Halloween Spooky: The Little Light in The Big Thicket

When my brother Cornel and I were youngsters we would visit our paternal grandparents who lived 25 miles from the Big Sandy crossroads in the heart of the Big Thicket, a vast area of tangled, often impenetrable woods, streams, and marshes that at that time encompassed 29 southeast Texas counties and over 3,350,000 acres.

The Big Thicket was dark, dank, and mysterious, dripping with vines and Spanish moss and crawling with water moccasins, ‘gaters, bobcats, wolves and all sorts of creatures so that it was exciting just to wake up every morning, and know you were smack dab in the middle of it.            

Every Halloween night our uncles and their friends would take all the boys coon hunting. With the mighty thicket looming all around and the campfire crackling, I suppose that just about all of us would look up at the sky freckled with a million stars all shiny and sparkly and marvel about all sorts of things we'd never completely understand. 

When the hounds scattered, sniffing for coons we'd gather around good ole Larry Bob Neches, the best story teller in all of The Big Thicket. With the camp fire burning down to coals that glowed eerily in the night, Larry would wind up real slow giving all the details that make tales as true as Baby Moses and the bulrushes and then he'd deliver a bones shivering story that would get your heart beating so awful fast and make you cold all over, but sweating because you’d be so scared.         

We’d all scrunch up close while Larry puffed on his pipe for attention sake before spitting a tobacco stream onto the embers making them hiss and spark and then he would begin:

There’s an old road called the Ghost Road of Hardin County. It’s ‘cross the old boggy swamp just behind those brambly bushes. Trees growing over both sides of that long dirt road offer a natural canopy that distinguishes it from the jungled woods, but I wouldn’t go look for it because I hear those that find that terrible path come back with there hair white all over, and standing straight up too, and their eyes so bugged out that girls run away from them so they never would get married or even get a kiss neither.                

Just then a wind would come up and blow through the trees causing the whole woods to quake and moan and we would wish we were back home tucked under downy quilts, peaceful and warm. Way off deep in the woods in the direction of the Big Sandy crossing we'd hear a train whistle blow so long and lonesome that we'd sit real still listening and thinking about tearful goodbyes. 

One of the older boys would get up and stir the fire with a big stick, making sparks fly up to heaven and ole’ Lar’ would start up again: 

The folk’s that come back from Ghost Road tell of seeing a light way off in the distance and the light would be swinging along and getting closer and closer making them skedaddle for home. Some say that light is from the lamp of a brakeman that fell off the train on Halloween night back in ’29. He got his head cut clean off by the train and every Halloween he comes back just waving his brakeman’s lamp lookin’ for his head that he’s never found.              

Those few who have dared to walk down that fearsome road come back more livid than Dracula's ghost saying that the brakeman started chasing them with a lantern in one hand waving a machete in the other trying to cut their heads off so he'd have a substitute for the one he can't find. Just as he is about to catch them a ghost train comes barreling out of the woods and yanks the headless brakeman onboard before disappearing in the thicket. 

     

About that time, the coon dogs would be hot on the trial of the ringtail and as they’d thrash through the brush we'd think it was the headless brakeman coming after us and we'd hot foot it for home. 

Why Me, Lord?

When personal tragedy strikes the first question we ask is "Why me, Lord?"

To answer that question we must first look inward: "Did I do something to bring misfortune on myself?"

Almost all the unfortunate events in my life have resulted from mistakes I have made. Poor choices. Impulsive decisions. Selfish desires. Willful endeavors. Arrogance. Failure to consult or listen to others. And the big one--failure to ask God in humble prayer.

But what about the calamities that are not self-induced: war, famine, death and pestilence? Tornadoes hurricanes, earthquakes and sundry disasters? Sickness? Cancer? Physical defects?  The righteous punished and the unrighteous rewarded?

Why would a loving God allow bad things to happen to good people?

I don't know. No one really knows. Who can know the mind of God?

Nothing is much more ludicrous than finite man trying to explain an infinite God. 

"Why me, Lord?" Perhaps God allowed evil in our world so we could choose.

If there were no tragedies in this world we would lead a Dr. Pangloss existence: "Everything is for the best in this best of all possible worlds." We would be Pollyanna puppets. 

Tragedies allow choice. When bad things happen we can choose to have faith in a God we can't comprehend or we can wither in despair.

I feel terrible about this explanation because it seems to discount the suffering that exists when disaster strikes. It rings hollow. It fails to satisfy the profound misery induced by tragic misfortune.  In many ways I wish that I hadn't tried to answer the Big Question, the most profound dilemma that all believers must face.

I know that I know that I know that a loving God exists, but I cannot understand his ways. Just because God is incomprehensible does not mean that he does not love us. 

When Disaster Strikes

Trees snap. Rooftops sail through the air. Cars tumble. Walls collapse. Water engulfs the land. A hurricane tears the shore asunder. An earthquake swallows cities. Terrorists threaten civilizations. Epidemics devastate countries. 

