Winston

You'd expect a one-of-a-kind dog to come into your family in a one-of-a-kind way.  In early 2006, I received a call from a friend who had a coworker in a bind.  His wife had given him a puppy as a gift, then learned, much to her chagrin, that she was badly allergic to the dog.  My friend knew that the Vaughans are a dog loving family and wondered if we could consider giving this pup a home, thus sparing a regretful puppy-purchasing wife from a series of allergy shots.  I cheated, a little.  I put a picture of the pup on my computer screen and left it there until Linda stopped by my office.  When she saw the puppy pic, she asked about the dog.  I replied, "That little guy needs a home."  "Let's give it a home, Dee," she exclaimed. 

The next day, I went to the allergic owner's home to meet the dog and consider the adoption.  The puppy was, of course, adorable.  I'm the kind of guy who shouldn't pick up puppies or guitars unless I'm very serious about taking them home with me.  The owner repeated the story about his wife's allergic reaction to the puppy and asked me if I thought we could add him to our family's pack of pooches.  Holding Winston, as I learned the dog had been named, how could I refuse.  Then came a bit of a surprise.  Rather than giving me some kind of humanitarian award for rescuing this dog and his allergic wife, the owner said, "I think $300 would cover the cost of the dog and the toys and food we'll send with him."  I thought I was on a rescue mission, not a shopping trip.  Still, having actually held the puppy, I coughed up the money and took Winston home.  

Winston entered the Vaughan household to a very mixed reception.  Linda, who loves all dogs and is loved by them, took to Winston in an instant.  The children loved him, too.  But Minnie, our Pomeranian, wanted nothing to do with this puppy-come-lately.  Linda put the two of them in her lap to get acquainted, but Minnie turned away and refused to even look at the new dog.  She finally crawled up on Linda's shoulder to get away from Winston.  The cold reception didn't last very long.  Minnie became Winston's canine step-mother.  She kept him in line and often stepped in between Winston and Dixie, our 65-pound retriever who loved to toy with the easily intimidated Winston.  

Winston was quirky.  He experienced the world in a unique way, compared to the many other dogs we've welcomed into our family.  He never liked to play.  He was too serious for that.  Winston didn't tolerate too much physical contact.  He did not enjoy being held and petted.  He did like to sit up next to you as long as he initiated the contact.  Winston was stubborn as a mule.  When we introduced him to a metal dog crate as his bedroom, he protested, long and loud.  He barked for hours and became so frustrated he chewed on the bars of the crate.  He bent several of them and actually broke one of them loose.  Winston was a dropout from housebreaking school.  No matter what reward, punishment, schedule or other training method we tried, he never lost his appreciation for marking the inside of our house as his territory.  An an expression of his delusion of dominance, Winston loved to lie on top of the back of our couch, a lofty perch from which he could survey his "kingdom."  

The couch is one of the first places I noticed life was changing for our Winston.  He was nearly fifteen years old when I noticed he stopped leaping to the top of the sofa.  Several times, I saw him jump up on the seat of the couch, look up to measure the next leap, and stop, his back legs trembling.  He reminded me of my last days as a basketball player, when the floor became like fly paper that wouldn't let me jump.  Sadly, that wasn't the only change in Winston's life.  He developed pancreatitis, which required us to give him prescription dog food that cost as much as steak and wasn't nearly as appetizing.  He would begin some days with an almost insatiable thirst, lapping up most of a bowl of water.  His bad habit of marking the inside of our home became a chronic problem of leaving big puddles on the floor.  Then, a few days before Christmas, I awoke to realize my Yorkie alarm clock had not gone off.  Winston always barked to go outside about 5 a.m.  This morning, the silence was deafening and frightening.  I went to the crate he shares with Basil, our latest Pomeranian, and found him staring at me, seeming to say, "You're not going to make me move, are you?"  I carried him outside and watched him closely.  He was uncomfortable, to say the least.  I asked Linda to make an appointment for Winston with his vet.  

