Restored Scout 80

Scout of the Week Before and After

Original Scout 80

The Scandal of Father Brown

This may come as no surprise to some, but my favorite mysteries are written by G.K. Chesterton and star the a Roman Catholic priest named Father Brown as detective. Sometimes appearing comical, inocent, childish, often misunderstood and overlooked, Father Brown has not only a keen intellect but is extremely well grounded in the priorities of life and maintanes a focus on men and their souls instead of the intricacies of the crime.

I finished rereading The Scandal of Father Brown a couple days ago and was struck with the ending. This mystery involves no death but rather a married woman who attempts to elope with a famous poet but instead returns to her husband with some assistance from Father Brown. As the escapade ends, a journalist who happens to be on the scene believes that Father Brown assisted the woman in her elopement instead of her return. He promptly wires off the story only to realize that his perceptions of people caused him to see the story backwards. The journalist then wires the true story, but it is not in time to replace the first one from being printed. Thus, Chesterton describes the two stories of Father Brown chasing each other around the globe, the true one always at least five minutes behind the extravagant damning one.

"And so the two Father Browns chase each other round the world for ever; the first a shameless criminal fleeing from justice; the second a martyr broken by slander, in a halo of retribution. But neither of them is very like the real Father Brown, who is not broken at all; but goes stumping with his stout umbrella through life, likeing most of the people in it; accepting the world as his companion, but never as his judge."

What a perfect description of what I want to be. Good happens. Shit happens. Oftens its the same thing, only seen from two different perspectives. People see and believe all sorts of things about me, but such beliefs and consequent actions do not break me untill I give them the power to do so by elevating the people around me and their perceptions as my God. I like most of the people in it; now to hold onto people, even the ones "in power" as my traveling companions instead of as my superiors, inferiors, or judges. I too want to go "stumping... through life." Majestic through despised, I will still be Curran following Jesus. And that is as it should be.

Scout of the Week Returns

You just don't see quality interiors like this anymore. All who miss the seventies, please raise their hands now. Sadly, the carpeting is a little faded and the picture's coloring is a bit off. Judging from the unfaded portions of carpeting in my Scout, this started close to UT Orange.

Vehicle madness has returned! With a steady paycheck has also come the miriad of automotive projects I have been putting off... as well as the humorous, but usually unmissed escapedes.

First off was not having the time to actually replace my muffler which had rusted through. So, I tried the ol' patching kit. Thirty miles down the road, my quarter size patched hole split about four inches down the length of the muffler and began to peel back. doh! Guess the whole thing was pretty well shot. I spent the next 10 days not sounding like a ticked off bumblebee, but souding like a VERY ticked off bumblebee.

Tonight's latest installment was splicing some wires together properly now that I have purchased an actual crimping tool instead of using a pair of handy needle nose. While reconnecting the battery cables, the positive end actually broke in two. This was a cable I replaced this year! Obviously, with the broken connection I was not driving to the automotive store, and natuarly my uncle had left fifteen minutes previously to play tennis. The good news is that Autozone is just over a mile away. The bad news is that Autozone is just over a mile away... with evening approaching. Never fear, I pushed dinner back another hour, made the 2.5 mile run, found the part, and installed it all before the sun set. Just watch it not start tomorrow morning...

Rivers

I love rivers. I love the feeling of being beside or floating in a river. I've been in the Atlantic Ocean. I've visited several lakes and swimming pools, but they are nothing compared to the sometimes tranquil sometimes rushing force of cool water that is a river. Large bodies of water, natural or man made, are hot, open, and glaring. Rivers are cool and shaded, tranquil or adventurous depending on your mood. Rivers are the interesting little traveled lanes and paths of the water world. They twist and turn. You never know what's around the next bend to experience, or if you like, you can just wait and let the waters flow gently past.

I was spoiled growing up in the Ozarks. No matter where you live, it seems that you are within half an hour from two dozen good swimming spots on at least three different rivers. There were forests and beautiful bluffs overlooking some areas and fishing holes aplenty. Besides the family and friends I left behind, I miss the rivers most of all. Cookouts and float trips on the weekends or just sitting beside it late at night with a friend and a pizza watching the stars.

Now my friend just related a recent river experience from this last weekend. I am so excited for her that she had the opportunity to enjoy it with her family, but it made so very aware of just how long its been since I've been able to visit my rivers. I wish I could simply share in her enjoyment, but my selfish longings are threatening to take over. I really hate this tendency within me. The inability to share in the telling of a friend's blessing over my percieved lack.

