Back in the day, when kids were growing up, close enough was often good enough, but precision is key now, and the “guesstimates” that were acceptable back then are no longer valid.
We often helped a confused driver by suggesting he turn onto a county road just after crossing three cattle fences, spotting a big red barn, or seeing a lone chimney that had been burned down by a lightning strike.
Our kids think we are lacking because we don’t have a GPS device that can give us precise directions to our destination. (I still can’t remember what “GPS” stands for.) Sometimes friendships are born when good, old-fashioned methods are used. …
All of this means that at least one person in Granbury, Texas, recently reversed course on “the old ways.” For reference, First Christian Church, now in its 151st year, began in 1873 when a pastor named Joseph Clark came to Granbury from Fort Worth with his sons Addison and Randolph, also pastors, and founded a school originally called Addlan College. Believing there were too many “temptations” for students in Fort Worth and Granbury, they decided on Thorpe Springs, “seven miles from known sin.” (A few years later, the college moved to Waco, then Fort Worth, and the name was changed to Texas Christian University.)
Anyway, back in 1986 First Christian left behind a small wooden building near downtown on what was then a few miles of “rural” West Highway 377. At that time they dedicated a beautiful stone building in Austin.
When asked for directions to the church downtown, locals suggested heading west on Route 377, looking for the church on the hill on the left.
However, a few years later, Tractor Supply opened a store next door to the church, and inquiries were encouraged to look for the church right next door to Tractor Supply. This was the easy way out, and for the past 20 years or so, FCC has been known as “the church right next door to Tractor Supply.”
Pastor Justin Jeter was at the Tractor Supply store recently, where a clerk was eager to tell the story of a new customer who had discovered the store was right next door to First Christian Church.
No, you don't need a GPS for these directions.
The late Chock Hutchison, one of the most interesting people I know, grew up in Lubbock when it was “still a town.”
I could hear my parents on the phone giving me directions to their house, zigzagging around, going through two traffic lights, finding a town with prairie dogs, and finally leading me to the Onyx gas station just a few feet from the Hutchison house. Giving directions like this often took several minutes, and sometimes wore down a pencil or two.
“A better guide would encourage visitors to head to Lubbock's water tower. It's probably 150 feet tall and visible for miles in every direction. It's right behind our house.”
My friend Don Wilson is beyond common sense, approaching genius. By comparison, his “elevator” will rocket to the top of any skyscraper, while mine struggles to reach the third floor. An Air Force veteran, he has been a pilot since 1971 and has distinguished himself. He currently has 34 years of experience with American Airlines, including several years as an instructor at the airline's flight school. He previously served as a captain, flying Boeing 767s with around 225 passengers, usually to major European cities.
“When I'm outside in the sunlight, I have no sense of direction,” he said, a confession he made recently at his wife Jajuan's memorial service. (Luckily, he had two other pilots with him, and a computer provided north, south, east, west, and up and down guidance.)
All he needed on the journey was Jajuan, his wife of almost 53 years, whom he met in seventh grade in Holly, Texas, to provide navigational skills along the way.
