In the late spring of the year of his passing, his son Carl Junior, telephoned me early on a Saturday morning asking if I would accompany him to Carl’s farm, so that he could talk to him about receiving Christ as his Lord and Savior. We both had done so on many occasions, but to no avail. When we arrived, we could see Carl was tending his garden pulling weeds from amongst the sprouting vegetables, though age 75 years.
When we approached, he spoke without looking up to greet us, after we both said––almost in unison: “Howdy.” Then he stated to us what he perceived was the purpose of our visit. “Guess yawl came up here to talk about God again?“ In the past, I would always lead in these sorts of conversations, but this time I felt that Carl Junior needed to do the talking. Junior made small talk for a few minutes, and then began explaining God’s plan for man’s salvation––the requirements to receive eternal life. On this occasion, Carl, Sr., was more receptive and somewhat courteous, replacing what we usually perceived as a form of rudeness or displeasure in discussing the Bible, as he called it, which we accepted as our invitation to end our visits.
After a while, Carl thanked us in his own way for the time to visit; and told us he would think about ‘what was said’. And in the same breath, saying to us, ‘I need to be about tend’en my garden". As we began walking to the garden gate, Carl Junior turned to his father and said, ”Just remember Dad, that Jesus requires us to tell someone publicly… tell someone else aloud, that you have accepted Christ as your Savior.” Carl looked up and––‘and being a man of few words’, nodded to us,––meaning he heard what was said.
Weeks passed as summer arrived without bringing with it much rain at all. In the late part of July, I awakened one Saturday morning earlier than usual, and on my mind were thoughts that I was being summoned to Carl’s farm. After a light breakfast, unannounced, I drove up to the farm, which was nearer to Foyil, Oklahoma than to Claremore. When I arrived, I could see him out in his garden watering, occasionally bending over, I supposed to pull a weed sprout. When I entered the thriving garden, he looked up and said to me before I could say my usual greeting of...howdy. ”I guess you are wondering why I wanted you to come today?” Startled somewhat, I simply nodded without saying anything. He knew well, the meaning of a nod. “Well, Jerry (Jerry is my nickname given me by my grandmother, Sue Dillard) I got’ta think’en about what-all you boys have been say’en to me about God and all. And… uh, you remember that Junior said to me when you’ens left in the spring, that if I decided to accept Jesus as my way into Heaven when I die, that I had to tell somebody out-loud… uh, that it wouldn’t work to keep it to myself. So, I picked you as that someone… that’s why you are here.” A bit of a smile––a very slight grin appeared on his face. These words accounted for, or exceeded in number the combined total spoken during any visit I could remember. But that hint of a grin was something not often seen with Carl––at least since he and my mother divorced a decade earlier. I walked over to him and asked, “Are you telling me what you believe in your heart––that Jesus died for our sins, and that he was resurrected to sit on the right hand of the Father; and, that you are publically professing him as your Lord and Savior?” “Yeah, I am,” he replied. “And I decided that the first person I wanted to tell about it, is you.”
Standing between a row of Green Beans and a row of Tomato plants four-foot in height, with a garden hose in his hand watering the different plants as he spoke, Carl "Jo-Jo" Vincent Boone, Sr., said aloud to me, “When I die, I want to go to Heaven and be with God, and to join all of my kinfolks. And so, I told God and Jesus that I wanted to get things right with them, and you-know, get their forgiveness and all; and, …telling you now, well, …uh, I guess that pretty-well settles it, don’t it?” Again, he had spoken the second highest count of words to me on any prior visit to his farm. I looked at him and provided a slight grin, then offered a hand shake––something I had not done since age 14 years. I remember saying to him these exact words, “Welcome to the family of God… ‘you are one of His adopted children––you’re home.” He lifted his head and his eyes a little, as if to look upwardly for an approval far more important than my own. “Well, I guess this means I will be see’en ya’ in Heaven then, don’t it?” I nodded as to mean to answer in the affirmative––he knew my meaning of the nod. Then he turned to one side, looked away and said, “I best be gitten’ back to my watering now.” That meant the visit was over, and that he wanted to be left alone… probably to dwell on the rebirth of his spirit––thoughts of Heaven, and to give thanks to Jehovah God our loving Father, and to our Lord Jesus Christ.
When I got to the car, I looked back to see him, for what I thought might be the last time here on this earth. He was looking at me––something he never did with departing visitors… and the last thing I saw is still vivid in my mind… he nodded to me.
By now, I am sure that you––the reader of this record will understand, as did I –– his nod meant that things were okay now––things were… “pretty-well settled tween him and God.” About six-weeks later, he passed to be with our Lord as he slept in his rocking chair, where he was watching his favorite baseball team––the Saint Louis Cardinals.
