2024 Vaughan Family Update

The Vaughan Tribe at Dee's Retirement Service 

This has been an eventful year for the Vaughans in many ways.  Perhaps the biggest change in the Vaughan house is that, after 41 years of fulltime pastoral ministry, Dee retired in April.  The good folks at St. Andrews Baptist Church gave him a wonderful sendoff, including a new Taylor guitar to enjoy.  After a few months off, Dee accepted the call of the Greenlawn Baptist Church to serve as their Interim Pastor, and is enjoying sharing church life with them.  Just imagine, a group of people who haven't heard any of his favorite stories!  In July, Dee served as chaplain of a medical missions team to Honduras.  In addition to leading worship with the

The Roatan Crew 

team, he visited patients and their families and taught children in Vacation Bible School.  After the week of work, as another part of Dee's retirement gift, Linda joined him in Honduras for several days of leisurely living on the island of Roatan.  Dear friends the Kings and Sheets came along to make the trip wonderful.  Dee also continues to refurbish donated guitars and send them to Honduran churches that have no instruments for worship music.  He calls the project "One-Way Guitars."  

Linda with James 

Linda continues teaching adult education for Lexington School District 2.  Their award-winning program helps so many in our community take advantage of a second chance at earning their high school diploma and gaining all the opportunities that accomplishment brings.  Linda continues to worship and serve at St. Andrews where, for the first time since the early 1980s, she has a pastor other than Dee and is not known as the pastor's wife.  She seems to be enjoying her new status in church life.  

Hail to the Graduate!

Elizabeth, Josh, and the boys lead busy lives in Gaffney, SC, where she continues to teach special education and Josh pastors the East Gaffney Baptist Church.  Elizabeth made us all proud as she earned her Master of Education degree this year, graduating with honors while working fulltime, supporting her pastor husband in his ministry, and raising three boys.  Liam, Creighton, and Josiah are strong students and are each excelling in his own way.  Liam entered the political arena this year, being elected as Vice President of his school's Beta Club.  Creighton continues to defeat all opponents in kick-boxing and Josiah is progressing in his piano studies.  

The J-Name Club

Josh and Jen thrilled us with the announcement that they have a third child on the way, due around March 19, 2025.  They decided not to find out the gender of this child until birth, so the rest of the family is busying guessing which "J" name they will assign to the new arrival.  Juliana attends public kindergarten in a French immersion program and is loving big school.  James is still learning, growing, and smiling his way out of trouble at St. Andrews Weekday Preschool.  Josh continues his physical therapy work at Ft. Jackson and completed his first Ironman Triathlon in September.  I would describe the event, but even writing about it makes me tired.  Jen continues her physical therapy work for Prisma Health Care, working primarily with children, adolescents, and scoliosis patients.  

Andrew Celebrating His Birthday

Andrew is making his mark on the banking world, having been promoted into the role of Loan Officer at Palmetto Citizens Federal Credit Union.  Andrew is a customer favorite because he offers listening ears and helpful advice to those he serves.  With work being only a couple of miles from Dee and Linda's home, Andrew often stops by for lunch and a quick visit.  He loves being Uncle Andrew to his niece and nephews.  

That's our story (or at least the parts we can publish)!  We'd love to hear from you and catch up on all your family happenings.  Blessings to you in this holy season and as we journey on into 2025.  

 Make the Music Yours

I was riding in my car one day, scanning radio stations to find something of interest.  I happened upon a news program.  The station was playing a recording of an interview they’d done with a musician.  They were playing that recording that particular day because the word was out that this singer/songwriter had died of complications of Covid.  I didn’t recognize the artist’s name or his voice or the titles of songs the man had written.  I reached for the scan button to move on from this conversation with a man, now deceased, of whom I’d never heard.  But the announcer seemed so moved by this composer’s death that I couldn’t change the station.  I listened for a while longer hoping to learn why this man and his music were so special to him.  I filed the artist’s name in my mind and determined to learn more about him when I arrived at home. 

