Jamie Greening's Blog, page 24

I’ve Been Reading History Again

I’ve been thinking lately about the fall of the Roman Empire.

Let the reader understand.

I am specific when I saw Roman Empire as opposed to “Fall of Rome” because one of my historical presuppositions is Rome, as an idea, never actually fell. The empire collapsed, but not the idea. In fact, collapse is probably not the best word for it. Disintegrate would be better. Governmental structures evaporated but people still continued to think of themselves as Roman and they passed these ideals along. They were so successful at maintaining the ideals that today we celebrate the American Senate, our civic architecture is decidedly Roman, garrisons man outposts in every corner of the empire, our legal code is rife with Latinisms, and the national symbol is an eagle.

I will not bore you with my analysis of the Roman Empire’s demise. Instead, I want to share an observation I found in one of my old history texts. As you know, the Empire in the west fell in 476 A.D. but the Empire in the east, Byzantium, continued on for centuries. The discussion in the history text was of the church — a specific interest of mine, for obvious reasons — and how it viewed itself in these two very different parts of the Roman experience. In the east, the church viewed itself as intertwined with the empire itself, like the priesthood in ancient Israel’s kingdom. Byzantine faith was comfortable blending and bending the decrees of emperors with the teachings of the church.

By contrast, the church in the west learned to view secular power with suspicion. It was not the Christian empire extending ecclesiastical power at will, but rather it was Noah’s Ark, seeking to save and rescue the faithful as the world drowned in a rising flood of chaos. To be sure, this is the snapshot of the church at the end of the Roman Empire in the west. Eventually, history teaches, the church would grab at secular power with both hands, clutching and clawing for as much control and wealth as possible.

But that was not the case at the end. At the end, it was the church that held order. It was bishops who negotiated with tribal chieftains to spare cities. It was the church that gathered up orphans and raised them. It was the church that held together legal systems. It was the church that brought organization — even borrowing the terms like diocese to describe things.

Allow me, please, to philosophize a moment from the historical situation about the present. These two views are powerful in today’s American ecclesiastical landscape. Some view the church as a partner with politics, both on the left and the right, to wield power. Others, both on the right and the left, think of the church as an instrument to rescue those who are perishing, those drowning in the chaos of change and the evaporation of civilization.

The current climate we are in, perhaps, is the most Roman we have ever experienced.

A Prayer For The First Day Of School In The Age Of COVID

Today, 19 August 2020, is the first day of school for our local school district. Ours is not alone, as public, private, and home schools are beginning. It feels to me like a trembling time for prayer. And so I pray:

Dear Lord God, I first make the normal prayers about our children and their educators. I pray they learn the lessons they need in order to be productive members of society who fulfill the best purposes and plans for life. I pray their curiosity will grow; their hunger for knowledge will burn, and they will master the principles of successfully navigating adulthood. I pray you protect them from those who would do harm: abusers, the violent, the emotionally debilitating, and bullies. Lord, please let us have a year without school shootings. Please.

I pray for teachers to experience fulfillment in their noble calling. I ask for relationships with parents to be edifying, partnership oriented, and beneficial for everyone. I pray for bus drivers, nutrition experts, nurses, counselors, and those who make sure the swings are safe and the toilets stay unclogged to be joyful in labor and appreciated, both in word and in reward, for all they do.

I ask that the administrators, those who make policy and decisions, will be wise and generationally motivated by their decisions.

These are our children, Oh Lord. These are the ones upon whom we heap up our hopes. Protect and nourish them in their intellect, in their body and care, and in their spiritual awareness. May kindergarteners color outside the lines, may junior high students dream of being astronauts and presidents, and may all high school seniors experience the fullness of youth and the desire for the future.

Great Almighty God, we do not live in normal times. You know this full well, and for reasons beyond our understanding, you have chosen us as the adults right now to make decisions in the middle of a pandemic. Help us to not be foolish.

I pray you keep our children, teachers, and all those who work through the school free of COVID-19. Let it not darken the door of our schools and homes. Let us be on the downside of this disease as it wanes never to return.

Even as I pray this, Oh Lord, I know you can do this, but I also know it is more likely we are challenged by a longer ordeal than we want. This seems to be the nature of growth and life. So in that context, I pray you give those making decisions insight in how to minimize the effects and spread to keep as many safe as possible. And I do ask that if the disease does continue to shrink we will be able to joyfully reopen all avenues of our life — football games, sold out musicals, and young love holding hands (only holding hands!) in the hallways.

Yet, it might turn worse. We acknowledge this. So we ask if it does, you lead those people we trust with so much of our future, the superintendents, the principals, the politicians, to make swift decisions to protect if we need to send kids home and shelter longer on-line and at home. Let us be wise and not sacrifice the future for the moment. Let no child die, let no teacher die, let no lunch lady die, Precious Lord, because we were too impatient about getting on with life and meetings and mammon.

We do not know how this will work. None of us do. We do know that you are the Lord and this is not the first time disease has played a heavy hand in humanity. Allow us grace toward one another. Remove the enemy’s divisive tone and hateful anger that has caused us to distrust one another. Please work in and through us to bring unity, and I pray you use those of us who call you Lord in such work that we may be a Balm of Gilead to a sick world, a world sick with more than C19, but sick with the sin of pettiness.

Jesus, my heart is heavy. I am hopeful and horrified at the same time. And I am not alone. We need you to heal us. Holy Spirit, we are desperate for illumination and guidance. Father, we plead for your strength. Amen.

Playing in the Kitchen

Last night I made something new.

Okay, it was actually very old. Very, very old.

I made this recipe I found in Biblical Archaeology Review (BAR), which is my favorite magazine. The recipe comes from Babylonian tablets originating in ancient Mesopotamia. I’m guessing that means the recipe is at least 2,500 years old.

[image error]

It is pretty simple to make. I cut up the bunch of leaks and sautéed them in olive oil with some fresh chopped garlic — about four cloves. Just for grins, I put some powdered garlic in as well. I let them cook down for about ten minutes, which is longer than the recipe in the magazine suggested, but I found after four minutes my leeks were still a little firm. I put in plenty of pepper and kosher salt.

