Today’s post is a slight departure from the typical devotional tone of Life, Gratitude, Faith, & Promise. Sunday evening, after such a spiritually uplifting morning in worship, we attended the WFPC Youth “Talent Show and Spaghetti Dinner.” It was fun to eat with a couple hundred of our good friends, and fun to see the variety of talent on display.

The Youth Praise Band, for example rocked the house with a very creditable version of “I love rock and roll.” For a break in the music, I was asked to do a “storytelling” piece. It seemed to communicate well, so I’ll share it here as an extended Tuesday morning post. Enjoy.

HOG-WATCHING (100% accuracy is not guaranteed; some of the names and characterizations have been changed for the sake of anonymity)

Back in 1978, right after Rebekah and I became engaged, I was invited for a rural Georgia Thanksgiving to meet some of the extended family. This was the, “Rebekah’s going to marry one of those d—-n Redcoats,” crowd. Forget the Civil War, some of these folk were still fighting the War of Independence.

After dinner, Rebekah’s cousin’s husband put his arm around my shoulder and said, “Hey, foreigner, we’re going to take you on a little trip to look at the hogs…”

I looked over at Rebekah. “Is this safe?” my eyes said. I was wondering if maybe “Look at the hogs” was a euphemism for some dangerous low-country drinking game; or code for “let’s beat up the English guy;” or if it really meant, “We’re taking him to the county line and he ain’t coming back.”

Rebekah shrugged her shoulders and said she wouldn’t bother saving dessert for me. Not so reassuring.

So Roy-Boy grabbed me by the arm and led me out in the growing dark to the pick-up truck, where we all piled in on the cramped front bench seat. And by “all” I mean Roy-Boy, who was, well, substantial; his cousin Bubba – definitely “big and tall”; and his other cousin Bubba, closer to my size only by then it didn’t matter.

I was in the middle. Sandwiched. Compressed. A little scared. Curious. Worried.

It wasn’t that big of a pick-up truck. Not only that but there was chewing tobacco involved. So we drove off the farm; down the road; through a gate; down a dirt road; through another gate; over the field; over another field; through another gate. All the while with Bubba 2 jumping out, opening gates, then closing them again. I think there were five in all.

By then it was pitch dark. And they only used the parking lights to navigate. In the corner of my mind I started to hear banjo music, and not in a good way.

Eventually, after a good 30-minutes of bumping, spitting, and opening gates and gates, the truck ground to a halt. Roy turned off the lights, cut the engine and spat tobacco juice one more time into the cup nestled between his legs. After a couple of minutes of silence Roy-Boy opened the door and we all tumbled out.

We walked to the front of the truck where they all stood grinning at me. It was so dark I could hardly see my hand in front of my face. I seriously thought about making a run for it.

After a while the guys started to wander into the dark. I followed, a couple of paces behind. Before long they reached a fence and leaned. They took turns spitting into the field. I leaned on the fence too. But I didn’t spit.

Nobody said a word. Five or six minutes went by and there was only the occasional phbwwtt of tobacco juice hitting the ground

After what seemed like an eternity I made out some movement in the dark, and – laboriously – a half dozen hippopotamus sized blobs wandered into view. It was a group of humongous Yorkshire White pigs.

The pigs came up to a couple of feet from the fence and just stood there. We all just stood there. The four of us leaned on the rail, looking at the swine.

• Roy-Boy, Bubba, and Bubba – spitting and grunting;
• The Yorkshire whites – chewing and grunting;
• Me – wondering what was going to happen next.

The guys looked over at me, expectantly. It was like they were waiting for something.

So I put one leg up on the fence, gazed out over the behemoth Yorkshire Whites, took a deep breath, and cleared my throat.

“NICE HOGS,” I said.

Roy-Boy and the Bubbas broke into broad grins, clapped their hands, and slapped one-another on the back. Then they grinned at me some more and slapped me on the back.

Without saying a word, we paraded back to the pick-up, drove through the fields and dirt roads again, opening and closing all those gates, and we did made it back to the farm in time for apple pie.

Roy-Boy and the Bubbas went directly to Rebekah.

“He’s alright,” he said, and they all nodded in agreement. “You got yourself a good one.”

(a few pics from the talent show)