Kind people along the road

Granddad Whitlock, whom we affectionately called Pappy, liked to say the people in Texas were among the friendliest folks on earth. Pappy was born in Texas, in the tiny town of Osage. Although he spent most of his adult years in Oklahoma, he was always proud to be a native Texan.

“I was driving back home, still in Texas, when I had a flat tire just north of Denton,” he would tell. “Wouldn’t you know it? Within five minutes someone stopped to help me.” And then Pappy would pause, like a lawyer making the closing argument in court and say: “And that’s Texas for you, son.”

I didn’t totally share my Pappy’s convictions about Texas hospitality. Being “Sooner born and Sooner breed,” I grew up with an automatic dislike for most anything south of the Red River, especially the university located in Austin, a school we adolescent Okies were certain was populated by arrogant ruffians, though none of us had ever actually met one.  All it took was a glance at their burnt orange team colors and that Longhorn insignia on their football helmets to agitate us like a bull seeing the wave of the matador’s cape.

The football rivalry between my hometown, Altus, Oklahoma and Vernon, Texas, (in our minds a mini-Cotton Bowl) confirmed my prejudice against Texas, for I had firsthand experience---complete with a black eye and five stiches in my chin---to prove that the boys across the state line played dirty ball. Four years of peace at Baylor University in Waco and three in seminary at Ft. Worth may have tempered my qualms with Texas but didn’t completely dissolve my misgivings about Pappy’s advocacy for Texas cordiality.

Then we, my wife, Lori, and son, Dave, recently went on the road, a portion of which traversed the distance from Texarkana to Lubbock, almost stretching from one end of Texas to the other.

The lady at the hotel in Texarkana greeted us with a warm smile and cheery hello, even though it was close to midnight and the end of her shift. “I’m the one you talked to several hours ago,” she told me, referring to my phone call for a reservation when I had expressed my concern that if we didn’t make it that far, we would be charged for the room.  “No worries,” she had assured me. “Just call and you won’t be billed.”  

I could hear Pappy’s voice, “That’s Texas for you, son.”

The next day we motored into Wichita Falls, stopping for a burger. The waitress at the counter meticulously took Lori’s rather unusual request for a cherry limeade sour soda with extra ice.

Handing the drink to Lori, the waitress asked, “Is that the way you wanted it, ma’am?”

“Perfect,” Lori affirmed.

“Hope y’all enjoy traveling in Texas,” she grinned.

Again I could hear Pappy’s voice, “That’s Texas for you, son.”

Having arrived in Lubbock, we checked into the hotel. My brother, Mark, and his wife, Joy, were already there.

“Welcome to Lubbock, Whitlocks,” Omar greeted us from the front desk. “We know your family, and any friend of a Whitlock is a friend of mine,” he beamed.

“I know, Pappy,” I muttered to myself as I shuffled across the lobby, “‘that’s Texas for you.”’

All along the road it was like that. The waiters at the banquet for my dad’s 90^th birthday made sure we were satisfied with the service.  “Enjoy your stay in Lubbock,” Aaron and Nathan chimed.

Traveling back to Oklahoma, Lori inadvertently left her cell phone on the counter at a convenience store in Amarillo, Texas.

“Ma’am,” the attendant called out to her, “you left you cell phone here. I kept it safe for you.”

“Well, don’t be surprised,” I said to Lori as we drove away, “that’s Texas for you.”

By the time we crossed the border into Oklahoma, I’d mellowed about Texas. They do have a lot of friendly folks there.

But then again, come to think of it, Texas is a mighty big state with more opportunity for kindness. After all, I reminded myself, it was just outside of Hope, Arkansas that the nice lady at the gas station gave us free coffee. “It’s on me,” she said. “That old coffee has been sitting there since morning and ain’t fit to drink. Enjoy a free cup of the fresh.”