When they had cooked down a bit, I added the cilantro and let that simmer, then I added four cups of vegetable stock. Twenty minutes of simmer, and I topped it with a generous double handful of sourdough bread cut into tiny pieces.

I serve it to my family, and they all really liked it. It was far tastier than I had envisioned. When I make it in the future, I will add an onion to the leeks when I cook them down. Carrots, I think, would be good in here too. If you want meat, chicken stock would work well, but I can see in my mind beef, making it almost like pho without the noodles.

I found the name of the stew. The Babylonians called it ‘unwinding’ to refer to what the bread does when it hits the soup — expand and get soggy. It is an interesting way to describe the action. This is a good lesson in the way the ancients used words and, how I might better understand the way I apply the word ‘unwind’ to my own actions. I unwind when I release the tension holding everything tight.

Try it, you might like this old Babylonian stew. I will eat it again.

The Savage in the Blue Button-Down

Rob Cely is the resident allegory maker for our little guild. Elkins is all Mayhem and Kexel is sweet do-gooder. Cely can spin an allegory or weave a myth with only a couple of adjectives and a gerund.

His Wednesday Free Fiction tale today is excellent and makes me want to run through the forest and eat wild fruit. The best line in this story is toward the end, “But he countered it by asking himself why he even cared about the sprinkler, or the lawn.” Good question.

To read Rob’s story “Glory of the Outcast” click on the sprinkler, and feel free to like or share this on your favorite social media platform. We do this all for free, but as with any artist we would like the largest possible audience for our hard work. We’ll be back next week with another Wednesday Free Fiction.

[image error] Click the sprinkler head, not the stream of water.
If you click on the stream of water you will wet the bed tonight.

Welcome, to Elkin’s Island

I love this story for many reasons, but one is the deep theological implications imbedded within it.

It made me think about birds. I’ve often wondered, as I listen to grackles swirling in the air around me, if maybe the sound most delightful in the ear of the Lord isn’t birdsong? He has put birds in vast quantity and variety on every part of the globe. I mean, PENGUINS! There is something of our Creator to be understood in the abundant loudness of birdom.

Enjoy Derek Elkin’s story, The Island Purpose by clicking on the grackles.

[image error]If you click on the HEB sign, you’ll get a coupon for fried grackle at the deli

Remember, we do this for free because we are writers and this is what we do. Most of us have written books you can buy — such as Derek. Here is a link to a review of one of his books I wrote a while back. I think you’d really love it, too.

Greenbean’s Translation of Colossians

For the past two months I’ve been translating Colossians from the Greek New Testament in devotions. I took the extra time and polished it up for you. If you’re interested, then read away! If you are really interested, check our me and some friends on the Under The Water Tower podcast (click here) where we have been discussing Colossians.

Colossians

Translated by Jamie Greening

Translators Notes

Many of these are unnecessarily long or run-on sentences. I have shortened many of them because English flows better with shorter sentences. However, that is nearly impossible for some as it changes the meaning. 

“Which” is a common way the verses begin, a feeling the writer is moving from one connected thought to another. I have kept some of this, but it makes for clunky reading and poor English. I have smoothed some of these out. Notable exceptions are found in 3:5-7, where the meaning is made clearer by the ‘which’. 

In this letter I have chosen to use the word “Messiah” instead of “Christ.” It is jarring to the American English eye to see it here because of the familiarity with ‘Christ Jesus’. This usage of the title Christ, a transliteration of the Greek ‘Christos’ which means ‘Messiah’, to me misses the historical and theological Hebrew meaning of Messiah. I choose to translate the translation here, but it must be noted one is not wrong to continue the usage “Christ”.  

The usage of the imperative flows throughout the letter. En toto, it doesn’t carry the feeling of being bossy or demanding, but rather urgency is implied. 

Content in [brackets] are textual variants which early witnesses do not agree upon as original to the letter.

Asterisks * are used to denote specific comment on particular verses or words at the conclusion of each chapter. 

Remember, errare humanum est – I do make mistakes. If you see an error, please notify the editor at once. 

Chapter One

1. Paul, an apostle of Messiah Jesus by the will of God, and brother Timothy,

2. to the saints, the faithful brothers and sisters in Messiah, in Colossae, grace and peace to you from God our father.

3. When we pray, we always give thanks to God the Father of our Lord Jesus Messiah for you,

4. since hearing about your faith in Messiah Jesus and the love you have for all the saints

5. because you heard in the word of truth, the gospel, about the hope reserved for you in heaven beforehand.

6. It has come to you in the same way it has the whole world, bearing fruit and growing, as it has in you from the day you heard and came to know the truth of the grace of God.

7. You learned it from our fellow bondservant, the beloved Epaphras. He is a faithful minister of Messiah on your behalf.  

8. He showed us your love in the spirit.

9. Because of this, we have not stopped praying, and asking, that you might be filled in the knowledge of his will and all wisdom and spiritual insight,

10. so as to walk worthy of the Lord, desiring to please him in all things, growing and bearing fruit in all good work in the knowledge of God. 

11. Be strengthened in every power according to his mighty glory, persevere in all things with patience and joy.

12. Giving thanks to the Father, who made you fit to take part in the inheritance of the saints in light. 

13. He delivered us from the domain of darkness and transformed us into the kingdom of his beloved son.

14. In whom we have liberation, the forgiveness of sins. 

15. He is the image of the unseen God, the firstborn of all creation.

16. Because all things – in the heavens, upon the earth, the seen, the unseen, thrones, dominions, rulers, authorities – were created in him. It has all been created by him and in him. 

17. What’s more, he himself is before all things. All things have held together because of him.  

18. He, who is the source, the firstborn of the dead, who became preeminent in everything, he himself is the head of the body of the church. **

19. Because it seems pleasing for all the fullness to abide in him***

20. and to reconcile all things through him who [by himself] made peace by the blood of the cross for those upon the earth and those in the heavens. 

