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Several months ago a younger relative of mine, Wiley Kimbrough, was sore after returning from a hiking adventure that lasted several days. His mother, LeSan, said he was “all stoved up.” That phrase is one of the dying expressions which are fading from conversation.

Being stoved up probably has no connection to stove pipes, but it reminds me of a story my cousin, Rooney Bowen, told me long ago. He got the first-hand account from Mr. Buford Carr, who owned Vienna Hardware Company.

Mr. Buford said a stranger came into the store and asked to buy a half joint of stove pipe. Despite the unusual request, he walked to a workbench in the back and began sawing through the short pipe with a hacksaw. An employee’s bewildered look caused Mr. Buford to vent his frustration. “Some s.o.b. up front wants to buy a half joint of stove pipe!” he said, before noticing the man was standing behind him. “And this fine gentleman,” he added, “wants to buy the other half.” 

Another dying expression is, “till the cows come home.” It was a popular saying in the days when the countryside was dotted with small farms and most of them had a few cows.   

Daddy called our small herd to the barn with a word that sounded like ‘Ho-ick.” He’d emphasize the first syllable as in “Hoooooo-ick.” After a few beckoning shouts, Star, his beloved milk cow, would lead the others up the lane.

I don’t know if hoick was a common term or not. A Valdosta friend, Eddie Hightower, said his aunt called their cows with a similar sounding “Ho-ey.” If anyone is familiar with the origin of  cow-calling words I’d like to know more. Such mysteries sometime keep me awake at night. 

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” used to be in the regular lineup of expressions. I’ve never understood why anyone would want to skin a cat. Maybe it refers to catfish.

I skinned a few catfish growing up, first nailing their head to a fence post like Daddy taught me. He’d cut the skin just below the head and pull it off with pliers. That process is not patented so you’re welcome to use it. 

“He’d rather climb a tree and tell a lie than stand on the ground and tell the truth.” A family friend made that comment to me years ago about a young fellow who was working for him. That expression was mostly grounded when kids stopped climbing trees. 

During my childhood we climbed trees for entertainment, but also for economic benefits. Jimmy and I would scale the pecan trees in our yard then kick the limbs so the nuts would fall. It’s not as efficient as a mechanical shaker but the price was right and the thrill was free.

Once upon a time I could climb trees till the cows came home. Now it would leave me all stoved up. And I guess kicking those pecan limbs to shake the nuts loose proves at least one dying expression is true. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

As I approached the traffic light in downtown Vienna in September of 2025, a truck pulling a horse trailer stopped in front of me. A message, perhaps a quote from Mr. Ed’s stable, was printed across the back. “Live like someone left the gate open.” 

That bit of humor reminded me of Dude, a mammoth-sized dog of unknown ancestry. He rode shotgun with our son from California to Georgia during the early part of the Covid pandemic. Seth, Dude, and a chihuahua named Louise slept in their rental vehicle, only making a few essential stops.

Dude decided to live with us, but for a while refused to stay inside our fenced back yard. We thought he had an amazing jumping ability until we caught him climbing over the chain link fence, a possibility we had not considered. He could have traveled the world once he reached the other side, but chose instead to patiently wait at our back door.

The big fellow had been accustomed to indoor living on the West Coast. It took him a while to understand that our rules were different. He eventually adjusted and became a beloved part of our family, then died too young and broke our hearts. That horse-trailer advice reminded me of Dude, because even if we had left the gate open he would not have ventured far. 

In a way that’s a good thing. He knew where he wanted to be and wasn’t tempted by open gates. Sometimes, though, we can be too cautious and miss out on opportunities.

Yogi Berra said, “When you get to a fork in the road, take it.” His humorous quip perhaps contains a bit of subtle wisdom. We don’t always take either fork, choosing instead to stay where we are and linger in indecision. Or we turn around and retreat because the road less traveled can be scary. Like a fork in the road we never take, we shy away from the open gate.

Some gates are no doubt best left closed, but I’m thinking today of those which are promising. There are a lot of reasons we may be reluctant to go through them. Fear is one that can stop us in our tracks. It can cause us to do nothing or to make half-hearted attempts.

One way I’ve found helpful in dealing with fear is to ask, “What’s the worst that could happen?” I think I heard that from someone giving pointers on public speaking. I’ve made a few talks over the years and almost always get nervous, so sometimes I ask myself that question. It reminds me that the worst that can happen is not all that bad.