And Ajla, the receptionist at the hotel in Missouri, upgraded Lori’s and my room to deluxe after Lori told her our stay was part of our upcoming ten year wedding anniversary. When we arrived back in the room after dinner, we discovered Ajla had left us two pieces of delicious chocolate cake with a personal note congratulating us on our anniversary.

Those kind people had been there all along. I just had to take time to notice them. And they await you too; they are there, from Kentucky to Texas and back, and beyond.

And that’s America for you.
 

When the glass crackles

He described it as “one of the craziest feeling(s) of my life.” It happened last week as Alejandro Garibay was standing on one of the glass boxes that extend out about four feet from the observation floor in the Willis Tower (formerly the Sears Tower) 103 stories above Chicago.

Garibay was posing for pictures with his brother and two of his cousins when the protective coating on the floor shattered, and the deck appeared to be cracking.

The spectacular view of the “Windy City” suddenly seemed life threatening.

But, you don’t have to be standing on crackling glass 103 stories above Chicago to have “one of the craziest feelings,” of your life, that foreboding sensation that life as you know it is in jeopardy.

Have you ever felt the protective coating of your existence shattering? Has the floor providing the steadiness for life’s journey ever appeared to be disintegrating?

If you have lived very many years, you know the feeling that particular fear brings.

It begins with tightness in the upper part of your abdomen, the solar plexus, and quickly moves to your heart, which begins beating more rapidly. Then you start breathing faster and your throat feels like someone is squeezing it with their fist.

You can be standing on a struggling marriage, or shaky finances, or an unstable job, or a conflicted relationship. And suddenly it happens.

We often try and hide our fear that the glass is shattering, for we think admitting it is itself an acknowledgement of failure, and we fear that too. Being known for who we really are frightens us, and so we play the cover-up game. “We all seem to keep a squirming bag of amorphous fears and dreads hidden in the attics of our lives,” observed health and fitness advocate, Jared Fogle.

I once left one ministry for a position in another. Although I was blessed with a comfortable salary, I knew within a short time the job wasn't right for me. Then I discovered there was a serious leadership crisis within the organization that threatened its financial stability. I believed the organization would collapse within 6 months to a year (which it did).  Before that happened, I left that ministry to begin my own. My wife had fourth stage breast cancer, and I needed to give her and my children as much security as possible. I started substitute teaching, and I worked in a direct marketing organization as well, so I could keep the boat afloat while at the same time beginning the other ministry. I can assure you, it felt like the protective coating in my life was cracking on a fairly regular basis.

Here’s what I've learned about surviving when you find yourself thinking you are standing on crackling glass.

Keep your eye on the goal while doing the task at hand. When you feel overwhelmed, go back to your goals. (If you don’t have any goals, stating them is your first goal.) With your goals in focus, do what you have to do one day at a time. Bringing all your future “I have to” lists into your present will give you an acute case of the “I can’ts.” You risk the danger of locking up, hyperventilating emotionally.

So, secondly, tell yourself you can. Feeling like you have no control is depressing and immobilizing. Tell yourself (and I mean vocally, saying it with confidence), “I can do it.” I add the Scripture, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13).

And thirdly, remember that most of our fears exist only in the mind. I like this acrostic for fear: False Evidence Appearing Real. In reality, Mr. Garibay saw the protective coating on the glass breaking and not the glass itself. That’s a classic case of false evidence appearing real. As author Christian Bovee said, “Half our fears are baseless; the other half discreditable.”

Alejandro Garibay made it safely back into the observation floor. Building spokesman Bill Utter said the coating protects the glass so visitors have a clear view 1,353 feet to the ground. “At no time was the integrity of the Ledge in doubt.”

Tourists were back on the Ledge the next morning. And they got to see the view.

Getting back on the ledge of life can be frightening, but just as you have to go out on a limb to get the fruit, you won’t grow without venturing back onto the ledge.

Seeing the protective coating crackle doesn't mean you have to crumble.