Remembering Mamaw Bowling On Decoration Day

In the hills and coal fields of southern West Virginia (where I spent many of my younger years) "Decoration Day" was more than just a day for remembering our war dead. We certainly did take time to honor those who had fought and died for the cause of freedom. Small flags were placed at the gravestones of our honored dead, and we paused to remember the terrible cost of freedom.


However, in our culture it was also a time set aside to honor the memory of all of our loved ones who had passed on. I have written before about how our Memorial Days were spent, driving the 69 crooked miles down State Rt. 10 to Logan, WV. There, joining up with other relatives from the Adkins and Stidham clans, the day was spent visiting cemeteries ranging from the overgrown hillside at Foley (near Ethel), to the better preserved family plot on the hillside at Chauncey (on Island Creek) to the neatly manicured grounds of Forest Lawn Memorial Gardens (at Peck's Mill). The old graveyards at Foley and Chauncey would need their annual brush cutting. After the hard work was done, there was always a picnic presided over by Papaw Stidham. Those Memorial Days spent with my parents, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents are some of the most precious memories I have in all my 61 years.



Visiting the graves of my father's grandparents and other relatives would come a little later. On the second Sunday in June, the Adkins clan would gather in force at the "old home place" near the Sulphur Spring on 14 Mile Creek in Lincoln County. There, a huge meal would be prepared for everyone, then most of the men and kids (and some of the ladies) would make the difficult trek up the hill to decorate the graves on the hill top Adkins/Lucas graveyard. We drank cold water from a well on the front porch of the house, and we had a great time chasing the geese around the barnyard, and catching crawdads in the creek with paper cups.


Then on the second Sunday in August we would travel to Wayne County and make the exciting drive up the old dirt road to the scenic ridge top Press Friley Cemetery, were my Mamaw Adkins' Pack clan were all laid to rest. Again, there would be a huge spread of food, and the Old Regular Baptist preachers, took turns preaching in the makeshift amphitheater overlooking an old, rough wooden platform that had been built on the side of the hill in the distant past.


This year, as he has done for several years now, my brother, Bruce, took Mom and Dad to Logan for "Decoration". In their 80's now, they only visit Forest Lawn. That is where both sets of their parents are now interred, as well as a couple of their brothers. I would love to have made the trip with them again, but busy schedules just wouldn't allow it. I miss those "Decoration Days" so many years ago.


Linda and I made the alternate trip down to Pike County Kentucky to take flowers to the graves of her mother, Orpha Bowling, and her older brother, Burgess Ray. He was known to the family as "Buddy Ray", but to most of his friends as "Sarge". He had done 14 years in the United States Marine Corps, but opted to forego a full career in the Corps to come back to the mountains to go back to school, work in the coal mines, and raise his family where he had grown up. Tragically he was killed in a mining accident in 1991. He was a great brother in law to me, and after all these years I still miss him.


Mamaw Bowling, on the other hand, was with us until we lost her to a stroke early in the morning of Christmas Eve, 2003. It's hard to believe she has been gone nearly nine years. Time has shown she was the glue that helped hold her family together. Was she perfect? Of course not. No one is. But Mamaw was a mother who loved and cared for her children, grandchildren, and the few great grandchildren she had the privilege of knowing. As a son in law, I can testify that she loved and treated each of us "in laws" as her own children. She was a good neighbor, one that was respected by all who knew her. She followed the "golden rule" treating others as she would want to have been treated, and modeled that type of behavior to her children. She was a good cook, and there was never a visitor to her home that was not offered a meal - whatever time of day or night it may have been. She and my father in law had 61 years together. He worked hard to earn the paycheck, and Mamaw took care of all the details. Naturally, he has felt lost since that sad Christmas Eve nearly nine years ago.


She had a temper, but it was almost always under control. The one way I know she could be riled up was if someone had done something to take advantage of a member of her family. I can only imagine how heartbroken and angry she would be if she knew what has been done to Burgess in the past year. We can take comfort in knowing that God knows, and He will make all things right in his time.


Mamaw, we love you and we miss you. This "Decoration Day" we take comfort in knowing that you are not in that grave in that beautiful setting at Ransom, but that you are with our Heavenly Father, who loved you, and adopted you to be His own. In your lifetime here you traveled many dusty rough country roads. It won't be long till we see you again - on streets of gold!

A Happy Birthday - And A Sobering Anniversary

This handsome guy is grandson number 3, namely, Canon Josiah Adkins. (that's right another C.J. Adkins!)

Canon, who is seen here in his favorite hat, celebrates his seventh birthday tomorrow, with his brother and their parents in New Orleans. Seven years ago, he was born at Oschner Medical Center in the Big Easy, and it's one birthday I suppose I will never forget.

You see, Canon is not only my grandson, but he's also my marker.

The day he was born in a New Orleans hospital, I was admitted to Our Lady of Bellefonte Hospital in Ashland, KY. My family doctor socked me in the hospital for tests to determine why my hemoglobin level was less than seven. The day Canon was born, the doctors in Ashland explored my innards from north to south. (I was praying for a bleeding ulcer, but no luck on that!) The next day, the doctor (like the Starship Enterprise), "boldly went where no man had ever gone before", and he hit the jackpot!

The pictures showed a huge, ugly yellow looking mass that the doctor allowed was surely malignant. He immediately got me in touch with a surgeon, and within a week, I was back in Bellefonte Hospital, having three feet of my intestines unceremoniously removed. Biopsies were performed on the tissue that had been removed, as well as on my liver and several lymph nodes. The reports came back positive, and I was told I had an aggressive cancer that was spread throughout several organs. "Stage 4. Incurable" I remember the doctor telling us. Research (and later the oncologist) revealed that 18-22 months was the average survival time for someone in my condition.

And so the adventure began.

I could go on and on, but let me just say that with wonderful medical attention from the doctors, nurses, radiologists, etc - and (most importantly) the hand of Almighty God - has kept me here five years beyond the average survival rate.

Since he lives so far away, I don't get to see Canon but about four times per year. Those visits are precious. Partly because he is such a special little survivor himself (5 surgeries on his leg in four years) and partly because he is my marker. Whenever I see that little grandson, and note how grown up he is, I am reminded of how long God has allowed me to stay here beyond the expected time.

I can't tell you why He has spared my life, but I thank Him that He has, and I want to make every day count for Him!

Happy birthday Canon! Papaw loves you - and hopes to be around to see you have many more November 29ths!

Are You Smarter Than A Sixth Grader?

The whole family came in for Thanksgiving this year. It was totally unexpected, as Jay had told us there was no way they could come from New Orleans for the holiday. I believed him. Both boys are in school, Michelle is teaching at John Curtis Christian School this year, and Jay is on the downhill side of his Ph.D. work at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. Then there is also the little matter of pastoring a church. It is difficult for them to come home very often, so when he told me they couldn't come this year, I understood.

However, it seems that he and Benji had been conspiring for a couple of months or more to surprise the old folks - and surprise us they did!

So, Thanksgiving morning, about 11:00 AM, I stepped out of the bathroom to find both sons, their wives, and the five grandsons in the family room. (glad I was not in my underwear at the time). What a wonderful blessing it was to have them all here together. It was the first time both of the boys families had been together for a year and a half, and the very first time all five grandsons have been together. Little Nathan (who will be four months old this week) didn't seem real impressed, but he did seem to be interested in all the activities, and the rest of the folks seemed to realize the importance of the day.

It was a pretty emotional time for Linda and I. For the obvious reasons, but also the reminder that it was seven years ago this week that I was hospitalized for the events that revealed I had stage four, incurable colon cancer. With an 18-22 month average survival time for my type of illness, the fact was not lost on me that I was enjoying my fifth "bonus" Thanksgiving - that's a full five years past the time I should have already been in Heaven. I thank God for every day that He gives me.

Well, the gathering was great, and I realized how really quiet it is around here with just me and Linda.

