Update from Mark Edwards

Warning – Travelogue Ahead!

Since we visited last, I’ve made two trips a week-longer to Texas and a 36-hour-shorter to Macon, GA and back. Both were profitable and enjoyable.

Halfway during the flight to Texas, I broke the conversational ice across the empty seat between me and my several-year senior female row-mate, “I’m trying to decide whether to sleep or read” – having already done both.

“Yeah, I have that problem also sometimes.”

“Are you from Nashville?” I asked.

“No, I live in Tulsa; I’m returning from visiting with one of my sons in Columbia (TN).”

“Oh, I live in Brentwood.”

“I know where that is; my husband and I used to live in Nashville. He went to school there and then to school in Fort Worth.”

“I went to school in Fort Worth also – Southwestern Seminary.”

“He did, too!”

It turns out that she – Bev Tresch – used to work at what was once the Baptist Sunday School Board. I told her of my time at First Baptist Church Nashville, and she spoke fondly of Dr. Franklin Paschall who was pastor when we came to FBC. Later she reported having won a Speakers Tournament at our church when she was a teenager. She, Honey, and my now deceased long-time friend, Gayle Oldham, raised their kids at the same time. We talked about and celebrated Gayle’s husband, John, recent remarriage.

From there, we began talking about our deceased spouses, and Bev reported that she and her high school boyfriend had reconnected in recent years. 

“Do you get to see him often?”

“Maybe once a year. He lives in Tullahoma (TN) and sometimes we see one another when I come to visit my son. It’s nothing serious and we certainly don’t plan to get married. He’s a very nice gentleman and it’s good to connect again.”

“But no marriage plans, huh?” picking at her a little.

“No, you know what they say – ‘purse or nurse!’”

We had a good laugh. I hadn’t heard that one before and apparently she wants a part of neither. We continued back and forth. As we parted ways, I suggested that she add a couple more rhyming words to her adage – “curse and hearse.”  

I looked in on our 90-year-old Dad who is not have a good time at all in assisted living. He’s ready to “change his address” as he says, meaning to die. It would be merciful, indeed. He’s in pretty good shape for his age; my siblings and I only wish he could redirect some focus toward positive things rather than spending most of every day stewing over the dark side of everything. One day I loaded him up and took him down the hill a half-block to his former independent living spot for lunch with his former table mates. It was a grand time to be with Milton and Martha Smith and Eloise Fluth. He’s a “rock star” down there. Entering the place, the office folks came out to make over him. Other residents were so glad to see him, every dining hall waitress all gave him a big hug and even the kitchen crew made it a point to come out and see Mr. Edwards. Lunch was interrupted several times by people coming to greet him. Getting back in the car, it was back to the dark side rather than a grateful afterglow of what had been a delightful couple of hours. Too bad. I hope I can remember not to repeat such.

Brother Randy and I spent of a lot of quality time together, some of it traveling some 400 miles west to meet our cousin Tim and wife way west in Ft. Davis. It is serene and beautiful there and we had a great time in the same manner as last October.

From San Antonio to a night as sis Judy’s place – a great intermediate stop/visit/food midway toward Dallas. Beside blood-line, Judy and I share the loss of our spouses in 2015. Not a good year at either house.

Friday with Fort Worth friends – extended lunch with college roommate Royce and wife Patti, then overnight with the Springfield clan in Azle. The Springfields hosted Honey on weekends before we married. Their daughter Christy was 11 year old at that time; now she has a grandchild – which makes me 82, I’m sure of it. Yikes!

Before catching my return flight Saturday, I was able to have brunch with Honey’s high school friend/college roommate/wedding attendant Virginia. Virginia lost her husband unexpectedly last month. Fortunately, she has strong faith, a supportive faith family, and daughters nearby. She’s a strong gal and is going to make it, but right now is a tough time. To hear her bear witness to God’s work in her life through this unexpected tragedy is a blessing indeed.

Thinking about the people seen and places experienced in the last couple of weeks reminds me of this opening stanza of Psalm 24:

“The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.”

And close behind that thought is this old gospel song refrain that I love:

Some through the waters, some through the flood,
some through the fire, but all through the blood.
Some through great sorrow but God give a song
in the night season and all the day long.”

