Let me tell you a bit about my Great Uncle Wilkie. First and foremost though, let me make it clear that he was my great uncle by marriage. If I was blood kin to him, I would never admit it for fear of being banned from proper society.
Uncle Wilkie was indeed one of the foulest men I have ever met, and trust me, I have met a few. Now I know that, like all of us, he was created in the image of God; but trust me also when I say that Uncle Wilkie’s rendition of that image did not show off God’s best side.
I was introduced to Uncle Wilkie on a rainy Sunday afternoon when I was just a little boy, and from then on I would fight tooth and nail to avoid going to his house again. I just didn’t like him on sight, but from time to time Granny and Grandpa Tharpe would be overtaken by guilt and familial obligation, and off we would go to the old ramshackle two story house that sat behind the defunct football field and the accompanying defunct burned down high school.
I think that old house was the only thing left of whatever town had once been there, because desolate doesn’t begin to describe the place. I don’t think it had ever seen a coat of paint, exclusive of the tobacco juice Uncle Wilkie had deposited along the bottom planks like some sort of gross pair of pantaloons.
Uncle Wilkie was skinny as a rail, cussed like a sailor, spat like a viper and refused to wear a clean shirt most of the time. That is, when he wore a shirt at all. To this day I can still see that old sunken in chest of his covered with those grey mats of hair. It was the stuff that nightmares are made of in the mind of a little boy.
Uncle Wilkie was indeed an odd bird. One of his proclivities was that he hated electric light. Now each room in the house had a single light bulb hanging from a wire smack in the middle of the ceiling, but that old fella preferred the light of a kerosene lantern. Go figure. I suppose it reminded him of days gone by.
In his bedroom, the flickering light of a kerosene lantern was usually all the light to be found. And yes, the shadows dancing around help secure Uncle Wilkie’s creepiness.
Appearance aside though, in some things he was particular. One was the quality of light that issued from his lamp. The wick had to be trimmed just so, or he wasn’t happy; and that is where my Grandpa’s sister, Carrie, came into play.
There is an old saying that you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but in one of the strangest relationships on record you can marry a silk purse to a sow ear and make it work.
Aunt Carrie was one of the sweetest, neatest and nicest people I have ever met; and yet somehow she was saddled with Uncle Wilkie as a partner in life, and from all appearances, she was satisfied with the arrangement.
When I read the Book of Job for the first time, I thought about Aunt Carrie and decided that there had to have been a side wager between God and Satan, and Aunt Carrie was the prize. Nonetheless, Aunt Carrie loved that cantankerous old man and treated him like a king. Skinny or not, he was well fed with good old country style Southern cooking, which for the record cannot be topped no matter how hard you try. The house was always spotless, exclusive of the tobacco stains she didn’t get to in time.
I have seen that woman on her hands and knees trying to get a stain out that could have been avoided altogether had Uncle Wilkie had the courtesy enough to just walk outside or use a cuspidor.
I remember walking into the kitchen one afternoon and finding Aunt Carrie with her reading glasses down on her nose and her forehead all wrinkled in concentration. She was trimming away on a new wick in one of Uncle Wilkie’s lanterns. I asked her what she was doing, and she told me that she was getting the light right. I asked her what she meant, and she told me that the only way to get good light out of a lantern was the trim the wick just so. She showed me one she had finished, and then she taught me how to do it.
You don’t just trim it straight across. You make a little mountain top out of it. She snipped and looked and snipped and looked until she had it just right. The sides of the trimming were Rocky Mountain steep, but the top looked like the Smokies, rounded off and smooth. I’ll tell you, a computer couldn’t have done a neater job than Aunt Carrie.
That night she showed me why she did it. She took one lantern and cut the wick straight across and lit it. The flame was all fits and starts and smoke. On top of that, the flame was blue for the most part. There is not much light in a blue flame. She put the glass over it, and it just got worse.
Then she lit the wick she had trimmed so carefully, and the difference was startling. The light was twice or three times as bright, and it was yellow. There is lots of light in a yellow flame. It smoked a bit, though; but then she put the glass over it, and that light increased another two or three times, the flame reached for the ceiling within the glass and the smoke altogether disappeared.
That flame was perfectly shaped, even on both sides and slightly curved at the top. You couldn’t of done better.
Of course Uncle Wilkie enjoyed the light, but he never said anything to Aunt Carrie. Not a thank you or anything; but she just smiled and went on with her business.
A few nights ago as I lay down, I asked the Lord what he wanted me to write about this time around. That night I dreamed about Uncle Wilkie and Aunt Carrie and the aforementioned wick.
Now chances are the dream was a result of me eating seven pieces of French toast followed by an entire World’s Best Chocolate Candy Bar as a chaser, but I took it as a sign nonetheless.
This world will seldom if ever offer thanks for the sacrifices you make. It matters not how high your flame reaches or how beautiful your light shines for Christ. While the world may appreciate you and hold you up as an example, the chances are it won’t.
More than likely it will simply enjoy the light, take warmth from its glowing, guidance from its luster and never consider its origin, but don’t lose heart. Maybe, just maybe, a young child will see you as you are down on your hands and knees cleaning the mess of the ungrateful and be changed.
Maybe, just maybe the light of Christ will flare up at just the right time to change a life. You never know, so keep on shining.
Tony Rowell
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