Anyone who regularly reads this blog or my posts on Facebook will realize how proud I am of all my grandsons. Nathan is still working to develop his attributes (although he is obviously gifted!) while each of the other boys are very distinctive from one another. Benji's boys are very athletic and excellent students. Will is on the Academic Team and Asher is a terrific dancer and loves to play around with musical instruments. Jay's sons are both sharp as a tack and musically talented. Both are involved in Scouting, Canon is very creative and Quint (the oldest) is a technilogical whiz! He has had an analytical mind from his earliest age. While most toddlers would play with a car or other toy, Quint would take them apart, and analyze what made them work.

He is a student at Patrick Taylor Academy for Math and Science (a Magnet School in Jefferson Parrish, LA), and even though he is only in the sixth grade, he's got some goals. One evening Jay walked into the house, and found Canon playing with some toys and Quint working on some project on his laptop. "What's the plan?" Jay asked as he often does. Quint quickly replied, "Well, my plan is to go to MIT, but that's all I have right now."

He's not kidding.

While the family was gathered together on Thanksgiving, Linda was aggravated because we were having trouble logging on to the Internet, and our email wasn't coming through. Quint began tinkering with the desktop computer, checking out the modem, and also got Linda's laptop up and running on the Internet. The whole time he was working on my computer, Uncle Benji was flashing me some worried looks, as if to say, "This kid is a sixth grader. Why are you letting him mess with your computer?"

Had it been anyone else, I might have shared the concern, but I have seen Quint in action before, and I knew he knew what he was doing.

Later in the evening, Jay asked, "Isn't that television a High Definition set?" I replied in the affirmative, and that I have the converter box and cables, etc, but when Linda and I had tried to hook the stuff up a couple of months ago, we were unable to get it to work, so I just put the stuff up "until I had time to fool with it, or to get a technician in to set it up". Up to this point, I had not had time, nor had I called the cable company to send someone out to help with my technical disabilities. Furthermore, I had no idea how to program it all and set up one remote to work the TV, Blue Ray box, etc.

As one might imagine, the ridicule was harsh. After everyone getting a good laugh at my expense, Quint asked quietly, "Do you want me to fix it for you, Papaw?"

"Yes", I said. That would be nice.

I provided him with the converter box, remote, and all the spaghetti like cables that Time Warner Cable Company had given me, and he went to work. After about two minutes of setting everything up, cables plugged into all equipment, etc, he asked me a simple question.

"Where is your power cord?"

"Whadda you mean" I replied dully.

"The AC power cord that hooks into the wall receptacle" he said patiently.

"What you're looking at, is what the Cable Company gave me. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, that's one reason it doesn't work. Here is where it plugs into the box, and the other end will plug into the wall." he said quietly.

I was feeling torn between anger for the wretchedly rude woman at the cable company who had told me that the bag of stuff she gave me was all I needed for an "easy quick setup" - and the humbling realization that I was not as smart as a 6th grader.

Benji has the whole set up I had, and it worked fine. "Why didn't you tell me how to set this up?" I asked indignantly. Ben, who teaches High School English, and coaches basketball, simply said, "Because they came and set mine up when we moved in."

"Oh."

Anyhow, that was Thanksgiving evening, so since nothing was open, we all had to suffer the indignity of watching everything in (I guess) low definition - which is apparently how I have watched TV since 1950 and didn't realize the difference. I mean, I was just thrilled to have color TV.

So, on Black Friday, I headed down to the Time Warner office to pick up the power cord that they didn't give me in the first place.

"Why have you waited so long to come get this?" asked the "friendly" lady at the window. "You've had the service for over two months!"

"Because I couldn't figure it out, and my 11 year old grandson lives 960 miles away and this is the first time he's been here to hook it up for me."

With a look of disdain (and perhaps a hint of pity) she handed me the cord and I was on my way back to the house.

The LSU - Arkansas game was just ready for Kick Off, when I arrived, and Jay told Quint to hurry and get it all hooked up.

To make a long story short, he did just that, and we were watching exciting SEC football in High Definition. Between commercial breaks, Quint got all the connections set, programmed the remote to work on all devices we have, and gave me a quick run through of what seemed like several hundred channels, and a "Remote for Idiots" lesson before the game ended and they left for the return trip to New Orleans.

I used to laugh at my Dad, who had 12:00 flashing on his VCR for a couple of years until one of his grandsons got it all fixed up for him.

I'm laughing no more.

God's Call

Watching Dr. Chuck Kelley today live, online form Leavell Chapel at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary brought back vivid memories from nine years ago. As he spoke from Hebrews 11 today in the opening Chapel service of the 2011-2012 school year, my mind raced back nearly a decade ago.

Back in August, 2002, my oldest son, Jay, had been in pastoral ministry for five years. He had been wrestling with God's call on his life to further his theological education. He had looked into the possibility of attending seminary in our home state, and was praying for God's guidance. A mission trip to France, earlier in the year, however, changed all that. During that trip (a musical mission trip - Jay is a percussionist) he became acquainted with Gary Halquist. At that time, Gary was a professor of music at New Orleans Theological Seminary. Although Jay was interested in Biblical Languages and Theology more than music, Gary talked Jay into considering NOBTS.

Concerned about ministry, Jay wondered aloud about the possibility of serving a church in the area, and Gary assured him that numerous churches in the area were always ready to call seminary students. He sent Gary a resume' and things began happening soon. He was called to come for a weekend revival service and went thorough an interview process, and was soon called to be pastor of the church he continues to serve today.

We had always hoped that both of our sons would serve God in whatever way He chose for them. Jay had served my previous church by leading music and working with the youth group. I was thrilled when he answered God's call into a preaching ministry, and he was soon called to be the pastor of a mission church in South Shore, Kentucky. Under his five years of work in the South Shore area, he helped lead the church to self supporting status. I had visions of Jay continuing to serve God in the general area and we rejoiced when his firstborn son arrived. Jay grew in his ministry and and had gained a lot of respect from the other pastors in our local association.

Then in 2002 the unthinkable happened.

Our prayers had been answered, and God was calling him somewhere far away. That was not what I had in mind when I prayed for God to use him. My vision was more local - God had other plans. So amid tears and heartbreak, Jay and Michelle took our two year old grandson and moved 1,000 miles away!

Selfishly, it was tough for Linda and I. Jay's wife, Michelle, was no more thrilled than we were, as she was not too crazy about going to an area that would not have been of her choosing. However, Michelle is a devout Christian and was open to whatever God had in store for her and her little family.

The past nine years has brought a lot of change - for Jay, Michelle, Quint, and Canon. First Baptist Church of Westwego has changed a lot as well! About three years into their stay there, a storm named Katrina came ashore, and New Orleans was changed as never before. Jay's disaster relief work and tremendous ministry opportunity in the area was a great blessing to many. It was after Katrina that I finally came to peace with the fact that Jay was exactly where he needed to be. The last nine years have been jam packed with pastoral work, school work, and ministry in an area that is one of the greatest mission fields in North America.

Jay completed his undergrad degree at NOBTS and immediately enrolled in the Master's Program. He's earned his M. Div. in Biblical Languages and is now enrolled in the Ph.D. program. Jay and Michelle have New Orleans in their hearts. Eleven year old Quint has grown up there, and six year old Canon was born there and it is the only home he has ever known. When he finally completes his doctorate program, he has no other plans but to continue to minister in the area.

It is an understatement to say that we miss them, and at times our hearts ache that we are so far away from two of our grandsons, and not able to be involved in their lives as we would like to be, but seeing the big picture, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I am glad that Jay and Michelle have been obedient to the Lord's direction in their lives. As Michelle use to sing, "The will of God won't lead you where the grace of God can't keep you. You will never be out of His care..."

A Busy Week For The Adkins Family

The first week of August has been quite a time of transition for our son, Benji, and his family. Last Friday morning he and Leigh Anne welcomed their third son, Nathaniel Ray Adkins, into the world. Little Nathan checked in just before 8:00 AM at Kings Daughters Medical Center in Ashland, KY. (That's the third of our five grandsons who was delivered at KDMC. Grandson number two discovered America at a Naval Hospital on Camp Lejeune Marine Corps base in North Carolina, and number three arrived at Oschner Medical Center in New Orleans.)