21. Even you, who once were alienated, being enemies of the mind in your works of evil,

22. but now he reconciled you in the body of his flesh, by his death, to present you holy, unblemished, and irreproachable before him. 

23. That is, if you indeed remain in the faith, being grounded and stable, immovable from the hope of the gospel you heard, the one presented in all creation under heaven, of which I, Paul, became a minister.

24. I rejoice in suffering for you, finishing the remaining affliction of the Messiah in my flesh on behalf of his body – the church. 

25. I became a minister according to the design of God, given to me to fulfill the word of God among you.****

26. The mystery has been kept hidden through the ages and from the previous generations – but now it has been revealed to his saints. 

27. To whom he desired to make known the rich glory of this mystery among the nations, which is Messiah in you, the hope of glory. 

28. This is what we preached, admonishing and teaching everyone in all wisdom, so we might stand alongside everyone completely in Messiah.

29. I labor at this, striving with all the energy he is energizing within me. 

*I have chosen to use the term ‘minister’ here for ‘diakonos’ although ‘servant’ would serve, linguistically, just as fine. However, Paul uses another word-set for servant, ‘doulos’ in the exact same verse, so I think he is intentionally using the word ‘diakonos’ in an official way. To this point, I use it as minister throughout. 

**It strikes me there are twin dangers here. We could over philosophize it and thus strip these lines of the clear ecclesiastical power or we can underwhelm it with only an emphasis upon church language. Maybe here ‘ekklesia’ doesn’t mean church – perhaps it means congregations of created things as in verse sixteen.

***There is no ‘of God’ in the text. Many English renderings include “of God” but this is a gloss. 

****Design = ‘oikonomia’ – a word that is connected to the English word economy, and usually means household or might mean work. In this context, no one word does justice as the meaning seems to be something akin to ‘according to the efficient worldwide cosmic masterplan God is working with’. In my mind I wonder if Paul doesn’t have something like an architect’s schematics in mind. 

Chapter Two

1. I want you to know that I have a great struggle for you, the people in Laodicea, and all those who have never seen my face.

2. It is that our heart might be encouraged, united in love with abundant conviction of, understanding of, in the knowledge of, the mystery of, God in Messiah. 

3. In whom, all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are hidden away. 

4. I tell you this so no one might deceive you with swaying words.

5. Even though I am absent in the flesh, I am with you in spirit, where I rejoice seeing your discipline and steadfastness of faith in Messiah. 

6. Therefore, as you received Jesus Messiah, the Lord, you must walk in him.

7. And now, after having been rooted and built in him, having been established in the faith just as you were together in abundant thanksgiving,

8. see to it you will not be carried off by the philosophy and hollow deceit of human tradition or the elements of the world rather than by Messiah,

9. because all the embodied fullness of the Godhead dwells in him. 

10. You have been filled by him who is the head of all rulers and authorities. 

11. In whom, you were circumcised without human hands by leaving behind the body of flesh with the circumcision of Messiah

12. when you were buried together with him in baptism.  You, who will be raised up by faith in the power of God, who raised him from the dead. *

13. And you, being dead in your trespasses and the uncircumsion of your flesh, were made alive with him who forgave you all those trespasses 

14. by erasing the handwritten itemized indictment against us, removing it once for all from our midst. He nailed it to the cross. **

15. He himself disarmed the rulers and authorities. He led them around, exposing them publicly. 

16. So do not let anyone judge you on issues of eating and drinking, festivals, new moons, or sabbaths. 

17. These things are but a shadow of what is to come for the body of Messiah. 

18. Do not let anyone disqualify you by making you be initiated into service and devotion to angels, having been made arrogant by the vanity of a fleshly mind ***

19.  by not holding onto the head, from which the whole body is nourished and unified with ligaments and sinew. Its growth is from the Lord.

20. If you died to the elements of this world with Messiah, why then do you live according to the world’s dictates?

21. “Do not hold. Do not taste. Do not touch.”**** 

22. Everything rots; it expires along with the commands and teachings of human beings.

23. These things have wisdom – wisdom in self-esteem, self-service, and self-abuse. None of it has any value in actually caring for physical needs. *****

*note “power” here is the same word group as 1:29 and is a cognate of ‘energy’. It is not power in the sense of authority or fiat, but rather the idea of power as something energizing, making active, propelling. 

** “handwritten” is like the word ‘decree’. It has a legal implication like directive or indictment. The odd part is the emphasis upon ‘hand’ in Paul’s use of words. The best feeling is something like “the accumulation of accusations which we have written ourselves with our own hand by our own actions over time and have turned into a list to be used against us.”

*** The words ‘service’ and ‘devotion’ are slippery here. These are fine words when applied to faith in Messiah, but the context here betrays that Messiah is not the focus. Instead, Paul is using these terms to describe or refer to an initiation ritual or process into a kind of mystery religion where the ‘secret’ is conveyed. 

****This seems to me as a quotation of sorts. Paul is referencing some kind of known dictum that reflects some system of behavior being imposed upon the Colossian Christ-followers. 

***** I have taken Paul’s use of ‘self’ in the compound word ‘self-worship’ and applied it to the following words “service” and “abuse” because that is what I feel he is emphasizing. He is contrasting the focus on Messiah as the center, the head, with putting ourselves and our own twisted kind of ‘wisdom’ at the center which is a service to self, idealization of self, and ultimately a misappropriation and misuse of the physical body God gave to each of us. 

Chapter Three

1. If you, therefore, have been raised up with Messiah, then you must seek things above where Messiah will be sitting at the right hand of God.

2. You must* think about things above and not things upon the earth. 

3. You died. Your life has been hidden in God with Messiah. 

4. Whenever the Messiah might be revealed in your life, then you will be revealed with him in glory. 

5. Therefore put to death those parts of you formed on the earth: fornication, uncleanliness, sensual passions, evil desires, and greediness, which is idolatry, 

6. which is why the wrath of God comes [upon disobedient children],  

7. which you yourselves walked in back when you lived for these things. 

