Holiday Travels

“There’s no place like home for the holidays.” So sang Perry Como in his popular 1954 travel-themed holiday hit, which also included the following lines:

“I met a man who lives in Tennessee, and he was heading for
Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie!
From Pennsylvania folks are travellin’ down the Dixie sunny shore,
From Atlantic to Pacific, gee the traffic is terrific!"

Sandy and I hadn’t traveled at Christmastime in a number of years. And it had been even longer since we actually traveled on Christmas day itself. Back then, it was by car, and hardly anything was open, and the roadways were desolate. This time, we decided to fly, and it was an altogether different story. Yes, there was traffic, but gee, Perry—I hate to tell you this—it was anything but terrific.

Our son Jordan and daughter-in-law Melinda had come down from Washington, D.C. to join us for the weekend. Following our very full day at church on Christmas Eve, the four of us were scheduled to fly out of Raleigh-Durham airport on Christmas afternoon, to see our parents in Florida. When we arrived at the airport, we pulled up to the parking garage adjacent to the terminal and found there was "no room in the inn"—literally. The place was full. So I had to drop off my family and our luggage at the curb, drive back out from the terminals, and use one of the more distant park-and-ride lots. Even there, I had to search and search until finally I discovered one single unoccupied parking space, for which I thanked the Lord. RDU was crowded, to say the least. And so was our flight. There were all kinds of folks heading to Disney World and the warm Florida sun. When our plane finally touched down at Orlando International Airport, it was just hours after some unanticipated Christmas Day tornadoes had ripped through Central Florida. Fortunately, however, our flight was largely uneventful and turbulence-free. And we enjoyed our brief time with our family and friends in Clermont.

In retrospect, I never imagined so many people would be flying on Christmas Day. Never having done it before, I erroneously assumed that the airport would be comparatively quiet and significantly less populated. While the crowds certainly must have been smaller than the day before—Christmas Eve—Christmas at the airport surprisingly looked and felt like just about any other day.

What a contrast this was with the previous Friday evening, when Jordan and Melinda arrived in Danville by train. In case you’ve never done it, going to the old Danville train station downtown on Craghead Street late at night can be a somewhat surreal and even mysterious experience…especially when you’re meeting an arrival at 1:30 AM. The setting almost feels like you’re in an old movie. At any moment you halfway expect Humphrey Bogart—complete with trench coat, fedora and cigarette—to step out of the fog and kiss a tearful Ingrid Bergman goodbye.

At that late hour—or early hour, if you prefer—a handful of people showed up at the old station to meet the small contingent of passengers getting off in Danville, a minor stop on the long run of the Amtrak Crescent, originating out of New York and culminating in New Orleans. From the way some of our church members had previously described the local Amtrak stop to me, I thought perhaps the train wouldn’t even slow down, and Jordan and Melinda would have to take a flying leap and jump off like the cheapskate dad and his family on the Capital One commercials. Fortunately, such was not the case. The train did actually stop, and a handful of shadowy figures disembarked in the murky darkness. After a few moments, we recognized two of the silhouettes coming toward us. It was good to have our son and his wife home with us.

After all of the holiday hustle and bustle, I must say that it’s good to be back in Danville with our holiday travels behind us. After an eighteen-year hiatus, Danville has very quickly become home for Sandy and me once again. Without question, these past several weeks at Mount Hermon have seemed like one grand homecoming. When we worshiped with you on Christmas Eve—and celebrated the Lord’s Supper together—it was like being with family. And why shouldn’t it? After all, you’re our family in Christ. Thank you for helping to make us feel so welcome here. As we move into the new year, please know that it’s truly good to be home with you—not only for the holidays, but every day.

Pastor Danny

The Parties Are Over…I Think

It’s less than a week before Christmas and—unless I’m mistaken—all of the church Christmas parties are finally over. Whew! In the first seventeen days of December, Sandy and I ran the gauntlet through a dozen class parties and church fellowships, all of which involved food, and the majority of which were full-blown dinners, luncheons or breakfasts. On top of that, we were invited to a number of other gatherings that we simply couldn’t find the time to wedge into our bulging—and I do mean bulging—schedule. And this doesn’t even count the mountainous meals you fed us in November!

When we attended our last fellowship—following Sunday night’s New Generation Choir concert—it was like we had finally come to the end of a seemingly endless buffet table. I felt compelled to grab a bottle of Rolaids and break out in song—either Roy Orbison’s pop ballad “It’s Over” or the Gloria Gaynor disco hit “I Will Survive”—but unfortunately I was so stuffed that I couldn’t even muster up enough wind to sing. So, I decided simply to pause and reflect on what I had learned from all of this Christmas partying:

* The people at Mount Hermon love to eat.

