Church Service where Lynette Fincher Myers talks about her father, Theron Pickens Fincher, in a wonderful sermon entitled "Things my father taught me".
August 20, 1989
[Transcribed from a cassette tape Marcy Myers gave me. I have put the first part of the service at the end of this file, to make Theron's story more accessible. -Mitch Fincher]


From the Old Testament reading, the Creator of the ends of the earth does not faint or grow weary. God’s understanding is unsearchable. God gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he gives strength.

Then from the parable in Luke’s book, we read of the sower who sows the seeds of the word of God, and that those who hear the word hold it fast in their heart. It grows in the good soil and brings forth fruit in patience.

In 2 Corinthians, Paul boasts in the Lord, but not in himself. And beginning with verse 8, we find: “Three times I besought the Lord that this infirmity be removed from me. But God said, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

I want to tell you a story. It’s not a sad story. It’s a story about faith, about perseverance. Some people would call perseverance bullheadedness. I seem to have quite a bit of that. But I’ll tell you, it stands you in good stead. It keeps you from falling by the wayside sometimes. But this is about perseverance within the framework of God’s grace. It’s a story of imperfections. It’s a story of the humanity of us all. And it is a story especially of a very remarkable man who was my father.

I look back in my life and I think of things that happened. I don’t remember when I was first aware that my father was different from other fathers. He had a physical difference. He had a spiritual difference and an emotional difference. But I don’t think I was too aware of this because he was a good father. And he was great fun to be around.

When my dad was 12 years old, he was minding the gate on the corral. The horses had been penned there prior to roundup. And when I talk about the ranch, please keep in mind that we’re not talking about vast acreage here. We’re talking about a very small ranch. The people that lived north of us had 60 sections. The people to the south of us had 90. And we had a little over two. So we’re not talking big bunches here. But it was home.

But when the horses bolted from the corral, they ran over my dad, and they caused damage to nerves and to vertebrae in his neck. And from this, he was partially paralyzed. I don’t ever remember a time when he wasn’t, and probably didn’t even know he was until I got quite a bit older. But his physical condition was something that he lived with and that he could overcome to a certain extent by perseverance and by work.

They didn’t have a Mayo Clinic in Fort Griffin, Texas then, so nothing much could be done about it because very little was known of nerve damage then. He worked on the ranch, worked the same as his two brothers had worked in helping their father. They did the harvesting. They planted crops. They took care of the cows and the horses. But Daddy had to work harder than everybody else because with his infirmity, he was always willing. And as a result of this willingness, he was accident prone. He had more broken bones than anybody, and he was always healing from something because he was bound and determined he would do as much as anyone else and do it as well.

He grew to manhood, and he spent a year at Austin College. My mother went to Trinity, what with us being good Presbyterians and all. And he returned after a year to help my granddad on the ranch, and he met and married my mother. She was a teacher at Boogsburg, Texas. That’s not on the map. And about 11 months later, I came along, which was a very mixed blessing, I feel sure.

But they worked hard. There’s a lot to be said about the work ethic, too, I think, that we care enough about things to really put ourselves into the work of what we’re doing and do it well.

In the summer of 1928—I’ll tell you how old I am here, in case you didn’t recognize all these gray hairs—in the summer of 1928, we went to Mount Calm to visit maternal grandparents. The car was packed, even to the running boards. That will tell you something. And we had bottles and jars. It was my mother, my daddy, my little brother Wallace, and me. And we were going down the road at a pretty good clip, and a car turned in front of us, and we had a wreck. And my mother had a lot of bad cuts and bruises, and my dad hurt his knee, and it continued to bother him all of his life. And Wallace and I weren’t hurt at all. Mother was much more concerned that people would think that we were bootleggers than she was over her injuries, because there was glass everywhere. But that messed up the plans. So the car was ruined, so we had to call my uncle, and he came and got us and took us back home.

Later that year, my brother Wallace died. And it was such a time of grief for my family. But again, life went on. And in a few years’ time, two more children were born, and joy abounded again.

But Dad loved people. But he really loved God. And my mother and his children and later his grandchildren—he thought we were wonderful. And he taught us that what you do, you can do it if you try, but do it well. And do it to your very best ability. And he bragged on us all the time. And I’m sure that the people got sick and tired of hearing about the Fincher kids. But he loved us. He made us feel worthwhile, and he made us realize that there is a worth in all of us, and it has nothing to do with age. It has nothing to do with color. It is a deep worth that God has given.

