone” of 6008 Carlton Road.

My mom was the Girls Auxiliary teacher at the church we attended.  It was a class that taught girls about God and missions.  As part of the class, they would bring their change, and put it in one of those small, metal world globes.  Momma, to keep it safe, brought the globe home and one day, one ordinary day, I decided to steal.

My plan was never to take all the money—that would be too obvious.  I wanted just enough to go to the store and buy a water gun.  So, one day, Momma and my sisters left, and I was in the house by myself.  I went and took the globe to our porch and with a butter knife I began to fish the money out of the globe.  Nickels, dimes, and quarters fell to the floor.  When I got what I wanted I put the globe back and collected my booty. I don’t remember if I felt remorse, but I did feel fear.  “What if?” I said.

So, later, Daddy went to the store, and I tagged along.  I went back to the toys and picked up my water gun and bought it.  Now those were the days when kids didn’t have money laying around, so Daddy asked, “Where did you get the money to buy the water gun?”  I panicked but quickly and efficiently covered the crime with a lie.  “Oh, I found it.” I replied.  Found it indeed.

The only thing I remember from that point on is going back to the crime scene and making sure I had found all the coins that had fallen to the floor.  I didn’t find any, but I did find something else.  More fear and a burden of guilt.  I don’t remember how the story ended.  I don’t remember confessing, I know I didn’t replace the money, and I know it still bothers me to this day.  I bet Momma is going to have some questions when I get to heaven.  The cat is out of the bag.

So, along with being a regular sinner, I fell into stealing from God and lying to my Daddy—and probably my Momma.  Thankfully, somewhere down the road, I also became forgiven. It’s too long of a story to share here but when I was 13, I was plunged into grace.  I threw aside an unhealthy dose of religion and got a relationship with the God of the universe and beyond.  And do you know what?  That sin, and all my other sins, were forgiven, eradicated, erased, and thrown away. Amazing.

So, put your rocks down.  You might be wondering, “How can a professional criminal that stole from God be a Christian—much less a preacher?” That is the wonder, mystery, and power of God’s love.  You see, the worst sinners in the days of Jesus were tax collectors.  They were professional thieves who betrayed their friends and country men to the Romans.  Matthew was one of those. He was sitting at his collection table taking people for a ride.  Then it happened.

Jesus walks up to this most unlikely person and says, “Follow me.” The other followers’ jaws dropped, the Pharisees nearly threw-up and Matthew, well, he stood up, left it all behind and followed Jesus.  And, like they say, the rest is history.

I don’t know what your story is like—maybe you’re a lot better than me—maybe a lot worse.  Let me tell you what I know—God loves you and wants you in His family.  If you are willing to turn from your sin and follow Him, He will forgive your sins and give you a new past and a new future.

You see God can handle all this stuff we are in.  Crazy days and crazy sin doesn’t faze Him.  He can handle your circumstances—and your sin, no matter how much you resemble Matthew or Al Capone.  Come to Him today, rest in Him today.  He’s got this. Bro. Dewayne

Posted in Family, forgiveness, friends, gratitude, life, love, loving others, pride, school days, Scripture, Southern born, Trials

Washer Hoses and a Dose of Oops

Posted on by Dewayne Taylor

And above all things have fervent love for one another, for “love will cover a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8

It’s an old, old story…at least for we Taylors.  As the baby of our family, I came along toward the tail end of so many good memories.  Daddy and Momma had eight kids in all.  They had five, apparently needed a break, and then decided to have three more. Well, I’m not sure how much it was a decision as it was a fact of life…no pun intended.  There were plenty of tales in the Taylor household but like I said, some happened before I came along.

Daddy and Momma started out with three boys.  From everything I know, they were all rough and tumble and that’s just the way it was.  Well, apparently, one day things got a little out of hand.  More on that in a few minutes.  What you need to know now is that one day my Momma went out to use her washing machine and made a startling discovery.  Someone had cut the hoses to the machine and the natural suspects were the three older brothers.  I’m not sure why they were suspects unless that was part of their rough and tumble motif.  I can’t verify it, but I would suspect that at some point, Momma said, “Just wait till your father gets home.”

Well, eventually he did, and Momma told him what had happened.  He lined the boys up for a time of interrogation.  They assured him that while they were rough and tumble, they weren’t stupid—there was no way they cut the hoses.  Well, Daddy didn’t buy it.  He was sure that they did.  I’m not sure how long they were in the “police lineup” but eventually Daddy said if no one would confess they would all get punished…and they did.  I don’t know if it was a switch or a belt, but they got a spanking.  Case closed.  Daddy was sure they wouldn’t be cutting anymore hoses.

Well, the only problem was this—they didn’t cut them in the first place.  Several days later, one of their rough and tumble “friends” confessed to the deed.  It turns out in their rough and tumbling the “friend” had gotten mad and decided to get a little revenge so…he cut the hoses.  When word got back to Daddy, he called a meeting of “the boys.”  Again, I wasn’t there but I heard it went something like this.  “Boys, I found out you didn’t cut the hoses to the washing machine—your “friend” did it.  Now, at this point in the story it would seem logical that Daddy would at least attempt to apologize for the undue punishment.  That didn’t happen.  Instead, he said something like this, “You probably needed the spanking anyway.”

I know, you’re thinking, “What! That’s not right.  It’s not fair.” But don’t be too quick to cast judgement on my Daddy.  The bottom line is he should have apologized, but that was a different time, and we don’t know all the details.  Sometimes it is hard for people to apologize…even when they are wrong.  Can you identify with that?  I know I sure can. Often the words, “I’m sorry” just couldn’t find their way off my tongue. And if you are a member of the human race, you have probably experienced that too.

Here’s what I do know.  My Daddy was a good man, but he wasn’t a perfect man.  He, like me, made mistakes.  When I heard this story a long time ago, honestly, we probably all laughed.  Later, I’m sure it made me think and I came to this conclusion. Instead of judging him for a lapse of judgement in a moment of time I decided to go with what I knew to be true.  My Daddy loved them, and he loved me and that was simply enough.  I was willing to let love cover a multitude of sins.  I know God’s love has sure covered a big multitude of my sins…and I am grateful for that.

The big take away is this.  If you find someone has cut your washing machine hoses the most likely suspect probably doesn’t live in your house—possibly but not probably.  But more than that—always remember we are recipients of a whole pile of God’s grace, and we should be willing to extend a little.  Forgiveness is not for the person you’re forgiving—it is for you.  A heart willing to forgive is a happy heart.  And, when you find yourself against a rock and hard place trying to forgive someone who hurt you…just remember your Heavenly Father is an expert at forgiving and trust me, “He’s got this.” Bro. Dewayne