* The people at Mount Hermon are incredibly hospitable.

* If food is love, Sandy and I are the most loved people on earth!

* If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, then the people of Mount Hermon already hold a very special place in my heart.

* If I’m going to continue to be your pastor, I’ve either got to start on a diet by January 1st or immediately buy a whole new wardrobe, preferably with expandable-waist pants for future growth. (You’ve certainly got more of a pastor today than you had when I started with you the first of November.)

* Except for the calories, cholesterol and added pounds, regardless of my moans and groans, please know that I loved every minute of it!

What else have I learned from attending these various Christmas fellowships?

* I learned about a Christmas gift exchange game called “Dirty Bingo” which is quite popular with several of our groups.

* I tasted for the first time an old-fashioned dessert called hickory nut pie, sort of a cousin to the pecan pie, you might say. I love pecan pie, but now I think I might like hickory nut pie as well or better. I may have to research this further, before I start my diet.

* With all the holiday eating I did, I somehow miraculously avoided any fruit cake—my least favorite Christmas food—although someone did actually buy me one as a Christmas gift after they heard my sermon in which I told about the Norwegian Christmas tradition of fruitcake-throwing.

* I also learned a lot of useful Christmas trivia. For example, did you know there are a total of 364 gifts given in the “Twelve Days of Christmas” song? And did you know that in real life only female reindeer actually retain their antlers through December, although the legendary antlered reindeer in Clement Moore’s “The Night Before Christmas” all appear to have male names? You might want to remember that just in case you’re ever a contestant on a television game show.

All kidding aside, did you realize that an important part of being church is enjoying each other…hanging out together…having shared times of fellowship and fun?

It’s not unbiblical to share a laugh. A little bit of humor makes the burdens of life a lot easier to shoulder. And being with other people who love us and whom we love reminds that we’re not in this thing alone. We have each other. We’re family.

One of the greatest gifts God gives us is in this life is Christian friends. And one of the best ways we can experience Christ is to experience His love through another person.

The early New Testament church knew the joys of fellowship. From the very beginning, they liked hanging out with one another and eating—yes, eating!—together. And, truly, an important component of the health and vitality of the early church was its fellowship. The people frequently gathered and broke bread together in one another’s homes.

One of the most joyous parts of this Christmas for Sandy and me has been seeing how much our church family loves each other and how much they enjoy being together. You know there are some churches—sadly—where this is not so. But, as we’ve enjoyed fellowshipping with our various Sunday School classes and groups, it’s been especially wonderful for us to see how much each of you love your church, your class, your class’s teacher, your church staff, and your new pastor and his wife. How encouraging!

Soon, all of the holiday hustle and bustle will be over. And all the sumptuous food we’ve enjoyed throughout this season will be but a memory. But the sweet fellowship we have in Christ will continue on and on, for true Christian fellowship knows no season.

Now, that’s a delicious thought, isn’t it? Meditate on that for a while. And, if you don’t mind, while you’re thinking about that, save me a seat while I go back for seconds.

Pastor Danny

Important Disclaimer: Despite anything said above that implies I ate too much this Christmas, please don’t forget to invite Sandy and me to your Christmas party next year!

Arvis Would Be Proud

When Sandy and I first lived in Danville some twenty years ago, some of our closest friends were longtime Mount Hermon members Luther and Arvis Carswell. The Carswells lived on Glendale Avenue in North Danville, in the Danville Estates neighborhood. At that time, they were members of nearby Melville Avenue Baptist Church, where I served as pastor. I’ll never forget how Luther and Arvis, who had no children of their own, took us under their wings and loved us. I’ve always felt that they were to us what Priscilla and Aquilla must have been to preachers like the Apostle Paul and Apollos. Luther and Arvis encouraged us and supported us throughout our nearly four years of ministry at Melville Avenue. They also became wonderful surrogate grandparents to our son, Jordan, whom they babysat on many occasions. Jordan always loved going to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Carswell.

I also remember how that Luther and Arvis used to make crafts with their hands. I think that Jordan, now age 25, still has the toy truck that Luther made for him out of wood, as well as a collapsible wooden Christmas tree especially designed to hold dozens of Hershey’s kisses as ornaments. I think that had to be Jordan’s favorite Christmas tree as a child!

Luther and Arvis also had a deep and contagious love for missions. As I recall, their niece Susan had served as a journeyman on the foreign mission field. And they were certainly big encouragers to me when I went on my first international mission trip to Tanzania back in 1987. But, most memorably, Luther and Arvis had a real passion for the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering for International Missions.

