“So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!â€�  1 Corinthians 10:12 NASB

By Bro. John L. Cash, “Country Preacher Dad�

All the people I know who grew up shooting fireworks have one thing in common:  They’ve all had a firecracker go off in their hands.

Now, it’s never the first firecracker that goes off in your hand. You’re much too nervous when you light your first one, and, because of that, you treat your first firecracker with respect. You lay your first firecracker on the end of the driveway and stand as far away as possible when you light it. You crouch down like a track runner on his mark before a big race. You reach behind your back and extend your arm and the “punk stickâ€� that you’re holding as far away from your body as you can, looking over your shoulder as you try to find the fuse. And as soon as you hear the sizzling sound of your first lit “Black Cat,â€� you’re already sprinting toward the front porch. You’re in your grandma’s lap before the thing explodes. No—it’s never your first firecracker that goes off in your hand.

But, eventually, everyone experiences that incomparable pain in the fingers that only an exploding firecracker can deliver. First you hear the deafening report, followed by a shock wave, followed by numbness that quickly gives way to a throbbing ache that thumps with every beat of your heart. Yes, a Black Cat firecracker has exploded in your hand. The only thing you can do now is to go inside and seek sympathy (and an ice pack).

How does this happen? Clearly you knew firecrackers were dangerous. And from the way you lit the first one, clearly you knew the safety rules. Your downfall came from familiarity and overconfidence. You began to believe the warnings on the package (“Put firework on ground before lighting. Get away!�) applied only to other people, folks who were less fireworks-sophisticated than you.

You started to take chances, little by little.  You light one while you face it. Then you light one and only take two steps back. You light one in your hand and quickly fling it away. Then you light one in your hand and hold it a little longer before you calmly toss it. All is well until the time that the fuse is a little too short and your reaction time is a little off. The firecracker blows up in your hand.

There’s a spiritual lesson here. None of us is smart enough to toy around with temptation and sin and expect to wind up unhurt. King Solomon wrote, “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.� (Proverbs 16:18) Whenever we think we’re greater than temptation, we’re heading for trouble.

Dear mamas, let’s not trust in ourselves and our own strength this week, but let us draw near to our Saviour. Teach your little ones, “If you want to be happy, be good.� When we draw near to the Lord, the devil flees away, and our hearts and homes are filled with joy.

Dr. John L. Cash is the “Country Preacher Dad� *Sing that  title to the tune of “Secret Agent Man� He was raised in Stuttgart, Arkansas, and is beginning his 25th year of  being a country preacher in the piney woods five miles south of the little town of Hickory, Mississippi.  He and his lovely wife, Susan, and his sons, Spencer (age 18) and Seth (age 15) live in the parsonage next door to the Antioch Christian Church� (where the Cash brothers lay their firecrackers on the ground—as long as their Dad is watching).  You should write him at extramailbox@juno.com.

“But do not forget to do good and to share, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.�  Hebrews 13:16

By Bro. John L. Cash, “Country Preacher Dad�

It’s amazing how a person can feel so many different emotions at the same time. As I said last week, seeing the first fireworks stand of the summer always makes me smile at the prospect of happy summer days. But at the same time, whenever I see a fireworks stand, it always makes me feel a little sad — because it reminds me of how much I miss Greg.

My parents only had two children, my sister Cathie and me. Cathie is the best sister a brother could ever hope for, but, because she is 5 ½ years older than me, by the time I was finishing middle school she was already moving away to college. Her departure left me with an emptiness. Suddenly, I was an only child.

Since I had no younger siblings, I adopted myself a set from another family: Greg and Gwen Rule. We were as close and had as much fun as any brothers and sisters ever had. (Here’s an old picture of me on the left sitting with Greg when he was just a toddler.) For the three of us, summers were always the time for shooting fireworks.

When Greg was in grade school and Gwen was an infant, he went away for his first week of Summer Bible Camp. From there, he wrote this letter to his mother:

Dear Mom,

How is Baby Gwen?

Have you got me any fireworks yet?

Love,

Greg

(Below is a picture of Greg and his little sister taken around the time he wrote that letter from summer camp.)

It makes me smile when I think about that letter. It’s always good to see a young man who has his priorities straight!

From the very beginning, Greg was a boy who loved bright lights, beautiful colors, showers of sparks, and colored flames—all the things you get when you’re shooting fireworks. I don’t suppose Greg’s love for these things ever diminished his whole life. In fact, I think the older he got, the more fireworks he bought and the more elaborate fireworks displays he put on for his family and friends.