The truth is the audiences I’ve spoken to have all been friendly ones. Even if my mind went blank or I lost my notes, the people would have been understanding. None would have called for tar and feathers.

In a nutshell, here’s my thinking. If you come to a fork in the road, make the best choice you can then go for it. If you’re fearful about tackling something you know is worthwhile then ask yourself, “What’s the worst that could happen?” That can help you decide whether to rev up the engine or hit the brakes.  

And if you don’t remember anything else from today’s ramblings, I hope you’ll hang on to a little bit of horse sense which Mr. Ed would have surely embraced. “Live like someone left the gate open.”

A July 2025 column mentioned a few signs of knowing you’re in the country. Barbara Lamb Snyder said it rekindled memories of growing up on a dirt road in Dooly County. Her comment made me realize I had barely touched on dirt roads, which probably deserve top billing in defining rural living.

Several years ago I considered writing a book titled “Dirt Road Memories.” Ideas without effort eventually settle though, like the stirred dust on country roads. So I’ll just offer a few recollections from childhood instead.

I’m not sure how old I was when the road by our house was paved, probably six or seven. One thing I remember about riding my bicycle is standing up to pedal through sandy places, sometimes even getting off to push. 

My first bike had seen better days when it came our way. Daddy hid its rusty patina by brushing on a coat of red paint. Shortly after the training wheels came off, however, my ride was upgraded. Small accomplishments sometimes lead to big rewards.

Another early dirt road memory is of Uncle Murray coming to our house looking for my father. When Mama told him he’d gone to Unadilla to Giles and Hodge Warehouse, my uncle said he was about to head that way.

Why a five-year-old decided to hide in the bed of his uncle’s truck I don’t recall. I climbed up on the back bumper while he and Mama were talking, then scrunched down between bags of seed that were stacked above the rear glass.

That’s about all I would remember if not for hearing the story retold many times. Several people along Rural Route One saw me perched atop the bags. When they waved at my uncle he smiled and waved back. After arriving at the warehouse he understood their enthusiastic gestures. Many times I’ve asked God to protect me from making foolish choices. Sometimes he’s protected me in spite of them. 

A dirt-road memory from my teen years is the brief thrill of fishtailing a vehicle. I was not brave enough to confidently master the maneuver, but my brother Jimmy loved to make the back end of his 1964 Chevy drift sideways. I was with him a few times, usually on the sharp curve between our house and Harmony Church.

His most-publicized stunt occurred near Mr. Willie Bowen’s home. Mr. Willie loved sharing the details of that entertaining escapade. Jimmy slid into one ditch, then crossed to the opposite side before getting back in the ruts. With a grin and hint of admiration Mr. Willie would tell how Jimmy never let off the gas as he went by.

I guess I learned a few things from those unpaved roads, like how standing on the pedals can help get you through the sandy places. Although I didn’t realize it until much later, I also learned a little about mercy. My family was able to laugh about a pickup ride that could have turned out badly. My brother gets credit for a third dirt road lesson. I’m not advocating recklessness, but sometimes the best way to get out of a ditch is to step on the gas. 

Childhood memories have grown sweeter with time, especially blessed when lessons come to mind. Old memories fade and settle, just as dust on a dirt road wanes, but it only takes a gentle breeze to stir them up again. 

Here’s my wish list for 2026, plus I’ll share a secret for helping some wishes come true.

I wish for a cure for male pattern baldness. That idea came right off the top of my head. I just need some seed money.

I wish for a vaccine for lying politicians. Lying would result in Pinocchio-style noses, their length in proportion to exaggeration. Perhaps long noses in our nation’s capital might point them toward honest debate. 

“I’d like to teach the world to sing.” Coke had a delightful advertising jingle which included those lyrics. I’m a mediocre singer, but I’d like to post some songs online which I wrote years ago. Our triplets enjoyed them for a while so perhaps other children would too. 

“I’ve got some friends I’d like to see again.” That wish is from the theme song of a television series Then Came Bronson. Michael Parks, the motorcycle-riding star of the show, was a hero to many teenage boys during my youth. That tune has been stuck in my head for decades. Sometimes I sing it while meandering down country roads in my truck.

I wish to become as good a man as my dog believes I am. Harriet’s opinion is no doubt influenced by regular walks and treats. Even without rewards though, dogs give mankind more credit than we deserve. 

