The Sword! The Sword!

There is a ritual performed annually just before the afternoon battle each year at Olustee. It is the part of the entire re-enactment I look forward to each year. I make sure each year that I am in attendance, that I stake myself out by the familiar pine and wait for Major General Todd Jesse. This tradition had it origins, according to Major Mark Rominger of the Florida Battalion Infantry at the 125th Battle of Gettysburg re-enactment. Some Union soldiers at the time attempted to steal the Confederate colors and Jesse came to the rescue, taking out his sword and hitting the thieves on the blunt hilt of the sword, keeping this abomination from seeing fruition.
Thus, each year, as Major General Jesse comes to inspect the ranks, a whispered chant begins, the sword! and grows into a rousing roar, THE SWORD! THE SWORD! Gen. Jesse goes to his horse, pulls the sword from the scabbard and walks down the line, holding the sword in the manner he did when thwarting the Union despots. Many of the soldiers kneel, others bow, most wave and cheer with a rebel yell.
If I see no other part of the battle, seeing this gives me satisfaction.

In Praise In Pain

My father through the awesome grace of God awoke last evening(February 21st)from a massive stroke suffered this past Monday afternoon in Williston, Florida. All the doctors told us he would never recover, he would be in a vegetative state, to expect the worse, that the seizures were doing irreparable damage. We sent out word immediately for prayer. We resigned ourselves for the end. We walked about the week as in a haze, as my father was.
Then, this past Monday evening, something(we know the Holy Spirit)told my brother Lewis, who lives in Gainesville, to take his oldest son Nick and visit him. He thought for the last time. He took Nick to gain closure. Upon arriving, my father, in the VA ICU Ward, opened his eyes in recognition and mumbled to them, I hurt, I hurt and pointed with his hand to the side of his head the stroke occurred.
He continued by squeezing their hands, looking them in the eyes, asking about Rowdy his Jack Russell dog and Paula, his daughter.
Lewis immediately relayed the news to us here in Lake City. My sister, a VA Hospice nurse in Lake City, immediately called the ward and told them to please not neglect him, as he was off all monitors and medications, in preparation for the transfer today to Lake City.
Today my sister and her daughter Allison Vendig from Dallas rode down and saw for ourselves this miracle. He continued to talk at length, sleep, talk. Mostly it was mumbled and difficult to understand. The staff of doctors,interns and students making rounds were moved, calling it a miracle.
My father made the journey to Lake City without incident. We took Rowdy, his beloved dog up to him. His words were sweet and clear, Bless Your heart! Bless your heart!
How much time remains for my father, only the Savior knows. The time he has given us we are deeply grateful for. His mercy endures and humbles me. I thank everyone who entered into prayer for my father and the trials our family has joyfully and steadily encountered since August of 2009.

Olustee Pine

by john clare

In tintypes fade the grand march to final end,
To Olustee's hallowed field the long ranks wend-
The boys in blue languish a looming decoration day,
As soon the grey ranks fall in sands eternal stay.

Who shall recall the time of their demise?
Who will cradle their love with downcast eyes?
Curse Olustee! The day we marched into thy pines!
Be kind Oh stranger! Your darling once was mine.

And from the heart pine fires a wisp does arise,
Thunders deafen to peel back the trembling skies.
On dawns dream begins the battalions terrible charge,
Sickles poised the killer angels to reap a harvest large.

Then through the sulfur mists comes the conquering foe,
As brighter,brighter the warm hearth of home glows.
Into the arms of love one by one the soldiers are flung.
Bless Olustee! To darlings dear we have at last come!

Baptism by Fire

Though the photograph is worn, my fathers suit was really not mottled! though many at FIRST Methodist Lake City bristled when he said he got his clothes from Goodwill. My father reluctantly accepted the position in Lake City after turning down Quincy. He had spent ten wonderful years at Williston and he was weary of being sent to dead churches in need of reviving.
My dad was never a good fit at the Lake City FIRST United Methodist, rampant with entrenched families of means, wealth and power.
He clashed with the music directors, who insisted on high church music only, never the Cokesbury revival hymns and spiritual songs of Fanny Crosby and Stebbens.
Through much acrimony, my father's final pastoral ship in Lake City came to a conclusion in 1979. His text was Matthew 16:24, Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. He concluded by reading the entire chapter 5 from FIRST Peter, June 2, 1979 at 7PM.
In this photograph are Allison, Paula and Frank Powers first child. Rev Carl Schaeffer, who followed my father at FIRST church holds Allison. When the time in the service came for us to go up front for her baptism, Rev Shaeffer had to stall. Frankie, as usual, was late. Finally he arrived, and the christening service could proceed! I capitalized FIRST for I remember well the first service, when Mr Clements introduced my father. The inflection in Mr Clements voice would rise when he repeatedly said FIRST church. It was amusing to us country bumpkins in awe of the grandeur of FIRST church.
Though the church held many high church members, the majority were salt of the earth, humble, loving souls and my father connected with them, as he had over the years in so many humble homes and hamlets throughout his ministry.
In 1983 my father formed the Luther R Stokes Evangelistic Association with the majority of his support coming from the members of FIRST church. He went on to preach in many of the small churches he said could not afford an evangelist to come to their church.
From get thee behind me Satan in Matthew 16:23 to the glorious "And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away" of I Peter 5! But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you."
He that is FIRST shall be last.