Greg passed away in his sleep in April 2001. He was only 34. I’ve never really gotten over that, and I think of him and miss him every day. On the day before his funeral, we were sitting around with his friends and loved ones, and his younger cousin, Mark, said this about Greg:

“Greg loved to shoot fireworks. And he was never stingy with them. He wanted you to be happy and to help him shoot them. I mean, he didn’t care if you shot up half the sack. He just wanted to share and for you to be happy.�

You see, Greg had learned a spiritual lesson we all need to know: “You can’t be rich alone.� There’s really no joy in having an abundance of anything—even a sack of fireworks—if you don’t have anybody to share it with. We’re only rich when we have something and we’re willing to share it with others.

I came to the Antioch Christian Church when I was 23 years old, and, in just a couple of years, I’ll turn 50. The longer I live, the more friends and loved ones I have on this earth. But the passage of time also means there are more loved ones who have gone to be with the Lord – people I really miss.

The ministry is a little bit sad sometimes because we preachers bury our best work. One of the men in my congregation has had a lot of sadness in his life. Though he is not an old man, he has had the tragedy of, on separate occasions, losing a parent, a wife, a child, and an infant grandchild. When I asked him how he has borne all of this sadness he said, “Whenever I lose a loved one, I always think of them as a deposit in the ‘Bank of Heaven’. The older I get, the more Heaven means to me because I have so much treasure there.�

The older I get, the more I believe what my friend has told me. My sadness is tinged with joy because I realize that Greg and my other loved ones are a treasure God is keeping for me in Heaven. And if I remember to live Greg’s lesson–sharing my fireworks and every good thing–in this life, too, I’ll be very rich indeed.

Dr. John L. Cash is the “Country Preacher Dad� (Sing that to the title to the tune of “Secret Agent Man) He was raised in Stuttgart, Arkansas, and is beginning his 25th year of being a country preacher in the piney woods five miles south of the little town of Hickory, Mississippi. He and his lovely wife, Susan, and his sons, Spencer (age 18) and Seth (age 15) live in the parsonage next door to the Antioch Christian Church (where the church people share vegetables from the garden every summer.) You can cheer him with a note at extramailbox@juno.com.

“Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?� Matthew 6:26 NASB

By Bro. John L. Cash, “Country Preacher Dad�

One of the things I like best about writing this column is that I get to pass on a little pastoral advice. My wife and I have already raised our sons through the “little kid� stage, and we’ve learned a trick or two in the process. Something I’ve realized, too, is that the problems of parenthood are universal. So, I’m always glad to pass on the helpful hints I’ve learned while raising my boys.

Today’s subject is this: “How do I keep my little boy from screaming his head off when I take him to get a haircut?� When my boys were toddlers, my wife took them to her hair stylist when they needed their curls cut off. We couldn’t understand why they pitched such fits when faced with the prospect of getting their hair trimmed. I mean, they liked the hair stylist fine (as long as she wasn’t cutting their hair) and she always gave them a Three Musketeers Bar afterwards.

Then one day it occurred to me why the sight of the lady in the hair salon caused them to behave as if they were demon-possessed. It was the scissors. I mean, after all, we tell our toddlers all the time, “No, no. Don’t touch the scissors. You’ll poke your eye out.� Evidently, they take us at our word and believe what we’re saying is true. Then, in practically the same breath, we take them to a woman who ties a sheet around the throat and comes toward their head with a pair of gleaming shears sharpened to a surgical point.  You’ve got to admit, to a little kid, it’s got to resemble a scene from “Sweeney Todd, The Demon Barber of Fleet Street�.

So, after a particularly bad day of screaming-haircut-Armageddon, I told my wife, Susan, “Next time, let me take care of haircut day.� She readily agreed. And when the boys were due for their next trim, instead of taking them to her hair stylist, I took them to a local barbershop.

The barber there is Mr. Bill Gordon, a man who has had a barbershop across from the Meridian, Mississippi post office since the 1950’s. He’s a gentleman who has a real grandfatherly appearance about him. I’ll never forget the way he spoke to my younger son, Seth, who was about 2 ½ at the time. He said, “Hey, big fella. Are you ready for Mr. Bill to give you a haircut?� With a smile on his face, Seth climbed up into the big red barber’s chair, as if he had been put on this planet solely for that purpose.  There were no haircut tears that day and none ever since.

