Let’s get this book thing started!!!

Ok, here’s how I think I should introduce the whole book thing…

Prologue Epilogue or whatever else it’s called….

People constantly tell me, ‘Jason, you need to write a book’ when they hear the stories of God’s adventure that I’ve been privileged to experience.

Too bad books are work.

But that wasn’t the big reason I hesitated to ever write about it.

I resisted the idea of writing this book for years because I thought it would be too self-indulgent to create a book of what God has taught me along the way and the manner in which He taught me.

Then as life went on, I began to feel this sensation of those vital stories slipping from my memory and getting fuzzier every day.

Not on my watch.

This is not a book designed to be an auto-biography or a book or memoirs, but rather to an Ebenezer of sorts…kind of like the scar I got when I was 5 years old.

I was 5 years old and like any five-year-old, church was well…boring.

I couldn’t WAIT until I could run out the front door of the church and play hide and seek with my friends in the graveyard behind the church as the sun set, gravestones eclipsing the summer horizon with lightning bugs pulsing all around to the tune of the cicadas chant.

Just one problem.

Dad told me no running after church.

And like any good son, I obeyed…for about 7 seconds. The moment I saw Scott McCubbin getting the advantage of the best hiding stones, I was screaming and tearing around the back of the church like a banshee with earplugs.

As my parents talked with their friends, I knew what I needed to do. Just keep an eye on them so when it was time to leave, I would be nearby like a good boy.

Another problem. I’m a good hider.

When I heard my Dad bellow my name, I knew the gig was up and I was in trouble again, so I took off across the gravel parking lot to make it to our forest green Plymouth Satellite, my Dad’s compromise between a station wagon and the Roadrunner he gave up to become a family man.

Then I slipped, right on the gravel and fell on my wrist, filleting it wide open, blood gushing and tears rolling.

My Dad told me one statement over and over as I gasped for breath between howls as he threw me into the car and drove home.

‘I told you not to run after church’

I was really sorry, but I didn’t know how sorry until we got home.

Mom, practicing registered nurse, looked at my gash and said, ‘He needs stitches’.

Dad would have none of it.

He took me screaming into the shower and flushed out the sand and dirt.

He told me as he cleaned the wound, ’I hope this leaves a scar, so you’ll be reminded of what happens when you disobey!’

Boy, was I reminded.

I still have the scar on my left wrist to this day, it’s faded over time, only I know where it is, but it’s there.

The deeper mark is the reminder of what happens when you disobey.

Years later I still have never forgotten.

Now I wear it with pride. I realized over time that Dad wasn’t being cruel, he knew the extreme measures he had to take to get through my thick skull. Dad wanted more than just avoid a costly doctor bill, he wanted to teach a life lesson. Obey those in authority over you.

That mark served me well.

Reminders are a good thing.

Kind of like ancient story I would hear about in Sunday school about Joshua crossing the Jordan river.

Once the children of Isreal got across, someone had the bright idea to pull the biggest prank ever,  put a monument right smack in the middle of the then dry river bed before the waters returned.

That must’ve been quite a sight. I can imagine how weird it would’ve looked years later…a monument in the middle of a river? That has to makes one wonder like we do with the Egyptian pyramids, stonehenge, and Easter Island…how did that get there?

That question was probably on the lips of every young Isrealite boy as soon as they saw it.

Then fathers would tell the story about how God actually parted the river so it was easy to make the monument and proof so we’d never forget.

This book is my reminder.

As my memory fades and people look through old pictures someday, I want them to be monuments of stories of God.

I hope the stories leave a mark. I hope your stories do too!!!

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Matt says:

    sounds like my pk childhood. I too hope a mark is left!

    1. Jason Morris says:

      LOL, just when you think you’re the only one!!!

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