How likable are you?

By Rennie Phillips

I've been around a lot of people down through the years. Some of them had plenty of money, some had lots of money, and then some I don't think knew how much they were worth. I've also been around poor people.

We probably grew up poor, and at that time I didn't know we were poor. Most everyone we knew was in the same boat, so it didn't seem like we were. I've spent time with those who never made it out of high school and some who never made it out of grade school. One made it to the third grade and quit. Then again, I've also been around some who had academic degrees, some even having Ph.D.s.

Some of these people I really enjoyed being around, while others I couldn't get away from quick enough. The thing is, their wealth, or lack thereof, and their education, or lack thereof, didn't determine whether I liked to be around them. There were and still are some people that I just enjoy being with.

When we lived in Bartlesville, Oklahoma, there was a black gentleman who farmed some ground along the road to the college. I'd drive by day after day and see him out working in his garden, so one day I stopped. It must have been toward fall, because at the time he was growing and pulling a few turnips. So we'd sit and visit and eat a turnip. I don't even remember if I liked turnips, but I know I ate a turnip. I don't think he was rich, but then I don't know. I don't have a clue how educated he was. He didn't throw around $5 words trying to impress me. He just talked normal.

But the thing was, I liked him. I knew his name back then, but time has taken that from me. But not the memory. I can still see his old pickup with a topper on it sitting along the west side of the road. I just liked the guy.

When we moved to Scott City one of the ladies at the church where I pastored lived close to the church, so I'd walk over and visit with Evelyn. Most of the time she had a snack or something, and she could cook, let me tell you. She was married to Willie. So I'd visit with Evelyn, and little by little I got to know Willie. Willie was poor and sure didn't have a big education, but one thing was for sure, he was a friend of mine. I liked Willie.

Many a day Willie, Hoppie and I would sit under one of the shade trees and swap stories. And if the chestnuts were falling, we'd all be eating a chestnut. I walked the hills toward the Diversion with Willie, and along Ramsey Creek. I watched as Willie got older and more feeble. He got to the point he couldn't walk the hills anymore, but we could still sit and visit.

Another friend of mine passed away several months ago. It was probably one of the hardest things I've had to deal with since Dallas died a bunch of years ago. I miss Morris. He was a friend.

But what made them special to me? I've thought about this, and honestly I'm not sure. I just liked them for who they were. I could have cared less about all the dumb stuff like money, education or color. For some reason they were simply special to me.

Some things I don't like. I don't like someone who puts down or wrongfully uses the elderly. I don't like someone who is abusive to animals. I don't like someone who shows off a wallet full of bills just to impress someone. It doesn't impress me. I don't like someone who thinks they are better than the average Joe just because they have been to college and have a degree. I could care less. But then I don't like a poor person who is always whining about how poor they are or how downtrodden they are. I don't want to hear it.

I enjoy a person who is happy living in the skin God has given them. They are just happy people. Stuff doesn't make one happy. Happiness comes from the inside. I believe it comes from a heart devoted to God.

I enjoy being around one who is happy living where they live. They are content. They'd like to have more money and all that goes with it, but they are happy living where they are. Some talk about bigger homes and more land and finer cars, but I doubt they will ever know what it means to be truly happy and content. Being happy and content comes from living right where God wants you to live.

I always figured when I put on a suit to preach, I better be the same guy I was wearing blue jeans or a pair of bibs. If I couldn't live it in a pair of bibs, why preach about it in a suit and tie?