Part 2 — The Cane Pole, the Disturbing Element, and the Mad Wasp Fairlane

PART 2 — The Cane Pole, the Disturbing Element, and the Mad Wasp Fairlane

I’ve always had a soft spot for simple things, and maybe that’s why that old one‑piece cane pole from Doniphan stuck with me. They had a whole stand of them leaning outside the store — twelve‑footers, straight as a preacher’s finger and about as subtle. Maybe they kept them outside because nobody in their right mind would try to steal one. Hard to slip a twelve‑foot cane pole under your coat unless you’re a magician or a fool. And back then, stealing wasn’t much of a thing anyway.

Inside that store, years ago, a certain Disturbing Element — namely me — picked one up and jerked it like I had a big fish hooked. I must’ve thought I was on the Current River instead of standing on a wooden floor. I knocked over something — lamps, I think — a whole shelf of them. I’m not telling exactly how many. Some memories are better left blurry.

If I’d bought one of those poles today, I’d have had to tie it on the side of the Toyota, just like my grandpa used to do on his 1957 bright yellow Ford Fairlane. Grandpa didn’t believe in rods and reels. Too many moving parts, too many backlashes, too much nonsense. A cane pole was honest. Straight. Predictable. You put a line on it, you caught fish. End of story.

His Fairlane was something to see. Bright yellow, loud as a sermon, and proud as a rooster. The antenna stuck straight up out of the middle of the trunk lid like a stinger. Homer Jenkins once said, “It looks like a mad wasp! Yellow with a stinger in the center of the trunk lid!” Grandpa cocked his head, grinned, and said, “You know, that car’s got a Thunderbird engine in it.” He said it like he was revealing a secret of the universe.

I think about Grandpa’s Fairlane sometimes when I’m making decisions — especially the ones that scare me a little. Like buying that truck. I told myself, “Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead, I’m buying the truck!” God never gave me the emotion of fear. We sing a song in church sometimes: “Fear, it is a liar. Throw your fear in the fire.” Amen to that. Fear will rob your happiness if you let it. Not mine. I’m buying the truck. As Forrest Gump said, “And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.”

Then comes the pondering. I once asked a friend if he ever pondered. He said, “I don’t know. Let me think about it.” Pondering, meditating — maybe they’re the same thing. The Good Book says meditating is good for us. Psalms 119:97 says, “Oh how I love your law; I meditate on it all day long.” If God says it’s good, that’s good enough for me.

I don’t think God gave us a brain and never intended for us to use it — except maybe for making and eating brain sandwiches. I’ve never eaten one, and I don’t plan to. Same goes for Rocky Mountain oysters. Call them what you want — pig nuts, testicles — no matter how you slice it, I don’t want one. If you like them, I’ll take your word for it.

I’ve meandered off track, but that’s how my mind works. What I was going to say is this: decisions matter. They always have. From the beginning of time, God let Adam decide what to name every creature. Eve made the first wrong decision, and we’ve been dealing with the fallout ever since. But God also gave us forgiveness, healing, and hope — if we choose to follow Him.

Healing takes time. Growth takes time. Strength takes time. Even Stephen King didn’t become Stephen King overnight. His first novel was rejected thirty times. Most things worth having take patience, perseverance, and faith.

Faith and belief — they’re close cousins. Hebrews 11:6 says, “Without faith it is impossible to please Him.” And Hebrews 11:1 tells us faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Faith is like a warranty deed to what we hope for.

Knowledge matters too. Jesus said, “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge.” So we ask, we seek, we knock. Matthew 7:7 promises that if we do, doors will open. Sometimes slowly, sometimes suddenly, but they open.