Visiting the vet, like everything else, has been changed drastically by Covid precautions.  I drove Winston to the vet's office, then waited in the car for an aide to come to my window, review Winston's symptoms, and take him in to see the doctor.  I sat in the car, listened to music, and played with my iPhone, trying not to think about how sick Winston might be.  After a while, the doctor called me to say she suspected Winston had some kind of mass on his liver, but would need an x-ray to be confident of the diagnosis.  A few minutes later, the nice vet walked to my car and showed me her cell phone.  On it was a picture of Winston's abdomen, at least half of it whited-out by a monster of a mass.  The vet had no effective treatment to offer.  Linda and I had already had "the talk" so I told the vet we wanted to bring Winston's struggle to an end.  

"Do you want to be with him?" she asked.  "Yes," I said without a second thought.  Any living thing deserves to come to the end of life in the presence of family love.  "Then pull your car around to the back of our building and we'll bring him out to you soon."  In a little while, the good doctor came out the back door, carrying Winston with an IVP in his leg.  I held that little dog in my big old hands as medicine flowed into his body and the life flowed out of it.  

I probably startled the vet with my first words after Winston died, "I've changed my mind."  I quickly added, "We want him to be cremated."  

I'm in the presence of death fairly often as a pastor and have learned to process my own emotions in that situation.  But, as I drove out of the parking lot toward home, I wept uncontrollably  Dogs are so loving and loyal, even curmudgeon-like Winston.  They make so much more sense than people do.  Why is their time to walk this earth so brief?  That's on my list of questions to ask the boss when I see Him.  

Don't Envy Those Who Wear the Whistle

 One of the ways I earned money to finance my seminary education was by refereeing city league basketball games in the town of Wake Forest.  If you ever played basketball with me, this might strike you as ironic or even some form of cosmic payback.  I'd never treated referees very well.  I was quick to criticize and protest what I saw as unjust calls, most of which, of course, were against me.  So, putting on the stripes and whistle felt, in one sense, like heaven saying to me, "OK Dee, if every ref you've ever met has done such a poor job, here's your chance to show Me how it's done."  

The City Basketball League in Wake Forest was a challenging venue in which to cut your teeth in officiating.  The area Referee Association, or whatever the organizing group of basketball officials called themselves, refused to supply refs for these games.  Threats had been made among players and toward officials.  Fights had broken out during and after games.  The Wake Forest Police Department always assigned armed officers to patrol these games.  They had made a few arrests.  One of their basketball prisoners, a hulking mass of muscle, escaped from their police car in handcuffs by kicking the back door off of the car from the inside and running away.  I arrived for my first game feeling like a roadie for Johnny Cash playing a concert in Folsom Prison.  

What my short career in officiating taught me is that making the tough calls is much easier from the comfort of a recliner in front of a television set or in the safe anonymity of a crowd than it is on the floor in the moment with everyone watching your every decision and appraising your existential worth and moral character on the flimsy flighty basis of whether they agree with your choice.  I was questioned a number of times by the city league basketball players.  I was mocked and ridiculed a few times.  I'm grateful to say that no fights broke out either with me or about me.  No police officers were called for backup.  I worked hard for those few dollars I was paid to keep law and order on the court.  

My officiating days changed my perspective.  No, I didn't suddenly agree with every call made, especially when my children were involved.  But I did gain some hard-earned empathy for those who blow the whistle and a much greater sense of respect for those we saddle with the thankless job of making the tough calls.  Now, at least, I say, "He missed the call!  But I bet he has a good heart."  

Right now, in our Covid-complicated world, making decisions is much more difficult and demanding than usual.  Leaders must make tough calls in a "game" none of us has played before and, for which, few widely-accepted rules have been established.  Added to that, the conditions under which we play are constantly changing in literally life-threatening ways.  Church leaders, myself included, face choices that affect the health and lives of our congregations, choices about which we've had virtually no preparation or experience. 

