Altar Call – Opelika-Auburn News
Walter Albritton
May 19, 2019
How swiftly the years move by
At 87 and counting, I agree with other old
codgers who like to say, “The older you get, the faster it seems the years go
by.” These days I don’t need a fan; the pages on my calendar are turning so
fast they keep the air moving around me.
Dreadful things happen in the sunset years. One
of the worst is memory loss. I dread the onset of dementia illnesses. But it
happens. We all have loved ones and friends whose memories have been destroyed
by brain diseases. Globally, 50 million people have dementia problems.
Researchers predict this number will triple in the next 30 years.
While there is no known cure for dementia
illnesses, health experts tell us there are things we can do to reduce the risk
of becoming victims. Eat a balanced diet. Stay active physically. Don’t smoke
at all and don’t drink too much alcohol. While exercise of the body is
recommended, I believe the exercise of the brain may also be helpful. So my
wife diligently works crossword puzzles and I push myself to think well and
write intelligently.
As age takes its toll on my body, I try to laugh
more than complain. Recently I had a good laugh in the middle of a street in
downtown Birmingham. I had gone to visit a friend in the UAB hospital. I was
halfway across the street when the light changed from red to green. Cars
started moving. My mind said, “Run!” My body said, “You can’t run anymore!” I
stood there laughing for a few seconds and then began walking, hoping the
drivers would have mercy on an old man moving slowly.
I laugh also at the idea of memory loss. When I
look back to the beginning of my life, I realize I have already lost most of my
childhood memories. I can hardly remember my boyhood days. Strain as I may, the
screen of my first six years remains blank.
I do remember starting to school at age six in
Wetumpka at Hohenberg Memorial School. My first grade
teacher, Mrs. Oakley Melton, remains the kindest, most wonderful teacher I ever
knew. Burned in my memory is the shock and fear that gripped me the afternoon I
missed the school bus for my ride home some 12 miles away. Mrs. Melton found me
crying and, instead of scolding me, took me to her home nearby. There I played
in the front yard with her sons Oakley Junior and Bimbo, enjoyed the delicious
fudge she served us, and waited for my parents to come for me. Lord, I do
remember that day!
Elementary school (we called it grammar school) lasted
six long years. School was fun for me. I enjoying learning. I discovered that
wonderful place called “the library.” There I became friends with Tarzan and
the Rover Boys, Tom, Sam and Dick. I fell in love with books, especially
adventure books.
Those were the days of singing “Scotland’s
burning, fire, fire,” “Honky said the Donkey,” “Reuben, Reuben, I’ve been
thinking,” and “Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main.” Those songs and
others are stamped on my brain and generate joy every time I recall them. But
the best thing about that happy time is that I met my bride in the first grade.
Dean bowled me over with those big, adorable eyes and that long, brunette hair.
I was hooked from day one. I still think I overheard her whisper to one of
the other girls, “I’m going to marry that boy one day!”
My mother made sure I developed good study
habits. After getting home from school, I had chores to do, mainly milking two
cows and making sure they were secured and fed. My daily goal was to get my chores done by
5:30 so I could be by my radio in time for the next episode of “The Lone
Ranger.” It was not a good day if I missed listening to the Lone Ranger and
Tonto ride again. Supper was next, after which Mama shut me up in the Breakfast
Room to study for an hour, and never less than an hour. Homework had to be done!
Seventh
grade was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. My junior and high school
years in Wetumpka were marvelous. Learning was still fun. I loved playing on
the football and basketball teams and I enjoyed being a Thespian. School plays
were a delightful extra. And at Mama’s insistence, I took voice lessons and
sang in recitals for three years. I enjoyed singing in the Glee Club too –
until the teacher/director kicked me out for needless horseplay. She taught me
that foolish behavior could have serious consequences.
Senior Sponsor Mary Williams was a gifted
teacher but also a marvelous human being. She went out of her way to make our
senior year a great one. We all loved and admired her. But I had no idea back
then that many years later I would be called on to do the eulogy for her
funeral. After the funeral, the Class President, Sonny Holdbrooks,
said to me, “I loved the way you quoted William Shakespeare in your remarks.” I
replied, “It would have been impossible to pay tribute to her without quoting
Shakespeare.” He agreed. Mrs. Williams convinced us that our Class of 1950 was
so special that we wept when graduation came. But the end did come, and with
it, the necessity of a new beginning.