 When I searched Apple Music and YouTube, I found all kinds of songs this man had written and stories of the road he shared with fans and reporters.  He’d led a pretty rough life.  He’d been quite a drinker.  He was a cancer survivor, a cancer brought on by his decades of chain smoking.  After the surgery and radiation treatment, he needed the help of a speech therapist to regain his facility in speaking and singing.  His voice was different after the treatments, deeper and more mellow than before.  As I listened to a few of the hundreds of songs this man had composed and recorded, a strange and haunting thought crossed my mind.  This man’s music had been around for most of my life, but I had never heard it.  I didn’t know it existed.  The music was there, but had never touched my ears or my heart.  But now I was hearing it.  Now I was learning the lyrics.  Now, with my trusty guitar in hand, I learned to play a couple of the songs I’d missed for so long.  Now, after decades of living without that music, it was truly mine. 

 The song of Christmas, the story of God stepping into time and space in the form of the baby of Bethlehem, has been in our world for more than two thousand years but, sadly, many people have never really heard it, much less experienced its life-changing message.  For them, Christmas sounds like a commercial inviting you to save 30% on your way to the consummate consumer holiday, or the predictably shallow sappy storyline of a Hallmark movie.  But then, if you listen, someone crosses your path who’s been touched and changed by Jesus, someone who invites you to hear what He said and celebrate what He’s done, someone whose love for Jesus compels you to find and experience the melody and message of His life for yourself.  The music is there to be found.  Just because you haven’t heard it doesn’t make it any less real.  You may hear it in a carol sung by a choir, or in a group of children dressed up like angels and shepherds and Magi and a boy and girl drafted into portraying Mary and Joseph in spite of their friends teasing them about being in love.  You may hear it in the stories of scripture that do their best to render God’s greatest miracle into words.  

 Once you hear the music of Christmas, you can make it yours.  You can learn its message.  You can make the Jesus story the story of your life.  You can be transformed by the grace and truth that shine from His face.  You can make the Christmas music the best part of who you are. 

 And then, you can make the music yours in an even deeper way by sharing it with others.  You, like the shepherds, can tell everyone about the difference Jesus has made in your life.  You can take the song into places where grief and despair have left a sad silence.  And the more you give that song away, the more it is truly yours. 

 Still your harried holiday heart and listen for the song of Christmas.  It’s there to be heard.  And when you hear that good news of great joy, welcome it into your life.  Hear the song of Christmas, then make the music yours.  

Out of the Ashes

 

⁶ You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, 

Christ died for the ungodly. 

⁷Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person,

though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. 

⁸ But God demonstrates his own love for us in this:

While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

 Romans 5:6-8

My father was stationed in Germany just after the end of the Second World War.  He was there as part of the occupying force that oversaw German life until that nation could make a new beginning on the other side of the Nazi terror.  One day, dad was walking through the remains of a bombed-out city, a town obliterated by the Allied air attack.  He stopped to look more closely at the pile of rubble that once had been a German home.  All that remained were loose bricks, charred beams, and piles of ash.  Surrounded by the useless remains of a ruined home, something caught my father’s eye, something that reflected the sunlight, something shiny in this sea of incinerated darkness.  He reached into the ashes and pulled out a small crystal vase that somehow had survived the devastation.  Dad wiped away the ashes that clung to the vase and saw the beautiful engraving on its side.  He brought that little vase home and gave it to his parents as a kind of souvenir of his service in Germany and a reminder that even after the horrors of that terrible war, something beautiful could be pulled from the ashes. 

 This year, two very different events have fallen on the same day, Ash Wednesday and St. Valentine’s Day.  You might have wondered, as our church staff did, if one day is big enough to give your heart and mind room to enter into the spirit of both observances.  How can we celebrate the life-giving joy of love on the same day we mark ourselves with ashes to confess our sinfulness and remember our mortality? 

 In our Christian faith, the story of God seeking and saving a lost humanity, love and ashes belong together.  The ashes are the charred burned-out remains of our lives and our world devastated by the destructive power of sin.  We wear ashes today because spiritually we are ashes.  Sin and death seemingly reduce us to nothing.  But then, love enters the scene.  Love walks into the wreckage to find that something worth saving, that prize that can be rescued, washed clean, and given a new life.  Love and ashes belong together because love, sent to us in the person of Jesus Christ, poured his life into the mission of pulling something beautiful from the ashes. 