Church leaders will miss some calls.  We will make some decisions you, from the comfort of your pew and the anonymity of the crowd, would make differently.  But, as you deal with the daily tension of struggling to live a winning life in a biologically hostile world, don't take out your frustrations on those you've asked to wear the stripes.  When you don't like the call and want to boo the ref, first ask the question Christian love must always ask before passing judgment, "What's it like to be you?"  Neither your ticket to a ball game nor your membership in a church purchase the right to treat others, especially leaders, with a lack of respect.  Don't forget that the ref you're yelling at has feelings and family.  

Take it from a short-careered referee--no one sets out to make a wrong decision.  But when they do, don't envy the ones who wear the whistle. And don't lose sight of the truth that they're human beings, made in God's image, probably doing the best they can, and always deserving of your empathy and respect.  

Have You Always Been Baptist?

 Funny things happen at most weddings.  This story from my new book, Laughing with the Saints, describes one such moment.   

I visited our local bank to deposit a check when the teller, a friend and member of another church, asked me an unusual question, “Dee, have you always been Baptist?”  I answered that I’d been in a Baptist church as a member or minister since my earliest days. I returned the favor by making an inquiry of my own, “What raised that question in your mind?”  She told me that she had attended a wedding I had recently officiated at the church I served. She said she enjoyed the ceremony and thought the service was beautiful, but she was confused by a gesture I had made over the couple while I pronounced the benediction. Seeing my hand move up and down and back and forth during that closing moment led her to believe I had made the sign of the cross or some other symbolic gesture from a faith tradition more liturgical than most Baptists. In my mind, I replayed the end of that wedding and realized what she had witnessed.

A pesky fly had harassed the groom through much of the wedding. This obnoxious insect had buzzed around the groom’s head and actually landed on his face at one point during the ceremony. I was concerned by how this uninvited guest might alter the service. What if the groom became so frustrated that he yelled out, in the middle of his wedding, “I can’t stand this anymore!”  What if the groom sucked that fly into his mouth while reciting his vows? How could he graciously get it out?  Would the bride let her groom kiss her at the end of the service if she knew a fly had been in his mouth? Fortunately, none of these disasters unfolded. When we neared the end of the service, I looked for an opportunity to shoo that fly away from the couple or, if possible, commit insect-icide. As I began the benediction, believing that most Baptist eyes in the building would be closed, I took a few appropriately dignified swipes at the fly. Sure enough, he forgot about the couple and decided that I was a more interesting human to harass. As the couple walked up the aisle, freed from a pestilence by my pastoral pest control, now bound in the covenant of holy matrimony, a pesky fly crawled around on the left lens of my glasses. I hope that fly didn’t land on a camera lens and appear in the wedding pictures.

The Haunted House: Conquering Life's Scary Places

Times being what they are, I hope this message, based on the Andy Griffith Show episode, The Haunted House, will speak a good word to you about facing and overcoming your fears.  

The Haunted House:

Conquering Life’s Scary Places

As this episode begins, Opie and his unnamed friend are on their way home from playing baseball, discussing whether anyone, even Mickey Mantle, could hit Whitey Ford’s “dipsy-doodle” pitch.  They decide that they can settle their disagreement with a little demonstration.  Opie’s friend will throw a dispy-doodle pitch like Whitey Ford and Opie will swing away at it like Mickey Mantle.  That should settle it, right? 

    Did you notice what Opie did as he settled himself in for a swing at the ball?  He did exactly what Mickey Mantle always did.  He took the bat and knocked the dirt off of his cleats, only Opie doesn’t really have any cleats. (He was wearing the same PF Flyers I wore as a child.) Kids learn so much of what they do, good or bad, by watching us. 

    One Sunday morning, when our son Josh was a very little boy, Linda was dressing him for church in his first little blue blazer.  She tried to button all of the buttons, but Josh protested. After going around and around about whether the bottom button should be buttoned, Linda, exasperated, finally asked Josh, “How do you know that you don’t button the bottom button?”  His answer was short and sweet, “I watched daddy.”  Children are watching to see how we deal with all kinds of challenges, including the one we see in this episode. 