I wish to rid the woods we love of nandinas, cherry laurel, palmetto, briar vines, and kudzu. We’ve made some progress but have a long way to go. We won’t conquer them in 2026, but wishing doesn’t have to be limited by reality. Hopefully the list will remind me of wishes I can work on.

I wish to put in a shallow well with a hand pump in those same woods. I’ve been planning this for a while. Maybe I’ll get past the planning and have fresh water at our picnic site. 

I wish Charlie Brown would kick the football through the uprights. Lucy has tricked him too many times by pulling it away. The kid deserves a chance, as do all children. 

I wish people on news shows would stop habitually responding to questions by first saying, “That’s a great question.” There are occasional queries which deserve compliments, but not routinely. It’s fine to ask, “Do you believe the snow will impact travel?” but it doesn’t rise to the level of journalistic greatness.

I wish Netflix would offer G or PG rated versions of movies and other fare. Otherwise decent shows which include crude language could be cleaned up with dubbed lines. I’ve suggested this to Netflix before. My letter must have gotten lost.

While we’re on that subject, I wish influential people would stop using vulgar expressions. Entertainers, athletes, coaches, and even Presidents have gravitated toward conversational vulgarity. Some of the most prominent of today’s leaders are setting poor examples for the leaders of tomorrow.

I’m not out of wishes, but I am out of space, so here’s my first and second place. I’d like to teach the world to sing, and I’ve got some friends I’d like to see again. Work is the secret to helping some wishes come true, so make your own list and let’s see how we do.

Two more wishes before I close, though last perhaps the best. Happy New Year to you all. May our wishes which are worthy all be blessed.

Harmony Baptist Church celebrated their 190th anniversary with an October Homecoming service. My mother, 98 at the time, was recognized as the oldest member. She’s hoping to win again in five years. 

Homecoming revived some fading memories, including Mama’s path to membership there. She grew up attending Bethlehem Baptist, a small congregation near her childhood home. Preacher Simon Anderson baptized her in the cold waters of Mock Springs, a popular swimming hole during her childhood as well as my own.

She and two cousins, Ruby and Alvin Hogsett, began attending Harmony also during their teen years. Alvin drove my grandfather’s old farm truck on the four mile trip. Bethlehem and Harmony were quarter-time churches then, with preaching only once a month. Mama says that prospects of meeting other young people appealed to the trio more than extra sermons.

On one of those Sundays, Ruby told Mama that George Joiner would be calling on her. Although my mother had only seen him from a distance, Ruby was convinced, saying he’d been looking her way. Daddy borrowed his father’s car that afternoon and introduced himself to his future mother-in-law. With her permission the young couple went to McVay’s Pharmacy in Cochran. McVay’s popular soda fountain featured a long bar with stools plus glass top tables and metal chairs. That first date began a Harmonyous relationship.             

Patricia Cross Williams, who was born into the Harmony family in the 1950s, has done a remarkable job of preserving church history. Something I realized from her presentation is the connection, continuous I believe, with the Mashburn family. Daniel Mashburn and his wife Elizabeth were two of the seven founding members. Generations later, Elaine Mashburn Free Peavy continues that admirable legacy.

Virgil and Edith Peavy were at Homecoming. Though somewhat younger than my mother, they are well into their senior years. They are the only ones of that age group still at Harmony who were there during my childhood. Mr. Virgil’s sincere prayers impressed me even as a young boy. It was obvious he and God kept in touch. And Miss Edith’s chocolate cakes were always among the delightful choices at church dinners.

Concrete picnic tables are long gone, as is the unpainted-block outhouse. The small cement baptismal pool is no longer there, nor the hand pump that was close by. Baptisms were usually held just after July revivals. I was nine when Brother Earl Troglin immersed me. Some folks say he didn’t hold me under long enough. 

Mrs. Ilene Mashburn, Elaine Peavy’s mother, was the first Sunday School teacher I remember. She used a felt board to teach us about Bible characters like Noah, Moses, and David. Miss Ilene held our attention by telling stories with zeal while creating colorful scenes on the big board. I can still picture Noah’s brown ark floating on blue water. 

David Dunaway and I would quietly tussle when it was time to quote scripture, competing for the rights to proclaim, “Jesus wept.” William Cross was the champion at Sword Drills. He’d flip pages with lightning speed then raise one foot, poised to step forward. As he was stepping across an imaginary line, I was usually wondering whether to look in the Old Testament or New.