Every year at Christmas time, I always think of how Luther and Arvis creatively combined their love for missions with their craft making talents. Throughout the course of a year, they would acquire a booth or table at a number of regional craft shows where they would sell their wares. (They never worked a craft show on Sunday, however, so they wouldn’t be pulled away from church.) Then, in December, they would take all the income from their year of craft sales and give it all to Lottie Moon. This annual happening brought a special joy to their hearts and it certainly made a lasting impression on their young pastor.

I’ll never forget our first Christmas at Melville Avenue, back in 1985. Our small congregation’s goal for the Lottie Moon offering was a mere $555.00. But we put on a big push for Lottie Moon that year, something the church had not seen before. We had a big Lottie Moon Banquet. We decorated the church. We went all out. And, when it was all said and done, we more than doubled our offering goal, winding up with well over a thousand dollars. I still remember it vividly.

While all that may seem so miniscule now, that offering was a huge and greatly-needed victory for our church family back then. It absolutely electrified our small congregation. You would have thought we had raised a million dollars! We praised God and watched with wonder as He began to do some other exciting things in our midst in the years that followed.

Some of that same old feeling came back to me this past Sunday, when Mount Hermon Baptist Church had a record one-day missions offering of over $55,000 toward our churchwide Lottie Moon goal of $62,000. One of the first things I thought of was Arvis, who went home to be with the Lord some years ago. (A member at Mount Hermon then, Arvis passed away in the church sanctuary one Sunday just before 11:00 AM, while waiting to give her personal testimony for the second time that morning.) I couldn’t help but think of how proud and overjoyed she would have been in regard to what God did through His people at Mount Hermon this past Sunday. I’d love to tell her all about it, but somehow I suspect she already knows. And, if so, there’s certainly got to be a smile on her face.

Thanks, Arvis, for your example. Your contagious love for missions still lives on.

Pastor Danny

Sunday Morning Adventures

Well, the new pastor at Mount Hermon certainly has created an air of expectancy on Sunday mornings, hasn’t he? Especially for those that attend the 8:30 AM worship service. (The 11:00 AM folks just miss out on all the fun!) For the early service attendees, Sunday mornings have started to become something of an unfolding mystery, with each week offering an exciting new episode in the continuing saga, “Where Is Pastor Danny?” (Kind of like the “Where’s Waldo?” craze of some years ago.)

On our very first Sunday at Mount Hermon, Sandy and I got delayed for the 8:30 AM service because of an unexpected heavy frost on our windshield—the very first frost we had seen in almost twelve years! We were ill-prepared for the event, not owning an ice-scraper since Bill Clinton’s first term in the White House. (And, in case you’re wondering, the reason we left our cars parked outside overnight was because our garage was still full of boxes from where we had just moved in.) Our subsequent late arrival to church that morning created a panic for the church staff, the Chairman of Deacons and the Chairman of the Pastor Search Committee, all of whom wondered if they had even remembered to tell us what time the early service started. How relieved they were when the late Danny Davis finally appeared at church, alive and well.

This past Sunday—only my sixth at the church—I had a flat tire on my way to the 8:30 AM service. As far as I can recall, this was a first in my 21 years of pastoral ministry. Sandy was already at church that morning, practicing with the handbells. Stranded on Golf Club Road—with no time to change the tire—I got on my cell phone, and proceeded to call every church member’s cell phone number I had stored in my phone (which wasn’t very many). All of them—including my wife—had their cell phones turned off, which is a good thing when you’re at church, but a not-so-good thing for me on this particular Sunday morning. Finally, I reached Patti Merricks at home just as she was getting ready to walk out of the door on her way to church. She promptly drove down the road and rescued me. Later on, immediately following the 8:30 service, two other Good Samaritans—Ryan Riley and Jim Martin--went out and found my car, changed the tire, and returned the vehicle to me—all before the Sunday School hour was even halfway over. (Those guys provide better roadside service than AAA!)

So, I’ve definitely had some strange things happen to me on my Sunday mornings since coming to Mount Hermon. Not to mention the fact that—on top of everything else—I came down with bronchitis and pneumonia two weeks ago and missed all the services that particular Sunday.

Someone told me that—after blaming my tardiness or absence on frost, sickness and a flat tire—I’m starting to run out of good excuses. Now, I suppose that everyone can’t wait to see what’s going to happen next. Let’s just hope that, between now and Christmas, I don’t have a Sunday morning collision with a large bearded man, a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. That would be just way too hard to explain to the awaiting worshipers at the 8:30 AM service.

What’s the moral to this story? I’m not quite sure. Always allot enough time to get to church? If you have a garage, park your car in it? Check the weather report the night before? Take your vitamins, get plenty of rest, and drink lots of fluids? Check your tires before heading out on a trip? Make sure you’ve got plenty of phone numbers stored in your cell phone? On and on the list might go.