    Mickey Mantle hits Whitey Ford’s dipsy-doodle right out of the park and right through a front-door window of the old Rimshaw place.  An important part of their young lives, a new baseball, has landed in a very scary place.  They can go after it and reclaim it or they can surrender their new baseball to their fears of this old, allegedly haunted, house.  Before they ever get to the front door, the first frightening sound scares them away from the house and their lost baseball. 

    You and I may not have hit a baseball through the window of a scary old house in a long time, but this story is all about us too.  Some part of your life and mine may have landed in a very scary place.  You may be afraid to face a problem in a relationship. You may be scared to speak up for what is right. You may be shaky about inviting people to worship with you or sharing your faith with people who need to know Christ.  You may be afraid to admit that you’re wrong and ask to be forgiven.  Whatever part of your life is lying inside the old Rimshaw place, you have the same decision that Opie and his friend faced.  You can face your fears and take it back or you can surrender it to what scares you.  When the Bible says, in Psalm 34:4,

 I sought the LORD, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.

    That experience is no small thing.  When God delivers us from our fears, He sets us free to take charge of our lives again and glorify Him in that victory. 

    Opie and his friend scurry off to find Andy and tell him what happened.  Andy, not knowing what’s really taking place in that old house, challenges them to think like big boys and not let the sound of the wind scare them.  He suggests that they stay away from the Rimshaw house and offers to retrieve the baseball for them. 

    Since Andy is waiting for a very important call from the capital, he decides to send “nothing to fear but fear itself” Barney Fife to rescue the baseball.  When Andy gives Barney this assignment, we see Barney do a very human thing that we all recognize in ourselves.  Barney thinks of every possible reason why he shouldn’t go into a scary place, at least not right now.  Apparently, the fear therapy he recommends for the boys, “getting back on the horse right away,” doesn’t seem quite right for him.  Aren’t we always better at solving other people’s problems than we are our own? 

    “Fearless” Barney Fife tricks Gomer Pyle into taking a little ride with him, a trip that ends up at the Rimshaw place.  Then, instead of going in to find the ball himself, Barney tries to pressure Gomer into doing it for him.  “I’ll check the timing on the engine.  I said it first!”  Some things you have to do for yourself.  Facing your fears is one of them.  Sending someone else into the scary places in your life won’t help you grow. 

     My senior year in high school, I was involved in an automobile accident.  The accident was my fault.  I got the ticket.  On the day I was to appear in traffic court, my dad offered to go with me.  As we walked into the courthouse he reminded me of the way things would unfold.  “I’ll be with you,” he said, “but you’ll have to face the judge yourself.”

     We need to face our fears.  We can’t send in a substitute.  But we have a Father who has made us a tremendous promise that can help us face our fears. 

 (Deuteronomy 31:6) Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."

     Barney and Gomer get no further than the boys had gone in confronting the fears of the Rimshaw place.  When they hear a sound that doesn’t sound like a baseball, they run away and Barney returns to the courthouse in a panic.  Andy’s had enough.  After his call from the capital, he will lead the baseball rescue mission himself. 

     Andy, Barney, and Gomer enter the Rimshaw place, walking as closely together as any three human beings possibly could.  They find the baseball, but Andy is not satisfied.  He senses that something strange really is going on in the Rimshaw house, so he heads off to look around. 

     Andy is getting the idea that as long as fear keeps everyone away from this house, something very bad could be going on inside.  As we later learn, he’s right.  What he senses about the Rimshaw place is also true about your heart and mine.  If fear keeps us away from an area of our lives, a wounded relationship, a history of abuse, unfinished business, whatever it is, then we are surrendering part of our lives to very bad things. 

     While Andy’s gone, Barney and Gomer see and hear all kinds of frightening things.  When you live in fear, everything looks different, doesn’t it?  Like the painting of old man Rimshaw above the fireplace, fear just seems to follow you everywhere you go.  You can’t walk away from your fears because you carry them inside you. 

     Andy returns from his reconnaissance mission and sees and hears some frightening things himself.  He yells for them to get out and the three of them scatter.  Barney and Gomer get to the car and realize that Andy isn’t with them.  Gomer wonders if Barney hasn’t just become the new sheriff.  Barney knows that there is something he must do.  In that moment, the fearful bumbling Barney Fife decides that facing his fears, as tough a task as it is, is more than worth it for the sake of his friend.  So, with gun in trembling hand, he sneaks into the back of the house hoping to save Andy. 

