About First Impressions

By Dale Chaffin

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     We never know how we impress people upon our first encounter, although occasionally we may learn later what kind of impression we made. We had visitors in our morning Bible class one Lord's Day during a missionary rally. Our guest speaker for the occasion was Brother Lew Cass who had been serving on the mission field in Brazil. We had a question and answer period concerning Lew's work and missions as a whole. Later it was brought to my attention that two of our visitors were greatly disturbed and obtained a very poor impression of our group because they did not see an abundance of Bibles present, and those in evidence were not much used.

     I am sorry we made such a poor impression because it no doubt limited our effectiveness in witnessing further to these people. But I cannot help thinking that people may put too much emphasis on what some call "Bible toters." This brought to remembrance some experiences of my own youth. We lived in Nebraska, Western Kansas, and Colorado, during the days of the "Great Depression," and I am still trying to figure out what was so great about it. My dad was a restless, flatland dirt farmer, one of those who always had to follow a rainbow. Our dad never seemed to be able to find his. It was said of him, "The best crop he ever raised was kids," and I was the twelfth and last of the crop.

     When school was out for us in May, all of us kids were turned loose to shift for ourselves, going barefoot and wearing a pair of hand-me-down well-worn bib overalls and a blue denim shirt to match. We seldom went to town, and not being Christians, we never attended services. We were pretty much on our own until fall rolled around and it was school time again.

     Then we would be rounded up like stray calves, and dear mother, all four feet and ten inches of her, would curry out the burrs and ticks from our hair, trim it with a pair of shears (we had never even heard of a barber shop), squeeze us into a pair of shoes, sometimes new ones, but more often used. Then we were fitted out in another pair of overalls and shirt to match. All of this came after a session in the galvanized tub to remove the remainder of the dirt which had not come off in our excursions to the pond or horse tank. Then we were hurried off to school in the first week of September.

     This was routine for my life until about the second or third year we lived in Colorado. Then things began to change. We lived on a ranch that was near enough to the little town of Castle Rock so that we were going to attend for the very first time in my young life

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a "town school." A bus came to pick us up. It wasn't really a bus but a 1929 Chevrolet sedan driven by one of the local farmers who supplemented his income this way. But it certainly beat our old Model T touring car, or the wagon in which we were accustomed to ride.

     It seemed as if Mom put in a little extra effort that year since we were going to attend a "town" school. Needless to say, I was scared stiff, never having attended a school with more than twenty-five students in all, and now finding myself in a third grade room with more than that in one grade. To my utter amazement there was a room for each class, including a kindergarten. I had never heard of a kindergarten.

     The greatest shock of all came on my very first day at school with the roll call. We had a nice teacher, whose name I cannot recall, and she began to read off the names of the children from a little black book. As each name was read, the child would bravely rise to his feet and say, "Present, Mrs. _____" and then he would raise his right hand with a white cloth clenched in his fist. This baffled me.

     Since we were newcomers in the community my name was last on the list, but finally it came. "Dale Chaffin!" It was like the sound of judgment to my frightened mind. I had sense enough to get to my feet and say, "Present." Then I learned what was going on. "Where is your clean hanky?" So that's what it was, but it was all new to me. My mother was good, kind, loving and patient--the best mother any boy could want--but she had not acquainted me with white handkerchiefs.

     We usually employed our shirt tail, or a well worn sleeve to accommodate a drippy nose. I had come to school with brand new pencils and an Indian Head tablet, but a handkerchief was not part of my standard equipment. I found out immediately that I had a mark by my name in the little black roll book on my very first day at the new school. After relating my experience to my mother she arose to the challenge. She took a portion of an old flour sack, bleached it real good, hemmed it up and ironed it, so that the very next day I had a handkerchief to hold up as proudly as the next. I also became a "Hanky toter." But the story does not end there. I was just a "toter" and no more.

     We did not have many flour sacks to waste on making handkerchiefs, so I carried that same clean hanky each morning and held it up for show and display as the dear teacher called out my name and I got my star right along with all of the others. But mind you, I never used it for the purpose intended. The blue denim shirt sleeve was called into duty for that. My white hanky was for display purposes only in order to get my star in the roll book.

     I was just wondering if judging people by "Bible toting" might not be just as dangerous. They might be toting them just to get a star in the little black roll book. And, as it was with my handkerchief, that's all they will get. I found it quite easy to fool a teacher and get my star on the roll book, but we only fool ourselves if we think the Great Teacher is impressed with such empty gestures. I think twice before passing any judgment based on such a shallow basis. If he knows what is in the Book, and it has taken hold of his life, a man will be judged for what he is and not for what he seems to be.

     (Editor's Note: Dale Chaffin preaches for the Church of Christ, 5944 San Juan Avenue, Citrus Heights, California 95610.)