Life Lessons Part 2

I have vivid, if somewhat inaccurate, memories of Panama. I was 4 to 7 years old when we lived there, and who knows how much the eyes of a seven-year-old might distort what really happened.

My Dad had a Marlin lever action .22 rifle. One day we went into the bush for target practice. He set up a metal cigarette case and let me fire the rifle. I fired and hit it, resulting in a huge hole. I fired again and missed. The first time, I didn’t even aim. When I tried it the same way the second time, I missed. The first time I was just lucky. What did I learn from that? When dealing with fire arms, don’t rely on luck. Also, I learned the importance of being methodical and planning ahead. It is supposed to be “Ready, Aim, Fire;” not “Ready, Fire, Aim.”

Proverbs 21:5 The plans of the diligent lead surely to advantage, but everyone who is hasty comes surely to poverty.

Our playground was behind the school and was essentially a set of swings. These were industrial grade swings that were probably 15 feet high. The steel posts were set in concrete, and the base underneath was asphalt with exposed 1-1/2” aggregate. Think of the crushed rock around railroad tracks. CPS would have had a field day here. There was no way we could play there without getting scraped up. But the traction was great.

At any rate, these swings were the center of our world, and we were there every day.

One day, one of the older kids tossed one of the swings over the horizontal support bar. Now this swing was about a foot higher than the others. That looked so cool. I raced with all my might to get to it first, and I almost did. Almost within reach, I tripped on the exposed aggregate, did a cartwheel, and landed on my head (on the exposed aggregate). That hurt! Getting up, I touched the back of my head. My hand was full of blood (head wounds)! Now I’m scared. This is serious. I run home, screaming bloody murder. I’m sure the entire community of Cocoli heard me. I know my parents did.

Driving to Gorgas Hospital, the Navy stopped all the shipping on the canal so we could get across the draw bridge. I remember the emergency room. They cut off the white terry cloth shirt I was wearing. I remember seeing them put it in the sink. It was completely red, soaked with blood. Three days later, I was released from the hospital with a bandage around my head and a feather attached by a nice nurse. That was really cool. I had the scar for over twenty years. What did I learn? If you are scared and bleeding profusely, it is okay to scream bloody murder.

Psalms 50:15 Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I shall rescue you and you will honor Me.

By the time I was seven, I had become fascinated with fire. I knew I wasn’t supposed to play with matches, but I did anyway. I would hide in the clothes closet where it was dark and the flame was more impressive. And I didn’t see the big deal. You just blow on the matches, and the fire goes out. I got this! Then I discovered candles. This was great. The flame stayed as long as I wanted, and when I was done, I just blew it out. Just like matches.

One day, my mom was gone and I was playing with matches and candles in the closet. The flame got too close to a long rayon dress. I blew and blew on it but the flame wouldn’t go out. In fact, it started racing up the dress and spreading to other garments. Frantic, I ran and got Angie, our maid. By this time, the closet was engulfed in flames and spreading. The fire department put out the fire but not until it had pretty much burnt everything inside the apartment. Later that day, Mom took me aside and asked, “Bobby, were your playing with matches?” “No,” I lied. And that was the end of it.

Well, not exactly. There were many souvenirs to remind me of what I had done. Plates that survived with burn marks around the edges; a couple of llama rugs with burn marks; my Dad’s rifle with the charred stock. Mom had acquired a lot of nice things and it must have been a tragic loss for her. But worst of all, the fire department took a couple dozen 8x10 pictures of the fire damage, and put them into a very nice photo album. This would come out a couple times a year as my Mom would reminisce about the loss. And I was silent, but feeling the guilt with every turn of the page. I was convinced I was damned to eternity.

I spent the next 15 years trying to make it up to her, with gifts and obedience. However, I was 25 when I finally admitted my guilt. I remember her jaw dropping open and a shocked look on her face. What did I learn from this? First, don’t play with matches. Second, being honest up front would hurt less in the long run for both me and my mom, and would have saved me thousands of dollars in therapy.

Hosea 14:2 Take words with you and return to the Lord, say to Him, “Take away all iniquity and receive us graciously that we may present the fruit of our lips.”