Some years ago my kids were with me as I was driving home from a neighboring town. I had waited too long to get gas, and the car died while going up a hill. We were about a mile from the closest gas station. I coasted back to the bottom of the hill and asked the kids to pray with me.

A number of years ago several people mistook me for a local attorney. On one occasion I was in a grocery store when the attorney’s aunt saw me and addressed me as her nephew. On other occasions I was mistaken for a certain Hollywood star. Unfortunately, both of these men were several years older than me.

I was only ten years old when my grandfather died, and I took his death hard. I can still remember that day and the days leading up to his funeral. He died on a summer Sunday afternoon in our small hometown hospital. He had been watching the Chicago Cubs and had fallen asleep.

I was in my early teen years visiting my grandfather on his farm in Western Kentucky. Sitting in a chair under an old oak tree by the driveway, I listened as he spoke. 

My wife and I had taken our oldest granddaughter to Chick-fil-A. She is a cute, smart, and social nineteen-month-old. As we were eating an older woman walked by noticing our granddaughter, but she was on a mission to get to a table. 

I recently wrote a blog entitled, “The Power of Words.” As I was finishing I thought of this song published over forty years ago, but the message is still true today. Take the time to be with the ones you love and admire, regardless of their age.

Years ago I was in a local drug store waiting in line behind a lady who had already received her order. She was conversing with the pharmacist and seemed oblivious to fact that I was waiting behind her. I was neither in a hurry nor annoyed, but a thought came to mind that I remember to this day.

My paternal grandmother died shortly after I graduated from high school. We lovingly called her Granny because she reminded us of Granny on the Beverly Hillbillies show. She was thin with white hair in a bun, and she wore small wire rimmed glasses. 

A few weeks ago I sat in the sound room of a recording studio as a retired college professor recorded the text portions of two devotional hymnbooks we have developed for seniors. His voice, still deep and rich, resonated beautifully and almost flawlessly through almost three hours of recording. 

Grandpa, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. He didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands. When I sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my presence. Finally, I asked him if he was OK. 

If you do any shopping at all you know the cost of milk, eggs, and gasoline, but have you ever considered the cost being an encourager? Communication has gone beyond what any of us could have imagined, but I wonder what the ease of communication has cost us?

“My name is Stan Means.” (“Hello, Stan Means,” says my imaginary crowd as I stand before them to make my declaration.)  “I am a Scrooge!” (The crowd applauds at my honesty.) Okay, I guess I need to take this a bit further. I grew up in a rather poor working class town. My dad was a public school teacher making about the same money as an entry-level factory worker.

Last week I was sitting with an older gentleman under the shade of his front porch roof. He is not in the best of health and has been retired for twenty years. I had trimmed some of the low hanging branches from a large oak tree in his front yard. The utility company had severely trimmed the street side of the tree. The older gentleman now saw the tree as mangled and better off cut down.

I first met him one Christmas many years ago and had just started dating his niece. His siblings and their mates were in the kitchen, and I was sitting in the living room. I remember him standing in the door way between the kitchen and the living room looking at me and saying, “He looks just like a….” His siblings all agreed that I had some resemblance to their family.

I am still getting used to the fact that our two kids are married, that our daughter is now a mother, and that our son is now a father. Don't get me wrong. I am happy for them in every way. I just find it difficult to comprehend that it has been so many years since I was holding them as babies.

I had some work related business to take care of in my old hometown and thought it would be a good chance to pick up Granddaddy along the way. He had sold the farm and had moved into town after my grandmother died, and I had yet to see his new home. I drove eight hours northwest to pick him up and then another five to six hours north to my parent's house.