In Tribute

My wife, Kathy, was laid to rest on Saturday, May 18. It only seemed right I deliver the eulogy at her funeral service. There were a few times over our 44 years of marriage, when we were involved in serious discussion; I would say, “sometimes I don’t think I even know you.”

 She would always counter with, “You know me better than anyone else in the whole world!” I suppose that was true.

 I wanted so badly to properly honor her extraordinary life. Where would I find the words?

When Kathy retired a few years ago, I purchased matching recliners for our den. A small glass-top table sits between them. Next to a reading lamp it became a perfect resting place for her Bible and daily devotionals. I have several Bibles, but hers became one I turned to often because it was so handy. Over the past year I have read from it many, many times.

In the days leading up to her memorial service I struggled to find words to say. Then, the day before her service I was strangely drawn to her Bible. In all the times I had read her Bible I had never noticed the notes she had penned on the inside of the front and back covers. But there they were - her words, her thoughts written in her beautifully distinctive writing style.

How better could I tell you about her? Here are her thoughts:

 “Time and good friends are 2 things that become more valuable the older we get.”

“Live like there is no midnight.”

   “Life is to be lived to enjoy, not endured.”

 “A strong man can handle a strong woman. A weak man will say she has an attitude.”

 “Surprise yourself every day with your own courage.”

“Laughter is an instant vacation.”

“Don’t trade God’s timing for your own deadline.”

“What matters most is how you see yourself.”

“When life gives you more than you can stand, kneel.”

“Don’t stop when you are tired, stop when you are done.”

“The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up!” 

“Realize how lucky you are.”

 “Either way, you run the day, or the day runs you.”

“Mindset is everything.”

 “To trust God in the light is nothing, but to trust Him in the dark – that is FAITH.”

“In our waiting, God is working.”

“You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it.”

“Stay patient and trust your journey.”

“Believe you can, and you are ½ way there.”

“Always remember to fall asleep with a dream and wake up with a purpose.”

“It’s hard to find your faith inside your comfort zone.”

“Well behaved women rarely make history.”

“Solitude is the place for purification.”

“The best mirror is an old friend.”

“Pain shapes a woman into a warrior.”

“Happiness is the best makeup.”

“Try to be a rainbow in someone else’s cloud.”

“Be honest. Be silly. Be Kind.”

“Forever is composed of now.”

“If you can imagine it, it is possible.”

“Some women fear the fire. Others become it.”

“Today can become a great day if you make it so.”

“The secret of life is that it ends.”

Well, I could not have said it better myself. Now you know why so many people loved her.

Copyright 2024 by Jack McCall

Gone

My wife, Kathy, passed away this past week. We didn’t see it coming. Looking back, there may have been a few telltale signs something was wrong, but nothing remarkable. On Wednesday evening, May 8, she complained, “I have a headache, and I never have a headache.”

“Oh, you’ve had headaches before,” I answered.

“Not like this one,” she said.

“How’s your headache?” I asked the next morning.

“Still there,” she said.

Later in the day, I noticed a grocery list she had written down. Words were misspelled and irregularly spaced on her note pad. (Not like her at all.) Later in the day, our granddaughters reported her driving to be unusually erratic on a routine trip.

On Thursday evening as we got ready for bed, she casually remarked, “I think I have a brain tumor. I’m going to the ER in the morning.”

“Whatever you say,” I said.

The next morning (Friday) she called a lifelong friend and RN to come to the house. As Kathy voiced her concerns, her friend noticed a slight trimmer in Kathy’s right hand.

“We’re going to the hospital now, she said.

A CT scan revealed a malignant mass in Kathy’s left lung which had metastasized leaving four lesions (tumors) on her brain.

I was by her side when she was given the news. She calmly looked at me and said, “I told you.”

She was immediately transferred from Trousdale Medical Center to Highpoint Regional (Sumner) for an MRI. We received the results on the following morning (Saturday.)

The MRI revealed leakage from the tumors and swelling of the brain. We were given two options due to the aggressive nature of the tumors.

Option one was to transfer Kathy to ICU and begin aggressive radiation treatment. We were later informed by the oncologist due to the size of two of the tumors a positive outcome was unlikely. We would only be buying time.

Option two was take her home under hospice care.

I have experienced only a very few times in my life when I found it almost impossible to take my next breath. This was one of them.   

Kathy’s health deteriorated rapidly over the course of the day. After much discussion, we honored her wishes.

She softly whispered, “I want to go home.”

