From July 19 "Old men and Sailors always have a story to tell."

John Way as Rooster Cogburn in True Grit.  [cocks his gun] "Mr. Rat... I have a writ here says you're to stop eating Chen Lee's cornmeal forthwith. Now it's a rat writ, writ for a rat, and this is lawful service of the same. See? Doesn't pay any attention to me."

     "It's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday!  Everybody's workin' for the weekend!"    Yep, still singing that Rebecca Black song.    We have been home from Zambia for one week.  It seems like forever!!!  I really miss those cool mornings sipping coffee on the front porch, and the cool evenings on the tank tower watching God paint another sunset "with a brushes of comet's hair."    Yes, Darbi, I did fall in love with Zambia and its people!!
      I actually slept to 7:30 a.m. this morning.  Waited till 9 a.m.  to start the chainsaw and cut up the huge pecan limb that I had dragged out of the front yard.  While I was still sweaty, I jumped in the truck and went to the dump.  You are probably wondering where this is going other than the dump.  Remember, this is a journey not a destination.
      The quikest way to the dump is Hood Road.  There are actually two Hood Roads.  One is paved, and the other is dirt.  The dirt road cuts through pasture land owned by Paul Major and Lewis Shelton.  Mr. Shelton passed away a few years ago, but I refuse to stop calling his place Mr. Shelton's.  Why?  Read on!
      I retired from the U.S. Navy in 2001 and moved to LaGrange to teach middle school science.  We bought our current house in December of 2001.  It had only been a few days since the moving trucks had left that our doorbell rang for the first time.  On the stoop was a short, balding older man who looked about two days older than dirt.  I opened the door and he extended his hand to me and said, "My name is Lewis Shelton, and I am your neighbor.  If you need anything I live about a mile down the road.   Do you have a church?  If not we would be glad to have you visit us at First Baptist on the Square."   After saying his piece, he climbed gingerly down the stairs, hopped in his truck and drove away.
     Over the next 11 years I had many  opportunities to talk with Mr. Shelton, pray for him and his family, and find out what it means to be a neighbor.  I have to admit, he was more neighborly to me than I was to him.  The "dirt" Hood Road passes along his driveway.  When I took that shortcut home, often he would be headed home in his truck.  We would both slow down, wave, pull to the side, roll down our windows, shut off our engines, and visit for a while.   We talked about life, politics, church, cows and his grandson (a Navy pilot flying F/A-18E Super Hornets).  Mr. Shelton kept  us supplied wit hay through many winters.  When he bought hay rolls, he always bought extra "to store in our barn" because he didn't h ave room.  I don't think he ever charged us full price for a roll of hay.
     Around 3-4 year ago and F3 tornado (Enhanced Fujita Scale) tore through Lagrange.  It passed across Mr. Shelton and Elsie's house before heading straight for I-185.  He lost his house roof, his out buildings, and one or two cows.  He was in his mid 80's when the tornado struck.  School was cancelled the day after the tornado.  It came through about 10 PM.  Lynne and I got up and decided to drive around and see what damage there was.  When we saw Mr. Shelton's  house and property, we came home  to get gloves and tools, and went over to start helping him clean up.  That day I found out just how many people to whom Mr. Shelton had been a neighbor.  He found out just how much he was a part of this community.
     So I still call it Mr. Shelton's house because to me he isn't gone.  As I drove down Hudson Road, shortcut to the dump, I drove slowly.  Why?  If I saw Mr. Shelton's truck I wanted to be prepared to pull over, roll down my window, and visit for a while!!  He always had time for a neighbor. Matthew Mansour, one of our neighbors had lots of visits from Mr. Shelton.  I still laugh when I think about it.  Matthew said that if Mr. Shelton came to visit his family there were two t hings of which you could be sure:  "Mr. Shelton's pants would be unzipped, and he will back over my mailbox when he leaves!"  Now every time Lynne sees my pants unzipped, she calls me Mr. Shelton.
      Lewis Shelton embodies the principle of loving your neighbor as you love yourself.  He told me "I am your neighbor" and over a 10 year period proved it regularly.   I know when He got to heaven and Jesus approached him to welcome Him, Lewis extended his hand and said, "My name is Lewis Shelton, and Jesus I am your neighbor!" I know my Saviour smiled!