Those are some of the fading memories that Homecoming brought to mind. I’m thankful for them all, but especially one before my time. I’m here and I’m blessed because a sixteen year old girl visited Harmony Baptist Church in 1942, and a lanky young man began looking her way.

I didn’t plan a series about “A Few Good Lines,” but the first two columns brought other sayings to mind. Today’s musings are a few of my favorite bank lines gleaned from 35 years as a country banker.

Marcus Everidge had a mischievous nature and an easy laugh. More than once he said with mock sincerity, “I’m going to tell you what a man told me after I did a lot of backhoe work for him. When I told him how much he owed, he said, ‘Marcus, even if I can’t pay you, I’ll still be your friend.’” 

Another quip, the source long forgotten, added an interesting slant to an old jewel. A father had expressed concern to his daughter about her boyfriend having an ambition deficiency. “Money won’t buy happiness,” his daughter stated defensively. “You’re right,” he agreed, “but neither will poverty.” I don’t know how that story ended. Love is blind much of the time, which no doubt benefits men more than women.

Mr. John Short Williams, a fine gentleman and excellent farmer, gets credit for a memorable quote during my banking days. He had a military background and was sturdily built. Even in his senior years he looked capable of riding the range with John Wayne.

As he was leaving the bank one Friday, I walked outside with him to visit a bit. A young fellow strolled past and mentioned, in a rather carefree manner, having an overdue loan he’d catch up later. Mr. John smiled, then told me about a man he made a personal loan to who began avoiding him.

He eventually went to the man’s house and told him he wanted his money. When the fellow said he didn’t have it, Mr. John said he wasn’t leaving without it. The man smugly responded, “You can’t get blood out of a turnip.” Mr. John said, “No, but I can get the turnip.” That jogged the fellow’s memory about a stash of cash.

That story amused me because I wasn’t good at collecting, especially when folks were having a tough time. When I first joined the bank, President Luke Couch gave me a long list of past dues to work. I’d call them every week, then Luke and I would discuss them.

One day Luke politely suggested I might need to change my collection approach. A married couple had been dealing with health issues and kept falling further behind on their payments. It seemed to me they were doing the best they could, so I mostly listened. After several months the man came in to see Luke. Thankfully they worked out a plan, but I wished he hadn’t told my boss how much his wife enjoyed my calls.   

James Reuben Akin, a friend and fellow church member, had a keen sense of humor and multiple clever sayings. My favorite bank line of his was, “I came into this world with nothing and I’ve managed to hold on to most of it.”

We’ll wrap this column up by citing Wimpy, a lovable character in the Popeye cartoons. Wimpy’s most-beloved quote is, “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.” His intentions were clearly suspect, but the entertainment value of a good line is surely worth more than the price of a hamburger. 

And when Tuesday came around and Wimpy couldn’t be found, there’s one thing I am certain could be said of him. Even if he didn’t pay you, he’d still be your friend.   

While I was writing “A Few Good Lines,” other sayings came to mind. Today’s selections don’t have a common theme. They’re just an assortment of random things.

John Offenberg, one of Unadilla’s finest, has enough good lines to fill a column. One of  my favorites is from several years back. Our paths had not crossed in a while, which John cleverly acknowledged. “Neil,” he said with a big grin, “I haven’t seen you since Moby Dick was a minnow.”

Marian Bowen had a good line for almost any situation. “The best way to become a sweet old lady,” she would say, “is to be a sweet young lady.” Another of her sayings also applied to behavior. “You couldn’t please him with a pleasing stick,” she’d opine. My wife sometimes pretends she’s looking for a pleasing stick. I have no idea why. 

Audrey Bowen, one of Daddy’s sisters, had a lot of worthwhile sayings. One of them was, “Nobody ever plans to become an alcoholic.” It’s thought provoking, plus the last word can be omitted for playing fill in the blank. Another bit of her sage advice was, “It’s only a bargain if you need it.” I should have that inscribed on my wallet. About six months ago I bought a battery operated tiller because it was a deal. So far I’ve spent more time putting it together than tilling.   

The word “tiller” reminded me of a story my father enjoyed sharing. It’s off topic but I enjoy side roads. Daddy would tell about a man who married a lady named Tillie. She died and he married her twin sister Millie. Millie died and was buried near Tillie, separated by a space reserved for their husband.

As the grieving man stood beside Millie’s coffin, he whispered to the undertaker. “When I die,” he said, “bury me between Millie and Tillie, but lean me just a little bit toward Tillie.”