Nothing was too much trouble for Daddy to do for us, for us to have pleasure and have a good time. I can remember in the winters when the snow was on the ground. He would hitch up the horse and hook it to the sled, and he would pull us until the cold drove us in. And then there before the fire, we would popcorn and have hot chocolate and just a good time together. We had such a good growing up. We didn’t even know we were poor. We didn’t know about the crash of ’29. At least the kids didn’t.

And later on in 1932, my dad’s health took a turn for the worse, and we moved to downtown Fort Griffin. In fact, we were downtown Fort Griffin. That was it. It was a little store and a post office and a one-pump gas station, and that was it. There were five other houses and families that rounded out the city. And we lived there for quite a while. And times were very hard then. And it was a time of people being uprooted, a time of not really knowing where your place was. And a lot of unemployed came through, and my dad never turned anyone away. We fed cousins, all kinfolk and friends of kinfolk. There were times there were quite a few in our house besides our family, and they were welcome, and they knew they were welcome and loved and could stay until something better came for them.

One of the lessons I learned then was the lesson of caring and compassion and how to make a pot of beans go just a little farther for extra hungry mouths.

You remember the dust storms of the ’30s? I won’t ask for a show of hands. They were terrible. We must have breathed up half of Kansas and Oklahoma. My dad couldn’t breathe when these billows of dust and dirt would roll in, and we would have to dampen sheets and put over the bed so he could get some relief from the dust. These are some of the memories that are not too good, and those of you who don’t remember the dust storms of the ’30s or the Depression, I’m sure you’ve been told sometime in your life about how far mom and dad had to walk to school with the syrup bucket and the biscuit and the coat and stuff. But it is a matter of memory, and it’s a part of us.

Another lesson I learned from that time was fidelity. Fidelity to friends and community and to God’s grace. And if there was a need, we were supposed to help fill that need. If there was a sorrow, we offered sympathy.

My dad enjoyed sports. He loved to fish, but he loved softball, too. Now, if you can picture in your mind this man who, on his left side, was paralyzed. His hand was like this. His arm didn’t work too good, and his left leg didn’t work any good either. He drew a circle on the board fence behind the store, and he marked off to the pitcher’s mound, and he would stand out there for hours. You would hear this thump and whack, and it would go on and on and on. He taught himself to pitch. He was a good pitcher. And he played on the local leagues, and their team usually won. But he, whatever it took to accomplish something, he would spend his time to do it. And he was an achiever.

He had a quality about him that was almost childlike, in that he faced life, I think, in all the joy God intended. I never heard him complain about his disability. He would get tired because he had to really keep himself psyched up. But he liked the things that kids liked. He liked fireworks at Christmas and the Fourth of July. He liked games. And he taught us to have such a joy and a zest for life.

We always went to church. I was probably in high school before I knew that Sunday could come and you might not go to church. This was never a choice we had. If it was Sunday, you went to church. That was it. And from my dad, I learned about faithfulness and using the gifts and the talents that God gives us to praise God, to honor God, and to offer him thanks for the blessings that he has given us.

Music was very important to my dad. He loved to sing, and sing he did. And it was a very important part to our whole family.

There’s a little poem that is an anonymously written poem. Carl Sandburg says in his book about Lincoln that it was one of Mr. Lincoln’s favorites. Listen to these words:

For we are the same that our fathers have been.  
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen.  
We drink the same streams. We feel the same sun.  
And run the same course that our fathers have run.  
The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think.  
From the death we are shrinking, our fathers would shrink.  
To the life we are clinging, they also would cling.  
But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing.

Life does seem to speed. It does seem to move away from us so fast. And the things in our memory seem such a short time ago.

My mother was always there. She was loving, thoughtful, and kind, a wonderful mother. But this is a story of my father.

We know of earthly fathers, but this we know of God, our Father, that he has prepared a place for us. Jesus said that he would go and he would be there, and he would be there for us, and there would be no more pain and no more sorrow.

But how about the time that we live now? How about what happens to us before that time? That’s when God’s grace comes in. We have the promise of God, and his promises are true, that he will be with us through whatever life calls upon us to bear, and that we can move forth in joy and courage because we know, as in Paul’s words, that God’s grace is sufficient for us.

My dad knew all kinds of adversity: physical handicap, financial hardship, emotional strain, and stress. Times try us, and we get weary of the battle. Our path is strewn with—maybe it’s strewn with boulders. It’s not the boulders so much as it is the pebbles that are in our path. They nag at us. They are most often worrisome and they trip our steps. They turn our ankles and they make our footing unsure. And our pebbles do become boulders until again we read the sign that says, “My grace is sufficient for thee.”

