Bogue Creek

When I was twelve years old, I had an unusual assortment of friends. They were Jerry, Gary and Snake Doctor. Jerry lived down the street and across the sewage ditch. The ditch was a dividing line between the haves and the have-nots. Jerry was on the have-nots side. His four room shack had a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen and a bathroom that didn’t have a shower or tub. We called them shotgun shacks because, as you know, a shotgun could be fired in the front door and the shot would go out the back without hitting the walls. Jerry was a relatively nice kid as was Gary, his cousin. Snake Doctor was from a similar background as Jerry but wasn’t all that nice. Actually, he was a little bit scary and unpredictable. All of them were three years older than I was.

One day we all decided to make a trip to Bogue Creek. This meant my sneaking off from home. Jerry, Gary and Snake Doctor didn’t have to sneak because their parents didn’t care where they were, ever. Jerry grabbed his 410 shotgun and off we went. We crossed the railroad tracks, the “black” cemetery and meandered our way through a stand of trees to the creek. We had made the trip many times. On this trip, we decided to shoot shad. Shad are little silvery fish that swim in schools. We were having a grand time shooting at the fish and watching them blast out of the water. At some point Jerry made his way out onto a sand bar and I stood on the bank near him. The school of fish darted into the water that separated the bank from the sand bar. Now, even a twelve year old knows a little bit about angles and a phenomenon called ricochet so when Jerry raised the shotgun, I threw my arms up in front of my face and screamed, “No!” Too late. My legs were on fire. I looked down and there were little holes in my pants’ legs. I quickly pulled them up to find dozens of little bits of lead buried in my very skinny legs. There was also blood. Not much, but enough to scare me, Jerry, Gary and even tough guy Snake Doctor who I was sure had shot a few people already, on purpose. We sat there on the bank picking the shot out and blotting the blood with my pants. Not being mortally wounded we headed back home. When I got home, I yelled to Mom that I was back and dashed to my room. I quickly changed pants and stuffed my blooded pants into a paper bag that I snuck into the trash can out back. Safe! I didn’t wear shorts for a couple of weeks while my wounds healed. Mom never asked about the missing pants. All was well at home and the shad were able to live their lives out peacefully because of a lesson learned.

Thirty years later the phone rang. It was Dad with his weekly Saturday morning call. After we had discussed the weather and the prospects for Ole Miss’ success on the gridiron (both short topics) Dad mentioned that he had seen Jerry. Turns out Dad had needed a plumber. Jerry had finished his stint at Parchman, the state prison of Mississippi and had learned a trade while there – plumbing. “Son, tell me about Bogue Creek.” I suddenly became a twelve year old again as I told Dad the whole story. We both laughed and I was grateful that the visit with Jerry had been short. There was much more that could have been told. It was strange how after all those years I was still a bit embarrassed and ashamed that my misadventure had been revealed.

Imagine the woman at the well. All was revealed and yet this man didn’t speak words of condemnation, only loving acceptance. His eyes revealed grace and forgiveness. He offered living water that quenched every thirst of the soul. We all have our secrets. Some we wish could remain secret. But the One who knows them all, loves us most. Thanks be to God. We are forgiven.

Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he? John 3