Me and Mr. Buzzard

I'm giving you fair warning. This blog entry is rather gross, and not for the weak of stomach. Were my mother alive today, she'd read it and offer the following succinct review - "That's not very ministerial, Herbie." And, then she would cackle in laughter.

First, a little backstory. My father taught me many lessons that I've carried throughout my life. Some were taught through words, others by example. One of those lessons was that we should appreciate buzzards for their role in keeping our world clean. Thus, I was never to shoot one. Not that I ever really wanted to, primarily since I don't figure it'd be real tasty when paired with dumplings or dressing and I've never heard of fried buzzard. Nor have I wanted to. So, I leave buzzards alone.

Here's one I "caught" by watching him - if God wants your vehicle clean, He'll send a thunderstorm. To wit, ours was almost always the dirtiest car in the church parking lot on Sunday morning and, if it wasn't, I swear Daddy would head straight to a construction site in his Cadillac just to take the top spot at Evening Worship. His car changed colors with the seasons - pollen green/yellow in the Spring, gray dust in the dry Summer and Fall, and good old Georgia red mud in the Winter or after a rain storm.

I am my father's boy. If you see my truck squeaky clean and shiny, it means one of two things. First, we've had a heavy rain and I haven't had time to find some mud or, second, I've been asked to officiate at a funeral. My mother sure wouldn't think a dirty vehicle at the front of the procession to the cemetery was very ministerial. Not at all. So, I hit the car wash right before the service starts.

I promise there's a connection between these two lessons. Just hang with me.

So, I was out one recent Saturday enjoying what I call an "Inspiration Drive." That's when I zip off into the countryside and enjoy the rural beauty of Middle Georgia while pondering my upcoming sermon or cogitating on something I'm writing for church or for this blog. It was a lovely evening and my mind was just kind of in neutral as I bounced along a rutted dirt road in my comfortably dirty truck. Heaven.

My eyes caught movement to my left. It was dark, and big, and in the air just maybe 12-15 feet off the ground. Wings flapping, a buzzard was taking flight. The big dummy banked left, right over my truck, and headed the same direction I was traveling, using the clear path as a runway to gain altitude.

There's an important phrase in the paragraph above. Right over my truck. Let that sink in for a second.

A buzzard expert can perhaps explain why what happened next happened. I've come up with four possibilities.

1. The buzzard was scared of me and my truck.

2. The buzzard was mad at me and my truck.

3. The buzzard was unloading cargo in order to reduce weight and gain altitude more quickly.

4. All of the above.

Right. Over. My. Truck.

Buzzards are not small critters, and I can personally attest to the ample size of their sewage storage capacity. Furthermore, the United States Air Force doesn't have a bomber pilot with a higher accuracy rating than that dadgum buzzard. He strafed my windshield and then dropped cluster bombs right down the middle of my hood. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't score a direct hit on the blue Ford oval on the front.

When his sortie was completed, the rascal pealed off to the right and soared away into a stand of planted pines. That's the last I saw of him, other than the gifts he'd left with me.

I'd like to share one more tidbit about our friend, the buzzard. Their excrement STINKS!! I've smelled chicken houses, pig parlors, and dairy barns. They don't hold a candle to the buzzard. A skunk would hang its head in shame at its own meager efforts in comparison to that of the buzzard. It was wretched, stifling, overpowering, simply awful.

Did I mention I was 30 minutes from home?

My windshield wiper fluid did a good job first of smearing the stuff, then of getting most of it off. Most, I say, as there was a nice brown streak that wouldn't come clean. The bombs plopped onto my hood had an adhesive quality and so they stuck tight and the revving motor heated them, increasing their aromatic strength. The smell quickly penetrated the truck cab, forcing me to ride in misery. So much for inspiration.

I wasn't about to attempt any form of a hand wash and I couldn't leave the stuff on my truck overnight. The closest drive-through carwash I could find was 15 minutes past my house. It was the best 15 bucks I've ever paid, but the next day after church, I was certain I could still catch a whiff of buzzard bomb, so I went to another facility and forked over an additional $26 for the premium wash. My truck has never looked so good!

I'm a preacher and this blog is supposed to be devotional in nature, so I guess I've got to come up with some point to draw from all this. Here goes.

The Ten Commandments are mighty direct about my responsbility to honor my father and my mother, right? Proverbs 6:20 in the English Standard Version says, "My son, keep your father's commandment, and forsake not your mother's teaching." Proverbs 4:1, also in the English Standard Version, says, "Hear, O sons, a father's instructions, and be attentive, that you may gain insight." All that's crystal clear, and there's no time limit on it, either, and I try to be a Biblical kind of guy.

So I shall continue to heed the wisdom of my dear father for he was a wise and Godly man and he left a good and lasting legacy. Daily, I hear his voice and often, when confronted with a problem or facing a difficult decision, I will ponder what he would have done and how he would have gone about it. Following close in his footsteps has rarely led me wrong and I am forever grateful for the lessons he taught me and the ones I "caught."

But . . . if I happen to cross paths with one particular buzzard - of course, I'll have to see him from the backside to identify him - but, if I do, that sucker better hope I don't have a shotgun handy. I think Daddy would probably concur! And I'm even pretty sure, had it been his vehicle, he wouldn't have waited for a thunderstorm to wash it. If he had, he'd have been riding alone, I'll guarantee you that much!