Shootin' it Straight - The Mark to Measure

A fifty-year-old vehicle would be considered a classic. If any mechanical appliance lasted half that long, we’d put it in the hall of fame. Most of us won’t come anywhere close to that mark at an employer who pays us a living wage. The last half-century has seen most of our gravel roads paved over and the good hunting flats turned into neighborhoods. No matter how well crafted, even the best power tools would be considered antiques in half that time. Our favorite song becomes only a memory, slipping in and out of rotation, pulling us back on occasion. Few things are built to last that long.

 February 21st marks my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. By any standard, that is a remarkable feat, and in today’s society it is almost unheard of. My father decided a couple of years back that he’d be celebrating his half of that anniversary from a creek bank skirting the back half of the streets of gold. Although one half now resides inside those pearly gates and the other remains earthbound here on the farm, the milestone is no less special. When fifty years are in the rearview mirror, the comfort comes from knowing that an eternity awaits not many miles down the road. One carries the torch forward here with us, and one probably has an old, weathered Ford pickup stuck in the back forty, with a band of angels looking on in horror as he drags out snatch blocks. Mom and Dad had the privilege of meeting young, marrying, and building a life in the hollers of Jackson County. They spent just shy of fifty years on Sunday drives, eating Spencer burgers, raising gardens, raising cane, and occasionally raising a heathen or two. As I get older, the very idea of merely making it to the finish line feels like an accomplishment. To make it as a team, while raising a family, maintaining a farm and a career, and walking a righteous path, deserves a star in the sky placed in memoriam.

 While heaven has no address and therefore no measurable mileage, it’s impossible to say just how far away it is. Outer space is generally accepted as beginning roughly sixty miles from Earth. Whatever your belief about the distance to heaven, we’ll defer to Dad’s famous line on how far anything was. He’d pinch his fingers together, nearly touching, and say, “It’s only this far on the map.” It’s close enough that you can hear him. It’s close enough that Mom can see him. It’s close enough to hear the whippoorwill together. Here’s to Mom and Dad, ringing in fifty years of marriage on the 21st. Here’s to them being only “that far” apart. May we all be blessed enough to see that mark.