But how about this Biblical truth: “The rain falls on the just and the unjust.” In other words, there are things in this life that are common to man…things that just happen as part of living in a fallen, imperfect world. Some of these unexpected happenings can easily become irritants for us, frustrating us and embittering us, if we allow them to. Better to roll with the punches and go with the flow. Life is much too short and much too precious to get upset about every scratch, dent, sneeze, cough, ticket or traffic light. Jesus said that in this world we would have tribulation. But He also said that His grace is sufficient for us, and that He’ll never allow more to be put upon us than we can bear. That’s certainly an encouraging promise.

Furthermore, when you think about it, how can we even compare our minor frustrations with the glorious reality that there is a God who loves us unconditionally and who, by His mercy and grace, has provided us with the gifts of forgiveness, salvation and eternal life? Wow! That kind of puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?

Think about that as you drive around Danville this week. But check your tires first!

Lord willing—and if the Dan River doesn’t flood—I’ll see you at church next Sunday morning at 8:30 AM sharp!

Pastor Danny

Excuse Me? What Did You Say?

Last week, church member David Brown—an MRI supervisor for an area hospital—emailed the following story to me. When I first read it, it sounded so much like a joke that I could hardly believe it was for real. But David assured me that this conversation between him and another person actually took place.

While working with a senior adult patient of mine preparing him for his MRI scan, I asked him, "Is there any chance that you could be claustrophobic?

"No way,” he replied, “I'm a Southern Baptist!"

Once I gathered myself, I said, "I think you misunderstood me. Is there any chance you could be claustrophobic?"

"Didn't you hear me the first time,” he replied. “I'm Baptist and nothing you can say is going to change me. So let's not talk about it anymore."

After getting my thoughts together again for a second time, I finished explaining the test to him, and guess what? He couldn't complete the test because he was—you guessed it—claustrophobic! So I guess he changed denominations while attempting his MRI.

I have to wonder, what in the world did this man think David was saying when he used the word claustrophobic? Was he somehow confusing the word “claustrophobic” with “Catholic”? Or, could it be that—unbeknownst to most of us—there really is a First Claustrophobic Church that meets somewhere in the Danville area? If so, I would assume the reason we don’t know about them is because they’re just a very small congregation without a building, and they probably meet outdoors somewhere. After all, large crowds and indoor worship services could prove to be quite a challenge for this group!

By the way, I once heard about a guy who confused the word “pedestrian” with “Presbyterian”. When he pulled up to an intersection and read a sign that said "pedestrian crossing", he wondered why in world the city would single out one particular religious denomination for preferential treatment, giving them their own private crosswalks. Hmm, that makes me wonder: What if there actually was a First Pedestrian Church? With a church name like that, it would seem their members would really know how to step out in faith and walk with the Lord!

Sometimes words can be confusing. Sometimes, we can make the erroneous assumption that people fully understand what we’re saying, when perhaps they don’t.

A few years ago, our church in Florida hosted a weekend missions conference. Every night, our choir sang an upbeat theme song entitled, “Here Am I, Send Me”, drawn from Isaiah’s response to the call of God, as recorded in Isaiah, chapter 6. A few days later, our minister of music happened to overhear his own children singing the familiar song they had been hearing at church for days. “Harry might send me”, they sang enthusiastically, much to their father’s surprise. I don’t know who they thought Harry was, but obviously they believed he had the ability to send them somewhere!

Then, there’s the story about the farm boy who showed up at church one Sunday with the family milk cow. Someone had told him the church had a new “pasture”, so he wanted to give ol’ Bossie some fresh territory to graze. (Hey, just because Mount Hermon has a new “pasture”, don’t any of you go and get any crazy ideas about bringing a bovine to worship with you this Sunday!)

Perhaps there is a strategic and symbolic reason that the Lord gave us two ears but only one mouth. The Bible says to be “quick to listen, slow to speak.” Furthermore, Jesus often prefaced important announcements with the phrase, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” It would seem to me then that careful listening is vitally important to correct understanding. We need to make sure that we clearly grasp what others are saying before we jump to conclusions and engage our mouths without all the pertinent information.

The other side of the equation is this. We can’t just always assume that people fully understand what we’re saying to them. We have to realize that sometimes things that are quite familiar to us can be new to someone else. We also have to recognize that just because something has been frequently repeated, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the meaning of it was clearly or fully explained on the front end.

Year after year, people in Southern Baptist churches have heard the annual appeals for the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering for International Missions. But a few, it seems, never really got it. “When are we ever going to get that debt paid off?”, one church member is purported to have inquired. (Not a Mount Hermon church member, by the way!) Or, how about this comment: “When are going to finally raise enough money to get that poor missionary lady home?” Too bad they don’t know that “poor Lottie” has been home in Heaven for quite some time now—about a century to be exact—and the money we give to the offering that bears her name is given so that others might come to have a home in Heaven also.

