Wherever Debbie and I travel we love to buy and read local newspapers. It is like intersecting a slice of life in that particular area.

When we arrived to visit Debbie's mother we opened up the Daily Disappointment (read: Wilmington News Journal) to see the obituary of the best teacher either of us had in our public school education. His name: Mr. Kearney Lykins. He was Kearney in students' conversations; Mr. Lykins in the classroom. What a character! What a teacher! We all hated and admired him. Feared and secretly were grateful for him. He was one of those characters you hate to love--yet affection was often not too strong a word.

What did he do? He taught us to read and to write. I'm talking high school English. He got us into Shakespeare and Tennyson and Milton and tried to get us into Joseph Conrad, but I drew the line there. To me Lord Jim is The Heart of Darkness. But I digress. He taught us to write. My, did we write! One theme a week. It had to be solid, well-composed and well-thought-out. (He would probably have slashed up that last sentence.) He is the one who taught me how to build and communicate an argument long before I ever got to any preaching class. We also had to read the great literature of the English language and write book reports. One day one of the students tried to submit a book report on the Bible (it was on the reading list back then). That was an interesting day in class.

Because you see, Kearney was combative in class. And he could be devastating. One day he hit my sister on the back of the head with his ruler as he was walking up the rows to the front of the classroom--no reason, he just gave her a whack. She slugged him in the gut--automatic reflex. I have never been prouder of my sister in my life. No repercussions for her, Kearney loved it when he couldn't intimidate you. Of course we were all petrified of him; but I learned then that you have to stand up to the threat of intimidation.

During my senior year Kearney lent me a commentary on the book of I Corinthians--and I read a portion of it--Barclay's Study Bible. That was another part of the enigma that was Kearney Lykins. He was very much a student of the Bible, but he was definitely not a saint. His sin hit the fan in the big kind of way that only happens with a public school teacher in a small town.

But the obituary stated that Mr. Lykins had been very involved in the local Baptist Church in the small western Kentucky town where he retired. He taught Sunday School and he was a lay preacher. I would have loved to have heard him preach in these past few years--a sinner reclaimed by grace. An incredibly articulate, intelligent and passionate man in a small town, western Kentucky Baptist congregation. (For those of you geographically and culturally challenged, let me just say that western Kentucky is a LONG way from Connecticut.) Grace is an amazing thing. It calls us back to our better selves; it calls us home to our greatest love; it calls us on to our highest ideals.

So, Mr, Lykins--thank you for teaching me to write and teaching me to think critically. I am looking forward to seeing you in heaven someday. Maybe together we can hang out with John Milton and see how things look to him with his eyes opened to glory.