Today I came across a story which I had read many years ago. It was found in an old issue of the MESSENGER OF PEACE magazine (January 1943). I have slightly edited this work of an unknown author. W. Fulton


WRONG DIRECTIONS

I was going West one time during the winter. The train had two engines ploughing along through heavy snowy conditions. There was a woman with a little baby in her arms who wanted to leave the train at a certain little station. The brakeman came in and called the name of the station when we were getting near. The woman said, “Don’t forget me.” He replied, “Sure.”

A nearby passenger said, “Lady, I will see that the brakeman does not forget you—don’t you worry!”

A while later he said to the woman, “Here’s your station!” And she hopped off the train and into the winter storm!

The train pulled away and had gone on about three-quarters of an hour when the brakeman returned and asked, “Where is that woman with a child?” “Oh,” the traveling man said, “She got off back there.”

The brakeman cried, “Then she’s gone to her death! Man, we only stopped the train back there because of a problem with the engine! That was not her station! She got out in the wilderness.”

Immediately they called for volunteers and went back looking for the lady. They searched for hours, and finally found her out on the prairie, covered with a shroud of ice and snow from the pitiless storm, as she had folded the little babe to her breast. She followed the man’s misguided directions, but they were wrong and led to certain death.

Greater will be the responsibility of that preacher who betrays the trust placed in him by his hearers and who directs them wrongly to their eternal destruction. Only the proven truth of God will benefit any person. A lie damns. This is true in the personal salvation of the soul. It is also true of the Ship of State, here in the United States of America, where so much of the political viewpoint at this hour is Godless and un-American. How solemn the responsibility of our elected officials when they lead their citizenry further away from the foundations of GODLINESS and PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY on which the U.S.A. government was founded! Beware!

SCRIPTURE:
“There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death” Proverbs 14:12. 

ON THE U. S. ELECTION & NEW PRESIDENT

In meditating this morning about the 2008 U. S. general election, I turned to the 23rd Psalm, and it came to me in this way:

“THE LORD is my Shepherd” — that is, my Supplier, my Leader, my Teacher, my Guide— “I shall not want.”

In other words, “THE LORD is my Shepherd,” NOT the New President and New Congress. “THE LORD” is my Supplier, NOT “Barack Hussein Obama”! And while I must show respect to those who are in authority and pray for them, as the Scripture clearly teaches, and seek to lead a quiet and obedient life, I do not have to depend upon them or the various winds of partisanship that now and in coming days will be displayed. No, “My hope is in the LORD who made heaven and earth.” Or as the hymn expresses it —

“My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness,
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ Name.”

And in this way, readers of old Whitaker’s comments, we shall get through whatever crisis the LORD allows to beset us in the wake of the last election. If we belong to the King, then we know that even the new President is under His control. Neither Obama nor a left-leaning Congress, nor a jeopardized Supreme Court, can take us outside the realms of God’s control. And ultimately all things must serve for our good and the advancement of God’s eternal covenant purpose for this nation and the world, and, yea, in the entire universe that HE created.

My heart grows anxious and deeply frustrated at times (and perhaps yours also), filled with worry and a sense that things are “out of control and beyond hope” — but for the present moment, at least, I can rest in this assurance, and commend it to you! Amen.


Wylie Fulton
November 6, 2008

GOD’S PERFECT WORD

By Don Shaw

The Bible is the word of God;
Most Christians won’t dispute it.
And yet they meekly acquiesce
When someone dares dilute it.

They’ll change some here, delete some there —
’Til it’s simply not the same.
And then they sign this counterfeit
With God’s pure and holy name.

He will not lend His name to error,
Nor let you use His signet.
You put His name on what you wrote,
He tends to get indignant!

The Bible says His word is pure —
Then change must needs “un-pure it”!
How great the impudence of man;
How can great God endure it?

Does “God” mean “GOD”? And if it does,
What are the implications?
Does “God” not mean complete and true,
With never limitations?

Then how can anyone presume
To change the words He’s spoken?
Perfection cannot be improved —
Your efforts must be broken!

Man cannot live by “every word,”
If some words are excluded.
If you think there’s no consequence,
My friend, you’ve been deluded

You cannot fool the word of God
It’s such a clear discerner.
It sees the motives of your heart —
So read — and be the learner.

