Glimpses

Firsts

Did you ever stop to think that our nondescript lives are literally packed with “firsts”?

Well ponder that for a moment or two, darlin’. Some of the firsts in our young lives, we don’t remember – like learning to walk. (What makes a child want to crawl or walk in the first place? It’s not through conscious effort.) You can bet that your parents and grandparents remember your first wobbly crawl and initial unsure steps. To my knowledge, the first time my “memory recorder” came on was when I was left in the care of Mrs. Johnson, while my parents moved into their first (and only) home. I remember Mrs. Johnson, and the fireplace in her home. End of recording. I was not yet two years old. The recorder kicked on again, briefly, as I was standing at the end of the couch in my aunt’s home. My dad’s mother was seated there at the end of the couch. I recall looking out the front window, searching for my parents who had gone to Lubbock to shop. Evidently I was getting impatient for their return, and my grandmother reassured me, “They’ll be here d’rectly.” That contraction of the word “directly” somehow became etched on my brain, possibly because I had never heard it before, but I knew what she meant. End of recording. The next recorded event took place not too long afterward and my dad was holding me over my grandmother’s bed where she lay ill. I was supposed to kiss her before we left. By that point in life, she was a dried up little ole lady whom I had been around very little. I was squirming and refused to kiss her. End of recording. And, in a few days, the end of her life. I was still less than two years old.

As time moved along, my recording mechanism became more active with longer running times. My first cap pistol was a gift on my fifth birthday. I also got a store-bought stick horse. I was told to ride the horse to the corner of the block, and back. Upon my return, an aunt presented me with the pistol. It was loaded. When I started to try it out, my aunt said hold it close to your eye and take careful aim. So I did. My aunt didn’t have any boys – just one girl, older than me. What did she know about guns? I did as instructed and when I pulled the trigger I thought I had shot myself! Minute sparks from the exploding cap landed on my face, and coupled by the unexpected mighty roar from the gun powder, I was about ready to wrap up the celebration. A man’s got to know the rules and be careful when handling a powerful six-gun.

I have a mental recording of some of us kids playing on the church steps, and a little girl who lived a block from me was there. She had long braided hair and pretty full lips. From somewhere I got this inspiration – “She needed to be kissed.” At the first opportune moment, I followed this impulse. I guess it worked out o.k. She didn’t knock me down, but as I recall she took off in one direction and me in another. I saw her a few years ago at a class reunion and relived the story with her. We had a big laugh. She died a few months later. Since that event (the kiss) happened so many years before, I think her death probably wasn’t due to my actions.

How about that first day of school? I was doing great until… well, probably not great, but doing fine until the girl seated next to me, large for her age, started to cry. I figured if anyone that big was spooked about something, maybe I should be too. I managed to tough it out while Miss Haggard (teacher) got Peggy calmed down. This incident gave me insight as to how easily cattle can be stampeded.

The first time I went to the doctor by my self took a lot of self control. Actually, I may have gotten a few “stretch marks” as a result. You see, while I was focused on placing one foot in front of the other toward the dreaded destination, the rest of my body was desperately trying to take flight. I had to get a blood test for a health certificate. My job at the grocery store required it because a few of my duties entailed activities in the meat market. I was about 10 at the time. The family doctor’s (who delivered me) name was not all that comforting either – Dr. Payne. That old rascal was rough as a cob. When I finally left his office, I felt like a new level of maturity had been attained. I did it by myself and lived through it! Thank goodness that was over – until the health certificate expired.

