Author: aflcoker

Family and friends gathered Monday for what the bulletin titled: “A Service of Witness to the Resurrection and in Memory of Robert Dean Wood” (1928 – 2018). Bill and I attended because we had known Bob and Gene during our years in Wilmore, KY, and Greenwood, IN. At the start of the service Bob’s older daughter held up the letter her dad sent his four children – a detailed plan for his funeral service. Bob indicated not only what hymns should be included, but how they should be sung – with reverence for the majesty of God. We began with “Holy, Holy, Holy” and concluded with Charles Wesley’s “And Can It Be” accompanied on the organ in grand style.

Several people gave tribute to Bob, telling stories as well as giving thanks for his life. On the way to and from church I related to Bill two of my memories. Bob was my boss at both Good News magazine and One Mission Society, then known simply as OMS.

At Good News my office was located directly across the hall from Bob. I noticed how neat he kept his desk, not like the stack of mail and to-do projects piled on my desk. I asked Bob for his secret. I knew the executive director gave him projects, and he also received mail. Bob had one simple rule for whatever reached his desk. He would handle it once. When he read a letter and it needed an answer, he wrote it at once. If a project needed research, he filed it or started collecting data. If a circular had no significance, he tossed it in the ’round file.’ Bob did not put something aside for later consideration; he handled it promptly. That made good sense and I’ve tried to mimic his system, but not always successfully.

In Greenwood where we four worked for OMS, Bill would occasionally be called out of town to represent the mission. That gave Bob, Gene and me an opportunity to have a liver and onion dinner together with mashed potatoes and gravy. Liver is the one item of food that Bill will not eat, but the Woods and I loved it. We would trade off on whose home would host the liver dinner.

After we moved away from each other, we did not connect as we would have enjoyed. Only at Christmas we caught up with our lives by reading each other’s annual letters. No need to express regret; that’s the way life happens. During visitation before the memorial service we greeted three of the Woods’ children who had all attended Asbury College (along with at least one other relative) and who had “Doctor Coker” as their professor for Basic Christian Beliefs. That class served as Bill’s trademark, for what he taught then has formed the lives of this family and more.

It’s time to write a blog. Have you noticed how many times you say, “It’s time to . . .”? It’s time to get up . . . time to eat . . . time to read my Bible and pray (don’t forget that!). I could go on and on: it’s time to brush my teeth . . . time to exercise (getting back to that now) . . . time to eat again . . . and again . . . time to feed the puppy (new addition to the family) . . . and time to let the pup outside . . . and time to go to bed. Then I start the process over again the next day.

Time is important and essential to daily habits. It’s not a bad thing to regulate my time. I need that clock at times to discipline me. Without a time keeper, I’d not keep up with what’s next in my day. Now sometimes I don’t need a clock to tell me it’s time for lunch. I feel the rumbles in my tummy, as Pooh Bear would say. And often (perhaps it’s old age) I don’t need someone to say it’s time to go to bed. But too often these days I need to be nudged out of bed in the morning.

When we went to Hyderabad, India, to help with reconstruction, the leaders at the camp found out that our group included two preachers. They decided it’s time for an evangelistic service. They pitched a tent and moved chairs inside along with a platform. I don’t know how word got around and into the village, but somehow people knew and began to gather for the preaching, some of them bringing their home-made musical instruments. It wasn’t a matter of looking at a clock and knowing it’s time; it just happened. And as to quitting time, that’s whenever they wanted it. This was no ordinary one-hour service.

So while we judge most of what we do by the clock – when it’s time to do this or that, we can include in our daily habits a time to be quiet, listen, converse, and enjoy life – each other, nature, and how God has designed a regular schedule into His creation: “And God saw that it was good. Evening came and then morning: the third day” (Gen. 1:12, 13). Take time to thank God for time.

Memories bump around in my mind and have little connectors or themes except that they represent family. The back of Nanny’s house, the yard, orchard, and creek provided sweet retreats and a playground that changed seasonally.