The counterfeits can’t see your heart;
They don’t know what you’re thinking.
You search them with all diligence,
And still don’t have an inkling.

Please take the word of God as truth —
Change only leads to shame.
Don’t fear to trust what God has said,
He honors above His name.

God sent His prophets through the years
To proclaim the things they’d heard.
He sent them with instructions sealed:
“Speak!—Diminish not a word!” 


Here is evidence that others have seen the light, as I have, and refuse to compromise with the new Bible translations — as the old wine is better, so the old English translation of God’s Holy Word, published in the Year of our Lord 1611! There we stand. I don’t believe that men of today are of the high spiritual or linguistic talent of those men assembled in England under King James — and relying heavily on good Protestant versions that had gone before them (notably Tyndale's New Testament), they produced the world’s most marvelous Book and Best Seller, the Word of God in English, marked as the “Authorized Version,” and later dubbed “King James Version.” We hold to it without fear, knowing in this honored text GOD speaks to us. And that is, after all, what the Bible is all about. “God's written revelation to man.” Amen. W. F.

BLACKSBURG “CENTRALIZED” HIGH SCHOOL

I enrolled in Blacksburg “Centralized” High School (as it was formerly called) in the fall semester of 1952 and was a member of the famed “Class of ’57” – and for my first year I was in the homeroom of Mrs. W. A. Hambright; I was in 8th grade. And while going to the “big city high school” proved a frightening experience for me, there was much to enjoy in that first year. At Holly Grove, under Mrs. Westbrook, I had learned how to study and apply myself, so good grades came fairly easily in the new school. My history teacher was Mrs. Hambright; for English we had Mrs. Rachel Jones; Miss Mary Martin (alluded to in Holly Grove article) was my math teacher; then we had Mrs. Ruby Stover for science. In study hall, which was held in the high school library, we were under the watchful eye of Mrs. Mabel Bridges — and in the opinion of this reporter, the world has never known a finer librarian than Mrs. Bridges! With this lineup of totally dedicated teachers, insisting on high achievement, my opportunity for scholastic advancement was great.

Coming to 9th grade, as I recall we sat under these instructors: Science, a Mr. Yeager; English, Mr. George McMillan; Math, Miss Martin again — sadly, I am not sure of the two or three other teachers that year. But one thing is outstanding, fellow classmate Thomas Davis and I were DEATHLY afraid of English teacher George McMillan! He was an assistant coach with Mr. Bill Fisher; was a tall and large man; was very disciplinary in his class lectures and expectations of students. So Thomas and I went to the front office imploring Principal Robert Clary to transfer us back to a LADY English teacher! He refused: “You guys are going to have to adjust to Mr. McMillian!” Well, we did! And it proved to be the best experience of all my high school years — McMillan was one great teacher; he made ENGLISH come alive for me! Never had I understood the parts of speech, conjugation of verbs or diagramming sentences, or how to even write an effective sentence—until George B. McMillan! I owe my ability to put anything intelligible on this page to this one man!

Just to give you a rundown of the BHS teachers I remember best: Mrs. Nellie Mae Peek, Mrs. Madge Roark, Miss Mary Martin, Miss Annie Lou Byers, Mrs. Rachel Jones, Mrs. William Hambright, Mrs. Ruby Stover, Mrs. Mabel Bridges, Mr. George McMillan, Mr. George Goforth, Principal Mr. R. C. Clary, Secretary Mrs. Patsy Borders Batchelor, Coach Bill Fisher and home-ec instructor Mrs. Georgia Mitchell – and others. These people were all, to my mind, outstanding professionals in the field of academics. They were also moral and highly successful — and worthy models for high school aged students.

At Blacksburg High in my days, there was order and dedication to the foundation principles of an education — students and faculty all were expected to dress well, modestly and conservatively. One never saw shorts, message tees, caps or hats or unkempt shoes. The boys’ hair was kept neatly trimmed, the girls’ hair nicely, neatly done — none had highlighting or far-out hairdos. Boys were BOYS, and the girls were GIRLS — and so far as I can recall neither gender tried to emulate the other. They knew who they were and tried to be content with the God-given role that life delivered to them. Smoking was permitted at designated spots on the school grounds, but these were not unisex — boys smoked at two special places, but I don't remember the girls have a “smoking spot” neither do I think more than one or two females in my entire class would have taken up cigarettes. May I add that while the use of tobacco was tolerated in an orderly way, cursing, boisterous, loud and abusive talk would be immediately squelched.