Four
years at Auburn University (API back then) followed for me. They were
challenging but fun years. No longer a Wetumpka Indian, I became a Tiger. War
Eagle blood was soon in my veins. When I bleed, the blood is orange and blue.
My Crimson Tide buddies poked fun at us by calling Auburn a “Cow College.”
That did not bother me; I was a country boy at home on the Plains.
But
college has an ending too. That’s the plan. The learned professors prepare you
to leave, to go do something worth doing. How quickly, in retrospect, those
years passed. One day I was slopping hogs and feeding chickens
in Elmore County. The next day I was studying English literature
at Auburn. Then, as quickly as a jet is catapulted off an aircraft
carrier, I was in Music City studying the theology of the early
church fathers.
It
seems now almost like a dream. I was mystified by the absurdity of a farmer’s
son waking up on the campus of Vanderbilt University preparing
for the ministry. But there I was, on the crest of a new beginning, at age 22,
and clueless to the surprises that awaited us. With two years of marriage under
our belts, and a precious one-year-old son in tow, we had the world by the
tail. I would have laughed had you had told us that tragedy was stalking
us.
Eighteen
months later our son was dead, a victim of leukemia. In shock and grief, we
came home to Wetumpka and buried David. A heartbreaking chapter in our lives
had ended. Though I was but halfway through seminary, we felt a new start would
help us. A month later we were living not in Nashville but in tiny
Midway, Alabama, where I was pastor of a four-point circuit. I
transferred to Candler School of Theology in Atlanta, needing 18 months
there to earn my Master’s Degree. Travel time to school was five hours, a long
170 miles with no interstate highways back then.
Spring’s
freshness in 1958 included my graduation at Emory. Two months later, on our
last Sunday in Midway, we sang with the people the hymn, “Till We Meet Again.”
We wept as we struggled to sing this slow, sad song. It was such a wrenching
experience that I have never wanted to sing that song again. Its words are
draped in pain in my soul. But we managed to move on and serve 48 years as
pastor of several churches, including four years as a traveling evangelist with
our General Board of Evangelism in Nashville.
There
is neither space nor time to tell about all the chapters in our lives. Like
your own, each chapter begins and it ends. Another begins. New starts are part
of the warp and woof of life.
A
lasting marriage must have new beginnings. A husband and a wife can become bogged
down in failure, trouble and misfortune. Life’s pressures trigger words we wish
we had never said. So there is the need for confession and forgiveness. The
only saving remedy is a new start.
Reconciliation is never easy. There is a price
to be paid. Those of us who think we are always right must admit we have been
wrong before healing can occur. How many new starts my wife and I have
had, I do not recall. I do know that we have started over enough times that our
partnership will have endured 67 years come June first. And it is stronger now
than ever.
In
2002 mandatory retirement (at age 70) brought my life of pastoral ministry
(under the appointment of a bishop) to an end. A new beginning and a new title:
retiree. Then before I could get adjusted to warming a pew on Sundays, Lester
Spencer, the pastor at Saint James United Methodist Church in Montgomery, gave
me a new start on his staff as an associate pastor. I thought the fat lady had
sung but I was wrong.
I
never dreamed the years as an associate pastor would pass so swiftly or be so
rewarding. Last year this chapter ended with the church naming me “Pastor
Emeritus” as I “retired” once again. Graciously, the church asked me to keep an
office at the church and preach once a month. So I guess I am only 90 percent
retired! This too will end one day. But until then I plan to arise every morning
with all the gratitude and enthusiasm I can muster and live each day to the
fullest.
Wherever you are in your life’s journey, you will
be wise to remember the past with thankfulness – as long as your brain will
permit you to do so. It will help to stir your memories and write them down so
your grandchildren can read them. Then embrace each new chapter with gratitude,
not regret, and walk into the future with hope. Throw in a little grit, fortitude
and humor for good measure. The steadying conviction that has been a constant
rainbow in my sky has been my confidence in the faithfulness of God. He
loves us and his plans for us are good, so good that none of the problems of
this world can prevent him from bringing us at last to the heavenly home he has
promised to those who trust him. A diseased brain and a worn out body will be
replaced with a new brain and a new body!
As long as we can believe strongly in God’s
faithfulness, we can keep on getting back up no matter how many times we fall
down. We can make a new start again and again. Then, one day, when the end
comes, hopefully we can peacefully relinquish our hold on this life and by the
grace of God begin a new chapter in that sweet land beyond the river. Until
then, with joy we can, we must, we will carry on! + + +