Asbury Secretary

In 1966 my dad accepted the position of Alumni Association Secretary as Asbury College, Wilmore, Kentucky, where he and my mother graduated in 1950.
We lived in a brick duplex on campus behind the President's home at Asbury, Dr. ZT Johnson. Dr Johnson and my dad became dear friends through the years, spending many happy times together, especially during Dr.Johnson's trips to Florida. Dr Johnson was like a father to my father, giving him counsel. It was my honor when I was able to attend Asbury for one year, to live with Dr Johnson in one of his upstairs bedrooms. His wife had recently died and I was able to be a companion to Dr Johnson in his lonely times.
My father was only Alumni director for two years at Asbury, as he returned to the United Methodist Ministry in Williston, Florida in June of 1967.
It was during a revival that Dr Johnson was conducting for my father in 1975 that I became a called one of Christ. It was soon after that I went to Asbury for the Junior year. Blessed times. Sacred memories.

1976 visit to Homewood

In 1976 we had a Stokes family reunion in Forest at Aunt Irene Bradfords home. This photograph was taken in the Homewood United Methodist Church Bernice Boykin, Clara Stokes, Lewis Stokes and Bernice brother, Uncle Cleo.

Mystery in Mississippi

I am not sure who the women are in this photograph. I do think that the first woman holding the child was my fathers mother,
Ethel Marie Wike Stokes.

Earnest William Stokes

Another photograph from our visit to Homewood,Mississippi in the DeSoto. My father, Rev Luther Ray Stokes, "Lute" father
Earnest William Stokes.

William and Billy

The late Billy Ferrell Stokes, a United Methodist minister, Lewis Watson Stokes and William Clark Stokes. Taken at our Wilmore,Kentucky duplex in 1965 approx.

Thanksgiving in WIlmore

In this photograph from left to right are: John Stokes, Wayne Tarpley, William Clark, Lewis Watson Stokes,Luther Ray Stokes,
Clara Jean Orander Stokes and Paula Jean Stokes Powers. This was in Wilmore in 1965 when my father was the Alumni Director at Asbury College. Wayne was a student. William and Billy Ferrell lived in an apartment behind our duplex.

Earnest Stokes

My fathers father, Earnest William Stokes
16 Feb 1890
27 June 1969
79y 4m 11d

In his garden at Homewood. This was taken in around 1966.

In Shongelo Shadow

 

by John Clare

Where has our little Lute gone today?
His dego hoe leans unearthed against
the magnolia.
The family cow swishes flies waiting
for her hay.
Mother hen broods upon the
ungathered clutch.

Clockwise down the furlong
in the heat,
Curt leans into the scots plough.
Molly Mule trying to pull home,
Tempers steeled and getting hot.

At the back of the forty field,
Marzell mends the broken barbs.
Muscles fight refusing to yield
to wires breaking times so hard.

Under the cool porch Irene and
Hazel pretend,
The Kitty Cat congregation
gathers near.
All await from heaven a word
to the unwashed send!
Pass the plate! Your maker fear!

Across the highway at the store,
Earnest awaits the Trailways on
old highway thirty-five.
Too soon to send his sons to
distant shores.
Final stop, Homewood! the driver
cries.

To the Shongelo shade Lute has
gone.
So far from his dear mothers
call.
As the Chuck Wills Widow sings
her mournful song,
A shadow rises in the darkened
hall.

Then clearly he hears joy from
the old home place.
The Shongelo shadows lift,
gone for good.
Rest safe little Lute in a
loving embrace.
Mother has returned and
welcomes you back to
Homewood.

At the early age of 14 on August 1st,1937 Luther Ray Stokes,my father, lost his mother, Ethel Marie Wike Stokes as a result of a blood clot.
His father, Earnest William Stokes was a farmer and owner for a time of Stokes Store across from their home on highway 35, which they moved to from their original homesite. My father had two older brothers, Earnest Curtis and James Marzelle,two sisters, Hazel Marie Wolf and Esther Irene Bradford. Of these, only my father and Irene live.
In 1939 Earnest married Beatrice Boykin and they had four children, William Clark,
Jimmie Boykin, Billy Ferrell and Mary Carol Watkins, all alive except Billy.
Shongelo is a spring fed lake a few miles from Homewood, the Choctaw Indian name meaning a place of cypress. It is a beautiful jewel of a place in central Mississippi.Lute is the pet name that his family called my father. What usually happened under the cool porch, was Luther Ray, who later became a Methodist minister, would preach the service to the cats. As of today, my father lies in the VA hospital in Gainesville with a massive stroke that happened on Monday. My Aunt Irene is in a nursing home in Laurel,Miss with congestive heart failure and other complications.
It is in their honor that this poem is written.

