"I Survived the Drought of 2011"

“I SURVIVED THE DROUGHT OF 2011.”

With all of my heart, I hope that T-shirts emblazoned with that slogan are soon printed and available. At this point, though, one wonders if they ever will be.

I hate to whine. Well, that’s probably not strictly true. Most whiners whine because they enjoy it, and while they’re doing it, they don’t have to do anything else—say, something constructive—but I digress as I whine. Back to the topic at hand . . .

It’s less fun whining about the drought when I realize that folks in other states are also dealing with horrific weather woes. Your choice on the meteorological menu this year seems to boil down to three: Would you rather be blown away by a tornado, washed away by a flood, or burnt to a crisp by 50 mph winds in 100-degree, bone dry, weather?

My part of the country is dealing with the latter. It’s a matter for tears to see farmers working to put seed in parched earth knowing that they have to waste their time and that seed by planting just for insurance, all the while sure that nothing could possibly survive and grow. Not this year. Last year was the kind of bumper crop a farmer waits a lifetime to see. This year is the kind of disaster a farmer also hopes he has to wait a lifetime to see, and prays that he never does. The contrast is jarring to the max.

One thing’s sure. I now know what the definition of a pretty day is. A pretty day is a day with very little wind. (The wind actually lay down for a couple of days last week, and though the ground was still dry as bug dust, life was better.) An unimaginably beautiful day around here is any day when it rains. (Which it no longer does.) I never thought I’d hear a farmer say he’d even take the frozen stuff dropping from the sky if it would just promise to eventually melt. But I’ve heard it now.

Along with the drought has come, of course, a siege of wildfires. It’s amazing that we haven’t had more, but we’ve had plenty. With this wind and those temperatures, a tiny spark easily becomes a conflagration.

Our land is not the only thing whose fuse has been shortened by the presently scorching drought. A good many of us living through this mess may also have noticed that our fuses are shorter than usual. It takes less to set us off as the earth is not the only thing parched by the unrelenting wind, dust, and heat. Our souls become parched for joy.

During such times we are warned about not creating sparks that might enflame the dry land. Wisdom might indicate a little of the same prudence around dry spirits. We are, after all, in this mess together.

The God who created this land will one day water it. I think it’s good to pray about that, and to remember that times like these remind us to be more thankful for times not like these. In all times, God is still God, and God is still good.

I’m sure ready for that t-shirt.










Copyright 2011 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

No Issue or Cause Deserves the Place of God in Our Lives

Tell me, if you please, does the name Wayne B. Wheeler ring any bells for you? It didn’t for me, either, until I read Daniel Okrent’s fascinating book Last Call: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition.

Wayne Wheeler died in 1927, less than a paltry 100 years ago. At that time, the editors of the Washington Post wrote: “No other private citizen of the United States has left such an impress upon national history.”

Wheeler was the leading figure in the Anti-Saloon League (the ASL) and was the single most influential person behind the passage and 14-year reign of the 18th Amendment: Prohibition. During most of that time he wielded such power that he could walk into almost any office in our nation’s capitol—of congressman, senator, or, yes, president—and command an audience. One of the surest ways for an elected official to lose his office was to adopt a position Wheeler and the ASL did not approve. Hence the verdict of the Washington Post. And yet . . .

Following Wheeler’s death, the ASL began to fall on hard times, and, for a number of reasons, Prohibition itself was repealed. In his book, Okrent reports that from 1935 to 1975, Wheeler’s name appears in the Post only twelve times, four of those in the obituaries of others who had fought for the amendment and three times in reviews of books on Prohibition.

After 1975, Wheeler’s name disappeared from that paper. As Prohibition was bounced out, so was even the memory of Wayne Wheeler. Even American history texts telling the story of Prohibition “leave out the name of its author.” In the eight decades since Wheeler’s death, Okrent writes that his “legacy” has been present in the tactics of almost every single-issue political movement that has arisen in our nation, but almost no one remembers his name. The nation still has the hangover from Prohibition, including among much else, the national income tax, organized crime, and, on a less pernicious note, NASCAR. But the name of Prohibition’s “author” has almost completely vanished. I find that remarkable, and cautionary, on a number of levels.

Fame really is fleeting. If you have a choice, far better to be famous with your family and a few true friends than with the masses.

Power not only corrupts, it blinds. I don’t know that Wheeler was corrupt, though his cause led to a national orgy of hypocrisy and corruption, but his life was, it seems to me, a very sad one. Zealots are by definition given to “unbalanced”lives. They are good people to avoid and almost always do less lasting good than “ordinary” people whose influence for genuine good is less loud but far more real.

No matter how important our “cause,” it’s a tragic mistake to forget to go home and have a life.

No issue—no matter how worthy or unworthy—deserves the place of God in our lives, but most issues will clamor for it.

And regardless of what the verdict of history is on our lives, only one Judge’s opinion counts. The others will soon fade away.