I used to stand on the high porch outside the kitchen and I would call the Bobwhite quails who would answer back. From that porch I saw the Dachshund next door grab and “eat” one of Nanny’s many kittens. That was a bad memory which, praise God, has been erased with time. I cannot now visualize it and the pain is gone. I wonder now if the dog did eat the kitten but only mauled it.

Back to the fun and good times: My sister Minnie and I played in the creek (probably off limits), but we waded through it and collected stones. We also helped Nanny harvest from her orchard and garden. She would scoop up produce into her large white apron while we filled buckets with pecans and fruit. That orchard is now a thing of the past as over the years new construction has taken over the area.

Our favorite times involved playing in the ivy around the big oak tree in the front yard. I know today I’d be afraid of snakes in the ivy, but that must not have been a concern then. Rocking chairs lined the front porch where the family gathered. At night we kids would put lightening bugs (fireflies) in jars and hurry to the porch to show off our collection to the adults.

Scenes inside Nanny’s house included the front stairs and the combination hat rack and bench in the entryway. I wonder what happened to that huge antique. In the kitchen I sat on a high stool while Mother rolled my hair with brown paper rollers or she would curl my hair by the stove with the original curling iron. I called my curls ‘ringlets.’

“Words, words, words.” William Shakespeare wrote about their power and he also used them well. Words have the power to heal and to harm. Words are spoken in love, in mistrust, in jest, in kindness, in anger, and are either truthful or false. Bill’s Uncle Bud (Rev. W.C.M. Baggett) defined words as the clothing of thought.

Pearl Strachan wrote, “Handle them carefully, for words have more power than atom bombs.” My mother and dad taught their children the careful use of words. They gave me the right principles for not only the spoken words but also for the thought-patterns which govern what I say out loud.

The principle I remember most regulates my vocabulary, especially for those expressions of meaningless interjections. “Expletives” are “added merely to fill out or to give emphasis” (Webster). My expletives don’t get much use and don’t go much further than “shoot” or “good night.” And maybe I can work on those also.

When I hear others use words that even the dictionary calls “vulgar,” I am thankful that my parents taught me “not to use any unnecessary words.” Even words which are not vulgar but useless add nothing to the thought and meaning of what’s being said. So I have this ingrained “thought patrol” (Joni Tada) which, while it is superintended by the Holy Spirit, has been trained from childhood.

I thank my parents for training me up right, in the way I should go, even in controlling my thoughts and spoken words.

From a journal dated August 7, 1996

A girl asked me if being in Israel was the best thing that has ever happened to me. While high on my list, I can’t say it was the best. Even relating it to other trips abroad makes it more of a contrast than a rating scale. The emphasis of a trip to Israel means relating it to The Land, not the people; whereas in India we associated with people of the land. In Israel we studied more history than current affairs. I did not relate or get to know any of the “natives” as I’ve done in other countries. I got to know The Land, its biblical, historical, and geographical significance. I saw how The Land affects the people – of Bible times and presently. I saw plenty of people but I did not relate to them.

I believe the most important aspect of the trip happens as I study my Bible, then relate and associate what I learned and saw. Note these examples:

“Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11). The pita bread we had for our lunches tasted so much better there than in the States. I asked why we can’t get it that good and the answer was because it is made and bought daily. It’s fresh. God gives us His grace and mercy daily; it’s fresh. “His mercies are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22-23). We ask for daily bread, for strength equal to each day’s need. Just as housewives go to market for fresh pita bread on a daily basis, so we go to God for a fresh supply of grace and mercy each day. And it’s available; His supply never runs out.

“Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters” (Isaiah 55:1). “Blessed are those who thirst for righteousness for they shall be filled” (Matthew 5:6). “He shall be like a tree planted by rivers of water” (Psalm 1:3). Water is essential for life. In the land of Israel so much emphasis is put on water, the wellspring of life. In a land where barren places abound, irrigation is essential. The rainy season and dry season (no rain between July and September) affect the times of harvest and even where people live. “The land of milk and honey” referred to green pastures for sheep and goats and bees, a fertile land, true only in some areas.