All of this reminds us that good communication is needful and beneficial to all of us. So, whether receiving or sharing information with others, let’s do our best to communicate clearly. Doing so can spare us some unnecessary misunderstandings and embarrassment. And it might even save us from a potential attack of claustrophobia!

Pastor Danny

My Last Worship Service in Florida

On our last Sunday before moving to Virginia, Sandy & I—in transition between churches—decided to visit one of the morning worship services at the 12,000-member First Baptist Church of Orlando. During our eleven years in Sunshine State, we had been to First Baptist Orlando only a handful of times for special seasonal events or conferences. The only previous time we had been there for Sunday morning worship was about 20 years ago, when we lived here in Danville and were visiting Disney World on vacation with our young son. So, just before returning to Danville to start our new ministry at Mount Hermon, we thought it would be nice to take this one last opportunity to worship at First Orlando.

Dr. Jim Henry, the church’s longtime pastor, and former Southern Baptist Convention president, recently retired after nearly 30 years at the church. Jim Henry is a great man of God and, without a doubt, the most humble megachurch pastor I’ve ever met. Several years ago, at my invitation, he came to First Baptist Clermont and preached. He wasn’t easy to book, but finally relented because of my continued persistence. I still remember personal conversations I had with him in which he advised me on the challenges of relocating a church and in which he encouraged me in my efforts to buy land for our new church campus. Since Dr. Henry’s retirement, I had heard a lot of good things about his successor, Dr. David Uth, but this would the first time I had ever seen or heard him.

Honestly, as Sandy & I made our way to our seats in the cavernous 5,500-seat worship center, I was expecting (but not especially looking forward to) a lot of megachurch glitz—big sound, big screen, big production. Lights, camera, action. Singers, band, high tech. A lot of what we had become used to among the successful churches in Central Florida. And particularly with this church, which was sometimes jokingly referred to as “Baptist World” because of its size as well as its close proximity—both geographically and culturally—to Walt Disney World.

But, after a big opening number by the band, praise team, and worship choir, something unusual happened. David Uth walked forward and began asking a series of “What if?” questions. “What if we came in here on Sunday and we didn’t have all these talented singers? What if we didn’t have all these excellent musicians? What if we didn’t have all these high tech gadgets?” And, one by one, he dismissed the choir, the praise team, the band, and the pianist. The lights went down low, the big screen was turned off, and the massive sanctuary went dark except for the most minimal lighting. Ultimately, the pastor stood on the platform all alone.

“Today,” he continued, “we’re driving a stake in the heart of worship as entertainment.” I wanted to jump out of my seat and shout “Amen!” Perhaps I did. That was quite a bold statement to make in one of the entertainment capitals of the world, where churches feel immense pressure to compete with one another as well as with the excellence of Disney-quality programming. Myself having pastored for 11 years in a fast-growing community context also within the shadow of Disney’s influence, I have to admit that gradually I’ve become somewhat cynical about a lot of what we today call worship. Frankly, I’ve come to realize that a lot of what we call worship, simply isn’t.

David Uth continued, “Could we just worship without anything else? Could we?” And, then, a holy hush fell over the place. And, for the longest time, we all just worshiped God. No glitz. No show. No agenda. Just God. Thousands—either from their pews, or in the aisles, or at the altar—were sitting, standing, kneeling, praying, weeping—privately worshiping the Great “I AM”. Ever so often the quietness and stillness of the moment was punctuated with shouts of “Hallelujah,” “Praise God”, and “I Love You, Jesus!” Acapella singing broke out. The nearness of God was so evident. Honestly, for me, it was one of the most meaningful personal encounters with God that I’ve had in a worship service in a long, long time.

Finally—after several eternity-filled minutes that seemed both to go on forever and not last long enough—people began making their way back to their seats. And David Uth started preaching/ teaching from Romans 12:1. It was a simple but compelling sermon on worship in which he talked about (1) our motivation for worship—“The mercies of God”; (2) the means of worship—“Presenting all that we are to God”; and the results of worship—“Living holy and acceptable lives.” He also utilized the lyrics of a couple of contemporary Christian songs that best illustrated the holistic and heartfelt nature of worship that he was trying to convey. One was “Lifesong” by Casting Crowns, which includes the prayerful refrain, “Let my lifesong sing to You.” The other was “Heart of Worship” by Matt Redman (see below):

When the music fades and all is stripped away
And I simply come
Longing just to bring something that's of worth
That will bless Your heart

I'll bring You more than a song
For a song in itself
Is not what You have required
You search much deeper within
Through the way things appear
You're looking into my heart

I'm coming back to the heart of worship
And it's all about You
All about You, Jesus
I'm sorry, Lord, for the things I've made it
When it's all about You
All about You, Jesus

Later, I wrote David Uth and thanked him for that day. If he keeps the church headed on this course, he’ll probably lose some people, particularly those that are looking for the big production. But I’m not so sure that all that really matters to him. For—as he indicated at one point in his message—he doesn’t want to stand before God someday only to hear the Lord say, “Nice show. But what did you do for Me?” (Neither do I, by the way.)

