Old Mr. Wrinkles and the dead chicken

Author’s note: A very special thank you to the Houston Herald, foremost your friendship, and for allowing space for my writings.  Also to you, my other friends, the readers of my column. Sincerely, thank you, and thank you for your words of encouragement! Several have contacted me asking if I might be working on a book. Although it is hard for me to imagine, yes, I have been working on a novel for almost two years. Moving forward, I have decided to begin sharing portions of its content in my monthly columns. It’s a story of the past, of rural, and small town America told through the eyes of a young boy born in 1898. A young boy that grows to be old, witnessing much change.

My late Grandfather, Everett Jones, would often ask me- “What do you think, Michael?”  As a little sprout I would respond: “About what?”  Grandpa would then gently explain that a man should always be thinking about something. 

It is my hope, and prayer, that my feeble writings encourage folks to do just that – to think. More particularly about Him, our only salvation. With all humbleness, and love, I introduce the first of hopefully many installments of a novel in progress, “To Climb a Sycamore.” 

Blessings, Michael                          

Mr. Wrinkles is our new pastor!  Well…he is not new himself.  He has lots of wrinkles – lots and lots of them!  (But I don’t think that’s how he got his name). 

I heard Dad say he came from somewhere in Arkansas.  He might have said Ravens Nest or Ravens Den – something like that. 

Well, anyways, he’s a very nice old gentleman, and he has the biggest feet I think I’ve ever seen!  I do believe I would have to take two steps in his shoes before they would move!  Ha!  Ain’t that funny?  But don’t tell anyone I said that; I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.  ‘Sides, I think I like him, big feet and all!

Well, let me tell you what he did at our first meeting with him; it was just last week.  It had to do with the resurrection of Jesus, for it is that time of year, you know. 

He introduced himself to the congregation, and he was dressed right nice – a brown suit with a tie.  Oh, and them big, long shoes, they were brown too! 

Well, he excused himself saying that he would be right back.  And guess what happened when he walked back in the door?!  He had a dead chicken tied around his neck!

I do declare, there were snickers, and commotion all over the congregation!  Pete was lying by the pot belly stove, he jumped up on all fours, and growled.  Mr. Brown had to stay him!  (Pete is Mr. Brown’s Cur dog, he always comes to church with us.) 

I thought Mrs. Bennett was going to pass out!  She went to waving one of them paper fans in her face, like it was July!  She is kinda stuck up, you know!  Dad says that’s because she’s not from ’round here. 

But, old Mr. Wrinkles never said a word.  No, sir!  He just marched right up to the pulpit real calm like, and opened his Bible.  He then looked up through them spectacles he wears, closed his eyes, and said “Folks!”  Then there was a long pause, and he said it again, “Folks, I trust every one of us here today know that Jesus Christ has risen from the dead.” 

Just then, I heard that familiar response coming from the back, it was Mr. Blankenship and Mr. Hamilton saying, “Amen!” 

Then Mr. Wrinkles said something that brought a quiet over the whole congregation.  He pointed into the crowd with his long finger and said,  “But what I want to know here today, is how many of you have risen?” 

I tell you nobody said a word, and Mr. Wrinkles scanned the congregation over about three times, then quietly exclaimed, “Hmm.”  Then he read a passage of Scripture.  “If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.  Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.”   

Again, it stayed real quiet, and Mr. Wrinkles proceeded further.  “What I see going on in our world today is that most people are not seeking that which is above.  And, the sad truth of it, is because they have never risen with Christ!  For the text says ‘IF.’  And the reason they have never risen with Christ is because they have never died in the first place!” 

I tell you, Mr. Wrinkles sure had my attention.  I knew for certain that I had never died.  Didn’t want to either – for I had a heap of craw-daddin’ to do, and I still needed to catch that big ole snappin’ turtle in Mrs. Altis’ pond.  I promised her I would!

He continued, “Let us read the next verse in that passage.”  “For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.” 

Boy, now my head hurt!  He had my mind pacing like a coon in a cage!  One minute we were supposed to be raised from the dead, and now we are dead again!  What in the world?   

Mr. Wrinkles then continued in a long speech, “When a man comes to Christ Jesus, he must die to himself, the old man must be put away!  Dead!  Kaput!  The apostle Paul proclaimed, ‘I am crucified with Christ!’  Anyone who comes to Christ must be crucified with Him.  Meaning, your carnal man must die.  Just as dead as this chicken hanging around my neck!” 

Just then Mr. Wrinkles looked right at me.  I think I spotted a little twinkle in his eye before he continued.  “It’s over!  You’re done!  And the old you is not coming back!

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘dead men don’t lie’?  Well, dead men don’t steal either!  They don’t cheat folks, don’t get drunk, and don’t cuss.  No sir! and dead men don’t get into fights!  Would someone care to come up here, and try to pick a fight with this chicken?”   

I really don’t remember a whole lot of what Mr. Wrinkles said after that.  For he had me thinking, thinking real hard. 

You see, he had me dead to rights on that lying and fighting.  Just this past week, I had told Mother I had finished my chores, when I hadn’t.  And then, that Robbie Roach from school picked a fight with me, and I obliged him, gave him something to remember me by. 

Well, we sang a few hymns, and Mr. Hogan dismissed us in prayer.  Don’t you know that I walked out of that little church house with something big going on inside of me?  Something I couldn’t explain.  One thing I knew for certain though –  Mr. Wrinkles, and that stupid dead chicken, had a lot to do with it. 

Well, I reckon I will close for now.  But I plan on keeping you posted! 

Oh yeah, I almost forgot!  My name is Will Miller, and I am 10 years old.  They call me “Little Will”, but I am not little anymore!  I can even reach the lower branch on that big ole’ Sycamore down by the creek. 

Oh, yeah, we live in a small community in the Ozarks named Milo, it’s about seven miles south of Paxton, and 10 miles north of Cedar Bluff, in Ashley County.  I heard Mr. Shelton say at Mr. Herrington’s Barber shop that Paxton was named after Sam Houston’s mother.  He said Mr. Houston was some “Big-shot” from Texas!  Bye!

Lord willing, until next time.   

Michael Everett Jones is a Texas County native, old fashioned historian and purveyor of traditional Christian values. Email ozarksgrandpajones@gmail.com.