Now, what was the difference, you may ask? First of all, in a barber shop there are no scissors because the barber uses a set of electric clippers instead. But more than that, if you go to the right barbershop, you get a barber who is somebody’s Pappaw. There is no fear when you’re being taken care of by a grandfather who loves you. You just know in your heart-of-hearts that you’re in good hands.

Dear mamas, as you go through this week, don’t forget that you are in good hands because you’re the child of a Heavenly Father who loves you. Let that thought fill you with great joy, as you serve Him by caring for the little ones that He has given you.

Dr. John L. Cash is the “Country Preacher Dad� *Sing that  title to the tune of “Secret Agent Man� He was raised in Stuttgart, Arkansas, and is beginning his 25th year of  being a country preacher in the piney woods five miles south of the little town of Hickory, Mississippi. He and his lovely wife, Susan, and his sons, Spencer (age 18) and Seth (age 15) live in the parsonage next door to the Antioch Christian Church� (where the boys are no longer afraid of the barber but quite often could use a haircut). You should write him at extramailbox@juno.com.

“Therefore, brethren, stand fast and hold the traditions which you were taught, whether by word or our epistle.”  2 Thessaloniasn 2:15

By Bro. John L. Cash, “Country Preacher Dad�

Well, I realized this week that summer has arrived in Mississippi. First of all, it’s “as hot as blue blazes.� Secondly, I saw my first fireworks stand of the season. When it’s time for fireworks, it’s definitely summer.

In my life, and in the lives of my family and friends, fireworks have always been an integral part of summer.  I bet there aren’t as many kids who shoot fireworks these days, mainly because the media tells us not to let our kids do anything that’s not perfectly safe. Back in the 1960’s, my parents let us shoot firecrackers and thought the inherent danger was part of our educational experience. If you came in the house crying because a firecracker went off in your hand, your mom and dad would say, “I guess that’ll teach you to be more careful next time.� They were right.

My boys started lighting fireworks when they were about 4 years old. We shot fireworks as a family, and we lit them one at a time and then admired what happened when each one blasted off. In my mind’s eye, I can still see each of my boys walking out to the end of the driveway with a smoldering punk stick to light the fuse of a single bottle-rocket propped up in a soup can. Our plans for Independence Day vary a bit from year to year, but two traditions are unchangeable: We are going to shoot fireworks, and we are going to cut a watermelon.

The summer after Seth graduated kindergarten he desperately needed his adenoids taken out. At age 5, he snored like a lumberjack and sometimes like the lumberjack’s chainsaw.  Nobody could sleep in the same room with him. We took him to the local pediatrician who set up the date for his surgery—July 3rd. Seth was upset when he heard the news.  He said, “Dad, I don’t mind getting my adenoids out. I can’t breathe. It’s like having ‘steel boogers’. But if the doctor does it on the 3rd, I won’t be well enough to shoot my firecrackers and eat my watermelon on the 4th!�

I realized this was a serious issue for him. So the Cash family made a major adjustment. We had our Independence Day celebration on July 2nd. Firecrackers, Roman candles, and whistling chasers were ignited, and a watermelon was chilled and cut. And, as they always write in those country church newsletters, “A good time was had by all.� Family traditions are important because they give us so much joy and remind us that we’re all a part of a family unit.

Do you realize that there are holy traditions, too? Dear mamas, I was thinking about you this week. I walked over to the church very early on the morning of the Lord’s Day to unlock the doors and to make sure everything was ready for the worship services. It dawned on me that, at that very moment, many families were getting dressed to go to the Lord’s House to worship. I realized, too, that many families (even families that are a part of the Church) were making the decision to stay at home that Sunday.

I remembered that, while I was growing up, my parents NEVER skipped church on Sunday. As in all families, many things changed while my sister and I were growing up, but the one thing that never changed was that we were ALWAYS in church whenever the doors were open. My parents instilled in us a holy tradition—and I pray that you will instill that tradition into your children.

Now that the kids are out of school, it’s a great time for summer traditions — and to start some holy ones, too. May the Lord bless you and yours with joy as you bring up your little ones in the nurture and admonition of the Him!

Dr. John L. Cash is the “Country Preacher Dad� (Sing that to the title to the tune of “Secret Agent Man) He was raised in Stuttgart, Arkansas, and is beginning his 25th year of being a country preacher in the piney woods five miles south of the little town of Hickory, Mississippi. He and his lovely wife, Susan, and his sons, Spencer (age 18) and Seth (age 15) live in the parsonage next door to the Antioch Christian Church (where  at this time of year we sit on the patio when it cools down—about 8 P.M.) You can cheer him with a note at extramailbox@juno.com.