Dad stored his farm tractor and tools along with an array of broken bicycles, worn out lawn mowers and miscellaneous junk in what we euphemistically called “the garage.” It wasn’t actually a garage but a buggy shed built long before the invention of the Model T. Really it was nothing more than a miniature barn held together by wide, rough-cut vertical siding that had faded to a brownish red patina. The dirt floor was soaked in used motor oil. In a practice that’s totally unacceptable today, back in the day farmers often poured used oil onto their dirt floors to keep the dust down. It would compact into a hard, asphalt-like surface.
The four Grubb Brothers spend a lot of time tinkering in that old garage. One very eventful day Tom, the eldest at age 14, decided to tie an old rag to the end of a ball bat and dip it into the kerosene tank of the John Deere tractor (yes, they would run on kerosene). Only six years old, I was totally confident in my big brother’s expertise as a pyro-technician. He could snap open dad’s Zippo lighter with a single flip of his wrist— it was a thing of beauty!
Anxious to see his homemade torch come to life, he lit it right there in the garage… after all, what could possibly go wrong? I guess Tom had never considered the floor’s flammability (this was before government warning labels). None of us would have guessed that an old baseball bat wrapped in a kerosene-soaked rag might cause a garage fire. I mean, what are the chances?
The ball bat roared to life—its bright yellow flame belched black smoke upward, filling the rafters of the old wooden shed with inky residue. We were all thrilled by the glorious light! It looked just like the torches in the movie Frankenstein as the citizens of Transylvania marched up the hill to the good doctor’s castle. Mesmerized by the flickering flame, we totally overlooked the smoldering rag remnants as they parachuted to the oil-soaked floor. Soon our light show was interrupted by a string of expletives that included words like “OH!” and “FIRE!” and a few new words I’d never heard before!
The garage floor was on fire! We were ankle deep in flames! The panicked scramble that ensued so traumatized this six year old that I honestly can’t recall how we put the fire out. We did get it out, but not before it blackened the wall and the adjoining rafters. Fortunately, the garage wasn’t attached to the house.
I danced in circles while my older brothers, the same brain trust that devised the torch idea, determined that we had to hide every bit of evidence before our parents returned later that day. Fortunately, our foray into primitive luminescence took place very early in the morning, giving us hours to hide, bury or paint any incriminating evidence.
What happened next remained a Grubb Brother secret for over twenty years. Our parents, poor as church mice, had saved all winter to purchase enough red barn paint and aluminum roof paint to spruce up our tiny farm. Commandeering the hog trough, we poured together every bit of paint we could find, stirred it into a camouflage of brownish-green slop streaked with silver, and painted the damaged parts of the wall and rafters. Our plan was simply to cover the blackened portions; we’d figure out an explanation later.
When Dad demanded an explanation for painting half of the inside of the garage puke green, Tom just shrugged and said, “We thought it would look nice.” I no longer remember how my older brothers were disciplined. Fortunately I was exonerated under the “Too Young To Know Better” Act of 1955.
Twenty years later, during a family dinner, we unfolded the real story of that fateful day. Dad quickly forgave us and was actually relieved to learn that although we were stupid enough to nearly burn the garage down, we weren’t stupid enough to think it was a good idea to paint it that %*#$@ green!
They say confession is good for the soul, and I know from experience this is true. When we confess our sins to our heavenly Father, unlike our earthly fathers, we aren’t telling Him anything He doesn’t already know. Confession in the Biblical sense simply means to “agree with God” about what He already knows. Agree with Him that we are flawed and need His help. We need His Son, Jesus Christ to cover us in His righteousness.
I’d like to encourage you to take a moment right now and agree with God that you, like the Grubb Brothers, consistently make bad decisions and need His forgiveness and blessing.
“God is faithful and fair. If we admit that we have sinned, he will forgive us our sins. He will forgive every wrong thing we have done. He will make us pure.”
1 John 1:9 NIrV
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.