Nathan weighed 7 pounds and was 21 inches long. He's a perfect little guy with delicate features, and as a real change for an Adkins newborn, he actually had some hair! Leigh Anne was blessed with a rather easy delivery this time. In fact, the boy arrived before the Doctor did! Thank God for the great Labor and Delivery nurses at KDMC!

On Sunday, Nathan and family came home to a new residence. It was the official move in day in the home that has been completely remodeled over the past 10 months. Benji, Leigh Anne, both grandfathers, and several other folks have worked hard on that house, and it was a sweet day for them to move in, with a brand new baby in tow. The older boys had mixed emotions. They are happy to have a bigger house, and to be living close to their school, but still hated to leave behind the house they had grown up in out in a more rural area of the county. Oldest son, Will, told me seriously, "I'm not too crazy about change". (Although only 10 years old, Will is obviously a great Baptist!)

Then on Monday morning, Ben began his new job as a Freshman and Sophomore English teacher at Greenup County High School. He's happy to have the job, along with a new principal and many new teachers at GCHS this year. Teaching High School Freshmen and Sophomores will be different than his previous Middle School experience, ("Some of those guys are bigger than me!" he said after the first day for students) but he is ready for the challenge. He'll be coaching the freshmen basketball team this year, and he is excited about this edition to his coaching experience.

The summer has ended on a busy note for that part of the Adkins family. We are very happy for them, and are praying for a smooth transition in this new chapter of their lives.

A Day In The Life...

He pulled his Chevrolet Impala up into the driveway of the house where they had lived since 1952.

"How long are you going to be in there?" she asked in a slightly agitated tone.

"We LIVE here." came the tired reply.

"We do? Since when? I don't live here! I'm not going in. I don't know those people. I'll just wait here in the car."

Whether it's the morning trip for breakfast at McDonalds (she stopped cooking several years ago) or his thrice weekly visit to the physical therapist, or coming back from church, or from his weekly radio program that has aired for 32 years - it's the same scene that plays out every day of the world. He can't leave her home alone, because the cruel disease known as Alzheimer's has long ago robbed her of most of her cognitive ability, and nearly all of her memory.

He is 84, a WWII veteran of the U.S. Navy. After coming back from the war, he answered the call to preach, and had been a bi-vocational pastor and evangelist for 63 years - having retired from his secular job at a local factory way back in 1986. From the 1950's through the 80's he was an extremely busy evangelist, holding two week revival meetings (sometimes as many as 17 or 18 per year) at churches all around the tri state area of WV, KY, and OH. Affable and well liked by many, now his preaching schedule has been reduced to the Saturday afternoon radio program, a homecoming service here and there, and an occasional call to fill a pulpit in a pastor's absence. Due to a major back surgery three years ago, he now walks with a cane for short to moderate distances, and a rollator walker over longer distances, or on uneven terrain. He doesn't do steps anymore. Now he enters his house via a ramp that had been constructed for him by a grandson.

She is two years his junior. The beautiful bright brown eyed girl had been an honor student, going straight from high school into the work force in 1947. She had worked in the offices of Island Creek Coal Company until they had moved from Logan County to Huntington in September 1952 with their talkative two year old. For the next 20 years her full time job was that of a mother, and minister's wife. She raised three boys, took care of all the family business, cooked, cleaned house, and drove her sons to all of their activities. When the youngest was in high school, she went back into the work place. First she managed the downtown office of a busy dermatologist, and later worked in the practice of a busy urologist. Eventually, when her husband retired from his job, she left the medical office and worked part time in the neighborhood drug store. When the pharmacy eventually closed down, she decided it was time for her to "retire" as well.

Now her days are spent in a fog. Questions abound regarding what day it is, and about the whereabouts of her parents, and why she hasn't seen them in a while. Her father passed away in 1968 and her mother in 1996. When told of that, she is surprised and wonders "where she was when all that happened".

Now her husband tries to persuade her to get out of the car and go inside their home.

"Pat, this has been our home for 59 years".

"Well it looks familiar, and I may have been here before, but I don't think I ever lived here."

Once inside, the routine continues.

"Are we married?"

"Yes, for 62 years."

"I sure don't remember that! Who married us?"

"Preacher Jeff Curry, at your Mom and Dad's house at Holden."

"You don't look like my husband! How long have we been married?

Again, "62 years."

"Did you have a wife before me?"

"No, just you."

"Did we have any children?"

"We have three boys, four grandsons, two granddaughters, and five great grandsons!"

"Well, they must not live around here. I don't know any of them, so I must not be around them very much."

A surprised look comes over her face, and she asks (as if for the first time) "Are you my husband?"

"Yes, for 62 years."

She shakes her head in confusion.

"Do we have any children?"

"Yes, three boys."

"Did we have any girls?"

"No... just the three boys."

She sits quietly for a few minutes, staring straight ahead. Her once bright brown eyes, now cloudy and empty are fixed on some far away object.

"When are we going home?"

"We are home, Pat. We live here."

"Well it looks familiar, but I don't think I ever lived here."

He sits quietly at the kitchen table, going over the morning paper, closely studying the obituary section. Seems as though there is someone in there every day that he has known through his work or ministry. She goes to the front door to bring in the mail. It comes early in the morning, but even after bringing it in, she will make nine or ten trips to the mailbox throughout the day, wondering aloud, "I wonder when the mail man will run."

After a few more minutes of silence, she asks, "Now where will I sleep tonight?"

"In that bed" he says flatly, pointing toward their bedroom.

"Where will you sleep?" she asks nervously.

"Same bed."

"Not with me, you won't! I'm married!"

"You sure are!" he grins. "You've been married to me for 62 years."

"I have? Do we have any children?"

The conversation loops on, over, and over, and over again. All day. Every day. It would be funny if it weren't so sad.

Back in the day, her spare minutes (rare though they may have been) would have been spent reading. Perhaps a book from the neighborhood branch library, or her Bible, or her Sunday School lesson, or perhaps Guidepost magazine. Now, she sleeps - a lot. She will generally lie down on the bed or on the living room sofa, and she slips off to sleep. One can only wonder about her dreams. What must they be like?

When he awakens her (and he has to awaken her, or she would sleep most of the day), it starts all over again.

At the age of 60, I am very thankful that both of my parents are still with me. Few of my friends have that same blessing at our age. But sadly, it seems that we have already lost my mother, some time ago. We have seen her slip away by degree, deeper and deeper into the fog of her illness. She often asks Dad who he is. A few months ago, she referred to me as "that gentleman over there". She no longer recognizes my youngest brother, and her grand children and great grandchildren are simply strangers to her. Her only surviving sister visited from Houston last fall, and Mom never did grasp who she was. I know that the time is coming soon when we will all just be strangers to her.

Dad stubbornly refuses to have anyone come in to help him. I can't say as I blame him, because I know he wants them to live independently as long as they can. But in reality, we know that he will have to allow someone to help - sooner than later.

It is such a cruel disease. It has robbed my mother of her memory and much of her dignity. But as I watch her face during worship service every Sunday morning, I know that it has not robbed her of her personal relationship with The Father. One day He will make all things new. I take great comfort in that.

Beginning Our 41st Year Together

It's hard to believe that it has been four complete decades since that photo was taken on June 19, 1971 at the Thomas Memorial Free Will Baptist Church in Huntington, WV. That was the day I promised to bestow all my worldly goods upon Linda Bowling, of Pike County, KY. (all my worldly goods at that time consisted of a small 1966 Opel Kadett four speed station wagon, some bedroom furniture, a small stereo, and a big stack of 33 1/3 RPM record albums, ranging from Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, to Simon and Garfunkel, to Iron Butterfly, and the Grass Roots). We took a brief (one day) honeymoon to South Point, Ohio, then it was back to work on Monday. She in the Credit Department of Anderson Newcomb Department Store, and me at the Big Bear Supermarket in Fairfield Plaza.