We returned to Trousdale Medical Center where she rested comfortably on Sunday and Monday. As she lapsed in and out of consciousness, she was blessed to continue to recognize those nearest and dearest to her and express her love. I have never witnessed so many “I love you’s”  

Over her last fleeting days which turned out to be too few for us she offered a few classic lines.

To a close friend she said, “I have a brain tumor and I’m going to die. And that’s ok.”

Near the end, when we were alone, she whispered, “Jack, it’s going to be alright.”  She also told me not to cry.

On Tuesday afternoon we told her we were taking her home to sleep in her own bed. She smiled and whispered, “I’m ready!”

Kathy Oakley McCall gave me three fine sons. We stayed with her and took turns holding her hand and played her favorite music until the end. And we prayed the angels would come quickly. God did not disappoint us.

She was my confidant, my lover, my wife of 44 years, and my sister in Christ Jesus.

God, I’ll miss her!

Copyright 2024 by Jack McCall

Roads of Life

I grew up near a country road. It was called the Old County House Road. Of the gravel variety, it looped from US Highway 70 back around to rejoin 70 again. We knew every family who lived on that road. Sometimes, as early as my 5th year, my mother would send me walking on an errand to Dewey Manning’s General Store for foodstuffs (Usually, a pound of sliced cheese or sliced boloney.) McCall Lane joined the County House Road as it turned back south toward Highway 70. It was a lonely walk of a quarter mile. In those days there was nothing to fear. Everybody knew everybody.

The original D.T. McCall farm linked up with the County House Road by way of Old Highway 70. That was the route my father always took on his A-Model John Deere tractor. I was half-grown before he ever let me take the tractor on  that trip alone. I couldn’t count the times I rode on a flat-bed hay wagon behind that old John Deere on our way home. My father would let the old tractor “roll.”  The wagon, free of the weight of a load, (except for me) bounced all over that gravel road. It would knock the breath right out of you. Experience finally taught me to sit on my hands (excellent shock absorbers) or ride standing up. In summertime the dust was almost unbearable. Country boys learn to be tough.

Much could, and has been, written of the roads we travel in life.  John Denver sang, “Country Road take me home.”  Willie Nelson longed to be “On the Road Again.” Paul McCartney sang of “The Long and Winding Road.” Author M. Scott Peak wrote of “The Road Less Traveled.” Recently, I met with a young man who was facing a number of complicated family issues. What should he do? How should he proceed?

“Well, you can take the high road, or you can take the low road,” I said. “The high road is not always the easy road. Sometimes it is the harder road, but it is the best road.” I was pleased to see him take the high road.

We must all choose the roads we take. In the Disney Classic, Alice in Wonderland, Alice found herself at a fork in the road. To the Cheshire cat perched in a tree, she asked, “which road should I take?”

“Well,” replied the cat. “That depends on where you are going.”

“But I don’t know where I am going,” said Alice.

“Then it doesn’t matter which road you take,” purred the cat.

The Good Book tells of two roads. One is a broad road with a wide gate. The other is a narrow road with a strait gate. Each leads to vastly different destinations.

In the western classic, Dances with Wolves, Sioux medicine man, Kicking Bird, counsels lieutenant John Dunbar with these words: “Of all the trails (roads) in life, there is one which matters most. It is the trail of a true human being. I think you are on this trail, and it is good to see.”

Sometimes, I think we as a culture are becoming less human. Made in the image of God, the further from Him we stray, the less human we become.

I grew up attending a little country church. For years the great songs of the church were drummed into my head. What I once thought, as a boy, was a curse, ultimately became a blessing. As I thought about roads while putting this column together, an old song titled Glory Road came to mind. One of my granddaughters often speaks of a song “getting stuck in her head.” Well, Glory Road got stuck in my head. After a few days, all the verses and the words to the chorus returned.

The chorus ends like this: “It’s good to be on this road to Glory land.”

Indeed!

Copyright 2024 by Jack McCall

Whosoever Will Men’s Bible Class

I met Bryan Townsend about twenty years ago. When we were first introduced he was already a well established member of the National Speakers Association. A southern boy and motivational humorist like me, he traveled in the same speaking circles as I did. Over the following years we became friends.

In the fall of 2010, Bryan invited me to be a part of an annual fundraiser billed as “Humor on the Square” in his hometown of Talladega, AL. Each year, he asked a couple of his “speaking friends” to donate their talents for the event. I was honored when he asked me.

