of his own, would terrorize a pregnant woman, a four-year-old child, and their guests, I would have been livid—on steroids. Or, at least I would have been less than kind had I been in Daddy’s shoes. But Daddy practiced what he preached.
When Daddy preached about loving your enemies, those words didn’t roll off his tongue with ease. By God’s grace, Daddy was a living example of what Jesus meant. Granted, anybody with a Bible and an audience could preach about loving your adversaries. But as a practical matter, I’d say it’s impossible, apart from God at work in your heart, to love your enemy when he’s setting dynamite next to your house, putting everyone you love at risk.
I’m amazed that Daddy didn’t wrestle Mr. Watts to the ground on the spot—if not out of anger, just to put the fear of God into him. In a man-to-man contest, Mr. Watts was no match for Daddy, who, standing five inches taller, towered over Mr. Watts like an elm tree. Daddy’s strapping shoulders, muscular forearms, and powerful hands could have put Mr. Watts in a headlock faster than the drop of a hat.
But Daddy didn’t fight back. He believed that a soft answer turned away wrath.
He was a firm believer in the power of forgiveness.
* * *
The fact that Daddy responded with love to those who were persecuting us wasn’t lost on Larry Cheek, a reporter from the Fayetteville Times . While there was scant media coverage after the first bombing—perhaps because the local news organizations figured it was an isolated event—several days after this second blast, the press picked up the story. Mr. Cheek showed up personally to cover the emerging conflict in Sellerstown.
Walking around the parsonage with the reporter in tow, Daddy identified the first blast site. Daddy said, “Last week’s dynamite hit out behind the house, 16 in the field. Folks heard the blast more than a couple of miles away. That didn’t do any damage, except to our nerves. It scared two children who were visiting us real bad too.”
Next, Daddy walked over to the house to show how the bombing had damaged the exterior. With Mr. Cheek taking copious notes, Daddy articulated his greatest fear, namely that Momma and I would be harmed, saying, “Trouble is, we don’t know what they’re liable to do next, or when. My wife’s seven months pregnant and Becky, here, is four. I sure wouldn’t want to see anything happen to them.”
Daddy wasn’t the type of person to embellish things. He was plainspoken, preferring to stick to the facts. He didn’t know the first thing about media “spin”—that fine art of twisting the details of an event to cast a more favorable light on your side of the story while positioning the opposing side in a negative light. If anything, he was the master of the understatement.
Daddy could have made a big deal out of how we were having difficulty sleeping at night. He could have told the reporter that we suspected every car that went by the house, especially after sundown; that we never knew whether someone was sneaking into our yard to lay some sort of trap for us; or that the fear we tasted played upon our imaginations around the clock. Yet he chose not to elaborate on the toll that this harassment was taking.
Digging for some explanation as to why anybody would want to persecute a pastor with such a forceful display of firepower, the reporter learned about the church feud. When Mr. Cheek filed his report, he summed up the conflict this way: “One side does its fighting with terrorist tactics—dynamite, letting air out of tires, cutting phone lines and shooting out lights. The other side answers with preaching, prayer, patience and the sheriff.”
Daddy gave his answers carefully because he was concerned about the way this conflict might play out in the press. The last thing he wanted was for the church, or for the Sellerstown community, to get a bad rap. He loved the people and was there to serve them, which is why he was quick to
When Daddy preached about loving your enemies, those words didn’t roll off his tongue with ease. By God’s grace, Daddy was a living example of what Jesus meant. Granted, anybody with a Bible and an audience could preach about loving your adversaries. But as a practical matter, I’d say it’s impossible, apart from God at work in your heart, to love your enemy when he’s setting dynamite next to your house, putting everyone you love at risk.
I’m amazed that Daddy didn’t wrestle Mr. Watts to the ground on the spot—if not out of anger, just to put the fear of God into him. In a man-to-man contest, Mr. Watts was no match for Daddy, who, standing five inches taller, towered over Mr. Watts like an elm tree. Daddy’s strapping shoulders, muscular forearms, and powerful hands could have put Mr. Watts in a headlock faster than the drop of a hat.
But Daddy didn’t fight back. He believed that a soft answer turned away wrath.
He was a firm believer in the power of forgiveness.
* * *
The fact that Daddy responded with love to those who were persecuting us wasn’t lost on Larry Cheek, a reporter from the Fayetteville Times . While there was scant media coverage after the first bombing—perhaps because the local news organizations figured it was an isolated event—several days after this second blast, the press picked up the story. Mr. Cheek showed up personally to cover the emerging conflict in Sellerstown.
Walking around the parsonage with the reporter in tow, Daddy identified the first blast site. Daddy said, “Last week’s dynamite hit out behind the house, 16 in the field. Folks heard the blast more than a couple of miles away. That didn’t do any damage, except to our nerves. It scared two children who were visiting us real bad too.”
Next, Daddy walked over to the house to show how the bombing had damaged the exterior. With Mr. Cheek taking copious notes, Daddy articulated his greatest fear, namely that Momma and I would be harmed, saying, “Trouble is, we don’t know what they’re liable to do next, or when. My wife’s seven months pregnant and Becky, here, is four. I sure wouldn’t want to see anything happen to them.”
Daddy wasn’t the type of person to embellish things. He was plainspoken, preferring to stick to the facts. He didn’t know the first thing about media “spin”—that fine art of twisting the details of an event to cast a more favorable light on your side of the story while positioning the opposing side in a negative light. If anything, he was the master of the understatement.
Daddy could have made a big deal out of how we were having difficulty sleeping at night. He could have told the reporter that we suspected every car that went by the house, especially after sundown; that we never knew whether someone was sneaking into our yard to lay some sort of trap for us; or that the fear we tasted played upon our imaginations around the clock. Yet he chose not to elaborate on the toll that this harassment was taking.
Digging for some explanation as to why anybody would want to persecute a pastor with such a forceful display of firepower, the reporter learned about the church feud. When Mr. Cheek filed his report, he summed up the conflict this way: “One side does its fighting with terrorist tactics—dynamite, letting air out of tires, cutting phone lines and shooting out lights. The other side answers with preaching, prayer, patience and the sheriff.”
Daddy gave his answers carefully because he was concerned about the way this conflict might play out in the press. The last thing he wanted was for the church, or for the Sellerstown community, to get a bad rap. He loved the people and was there to serve them, which is why he was quick to
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