A lot of water has flowed under the old 6th Street Bridge, and the new Robert C. Byrd Bridge since that day 40 years ago, but the memories are as vivid as if it all happened yesterday.

I had met Linda just after a church service in a revival meeting at the aforementioned church, back in October of 1969. It was the week before my 19th birthday, and I was in my freshman year at Marshall University. She had recently come to work at the department store in the city, following her graduation from Belfry High School, one hundred miles down the Tug Fork of the Big Sandy River from Huntington.

I don't know if it was truly "Love at first sight", but as Kenny Rogers sang back in that day, "Love or something like it, had a hold on me!" First time I had laid eyes on her was earlier in the night toward the end of the church service. It was one of those "bapticostal" type churches and the service had been an emotional one. I had grown up in that church and knew most everyone there that night - except that girl in the short black dress.

She was in a group of people who were walking across the front of the church, shaking hands with the new converts when she caught my attention. I was standing about two thirds of the way back on the right side of the church (with my girlfriend at the time) when my eyes zeroed in on Linda. She looked good in that little black dress (I confess I've always had a thing for black dresses). She had been crying during the service and her mascara had run a little bit, in sort of a Tammy Faye Baker fashion, but that was OK. SHE was something else!

"Wow", I thought. "WHO is that? Furthermore, what am I doing here with this "girl" when there is a woman like THAT in the place?"

I didn't know who she was, and there was no way to find out diplomatically, so when the service closed, I took my girlfriend home, yadda...yadda...yadda. She only lived a block away, so after the "good night pleasantries" I drove back around the block, passing the darkened church building, headed for home. That's when I saw my friend, Jackie Black, standing there under the street light. I pulled my old car over to the curb and got out to talk to Jackie for a few minutes. As fate would have it, that is when Dorla Hagley, pulled up and the person in the front seat with her rolled the window down, and Dorla called us over to the car. To my amazement, it was THE WOMAN IN THE BLACK DRESS there in the passenger seat.

"How old is Jim Vallance?" the girl asked us.

Now, Jim Vallance was the pastor's younger son. He was eight years my senior, and had just come back from a tour of duty with the U.S. Air Force. Most of the young girls in the church had gone goo goo over this tall handsome guy, and the rest of us guys were feeling a tad jealous. Now here is the new girl, asking how old Jim was. My heart sank.

"Don't tell me you are in love with him, too!" (those were the first words I would ever speak to my future wife)

"Oh no!" she quickly replied. "I want to find out for my room mate, Sandy. I think he is about her age."

That was all I needed to hear. The chase was on. The next few weeks and months were spent in a fervent effort to find out more about this mystery woman.

She became a regular at the church. She got involved with our group of young adults, and we often went to one of the local diners or pizza shops after church as a group. She had me hook line and sinker, and didn't have a clue at the time.

I was confused from the start. She told us she was from Matewan (a small coal mining town in Mingo County, WV), but she said she graduated from Belfry High School (in Pike County, KY). Yet she wore a large class ring (with yarn wrapped around it to make it fit her small fingers) that had a "P" on it. When I questioned her about the Matewan, Belfry, "P" inconsistency, she explained that she had been born in Matewan, grew up across the river in Kentucky, where she went to school, and it was her boy friend's class ring from Phelps High School (also in Pike County). She explained that he was in the Air Force in Dayton, OH.

"Drat!" This was going to be a problem.

We began seeing more and more of each other, and I kept putting on the pressure for her to go out with me. (I had dropped the other girl by then and was honing in on this one!) Problem is, she really didn't like me much...

I know. Hard to imagine, isn't it?

Anyhow, to make a long story short, eventually I apparently wore her down. I chased her until she caught me.

On June 18, 1970, sitting on the steps to her apartment, I asked her to marry me, and she said yes! (a response that still amazes me over four decades later). The next day, on her lunch hour, I met her downtown at Roger's Jewelers where we picked out an engagement ring. I slipped it on her finger in the romantic setting of 3 1/2 Alley, behind Anderson Newcomb. With a kiss,we both headed back to work.

Real storybook stuff - huh?

One year later, on a sweltering evening in June, we stood at the altar at Thomas Memorial Church - the place where I had first seen her. My Dad, Rev. Caudle Adkins, Jr. read the vows which we repeated nervously. Linda was attended by her sister, Violet Bennett, as her matron of honor. Other bridesmaids were her cousins, Brenda Huddle and Joyce Pope, along with Lois Conn Vallance (who had married Jim a year earlier), and the late Sandy Chapman Harbour. College friend, Doug Goolsby, stood as my best man (a favor I returned for him in Green Bay, Wisconsin three years later). My brother, Bruce, stood with me, as did long time friends Don Smith and Phil Cheek. College buddy, Larry Gunnoe rounded out the line of groomsmen.

With vows made, and a kiss, we turned, faced the full house, and headed down the aisle on a journey that has lasted forty years and two days - so far.

It seems like a lifetime ago... yet it seems like yesterday.

We've seen the "better and worse". We've been through the "sickness and health". We've certainly been through the "poorer" but are still waiting for the "richer" part (financially, that is). But in terms of blessings, we are two of the richest people I know!

Thank you, Linda, for investing your life in me. Much like God's Grace, your love has been something I have never deserved.

Please note: For some reason in my last two posts, some words are being highlighted as links to some other websites. I have no clue why this is happening (since I am not doing anything any differently than before). Trying to find the problem and get it corrected, but just want my readers to know this is not intentional!

What Is A Mudbug?

Please allow me a moment of personal indulgence as I say a word about my oldest grandson, Caudle Jerry Adkins, V (or "Quint" as he is known to family and friends).

All grandparents are ga ga over their grandkids. My personal friends and other readers of this blog know that I am especially proud of my four grandsons (as well as the expected fifth one whom I am looking forward to meeting in about 6 more weeks). Quint is the firstborn of these five, and at the age of 11, is becoming a fine young man.

Quint is an extremely intelligent young man. He is quite mature for his young age. He is already becoming an excellent drummer, he likes soccer, and is involved in Boy Scouts. He was a "senior" (fifth grader) this year at his elementary school, the Marrero Academy for Advanced Studies. Marrero Academy is a Magnet School in Jefferson Parish, just across the Mississippi River from New Orleans. The school mascot is the "Mudbug". For those not familiar with south Louisiana, mudbug is the common name for the crawfish (called crawdads in these parts).

Anyway, yesterday was graduation day at Marrero Academy. Quint was chosen to give the final speech. His Momma has shared it with us, and it is something I wanted to share with you. So here 'tis:

5th grade speech
Quint Adkins


What is a mudbug? To many, they are miniature lobster-looking bottom feeders that, when seasoned just right, make for a delicious Louisiana meal. To others, however, a mudbug is a mascot that represents academic excellence. An emblem chosen to be worn by students of one of the top performing schools in Jefferson Parish.

Some of us came to Marrero Academy as the very first fourth graders to ever wear the small crustacean. Now, at the end of our elementary experience, the time has come for us to say good-bye to our school and to the tiny red creature we wear on our chest.

Over the last two years we’ve experienced many different emotions. We have celebrated, we have cried, we have laughed, we have gotten on each other’s nerves. We have learned to appreciate the funny things that make us who we are. We all have strengths. We all have weaknesses. But together we can accomplish any task.

To those we leave behind, we would like to encourage you to learn to accept the differences in your classmates and to use those differences to work together to make a positive impact here at Marerro Academy.

To the fourth graders, enjoy time as the big fish in the pond, because this time next year you will be starting over as a little fish in a much bigger pond.

To our teachers, thank you for helping us to become who we are. Mrs. Gordon, you made up songs to help us learn and by doing so, made leaning fun. Mrs. Kringus, you danced with us and taught us how to be better writers. Mrs. Gibbs, you taught us to speak to another culture. Mrs. Murden, you read to us and encouraged us to read. Mr. Roche, you challenged us to be more responsible in our work. Mrs. Gaubert, you have helped us to see life as it is with all its good and bad. For all this and more, we are thankful.

