Category Archives: Small Town America

THROWBACK 1966 (Part 2)

Christian Discipleship, History, Humor, Small Town America, , , , , , , ,

Last week’s blog post began our throwback adventure to year 1966.  We looked at life through the eyes of a 10-year old boy– going to the movies, dreaming about toys, watching TV commercials, and going to school.  We also looked at how real life crashes in on a 10-year old when coming face-to-face with the real world. (Don’t miss Part 1 if you haven’t read it yet.)  Let’s keep looking at what life was like 50 years ago.  How about this for starters:

Anyone remember this?  I remember kids doing it in the school hallways.  A Teacher’s nightmare!!

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THROWBACK 1966 (Part 1)

Biblical Truth, Christian Discipleship, History, Small Town America, Spiritual Growth, , , , , , , , , ,

mini-skirtI’m all about history.  It was one of my college majors; I taught it in school for almost a decade; I own multiple bookcases of history books (and have read most all of them);  and like Mark Twain once reflected about history, “We seem to have more of it now than we ever have.”  I love to study kings and queens, presidents and generals, war and peace, revolutions and revivals, and even (sigh) campaigns and elections.

But my FAVORITE is oral history.  I like to talk to people about their memories and experiences from the past.  I especially enjoy conversing with people who share the same memories as I do.  So, I have decided to throw out a random year from the past and see what my readers might remember together with me.  Perhaps those of you who are too young to remember the year will at least be entertained by our magical flashback.  So here goes.  Our first THROWBACK YEAR will be: 1966.  (Whoa!  That was a half-century ago!)

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STORM PIT APOCALYPSE

Christian Discipleship, Humor, Small Town America, , , , , , ,

tornado-2

“I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm.”  Psalm 55:8”

Does anyone remember the heyday of the storm pit?  Yes, in “tornado alley” (a swath stretching from Oklahoma to Georgia) the storm pit was a common sight, especially between the mid-1930’s and the mid-1960’s.  Around here they were normally dug into the side of a small hill, usually consisting of about six steps descending down into a 8′ x 8′ cinderblock-walled room.  Around the edge of the room were wooden benches, or sometimes a collection of ladder back chairs with cane-woven seats.    All storm pits had plenty of candles, matches, and perhaps a kerosene lamp.  Moms and Dads everywhere kept their eyes to the sky during stormy seasons of the year–  storm pits  needed to be used, and used often.

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MIRACLE AT SIX FLAGS

Biblical Truth, Christian Discipleship, Small Town America, , , , ,

log-flumeBeing a youth pastor was loads of fun. Peggy and I served as youth pastors for the first few years of our ministry together at Kingwood, and we still consider those early youth group friendships among our greatest treasures.  We always tried to use creativity and “outside the box” methods to appeal to young people, so that they could see and experience what it truly means to walk with Jesus.  Youth retreats, drama presentations, musicals, discipleship groups, and cutting edge evangelism ruled the day, but when God, in the midst of a routine youth group trip to Six Flags Over Georgia, threw in a real-life, bonafide MIRACLE among us, we learned a lesson we will never, ever forget.

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THE GREAT BATTLE OF BREWER’S CORNFIELD

Christian Discipleship, History, Humor, Small Town America, , , , , , ,

more-stalksThe coming of Autumn usually reminds me of one of the great military conflicts in history– the Great Battle of Brewer’s Cornfield.  No, neither Washington or Lee ever performed the amazing feat that two eleven-year-old boys did that fateful day in 1967.  Just behind the Sims house in Ashland stood a half-acre of corn owned by Thurmon Brewer– yes, the same Mr. Brewer that my blog readers met in a previous post (see “Speaking in Cursive,” May 2,2016).

The time was mid-November and the corn stalks were already brown and dry, waving in the fall wind like zombies arranged in neat death rows.  It didn’t take long for eleven-year-old imaginations to see the field as an entire legion of cruel Roman soldiers, marching shoulder to shoulder with plans to crush the women and children crouched within the walls of Fort Sims.  The only thing standing between the Legion of Death and victory was an alliance of two brave boys– Mark Sims and Walt Hill— protectors of all things good and decent.

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