One more: “Come, buy, and eat” (Isaiah 55:1) reminds me of the shop venders calling out. But in Isaiah 55, God calls us to Himself.

At Christmas we talk about Jesus coming as a baby and growing up as a man who lived, died and rose from the grave. But there is more to the Christmas story about our Savior taking on flesh, being fully human and fully divine. Sometimes we forget that Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit. The angel visited Mary and told her that she was to be the mother of the Messiah.

“Now listen: You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will call His name Jesus” (Luke 1:31). When Mary objected because she had “not been intimate with a man” (v.34), the angel assured her that “the power of the Most High will overshadow” her (v. 35).

I’m not a medical person, but I know the facts of gestation. Let’s relate those to Jesus as the “the Word made flesh” (John 1:14). Life begins at conception. That’s an indisputable medical fact. Day one: Jesus, like any other human being, began life smaller than a grain of salt. Everything was in place. Nothing more had to be added. After fertilization the zygote traveled down the fallopian tube to imbed himself into the wall of Mary’s womb. There Jesus, this developing human, drew nourishment from his mother. On day 21 his heart began to beat and the foundations of the brain, spinal cord and nervous system were established. At one month gestational age this unborn human is 10,000 larger than the original size of the zygote. At week 11 this fetus is about 2 inches in length. Only time and nourishment were needed until his time of birth, when we call him ‘baby Jesus.’

So the next time when you think of the Christmas story, back up to the true beginning. That’s where the angel announced to Mary, “You will conceive and give birth.” We celebrate the birth of Jesus, but let’s not forget that His story starts like every other human being – at conception. Yet Jesus’ conception is miraculous, as we state in the Apostles’ Creed: “I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary.”

Being here in Indianapolis means we are away from long-time friends made in Vigo and Clay counties. Compound that with the fact that I don’t like to drive the Interstate any more. So we are dependent on friends to visit us. One pastor/friend promised that the next visit he would bring his wife and take Bill and me out to lunch. He kept that promise last week. After a tour around our house for Jan, we sat and visited for a while. Our daughter suggested Cheddars for lunch and so I guided Paul as he drove. I’m getting used to the south part of town so I was confident in my directions. As we chatted over lunch we noticed that all our selections satisfied what each person ordered. That’s not always the case at a restaurant. On the return trip I noticed that Paul had his GPS on and it confirmed my different route back to the house.

That same week my BFF came to spend time with us. The weather was cool and rainy, but Donna Dene ventured out simply to keep in touch. We sat in the sunroom and made good use of blankets and lit candles. As it was a good day for soup, I prepared French Market Bean Soup, a recipe from Sonya, another Clay county friend. Bill joined us for supper, and then it was time for our guest to return home before it got too dark.

Of course personal face-to-face visits are not the only way we stay connected with friends. We recently got a postcard from a friend in Oregon. Diana updated us on their health issues and ministry plans. Last week we also received an early Christmas letter with a photo from the Frosts, a family we knew at our former church but who had moved to Iowa. I sent return notes to these friends.

Then yesterday I received a phone call from a member of the last church where we served (as volunteers). Mary Ellen updated me on the folks at FLCC and reported that she had sent the new issue of the Wesleyan devotional to us. We chatted nearly 45 minutes.

All these blessings of friendship have prepared me for Thanksgiving. I am grateful for friends in the past and I’m working on developing new friendships in our new community – mostly at church, for I’ve not ventured out to meet neighbors.

An added bonus to these out-of-town connections made me feel at home, like the house was mine, ours. We’ve concentrated on saying that around here. It’s not yours or theirs but our kitchen and our great room. But the true feeling of ours came when we could entertain our guests in our home. Thanks be to God from whom all blessings flow.