We still have a long way to go in school. Each of us hope to be successful in our future studies. As we leave here we know that we will walk different paths, but no matter where we go or what we will do, we will never forget our time as Marerro Mudbugs.

We are not just a group of students who have taken tests and eaten lunch together. We are friends, nay… We are family. We are the Mudbugs of Marerro Academy. Long live the mudbugs!

Good job, Quint! We are so proud of you, sonny boy! Enjoy your summer, and good luck in Middle School.

A Praying Mother

Hot and thirsty, I ran through the back door into the kitchen of the little four room house on Gallaher Street to get a drink of cold water. (This was before the kitchen was remodeled, and years before the addition had been built on the back of the house which doubled its size).

The kitchen was where Mom was usually found in those days. She may have been cooking, washing dishes, mopping the floor, defrosting the refrigerator, feeding my little brother, cleaning the oven, or ironing a basket of clothes that had just been taken in from the clothesline in the back yard. It was her turf, and it was unusual to find that she was not there.

I got my drink, and then curiously looked about for Mom.

She wasn't in the small living room.

I looked in our bedroom. My little brother lay napping on the bed, but no sign of Mom.

The only other possibility was her bedroom, and a quick trip to that room revealed that she wasn't there either.

That's when I heard her voice coming from the bathroom.

Now, we all have to go at one time or another, and Moms are certainly no different. However, it was far beyond the norm for her to be talking to someone in the bathroom! "Who could she be talking to?" I wondered.

The curiosity was more than I could bear, so I walked quietly across her room and gently put my ear to the door - just in time to hear her say my name!

She was praying. My eavesdropping was just in time to hear her praying for me! She was asking God to bless me, and keep me safe, and to use me for His glory and for His purposes. She prayed for the wisdom to be the kind of mother that He would have her to be to me and my brother.

I slipped quietly away from the bathroom door and made my way back to the kitchen. The old screen door slammed shut behind me as I ran out to rejoin my friends in the back yard for some more serious play time. Although it was just a brief slice of time in my childhood, the memory of my mother praying for me in the bathroom is one that I have taken with me for more than half a century.

Looking back on the incident today, I have to believe it was a Divine appointment. God brought me to that place just at the right time, so I would know that my mother was praying for me. And I know it wasn't a one time event. The power of her prayers has had a tremendous effect on my life. I know that she has lifted u[ me, my Dad, and both brothers (and our respective families) in prayer every day.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. Thirteen days later, we will celebrate Mom's 82nd birthday. Each day Mom slips deeper and deeper into the darkness of Alzheimer's Disease. It has robbed her of much of her memory, and now, even close family members are sometimes just "strangers" to her. She now thinks she lives in Logan (the town where she grew up and was married in 1949). She asks about the whereabouts of her parents, who have been gone for many years. There are days when she doesn't even recognize Dad.

Some things haven't changed. She still loves Jesus. She still loves to come to church. She still has a smile and a kind word for everyone, and she still has that same sweet spirit. My guess is that she still prays, too. I can't imagine what her prayers are like today, but I'm sure she still talks to God. Perhaps she still mentions our names in prayer. Only God knows...

Years ago, when first diagnosed with the disease, Mom teared up and said, "I'm afraid the time will come when I won't know my family". My brother, Bruce, put his arm around her and said, "Maybe so, Mom, but we'll know who YOU are!"

Patsy Ruth Stidham Adkins in many ways is just a shell of the mother we have known and loved, but we do know who she is, and we thank God that He gave her to us as our mother.

She doesn't know that tomorrow is Mother's Day, but we do, and we honor her.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

We love you.

Slain In The Spirit?

My preaching can have this effect on some people. Check out this photo from 1976, pay special attention to my son, Jay, on the front row.

A Nice Evening With A Bunch Of Pirates

I had a pleasant encounter with a group of "Pirates" last evening - Belfry High School Pirates, that is. The 1969, 1970, and 1971 graduating classes of the Pike County, Kentucky High School (now located near South Williamson, KY) held a joint reunion. The get together was held in the former high school building - which now houses Belfry Middle School. Although I only personally knew a handful of the members of the Class of '69, one of them is very special to me. She has been my wife for the past 39 of the 41 years since they picked up their diplomas.

For one reason or another, Linda has never been able to attend any of her previous class reunions. Little League and Babe Ruth Baseball tournaments, wedding anniversaries, and other conflicts had kept her from being able to reunite with classmates over the years.

Since there had not been a 40th reunion last year, a number of the class of '69 members had sought to have a joint reunion with the classes of '70 and '71 this summer. Thanks to their hard work, it all came together last night. The miracle of Facebook played a big role in reconnecting folks, many of whom had not seen each other in 41 years!

Spouses often dread attending their other half's reunions, but I knew that Linda had braved attending my 35th reunion several years ago, and it was only fair that I should accompany her to her own get together. I am glad we were able to go. It was nice to renew acquaintances with the few of her former classmates that I had met throughout the years, and very nice to make new acquaintances. I enjoyed hearing all the stories of high school days, and listening to long time friends catching up on each other's lives. Linda had a great time seeing old friends and even a couple of her former teachers were there.

Besides the excellent dinner of delicious barbecue and fried chicken, I truly enjoyed watching the reactions of grandmothers and grandfathers, who, for an evening, got to be high school kids again! There were numerous puzzled looks as faces were scrutinized and the wheels of memory ground away. Then the puzzled expressions turned to huge smiles as the names and faces were matched with high school photo name tags. Hugs were in abundance, the sounds of laughter filled the cafeteria, and years faded away for a few hours as old friends caught up on the events and family changes of the past four decades.

Each of the three classes had individual class photos made on the front steps of the old building. A memorial time was observed, remembering classmates who had passed away. Awards were given for those who had traveled furthest to attend the reunion. Some had traveled from as far away as the west coast. Many still live along the Kentucky/West Virginia border where they grew up. Awards were handed out to the most changed and least changed males and females from each class, and Linda won the "most changed girl" category from the class of '69. While happy to win the beautiful print of her old high school building, she wasn't sure if her selection was a good thing or a bad one.

"Have I really changed that much?" she asked her friends at our table. They assured her that they had ALL changed, a LOT over 41 years. I am convinced that she won in that category due to the fact that by all accounts, she had been one of the most shy and quiet girls in the whole school. Last night she was simply her happy, outgoing, talkative self that she has become since high school. I'm sure that is what her classmates recognized as they cast their ballots. Just watching her enjoy herself with long lost friends was well worth the four hour round trip.

Nice evening with a bunch of Pirates.

Hopefully we will be able to do this again in 2019 - before we all become septuagenarians!

In Loving Memory of Jerry Stidham

Today marks the 42nd anniversary of the passing of my maternal grandfather, Jerry E. Stidham. Papaw Stidham was 59 years old when a major heart attack took his life. It is hard to believe he would be 101 years old if he were still with us today.

He was a wonderful father, husband and grandfather, a great role model, and one of the finest gentlemen I have ever known.

Born in "Bloody" Breathitt County, Kentucky, he came to Logan County, WV as a young boy with his parents, Asbury and Lucinda Stidham. Asbury was a blacksmith in the coal mines, and Lucinda was his second wife. Jerry was the only son from their marriage.

He worked around the coal mines as a boy and a young man, growing up in the coal fields. After graduation from high school he entered the mines full time. Papaw had an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and he read anything he could get his hands on, whenever he could find a few extra minutes. He knew hard work, and difficulties. He and his wife, Mary, lost two children, one boy in infancy and a 12 year old daughter to leukemia. My mother was the oldest child, and the other surviving children were a son and a daughter. Only Mom and Aunt Dori remain today, and Mom is suffering from the cruel disease called Alzheimer's.

Papaw worked his way up in the coal mines through hard work and outstanding people skills. He was employed for several years by Island Creek Coal Company in the Holden, WV area. Eventually he was elected to serve Logan County in the West Virginia House of Delegates, where he served along side of such future well known West Virginia political figures as Robert C. Byrd, Arch Moore, Jr, A. James Manchin, Cecil Underwood, and W.W. Baron.