When it was all said and done, Sandy & I realized that we were exactly where God wanted us to be that particular Sunday. Our last worship service in Florida turned out to be precisely what we needed to ready our hearts for our new ministry in Virginia. This one final visit at First Baptist Orlando was a timely reminder of the timeless truth that worship isn’t about us. It’s really about God. Wow! What a refreshing way to spend a Sunday! I hope I can spend all the rest of my Sundays living in that reality.

Pastor Danny

My Barber's Dog Died

Just before moving to Virginia, I went into The Village Barber Shop in Clermont for one final haircut. The proprietor, Mike, had been my barber for the past eleven years.

Visiting Mike has always been an experience. In his old-fashioned, downtown storefront establishment, he has employees that work the chairs up front, handling all of the walk-in traffic. You can only see Mike himself by appointment. He remains secluded in a private section in the back, with a single barber chair, historic photos of Clermont on the wall, Fox News on the television, and old Ellie the dog lying just beneath the chair at the customer’s feet. Having Mike cut your hair in the backroom is like flying first class, while the people in the front room are flying coach. Mike, close to my age, has been barbering a long time. A friendly guy, he’s knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects and one of the most informed people in the city. One can always get the latest local news from him, as he regularly trims the hair on a lot of prominent and powerful heads. Mike is always in the know. It kind of reminds me of an old line from “The Andy Griffith Show” about Floyd the barber, of whom it was said, “In Mayberry, there are three forms of communication—telephone, telegraph, and tell Floyd.”

His dog Ellie, in stark contrast to the high-level summits constantly taking place around her, maintains the stoic silence of a monk and the low profile of a covert CIA operative. With endless human conversation hovering above her head, she slumbers disinterestedly on the floor until there is finally an exchange of bodies in the barber chair above. As each customer stands up at the end of his haircut, that’s Ellie’s cue to lazily rise up and receive a dog biscuit from Mike. Somehow, it’s her reward, just for being there and enduring it all, day in and day out. Bear in mind that this 15-year old hound dog has ridden to work with Mike five days a week for her whole life. She’s more at home at the barber shop than anywhere else; more of a fixture there than the old revolving red, white & blue barber pole just outside the front door.

At the end of my last haircut, it suddenly dawned on me that something was amiss. I had been so engrossed in discussing world affairs with Mike that I had failed to recognize the unusual absence of his longstanding silent partner. “Where’s Ellie?” I asked. Mike then sadly informed me that since my previous haircut, the aging Ellie had passed away. I was stunned. It was the end of an era, I thought, strangely coinciding with my own departure from Clermont.

The sudden revelation of Ellie’s death instantly transported me back to Havana, Cuba, where only a few weeks before I had learned of the demise of another dog diva. Diana (named for Britain’s Princess Di) lived on the flat roof of a home adjacent to where our mission team ate our meals and led in worship services. Every time I saw this Cuban canine, she was always on that roof, standing guard over her vast domain, ready to defend her home at a moment’s notice. By the way that she carried herself, I feel confident that Diana was neither a Communist nor a “Fidelista”. After all, she always loved it when our mission teams came from America for a visit. It was a veritable Thanksgiving feast for her to be able to dine on our leftovers. For two straight years, our teams were accustomed to seeing the familiar image of Diana daily pacing along the rooftop above us. It always brought us a level of comfort. “Perro de techo”, I called her. (Spanish for “roof dog”.) Sadly, this time, Diana was gone, her untimely departure from this life roughly coinciding with the recent illness and hospitalization of Fidel Castro, her country’s dogmatic leader. (Pun intended.) A coincidence, you think? I’m not so sure. Anyway, it was sad to look up and see Diana’s old spot on that roof vacant.

As my mind drifted back again from Cuba to Clermont, I wondered, “What do you do when your barber’s dog dies?” I mean, does Hallmark have a card for such an occasion? Are flowers appropriate? How about, in lieu of flowers, donations to the local animal shelter or the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals? I must admit, I am not up on dog death etiquette.

But somehow Ellie’s death (along with that of the Diana) reminded me of something much more important. Life is full of beginnings and endings—not only for dogs, but for all of us. As a matter of fact, nothing in this life is permanent except for the Word of God, the souls of men, and the spiritual treasures we lay up in Heaven.