     You and I must decide that facing our fears, as tough as it is, is worth it too, for ourselves and those we love.  Years ago I was John Crosby’s pastor.  He was a young man with Down’s syndrome who made one of the most beautiful professions of faith I have ever witnessed.  The day of his baptism came and John’s parents let me in on a little secret.  In thirty-three years, John had never put his head under water.  He was scared to death of drowning.  I talked to John about how safe baptism was.  His parents comforted and coached him all they could.  His moment in the service came and he stepped into the water.  While I said the things I say to the congregation before a baptism, John’s voice was heard too.  He stood in front of me, shaking his clenched fists while saying, quite nervously, “Oooh!  Oooh!”  But somehow John decided not to let his fear get in the way of following Jesus.  He went beneath the waters, ever so briefly, came up choking and spouting water like a statue in a fountain, but very proud that he had overcome his fear for the sake of Christ. 

     Andy and his posse ran some bad guys out of the Rimshaw place because they faced their fears.  How many bad things can we run out of our lives and the lives of those we love if we will welcome the strength that God is more than ready to give?  As the Bible says,

 (2 Timothy 1:7) For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.

     God doesn’t want any part of our lives to be lost to our fears.  He invites us, in His strength, to face our fears and come to life.

Taken from Messages from Mayberry: Spiritual Life Lessons from My Favorite Episodes of The Andy Griffith Show, by Dr. Ronald D. Vaughan.  Available at Amazon.com.

The Nicest Way to Declare a Sermon Too Long

 

Generally, I preach messages that last 20-25 minutes.  I seldom stray outside that timeframe.  Most of the worship services I lead dismiss on time.  But, one Sunday, I lost all track of time.  The outline I had prepared and printed in the bulletin had far too many points and I had a story to tell about each jot and tittle of that plethora of ideas.  I should have found a suitable stopping place and told the congregation we’d finish the message next Sunday.  But, I didn’t.  I persevered to the end.  Most of my poor congregation “suffered long and was kind.” 

When I returned to my office after the service, I faced my family’s post-game analysis (more like an autopsy) of my message.  My son said, in great desperation, “Couldn’t you find a place to stop?  And do you have to tell a story for every idea you teach?”  Linda was far more diplomatic.  In fact, in my book, she holds the world record for the kindest way to declare a sermon too long.  She said, “Dee, today’s message would make a good sermon series.”  A few years later, it actually did. Like the loaves and fishes, that one sermon, only slightly expanded, fed the congregation for five Sundays. 

Give the Benefit of the Doubt

When I began my year of service and study as a hospital chaplain resident, our Supervisor gathered us around a conference room table and spelled out his expectations for everyone on the chaplain staff.  One of his rules was that we promise to give each other the benefit of the doubt.  "Moments will come," he said, "when you’ll be tempted to question the actions or even the motives of one of your coworkers.  You’ll be stressed and sleep deprived.  You’ll run short on patience with your colleagues’ annoying ways.  But that is when you must remember your promise that your first thought will be that your fellow chaplain attempted to do the right thing for the right reason.  That gift will make us effective and keep us united."

Right now, I wish I could gather everyone in our nation around a very big conference room table and challenge each one of us to give the rest of us the benefit of the doubt.  We don’t do that, at least not nearly enough. 

We leap to judgment.  We hear a buzzword or two that leads us to identify another person as an enemy.  We thoughtlessly sort people into groups like sorting out the suits of a deck of cards.  You see a color and a shape and you know where you think that person belongs.  We play mind-reader and claim to know the motives behind a person’s actions. 

Imagine how different our national conversation would be if you and I gave every person we encounter the benefit of the doubt.  That doesn’t mean we agree with what they say or condone what they do, but we begin with an attitude that says, “I believe you’re trying to do the right thing for reasons that are important to you.”  What a gift that would be to our nation and what a big step forward toward national healing.