He was a proud Mason, and a professing Christian; and he was a good provider for his family, and proud to have spent his life as a Union Ironworker erecting building all of us "in these parts" have either visited, shopped, learned or worked in.
When we approached, he spoke without looking up to greet us, after we both said––almost in unison: “Howdy.” Then he stated to us what he perceived was the purpose of our visit. “Guess yawl came up here to talk about God again?“ In the past, I would always lead in these sorts of conversations, but this time I felt that Carl Junior needed to do the talking. Junior made small talk for a few minutes, and then began explaining God’s plan for man’s salvation––the requirements to receive eternal life. On this occasion, Carl, Sr., was more receptive and somewhat courteous, replacing what we usually perceived as a form of rudeness or displeasure in discussing the Bible, as he called it, which we accepted as our invitation to end our visits.
After a while, Carl thanked us in his own way for the time to visit; and told us he would think about ‘what was said’. And in the same breath, saying to us, ‘I need to be about tend’en my garden". As we began walking to the garden gate, Carl Junior turned to his father and said, ”Just remember Dad, that Jesus requires us to tell someone publicly… tell someone else aloud, that you have accepted Christ as your Savior.” Carl looked up and––‘and being a man of few words’, nodded to us,––meaning he heard what was said.
Weeks passed as summer arrived without bringing with it much rain at all. In the late part of July, I awakened one Saturday morning earlier than usual, and on my mind were thoughts that I was being summoned to Carl’s farm. After a light breakfast, unannounced, I drove up to the farm, which was nearer to Foyil, Oklahoma than to Claremore. When I arrived, I could see him out in his garden watering, occasionally bending over, I supposed to pull a weed sprout. When I entered the thriving garden, he looked up and said to me before I could say my usual greeting of...howdy. ”I guess you are wondering why I wanted you to come today?” Startled somewhat, I simply nodded without saying anything. He knew well, the meaning of a nod. “Well, Jerry (Jerry is my nickname given me by my grandmother, Sue Dillard) I got’ta think’en about what-all you boys have been say’en to me about God and all. And… uh, you remember that Junior said to me when you’ens left in the spring, that if I decided to accept Jesus as my way into Heaven when I die, that I had to tell somebody out-loud… uh, that it wouldn’t work to keep it to myself. So, I picked you as that someone… that’s why you are here.” A bit of a smile––a very slight grin appeared on his face. These words accounted for, or exceeded in number the combined total spoken during any visit I could remember. But that hint of a grin was something not often seen with Carl––at least since he and my mother divorced a decade earlier. I walked over to him and asked, “Are you telling me what you believe in your heart––that Jesus died for our sins, and that he was resurrected to sit on the right hand of the Father; and, that you are publically professing him as your Lord and Savior?” “Yeah, I am,” he replied. “And I decided that the first person I wanted to tell about it, is you.”
Standing between a row of Green Beans and a row of Tomato plants four-foot in height, with a garden hose in his hand watering the different plants as he spoke, Carl "Jo-Jo" Vincent Boone, Sr., said aloud to me, “When I die, I want to go to Heaven and be with God, and to join all of my kinfolks. And so, I told God and Jesus that I wanted to get things right with them, and you-know, get their forgiveness and all; and, …telling you now, well, …uh, I guess that pretty-well settles it, don’t it?” Again, he had spoken the second highest count of words to me on any prior visit to his farm. I looked at him and provided a slight grin, then offered a hand shake––something I had not done since age 14 years. I remember saying to him these exact words, “Welcome to the family of God… ‘you are one of His adopted children––you’re home.” He lifted his head and his eyes a little, as if to look upwardly for an approval far more important than my own. “Well, I guess this means I will be see’en ya’ in Heaven then, don’t it?” I nodded as to mean to answer in the affirmative––he knew my meaning of the nod. Then he turned to one side, looked away and said, “I best be gitten’ back to my watering now.” That meant the visit was over, and that he wanted to be left alone… probably to dwell on the rebirth of his spirit––thoughts of Heaven, and to give thanks to Jehovah God our loving Father, and to our Lord Jesus Christ.
When I got to the car, I looked back to see him, for what I thought might be the last time here on this earth. He was looking at me––something he never did with departing visitors… and the last thing I saw is still vivid in my mind… he nodded to me.
By now, I am sure that you––the reader of this record will understand, as did I –– his nod meant that things were okay now––things were… “pretty-well settled tween him and God.” About six-weeks later, he passed to be with our Lord as he slept in his rocking chair, where he was watching his favorite baseball team––the Saint Louis Cardinals.
He was a proud Mason, and a professing Christian; and he was a good provider for his family, and proud to have spent his life as a Union Ironworker erecting building all of us "in these parts" have either visited, shopped, learned or worked in.