While in Talladega for the weekend, he invited me to attend his Sunday school class. It is called the Whosoever Will Men’s Bible Class.

The class met in an aging brick house located across the parking lot from Bryan’s church. Started in 2007, the class had grown to over 60 strong with an average Sunday attendance of 35. In the few years leading up to my visit to Talladega, that class was a major part of our conversations. Bryan was passionate about his Sunday school class.

I wrote about his class in my column back in 2010. In case you missed it, here are the four class rules:

1. No one is asked to read.

2. No is asked to pray.

3. You can come as you are (no dress code.)

4. No one will hassle you if you miss class.

Over the ensuing years, Bryan Townsend became my best friend in the speaking business – for a number of reasons. First, he was unashamed to express his love for Christ. Second, he was a really good man. Third, Bryan’s Sunday school class inspired me to start the Whosoever Will Men’s Bible class in Hartsville, TN. In the few short years that followed we discussed the progress of our classes on a weekly basis.

 The Whosoever Men’s Bible Class in Hartsville began in February of 2012. With an average attendance of 35-40 each Sunday, the class meets at the Farmer’s Harvest Restaurant on Broadway in Hartsville on Sunday morning at 8:30, class from 8:45-9:30.

 On September 28th, 2012, his birthday, my friend, Bryan Townsend suffered a massive hemorrhagic stroke. The doctor said he was dead before he hit the floor. He was 64. And, quite frankly, it left me with a hole in my soul.

 Before his untimely death, Bryan had planned to visit my class, and he had just finished seeing one of his dreams come true.

  An organization called Carpenters for Christ had just put the finishing touches on a brand new building which now houses the Whosever Will Men’s Bible Class in Talladega.  Of course, Bryan was the driving force behind the building project.

 I was left with this reality firmly fixed in my heart and mind: Bryan Townsend planted; others have watered; it will be God who gives the increase.  

 The death of a close friend will make you re-evaluate how you will use the time you have left, which brings me to this.

 If you are a man living in comfortable driving distance of Hartsville, you are invited to attend the Whosoever Will Men’s Bible Class of Hartsville.

 So far, we have delegations making the trek from Macon, Smith, and Sumner Counties on Sunday morning.

 Bryan Townsend started something special. I’m just trying to stay out of God’s way and allow Him to do His work.

Copyright 2024 by Jack McCall

The Sounds of Spring and Summer

I sometimes marvel at how our five senses of sight, smell, hearing, taste, and touch allow us as human beings to so fully experience this adventure called life.

King David of ancient Israel was correct when he declared that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”

For some reason unknown to me I have especially been attuned to the sounds surrounding me this spring and summer.

Somewhere in our back yard a beautiful mockingbird builds her nest and raises her young each year. She seems to be ever present as I come and go each day. And she is especially annoyed by our dog, a miniature schnauzer named Chancey. The mother bird’s fussing is relentless. From housetop to gutter to tree and back again she goes, back and forth, back and forth. And as she flits and flies, she chirps a reprimand which is both sharp and shrill.

The dog could care less and is certainly no threat to the mother bird and her family, but the chastisement continues until the nest is empty.

I have come to look forward to her “Chirp, chirp…chirp.”

A few years back I read the vows for a summer wedding in Trousdale County. The ceremony took place in a beautiful, sprawling backyard that sloped gently down to a peaceful, shaded pond. It was a spectacular summer setting.

When the bride, groom, and all the attendants were in place, we found ourselves backed up only a few feet from the water’s edge.

Reading  the vows, I repeated these words, “Let nothing deter your love.” The word “deter” seemed to stick in my mind as I continued with the ceremony.

In a moment the time came to offer a prayer of blessing for the soon to be married. As I began to talk to God on their behalf, a big bullfrog at water’s edge jarred down in his deepest bass voice.

I’ve never experienced a situation quite like it in my life. I’m trying to concentrate on the prayer and this bullfrog is wearing it out. As I continued to word the prayer, I kept thinking back to the words of the just repeated vows, “Let nothing deter your prayer, Jack.”

Before the wedding came to its close most of the frogs in that pond had chimed in at one time or another. It made for many smiles, hushed laughter and a few chuckles.  I was left thinking, “Only in the summertime.”

I pitched a bundle of tobacco sticks out of the back of my truck the other day. As the bundle, secured by hay baling strings, hit the ground, it made a strikingly familiar sound. It was a sound I have heard a thousand times, a sharp, crackling, rattling sound. It took me back in time.

