The Resurrection of Daddy Freeman

By the time I came to know my grandfather Daddy Freeman, he had made some significant changes in his life. One of which, I am told, is that he had quit drinking. It seems that in his younger days he had a bit of a wild streak in him. This wild streak led him on binges that might keep him out all night or longer with his buddies. Mamma Bea was a worrier and she would sit up waiting for him to find his way home, even if it meant waiting all night. One particular weekend Daddy Freeman had been gone a little bit longer than usual and Mamma Bea was almost beside herself. Then she heard the rumble of a car coming down the gravel drive. The distance from their house and the main road was probably about 150 yards so as soon as she heard the car, she had plenty of time to get outside and prepare herself for a proper reception of her wayward husband. This time was different though. Instead of the snarling and flying frying pans, Mamma Bea took one look and began wailing at the top of her lungs. Great tears were flowing as she saw one of Daddy Freeman’s friends coming down the driveway. It was Mr. Smith. “Ohhhh, Baby!” she said to her son. “It’s finally happened. Here comes Mr. Smith bringing your daddy home.” Now, it wasn’t unusual for a friend to bring Daddy Freeman home but Mr. Smith is not the one you wanted to see. Mr. Smith, as it turns out, was the Chickasaw County Funeral Home Director and he was bringing Daddy Freeman home in the hearse! Mamma Bea thought that Daddy Freeman was dead and I’m certain that if Daddy Freeman was sober enough to see Mamma Bea, he probably was wishing that he was. In fact, I think I might have climbed in the back and reclined until the storm was over, Jesus had come back or I had succumbed to natural causes rather than face Mamma Bea. “FREEMAN!” no doubt reverberated all over Shake Rag that day.

I don’t know what happened following the one and only resurrection of Daddy Freeman. Maybe that is when he decided to quit drinking. Maybe Mamma Bea knocked a knot on his head and encouraged him along the road to sobriety. Knowing my mischievous grandfather, he probably got a good laugh out of it, in a day or two.

“Lazarus, Come out.” Jesus said. And he did. Not from the back of a party wagon called a hearse but from a tomb. What a joyous day! Hearing his name called and then to be greeted by Jesus and Mary and Martha and the others must have been, well, a miraculous feeling. One day Jesus will call our name. Howard, Come out. Ruth, Come out. Bill, Come out. We will be raised, reunited, and resurrected.

In the mean time . . . What about the mean time? What about now? Wait. Listen. Don’t you hear it? Everyday? Howard. Ruth. Bill. Come out! Leave behind the bindings, the tomb of addiction, the darkness of depression. Come out! All of you to be resurrected to the newness of life in Christ! We can live, because He lives. So, let’s go out and live it up, the way God intended.

And the people said, “Amen.”