In the late spring of the year of his passing, his son Carl Junior, telephoned me early on a Saturday morning asking if I would accompany him to Carl’s farm, so that he could talk to him about receiving Christ as his Lord and Savior. We both had done so on many occasions, but to no avail. When we arrived, we could see Carl was tending his garden pulling weeds from amongst the sprouting vegetables, though age 75 years.
When we approached, he spoke without looking up to greet us, after we both said––almost in unison: “Howdy.” Then he stated to us what he perceived was the purpose of our visit. “Guess yawl came up here to talk about God again?“ In the past, I would always lead in these sorts of conversations, but this time I felt that Carl Junior needed to do the talking. Junior made small talk for a few minutes, and then began explaining God’s plan for man’s salvation––the requirements to receive eternal life. On this occasion, Carl, Sr., was more receptive and somewhat courteous, replacing what we usually perceived as a form of rudeness or displeasure in discussing the Bible, as he called it, which we accepted as our invitation to end our visits.
After a while, Carl thanked us in his own way for the time to visit; and told us he would think about ‘what was said’. And in the same breath, saying to us, ‘I need to be about tend’en my garden". As we began walking to the garden gate, Carl Junior turned to his father and said, ”Just remember Dad, that Jesus requires us to tell someone publicly… tell someone else aloud, that you have accepted Christ as your Savior.” Carl looked up and––‘and being a man of few words’, nodded to us,––meaning he heard what was said.
Weeks passed as summer arrived without bringing with it much rain at all. In the late part of July, I awakened one Saturday morning earlier than usual, and on my mind were thoughts that I was being summoned to Carl’s farm. After a light breakfast, unannounced, I drove up to the farm, which was nearer to Foyil, Oklahoma than to Claremore. When I arrived, I could see him out in his garden watering, occasionally bending over, I supposed to pull a weed sprout. When I entered the thriving garden, he looked up and said to me before I could say my usual greeting of...howdy. ”I guess you are wondering why I wanted you to come today?” Startled somewhat, I simply nodded without saying anything. He knew well, the meaning of a nod. “Well, Jerry (Jerry is my nickname given me by my grandmother, Sue Dillard) I got’ta think’en about what-all you boys have been say’en to me about God and all. And… uh, you remember that Junior said to me when you’ens left in the spring, that if I decided to accept Jesus as my way into Heaven when I die, that I had to tell somebody out-loud… uh, that it wouldn’t work to keep it to myself. So, I picked you as that someone… that’s why you are here.” A bit of a smile––a very slight grin appeared on his face. These words accounted for, or exceeded in number the combined total spoken during any visit I could remember. But that hint of a grin was something not often seen with Carl––at least since he and my mother divorced a decade earlier. I walked over to him and asked, “Are you telling me what you believe in your heart––that Jesus died for our sins, and that he was resurrected to sit on the right hand of the Father; and, that you are publically professing him as your Lord and Savior?” “Yeah, I am,” he replied. “And I decided that the first person I wanted to tell about it, is you.”
Standing between a row of Green Beans and a row of Tomato plants four-foot in height, with a garden hose in his hand watering the different plants as he spoke, Carl "Jo-Jo" Vincent Boone, Sr., said aloud to me, “When I die, I want to go to Heaven and be with God, and to join all of my kinfolks. And so, I told God and Jesus that I wanted to get things right with them, and you-know, get their forgiveness and all; and, …telling you now, well, …uh, I guess that pretty-well settles it, don’t it?” Again, he had spoken the second highest count of words to me on any prior visit to his farm. I looked at him and provided a slight grin, then offered a hand shake––something I had not done since age 14 years. I remember saying to him these exact words, “Welcome to the family of God… ‘you are one of His adopted children––you’re home.” He lifted his head and his eyes a little, as if to look upwardly for an approval far more important than my own. “Well, I guess this means I will be see’en ya’ in Heaven then, don’t it?” I nodded as to mean to answer in the affirmative––he knew my meaning of the nod. Then he turned to one side, looked away and said, “I best be gitten’ back to my watering now.” That meant the visit was over, and that he wanted to be left alone… probably to dwell on the rebirth of his spirit––thoughts of Heaven, and to give thanks to Jehovah God our loving Father, and to our Lord Jesus Christ.
When I got to the car, I looked back to see him, for what I thought might be the last time here on this earth. He was looking at me––something he never did with departing visitors… and the last thing I saw is still vivid in my mind… he nodded to me.
By now, I am sure that you––the reader of this record will understand, as did I –– his nod meant that things were okay now––things were… “pretty-well settled tween him and God.” About six-weeks later, he passed to be with our Lord as he slept in his rocking chair, where he was watching his favorite baseball team––the Saint Louis Cardinals.