8. But now you must get rid of these kinds of things – wrath, rage, hateful feelings, blasphemy, and foul language out of your mouth. 

9. Do not lie to one another. You have shed the old person along with his or her behavior.

10. Rather, put on the new person, the one being renewed in knowledge, in the image of the one who created you. 

11. Where there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, illiterate heathen or barbarian Scythian, slave or free. Instead, all are in Messiah and Messiah is in all. 

12. As the chosen, holy, and beloved people of God, therefore, display** gut feelings of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and longsuffering patience as if they were clothes wrapped around your body. 

13. Tolerate one another and freely give*** of yourselves to anyone who might have a complaint. 

14. Over all these, like a coat, there is the bond of love that completes everything.   

15. The Messiah’s peace must preside in your hearts, making you thankful you were called into one body.

16. The word of Messiah must dwell abundantly among you, as you teach and warn one another with all wisdom. Sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs of grace to God in your hearts. 

17. Whatever you do, whether in word or in deed, you should do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through him to God the Father.

18. Wives must be submissive to husbands as is proper in the Lord.

19. Husbands must love wives and not be mean to them.

20. Children must obey parents in everything, for this is pleasing to the Lord.

21. Parents**** must not provoke their children or else it might break their spirit.  

22. Slaves must obey human masters not only when watched, like a do-gooder, but in a sincerity of heart, fearing the Lord.

23. In whatever you do, you must work from the center of your being ***** as if for the Lord and not for people. 

24. You must serve as unto the Lord Messiah knowing that you will receive from the Lord the reward of the inheritance.

25. The one who does wrong will get back the wrong he or she did. There is no favoritism. 

* the imperative is found throughout this chapter. There are various ways to render that, but for the most part I have stuck to the word ‘must’ (see v. 18ff). 

** “wear like clothes . . . wrapped around your body” is “put on” – a common Pauline phrase. So common, in fact, the power of the metaphor is often lost. In verse 14 I have inserted “like a coat” to fulfill the phrase and the image Paul is describing – love as an outer garment that pulls everything together. 

***I have translated the knotty little word as ‘freely give’ whereas many other English renderings use the more generic term ‘forgive’. It can mean forgive, but in this context ‘freely give’ makes more sense and, if Paul had intended the technical word forgive, there are better words. I think he has something more nuanced in mind. 

**** “Parents” here is ‘fathers’, but as is the case with “sons” and “brothers”, the masculine plural often denotes groups and my reading of the text is Paul means both mothers and fathers, therefore, “parents”. 

***** Word here is ‘psyche’ and is often translated as ‘whole heart.’ It is a complicated Greek word, which is also complicated in English. Without going into the metaphysics of human composition here it is best to emphasize Paul is speaking about intention and motive that leads to a thoroughness and integrity in work. 

Chapter Four

1. Masters must give justice and equity to slaves because you know you have a master in heaven. 

2. You must remain constant in prayer, being alert to it with thanksgiving. 

3. At the same time, keep praying for us, that God might open a door for us to speak the word about the mystery of Messiah, the one to whom I am bound.

4. So that when it is necessary to speak, I might make it clear.

5. You must walk in wisdom as it pertains to outsiders. Exploit the time. 

6. The things you say should always be pleasant, as if something seasoned with salt. It is vital each one of you know how to answer someone. 

7. Tychicus, the beloved brother, truthful minister, and fellow servant in the Lord will inform you how things are going for me. 

8. This is why I sent him to you, so that you might know everything about us, and he might encourage your hearts,

9. Along with the faithful and dearly loved brother, Onesimus, who is one of you, they will make known to you everything about here.

10. Aristarchus, my fellow prisoner, greets you as does Mark, the relative of Barnabas. You received instructions about how if he comes to you, you must welcome him.

11. And so does Jesus – who is called Justus – he is one of those from the circumcision party. These people are the only ones working with me in the kingdom of God. They became a comfort to me. *

12. The servant of Messiah, Epaphras, who is one of you, greets you. He always struggles for you in his prayers that you might stand complete and assured in the total will of God. 

13. I bear witness for him, how he worked very hard on your behalf and for Laodicea and Hierapolis.

14. The dear doctor, Luke, greets you as does Demas. 

15. Greet the brothers and sisters in Laodicea as well as Nympha, and the church in her house.

16. When this letter is read among you, make sure it can be read to the Laodicean church and that the Laodicean one could be read to you.

17. And you must say to Archippus, “see to it that you complete the ministry you received from the Lord.”  

18. This greeting is in my own hand, Paul. Remember my imprisonment. Grace be with you.

*I wrestled with this verse a great deal. I never satisfied in my own mind whether Paul was saying “Justus, Aristarchus, and Mark are the only one from the circumcision party who was a comfort to me” or if he is saying “Justus, who is from the circumcision party, along with Aristarchus and Mark, are the only ones who were a comfort to me.” Either take is defensible, in my view.  

A Story About A Kind of Justice We’ve All Thought About

To say Joe Shaw is a great writer is an understatement. His real gift is the turn of phrase.

Also, he leaves Easter eggs which are just for me — like the phrase “block around” in the opening paragraph. Only old men in Blue Fords and Pastor Butch Gregory block around. I know, because once upon a time Joe Shaw ridiculed me to no end about that phrase. And now, he leaves me this great gift.

Our little band of merry writers is still producing high quality short stories for your enjoyment. We’ve moved on from the COVID-19 theme and are now freestyle. Remember, we are not looking for money in these. They are all free. We just want you to read them and enjoy them, and if you like, share it on your own social media platform. As I remind during our podcast — every. click. matters.

Week One was Joseph Courtemanche’s Mariachi — Click Here To Read It

Week Two was some hack named Greenbean who wrote about boys swimming — Click Here

Week Three was Kathy Kexel’s heartwarming story about responsibility and family — Click Here

Today Shaw brings us a gut punch. It is hard to read in the sense the subject matter is not playful or fun, but tragic. This is a tragedy. But it is the second shot that will keep you thinking. Yet it is wonderfully written.