Copyright 2011 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

"My Eyes Are Now Open, But What Day Is It?"

My eyes are now open. It seems to be morning. But what day is it?

That’s the conversation I had with myself as something approaching consciousness was trying to break through my brain fog this morning. You see, we had a wedding a couple of days ago, complete with all the rehearsal and ceremony decorating, celebrating, food, family, fun, and now exhaustion (of the “good tired” variety). So, you understand this morning’s mental mistiness, I’m sure.

I might as well admit that I’m not a huge fan of weddings. Most guys will read that and wonder, “Big deal. What kind of dim-witted dumbo is?” Most gals will wonder if I also kick dogs and eat small children. My defense is that I absolutely love marriage (and a big wedding and a big marriage are not even remotely connected).

But while I’m “admitting,” I’ll also readily admit that this weekend included a good bit of fun and some really amazing moments—and a great wedding. In no particular order . . .

I got to swim at the hotel pool with my giggling granddaughters.

I got to dance with those little gals at the rehearsal dinner and reception—and with the beautiful bride at the latter.

I got to spend the night with my brand new grandson.

I got to watch my two beautiful world-class daughters-in-law laugh as they talked about decorating the wedding suite at the hotel for the groom and my newest beautiful world-class daughter-in-law. I’m so glad their husbands showed surprisingly good judgment by falling in love with them!

At the rehearsal dinner (a shrimp boil) I got to help dispatch a good number of shrimp (and a chunk of delectable cheesecake crafted by the artistry of my own bride) in exactly the way God intended.

I got to stand by my four sons during the ceremony—and please indulge my fatherly pride when I say there’s nobody I’d rather stand with or laugh with or be with anywhere. (Here’s an amazing thought: that’s how the Father of us all feels about us all!)

I got to officiate as the clergyman as not only a great couple but two fine families were joined. Both have shared ties for years and are proud as they can be to be “officially” united. This is the third time for such a blessing!

I got to watch as the two most beautiful little girls in the world (my granddaughters, of course!) dressed in white did the flower girl honors, proceeded down the aisle, and went, all smiles, straight, not to their daddies as directed, but to their grandfather. I was more than okay with that.

And I got the best seat in the house (which was not a seat since we were standing and which was not in a house since we were outdoors) . . . Well, I had the best view of anyone in that lovely setting as I could look right into two faces as filled with joy as any faces I’ve ever seen. I am immensely proud of that couple. May their faces always be filled with their Father’s love and joy.


 Copyright 2011 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

When We Give Up Freedom, We Pay a Heavy Price

G. K. Chesterton once wrote, “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.” It’s no surprise that it’s easier to spend time talking about Christianity than it is to spend time practicing it.

The same thing is true regarding freedom: freedom is easier to talk about than to cherish, even though it was to purchase our freedom that our Lord was willing to lay down his own life. Real freedom is ours when we willingly choose to lay down our lives and follow him. And freedom is precious.

History bears powerful witness to the fact that freedom is never more in danger than when people with fine intentions become complicit in trying to take it away—always “for the good” of the folks whose freedom they are busy filching.

I felt a little funny recently as I sat down to write an e-mail note to my state legislators (who evidently have too much time on their hands) urging them not to enact a proposed law designed to make it illegal to allow smoking in Texas-licensed bars and restaurants. (They’ll not listen.) You’re welcome to disagree with me—that’s called freedom—but though I’ve never spent much time smoking on a bar stool, it seems to me that freedom is the issue at stake.

No one should be forced to breathe other folks’ smoke, but most places already have a good many “anti-smoking” ordinances of one sort or another (we’re in no danger of running out of laws), and it seems to me that the government already has much more to say than it should about how a shopkeeper runs his own business. We consumers are not quite as stupid as those who want to “protect” us by taking away our freedom think we are. Let consumers cast their votes with their feet and let the free market do what it does very well—at least in the now-rare occasions when it’s left free. Smart barkeeps will take note and respond. No new law by the Nanny State required.

I’ve been reading a fascinating book about the history of another governmental stab at freedom: it was called Prohibition, and whether you’re dry as a bone or wet as a fish, all you have to do is read a little history to see that it was an utter disaster that led to staggering amounts of corruption, crime (both serious and silly varieties), greed, waste, hypocrisy, and, ironically, more-than-before dangerous drinking of an often much more dangerous product.

The law’s loopholes were interesting. Sellers of sacramental wine did very well indeed and offered an impressive number of flavors and varieties for, I suppose, the most discerning religious palate. Alcohol for medicinal purposes could easily be had—one pint every ten days with a prescription. Even dentists and, yes, veterinarians were allowed to prescribe a certain amount of hooch for the health of their parched patients.

The most pretentiously pious puritans usually end up looking the silliest. But when we lightly give up freedom, we end up paying a heavy price. Ah, but you’re welcome to disagree. Why? Because, thank God indeed, you’re free.







Copyright 2011 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.