Now this is not a question or an attempt to get a response from those who connect with me here. It’s a personal evaluate on why I think I talk too much. And this takes me to places previously untraveled. In asking questions of family and friends I truly want to know more about them, sometimes more than they are willing to reveal. In that attempt and in order to soften the interrogation I start to talk about myself. That’s where it goes wrong. Maybe.

Silence is not something dear to me, especially in the car or at the dinner table. Just the other day I rode in the back seat of our daughter’s van on the way to a doctor’s appointment. No conversation ensued from the front seat, so I started something. Printed on the outside of one of Becky’s shopping bags I found some trivial questions. The front seat had to supply answers. They had not asked for conversation. I had to do so. Then one Sunday at dinner I interjected my thoughts about our Sunday school and worship service. Earlier my son-in-law had asked for my opinion, but I had more to say. And, of course, I asked for their observations. This also interrupted their talk about the Colts’ game coming from the TV in the next room. But the younger generation seems to give time for their granny, and I’m grateful.

Conversation should be give and take, making room for everyone present to participate. That’s another reason for this blog called Connections. Feedback is desired, but so far it’s too often a one-way street. I’ve now contradicted my opening statement. I do want response. I do want to connect with my readers, to know if I’m hitting any targets of interest, or at least aiming at them. I want to talk (to write), but not too much.

Eric Cohen and William Kristol, in an article published several years ago in The Weekly Standard (“Cloning, Stem Cells, and Beyond”), observe that “at present, we are in the midst of a debate on embryonic research, human cloning, and stem cells. But the choices and advances that have placed these dilemmas before us did not happen overnight. They happened step by step, one innovation after the next. The dilemmas themselves were always there, if perhaps not always quite as pressing as they now seem.”

When we allowed the development of “test tube” embryos for in-vitro fertilization, we allowed the development of extra embryos in case one was not good enough to use or didn’t take. Now we have a very large number of embryos which have been frozen. What is to be done with them? The greater problem we now face is that if embryonic stem cell research is successful, it is questionable whether politicians and/or the general public will want to refuse the next step, that of killing embryos for their stem cells in order to alleviate the suffering of the sick or injured.

However vast the majority may be who oppose cloning for developing usable body parts, the issue is far from dead. Some will argue that if we are going to discard (kill) these embryos anyway, why not use them for the healing of others? The door is open and the battle is before us. Our peril is that what works and “helps people” will trump ethics.

All of this spoke to me about decisions that I have made that involved compromise rather than principle. Each time it has risen up to bite me. Rationalizing spares us from making the hard choice now and creates for us a more difficult choice in the future. Doesn’t evil always gain the advantage when we venture onto slippery slopes?

William B. Coker, Sr.

If it started as a Hallmark promo, I don’t care. It’s a good idea to set aside time and say thanks to our pastors. Having been on the receiving end, I appreciate being appreciated. Bill was the pastor, not me, but the thanks from churches we served went to both of us. Even after Bill retired and became a volunteer associate pastor, the church included both of us in the thank offering.

Today while finishing the book of Romans, some verses spoke of how I view our pastors:

“Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you believe in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (15:13). “You are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, and able to instruct one another” (v. 14), “serving as a priest of God’s good news” (v. 16). “Therefore I rejoice over you” (16:19b).

We were blessed as church members when Bill was a professor. Pastor David A. Seamands held a high standard of preaching the Truth. Then at the last church before moving to Indianapolis, we had the privilege of hearing Pastor Dan Willis, committed to the sure foundation of God’s Word. Now we attend (not members) Southport Presbyterian Church and we’re grateful that Pastors Rob Hock and Glen Massey preach with conviction the Gospel of Truth.

In this note of appreciation I cannot leave out my favorite pastor/preacher/teacher – my husband Bill. His sermons always included teaching and were always founded on the truth of God’s Word. His delivery only matched his message in presenting the Truth. When I listen to Steve Green sing “We Have Seen God’s Glory,” (Gary Driskell/Mike Hudson) that to me is a testimony of what I sense when Bill preaches. I have been so blessed and privileged to have sat under Bill’s ministry.