Click on one of The Crickets to read “The Crickets Sing” by Joe Shaw.

[image error] Don’t Click on Buddy Holly Or You’ll Become Fish Bait

Angels AND Family

We are now three weeks into our Free Fiction experimental follow-up to the COVID Chronicles. The first week was the Amazing Courtemanche with Murder, Mayhem, Mariachis, and Ford Probes (click here). Last week was yours truly with a bit of speculative fiction just to keep things interesting — you can click here to read Jack and Robin Go Swimming. This week, Kathy Kexel tugs at our heartstrings with The Guardians. I was expecting a talking raccoon and green Uhura but no, this was better. Way better.

Click on the picture to read The Guardians. Be sure to share it on social media. We’re doing this for free, but still write these things so people will read them.

[image error] Do not click on Groot. Whatever else yo do, do not click on Groot.

A Briny Story

It is Fresh Free Fiction Wednesday, and . . . drumroll please . . . today is my day! I got moved up a week.

Last week Joe Courtemanche got us started off on this Fresh Free Fiction round with his wonderful story about those poor Mariachi singers (click here to read it). Today I bring you a story that seems to tap common themes for me. I didn’t realize this until I thought about it today but young boys, mysterious adventures, and their relationship with grandpa figures pops out a lot in my stories. The best example similar to this is The Jolly Rogers (click here).

If you are the kind of reader who is interested in background, keep reading. If not, skip down to the story. The inspiration for this tale came from the recent edition of Texas Monthly. There was an article (click here) on The Estelline Spring. I didn’t know such things existed and was intrigued. The next thing I knew I was in my boyhood and thinking about mysterious bodies of water.

I hope you enjoy the story. Joe Shaw is up next week as we have swapped places.

Jack and Robin Go Swimming

Jamie D. Greening

The chili cheese fries disappeared in less than three minutes. Jack and Robin ate them with the voracious appetite ten-year old boys are famous for. Robin, who had dark hair and hazel eyes, dredged his fries through the chili and paired each one with a vinegar-soaked jalapeno. Jack, in contrast, scraped most of the chili off of his. He preferred the yellow goo which Dairy Queen called cheese. Somehow, he had gotten cheese in his bright blonde hair. 

Jack sucked chocolate milkshake through his straw as fast as humanly possible. His speed was rewarded with a headache. Robin sipped his cherry coke like an old man enjoying brandy by the fire on a cold winter’s evening. It was their Saturday afternoon ritual.

The two boys lived less than three blocks from the restaurant, and for as long as they could remember, they had been friends. Their moms worked at the school. Their dads were oil men, which was usually good work in the Texas Panhandle. Except the only summer Robin and Jack were ten years old was 1983, and 1983 was a bust year for oil in Texas. Both their fathers were trying their luck in Alaska.

That meant, for all intent and purposes, Robin and Jack were on their own and free to do whatever they wanted. And on this July afternoon, they plotted certain doom.

“I’m going to do it,” Jack said. “You can watch from the bank if you want, you big sissy.” 

“I’m not a sissy,” Robin protested. “I’m smarter than you. Old man Glover has made it known to all men that anyone caught on his property would be shot on sight.”

“So?”

“So! I have no desire to be dead. That is what is so.”

“Oh, live a little,” Jack bounced up and down in the booth. “Don’t you understand, the salty lake calls to us. It exists therefore we must swim it. It must be done. Just like Everest demands to be climbed and Evil Knievel has to jump the Grand Canyon.” He remembered his melting shake and sucked the straw. Refreshed, he said, “It is our destiny to swim it, and to swim it this afternoon. God intended it to be so.”

Robin shook his head. “I studied that lake. It is forty-three percent salt. That means we will float and probably can’t swim, really. We’ll just bob up and down like a couple of corks.”

Jack laughed, “You read too much Robin. Why you spend so much time in books? Books is for losers. The real fun is in living. Living don’t come from no book.”

“I like books. You learn stuff in books. It is usually stuff you need to know.”

“Well,” Jack said, “I like doing stuff rather than reading stuff. I heard from Shawn Drucker that salt lake don’t got no bottom. It goes all the way to the middle of the Earth. Do you hear that – all the way to the middle of the Earth. Are you telling me you don’t want to swim in a lake that goes deeper than any swimming hole known to man? This isn’t some old cow tank in a pasture. This is an adventure. Are you coming with me or not?” 

“I don’t want to get shot,” Robin said.

“We won’t get shot. Trust me. What kind of man shoots a couple of kids? Old Man Glover is a deacon at the Church of Christ. He ain’t gonna shoot no kid.” He smirked, “But if that lake goes all the way to the center of the Earth, that old Devil he teaches about in Sunday School might come up and grab you by the ankles and drag you to h-e-double-hockey-sticks.”

Jack tore his pants on the barbed wire surrounding Glover’s ranch. “Crap! These are expensive jeans,” he shouted.

“Ripped jeans are the wave of the future,” Robin said.

“What makes you say that?” 

“I read it somewhere. All those celebrities and rich folk in Hollywood and New York all spend a lot of money to rip their jeans so they can look cool and fashionable. See there, you just did it for free.”

“You think?” Jack said. “If Bo Derek could see me now.”

“Oh please,” Robin said. “You have no chance.” He smiled as big as the moon. “Now, Angie Reynolds, she is one you have a chance with.”

“What makes you say that,” Jack said. “Has she been talking to you.”

“Let’s just say my sister is friends with Angie’s sister, and Angie’s sister says that she thinks about you a lot and is always talking about you.”

“Really? What does she say?”

“She talks about how she wishes your jeans were ripped.”

Jack slugged Robin hard in the arm. It didn’t matter to Robin. He laughed all the way to the saltwater shore.

The hot air blew over the top of the lake. It smelled like Galveston to Robin, who had spent a month there with his uncle last summer. Salt clung to the few bushes and tufts of grass that dotted the briny shore. The salt formed a hard, rough surface over the natural Panhandle hardscrabble. The boys stood there for a long time just looking at it.

