Andy
Griffith died today, July 3rd, right before Independence Day 2012.
It’s the
end of an era, they are saying. But so
important not to let it be the end, just a passing of the torch.
Last
week in the Combined Sunday School Class in McWhirter Hall, we talked about one
of the most valuable freedoms we possess—that of having the ability to set
priorities. I find myself getting
complacent frequently, until a crises knocks me on the forehead and reminds me
to get my priorities in order. What’s 1,
2 and 3?
God. Family.
Vocation. Authentic priorities
can be checked by how much we think of them, time spent on them, money spent on
them, how much I act on them. Belief
without action is, well, vanity.
So what’s
that got to do with Andy Griffith? Well,
I’ve been a fan for a long, long time.
He and Danny Thomas were my television dads. Anyone else have television dads? It was easier to relate to Mr. Griffith,
however, because my dad didn’t run around in nightclubs like Mr. Thomas. Instead, my dad and I would have long
conversations about God, many times at a fishin’ hole. And about integrity. And about grace. Because with God, family, Sabbath time,
integrity and grace, you can’t come up with a better formula for right
living. And everything I’ve read about
Mr. Griffith reflected that kind of authentic life.
I
imagine he was flawed, and needed mending like we all do. I don’t want to know it at the moment, and
you will find me sticking fingers in my ears like Barney Fyffe (a fellow WVU
alum) because I don’t want to think about it.
I simply want to celebrate a life that enriched mine with faith,
relationships, rest, character, music and grins. The Mayberry kind of life is a good model,
and ageless as far as I’m concerned.
Even if it’s on an old scratchy record talking about “This thing called
a football….”
Pardon
me while I whistle a little tune with a wink and a smile before a nap
today. See ya, Andy. Keep the home fires burning for me ‘til I get
there too.
Grace
and joy,
Julie
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