Daddy had a few good lines he heard from his father which he passed down. One was, “Never date a girl you’d be ashamed to marry.”  Another was, “If someone cusses a lot while they’re working, they may not know what they’re doing.”   

Cooper Taylor, a longtime friend, has the same jolly outlook at age 94 as when we met 45 years ago. He sold credit life insurance to banks all over Georgia and would stop by Bank of Dooly several times each year. I knew Cooper for a decade or so before meeting his lovely wife at a bank convention.

“This is my first wife, Lib,” he said to Jane and me with a big grin and no explanation. Several conventions passed with similar greetings. “You all remember my first wife, Lib,” he would cheerfully say. We finally learned that Lib was his one and only, which is proof of her exceptional patience.

A few months ago Cooper and I did some catching up over the phone. When I asked how his first wife is doing, he said, “Lib’s doing great! The only problem Lib has is who she’s married to.” 

It’s easy to lose touch with old friends, but good lines they’ve shared come to mind now and then. Lines first heard in early spring are treasured more in winter, warm reminders of friends not seen since Moby Dick was just a minnow. 

The Class of 1970 is widely regarded as the brightest and best of all who passed through the halls of Unadilla High School. That’s not just my opinion. I took a poll at our October reunion. It’s a blessing when you feel that way about your classmates.

Fifty-five years after graduation our favorite memories remain fresh. They are also increasingly subject to embellishment, further enhancing recollections of yesteryears. 

Pinehurst Elementary gave me the basics, then I transferred to Unadilla for the fourth grade. It only took one recess to make new friends. I was pretty fast back then, and a game of tag helped cement my acceptance.

Stories from our teenage years now remind me of God’s mercy. When I hear of youthful tragedies, I realize that could have been the outcome on many occasions. I believe the prayers of our parents helped, even when we were unaware. Luck may have played a role at times, but I’m convinced divine intervention deserves much of the credit.

We only had nine of our class attend the outdoor picnic, all of them boys. Another joined us who had repeated the eighth grade because his father, Unadilla’s principal and football coach, suggested it. Bland was headed to the ninth-grade classroom when his dad turned him around.

Bland was an exceptional athlete, and Coach Brooks wanted him to mature another year before high school. I shared at our reunion that I offered to stay back with him for the sake of the Blue Devils’ athletic program. Coach said if I repeated the eighth grade three times he thought I could make the B-Team. I joined the F.F.A. String Band instead.

Smitty, Don, David, Joe, Robbie, Thomas, and Wayne Godfrey were there. We were all glad to see each other, but the one we most enjoyed spending time with was Johnny Moore.

Johnny has been dealing with cancer for several years. The treatment options are all used up. Pound for pound he’s one of the toughest guys I’ve ever known, but also one of the best. No one is more loved or respected among our group. 

As he and Marcia visited with old friends a lot of stories began, “Do you remember the time Johnny…….” Rather than bemoaning his current situation, he helped us laugh about lighthearted moments of long ago. Even at this late hour he has the same quick wit and mischievous smile we’ve known since childhood.

Don offered an uplifting prayer as we gathered around Johnny and Marcia. Our friend is confident where he’s headed, an assurance that’s reflected in his attitude.

He was in their car when I went to Marcia’s side to say goodbye. She got out and said Johnny wanted to tell me something. “Thank you for making it easy,” he said. I’m grateful for that tender moment, but the truth is Johnny made it easy for us. That’s the kind of guy he is. 

Old stories with happy endings reminded me of God’s past mercies. And the warm smile of a friend with challenging circumstances reminded me those mercies are new every morning.  

The Class of 1970 may not have really been the brightest and best of all who have graduated from Unadilla High School, but one thing I can say with certainty. It’s a blessing when you feel that way about your classmates.

Over the years I’ve heard a few good lines. Here’s a sampling of some that come to mind. 

Mr. Donald Peavy was retired from farming when I met him in 1976. He was a loyal customer of Rooney Bowen Chevrolet and bought a blue Chevette while I was working there. He’d stop by occasionally, usually to get his car worked on. Our friendly banter was mostly of a nonsensical nature. Sometimes after an especially funny moment he’d ask with enthusiasm, “Don’t it feel good to laugh?”

It’s easy to picture Mr. Donald’s big grin as he posed that rhetorical question. Almost 50 years later I warmly remember those long-ago chats. I don’t recall anything in particular we ever talked about, but I hope I never forget how good it feels to laugh.