He was also a poet, and was named West Virginia Poet Laureate by Governor Hulett C. Smith in the mid 1960's.

Eventually, Papaw went to work for the United Mine Workers of America as a union representative. I have vivid memories of his home phone ringing off the hook at all hours, with calls from miners who were in need of his help. He worked out of the District 17 office on Kanawha Boulevard, in Charleston, and ran the Logan, WV field office for a number of years. He was walking out of the White and Browning office building (where his office was located) when the first of two heart attacks felled him on that Friday afternoon, 42 years ago.

He was a friend and a servant of the working men of the coalfields, and was loved and respected by many. At the age of 18, I remember counting 91 automobiles in his funeral procession that travelled from #20 Whitman Community Church to the Forest Lawn Cemetery on that hot August day when we buried him. As a little boy, I remember two pictures that hung on his living room wall - Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, and John L. Lewis, the bushy eyebrowed President of the UMWA.

Papaw was always a good moral man, but his life drastically changed in February, 1960 when he gave his life to Christ. For the last eight years of his life, he worked for the UMWA and the Lord Jesus Christ with an equal amount of fervency. He eventually served two churches as pastor, including the one where he had met Jesus several years earlier.

He had a very full, but in perspective, brief life on this earth, and made a difference in the lives of many people - especially his 10 grandchildren. The sobering thought is that I am now older than he was when he left us. Seems unbelievable! Mamaw went to join him in Heaven on the Monday after Easter in 1996, and I still miss them both so much!

I could not let this day pass without taking a moment to thank God for my wonderful family, of which Jerry Stidham was such a key member.

I love you, Papaw.

See you soon.

Would You Consider Helping A Friend Help Others?

Pictured here is my daughter in law, Leigh Anne Adkins (along with her husband and our younger son, Benji).

She doesn't know I am doing this, and wouldn't ask me to do it, but I am anyway. I hope none of my friends will be offended, but I am asking a favor.

Leigh Anne has been building her own Mary Kay Cosmetic business for several years. She has been quite successful at building a sales team, and has done well as an Independent Sales Director. Although a talented artist, with a B.A. Degree in Studio Art, Leigh Anne has fallen in love with Mary Kay, and it has allowed her to work at a rewarding career, and still be a stay at home mom as much as possible. She has actually earned two cars due to her production, and this has been a real help to their family.

Right now, Leigh Anne is working on a project to help stomp out Domestic Violence. Mary Kay has donated thousands of dollars of product and cash to women's shelters and programs designed to curb violence against women. She is also offering a lipstick project which will help Safe Harbor domestic violence shelter here in Ashland, KY. Anyone purchasing a lipstick or lip gloss will help that project and also be eligible for a $100 drawing themselves.

I am not just trying to solicit business for Leigh Anne, nor am I trying to line up consultants to work under her. But I am trying to help her help others. I won't go into a lot of detail right now, but Leigh Anne is working on a very strict deadline of June 30th, and she could use some help. There may be someone out there who would like to order some of the Mary Kay products for women (or for men). Others might like to help out just with the lipstick project. In fact, if 50 of our friends would just purchase a lipstick before the June 30 deadline, she could probably reach her goal.

If you would like to know more, I will give you her website, and her email address, and her cell phone number. The cell number is 606.923.2209. her email address is laca@zoominternet.net, and her Mary Kay website is http://www.marykay.com/leighanneadkins1/default.aspx She can also be found on Facebook as Leigh Anne Clanton Adkins.

If you're interested in becoming a consultant, I'm sure she would be glad to talk to you about that, too - but that is not the purpose of this post.

She can give you more details and any other information you may need, (much better than I can) and I am sure she can get the product to you locally very quickly or ship product to you anywhere in the U.S. Time is passing quickly and there are only six days left in the month! Would you help her help others?

Thanks for your consideration.

"The Giant" A Tribute To My Dad

Today marks the third anniversary of "For What It's Worth". My hope is that through these ruminations, I may have brought some challenge, food for thought, and maybe a smile or two your way. Thank you for reading and responding , as many of you have over the past three years. Since today is the third birthday of my blog, and in honor of my Dad on Father's Day, I am reprinting my very first blog post from three years ago today. Happy Father's Day, Dad!

June 20, 2007

The Giant
It’s been 50 years ago, or so, but I remember it like it was yesterday. It generally happened early on Saturday mornings. My little brothers and I would be on the living room couch watching black and white cartoons on TV when the big voice would boom out of Mom and Dad’s bedroom. “I’m the giant and this is my island!” That is all we needed to hear. We would make a mad dash for the bed where Dad had been sleeping and immediately upon jumping in the bed, we would find ourselves flipping off the other side. That was the nature of the game.


It was sort of a horizontal “King of the Hill” contest. Dad was the giant and the bed was his island. The challenge for us was to dislodge him from the island. It was a futile effort on our part, but was tremendous fun to wrestle with and team up on the big guy in the family. I’m not sure that we ever were able to move the giant from his island, but I wouldn’t trade the memories for anything.


Quality time with Dad then was precious and rare. He worked a 40 hour week at International Nickel Company, preached twice every Sunday, and held as many as 19 revival meetings a year. As a normal routine, Dad would rush home after work each day, jump in and out of the tub, eat a quick dinner, jump in the car and drive as far as Portsmouth, OH; Logan, Charleston, Point Pleasant, WV; or Wurtland, KY; preach to a packed house, drive back home, climb in bed and get up early the next morning and do it all over again. Back in those days, revival meetings always lasted two weeks, and often times went three or four. It was not uncommon to see from 25 – 40 people make professions of faith during those services. I remember one stretch when Dad was in church somewhere every night, for 100 straight evenings. I think it is safe to say that he burned the candle at both ends.


Busy as he was, he was always careful to spend quality time with his boys. Whether it be “I’m the Giant and This is My Island”, a game of catch in the back yard, the occasional trip to see the Reds at Crosley Field, or just the time we spent together in church (or on the way to or from) those times were very special to us. Many of you know Dad as the old guy in the McDonalds breakfast gang, or that fellow that never met a stranger, or the guy with a corny joke for every occasion, or the character on Row 9 at Edwards Stadium with a funny hat and silly glasses on to celebrate each Herd touchdown. He is all of those fellows, but Bruce and Carl and I remember him as the hard charging, fiery preacher, who was one of the busiest evangelists in the Tri State area. We know him as the orator that could paint a picture in a sermon so vivid that you could almost feel ground shake when Goliath fell hard from the blow of David’s stone, or see Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walking around loose in the fiery furnace. In fact one guy once yelled out during Dad’s message, “I can see them in there!”, but that is another story for another time.


Caudle Adkins, Jr. was born at Dehue in Logan Co, WV in 1927. He was often fond of saying that Charles Lindbergh flew solo across the Atlantic and Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs that year to celebrate his birth. Like many other young men, he quit school to join the military in World War II, and although a Sailor through and through, he never learned to swim! He had the good sense to marry Patsy Stidham, the best girl in Logan County, and to get out of the coal mines while he was young enough to move to Huntington and get a new career started at INCO.


Dad celebrated his 80th birthday last month. During his nearly 6 decades in ministry he has preached countless messages, married lots of couples, buried many friends, comforted the grieving, eaten lots of fried chicken, encouraged thousands of Christians, and won hundreds of people to Jesus. Aside from one aunt (who is only a few years older than him), Dad is the last surviving member of his family and has lived to see his grandchildren and great grandchildren, who all love and respect him. He has more friends than anyone I have ever known.


My younger brother, Bruce, has the Adkins looks and inherited many of Dad’s qualities, and keeps links with both sides of Dad’s family. Youngest brother, Carl, inherited his tireless work ethic and his easygoing manner and his ability to schmooze with anyone.


I am thankful that I got his name, although at times it has been hard to live up to all that goes with it! That name was passed on to his oldest grandson and great grandson as well. My son, Jay and I have followed Dad in ministry. Much of our family went down to New Orleans a couple of weeks ago for Jay’s graduation from Seminary. Dad seemed to be pretty proud that day.