For a moment I heard the popping sound of ripe tobacco stalks giving way to the blade of a tobacco knife and the hum of a tobacco spike as it vibrated on the end of a tobacco stick.            

I have come to love the sound made by a scoop of horse feed when it hits the bottom of the feed bucket. It brings me to life in the early morning. My horses and “bottle” calves love to hear the sound of the garage door going up. That’s when they call to me. I answer with a bucket of feed and a, “Good morning, ladies.”

A thunderstorm blew through the other evening. As I was witnessing a spectacular display of lightning, I waited for the thunder to follow. It was a rolling, crashing kind of thunder. I could see the rain coming in the distance. Then, I heard the rain rushing in my direction. That was followed by the sound of rain drops peppering the windows and roof of the house. It can be a most satisfying experience.

I remembered how the rain used to arrive in the Brim Hollow. The first drops of rain hitting a tin roof make a deliciously, tantalizing sound. Then the rain would come with more force. Sometimes it would build to a deafening, roaring sound.

There was a quiet peace you could feel under the safety of a tin roof in the middle of a rainstorm. 

One of my favorite sounds, when our boys were growing up, was to hear the front door opening in the night.  It meant someone had arrived home safely. It also meant for sounder sleeping.

There are many familiar sounds that paint pictures in our lives and, in doing so, help define who we are.

May your ears be attuned to the sounds of this spring and summer.

Copyright 2024 by Jack McCall

Back to Brim Hollow

My eldest son, J. Brim, and I took two of my grandsons into the Brim Hollow last week.  Whitman Brim and J. Manning found themselves lost in the wonder of a place they had never been. Days later I realized a mobile device was never mentioned while we were there. (Of course, there is no reception in the hollow.)

 We had walked for about a mile when Whitman made his first observation.

 “Whew, I’m burning a lot of calories,” he said. “How far have we walked?”

 “A long way,” I answered.

 “How much farther?” he asked.

“A long way,” I said.

Both boys asked a thousand questions about the old home place and ancient barns. As we walked cautiously among the silent walls of the old house, I told them stories of the rooms where I once slept as a boy, and how my grandmother cooked on a woodburning stove. I showed them where the water bucket once hung at the back porch, and of how we drew water from the well. They were much impressed with the massive fireplace that once warmed the entire house.

 Wide eyes and “wow”s were the order of the day.

 As we ventured deeper into the hollow, I showed them how the road once turned sharply down into a creek bed called “the narrow place.”  With no small effort, we climbed over giant rocks, and over and under fallen trees to make it into the creek. I showed them the rocky bluffs which defined the narrow place and how the road led out of the creek at the other end. They were impressed.

 We stopped by the remains of what was once called “the little house” where a family of 14 once lived. I explained to them the house had only one room and of how all the children slept in the attic.

 All the talk of days gone by inspired Whitman to ask a question.

 “Daddy Jack, was your hair black when you were young?” he asked.

“It was once upon a time,” I said.

“You got a picture on your phone?” he continued.

“There were no cellphones when my hair was black!” I said to myself.

I was disappointed I could not pinpoint the location of a little springhouse from which I once drank the coolest water. All evidence of it ever exiting was not to be found. And a barn where we once “walked” sticks of tobacco in and hung on round, worm-eaten tier poles was all but gone.

 Arriving in the “head” of the hollow, we took the boys to see the remains of a majestic springhouse. Its rock walls were once six-feet tall with great wood beams supporting a shake shingled roof. In the rock floor, a “bowl” had been hewn out to pool the cold, clear spring water. I once dipped water from that bowl more than half-a-century ago. The springhouse floor was now filled in with sediment and the flow of the spring disappeared underground.

 We showed the grandboys how the old log cabin and pulled its rock chimney to the ground, and we marveled at how the main chimney, tall and erect, had refused to yield when the big house folded under the weight of the years.

 As we prepared to hike back to our truck, Whitman asked, “how far is it back to the truck.”

 “Two miles,” I said. “You are going to burn a lot of calories.”

 I must admit as I came away from the hollow that day, I was a little saddened by all the change I had witnessed. Everything changes. Well, almost everything.

 So, I sought comfort in the Holy Writ.

 “Behold, I change not.”   “… the same yesterday, today, and forevermore.”

 Copyright 2024 by Jack McCall   

Springtime

Oh, the glory of springtime when the earth yawns and wakes from winter’s sleep. Buttercups, the greening of the grass, returning birds, and budding trees announce Mother Nature’s coming out party.