“What’s that?” Jack said.

“Looks like a crab of sorts,” Robin replied. “Not much lives in here. It is too salty for fish.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Jack snorted. “I heard there is a monster that lives out there in the middle. At night it sneaks out of the lake and eats cattle, dogs, cats, and even the occasional person.” Jack paused for effect. “Do you remember when Rosie and Philip went missing a couple of years ago?” 

“Yeah,” Robin nodded.

“Well, some say they’s out here late one night. The way I heard it, they were in the back seat and Philip was rounding third heading for home, and Rosie was all worked up, and Philip, though he normally would have been aware, was caught up under Rosie’s womanly charms, and right there as they were about to hit that happy high note, the monster came through the windshield. They say it ate Philip in one big gulp but dragged Rosie’s naked body alive back to the salt lake. The salt in the water preserved her body, they say, like a human jerky for the monster to savor later when hunting isn’t as good. Like winter.”

“That’s crap,” Robin said. “Everyone knows Rosie and Philip went to New Mexico to get married and then Philip joined the army the next day.” 

Jack began to laugh as much as a human can. Robin turned his back and looked away, trying to see if Mr. Glover had his rifle trained on them.

When Robin finally turned around, Jack had taken off his shirt and boots. His jeans were already unzipped. 

“You really going in?” Robin said.

“I didn’t come out here to look at it.” Jack sat down on the bleached shoreline and pulled his Wrangler jeans and Hanes underwear off in one swift motion. Three seconds later he was in the water. “You coming in or are you just gonna watch me like some weirdo?”

“I don’t think it is a good idea,” Robin said. The wind picked up and he had to say it a lot louder than he expected. 

Jack had swam further out, but then he moved toward the shore. As he did, he began to float. “Look at me,” Jack said. “I ain’t even trying.” He began to bob up and down. “I think it is might near impossible for a man to drown in a body of water like this.” Jack made his way to the shoreline and sat in the shallows. “Robin, you might live your whole life and never get another chance to do something like this. This is private property, and some day you and me will be too old and grown up for shenanigans like this. You don’t want to live your whole life thinking you missed out on an adventure because you were afraid. Now get in here, you big baby!”

That was all it took to convince Robin. Once the decision was made to swim, the boy was out of his clothes and boots before Jack could start floating again. He let out a victorious “Yahoo” as he plunged head long into the water.

The boys did not swim, as such, but floated. The buoyancy of the water was unlike anything they had ever experienced. Jack stuck his head under the water and foolishly left his eyes open. The burn was instant. The salt stung his tender baby blues so badly he made for the shore to wipe them with his shirt. 

“I read in a book you shouldn’t stick your head under,” Robin said.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“You were too busy talking about monsters and devils and other nonsense.” 

A gust of wind blew by Robin’s face. At first it felt good to him, but then his nose turned upward. The stench of a thousand matches struck at the same time combined with the putrid air of an oilfield surrounded him. The water bubbled like it was boiling. The odor didn’t come from the wind, it came from the water. The bubbles increased. Robin panicked. It was a fortunate thing he couldn’t drown, because he lost all sense of his body. He began to flail, making his way for the shore. He called out to Jack. 

Robin couldn’t hear Jack’s words, but he saw Jack jumping up and down and yelling. 

The water began to circle like a bathtub drain. It spun clockwise. The outer arm of the spiral, which was about forty yards in diameter, caught Robin in its pull and spun him around and around like a cheap ride at the county fair. Robin kicked with all his might fighting against the pull. He worked his way beyond the outer arm and back into the calmer water, but he was farther away from the shore, nearer the center of the small lake. 

He rested a moment and caught his breath, thinking about his options. He decided to float in the opposite direction from Jack and his clothes to avoid the swirly. He didn’t know what it was, but he wanted to stay clear of it and get out of the water.

Robin had no sooner started when, to his horror, another stench of sulphur arose. The water began to churn in the same clockwise direction. This time, he was in the center. He threw his hands up in surrender to the hydraulic forces against him. The current pulled him under.

Jack waited for two hours for Robin to reappear before he left to go get help. 

The next Saturday they held a funeral for Robin at The Baptist Church. The choir sang and all the teachers spoke. Both of their father’s flew back from Alaska. The entire town grieved. Old Mr. Glover sat on the back row and stared at Jack the whole service.

None grieved the way Jack grieved. 

The following Saturday, two weeks from the day Robin disappeared, Jack sat in the same booth at the Dairy Queen. He tried to eat the chili cheese fries, but he had no appetite. His chocolate shake melted before he took the second sip. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Robin’s face. The look of surprise. The panic. The fear.

He also saw the betrayal. Robin would have never gotten in the water had Jack not talked him into it. The thought that it was all his fault paralyzed him. He was stuck in an infinite loop of memory and regret. The only action he’d been able to muster was to return to the salt lake on Friday evening. Police markers lined the area, but no one was there. Jack waited and waited. He looked for Robin, looked for his body. He held out hope. 

Jack considered getting in the water to look but decided against it. Whatever it was that took his friend, he wanted no part of it. 

The worst part of it all, no one believed his story about the swirling water. Because of the saltwater, no one believed it possible for a strong boy to drown in the lake. The whispers, though, were that Jack had killed Robin. Most people were charitable and said it was an accident. Those two boys, their fathers away, their mothers reckless, probably got a hold of a pistol or rifle and were messing around. Poor Robin probably was the victim of an accident and his body now long eaten by coyotes.

No one believed the story Jack told.

The normal comfort of sympathy was denied him.

Guilt swelled. There in the Dairy Queen he felt the condemnation of everyone else in the restaurant. He slid out of the booth and stood up, ready to run out into the hot sunshine. But before he could turn, a strong hand settled on his shoulder from behind. 

“Have a sit, Jack.” 

