Mysterious Ways ...

Due to recent occurrences above and beyond my control I have become a bit lax as far as updating posts here on TheSouthernJackAss ... I suppose with such an ever increasing, steady and loyal following I should aspire to do much better ... my apologies, as summer begins to wind down I should be able to offer more frequent and interesting stories for your reading pleasure, that is my hope ... until then, here is perhaps a somewhat familiar and classic tale of which I have taken the liberty of twisting around and inserting a few local characters ... I think most of you have already read some of my posts involving Lester DooLittle, ol' Luther DooLittle's cousin ... if so, you know that Lester DooLittle was an overtly uncouth chap who always enjoyed dabbling in unsavory vices such as thievery and the consumption of all types of tobacco and alcoholic spirits ... well this particular evening Lester's gills had just about turned blue from swilling his Grandpa DooLittle's homemade wine that he'd "found" hidden behind jars of canned string beans in the old man's root cellar, and the wayward juicer's head was now spinning like freshly greased fan blades ... so Lester figured it was time for him to head home, which was located on the far side of town ... and to make this jaunt a bit more urgent it was now pitch-black dark, and drops of rain were beginning to slap the ground as lightning flashed in the distance accompanied by rumbles of rolling thunder ... Lester DooLittle had to get home and get home quick, else risk getting caught smack dab in the middle of a fierce thunder storm ... so Lester forthwith set forth out of DooLittle Hollar and toward town.

Now as was customary around those parts, folks often took a short cut through the old cemetery in order to get from one side of town or the other ... and most usually this path was taken in broad daylight, preferably while in the presence of other living human beings ... so when Lester finally made it to the edge of town he was faced with a sudden dilemma as those scattered raindrops had turned into a downright gullywasher, and those distant flashes of lightning were indiscriminatingly crashing into the ground all around him like huge, angry forks of searing, earsplitting fire and brimstone ... Lester must decide at once, proceed the long way around the cemetery through the raging storm, or take the direct route through the cemetery ... well Lester quickly determined that he was definitely more terrified of those deadly, blazing thunderbolts from the sky than he was of any ol' dead person planted 'neath the ground, so he closed his eyes and took off like a scalded hare right through the middle of that graveyard.

Lester was making real good time, his feet hitting the soggy ground as he somehow managed to blindly maneuver his wiry frame betwixt the granite head stones with the grace of a fleeting cheetah ... just as he neared the far end of the spooky boneyard, with the lights of his house glaring just ahead--ka-splash! ... Lester DooLittle landed face first into a freshly dug, empty grave which was now beginning to fill with muddy rainwater ... the horrified rummy attempted to get to his feet, but was unable due to the slick mud on the bottom and sides of the six-foot-deep hole ... now stone cold sober Lester tried and tried but was unable to get any grip whatsoever so as to pull himself from what could end up being his own tomb ... the situation had become virtually hopeless as Lester somehow rolled onto his knees and began to fervently and loudly pray to God "oh Lord just somehow, someway get me out of this terrible place ... and I'll be a good and decent feller from now on!" ... well Lester's prayin' went on for hours, long enough for the booze to wear off of Maynard Slaughter, the town's very own beloved, resident wino, who had been lying there skidded at the other end of that grave unbeknownst the whole time to Lester DooLittle ... when Maynard heard the boy's piteous pleas he sat up and calmly replied "son you might as well quit yer pinin' and have another swig from the bottle ... cause neither one of us is ever gettin' out of this here pit!" ... needless to say Lester DooLittle's prayers were immediately answered as those dreadful words felt like icicles traveling up his spine ... the panic-struck cuss leaped straight up and catapulted himself out of that slippery tomb and his feet hit the ground running in the direction of his house ... as soon as Lester was safely inside of his bedroom he recalled the encouraging words of an old hymn written by William Cowper ... and from thence forward Lester DooLittle never again permitted hard liquors to cross his lips and became a good and decent feller!

"God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain."  --William Cowper


--sja