Rural America

I drove across rural America yesterday. I went through small Texas towns like Olney, Seymore, Benjamin, Dickinson, Ralls, Crosbyton, Lorenzo and Idalou. Some so small even the Dairy Queen did not make it. I stopped at a convenient store called Ranchland.

I drove between several huge ranches. I saw cafes more than restaurants. Cows more than cars. I snaked my way down two lane highways taking in the scenery. Vast pastures. Rolling hills. I saw cattle pens, horses, cattle trailers and ranchers out in their trucks. I drove past cotton fields ripening. Harvest will be coming soon. I drove where it is so flat you can see as far as the eye can visualize. Land so remote nothing stands between you and your neighbor but a barbed wire fence. I sure saw a lot of barbed wire fence.

My whole pastoral ministry has been spent in small towns or in country churches outside of town. I prefer it. I prefer blue jeans than fancy slacks. I prefer a ball cap than a fedora. I prefer boots than high dollar slip on dress shoes. I prefer cafes than fancy five start eating establishments. Whataburger is considered five star dining to some of the folks I get to shepherd. I prefer a handshake and a hug than a formal contract. I prefer Bible preaching than giving a talk. I prefer pews, stained glass, a baptismal, a pulpit and good old fashioned friendships than crystal cathedrals. I prefer cottage prayer meetings than big productions.

I grew up in three places as a youngster. I spent a very short time in Houston. I spent some time growing up in the country. When I say the country I mean you had to drive down a dead end dirt road to get to the collection of houses my family and extended lived in. I have experienced an outhouse because there was no indoor plumbing. I witnessed the butchering of a hog as a child. The image of my grandfather and uncle dropping that dead pig into a boiling cauldron to peel the hide off is something I can still remember. I helped my grandmother milk the cows and gather eggs. I have enjoyed the delicacies of butter beans and cornbread. I have drunk sweet tea from a mason jar. I have feasted on blackberry cobbler from blackberries I helped pick. I helped them plant seed in the garden. I saw my grandfather behind a mule driven plow turning up the soil. I have known the indescribable joy of eating a vine ripe tomato right out in the garden with a salt shaker. I enjoy my trusted handmade wooden horse and galloped all over those dusty lanes. I played hide and seek among the hay bales in the barn. In college I gathered and worked cows on a few occasions but proved a green hand at best. I even attempted to rope once unsuccessfully. That is another long story. I have hauled hay. I have used a rock bar and, yo yo sick, post hole diggers and worked on fence. I've enjoyed a fall hayride as well as bobbing for apples.

The majority of my growing up years were spent in a neighborhood in town with my grandparents. Our neighborhood was not fully developed and we had plenty of pine tree thickets to play in. We took our BB guns into those woods to hunt like Davey Crockett and Daniel Boone. We built secret forts to get away from it all. As a teenager, I enjoyed mud-hogging in my Jeep, hunting with friends and tubing on the lake. I actually took my prom date to a place called The Red Barn. I thought that place was pretty fancy.

I never heard of waiting to get into a restaurant to eat until I met Brenda and she took me somewhere in the Metroplex. They made fun on me in college for some of my talk. People would warsh the clothes instead of wash them. You went to Walmarts instead of Walmart. It did not rain it came a gully washer. We carried people places instead of driving them. We ate turnip greens, fried green tomatoes, stuffed bell peppers and onions. Mama and Mama made everything from scratch. I never heard of pleats on pants until I met Brenda. Growing up I thought there were only two kinds of blue jeans. Tough Skins from Sears and Roebucks with reinforced knees when I was a boy. Wranglers when I got older. I own a pair of Levis now but prefer the Wranglers and cannot remember the last time I wore those Levis. Loose fit Wranglers mind you.

I love rural America. The salt of the earth kind of people. Simple folks big on love and small on pretense. I love people who have wisdom enough not to judge others based on where they live, what they drive or how they dress. I love people whom you can count on in a jam. I love people who will kick you in the pants if you are doing wrong as well as pat you on the back when you are doing right.

I thank God He has chosen to plant me in rural America to minister His word and shepherd His people. I am content around the country folks. I guess when you break it all down, I am just a country preacher and that's fine by me.