Jack turned around and saw it was Old Man Glover. He was tall, his hair gray, but not cut short like the other old men. His hair was thick and long, well past his shoulders. On his head was a wide brimmed straw hat. His hazel eyes were bright, not dimmed by age or illness. He wore his usual attire, a pair of khaki pants, white cotton shirt, and a red bandanna around his neck. His gray beard hung low below his chin. A coffee cup was in his hand.

“I said sit, Jack. I want to talk to you.”

Jack did not sit. He looked down. Tears fell from his eyes and made puddles on the brown tile floor. Through sobs he said, “I am sorry Mr. Glover. I am sorry I was on your ranch. I am sorry me and Robin went swimming. I am sorry . . .” His words became inaudible.

“Jack, sit. We need to talk.” 

“What is the last thing you remember about Robin?” Mr. Glover asked Jack.

“His face,” Jack said this without taking time to evaluate the question or questioner because it was all he could think about. “His face looked terrified. He died afraid.”

“He was afraid,” Mr. Glover said. “But we don’t know about how he died.”

“What do you mean? Do you think he is still alive?”

“I know he is still alive.”

“What the blazes are you talking about, old man. If you know where Robin is, we need to tell the sheriff. We need to get him right now.” Jack slid toward the edge of the seat, but Mr. Glover reached his hand out and stopped him.

“It is funny, you calling me an old man,” Mr. Glover said. Now the tears came from his eyes, but not in large drops like Jack’s. Mr. Glover’s tears formed moist in the hazel eye, then found the corner and made the slow but certain journey down his cheek and to the edge of his gray beard. “Robin was afraid, but not anymore.” 

“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I am Robin.” He swallowed his own name as words were hard to form. The emotion of the moment was too much for him. “In fact,” he cleared his throat, “I haven’t gone by that name in such a long time I’d almost forgotten who I am. Or who I was.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jack said. “You’re just that old kook who lives out by himself. You’re not even Baptist.” 

“A man can be two people at the same time. I am the old kook, that is true. I am also Robin.”

“How can that be?”

“I don’t know. It used to be something I tried to solve, like a puzzle or a riddle. I researched, read, studied old legends, looked at the newest science discoveries, but eventually I quit trying to understand what happened. It is what it is.”

“Then what happened to Robin? How did you get so old?”

“The vortex that formed in the lake sucked me under. It made my eyes sting and burn as I fought and fought and kicked. I remembered something our old third grade teacher, Mrs. Smithwyck said about riptides. Don’t ask me why I remembered, but she said you can’t fight them. You just have to let it take you and then when it is over you swim to shore. So, I stopped fighting and the current kept dragging me deeper and deeper. I was losing my breath and I knew I would drown. But just as I thought I was a goner, the current pushed me into a cavern where the water turned into a stream that ran through it. There was a shoreline on both sides.”

“And the air was breathable?” Jack nodded his head.

“Yes,” Mr. Glover said. “I was tired from fighting and I sat there for a long time and recovered my breath. Light came up from the water, like there was a giant lightbulb under it making it glow.”

“Did you swim back out?” Jack’s eyes had grown large with curiosity.

“I couldn’t. The current was like a rapid pushing through the narrow hole in the cavern. “Jack, there were animals down there.”

“Animals?” Jack whispered. 

“Some I recognized as dinosaurs, and others were things I had never seen before and have never seen sense. Not in life or in a book.”

“You’re pulling my leg, old man.” 

“I’m not, Jack. Look in my eyes. Can you see it is me? I am telling you the truth.” 

Jack looked into the man’s eyes and there he saw his old friend, who a week earlier had sat in this same booth and was ten years old. Now here he was an old man. 

Mr. Glover continued. “I followed the water for what felt like about a mile. It might have been more, but eventually it darted back underneath the ground but not until it led to the back end of a cave. It wasn’t very big, but I could see light up ahead. I followed the light until I emerged in the middle of a great field filled with buffalo. 

“Buffalo?”

“Buffalo. There must have been ten thousand of them.”

“I’ve never seen a buffalo around here,” Jack shook his head. “In fact, I’ve never seen a buffalo.” 

“I hadn’t either,” Mr. Glover said.

“When you came out, were you all old and wrinkly?”

Mr. Glover laughed. “No, I was young, young as you.”

“Then how did you get so old in two weeks? And what did you do with the real Mr. Glover?”

“I am Mr. Glover.” Robin took a sip from the Styrofoam coffee cup. “Jack, this is where it gets really weird. When I came out, it wasn’t 1983. It was 1845.”

“You’re crazy?” Jack laughed. “Either this is the most messed up thing ever, or you’re a lunatic who thinks he’s my best friend who died two weeks ago.”

“I am your best friend. I did not drown. But I am old.”

“Prove it!” Jack said. His voice was loud enough that two middle-aged women three booths over gave them dirty looks.

“I expected that,” Mr. Glover said. “There is probably still a scratch on your leg. When we were going to the salt lake, you tore your jeans on the barbed wire. I made fun of you and your torn pants. I think I teased you about a girl. I can’t remember her name. It has been so long.”

“Angie,” Jack’s skepticism vanished. 

“Angie Reynolds,” Robin finished it. “Now I remember. She was friends of my sister.” 

Jack said, “How did you know about that? I told no one.”

“I am Robin.”

“No, you’re creepy old Mr. Glover.”

“I am both.”

“But,” Jack started counting on his fingers, “If you came out in 1845, then, you’d be long dead by now with Davey Crockett and Sam Houston. You’d be more than old. You’d be an artifact.”

“I can’t explain that either.” He smiled. “Whatever happened to me made me age slower. I still got older, but I didn’t reach puberty until the 1890s which was good because that kept me from having to get involved in the Civil War. In fact, I am not actually as old as you think. I dress a certain way, act a certain way, and speak a certain way to make people think I am older than I really am. If I were to shave off this beard and wear regular clothes, you’d think I was in my early forties.”

“You were alive in the Civil War?” 