There was SEX — boys and girls were interested in each other and some no doubt went too far — but not in public, nor would they even talk about such subjects in a mixed group. There was yet some shame and modesty and fear of God!

When I was in BHS, of course school sports were popular; the fall football contests were often heated and there were old rivals that our Blacksburg “Wildcats” wanted to beat each year. Chesnee, Whitmire and Union were three schools we played each season and fought our dead-level best to whip! I remember the cheers; they were wholesome and robust as cheerleaders with megaphones made themselves heard and commanded prompt and united response from the grandstand. A local Christian minister was always on hand to lead in public prayer — praying in the name of Christ. You often saw the coaches and players huddled in brief prayers at kickoff time. Things were not perfect but different then. My forefathers had left us a climate that included a public recognition of Almighty God, respect for the Lord’s Day and honor extended to people who professed His name. What sort of climate are we leaving to our future generations? I fear that all is not well in this early 21st Century. Men have been making more money, living in larger homes, driving nicer automobiles, enjoying many fruits of “the good life” that money can afford — but morally and spiritually we are in a tragic decline. And it is leading into financial decline as well. One said that the situation in America now is too close to Sodom — and no doubt it is. But note the difference: SODOM HAD NO BIBLE, SODOM HAD NO CHURCHES, SODOM HAD NO GOSPEL PREACHERS! Will God grant America a better fate than she?

During the earlier part of my time in high school I was a serious, attentive, promising student, as I had been at Holly Grove. However, the concern for my soul’s destiny, as awakened by the Holy Spirit, overwhelmed me late during my sophomore year; up to that time I had been almost a “straight A” student, but grades fell off as I began searching the Scriptures and the best spiritual writings I could find. Along with my Bible at that time, especially the sermons and writings of the late L. R. Shelton and A. W. Pink became constant companions at school, at home, on the mountain, riding in the car or elsewhere. I am not justifying myself in this inattention to school work and other duties, but the fact that my soul seemed to be in the balance became one burden too heavy to bear. I could not rest, but felt an URGENCY to find peace with God. The concern was pretty much central in my mind during the remainder of my school career.

High school days soon ended, and the Lord gave me to hope in His mercy and grace to a sinner in deep need. Then came my Army days, which I hope to write about at another time. May God bless each person who visits this site, and if you have a desire to contact me, I will be glad to hear from you.

“PEERIN’ ”

When Mrs. Stella Foster (Lewis Foster’s mother) lay dying in her daughter’s house in Blacksburg, some years ago, we paid her a visit and she said to my Mother and me, “I wish I could get up from here and go to church.”

“Well, what church do you wish to go to, Mrs. Foster?” I asked. In my memory I could not remember her as a faithful churchgoer, and so the question just naturally popped out.

“Oh, the same one I ’spect you’d like to attend—dear old PEERIN,” she said.

She was referring to Mt. Paran Baptist Church, our “home church” just out of Blacksburg SC on Highway 198, where she is now buried by the side of her husband Fletcher Foster. For many years the country folks have pronounced the name of the church as peerin’, somewhat as if you should tell me that you had been “peering” over a cliff, ignoring the “g” as my generation often does. And it’s amazing to me today that they couldn’t say nor spell the name of the church, as it’s found twice in the Bible (Deut. 33:2; Hab. 3:3).

Mount Paran in South Carolina was constituted as a Southern Baptist Church the Third Sunday of May, 1853, and almost every subsequent “third Sunday in May” has been designated as the church’s “Homecoming Day,” “Decoration Day” or “Memorial Day.” And it’s really all of these. The former members of the church usually try to return to their early place of worship, remembering all the dear ones who now lie in the LARGE Mt. Paran cemetery, decorating the graves with fresh flower arrangements, grieving over the lost ones, yet rejoicing in recollection of the good times spent with them. It’s a day of much singing, with special groups coming in, and many enjoy this. Then a former pastor or longtime friend of the church is invited to speak at the 11 o’clock worship service.

Also it is a day of “dinner on the grounds,” with present and former church members bringing in their well-filled dishes for a good old Southern Baptist feast! It’s a time of renewing acquaintance with those who survive—and when one has reached the “threescore and ten” mark (as I did two weeks prior to this year’s “homecoming”), this meeting becomes a time when we wonder WHO of our friends will be gone the next time “homecoming” rolls around.

