Old Joe
	My dad was born in 1904. I know, ancient history to young people these days. He's the young lad you see in the picture to the left; that's his mom and dad, along with his younger sister, Delphi, shown with him. There's no one left to ask when the picture was made. By the time he and Mom adopted my twin brother and me, they had a used furniture store. They also carried a few groceries (they would not sell tobacco and alcohol). But most of all, they carried people: Daddy sold "on credit". More often than not, the "credit" was bad and the money was never paid. If they refused to pay after he visited them several times, Daddy would shrug and say, "I can't make these people do as they should, only God can. I can reach out to help them, but it's up to them to take hold."
Often, Daddy bid on old houses or buildings that were about to be torn down. He would then salvage all he could in the way of good lumber and bricks for resale. He built the lovely red-brick home we grew up in from mostly salvaged materials. The picture to the right is one of only a few we were able to salvage when our home burned in 1977. Along with being a minister, a store-owner, and house wrecker (as opposed to "home wrecker", we used to tease him and say), Daddy was a constant ambassador for the Lord. It is beyond count the number of times he brought back a "hobo" he picked up or gave a ride while making deliveries of used building materials or groceries. If they showed up at the store and Daddy wasn't there, Mama made them wait outside until he got back. Now let's face it, some of these men were downright scarey to look at when we first saw them, but they always cleaned up good. They couldn't be (or get) drunk. Daddy always told them, "I have children and a wife here. Make sure you watch your language." They did.
Mama used to get upset because Daddy seemed to have such compassion for these men; they got to take a bath, clean clothes and a hot meal to eat. And without fail, he always talked to them about the Lord Jesus Christ. You see, Daddy had "been there, done that". Not for the length of time that many of them had, but he knew what it was like to be a "spiritual" hobo--to not know the Lord Jesus Christ as one's personal Savior. Once, Mama asked a hobo, "Why do ya'll show up at our door?" I was surprised at how quiet the man's voice was as he answered her, "Well, Ma'am, it's 'cause you're marked." Mama had no idea what that meant. Daddy took her outside and showed her the "mark" on the side of the building. It meant the hoboes could work to earn a meal and a place to sleep. It was a safe harbor, and as long as they "behaved", nobody would call the law on them. I remember one week in particular: it had been usually busy with "passers-through". Late one afternoon, as we were closing the store, I asked Daddy two questions: "Why do so many of them sound like educated men?" and "Where are they going?" Daddy answered, "A lot of them are well-educated men. Some of them were once professors, school teachers, business owners, salesmen...there are many reasons they live like they do now. Some were wounded in the war and never got over it in their minds. Others made bad business deals and never recovered. Perhaps a few of them have never known anything but the way they are now and some never got past personal grief, but most of them are caught in the trap of alcohol. They don't have anyone left who cares if they do better or not, so it no longer matters to them, either. And they are going along the same journey in life that you and I are, Sissy. Except you and I know a better way through Jesus, and it's up to us to show them that better way."
Then came the day we met "Old Joe". I don't know if "Joe" was really his name, but that's what he told us we could call him: "Old Joe". He looked to be about the same age as Daddy (we found out much later he was over twenty years younger than Daddy). He never told us much about himself. "Old Joe" stayed around for nearly a week. Daddy said he was a hard worker. One afternoon, school let out early. Dale and I were at the store with Mama. Daddy and "Old Joe" showed up for lunch. As Mama fixed bologna sandwiches for them, "Old Joe" talked to Dale and me. When I asked him where he was from he said, "Child, I been wand'ring so long, I reckon I'm from all over. But I was born in..." and he named some city in Canada I've since forgotten. As he and Daddy ate their lunch that day, "Old Joe" said to us, "Look here, let me give you something to think about," and it went something like this: "It's always easier to fail than to win, to never do than just begin. Being dumb's the easiest way, studying hard will always pay. But somewhere God has got a book, and when you end this life, He'll look. Because life's battles you have won, He'll say to you, 'My Child, well done.'" Later that day when Daddy paid him, "Old Joe" said it was time he was moving on. Daddy and he shook hands; they had a moment of prayer and "Old Joe" left. Fall and Winter passed; that Spring and Summer we had several "visitors". Just before school started, one came by and gave Daddy a dirty, crumpled envelope. Inside was a note in shaky handwriting: "Mr. Coy," (they always forgot the "Mc" part), "Thanks for your kindly ways. I want you to know I been talking to Jesus." It was signed simply, "Joe". The man who brought the note said "Old Joe" had asked him to see to it that we got it if ever he was down our way. "Old Joe" had been dead several months by the time we got it. Then there was "Brooks". He lived close to our store; if he had another name, I never heard it. "Brooks" was all anybody ever called him. Nobody had ever seen "Brooks" sober; he was several years older than Daddy, and had never been inside a church. Every day, he would stagger by our store, more off the sidewalk than on. For years, Daddy talked to him about the Lord. The year before Daddy died, "Brooks" came rushing through the front door of the store one day. "Mr. 'Coy, Mr. 'Coy!" he called (see I told you, they always forgot the "Mc" part). Daddy hurried to the front of the store and there stood "Brooks", jumping up and down. "Mr. 'Coy, I done got saved. I got saved, Mr. 'Coy!" I think Daddy cried about 3 hours that day. The change lasted with "Brooks", too. He and Daddy spent many hours pouring over the Bible; "Brooks" kept saying he didn't have long. He didn't either--he died about six months after he got saved. When Daddy died in 1970, there were a lot of people who had owed him money for many years. The easy thing would have been for Daddy to let the first few who did him that way stop him from reaching out to help others. Yet Daddy did the hard thing: he kept on keeping on for those who "did make good"--"Old Joe" and "Brooks" and others like them. He just kept reaching out--not only with material goods, but with his witness of the life-changing power of Jesus Christ. After Daddy died, Mama had a really hard struggle to keep from losing our home. None of the folks who'd owed them money when they had their store ever showed up to pay her. She was recovering from cancer, and drew less than a hundred dollars a month. God stretched that money and enabled her to not only pay off the house after a few years, but she never went without food to eat or utilities. Just as "Old Joe's" poem was recited to the two of us kids, it applied to Mama and Daddy (and still applies to folks today, too). Mama might have fussed a bit about Daddy "letting folks do him the way they did", and about the hoboes he reached out a hand to. Yet, she was the one who always dug up the clean clothes for them, she was the cook for the hot meals they got, and she never let any of them leave without packing them a sack lunch with gospel tracts in the bag.
"Old Joe" Copyright © 2000 by Patricia Sikes. All Rights Reserved.
Daddy as a young man
Surely Goodness and Mercy
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