We will be tested. Our lives filled with prestige, power and possessions can suddenly be assaulted. Through no fault of our own we can lose everything. 

When we suffer loss our utmost trial may not be pain and misery, but, instead, our supreme challenge may come from trying to understand why God allowed us to suffer.

Leslie D. Weatherhead, a pastor in London during World War II, wrote The Will of God to help people deal with the tragedy of war. His ideas remain worth considering today. 

Weatherhead conceived a three-tiered will of God: 

1. God’s intentional will—that all of us would love and glorify Him; that we would all put God first in our lives. 
2. God’s circumstantial will—what God would want us to do if evil thwarts God’s intentional will. 
3. God’s ultimate will—the redemption of man; man returns to loving God despite tragedy and hardship. 

Until tragedy strikes, we think we have all the answers. In reality, our understanding of things great and small becomes insignificant the more we learn. 

Only God knows exactly why things happen as they do. 

God, omnipotent and omniscient, may act in ways that we fail to understand.  

Human wisdom is always partial and temporary, but when we trust God, we will prevail. God has given us a spirit capable of compassion, sacrifice and endurance.     

Our lives can be divided into four seasons: Flowering spring; summer’s ardent strength; somber autumn fading into age; pale, concluding winter. 

When winter shuts the scene on our earthly lives or when disaster strikes, we have the promise of eternal life when we trust in God's omnipotence.

A Miracle on Highway 6

Sometime in August 2004 I was on the way to a speaking engagement on congested Texas Highway 6 just outside the 610 Loop in Houston. 

I’m the kind of guy who thinks the speed limit is a speed suggestion so I was probably going a little too fast for a rainy day. Suddenly my F-150 hit a slight rise on an overpass and hydroplaned. The car did a 180 and began moving down the freeway backward at 70+ miles per hour paralleling the divider between the north and southbound traffic. 

A strange thing happened next. I wasn’t scared. Maybe I had an out of body experience. I felt peaceful. I remember thinking something like, “Well God you are in control. How are you going to get me out of this one.” 

Almost instantly…and I am not making this up…I thought of the scene from Plains, Trains and Automobiles in which Steve Martin and John Candy were speeding the wrong way toward on coming traffic. 

In what seemed like a minute or two, but was probably a nanosecond, my car reversed directions and snake danced down the highway before gyrating to a stop on the gentle slope of the highway’s edge. 

I remember looking skyward and saying something like, “Wow, God, that was a close one. Thanks.” 

Incredibly my encounter with God that night was an earthy, fait accompli moment. 

Now please don't get me wrong. Yes. I was very thankful. Yes. I felt God’s presence. Yes. I experienced a personal encounter with God: Not a thunder and lightening epiphany, but an assurance that the Holy Spirit resides in us all. I had been blessed by a warm, serene and intimate rendezvous with God. 

I recall chuckling, “Well God you must have a special reason to keep me alive or else the audience really needs to hear my speech.” 

Question: What happened to the mass of cars zipping beside and behind my vehicle? What happened to them? A miracle happened. 

An acquaintance that heard my story insisted that a crash into the highway divider had been prevented by an engineering design. “The parabolic curve at the bottom of the highway divider retards direct crashes by vehicles moving parallel to them,” he said. 

Others said I was lucky. 

I know that I know that I know that I had an encounter with God. The Holy Spirit is my witness.

The Mystical Treasure Just Beyond Our Vision

Throughout his life the great Christian apologist, C. S. Lewis, experienced brief but profound moments of joyful longing. Lewis believed that all of us possess a desire for an inexpressive mystical treasure just beyond our vision.

When we attempt to hold onto this joyful longing it vanishes in the mists just as Eurydice when Orpheus turned to see if she followed behind him.

These longings go beyond our earthly desires. Indeed joy comes only when the mind neglects secular, prosaic pursuits.

Most often these joyful treasures come unexpectedly--when reading a book, listening to music, walking along a forested path, looking over resplendent pastures sparkling green in the springtime sun as cattle move slowly across the landscape.

During times of quiet a flash of joy tells us that God dwells within us, around us and above us. We know then that God loves us and seeks a friendship--a "Papa" relationship--with us. These joyful moments show us that God exists.

Transient joy resembles fishing in a brook under the shade of shimmering aspens, the water softly gurgling and falling when suddenly the five pound trout that haunted our dreams strikes causing our line to sing and strain forming a momentary rainbow in a mist of spray. Eternity has been caught in that second of time before the trout twists free swimming again in the deep waters beyond the boulders.

Just as suddenly as our joy appeared the sun becomes oppressively hot and the mosquitoes annoying, but as we button our creel for the trip home that shining wisp of time becomes a treasure to be pursued again.

I suspect that whenever blissful moments creep upon us, through sunrises or sunsets, shadowed valleys or snow capped summits, undulating grassland or multicolored autumn, the soft breeze that flits upon our cheek shall be God's spirit passing by.