Later, Jay told me something that really touched me. He said that during the graduation ceremony, while the congregation was standing and singing, he looked over and saw Dad standing there at the end of our family’s row. Jay said, “I looked over there and thought, If it wasn’t for him, I probably wouldn’t be here now. That’s my Heritage. It brought tears to my eyes”, he said.


Physically, Dad doesn’t seem as big to me as he did on those Saturday mornings, way back when, but even now, to me – he is still “The Giant”.

Our 39th Wedding Anniversary

39 years ago today, I stood along side a beautiful young woman, making vows about loving, honoring and cherishing until death alone may part us. And so we have. For richer or for poorer (mostly poorer). In sickness and in health (mostly good health - with some serious sickness thrown in the past 5 1/2 years). So long as we both shall live (so far, so good). Like many of my friends, I married up. Other than coming to Christ, marrying Linda Bowling was the best thing I have ever done.

The fact that she would even have considered getting hitched to me, is somewhat of a miracle in itself. Part of it speaks of what must be my unparalleled salesmanship, but the majority has to do with the will of a loving and sovereign God. He knew that there needed to be someone in my life who could counteract the cynicism and hardness that was there. So He brought this beautiful young woman f into my life, all the way from a mountain town 100 miles away. She is the best person I have ever known, and I am honored and humbled that she has kept her vows to me (for better or worse) for nearly four decades.

The weather on that Saturday evening, 39 years ago, was much like it is today. Hot and humid. The Thomas Memorial Free Will Baptist Church was packed out that evening. I can't tell you that from memory, but from the photos which verify the fact. My Father performed the ceremony. Linda's Matron of Honor was her older sister, Violet Bennett. Her bridesmaids included her cousin, Brenda Huddle, her cousin, Joyce Faye Pope, her former roommate, the late Sandy Chapman, and her close friend, Lois Conn Vallance.

Doug Goolsby, my college friend and kindred spirit stood with me as the best man. (I would return the favor three years later at his wedding in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Other groomsmen included my younger brother, Bruce, lifelong friend and neighbor, Donnie Smith, best friend from High School, Phil Cheek, and college friend, Larry Gunnoe. Linda's little nephew, Glen Bennett was our ring bearer. His sister, Gloria, was the flower girl.

The wedding was beautiful. There were a couple of humorous hitches that came off during the ceremony, but what weddings are there that do not have some memorable gaffes?

A nice reception was held in the church's "sewing room" and fellowship hall. Donnie, Bruce, and the others, made sure my little Opel Cadet was properly adorned with the obligatory "Just Married" decorations. We spent our wedding night in the Holiday Inn at South Point, Ohio, and there wasn't much of a honeymoon since both of us had to be back at work on Monday morning.

It wasn't much of a wedding by today's standards, but there is more to a marriage than the cost of the wedding ceremony or a two week honeymoon to some exotic place. Marriage is more about commitment than anything else. Oh yes! Love is important, but as time goes by, one comes to understand that love is much more than we thought it was when we were 20 years old.

A marriage based on love (for God first, and then for one another) and commitment , is a marriage that will stand the test of time.

For some reason, unknown to me, God has chosen to keep us here for 39 years. He has blessed us with two great sons, and two wonderful daughters in law. The "icing" on our anniversary cake would be Quint, Will, Canon, and Asher, our four precious grand kids. We still live in a humble home, drive cars that have seen better days, and really don't have much by this world's standards, but we are rich beyond measure.

We celebrated our anniversary a day early this year at Disney's Magic Kingdom with part of our family. God has been good to us (even if Michelle did make me wear the funny hat!).

Happy anniversary Baboo! I love you more today than yesterday - but not as much as tomorrow.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

It must have been about 1957 or so. I had been playing in the back yard on a hot summer day, doing those things seven year old boys do. I had worked up quite a thirst, so I made a bee line for the back door of the house to get a good cold drink. Mom always kept a pitcher of Kool Aid (Cherry of course) in the old Frigidaire refrigerator. Opening the cabinet door, I pulled out one of those glass tumblers that Dad would get at the Ashland Oil Station for buying three dollars worth of gas. (Things have changed a little since 1957) Guzzling that Kool Aid from the big glass gave me a red mustache that would last the rest of the day!

I wondered where Mom was. This time of the day, she was almost always in the kitchen. It was the nerve center of the house. She was usually in the kitchen, cooking, or washing dishes. If not that, she could usually be found there ironing the fresh smelling laundry that had just come off the back yard clothes line. She had one of those little metal sprinkler "do-dads" that plugged into an RC Cola bottle filled with water. She would sprinkle a little water on the item of clothing or linen draped across the ironing board. I can still remember the hiss and the steamy hot smell as the hot iron was applied to the cloth. Looking back, it seems that an awful lot of the activity in our home in those days took place in the kitchen, and Mom was the queen of the kitchen.

At this particular time, however, Mom was nowhere to be found. So unusual! I walked to the living room and looked around. She wasn't there. "Perhaps" I thought to myself "She's putting some clothes away in the chest of drawers. But a quick check of her bedroom revealed nothing. My little brother, Bruce, was getting his afternoon nap in his crib, and yet no sign of Mom. Then I heard her voice. It was coming from the bathroom of all places. "Who is she talking to in the bathroom?" I wondered, half aloud.

Walking to the closed bathroom door, I heard her voice more plainly. She was talking to someone, indeed, but for the life of me I couldn't imagine who would be in that small bathroom with her at this time of the afternoon. I heard her say my name, so quietly pressing my right ear to the door I determined to hear what she was saying about me, and to whom she was saying it.

I suddenly understood to whom Mom was talking. She was praying. And she was praying for me! It was one of those "Divine Appointments". You know what I mean? It was one of those occasions when God just makes sure He brings you to a certain spot at a particular time, to indelibly impress on your memory a particular event.

"Father" she prayed, "please take care of my boys. Bless C.J. and protect him. May he grow up to love you and please use him in your service."

Wow!

She said more, of course. She prayed for little Bruce. She made petition to God for Dad, and asked Him to use Dad to win many souls to Jesus. She prayed for our daily provision, and she asked forgiveness for her own sin and shortcoming. She prayed for sick friends and neighbors, and she thanked God for sending His own Son, Jesus, to give us forgiveness and eternal life.

Now, prayer was not unusual in our home. We prayed before bed. We prayed before meals. When one of us was sick or hurt, intercession was made for us. Of course we prayed in church too. But this prayer was somehow different. It wasn't being offered at any of those regular times. Mom had no idea I was in the house. The baby was napping, she thought I was still in the back yard, and she had stolen away for a rare quiet moment alone with God.

Fortunately for me, God saw to it that I was there to hear the prayer, and to realize something that I have not forgotten over the next 53 years.

My mother prayed for me! She did it in private. She did it alone with the Father. It was not for me to hear, but God saw to it that I did. Looking back today, I realize that she has prayed for me all my life - even before I was born. I thank God for the example of a praying mother, and I thank God for how He has answered her prayers.

On this Mother's Day in 2010, I want to wish her a happy Mother's Day, and I want to thank God for Patsy Stidham Adkins. Her's is the face that pops into my mind, when I hear the word "mother".

Recently the "Herald-Dispatch" daily newspaper in Huntington, WV, solicited its readers to write a few words about their mothers. Here is the portion of what I submitted that was printed in today's paper:

"My mother, Patsy Adkins, was a stay at home mom for many years. Her days and nights were filled with caring for the three of us boys, and keeping things organized for Dad, who was a very busy bi-vocational evangelist. She was sharp as a tack and took care of most of the "business" of the family. She read constantly, loved to discuss the Bible, and taught teenage girls in Sunday School. She also always worked in Vacation Bible School in the summers.

Sometime in late 1995 we begin to notice some changes in Mom. What we first passed off as "absent mindedness" eventually became reason for concern. She obviously had trouble with her short-term memory, and her behavior patterns were changing. When the diagnosis came back -- Alzheimer's Disease -- her life, and ours changed forever.

