As I turned off the gravel road and onto the grass that was trying to survive in the red clay, the heat of the day was on me. I had already changed shirts once since the sun had come up. My new shirt was dry, but I could feel the sweat already starting to soak through it. I followed the red clay road back to a modest house that was tucked amongst some pine trees. I put on my cowboy hat, got out of the truck, and as my boots hit the red clay, a puppy ran into my feet. She was so full of life and looked like a white bulb of cotton with a touch of pine tree bark on her. I looked up and saw the man I had met a few months ago, his name was Mr. Jerry. We were strangers when we met, but as we stood at the back of my truck and talked for an hour that summer afternoon, the sense of being strangers left within minutes of our conversation because of the calming sense I felt from Mr. Jerry. As we stood in his yard and talked about the puppy for a few minutes, I could see the wrinkles in his weathered face find a new home to rest with every word about the puppy.
Mr. Jerry got onto his ATV and I got back into my truck. I followed him along the grass and red clay road that wound through the pines. The blue sky seemed to lessen the heat of the day and the pine trees appeared to be monuments to the history of this place. After we arrived at our spot, we walked through the woods and once again Mr. Jerry calmed the sense that he was a stranger to me. At times, Mr. Jerry’s weathered smile, and the sound of his voice and laughter, reminded me of my father; a simple man who felt more at home with the earth than he did with his fellow man. As we walked back to my truck Mr. Jerry said, “I do not want to upset you, but I’d love to ask you a question.” I said, “Go ahead sir.” “I’ve been watching the news for two days and would love to know your thoughts on what’s going on in Afghanistan?” he said. I answered, “Mr. Jerry, I do not watch the news. I have enough stuff in my head and I do not need to add more. What I can tell you is that most of us, who wore the uniform, wore it because it was about serving our country and helping people. I’m confident it’s not that simple for those who are in charge, but it was and is that simple for me.” Mr. Jerry said, “I’m all messed up in the head and just cannot seem to get in a better mood.” I said, “Mr. Jerry, stop watching the news. What matters is if a veteran somehow found this place, would you offer the vet a meal and a place to lay their head down?” Mr. Jerry said, “Absolutely.” I said, “Well then, that’s all I care about. You are sitting in the middle of 3,000 acres and the Lord has blessed you with a beautiful puppy. Love the puppy and love life.” Mr. Jerry responded with a weathered smile that to this day is etched on my mind. As Mr. Jerry walked over to his ATV he asked, “You need my help?” I replied, “No sir.” Mr. Jerry said, “You like being alone don’t you son?” My reply was a less weathered smile. Mr. Jerry faded into the tall pine trees and calmness found its way to my soul that hot afternoon.
Over the next few weeks, I thought about Mr. Jerry and that weathered smile. I wondered if we crossed paths for more reasons than the obvious ones. I wondered if he was a mile marker on my path or if I was a mile marker on his.
I volunteer at a karate school where I teach karate to little kids. It’s become my weekly beacon of hope to see their young faces and their trust in me as their teacher. In a world that is twisted with hate, evil, and anger, I hope to be a mile marker on their quest to finding their paths. As I was standing with my kids, about to start teaching, I received a disturbing text from my wife. A teacher was arrested at the school where our youngest son attends. The text explained it all. I knew the teacher, recalling that I had sat with him during a Veterans Day celebration held at the school.
When I got home, one of my immediate reactions was to call my mom to tell her the difficult news, but I hesitated. Why does an 81-year-old woman, who is so proud of her grandkids attending a Catholic school, need this kind of news? There is no reason. I walked into the kitchen where my youngest son asked, “Did momma tell you?” I replied, “Yes,” and asked, “How do you feel?” He said, “I do not know daddy.” I stood there speechless. My brain scrambled for something to locate his soul, which was clearly lost in a flux, and tornado of emotions. With that, he walked away to do his homework and I went to take a shower. As the water ran down my body, the long day of sweat and dirt found its way to the drain. I thought about how to help our youngest son come to terms with the tornado of emotions that somehow comes from out of nowhere. Water to me is magical. It does not matter if it’s from a creek, a river, an old farm pond, or a very man-made shower, but it seems to clear my thinking when it runs across my body.
