In Memory of Off. Donald Ray Tucker

I went fishing yesterday. I use to fish all the time, but for about the past 5-6 years, I haven't done no fishing. I bought my license, got my rods out of the building, cleaned them of spider webs, and made sure they still cast and reeled. But I didn't think of testing the line. That would come back to haunt me.

I even bought a new broken-back minnow lure. Went to local pond and casted about three times and sure enough, a nice little bass grabbed hold and after showing me how pretty he was, he broke my line. A rookie mistake and my fishing getaway was over. Not a problem, I'll just buy myself some new line, re-reel and go back tomorrow I thought.

And that is what I did. I was so excited, I got to the pond and got my stuff from the back seat and pushed the door close, and immediately I had the overwhelming thought go through my head. You may have guessed. I won't hold you in suspense, yes I locked myself out. But I decided I'll fish first, worry later. Didn't catch anything but I still enjoyed the quietness of the location.

I contacted my wife who in turn contacted locksmith and after a little while he showed up and within two minutes my door was opened. The locksmith looked very familiar and I asked his name and as soon as he said his name my heart "felt strangely warm." "I'm Billy Tucker."

Billy is the father of an old friend of mine and a hero to many of us who fought the "War on Drugs" of the late 80s and the 1990s. His son was Donald Ray Tucker who served on the Clinton Police Department and was loaned to another county to work undercover. He was murdered my two dealers while performing his last undercover action of the operation.

Donald was a uniform city officer while I was serving as an uniform deputy. Late at night when things were quite and about all assignments were finished, I would "sneak" back into Clinton and Donald and I would play our version of "hide and seek." We would try to find each other and when we did we would hit our siren to let the other know, "I found you." Just a little fun to pass the time, and it was fun.

I stopped by Donald's grave site over at Bearskin Church about six months ago just to say hey and to let him know I still thought about him. Those days were tough days in the battle against drugs. They were days of dirt and grime against the dirt and grime of society. Knowing someone like Donald who gave it his all because he believed any drugs we got off the street, was drugs that wouldn't end up in a child's hand, made us work harder and stay more determined to succeed. And we did succeed. We succeeded every time we went to work and kept pushing, and when we made it home. We considered an honor to be able to serve the people we served and we treated people with honor, even the bad guys if they showed the same respect. The badge to us was a badge of honor and a privilege to wear, not just a job. We knew we weren't any better than the people we served.

I think a lot of that sort of honor of the badge has disappeared today, but anyone who knew Donald can tell you that he always treated people with dignity, respect, and honor. He didn't deserved to die the way he did, but he died the same way he lived; with honor.

His funeral was held at Sampson Middle School (today its called Sunset School) and his burial was at Bearskin, about 10 miles or so away. When I parked about 1/4 mile away from the grace site that day, the officers directing traffic at the school radioed that cars were still pulling away from the school area. A line of patrol cars with blue lights flashing, 10 miles long. I remember saying "This is for you my friend."

He probably is laughing at me right now for locking my keys in my car this morning knowing that I was going to see his dad because of it. That's ok. One of these days we'll play "hide and seek again".

When you lock your keys in your car, don't sweat about it. When you get it opened you never know what other doors will be opened also.--Bobbyology

Why wait?

A man walked into his house and immediately sat in his recliner and said, "Lord it's been a horrible, terrible day!"  The Lord replied back, "Now you call me?" - Bobbyology

Do you?

                                    
Do you know your God story? You're the co-author!

What-to-dos

"I'll tell it one more time. Now listen."

Its been quite a while since I've been on here and posted a blog. It's amazing how time sneaks up and passes us on the road of life. Looking back over the time since the last post, reflecting on all the events that has taken place during that time, and saying to myself, "WOW!" Not necessarily the words worthy of describing the by-gone time but then again, why type a bunch of words when one will do.

I'm going to try real hard to get back blogging. If for no other reason, just to empty my mind a little. It seems that my mind becomes so full of so many thoughts attempting to distinguish themselves as priority in a pond of priorities. I struggle at times to find the stopper to pull to empty the tub of what-to-dos.

So hopefully you'll see a new post before long. Until then, blessings upon you.

Black Friday

I found this picture posted on Facebook and it made me think of those two famously powerful words: Darn tooting!!

Whom am I touching?

 For my wonderful friends who questions themselves on whether they are touching people's lives with their messages. We have all wondered from time to time whether anyone is hearing us. The blessing is that most of us cares whether they do or not. I was reading from one of my old Course of Studies book, The Company of Preachers: Wisdom on Preaching Augustine to the Present, and came upon the chapter on Harry Emerson Fosdick (1878-1969). I have quoted a section of his writing here in the hope that it will bless someone like it did me.

  When I began my ministry I did not know how to preach. I had been trained to stand up and talk in public, so that, however little I had to say, I could at least say it, but how my first parishioners endured those early sermons I don not see. In reminiscence I can discern several factors which helped me out of that morass of homiletical frustration and bewilderment, but one factor is primary. Perhaps I now overemphasize my first victorious experience in personal counseling, but it certainly was crucial.

  A young man from one of the church's finest families, falling victim to alcoholism, sought my help. I recall my desperate feeling that if the gospel of Christ did not have in it available power to save that youth, of  what use was it? When months of conference and inward struggle ended in triumph, when that young man said to me, "If you ever find anyone who doesn't believe in God, send him to me--I know!" something happened to my preaching that courses in homiletics do not teach. This was the kind of effect that a sermon ought to have. I could deal with real problems, speak directly to individual needs, and because of it transforming consequences could happen to some person then and there. From that day on, the secret prayer which I have offered, as I stood up to preach, has run like this: Somewhere in this congregation is one person who desperately needs what I am going to say: O God, help me to get at him!

Richard Lischer, editor, the Company of Preachers: Wisdom and Preaching, Augustine to the Present (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm B. Eerdmans, 2002)

You Are A Seed Of A Miracle

While reading the Book of Ruth today I was reminded that God uses the unexpected of each of us to accomplish the greatness of his plans.  We may see ourselves as the "least of these", unworthy, not ready, un-usable, broken, and sayers of that all too often spoken two word sentence; "Not me!"  But in the eyes of God, we are a seed of a miracle, and a step on the stairs of God's plan.