We’re buffeted by the winds of adversity. The winds howl and moan around us and we turn our back and we hunch our shoulders over and the wind closes our ears and we fail to hear that still small voice that says, “My grace is sufficient for thee.” It’s not the voice that is lost, but it’s our hearing.

Like the manna in the wilderness, God supplies his grace to us in amounts that we need at the time that we need them.

Then there’s grief. How many have not known sorrow in grief? Who’s not lost a dear friend, a loved one, a family member? And we can only take our burden to the Lord in prayer, and in his grace he will take and shield us, and we’ll find a solace there.

God’s grace is sufficient and our weakness is turned to strength.

As my dad grew older, he went from a cane to a crutch and finally to a walker. And you should have seen him with his walker. It was a sight to behold. He had it and he was rolling and rocking that walker. And Barbara, my sister, would say, “Daddy, you set the walker and you walk to it.” He’d say, “I don’t have time for that.” And he would take off again, just marching along. His life was so full that he did not have time for that. But he knew that God’s grace was sufficient for him.

When we give our burdens to the Lord and we take his yoke upon us, this is not a yoke of burden, but it’s a yoke of shared responsibility, shared caring, and the burden seemed lighter because of that sharing.

No matter what life brings to us, and when we have to deal with it from our weakness, we know that we can find strength and be strong in the Lord.

I believe when we meet adversity, we do not meet it alone. That, you know, God didn’t pick us because we’re pure. He doesn’t remain faithful to us because we’re faithful to him. God picks us because he created us, he made us for himself, and through his graciousness to us, we find that we can weather the adversity.

I found out this year that I’m not indestructible. That came as quite a shock to me. I think it does to most of us. This was much like the trip to Mount Calm to put up the grape juice, which never took place. We go along in our life, and we’re going down the road, and the tires are humming along and the radio’s on, you don’t see a whole lot when things are going so good. You’re just going down the road. It’s not until you come to a detour that you really begin to notice what’s around you, what’s taking place. And that detour can take many forms. It can be an illness. It can be a setback of any kind. But there again we come and we find, as we pay attention, that it makes us rely on God.

We’re like the diamond that is brought up from the bowels of the earth, looking much like a rough stone. And it’s not until that lump is cut and honed and faceted to bring out all the fire and beauty that it becomes precious.

I believe we’re a part of every experience that we’ve had in our lives. I think our faith is part of the faith of the people that we have met of faith in our lives. Our character is molded and our mettle is tempered and forged by our experiences.

The seed of God’s word grows in the lonely soil of a trusting heart. Our weakness does not rule our lives, but God’s strength and grace are sufficient.

Thanks be to God.


[Beginning of Service]


Open our minds and hearts to your truth, dear God. May your light guide our paths, our thoughts, and our prayers.

Our Psalm lesson, our Old Testament reading, is taken from the 40th chapter of Isaiah, verses 27 through 31.

Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, “My way is hid from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God”? Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God endures forever. Thanks be to God.

The Epistle lesson is taken from 2 Corinthians, chapter 12, verses 6 through 10. Paul is speaking about his right to boast, and he says that it is not in him to boast of what he can do, but in what God has revealed and shown him, and he can only boast in the grace of God.

Though if I wish to boast, I shall not be a fool, for I shall be speaking the truth; but I refrain from it, so that no one may think more of me than he sees in me or hears from me. And to keep me from being too elated by the abundance of revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I besought the Lord about this, that it should leave me; but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Yes, we do have children this morning. Wonderful. If all the young Christians will come forward, please.

The Gospel lesson is taken from the 8th chapter of Luke, beginning with the fourth verse.

And when a great crowd came together and people from town after town came to him, he said in a parable: “A sower went out to sow his seed. And as he sowed, some fell along the path and was trodden underfoot, and the birds of the air devoured it. And some fell on the rock; and as it grew up, it withered because it had no moisture. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns grew with it and choked it. And some fell into good soil and grew, and yielded a hundredfold.” As he said this, he called out, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”

And when his disciples asked him what this parable meant, he said to them, “To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of God; but for others they are in parables, so that seeing they may not see, and hearing they may not understand. Now the parable is this: The seed is the word of God. The ones along the path are those who have heard; then the devil comes and takes away the word from their hearts, that they may not believe and be saved. And the ones on the rock are those who, when they hear the word, receive it with joy; but these have no root, they believe for a while, and in time of temptation fall away. And as for what fell among the thorns, they are those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by the cares and riches and pleasures of life, and their fruit does not mature. And as for that in the good soil, they are those who, hearing the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bring forth fruit with patience.” This is the Gospel of the Lord. Praise to you, Lord Christ.

There are a lot of pages here, but I wrote big.