The one who once was the rock that anchored our family, now is not sure of the name of the President, the day or year, or even her own age. What a cruel disease for such a dear lady to endure.

With Mother's Day arriving soon, and Mom's 81st birthday coming just a few days later, I know that no gifts or flowers or cards that we give her will be remembered for more than a few minutes. I also know that the day will probably come when she will not even know who we are. But we will know who she is, and will continually thank God for giving us such a dear and precious Mother."

When Carl Asked "The Question" To The Pastor's Wife

Our pastor's wife was the epitome of grace and dignity. She was the unofficial standard of decorum in a rather unconventional congregation. Our church was located in the Guyandotte section of Huntington. Guyandotte was named for the river whose headwaters begin in the mountains of southern West Virginia and empties into the Ohio, just across from Proctorville, OH. It was a settled community before Poage's Landing (which later became Huntington) extended it's borders to include the old town. There had been a skirmish there during the Civil War, and the territory changed hands between the Union and the confederacy several times.

By the late 1950's and early 60's Guyandotte was best known for it's bars, gamblers, bootleggers, ladies of the evening and other colorful characters. Into that mission field, Carl and LaVerne Vallance came to serve the congregation of Thomas Memorial Free Will Baptist Church. Mrs. Vallance served as the "first lady" of the church for over 26 years. She was a wonderful example of grace and purity for all the young ladies there, and was loved by all of the older ladies as well.

Our family was closely linked to the Vallances, from the late 1940's when Dad and Pastor Vallance were both beginning their respective ministries in the coal mining country of Logan County. When we moved to Huntington in 1952, Brother and Sister Vallance had already taken up residence in Guyandotte, so it was natural that our family settled into Thomas Memorial Church. Dad eventually served for several years as Assistant Pastor at the church, and he and Brother Vallance often travelled together, preaching in revival meetings, homecomings, or conference meetings. Dad thought so much of his colleague, that he named our youngest brother, Carl, in the pastor's honor.

The Vallances always liked little Carl. Their own sons were already out of high school by 1965 and Carl was their little darling. His special status, however, was seriously, although only temporarily, damaged when the five year old boy asked Sister Vallance "The Question".

She was talking to several of the older ladies just after Sunday morning services had concluded on this particular Lord's Day. My little brother approached the pastor's wife and began to tug gently on her stylish blazer.

"LaVerne! ... LaVerne!... LaVerne!"

Somewhat agitated, she looked down and said impatiently, "What is it, Carl?"

"Does your underwear have holes in it?" he queried.

Sister Vallance was aghast! With every ounce of her righteous indignation, she scolded the lad for asking such an impertinent and improper question. Yet he pressed on.

"Well, does it?"

"It most certainly does not!" she huffed.

"Well", he replied innocently, "How do you get your legs through?"

The laughter could be heard in the parking lot!

The Real Deal

Rev. Caudle Adkins, Jr was born in 1927. He always said that to celebrate his birth, Charles Lindbergh made the first solo flight across the Atlantic, and Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs.

Like many young men of “The Greatest Generation” he felt the call to join the military in World War II. So he lied about his age, and quit school to join the Navy. When being processed into boot camp he was asked the standard question on his religion. His reply was, “I don’t have any religion.” The clerk said you must have some kind of religion, and Dad replied that his mother was a Baptist, so BANG, he was listed as a protestant.

After the War, he came back to Logan County where he drove a Pepsi truck and eventually went to work in the coal mines where is father worked. He was saved in a revival meeting in the basement of an old store building in Rossmore, WV and soon thereafter yielded to a call from God to preach the Gospel that had changed his life. He was ordained into the ministry in 1949, the same year he married my mother. They have been together ever since and celebrated their 60th Wedding Anniversary.

Over the past 61 years in the ministry he has served 7 churches in WV and Ohio as pastor, and has held more than 500 revival meetings from Michigan to Florida. He has preached in all types of Baptist churches (Free Will, United, Missionary, Independent, American and Southern). Other churches he has preached in include Methodist, Evangelical United Brethren, Nazarene, Churches of God, and non denominational community churches. For 32 years he has hosted “The Lighthouse” radio ministry on Saturday afternoons, on WEMM FM.

By a conservative estimate, Dad has preached more than 10,000 sermons, and has been used by God to help win hundreds and hundreds of people into the Kingdom. One of his lasting legacies is that his oldest son and oldest Grandson are also Baptist pastors.

Tonight, we will have a big rally in the East End of Huntington, where several churches from our Association will join together to be challenged by Dr. Frank Page to focus more on evangelism. I thought it would be appropriate this morning to have as our speaker at Westmoreland Baptist Church, a man who has done just that for more than 6 decades.

What's Your "Agent Code"?

Back in the 50's, TV host Art Linkletter authored a book entitled "Kids Say The Darnedest Things!" Anyone who has ever raised (or even been around) children can verify that title. While they certainly may say the unexpected, there is usually an element of honesty and truth to their pronouncements. Little Canon Josiah Adkins (grandson #3), who celebrates his 5th birthday this Sunday, is a perfect example.

His mother tells of a recent event that, while I it find hilarious, really spoke to my heart.

Michelle and Canon's older brother Quint were playing in the kitchen floor with Rudy the Cocker Spaniel. For some reason, Canon limped into the room holding a piece of paper in his hand. Michelle said he acted like he was reading some sort of official dispatch as he announced seriously, "Our agent code is 'Latcherated'".

"What?" said Michelle.

Canon repeated the message, "Our agent code is 'Latcherated!'"

"What is Latcherated?" she asked.

"Never give up." he answered seriously, then exited the room.

The kid is a real hoot. What makes the story funny to us, is that no one knows where he came up with the word and it's definition. What makes it poignant is that it speaks so strongly of Canon's character.

For nearly half of Canon's young life he and his family have been dealing with a measure of adversity. The problem first surfaced when, Canon began to limp, and to complain about pain in his lower leg. A trip to the ER and resulting x rays indicated that the tibia was fractured just above the ankle. Everyone was baffled. There had been no trauma of any type. The ER doctors at West Jefferson Parish Hospital referred Canon to New Orleans Children's Hospital where an MRI was ordered. The test showed that a tumor had formed inside the bone and grown large enough that the tibia had been weakened to the point of fracturing under normal activity.

It is a long story, but I will shorten it to the point that surgery was done to dig the tumor out of the bone. Shavings from a cadaver bone were used to fill the void left by the removal of the growth. Canon wore a cast to the hip for a number of weeks. Later a walking cast. Still later a protective boot. Just about the time he was getting accustomed to walking without the boot, the bone broke again. Further MRI tests showed the tumor had returned and was larger than before.

More surgery - this one more extensive. Another cast. A wheel chair. A walker. Eventually another "Moon Boot". Late this Summer the boot was removed and Canon was back to wearing matching shoes again. When I was there in early October, I was saddened to see how much smaller his "problem leg" was than the other. Lack of use had caused the muscles to atrophy and he was limping pretty badly, always under the encouragement of his parents to use the leg and "build up the muscles".

In all, Canon has had tree surgeries on the leg, several MRI's, numerous hospital and doctor visits, and a good bit of pain. Throughout the entire ordeal, Canon has had the sweetest spirit, and shown a maturity that is far beyond his years. He has often thanked God in his bedtime prayers, for his doctors, and even for his cast and his wheel chair. He is a picture of perseverance in a five year old boy.

A couple of weeks ago, in a followup visit to the surgeon, Jay and Michelle were numbed by the news. The leg was broken again. Canon is back into a cast for the third time, and they are awaiting further instructions from the surgeon. No word yet on whether or not the tumor has returned. Only an MRI will determine that. Until that, the question remains unanswered.

We know that Canon's situation could be much worse. There are children suffering all around the nation and the world in more serious condition than he. Our hearts still hurt for him, but we thank God for Canon and for his attitude in adversity. He's a pretty good role model for all of us in that respect. But, why should that surprise us?

After all, his "agent code IS 'Latcherated'".

What is yours?