Memory can be a wonderful thing. I realize that sometimes memories are sad, disgusting, troublesome, even haunting. However, some memories are warm, pleasant, and reassuring, kinda like floating in a warm pool while the gales of winter roar outside.

I’ve shared stories with you before from my past. This one took place in 1968. I was pastoring a congregation in a small cow town tucked away in the Northwest corner of the Texas Panhandle. We had three major highways and five different rail lines that came together at our spot on the map. A large sign on the outskirts of town proclaimed that we were “The Biggest Town In Texas On Highway 54”. Big deal! We were just about the only town in Texas on highway 54.

During the first years of our ten year pastorate, the Lord brought an LDS couple into our congregation. George and Lucille were two of the greatest people I ever knew. George was a skilled woodworker. Lucille was great with crafts, partly because of her Navajo heritage. I nicknamed her “Tonto” because she was such a faithful companion. The name caught on. Before long, they came to know Jesus and blessed our socks off for a number of years.

One day, Lucille called and asked me to come to their home. They lived in the “poor” part of town. Guess every town, in spite of its size, has a “poor” part of town. When I arrived, I heard the sad news that George had inoperable lung cancer. We prayed then and every day thereafter until the Lord called him Home a year later. I got a call to rush to the hospital and see George. Tonto was sitting beside his bed. As I bent over to hug his neck, he gasped for air and died in my arms.

In the process of ministering to Tonto after George’s death, I discovered that her home was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, Inside and Out! (little play on words, there!) During many conversations, I found out her favorite colors. Then, while she was visiting her daughter in Gallup, NM, all the young people in our church gathered and began cleaning, scrubbing, and painting. We pooled our money and paid for the paint, sandpaper, brushes, etc.

The painting went very well. We were motivated and driven by the results AND by our anticipation of the look on her face when she saw the results of our handiwork. Toward the end, one of our high school boys was painting around the dormer windows on the second floor. He was kindofa clown and began flipping his brush and showing off a bit.

Beside his foot was a gallon bucket of white paint. I wasn’t watching him. However, my attention was quickly drawn his direction when someone yelled “duck”. I have no idea what good ducking would have been, but I did duck.

Suddenly, I heard this loud “thunk” sound and looked beside my left foot. There lay the mostly empty white paint bucket. When I looked up, I saw this gigantic splotch of white on the lower roof. The young man had accidentally kicked the bucket (so to speak). It had flipped and left most of its contents on the lower roof, then flipped again and came down within a few inches of hitting me on the head.

What could have been a tragedy soon turned into an occasion for laughter. Everyone had a lot of fun at my expense! I was helpless. Ducking didn’t help. Only the Lord protected me from a serious blow to the head.

We tried our best to get the white paint splotch off the old wooden shingles. It didn’t work. So, when Tonto came home, she saw her newly renovated home complete with the decoration on the roof. When we told her the story, she laughed from way down deep inside. We offered to get the roof reshingled, but she refused. Said that white splotch would be a forever reminder of the love that prompted the act of kindness.

Over the years, I’ve been back to that town. It’s grown some. They now have a bunch of fast food places. There are two fairly new state-of-the-art hog farms. They’re getting ready to build a prison. I always go to Tonto’s home to see if the Sign Of The White Paint is still there. It was the last time I visited.

On one trip, I found Tonto had gone to live in the local nursing home. We laughed like two young kids as we remembered all the good times with George and since. We had another good laugh reminiscing about the painting of her home and, inadvertently, part of her roof.

Yeah, memories can be reassuring and comforting. Tonto has long since gone to be with the Lord. She may be gone, but I still have my memories. Thanks, Lord, for memories!

Anything you want to share with me? Use the “Contact Us” tab above or use the “Leave a Reply” box below!

Next Inside Out          Gallery              Previous Inside Out