I was barely dried off when I found our youngest son back in the kitchen. I looked at him and asked, “When you’re driving the tractor, do you shift the gears because the gauges tell you it’s time to shift or do you listen to the engine?” “I listen to the engine daddy. I can tell if it needs a higher or lower gear,” he said. “Then what do you feel now about the teacher getting arrested?” I asked. He said, “I feel betrayed.” “Then that’s the gear you are in now,” I said. I continued, “Listen to your heart and soul for the next emotion, and when you feel that emotion, shift those gears my son. I do not want you in one gear too long, but just work your way through the gears as they come. If at any time you feel you need to think about the next gear, then push in the clutch, and think.” I was no longer speechless. The tornado of emotions that found its way to our youngest son started to drop the pieces of trust that it tried to carry away.
The news of the teacher’s arrest spread through the area like an out-of-control wildfire. I thought more about the reasons why I did not tell my mom of the teacher’s arrest. I settled in my mind that I would not discuss it with anyone so as not to fuel the spread of the wildfire.
At a cross country meet days later, I stood there watching my youngest son run. A parent, whose son was also running in the meet, walked up to me to talk. The conversation soon drifted towards the arrested teacher so I decided to share my theory with a man I have only spoken to a few times. I prefaced my thoughts by saying that I am by no means qualified to speak from the cloth, as some call it, nor am I perfect or feel that I am on a more righteous path than others, but I am qualified to say that I have felt and seen a force that never seems to give up. A force that lingers in the pockets of doubt with the intentions to derail and alter our pathway to help this world spin in a positive direction. A force that has no boundaries. A force that only cares about its objective, not the lives of others. I explained to the parent that if we engage in this conversation about this arrested teacher then we are only playing into the intentions of this force. The arrested teacher is the original fire and if we continue to coat our souls with this filth and shadows of doubt, then we are only fueling the wildfire. We will both walk away feeling a tornado of emotions and spread them to all we encounter, to include the ones closest to us. I understand we need to be informed, but to bathe in the filth only allows the force to derail us and makes the force stronger. As if I was running in the cross country meet, my words were fast and my breath was short. The parent stood there, I could tell he got what I was saying. As his other children played around us, I explained my shifting gear theory. The parent reached out to shake my hand, but I declined and instead opened my arms and said, “Give me some love.” There, in the middle of a cross country meet, two men who really do not know each other, hugged. I am confident, at that point, the force lost momentum.
I spent the next four days on the tractor. I like an open cab tractor where I can smell the earth, the diesel, and every whiff of life that passes by. I like to hear the tractor and know she will tell me when she needs to shift gears. I like when I’m on the tractor, and that force that wants to linger, does not find its way into my tractor time. I recalled my youth and the first tractor I learned to shift gears on. My dad put a block of wood on the clutch pedal so I could reach it with my foot. A trick I also used when our boys learned how to shift gears on their first tractor. In 1968, the year I was born, my dad went into a small store and bought his first tractor. The tractor was more of a garden tractor, but not to my dad. As the years passed, we had many tractors growing up and they all got bigger in size. I doubt my parents or I realized that the art of shifting gears may just be the trick to processing the tornado of emotions that a force wants to cast upon us. As we listen to the engine, or our soul, we know when to shift. We also know when to push in the clutch and take time to think.
I saw Mr. Jerry a few more times before I left his property and he only spoke of the white bulb of cotton with a touch of pine tree bark that he called his puppy. He still had that weathered smile and he still calmed me. My youngest son’s school shifted gears more than once and put a stop to that force that wants to linger. The school organized donations of meals and groceries for the family of the teacher that was arrested. The teachers’ children still attend the school and are embraced as the innocent children they are.
The tractor that I learned to shift on, and the one our boys learned to shift on, sits in one of our buildings. It’s been in our family for 52 years. Though she has weathered, she still tells us when she wants to shift gears. Anytime I sit on her it brings back memories of the only force I knew, one that was good. That other force did not exist in my child’s mind. In order for us to keep the world spinning in a positive direction we must be aware of this force that lingers in the pockets of doubt. We must embrace the good and feed the right fire, not the wildfire. The country music band, Brooks and Dunn, sings a song called “Believe.” The song says in one part,
Lord, I raise my hands
Bow my head
Oh, I’m findin’ more and more truth
In the words written in red
They tell me that there’s more to life
Than just what I can see (just what I can see), I believe
The force that lingers in the pockets of doubt thrives and exists when we do not believe. I believe there is a force that will help guide us along our path, but this force will only be strong if we stay united. This force grows in strength only if we are honest with ourselves and others. We tell our karate kids at the end of each class; positive in, positive out, and love always wins. I think today I will take the old Wheel Horse for a ride and shift gears in my quest to make the force that helps us to believe, even stronger. –WLV–