We attended that memorable and loveable occasion on last Lord’s Day (May 17, 2009), and found the church building packed with many returning to the place of their childhood. It was an increased attendance over the past few years, and yet I can name several who failed to make it. ALL-IN-ALL it was a good time, and I wish you had been among us. I also wish that our neighbor Mrs. Stella Foster, along with my Mother and Dad, and so many other departed ones, could have been there. While he was alive, my Dad (G. D. Fulton, 1909-1995) always wanted his children to attend the Homecoming. Perhaps in spirit he was present again this year.

This year was the first time for that occasion since my dear Mother (Mrs. Edith Fulton, 1916-2008) passed away on Dec. 28, 2008. The MEMORIES flooded our minds and hearts and welled up in our eyes. Of course, my sisters Becky & Sue decorated her grave very nicely, and gave me one of the potted arrangements to bring home at the end of the day.

Happy to report some of the latest happenings at dear old Mount Paran, I remain

Wylie (Whitaker) Fulton

TO READ MUCH OF MY LIFE STORY, go to the following link:

http://www.sermonaudio.com/sermoninfo.asp?SID=91108193464

There you'll find six articles telling some of my spiritual experience and difficulties along the pathway of life. I hope my blog readers take the time to read these PDF files; and then write to me.

MAY GOD GIVE YOU A GOOD DAY — especially you Dear Blacksburg and Whitaker Mountain area folks! I often wish myself amongst you!

Wylie (Whitaker) Fulton

E-mail: wlfulton@nctv.com
or
whitakerfulton@gmail.com

ANOTHER “DUB” AND OUR FIRST JOB

Mr. G. W. “Dub” Blanton of Blacksburg was a close friend of my Dad’s and a very personable fellow, closely associated with Whitaker Mountain. I think he and my father “hit it off” together very well because of their nicknames — my Dad being G. D. “Dub” Fulton.

Anyhow, one time Mr. Blanton and Dad were talking, and this other “Dub” stated to “Dub” Fulton: “I could use your two boys a few hours every day at my sawmill.” Mr. Blanton was a Blacksburg businessman, sawmill owner, investor, rancher and later Mayor of the Iron City.

His sawmill was a busy place in those days, producing a lot of lumber for the countryside — when I was 14 or 15 years old and my brother Bobby two years younger — and so we took the job. He wanted us for the all-important task of moving sawdust! As a part of the operation of the mill, there was a large link-chain that traveled from beneath the main saw blade up to the top of a distant pole. The idea was to drag the sawdust away from the saw without detracting workers for that purpose. Eventually a large sawdust pile overwhelmed the chain and the tall pole, as a miniature mountain.

Mr. Blanton hired Bobby and me for the express and sole purpose of shoveling the dust back away from that pole! He paid us, I think, 15-cents per hour. What would we be able to DO with that much money in the early 1950s !? Anyhow, this was a job we worked a few hours every day — I think it must have been in the summertime, for I don’t know how we would have done that during the school year since we depended on the school bus to take us to and from Blacksburg High School and our home 3 miles out in the country.

Mr. Blanton’s business was located near one of the side tracks off the main Southern Railway tracks north of Blacksburg, and just off Mountain Street. In years prior to the building up of that sawmill, I am told, on the same or adjacent property was an old “turntable” for the trains. The turntable was a portion of track on a bridge-like structure connected to a power source — the locomotive engine could be backed onto it, then the power engaged to revolve the structure exactly 180-degrees, and the engine would drive off forwards over the same tracks it had been traveling, pointed in the opposite direction!

These devices may still be used in some areas, but not as necessary now as in the olden days when an engineer simply MUST be able to see out the windshield and side windows facing the direction in which he was going. Most of today’s big diesel engines are just as suited going one direction as the other. Then, too, in those glory days of steam, all the trains carried fully-staffed cabooses, a little car (usually RED) at the back end of the train—a relic of the GLORY DAYS, totally missing from modern railroading! And I don’t like it, for I MISS the red caboose.
(Somehow in these Whitaker Mountain notes, I always manage to get back to the RAILROADS! See my earlier article, WHITAKER MOUNTAIN and the RAILROAD.)