Does your life reflect those heavenly priorities? Are you investing yourself where it really counts and where the results are eternal?

Elvis Presley long ago immortalized the phrase, “You ain’t a nothing but a hound dog.” But I hope you realize that your life is much more than a dog’s life. Don’t miss out on what God has in store for you by letting your life go to the dogs. Find your place in this world—like Ellie’s spot under the chair or Diana’s perch up on the roof—and determine to make a difference where you are. Life is too short to do otherwise…even if you count it in dog years.

Pastor Danny

Who is Latoya Gipson…?

…and why am I getting her phone calls?

Just before moving to Danville, Sandy and I decided to get some cheap “To Go” cellular phones, where you prepay for minutes. We thought we could use these for a brief period during our transition from Florida to Virginia, buying some more permanent cell phones after we arrived here.

When I bought my phone, I was assigned a phone number at random. But when I started making calls to people, something strange began happening. I noticed that the people that I called sounded rather reticent when they answered the phone, as if they were uncertain and even a little bit leery about who was calling them. Only later did I discover that when I was calling people the name “Latoya Gipson” was showing up on their caller I.D. The story doesn’t end there. Then, I started receiving recorded phone calls from a middle school in the Orlando area telling me that “my son”—whose name I couldn’t pronounce—was absent from school without excuse again today. On top of that, some people I didn’t know started calling me on my cell phone asking for a “Mr. Smith”. Mmm. Then, when my son and daughter-in-law tried to call me, they said they kept getting a voice mail greeting in Spanish. Mmm, again. This is quite a mystery!

So, needless to say, Latoya Gipson, a woman I’ve never met, has become part of my life in the past month. Some people—who now know the scoop on this—answer my calls to them from my cell phone with the greeting, “Hi, Latoya!” I suppose that Latoya Gipson’s name will forever live as part of my legacy. (By the way, if you haven’t gotten a “Lotoya” call from me, you probably won’t at this point. I’m going to get rid of this phone very soon.)

Since Latoya’s name has become so familiar to me, I’ve tried to assess what I know about her. She once had a phone, but now she doesn’t. She doesn’t encourage her kids in their school attendance. She may or may not speak Spanish. She may or may not have a friend named “Mr. Smith.” Maybe she’s the kind of person that moves around a lot. Maybe she skipped town without telling anyone, especially the school system. Anyway, it’s interesting what you can piece together about a person from just a little bit of information.

What can people piece together about you? What insights into your character and your lifestyle can they glean from the snapshot experiences they have of your life? Do people perceive you as a reliable, honest person? A good neighbor? A kind, thoughtful person? A compassionate, caring individual? A positive, patient human being not easily given to irritation or negativity? An authentic follower of Jesus embodying the values that Christ taught and exemplified?

When you call someone and they see your name on the caller I.D., what’s the first thing they think about you? Are they encouraged by the thought of your call…or do they say “Oh, no! It’s old what’s-his-name again”?

What we are in our daily lives makes an impression on others. I don’t know if the original Latoya ever thought about that, but I hope you do.

God bless you! Have a great day!

Pastor “Latoya”

What I Like About Coming Back to Virginia

The old state song, “Carry Me Back to Old Virginny”, seems to have been the new theme song for the Davis family in recent weeks. Sandy & I never imagined that God would bring us back to the same city and state where we started out in ministry more than twenty years ago. But here we are, back in the Old Dominion after eighteen years and three other pastorates.

Prior to our return to Danville via Mount Hermon Baptist Church, all four of the churches I had served as pastor were in different states—Virginia, North Carolina, Kentucky & Florida. I used to tell people that every time I left a church I had to leave the state as well! Now, God has shown me that I can actually go back again to a place I lived before. Thanks, Commonwealth of Virginia, for giving me a second chance!

Eighteen years to be away is a long time. Think about it. When Sandy & I left Danville back in 1988, Ronald Reagan was still president, the Soviet Union was still intact, little-known George W. Bush was working in his daddy’s campaign for the White House, Al Gore had not yet invented the Internet, and CDs were not something you listened to but something you invested in. Truly, a lot of water has gone under the bridge.

In the past few weeks, I’ve been eagerly anticipating my return to Virginia. Here are some of the things I’ve been looking forward to most.

1. Four distinct seasons. Living in Florida for more than a decade, it’s been a long time since Sandy & I have seen ice and snow. (In fact, we got caught by surprise on our first Sunday morning when we woke with frost on our car windshield.) I know it sounds strange, but I’ve really been looking forward to being cold again, especially at Christmastime. I can’t wait to get snowed in. In Florida, there were no snow days, only hurricane days! I also love the brilliantly-colored changing leaves of autumn. Sandy & I got here just in time to see them this year. And, speaking of seasons, there’s nothing more beautiful than springtime in Danville, with all the azaleas blooming. I look forward to that as well.

