Altar
Call – Opelika-Auburn News
Walter
Albritton
May
22, 2011
Thankfully the passing years
do not extinguish all our memories
If real life is about making friends I am a blessed man. I
have many friends who mean the world to me. And I have lost many dear friends. Though
it grieves me when friends die, precious memories of their love may linger long
after the funeral. Today I am nurturing my soul with memories of Al and
Shirley, two of the dearest friends we ever had.
Al and Shirley Krinke lived in Minnesota
when we met them. He was a high school principal and she a devoted homemaker. We
were friends from the moment we met at a meeting in Nashville. Al and Shirley
were struggling with the same problems that baffled Dean and me in trying to
raise kids in the sixties and seventies. We had a lot in common that we could
laugh and cry about.
We stayed in touch for years by phone
and letters. They were positive, loving, happy people. Our long phone
conversations always included much laughter as we shared the happenings of our
lives. Then one day Al called with sad news. Shirley was very sick and the end
was near. Weeks later the dreaded phone call came. Shirley had died.
We wanted so much to see her during her final days but a
trip to Alaska was financially impossible. They had lived in Alaska for 25
years. We grieved with Al his great loss and ours. She had been our good friend
for 40 years.
A few years later another sad call
came from Al, now 80 years old. Bravely he shared with us that he had terminal cancer.
We wondered if we were hearing his voice for the last time. He was not cheerful
but neither was he morbid. Though his tone was a bit melancholy his faith came
through loud and clear. Weeks later he called again, this time to say goodbye.
He knew the end was near. He assured us he would see us again on the other
side. Tears wet my cheeks as I told Al I loved him and agreed that we would see
each other again one day.
Like us Al and Shirley had a wonderful
son named Mark. Both Marks gave us fits during their teen years. Al shared that
at one point his son Mark had become quite belligerent. His behavior was
rotten. Even worse he had begun speaking
disrespectfully to his mother. That changed a few months back, Al told me.
This mild-mannered school man, whose
patience had been tempered by years of teaching teenagers, said that one night
Mark pushed him over the edge. Al said, “I walked into the room just in time to
hear Mark speak in an ugly way to his mother. Without saying a word I walked
over and cold-cocked him. Mark hit the floor, out like a light. When he woke
up, he was as quiet as a mouse. Since that night his attitude has vastly
improved.”
James Dobson does not include that
procedure in his book of advice for fathers, Bringing Up Boys. But our sons were grown by the time Dobson’s
book was published. There were times
when I was tempted to use Al’s cold-cock strategy but I never did. I guess I
was afraid I might be the one who got cold-cocked.
I loved the calm assurance that
characterized Al’s approach to everything. He and Shirley took us on the
greatest family vacation we ever had. One summer we drove up to the picturesque
backwater area of northern
Al knew the place like the back of his hand. He worked there
many summers as a guide for tourists. Lugging backpacks, camping supplies and
canoes, we followed Al as he led our families on seven portages to a lovely
secluded campsite.
There we were alone. This beautiful world was ours to enjoy.
We camped for five days of fishing, relaxing, and sharing stories. We brought
back some tall tales. My wife, whose fishing skills are zero, caught a huge
Northern Pike, the biggest catch of the week. That day her fish weighed eight
or ten pounds. Since then its weight has almost doubled whenever the story is
retold. She loves to tell that story.
It was Al’s love of the backwoods that led him to Alaska. I
could hardly believe it when he called me from
When Al insisted that I come up and preach for a few days, I
could not resist. I caught a plane and made my way to
The uncertainty of the message was unlike anything I had
ever heard in
I could feel the plane descending but instead of touching
down, the plane suddenly began climbing as the pilot gunned the engines. Then
the pilot said, “Folks, visibility was too poor for a landing so we are going
to circle the field awhile and hope for an opening.” After a spell he spoke
again, “Hold on folks; we are going to try again.” Once again he aborted the
landing and continued circling.
Each time he attempted to land the pilot used the word
“try.” I am enough of a realist to understand that failure is possible when one
attempts to do something. Was I nervous and afraid? Oh yes, you bet I was. As
the pilot descended into the snow for his third effort to land, I was praying,
“Lord, you made a way through the wilderness for Moses, so please make a way
through this snow for Walter!”
He did and I had a marvelous time in
I miss Al and Shirley. In quiet moments, when nostalgia
grips me, I remember special times with them and give thanks that the passing
of time does not extinguish precious memories of dear friends. + + +