Return of the Shoals

 

Today the water level at White Springs was 53.22, up from a low of 49.96 on January 12th.
This puts the water level at great canoeing and kayaking levels. 55 to 58 is rated excellent with Big Shoals becoming Class One rapid. 60 to 63 the canoeing is fantastic, with the Shoals a class three rapid.

Across the Roaring

 

The week of the grey rains were passing, cool blue sky appearing in patches as we ventured out. Out in anticipation of spending an afternoon along the banks of the Suwannee River. Jordon and I arrived at Bell Springs, past Monroe Morrell's home and began the mile hike. In the parking lot were two cars from Kentucky, one with a canoe atop. We anticipated meeeting the party. We never did.
As we went downhill toward the river, we passed the historical marker commenorating the Bishop family for donating this land for everyone to enjoy this part of hidden Florida. We passed the dammed up Bell Springs pond with the drainpipe stream and old john boat full of water.
Coming to the river, we at once noticed the level of water had returned to near normal at 53 feet. The little Bell Spring, normally a trickle, could not be jumped across. We continued the undulating walk through the cool palmetto path, shaded overhead by oak and pine,following the sound to Roaring Creek.
It was here we found the crossing point above the falls too dangerous. We would have to cross downstream. Remembering from low waters that the downstream bed was relatively smooth, we rolled up our pants, slung our shoes over shoulder, found a good ford point and waded in. The water was numbing. After a climb up the banks of slippery clay, it was a short walk to the sound of Big Shoals, save for one small creek we could hop across.
The Shoals were again roaring in all their decibel splendor, the jagged limerocks nearly engulfed by the tannic flow. In a few days, as water continues to drain from the swamps and creeks, the covering of the rocks should be complete.
We loitered about the Columbia side of the river awhile before taking the hike back. Coming again to the rapidly Roaring Creek, my crossing point was seemingly deeper than the previous crossing. I was up to the knees in frigid amber. Jordon looked on with amusement, awaiting to capture any fall on film.
We hiked on out without incident, making a beeline for the convenience store in White Springs for drinks. From there we traveled over to our friend Steve Williams off River Road. We finally rousted him out from the house, talked awhile of boats,panthers and future camp outs before heading on home. It was a good short journey. But in the end, aren't they all.

Thy Right Hand

 

Thy right hand, O Lord, is become glorious in power; thy right hand, O Lord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy.
Exodus 15:6

Can you visualize the scene? Upon the banks of the Red Sea, the fleeing despair. Has Yahweh bought us to the edge of this water, only to perish? Then in the heavens, the mighty right hand of Yahweh descends, parting the waters.
Through the waters they descend to safety. Into the clutches of the mighty right hand go the armies of darkness.
Glorious in power!

Valley of Baca

 

Who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well; the rain also filleth the pools. Psalms 84:6

When both sides of your pathway become parched, burned out, keep your eyes upon the pathway all the same. What you call dry and parched, bewailing and lamentation, God has called a well. In your deepest despair, complaint and weeping, there is a path that leads unto waters of refreshing. Keep upon the path, the rains shall come. Faint not. He who turns water into wine shall turn your Baca into refreshing joy.

Five Years of Famine

 

10And thou shalt dwell in the land of Goshen, and thou shalt be near unto me,thou, and thy children, and thy children's children, and thy flocks, and thy herds, and all that thou hast.
11And there will I nourish thee; for yet there are FIVE YEARS OF FAMINE; lest thou, and thy household, and all that thou hast, come to poverty. Genesis 45
The wonderful story of Joseph revealing himself to his brothers who had sold him into Egypt. The troubled brothers fearing for their lives, forgiven, as it was all of God. And now, though five years of famine remain in the land, Joseph and his brothers shall not come to poverty. They rush home to tell Jacob, whose spirit is revived beyond measure, knowing his dear son is alive.
In our lives, when no end to famine dwells in our land, when we are beset about with financial ruin, the failure of our health, the estrangement from our loved ones, our captivity into overwhelming addictions, do we ever look beyond Egypt, to Goshen and proclaim, It is of God? He has directed my paths and we shall not come to poverty. Thanks be to God who gives us this mysterious victory in the Goshen of God,His Son.

Pathways Deep

 

Recently my wife Melanie, my son Jordon and I attended the LoveLife Seminar in Gainesville at the Harn Performing Arts Center. The speaker was Mark Driscoll from Seattle, Washington, founder of the Mars Hill Church. Mark and his wife Grace led a day long open and frank discussion of sexuality to over 1400 young adults.
One of the topics that struck me were the neuro pathways we create, be it watching pornography or engaging in other addicting behaviors. The more we engage, the deeper the pathway becomes, until the rut is so deepened, we sadly cannot escape. It is by much grace and difficulty that be turn and attempt to create new pathways, away from the destruction of the paths we have etched.
In observing these well traveled cattle paths, I thought of the pathways I have dug and those I am attempting, with the Grace of God, to dig anew.