2. History. Wow, Virginia is the ultimate place for history buffs! As a college history major and a lifelong student of history, returning to a state with such a great heritage is going to be fun. Jamestown. Yorktown. Colonial Williamsburg. Mount Vernon. Monticello. Appomattox Court House. Arlington National Cemetery. The birthplaces of eight U.S. presidents. Battlefields galore. Not to mention that Danville itself was the last capital of the Confederacy. Truly, Virginia history is U.S. history. I’ll enjoy revisiting some sights that we saw years ago as well as getting to go some places we never got around to visiting before.

3. Baseball. I’m a big baseball fan. While I’m giving up the major league spring training games that I’ve enjoyed for years in Florida, I know that Danville historically is a great baseball town. It’s where my son first learned the game in the city’s excellent Little League program. And I’m delighted that Danville again has a minor league team. (They didn’t have one when I lived here before.) Look for me to be spending some of my free time next spring and summer watching the balls and strikes at Dan Daniel Memorial Park.

4. Brunswick Stew. In Virginia, "stew" is not merely something you eat. It's an event! Virtually everyone in Southside Virginia loves attending a good old fashioned stew in the autumn when the weather turns cool. On the Saturday night before our first Sunday at Mount Hermon, Sandy & I were invited to a stew at someone's home. Several people had worked all day preparing the delicacy. And then, just before dark, a large group gathered for the big feast. It was fun being outdoors on a cold night for a delicious time of hot stew and warm fellowship.

5. Speaking of food, I can't forget some of Danville’s unique local eating establishments. Places like Short Sugar’s Barbecue, Danview Restaurant, and Mary’s Diner. Mmm! Mmm! These restaurants were some of my favorite haunts years ago. I’m so relieved to find out that they’re all still in operation and doing well. I’ll surely be dropping by soon to reintroduce myself to some of their classic down home cuisine.

6. Sweet Tea. When you order sweet tea in Central Florida, they generally bring you a glass of unsweetened iced tea and several packets of sugar. Have you ever tried to sweeten tea after it has been chilled? As you know, sweet tea is a staple of the South. But “the South” is more than a geographical location. It’s a state of mind. And, as the folks in the Sunshine State often say, “In Florida, you’ve got to go north to go south.”

7. Trains. When I was a boy growing up in the mountains of Kentucky, I used to lay awake at night listening to the sound of train whistles, dreaming of all the places I might go. The coal mining regions of Appalachia, like the farming and manufacturing areas of the Piedmont, historically were train country. (Danville, of course, is notable in history as the site of the wreck of the Old 97. And Joan Baez’s 1971 pop hit, “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” opens with the line, “Virgil Caine is my name and I served on the Danville train…”) I haven’t been around the familiar sound of train whistles in a long, long time, but I was delighted to discover that I can hear them from our new home on Westwood Drive. It brings back a lot of good memories.

8. Southern Hospitality. Courtesy. Manners. Etiquette. Politeness. Decorum. Respectfulness. Thoughtfulness. Gentleness. Kindness. Friendliness. You experience it from both acquaintances and strangers alike…in restaurants, stores, and even out on the street. As an outsider coming back in, I can unequivocally say that a lot of what has been largely lost in American culture in recent years is still alive and well in Southside Virginia. Praise the Lord. What a delight to be back among such graciousness.

9. Good People. The state’s longstanding promotional campaign says that “Virginia is for lovers.” I have to say that some of the most loving people I’ve ever met are in Danville, Virginia. Sandy & I still have many friends here from back in the 1980s. At that time, we knew many Southside Virginia residents to be good, honest, hardworking, patriotic, down-to-earth, God-fearing people—whether they were Wahoos, Hokies, or whatever. Our precious memories of Melville Avenue Baptist Church—our first church which loved us and gave us such a great start in ministry—have been something we have cherished throughout the years. We now look forward to meeting & making a whole host of new friends at Mount Hermon Baptist Church and throughout the community as well.

10. Mount Hermon Baptist Church. This is the main reason we’ve come back to good ol’ Pittsylvania County. God has called us back for a new ministry assignment with Mount Hermon, a great church family with a solid foundation and a bright future. I’m excited about being the pastor of such a strong congregation, which I’ve always admired for their commitment to missions and their love for the Word of God. I am confident that the Lord has put us together to do and experience some things that we never could have done alone. Sandy & I truly look forward to what God is going to do in all of our lives in the years ahead.

God bless you all. It’s really good to be back in Virginia.

Pastor Danny