Rooney Bowen, my cousin and dear friend, was also my employer for five years. He had several good lines, including one I’ve tried to live by. Rooney was involved in state politics, first as a representative then as a senator. I’ve forgotten the details, but some controversial matter was being debated. To my young eyes it looked as if he should tread lightly, an approach I politely suggested. Rooney countered with what I consider sage advice. “Stay with the one what brung you to the dance.” 

In case heaven has access to Joiner’s Corner, I should apologize to my late English teacher, Mrs. Sadie Collins. She taught English and Spanish at Unadilla High School for decades and would no doubt gently scold me for not rephrasing some of today’s quotes. I believe humor, however, should not be held captive by rules of grammar.  

When Jane and I moved to Vienna in December of 1975, Mr. Emmett “Pa” Stephens was among the senior citizens I enjoyed getting to know. He was a constant source of good lines, many of them made up on the spot. One that I occasionally borrow is from the latter part of his life. He was probably in his eighties when I first greeted him with, “You’re looking good, Pa.” His smiling response would always be, “Looks never has been my problem.” 

James Woodward was another of the mischievous characters I met soon after becoming a resident of Vienna. He was quick witted and had an arsenal of comedic lines. Perhaps, though, his most memorable saying blended humor and humility. If asked how he was doing, James would pleasantly reply, “Better than I deserve.”

A former schoolmate at Unadilla High, William Sparrow, has used that same response for a long time. William sometimes adds a noteworthy tag. “And I thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” That addendum is a good reminder to give thanks for our blessings and to acknowledge the source.    

I guess we’ve all heard a few good lines. Some stick with us while others fade in time. I enjoy revisiting old sayings, but the deepest pleasure comes from remembering the folks who said them. Good lines, I’ve found, usually come from good people. 

Mrs. Collins is likely to mention this column when we meet in the hereafter. She will acknowledge my use of direct quotes is acceptable, but with a hint of a smile probably suggest it was an opportunity to encourage proper grammar. “Yes, mam,” I’ll answer with the respect that great teachers deserve, “but don’t it feel good to laugh?”

Tidbits of humor are frequently shared in our men’s Sunday School class at Vienna First Baptist. Here are a few examples. If you want to hear more we meet at ten o’clock. Viewer discretion is advised.

David Chancy, Dean of Georgia’s Aerial Applicators according to Joiner’s Corner’s Research Department, was quoted during a discussion on mistakes. “One time I thought I was wrong,” David had said to a young Richard Hall long ago, “but I found out I was mistaken.”

I’ll have ample opportunities to use that line. Several years back my wife sweetly informed me, “You like to be right.” With a disarming smile she graciously added, “Most of the time you are right, but not always.”  

She may be on to something. I have occasionally defended positions which are contrary to facts. If I can master the art of doing that while keeping a straight face I may go into politics. That strategy works for both parties and can take you to the top.  

The aforementioned Richard Hall, who represents half of our teaching team, shared another memorable quote during a lesson about consistency in our Christian walk. Richard said, “It’s like that old saying – You can’t ride two horses with one butt.”

That old saying was new to me, but it sure hit home. Many times I’ve tried to straddle two horses. Richard’s comment reminds me of what Jesus said in Matthew 6:24: “No man can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one, and love the other: or he will hold to the one and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.”

 Unless you’re a circus performer, riding two horses is a bad idea. Yet it’s tempting in multiple aspects of life. Procrastination is one example of how it works in spiritual matters. Rather than saying no to God, it seems more palatable to delay. 

I grew up attending Harmony Baptist Church, a rural congregation in a white-clapboard building just a mile from our home. One of the Sunday night invitation hymns was “Oh Why Not Tonight?” It’s tempting to answer by riding two horses, ignoring the fact that can’t last forever.     

One more Sunday School quote I’ll mention today was shared by yours truly during a discussion on the benefits of memorizing scripture. I acknowledged my faltering memory, and told them I’d asked my doctor if anything could be done. He said, “Just try to forget about it.” 

That’s a partly fictional story, but there’s no need to be alarmed. We have an exceptionally astute group of men who know when something is said in jest.        

The main thing today’s quotes have in common is they were part of our Bible study discussions. Humor, I believe, can sometimes enhance serious lessons, but you’re welcome to stop by one Sunday and see for yourself. If you disagree I’ll gladly apologize, but I may cite my friend David Chancy. “One time I thought I was wrong, but I found out I was mistaken.”