I grew up in what must have been a galaxy far, far away. You’re not going to believe this, but there were no Super America’s or Circle K’s, no big box stores and no malls. Our little world was without many of the conveniences we take for granted today…like where to buy milk.
The only sources for milk were: 1—the local grocery store, 2—the milkman, or 3—the south end of a cow. Well actually, if you count Bessy’s four outlets…that makes six.
I have no clue what the cubic capacity was of our tiny round-top Kelvinator refrigerator, but after you subtracted the inch and half of frost that clung to the sides of the little aluminum freezer box dominating the center of the top shelf, I doubt you could store more than a quart of milk at a time. Which explains why we were constantly in need of more milk…particularly come Sunday.
Each Sunday, without fail we packed into the Mercury and drove to Oakthorpe—a tiny village whose heart even today beats around that still active congregation; a place that has provided the genesis and exodus of our family…and the place that will one day enfold Marilyn and I in our earthen silence.
From our home south of North Berne, we could choose either of two effective routes to Oakthorpe—north on Lake Road to Colfax and then 22 onto Rushville and Oakthorpe, or, we could traverse through Bremen and up 664. Mostly we went to church through Colfax and, because we needed milk, we’d return through Bremen.
We boys weren’t allowed in the front seat for the thirty-minute drive to and from Oakthorpe. Mom said she needed the elbow room to finish her makeup, but it was mostly so she could read the Sunday school lesson to dad without interruption. It was usually his first and only exposure to the lesson, which was only significant because he was the Sunday School teacher. He taught the eldest adult class, euphemistically named “The Ever Readies”, but whom dad fondly referred to as “The Any Time Now” class.
The drive home was typically more peaceful…without the clamor of wardrobe malfunctions, spit baths and cowlick battles. Although the atmosphere within the crowded Mercury capsule was hectic on the way to church, it was equally serene on the way home.
Standing on the driveshaft hump and resting my chin on the back of the front seat, I’d watch with keen interest as dad skillfully glided the shift lever up and over into second and then straight down into third.
On one snowy morning I noticed he had shut off the car’s overdrive unit. When I asked about it, he seemed proud that I would notice and explained how it gave him more control over the snow covered curves between Rushville and Bremen. He further explained how overdrive, when engaged, allowed the car to freewheel—not decelerating even though he lifted the throttle. “It makes for better mileage when it freewheels, but,” he continued, “I have to be careful because sometimes freewheeling can be dangerous.”
I’m not sure why Dad’s warning, “sometimes freewheeling can be dangerous”, stuck with me but it has. Maybe hearing mom read Dad’s Sunday school lesson aloud each week had something to do with it; as though my young psyche recorded Dad’s simple explanation with the same gravity as that morning’s Scripture lesson.
Sadly, I continue to have freewheeling days…days I operate in overdrive only later to discover my freewheeling recklessness has run cross-purposes with my better intentions.
Today I am however eternally grateful for those moments when Dad’s simple warning translates into wisdom for living. I’m sure you’ve noticed how the older we get the smarter our parents become?
And so, it came as no surprise to me when I discovered that Scripture offered the same sage advice as Dad. Paul prompts all Jesus followers in
Galatians 5:13, “It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don’t use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that’s how freedom grows.”
Slippery roads ahead…‘nuff said. Be Blessed. RG
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.