| 2 Corinthians 4:18 – “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” |
For several years now, I have asked for OU men’s basketball tickets on my Christmas wish list I give to my family. This year, I received two tickets to the Texas Tech vs Oklahoma game that was played yesterday. I originally asked our youngest son, Jackson, to go, but he couldn’t manage to get loose from his work. So, after considering all my options, I asked my wife to go. She already had a full day of activities scheduled that day and could not go. Then, I decided to give my youngest brother a try. He gave me a thumbs up. I thought it would be nice for us to spend a rare day together. The last time we spent a lot of time, just the two of us, was the day we drove to our cousin’s funeral, Montie Smith, in Odessa. That has been a couple of years now. Yesterday, he drove from Aledo to our house in Richardson, and we left from here. The three hours to Norman flew. I have never seen time pass so stealthily. We had so much to discuss and lots to catch up on. We arrived a couple of hours before the game. I wanted us to have time to grab lunch before the 1PM tipoff. He suggested we go by our old homestead. So we drove out to the place on Ashwood Lane in Hall Park. It is at the end of a cul-de-sac. We stopped in front, and I pulled in the driveway, finally, after much deliberation. There were holes in the roof, and I noticed I could see the sky through one of them. There was nothing on the backside of that hole. We walked up to read a notice on the front window. It has been condemned by the city of Norman. Scott took pictures of what we could see, and it turned my stomach to think of what had happened. The ceiling had caved in and you could see the sky from the kitchen. We walked around back, and the sliding glass door to the den had fallen outward and was laying in a pile of rotten debris on the patio. But in pristine condition, the intercom on the front porch was ready to send a message to the receiver in the kitchen. The long beam that supported the den roof had collapsed, and in short time the entire roof would be down on that end of the house. The only residents there were most likely rats, racoons, possums, and cottonmouths. There is a very large pond (or small lake) out back, as this development was built on what was once a golf course. The neighbor was home, so we visited with her for a minute. It has been empty for three years. Scott checked the tax rolls, and found it sold after Christmas. So, maybe someone is going to raze it and start over. It saddened me to think of the place I call home in that state. At one time or another, each of the 4 bedrooms was mine. There was a very nice cedar lined walk in closet in the master bedroom that I loved to stroll into and just inhale. That smell was aroma therapy. Clinker bricks were used to finish the house. And that gave it a unique look. My brothers and I helped to remove the concrete driveway (a portion of it) in order to make way for a remodel of our garage. It became an apartment for our grandmother Hazel, and her moving in enriched my life so much. I ate so many meals at the table for six in the kitchen. And now it was buried by a rotten ceiling and mounds of decayed sheetrock and rubble. My friends and I would play Risk at the dining room table until late hours on Fridays after a week of college classes. My brother Pat would play tunes on his electric guitar after school most every day, always starting off with “House of the Rising Sun” from his bedroom. So many of my memories happened in that house. For a military brat, it was the only place we ever landed for an extended period of time, and it seized my heart and claimed that trophy that said “Home Sweet Home” on it. There is no getting around it. This world is not my home. This morning, I was a greeter at our church. I watched my friends come in one by one. Some are noticeably older (as am I). I get a message loud and clear. We all have a date with death. Like salad dressing. If I could just see my expiration date, I would know exactly how much time I have left. But I can safely say that I am much closer to the end than the beginning. Father in heaven, thank You for the reminders to prepare for crossing over, in Jesus’ name, Amen!
Jeff Beall