“Sure was, and I spent most of the war here. You can’t believe how awful it was when I first came out of the cavern. I was naked and didn’t have anything. What I really missed was my knife. You just don’t know what a wonderful tool a pocketknife is until you don’t have it. Things would have gone much better if I’d had it. And clothes.” Robin shuddered. “My real problem was Comanches. They almost killed me three times before I finally got enough sense to move back East for a while ‘til things calmed down.”

“But what happened to Mr. Glover?”

“I told you, I am Mr. Glover. Since I didn’t get older, every twenty years or so I would move somewhere else under a new name. The benefit was all those books I read when I was a kid that you made fun of me about, told me what would happen so I always knew what companies would do well. I invested my money wisely. I also won a lot of money betting on football games. It still broke my heart to see it twice, but I won so much money betting against the Cowboys in that game with San Francisco. And I made even more than that by predicting Dwight Clark would make the catch to win the game. Now I am so rich I can buy anything I want. Which is what I did about thirty years ago when I bought all that land out there where the salt lake is.”

Wait?” Jack said. “When we snuck in, we were actually sneaking into your own property?”

“Yep.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us. Why not stop us from going swimming?”

“Because for me, it had already happened, several lifetimes ago. My life is good, and now I think it will get better, because I finally have my old friend back. I’ve been waiting a hundred and thirty-eight years for this.”  

Jack and Robin laughed for a long time. Jack hadn’t laughed since he saw Robin go under the water at the lake, so it was a great emotional release to feel joy again. Robin told Jack all about steamboats, the first cars and how he traveled to Michigan and invested early in Ford Motor Company. He explained about how Germany had a lot of sympathizers in America before the war started. Then he went on to talk about the fear he felt in the 1960s as the country divided again a hundred years after the Civil War.

After two long hours, they walked out of the Dairy Queen into the hot Panhandle sun. Jack was still laughing, a grin permanently formed on his mouth. Robin laughed too, until he felt the pain in his chest. 

“Jack,” he sat down on a bench. “I think it’s over. I think the years just caught up with me.”

Jack realized what Robin meant. “But I just got you back. I just got you back. You can’t leave me again. Not again!”

“You’ll always have me.” Robin collapsed to the ground.

After his death, the whole town was amazed with the eccentric old man’s choice to leave his entire his hundred million dollar fortune and ranch to the boy whose best friend drowned in his own lake two weeks prior.

It was September, and Jack was sitting on the shoreline of the salt lake. His salt lake. It all felt like a dream. He still lived with his parents and the money was in a blind trust for him until he turned twenty-one. Most of that didn’t matter to Jack. It was the expansive property he’d enjoyed roaming. He always came back to the shoreline of the salt lake. Today, he brought a bag with him.

He tied the bag to his waist and floated out into the middle of the lake. He waited. Jack floated there for at least two hours in the blistering sun. Nothing happened. He prayed. Nothing happened. He repeated this procedure every evening after school and on weekends. A cold front came through on Monday morning, Halloween. Jack didn’t care. The sun was already low in the sky and it was freezing cold. Nevertheless, he stripped down and tied the plastic bag to his waist and floated out to the middle where he’d seen the vortex before.

This time, it happened. The vortex formed. Jack didn’t fight it. He did just as Robin had said. He let the current take him. Soon, he surfaced in what he assumed was the same cavern Robin had emerged from. He followed the stream until it disappeared. He walked toward the light. When he came out of the tiny cave, he saw a naked ten-year-old boy surrounded by a herd of buffalo. 

He yelled out, “Hey Robin, I brought your clothes. And your knife.” 

Nina’s Potato Salad

COVID-19 is kicking into a different gear here in Texas. That means people are gonna need some comfort food. One of the greatest comfort foods is old-fashioned potato salad. Here is the recipe for my mother’s potato salad. I have only altered it a bit.

Ingredients



5 lbs russet potatoes, peeled and cut in quartersyellow mustardMiracle Whip (my mother used Hellman’s mayonnaise – this is my one variation)one large purple onion, dicedfive kosher pickle spears, dicedpickle juicesix hard boiled eggs, diced salt and pepper to taste

This is a simple dish, but the procedure matters. The hardest part is peeling the potatoes. Boil them in a large pot until they can be easily stuck with a fork. Drain them.

Put the onion in the bottom of the pot you cooked the potatoes in. Then put the potatoes on top of the onion. This little bit of heat blanches the onions a bit which makes the dish savory and keeps the onions from being too crunch.

Mash the potatoes directly into the onions with a potato masher. Don’t work at this too hard. If this is difficult, you didn’t boil your potatoes long enough. Just break them up nicely. When that is finished, add the mustard. I just squirt it all over the top without any measurement. The mustard gives zing, but the main job here is coloring. However yellow you want your potato salad will tell you how much mustard you want. I know I can add more later, so I play this conservatively.

Add one large spoonful of the Miracle Whip. Again, I don’t measure, but this comes to about a quarter of a cup. In my opinion, you really can’t use too much, so don’t fret.

The real magic is the next step — add two tablespoons (I just eyeball it) of pickle juice. You can’t get enough pickles in dish to give it enough pickle flavor. You need the juice. Throw in salt and pepper as you desire. I use kosher salt and fresh ground pepper.

Use a mixer (I have an ancient 5-speed electric hand mixer) to blend all these ingredients up. When they are well balanced, taste it. Now is the time to add more pickle juice, mustard, Miracle Whip, or salt and pepper. Make it the way you like it. After adding what was lacking, mix it a little more until it is thoroughly blended.

Throw in your sliced pickles and eggs and stir them by hand with a large wooden spoon. When finished stirring, lick the spoon!

Some people prefer to eat this hot. Mrs. Greenbean is one of those people. I usually pull out a bowl for her to eat right then. I like it cold, so I make it the day before I want it. On July 4th, I serve potato salad, so July 3rd always finds me in the kitchen. It is the perfect dish for a picnic, a large gathering, potluck, or in these COVID-19 days it makes us feel all good inside. It pairs nicely with barbecue, hot dogs, fried chicken, asparagus or fruit. When coupled with a slice of white bread, it makes for a meal all by itself.