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.