God Leads Us Along – G.A. Young

An Update from Mark Edwards

Returning a few weeks ago from a trip to Texas for a speaking engagement at Baylor's Alleluia Conference, I mentioned making a couple of surprise connections. I told you about Karen in the Memphis airport. Here's a second: 

Having spent a night with my long-time friend and college roommate in Fort Worth and anticipating my Tuesday mid-afternoon presentation at the conference, I needed a quiet hour to review my notes before heading south to Waco. Royce and Patti don't live far from Southwestern Seminary and summer school there is pretty quiet so that would be the spot. I walked around the campus in and out of a building or two before landing on the Student Center. Ah, here's a place over here out of the way and there's nobody here other than the large, and I do mean LARGE display of taxidermied game animals -- a bear or two, half-dozen antlered beasts, birds, lions, perhaps even a buffalo, and who knows what else. I mean, this was the real stuff, and it was on display encased in serious Plexiglas. What any of it remotely had to do with theological education or student life beats me. But, at least those things were quiet, they would mind their own business, and surely there wouldn't be any random NRA sightseeing tour here this next hour. 

Heading to my scheduled table in the far corner, I did notice an office door open en route and someone sitting behind the desk -- Dean Nichols, Chaplain read the sign next to the door. Ok, whatever. Well into my self-imposed study hall, it dawned on me. "I remember a Dean Nichols. Nah, it couldn't be." I studied a little longer and soon it was time to leave. "I believe I'll stop by and introduce myself to Dr. Nichols. After all, I'm an alumnus of this place. He won't think it too strange."

Standing outside the door, but out of sight of the office occupant, I noticed all manner of bows and arrows, pistols, and other assorted weaponry. There were dozens of attractive bows neatly mounted on various sizes of planks of wood hung on the walls floor to ceiling. For a minute, I thought maybe this room was an outdoorsman gift shop or maybe those things were protection for the Student Center in case one of those animals out there was suddenly resurrected.

I knocked on the open door.  

"Hi, are you Dean Nichols?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Mark Edwards, and I'm just passing through. I graduated from Southwestern a long time ago and have lived out of state since. This is crazy and a long shot, but I used to know a Dean Nichols when I was youth director down in Kerrville. I can't remember if he sang in my youth choir or not, but I remember a Dean Nichols." 

"Well, if you told me not to sing and save my voice for the speaking parts, I may be your man."

"Are you from Kerrville?"

"Yes, I am."

"Does the name Susie West mean anything to you?"

"Yep, she was my first girlfriend."

Well, I knew that but I wanted to hear it from him. I had met Dean at some youth event when he, like Honey, was a mid-teenager. He went to one of the other Baptist churches in Kerrville, but Honey had told me about her first love. By the time I arrived on the Kerrville scene, they had moved on to other steadies. But, I certainly heard about Dean... more than once. 

"It seems like I remember that you lived somewhere up north -- Colorado, Wyoming, or some such."

"That's right -- Alaska! I pastored up there for 19 years."

"Yeah, nine kids in all -- we had six and then adopted three more." 

"You may or may not be aware that Susie died last year."

"Yeah, I heard about that. I'm sorry."

Who would have ever thought? Who could have orchestrated that "coincidence"? Driving toward Waco, I couldn't help but ponder Honey's life had she married Dean -- Alaska? She wore a fleece jacket most of the time working in her basement craft room even during the summer. Birthing six kids and adopting three? Her parents adopted three, including her, but birthing six? I think not. Apparently, Dean had done a fair amount of killing, likely gutting, and probably eating the fruit of his labor. Honey was adaptable, but envisioning her in that environment didn't really compute. I think things worked out right for her. 

Not sure there is any theological thread or spiritual significance to that story, but the immortal words of Garrison Keillor do come to mind -- "ain't that a deal!"

Here's a nice hymn we sang yesterday at Second Baptist Church in Memphis where I waved my arms. It is a hymn of thanksgiving -- not Thanksgiving Day -- but living a life of gratitude even in life's low places. The tune is the familiar Welsh folk melody ASH GROVE. Sing with me --

Let all things now living a song of thanksgiving

to God the Creator triumphantly raise, 

Who fashioned and made us, protected and stayed us, 

Who guideth us on to the end of our days. 

His banners are o'er us, His light goes before us, 

a pillar of fire shining forth in the night, 

till shadows have vanished and darkness is banished, 

as forward we travel from light into light. 

His law He enforces, the stars in their courses, 

the sun in its orbit, obediently shine. 

The hill and the mountains, the rivers and fountains, 

the deeps of the ocean proclaim Him Divine. 