He was a proud Mason, and a professing Christian; and he was a good provider for his family, and proud to have spent his life as a Union Ironworker erecting building all of us "in these parts" have either visited, shopped, learned or worked in.
When we approached, he spoke without looking up to greet us, after we both said––almost in unison: “Howdy.” Then he stated to us what he perceived was the purpose of our visit. “Guess yawl came up here to talk about God again?“ In the past, I would always lead in these sorts of conversations, but this time I felt that Carl Junior needed to do the talking. Junior made small talk for a few minutes, and then began explaining God’s plan for man’s salvation––the requirements to receive eternal life. On this occasion, Carl, Sr., was more receptive and somewhat courteous, replacing what we usually perceived as a form of rudeness or displeasure in discussing the Bible, as he called it, which we accepted as our invitation to end our visits.
After a while, Carl thanked us in his own way for the time to visit; and told us he would think about ‘what was said’. And in the same breath, saying to us, ‘I need to be about tend’en my garden". As we began walking to the garden gate, Carl Junior turned to his father and said, ”Just remember Dad, that Jesus requires us to tell someone publicly… tell someone else aloud, that you have accepted Christ as your Savior.” Carl looked up and––‘and being a man of few words’, nodded to us,––meaning he heard what was said.
Weeks passed as summer arrived without bringing with it much rain at all. In the late part of July, I awakened one Saturday morning earlier than usual, and on my mind were thoughts that I was being summoned to Carl’s farm. After a light breakfast, unannounced, I drove up to the farm, which was nearer to Foyil, Oklahoma than to Claremore. When I arrived, I could see him out in his garden watering, occasionally bending over, I supposed to pull a weed sprout. When I entered the thriving garden, he looked up and said to me before I could say my usual greeting of...howdy. ”I guess you are wondering why I wanted you to come today?” Startled somewhat, I simply nodded without saying anything. He knew well, the meaning of a nod. “Well, Jerry (Jerry is my nickname given me by my grandmother, Sue Dillard) I got’ta think’en about what-all you boys have been say’en to me about God and all. And… uh, you remember that Junior said to me when you’ens left in the spring, that if I decided to accept Jesus as my way into Heaven when I die, that I had to tell somebody out-loud… uh, that it wouldn’t work to keep it to myself. So, I picked you as that someone… that’s why you are here.” A bit of a smile––a very slight grin appeared on his face. These words accounted for, or exceeded in number the combined total spoken during any visit I could remember. But that hint of a grin was something not often seen with Carl––at least since he and my mother divorced a decade earlier. I walked over to him and asked, “Are you telling me what you believe in your heart––that Jesus died for our sins, and that he was resurrected to sit on the right hand of the Father; and, that you are publically professing him as your Lord and Savior?” “Yeah, I am,” he replied. “And I decided that the first person I wanted to tell about it, is you.”
Standing between a row of Green Beans and a row of Tomato plants four-foot in height, with a garden hose in his hand watering the different plants as he spoke, Carl "Jo-Jo" Vincent Boone, Sr., said aloud to me, “When I die, I want to go to Heaven and be with God, and to join all of my kinfolks. And so, I told God and Jesus that I wanted to get things right with them, and you-know, get their forgiveness and all; and, …telling you now, well, …uh, I guess that pretty-well settles it, don’t it?” Again, he had spoken the second highest count of words to me on any prior visit to his farm. I looked at him and provided a slight grin, then offered a hand shake––something I had not done since age 14 years. I remember saying to him these exact words, “Welcome to the family of God… ‘you are one of His adopted children––you’re home.” He lifted his head and his eyes a little, as if to look upwardly for an approval far more important than my own. “Well, I guess this means I will be see’en ya’ in Heaven then, don’t it?” I nodded as to mean to answer in the affirmative––he knew my meaning of the nod. Then he turned to one side, looked away and said, “I best be gitten’ back to my watering now.” That meant the visit was over, and that he wanted to be left alone… probably to dwell on the rebirth of his spirit––thoughts of Heaven, and to give thanks to Jehovah God our loving Father, and to our Lord Jesus Christ.
When I got to the car, I looked back to see him, for what I thought might be the last time here on this earth. He was looking at me––something he never did with departing visitors… and the last thing I saw is still vivid in my mind… he nodded to me.
By now, I am sure that you––the reader of this record will understand, as did I –– his nod meant that things were okay now––things were… “pretty-well settled tween him and God.” About six-weeks later, he passed to be with our Lord as he slept in his rocking chair, where he was watching his favorite baseball team––the Saint Louis Cardinals.
He was a proud Mason, and a professing Christian; and he was a good provider for his family, and proud to have spent his life as a Union Ironworker erecting building all of us "in these parts" have either visited, shopped, learned or worked in.
Bio by: Ken
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