Finding Peace in Little Things

I was sixteen years old and it was getting close to Christmas. School was out so that meant no homework to find ways to do the bare necessities in order to get by, but it didn't mean no home work. (Notice "homework" v. "home work.") Living on a farm as the oldest male child meant there was always "home work" to do,

To complicate matters, I not only had to deal with my on father, there was my grandfather and my Dad's oldest brother. All three seemed to have "parental rights" when it came to assigning chores for me to do. I look back on those years now and realize that I lived a pretty charmed life, but as a 16 year old boy, I remember thinking something along the lines of "I'd like to go just one day where no one told me what to do."

It was December 20, 1967 and a rainy day. I stopped by my grandparent's house around breakfast time, no doubt on the way to take care of some chore I had been assigned. I would be the one to drive my grandmother to the hospital to "sit with" my grandfather who  was in the hospital later that morning.  One of the farm tractors was parked out near the barn and it was back before some engineer created the muffler cover that automatically closes and prevents rain from going down the muffler. My uncle asked me to make sure I put  a can over the  muffler so rain wouldn't flood the exhaust system.

I can almost remember what I was wearing that day as I walked across the field to the barn and made sure I put the can over the  muffler. "Just one day when no one told me what to do." I did what I was asked, but honestly can't say I did it with the best of attitudes. Had my mother known about my attitude that  morning, she would have reminded me "If you're going to do it with that attitude, don't do it." Thankfully she didn't.

Very early the next morning, my Dad came into my bedroom to wake me up before dawn had broken. This time there was no chore involved, he came in to tell me that during the night, my uncle, Campbell Huxford, had died of a massive heart attack during  the night. In his early 40s, like my Dad, he was an elder in our  little country church and a very godly man.

Ironically, the news of Dr. Christian Barnard's first heart transplant on December 2, 1967 was back in the news that day because Louis Washkansky, the first patient to receive a transplanted heart, died that day. My grandfather was in the hospital when his oldest son died, and I remember sitting in his room with the news about Washkansky on and my Dad trying to comfort him at the loss he suffered. My grandfather said we should pray for Dr. Barnard's attempts to successfully transplant human hearts.

It was just an empty oil can. I cut the top off and put it on the muffler of the old  Farmall Model M tractor. It was lightly raining, but later that day it would pour down, as we described heavy rain storms. It wasn't a very complicated task and didn't consume a whole lot of my time. Hopefully Uncle Campbell wasn't a mind reader and didn't know I was thinking "why does everybody tell me what to do?"

But the important thing for me, these 47 years later, is that I did it. The last thing my favorite uncle asked me to do, I did. Obviously I had no idea how  important that simple memory would be to me the next morning when I realized - really for the first time in my life - that death has this strange way of altering life.

When I think about my Dad and my Uncle Campbell - and one of their other brothers Uncle Billy - I immediately think of Simeon, the old prophet we meet in Luke 2. When he saw Joseph and Mary bringing baby Jesus into the Temple for purification and presentation as the first born male, Simeon took the baby into his arms and declared, "Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light of revelation to the Gentiles, and for the glory of your people Israel." (Luke 2:29-32)

Luke tells us that Simeon was a righteous and devout man who waited for the consolation of Israel. The blessing of Christmas is in God providing what Simeon - and my Dad, and Uncle Campbell, and Uncle Billy -  all waited for. And even in the midst of suffering loss in this world, those who are righteous and devout  in Christ depart in peace.

And peace finds ways to bubble up in life in all sorts of ways - including the "peace" I had on December 21, 1967 in knowing that I did the last thing my uncle asked me to do. Perhaps it is these little, relatively insignificant, things that surround us at Christmas that can remind us of the greater peace that passes all understanding and is yet to come.

Today would be a good  day for all  of  us to look at the insignificant things around us and find opportunities for peace.