Much can be said of springtime and its intoxicating spell. If you are feeling well, you are liken to “a spring chicken.”  Inordinate behavior of both young and old is blamed on “spring fever.”  Of course, the stress level of our modern world has made it necessary to have a “spring break.” And who can find a young lady, regardless of her age, who would not like to be described as “a breath of spring?” We even “spring” forward at the changing of our clocks as daylight savings time is ushered in.

As winter begrudgingly loses its grip, hope “springs” eternal.

Many are the springs I observed my late father “spring” into action. It seemed he could never get started early enough. Come the first warm day of February, he couldn’t sit still. He saw there was much to be done - plant beds to be set in order, tobacco patches to be made ready for “setting,” and all the details involved in getting the next crop in the ground.

Come March, he would be watching over his tobacco plant beds like a mother hen. A potential late frost would have him doubling the plant bed canvas. And I remember a few springs when he built fires along side plant beds to ward off the chill.

Of course, he claimed all bragging rights that came with early success. At the country store he would announce to his peers, “Boys, I’ve got plants as big as a thumb tack,” or, “I’ve got plants as big as a dime!” When the growing plants had leaves as big as a quarter, he would say, “Boys, I’ve got plants leaving the ground!”  All the while, he was planning ahead.

I never recall his being unprepared. If he was not tending to plant beds or “working” tobacco ground, he was taking care of the “little things” that made for a smooth operation.

In my 12th year, Little League Baseball came to Smith County. I played for the Giants in my first and final year. In the ensuing years my younger brothers played. Our father allowed us to play though he rarely attended our games. Baseball players have been called “the boys of summer,” but I submit they should be called “the boys of springtime.” Of course, springtime is planting time. We saw ballplaying as a privilege made possible by our father’s hard work. While we played ball, he stayed at home preparing for the next day’s work.

 He would often chide, “We are going to lose a crop over all this ballplaying.” My, how things have changed!

 In the month leading up to tobacco setting, Frank McCall would have gathered every two-and-a-half-bushel wash tub, bushel basket, orange crate, sturdy cardboard box, and any other container that would hold tobacco plants (slips.) He would have greased and gone over the tobacco setter with “a fine- tooth comb.”  The engine and water pump would have been tuned and ready to go, the water tank filled ahead of time.

 In all the years he orchestrated tobacco setting, we never experienced a breakdown.

Springtime - a time for doing – a time for preparation - a time to swing into action. And a time for breathing in the wonder of life. 

And above all, a time for celebrating an empty tomb.

Copyright 2024 by Jack McCall      

Quotes to Remember

Over the course of my speaking career, I encountered many people who were smarter than I am. Here are a few of the great quotes I discovered.

On the subject of attitude:

“The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness, or skill. It will make or break a company…a church…a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past…we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me, and 90% how I react to it. And so, it is with you…we are in charge of our attitudes.”

-Charles R. Swindoll

“Everything can be taken from man except the last of the human freedoms, his ability to choose his own attitude in any given set of circumstances – to choose his own way.” -Victor Frankl, Holocaust Survivor

“It is energy-demanding work to experience distressing realities in a positive light.” -From the book, Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goldman

“No misfortune is so bad that it can’t be made worse by whining about it.’ -Jeffery C. Holland

On the subject of Life:

“America is great because America is good. When America ceases to be good she will cease to be great.” -Alexis de Tocqueville, 1805-1859

“One thing I know: The only ones among you who will be really happy are those who will have sought and found how to serve.”  -Albert Schweitzer

“A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one’s heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.” -George Eliot

“One of the highest of human duties is the duty of encouragement. It is easy to laugh at men’s ideas; it is easy to pour cold water on their enthusiasm; it is easy to discourage others. The world is filled with discouragers. We have a Christian duty to encourage one another. Many a time a word of praise or thanks or appreciation or cheer has kept a man on his feet. Blessed is the man who speaks such a word.”

-William Barclay

“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems you could not hold on a minute longer; never give up then, for that is just the time and place that the tide will turn.” -Harriot Beecher Stowe

“People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.

Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.

Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies.

Succeed anyway.

What you have spent years building, someone could destroy overnight.

Build anyway.

If you are honest, people may cheat you.

Be honest anyway.

If you find happiness, people may be jealous.

Be happy anyway.

The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow.

Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough.

Give your best anyway.        

For you see, in the end, it is between you and God.

It was never between you and Them anyway.” - Mother Teresa