Myron Speaks

My remembrances of Christmases in Crooked Creek always involved travel.  First in a black Ford Fairlane station wagon, then in later years a pea green Ford Gran Torino station wagon.  Dad was a Ford man and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree because his son is a Ford truck man and his grandson as well.

The Fairlane station wagon was a good, timely buy as our family prepared to move to Fort Worth, TX, so my dad could attend Southwestern Theological Seminary.  Black with red vinyl interior and no air conditioner.  We were on a budget people!  Dad was doing the Lord’s work and we all had to make allowances and suffer in certain ways.  Did I mention that someone forgot to tell my dad that we were moving to the closest place to the sun on earth?  Texas!  It was hot and that oven we rolled around in, called a Ford Fairlane could easily bake bread and cook an egg…in the Winter!

Then when we moved back to Ohio after dad finished seminary and left his first ministerial job, came the Ford Torino station wagon in pea green.  We never really got the story of the color but my sisters and I surmise that there was a deal involved because of the color.  This baby had air conditioning and anyone who remembers those early air conditioners will remember the blowing power almost got the cool air to the front seat passengers.  Those seated in the back took on a particular red hue with significant sweat indicators as they ‘enjoyed’ the air conditioning that prevented windows being lowered to allow outside nuclear air in.  Dad was a deal man.  A financial hawk actually.  There was a deal that involved air conditioning in exchange for color selection.

A long introduction to set the stage for those special trips to Crooked Creek for Christmas.  Thankfully, prayerfully, gratefully these trips were in winter so the heat issue was not an issue.  Frosted over windows were another issue and another story.   

Now until I was close to my teens, every member of the 11 at Green Grandma and Grandpa’s house bought for everyone else.  So you bought for 10 people.  And 10 people bought for you.  Too amazingly awesome to adequately describe.  So at a minimum, my family was hauling in 50 gifts (5 people x 10 gifts) to contribute to the other 60 gifts at a minimum.  This did not include stocking stuffers which were a source of amazing laughter and joy on Christmas Eve.  Alas, another story.  So between gifts and suitcases filled with clothes, those station wagons were packed.  Man, what we would have given for a modern day minivan back then.  I digress.

The trips from Texas were long and filled with ‘I see something and the color is ___,” singing Christmas Carols, complaining about a sibling touching another, threats of being put out to run behind the car (and that happened more than once), and mom handing out sandwiches and food carefully and lovingly prepared for her family.  We would break the trip up with a very special stay at a motel usually around the Memphis, TN area.  Our kids are quite fascinated by motels and Malia, our middle daughter, amazed that we were not kidnapped from a room with a door that led straight to the outside.  For me and my sisters, staying in a motel was a big deal.  The TV had more than one channel for Pete’s sake.  We were in high cotton.  I typically assumed the riding position of standing between my mother and father when I was young, being securely held in place by my dad’s arm that would move to protect me when any slowdown or hazard was involved.  I never felt safer in my life.  My sisters sequestered in the back, loving, hating, ignoring, talking, sleeping; and all of this was before we got on the freeway.

The trips from Ohio were day trips, zipping down I-75 from Dayton straight into God’s country, aka, Rockcastle County, Mt Vernon, Crooked Creek holler, Climax, Kentucky.  You following this?  The trip from Ohio almost always involved stopping at Frisch’s in Florence (Ya’ll – IYKYK), always protested by my sisters and by me because we were anxious to get to our grandparents and see our cousins.  There was always a 2nd stop at the Georgetown Rest Area before we rolled the final hour and a half into the marvelousness of those Christmases.

You know, as I recall those trips, I cannot remember any frustration.  But boy can I remember the anticipation.  I cannot recall the stresses of packing and traveling, but I remember being with every single person who was closest and dearest to me.  I  recall discussions about what we would do first.  About meals that grandma would be making.  About famous, freshly made biscuits.  Guessing how long it would take Aunt Lorraine and mom to recite ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.’  I recall the planning for playing Jack’s, Chinese and regular Checkers.  About family hikes.  About who would sleep where.  I recall a car, loaded with love because Jesus came to earth to save every single person that I love and assure them a place I Heaven with me.

My prayer this Christmas is that you love the littlest of things.  That incredible joy overrides the sin of stress.  My hope for you this Christmas is Christ.  C’mon, jump in this caravan traveling to the ultimate destination, Heaven.  

“Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him.”  Matthew 2:1-2 (NKJV)

We were pursuing that star.  Marvelous.