One “first” I can’t remember was when I first knew there was God. I grew up going to Sunday school and church and it seems that in my life God was “always” there. Usually, I thought He was just watching to catch me doing something wrong. I had no concept of the safety and health that he showered upon me – or countless other things we become more conscious of as we know more about Him. Actually, there is one Sunday that I remember when I played sick to keep from going to Sunday school. As it turned out, I made a very serious mistake when I formed that plan. While I was “convalescing” my dad decided it would be an opportune time to learn to write my last name. This was a turn of events that I hadn’t counted on – not even in my wildest dreams. Why, I had never needed to know how to do that before, so why was that so important all of a sudden? If I was given an explanation, it didn’t register. A dying man is seldom rational in his thinking. What I would have given to be in Sunday school! I was staring at the Mt. Everest of names! Seated at the dining room table, my dad presented me with pencil and paper and a copy of what I was to learn to write. This cruel and unusual punishment was about on par with having to learn to tie my own shoes! In neither scenario will fingers perform in the manner required to accomplish the tasks. The Sunday school hour came and went. I labored on with tear filled eyes. I was completely well now, but anger filled my emotions. How stupid I was to have told a lie to get out of going to church. I had tricked myself into an impossible situation – a bottomless pit! It was sometime after the worship services would have been dismissed that I was able to present an acceptable written copy of my last name to my dad. I had learned a valuable lesson that day, and also how to write my name.

We all have a lot of common firsts that we share - graduation from middle school, entering high school, school plays, speaking before the class, first date, first job, high school graduation, entering college, proposing marriage, first child and on and on we could go.

There are also “firsts” that are personal, and private for all of us:
As a pre-teen I accepted Christ as my personal Savior, and followed that with baptism. It took no real thought because God had always been there. When I was about eighteen or nineteen, our church was having a summer revival which I attended. I often sang in the choir, which was probably a major obstacle in the success of the music program, and I was content with my relationship with God. One night the visiting evangelist asked a question right at the end of the last stanza of the invitation hymn, “Are you sure you’re saved?” That question pierced me like an arrow. Instantly I realized that I knew virtually nothing about God’s grace, and the sacrifice that was made when His only son was crucified for my shortcomings and sins. I left the service a very troubled young man. I had been working in my dad’s lumber yard for about four or five years at the time, and business was booming. I frequently made deliveries to various job sites in the company truck. I was almost in a panic mode that next day. I asked God to protect me until I could get back to the evening service so that I could make my decision public. I promised that immediately at the beginning of the invitation hymn, I would step out and walk down the aisle to the front. Personally, this was going to be very embarrassing. I had professed to be a Christian, had been baptized previously, and was currently teaching a class of junior boys. What a revolting set of circumstances! I estimated that I was probably the first person in the history of the world to get himself in such a predicament. I made good on my promises to God and was re-baptized. I’ve been double dipped! In the ensuing years as I have had opportunity to relate this experience, I have been joined by many double dipped brothers and sisters. I wasn’t a first. I was just one among many that God had patiently waited on. I’m glad that pride, or embarrassment was not so strong that I couldn’t be freed from knowing that I had been wrong, and immediately doing something to correct it.

It just gets gooder and gooder, if you know what I mean. There are still a lot of unused firsts out there just waiting for us to participate in them. Put on your magical hat of imagination. Just beyond the horizon, can you imagine that first glimpse of heaven? What about the first sight of friends and loved ones motioning us inside. The “place” He went away to prepare for us will be another first when our eyes behold it! How miraculous it will be when we first see friends, acquaintances, and family members who suffered afflictions for their entire lives, standing there before us totally well, and more alive than any of us are today! These are just entry level firsts.

Can you possibly imagine an occasion so awesome and humbling as we first gaze upon our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ? I have a great imagination, but I can’t wrap my mind around that moment!

Can human words describe the magnificence of the Throne Room, or the angelic choir of Heaven? Do you like stereo, or wrap-around sound? We haven’t heard anything yet!

God’s word tells us that man cannot begin to conceive what He has prepared for us. Access to all this, and to become a joint heir with God’s own son, Jesus Christ, begins by coming to Christ, confessing our sins, accepting Him as Savior, and following Him. That is the only way.

I look forward the time when all mankind will follow God’s infallible plan, and peace covers the earth. I hope to see you there and we can experience more firsts together.

Harley