The Two Constants

In 1963 the whole world said good-bye to the likes of Robert Frost, Aldus Huxley, and innocence itself.  My new dad, my mother, Apprille and I said good-bye to Los Angeles and moved to Porterville, California.  Tony Bennett said good-bye to San Francisco and left his heart behind.  Dr. DeBakey, of Houston, Texas, performed the first artificial heart implant surgery.  If he’d ever been to San Francisco, no one said.  I’m pretty sure he’d never been to Porterville.

Someone once said that there is one constant that can be counted on in life – change.  That year everything changed.  I went from being a kid whose dad had vanished to being a kid with a new father.  I went from being a kid who lived in a duplex to being a kid that lived in a tract house.  I went from being a kid who shared a bedroom with his little sister to being a kid with his own room.  I went from being a kid who rode a tricycle to being a kid who rode a bicycle.  Vietnam went from being a country with no military advisors to being a country with roughly 15,000 US military advisors, some present and accounted for, and apparently, some not.

The day I got my bicycle was also the day that I remember actively praying that Jesus would come again soon, like that very day.  My sister, being smaller brained than I, allowed me to convince her that if I were to flush her goldfish down the toilet they would reappear.  My theory was that they’d swim back from wherever they’d been flushed.  It’s just water, right?  I remember dumping Arty and Marty in the toilet bowl, flushing them and then sitting for nearly two hours waiting for them to reappear.  They didn’t.  Aprille, coming to the conclusion that my brain was many times smaller than her own, ran to tell mom.  Considering that the fish didn’t swim back as I hypothesized, I tend to agree with her regarding my brain size.

Moments later my mother appeared.

“Allan, go to your room and wait for your father to come home.”

Now, at church, I’d been taught that Jesus was coming again to rescue us from this sinful old world and a life of pain and sorrow.  So, not knowing what my new dad would do to me, I got on my knees next to my bed and prayed that Jesus would come first and we’d all go to heaven.  I kind of figured that if He did everyone would be so excited that they’d forget all about those two goldfish that I had flushed down the toilet.

I usually liked being in my room.  For one thing, my sister wasn’t there.  In my room I could be anything I wanted – King Arthur, Geronimo, Superman.

One of the things I wanted to be when I grew up was a bus driver.  Right after we’d moved to Porterville, I lined up chairs from all over the house in my room.  On each chair I placed an assortment of “bus riders”.  Some were my sister’s Barbie Dolls and others were GI Joes and stuffed animals.  One of the latter was Smokey the Bear.  Earlier in the day I had been digging for gold in the grape vineyard behind our house and had found a key.  I used that key to start the bus.  I pretended the electrical outlet in my room was the ignition and inserted the key into the plug.  There was a loud explosion.  The power went out and I was knocked out of my chair and across the room.  My hand felt like someone had hit it with a sledgehammer and I was told to wait in my room for my new dad then, too.  When he got home everyone was so glad that I was still alive that they forgot all about it, this time was different.  This time I prayed.

*     *     *

While I was in my room, my mother was ironing, my sister was playing just outside my bedroom window with her Betsy Wetsy doll and the radio was on.  Frank Sinatra was singing about flying to the moon.  I was just wishing I could fly to the moon, too, especially if Jesus didn’t come, when the song was interrupted by a news bulletin.

“We interrupt this radio broadcast with a news bulletin from CBS Studios, New York.  Moments ago, President Kennedy was shot in Dallas, Texas.  At this time, our prayers are with President Kennedy, his family and Vice President Lynden B. Johnson.”

The next sound I heard was my mother crying.  I wasn’t entirely sure what a President was or what he did, but I knew he was like a king.  I was scared.  The phone rang and 45 minutes later my dad pulled into the driveway.

I watched him from my window as he got out of the Rambler, walked to the rear of the car and removed a red bicycle complete with training wheels from what my sister and I called the car’s backyard.

My mother met him in the driveway, and they held each other for a long time, then turned to the house and called me outside.

My mother said to Floyd, “He’s dead isn’t he?”

For a second, I thought that was my punishment for experimenting with the fish – death.  I didn’t want to die and was momentarily relieved to discover they were talking about the President.

He nodded.  “Lynden Johnson was just sworn in as President.”

I stood there feeling awkward while they held each other.  They drew apart and my new dad said, “Everything’s changed.”

My mother murmured something.

Then, turning to me, they pointed at the bicycle.

“What do you think, Al?  Like it?”

I nodded, feeling numb and a little confused.

“We’re going inside, have fun.”

I stood staring at my bicycle.  It was a Red Speeder with shiny chrome that glistened in the afternoon sun.  I’d first seen it at the Sears and Roebuck store over in Visalia.  I thought about King Arthur and Camelot, President Kennedy and what mysteries might be around the corner from my house.  Maybe Disneyland, maybe Camelot, I thought.

Pushing the bicycle down the driveway into the street, I swung a leg up and over the bike and perched precariously on the seat.  I started pedaling.  The bike wobbled back and forth from one training wheel to the other as I guided it down the street in a direction I’d never been before.

When I reached the corner Camelot wasn’t there and neither was Disneyland – just more houses like mine, with more cars just like dad’s, parked in driveways just like ours.  I had the distinct feeling that each house had two kids, one boy and one girl, just like our house.  Off in the distance I could hear the faint sounds of cars rushing down a freeway.  My new dad was right; everything had changed.

From that day to this, as I recall it, the world has been in a constant state of change, and not necessarily for the good.  Think about the family down the street that one year ago had employment they could count on and today they’re drawing unemployment and applying for food stamps.  Or, the recent college grad that acquired a degree just knowing it would be marketable and now can’t find a job.  Or the grandparents that had looked forward to retirement, scrimping and saving a nest egg for those golden years, only to discover that it’s not enough and now they have nowhere to turn.  Think about the devastation left behind by so-called storms of the century, whether they’ve occurred economically or in the physical world – uprooting thousands, creating a homeless situation that we never could have predicted.  Think about the families across the country, separated from loved ones that are serving in the military.  Think about the little girl who couldn’t let go of her father’s hand just prior to his boarding a military transport bound for some war torn country.  If there ever was a time that we needed comfort and are being called to provide comfort, it is now.

A couple of weeks ago I turned fifty-one.  At this age there are two things I know for certain.  First, is that change is our constant companion.  Second, we don’t have to wait or pray for Jesus to return.  He longs to be our constant companion now.  He promised us this; “I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you” (Jn. 14:18, KJV).

Whatever changes come our way, everything we suffer through, all that this life throws at us – pain, loss, loneliness, even change.  In everything we experience we do not have to face it alone.  Jesus, through the Holy Spirit, will be our Constant Companion.  The Father adds; “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (Jer. 29:11).

~ Pastor Al