 Paul marvels at how rare and precious such love is.  He says that only very rarely will someone sacrifice their life to save the life of a great person.  Think of the degree of dedication demanded of Secret Service agents as they stand ready to put themselves between harm and the life they’re sworn to protect, to literally take a bullet to save the life of the President. 

 But the love of Christ, Paul says, goes far beyond even that rare kind of human sacrifice.  Jesus gave his life to pull us from the ashes.  Jesus died for us while we were still sinners.  He stepped into our destruction to see us and seek us and lift us up and wash us clean and give us a new life, a testimony that Jesus found in us something beautiful, something worth saving, and pulled us out of the ashes. 

 What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!

What wondrous love is this, O my soul!

What wondrous love is this, that caused the Lord of bliss

to bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,

to bear the dreadful curse for my soul.

Ashes and love. 

The Sweet Sound of the Saw

I was in need of shelving in my storage room.  Having a healthy aversion to spending money, I looked for a way to build these shelves “on the cheap.”  I found a discarded metal frame of a set of shelves that, sadly, did not include the shelves themselves.  I also found some odds and ends pieces of wood at my home and from some discarded furniture at the church.  The question was, “How will I cut the wood into the size needed to fit in the frame and form the shelves?”  I ran through a list of crafty friends in my mind, but decided I didn’t want to ask anyone to enlist in my home improvement project.  Then, I remembered.  Stuck back in the corner of my storage room, covered in black plastic, was the disassembled table saw from my father’s workshop.  I knew this saw had been on a long sabbatical.  To the best of my memory, it had sat idle for more than forty years.  I removed the plastic, laid out the pieces, and found, to my amazement, that everything needed to make a table saw work was there.  Nothing was missing.  Most of this table saw, purchased in the 1960s, was solid steel, a Sears Craftsman last-a-lifetime kind of tool.  I wondered if the belt that connected the electric motor to the pulley that turned the saw blade had rotted in nearly half a century of storage.  Again, to my delight and surprise, the belt seemed solid enough to resume its long-neglected labor.  I put all the pieces together, then, very gingerly, plugged the saw into an extension cord to see if it would work.  The motor cranked up, the belt made laps around the pulleys, and the saw blade began whirring as it spun at high speed.

As I heard the sound of the saw, a kind of hardware instrumental ensemble of a motor, a belt, and a blade, I was suddenly taken back across decades of time and a hundred miles to my dad’s basement workshop.  The last time I’d heard that distinctive saw sound was in his shop on one of the occasions I’d been summoned to be his table saw assistant.  If dad were cutting a long or large piece of wood, he needed a helper to hold up the overhang that wouldn’t fit atop the saw.  By keeping the wood level as dad moved it across the blade, I would prevent the wood from binding against the blade, messing up the cut, or damaging the saw.  Most of my woodworking assistance probably left Dad wondering why good help is so hard to find.  But I learned the sound of the saw, the distinctive sound of dad’s table saw, and hearing it again made me feel as close to him as I’ve been in a long time. 

 The sweet sound of that saw so delighted and inspired me that, though it was late Saturday afternoon and I was tired from a full day of cleaning out and organizing my storage room, I stayed on the job for another hour or two, cutting all the boards I needed to complete my shelving project.  The last thing I thought about as I drifted off to sleep that night was how a simple sound, reprised after so many years, took me on such a heart-warming journey.  

 As I count my blessings this Thanksgiving season, I’ll name a number of things I have in common with most people I know.  I’m grateful for family and friends who love me and brighten my journey.  I’m thankful for good health and a good home.  I praise God for the opportunity to play a part in His kingdom’s work.  But this year, they’ll be an entry on my blessings list that few people would understand.  I’m thankful for the sweet sound of a table saw, mechanical music that took me back to a place and a person I so tenderly cherish.  God gave me a precious gift by playing my song.  May you hear God playing your song soon and often.