Life moves forward and many new and wonderful opportunities and lessons are occuring in my life. But, at times I find myself longing so deeply for some of the precious moments that I have had to leave behind. I wonder if I might ever recapture them. In the meantime, may God please help weed out the selfish desires in my heart that cause so much hurt and pain to my friendships.

Birth of a Nation of Freedom

Normaly I try to avoid the more cynical America is Dead trains of thoughts and postings. Actually I avoid most things political. Rush Limbaugh and Michael Moore both annoy me to equal extents. We are talking about human beings and government. Is it possible to rationally work what we have instead of deifying or vilifying (not sure that's a word) the current powers? How many of us have actually tried communicating with our representatives in government? I haven't.

Anyway, this picture came to me via an article about Noam Chomskey. Nothing political, and perhaps because of that, what I was seeing struck home. The Land of the Free has become the land of locked doors and security gates. It is times like this that truly make me appreciate the entrance to the Kingdom of Heaven. Jesus said he was "the way" not "the door." A "way" is a path, a road. You are as free to climb upon it as to leave it. There are no barriers, the only requirement is that if you wish to remain on the way, you must follow its direction becuase the road doesn't change course to match yours.

The only door is yourself. Jesus is the way, but He says "Behold, I stand at the door and knock..." Rev 3:20 and all that. The door is yours to open or lock at your will. Your choice. Do you put out Welcome Mats or No Soliciting signs? Or, as in this picture, how many of us sport Freedom bound with a complex conflicting mixture or Bondage to Fear? I do.

Death of a Grandfather

My Grandfather died two weeks ago yesterday.

It still feels like a piece of fiction to say those words.

My Dad is an only child, and his parents both died of lung cancer before I was born. So, my family has always been my sister Heather, Mom, Dad, Uncle R.J., and my maternal grandparents. There were eight of us during Christmas or occasional other holidays. No more no less. No discussions over whose house we would spend which holidays at. No question over who the ultimate venerable head of the family was. The individual roles have always been fairly simple and straightforward and now one us is... missing.

My uncle refered to my granfather as "The captain of our family ship" during the eulogy at the momorial service. I have never heard a better description of him. My grandfather lived by the view that the man was the head of the house, the provider, the protector, the leader... He cared deeply for his family and took the best care of us that he could. He rarely showed emotions or affection; he simply gave the resources and time that he had to provide for the needs and then the wants of his children and later grandchildren.

He was a man's man. He liked sports and grumbled abour politics, but he never saw these as making a man. His word was a solemn promise. He took care of his bills and debts first. Only then would he consider the extras. He made decisions and saw them through. Above all else, you knew that he was the sort of man one counted on. For my grandfather, that was a man. He saw dreams and desires as having a place, but they were firmly seperated from the practicalities of the needs that ran life.

It is only now that I begin to fully realize how my grandfather saw people, how he saw me. Once I started growing up, he began to treat me as a man. I never had the faintest idea what was going on. I just remember it being difficuly around him since he primarily asked me about schooling and what choice I was going to make for college. I was a kid in the candy store when it came to looking at degrees and areas of study. I would run from one to the other like a child pressing his nose and grimy hands against the glass display case before running off to drool over the next tempting chocolate display. I was in Heaven... untill I had to pick one and be limited by the consuquences. As long as I was choosing, in a sense I had it all.

My grandfather more than anyone else pressured me with making a choice. I now realize that he was telling me that it was time to grow up, choose, and live my life instead of drooling in fantasy. When I made a choice, his question was "Is this what you want?" I answered yes, and he declared his backing. That was it. No questioning of my decision. No suggesting other alternatives or timings. It was pure respect for another man's choice, and his love for a grandson to back it up. I am talking about a complete acceptance of my choice and a deep feeling of the experience from living his own choices as a man. I have had people support me or try to guide me for various reasons, but my grandather backed me because I was a man and had made my choice. End of story. Nothing wishy washy. No regrets. You didn't go back on your word, even your word to yourself, just because you now were beginning to see the difficulties that resulted from your choice. That was life, and a man stood by his choice and remained accountable to its relsults.

I wish I had realized some of this while he was alive. I wish I could have tried living my life with this knowledge while he could still watch me. Maybe he still can from Heaven. All I know is the man who worked so hard to give the right Christmas gifts year after year has given me one of the greatest gifts I have ever recieved. The importance of standing firm for your values, for your family, for yourself, and the confident support of a man I respected in my ability to do so.

Thank you Papa.