Priorities change as one gets older

By DAVID EPPS
Pastor

As I get older, I find my emotions are changing. Where once I would invest an enormous amount of emotional energy in the race for the Southeastern Conference football crown or the ability of the Atlanta Braves to make the playoffs again, I now find that I have only passing interest in such events. Now, I find that I get a lump in the throat and misty eyes at the strangest times and over the most varied things.

Last Thanksgiving Day is a good example. Early in the morning, while the fog and gloom was still hanging heavily in the air, I walked to the car to retrieve the previous day's mail. I spied a letter from a friend who is serving a stretch in a state prison and opened it first. I've made it a point to visit him, as I am able, and to write to him once or twice a week. In his letter, he gave me his latest news and thanked me for consistently writing to him. Then he said that, of all the people he has met in prison, he is the only one whose minister writes to him.

For some reason, that statement affected me in a profound way. I felt the lump tighten in my throat and blinked back the tears that formed so easily at the corners of my eyes. I knew that many of the men and women in prison had a Christian background and that a good number of them had been active in a church prior to their committing the offense that landed them in that place of isolation and loneliness.

Later, I shared with my wife my friend's statement and my reaction. She said, “David, I don't know why you are so surprised. There are many ministers out there but there aren't very many shepherds and fathers.” Sadly, I admitted the truth of her statement but still felt sad for the many who felt cut off from their spiritual roots.

About mid-morning, my youngest son, James, called from San Antonio. James has been away from home almost 4 1/2 years serving his country in the United States Air Force. He has a girlfriend, he told me. She's a tall, pretty blonde from New Mexico and is stationed in San Antonio, too. She's Catholic, I learned, and I’ll get to see a picture soon. He’ll make staff sergeant in about two weeks, he said. And, yes, he will be home for Christmas this year. I sat in the chill on the back deck smiling broadly and feeling that familiar lump and those wet eyes as we caught up on news.

Thanksgiving Day dinner was served at two o’clock, with my wife outdoing herself again this year. It was up to me to make the traditional toast and I noted that, since the last Thanksgiving, both my older sons and their families were in new houses. My oldest son and his wife bought their second home in August and my middle son, John, and his wife July, moved into their new home with a big fenced-in backyard a few months ago. I was a proud papa as I realized that all of my sons and their families are believers, are healthy, and are employed.

I did miss three faces at the table: James, the son in San Antonio, and two grandsons who were celebrating Thanksgiving elsewhere, due to divorce, a sad condition which has touched nearly every American family in one way or another. We raised our glasses in thanks for the past year, in anticipation of the year to come, and in honor of those missing from our table. My eyes were dry, but the lump was there.

Then, early in the meal, my oldest son, Jason and his wife Jessica announced that they were expecting a baby, their third, who is due in June! What a surprise! We thought they were through having kids. This will be our seventh grandchild! According to the scriptures, I am a blessed, blessed man! And, of course, that dang lump just stayed stuck in my throat and one tear did escape and trickle down my cheek before I caught it.

After everyone left, I chased Cindy out of the kitchen and began to clean up. She did most of the cooking, so I figured the least I could do was clean up. As I washed the crystal, I turned on Fox News just in time to see the story of the President of the United States making a secret and surprise visit to U. S. military forces in Iraq. As the President walked out to greet the troops, the 600 stunned soldiers jumped from their seats, threw their arms in the air, and cheered and cheered. I jumped up, too, though in my heart, since I was already standing, and cheered silently. In the solitude of the kitchen, I thrust up my arms in unison with the soldiers, and, this time, the tears wouldn't stop. I don’t think I've ever been more proud of a president as I was on Thanksgiving Day. I noticed that his eyes were wet too.

As the day wound down, I thought about watching the NFL football game, but it just didn’t seem to be all that interesting. Besides, it’s been a long, long time since a football game — or any game, for that matter — caused a lump in my throat or my eyes to be wet. Only the very important things in life can do that!

[Father David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church

between Peachtree City and Newnan. He may be contacted at FatherDavidEpps@aol.com or at www.ctkcec.org.]

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