Friday, January 30, 2009

Till We Meet Again

A very dear friend of mine, Glenn W. Fox, went home to be with the Lord this week. Bro. Fox was my grandparents’ pastor when I first met him, which couldn’t have been very long after I was born. Bro. and Mrs. Fox were always like an extra set of grandparents to my sister and me. We often visited in their home and we would see them every month at associational meetings.

Bro. Fox always enjoyed children. I remember when I was young he would often ask, “are you First Timothy or Second Timothy?” I never knew how to answer.

Though we had no blood ties, it was from Bro. Fox that I gained an interest in parliamentary procedure and in how a meeting should be conducted. He always wanted things to be done properly and in order. I remember him standing up at an associational meeting, making a motion to amend a motion to get the wording correct and then voting against the motion. From that I realized that he was willing to let the majority rule, even when he disagreed with their decision.

I remember many times when we would go out to Camp Garwood for a work day and Bro. Fox would be there. On one occasion when I was young I remember him asking me if I knew how to operate a “Pick-em-up truck.” I didn’t know what he was talking about and I was much too young to drive. He pulled out a wheelbarrow and showed me—a pick-em-up truck. The two of us went over on the east side of the cafeteria and picked up rocks to put in his pick-em-up truck.

During the past few years, his health hasn’t been so good. For that reason, I am happy to know that he is in a much better place where he can rest from the trouble of this world. It’s with a sad heart that I see him go because he truly is one of my dearest friends, but I have no doubt that one day I will see him again, the day that I see my King face to face.


Why? It’s a simple question. I’ve been looking at my latest manuscript and have been trying to classify it. There’s love story there, but that isn’t the primary story. It isn’t so much about a dude with a problem, since the dude has, in part, created his problem. It isn’t about a monster in a house, though there are some similarities there. I have come to the conclusion that this story is about the question of why. Why would a con-artist who claims to be a Christian show up on a rich man’s doorstep and claim she has been raising his granddaughter?

The story isn’t a classic detective story, but it is a mystery. The characters know some things that they aren’t anxious to reveal to the other characters and to us, but we have to sort through the different points of view and see if we can figure out what is going on. I can’t say that I really set out to tell that type of story, but it turned out that way anyway. It’s funny how things work out sometimes.