We, too, should be voicing our love and rejoicing, 

with glad adoration a song let us raise, 

till all things now living unite in thanksgiving

to God in highest, hosanna and praise! 

"LET ALL THINGS NOW LIVING" -- WORDS BY KATHERINE K. DAVIS, 1939 © 1939, REN. 1966 E.C. SCHIRMER MUSIC CO.

For some reason, we didn't include this hymn in Notes From Susie. Thanks to many of you that have said good words about the book, especially about the new material before and after the condensed content from the Facebook updates. 

- Mark

An Update from Mark Edwards

Returning from a week in Texas a couple weeks ago last Sunday night, I mentioned having made a couple of unexpected connections during the week. Here's the first: 

Having led music at Second Baptist Church in Memphis July 17, my flight to Texas for the Baylor Alleluia Conference was out of Memphis rather than Nashville... but not until 6:50 p.m., Sunday evening. We were through with church before high noon and what does one do in near 100 degree Memphis for the next 5-6 hours when hotel check-out is 12 o'clock?

My cell phone had died, so I found a Verizon store who put a charge on my phone while I walked across the street for lunch. (Never mind that I had gone through those motions of charging the phone all night at the hotel.) I honestly can't remember what I did the first half of the afternoon other than find a place to change from my Sunday clothes and drive to the outskirts of the airport to watch a few FedEx planes take off. But apparently Sunday is not a busy cargo day, so that didn't last long. Oh well, I found the long-term parking spot, gathered up my gear, and headed to the airport. Thinking to myself, "It's already 3:30, so we'll be boarding in only three hours." WRONG! 

As is my custom, I check my luggage rather than carry it on so I use the wait time to get in a walk. Security lines almost nil and having a pre-pass, I walked right through security. Now, it's barely 4:00, so I strike out on my walk. I've seen every inch of every concourse at the Memphis terminal at least four times. About halfway through the third lap, I noticed the monitor that reports my 6:50 Southwest flight is now 7:25. Oh good, another 35 minutes to kill. 

Some two hours into the wait, and being somewhat of a wood-worker, a handsome wall display of finished slats of various kinds of wood caught my eye so I stopped to have a closer look. Having nothing better to do and plenty of time, I read the labels, compared grains, and was conducting a fairly thorough inspection when I became aware that someone had walked up beside me to do the same thing. After a bit, she said, "Hmmh, they don't have any madrone?"

"Did you say madrone? I've never heard of that."

"Yeah, we have it in Texas."

“Texas? I grew up in Texas and have never heard of madrone. Where in Texas?”

“Comfort. It’s in the Hill Country.”

“Comfort? I got married in Kerrville (19 miles away).”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding. What is madrone?”

She began to describe madrone as her son, entering Baylor this fall, walked on toward our gate. 

“So do you live in Comfort?”

“No, we live in San Antonio.”

“I grew up just south of San Antonio. Have you lived there all your life?”

“No, I used to live here.”

It turns out that Karen is the daughter of the late Bob Troutman, once pastor of Prescott Memorial Baptist Church in Memphis in the 60s. He was one of only two white Baptist pastors who participated in the march of the sanitation workers during the height of the civil rights movement in Memphis that led to the death of Martin Luther King. The other white Baptist pastor was Brooks Ramsey, who was then pastor of Second Baptist Church where I had led music that morning. She and her son had been in Memphis that weekend for centennial celebration of Prescott Memorial Baptist Church which has now merged with Shady Grove Presbyterian Church. (Somewhere along the line, Prescott had called a woman – Nancy Sehested – as pastor at which time they were disfellowshipped by the Shelby Baptist Association.)

We ventured down toward our gate and arriving noticed that our 6:50, 7:25 flight was now 7:55. UGH. But, it did provide time for the three of us to eat a bite and for me to learn more about her father. Preparing for the anniversary trip that weekend, Karen had gone through a box of her father's papers, sermons, writings, et cetera, in her attic which blessed her again. I asked her if any of the history of those two pastors had been written and she didn't know. So if any history buffs out there know anything about that, I'd like to hear from you. Seems like it would make a wonderful doctoral project for someone.   

Karen said they sang the hymn below at their anniversary event that morning. It’s a civil rights hymn:

Lift every voice and sing, till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.

Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won.

What a delight to have that kind of serendipitous experience along the way.  Stay tuned for another.

- Mark