SMOKEHOUSE SPIRITUALITY~MY NINETY-YEAR-OLD-POPPIE & A PAPER CHASE

My father is ninety years old. He has absolutely no business driving anymore, and if you ask around his hometown, you’ll find plenty of folks willing to testify to that under oath. His driver’s license has expired, and there isn’t a chance in the world he could pass another driving test. That’s not a criticism. It’s simply the honest truth that comes with living long enough to collect ninety birthdays.

The problem is that without a current driver’s license, he doesn’t have a valid photo ID. That became important because we need to sell his pickup. We cannot find the title. Somewhere, at some point over the last several years, that piece of paper disappeared. Poppie has no earthly idea where it might be, and neither do I. So I volunteered to untangle the mess. “Piece of cake” I said. Huh.

Forty-five miles later, I found myself in Longview thinking I’d simply apply for a replacement title. Nope. To get the title, Poppie needed a valid photo identification. So the next day we headed to the Department of Public Safety office in Tyler. Surely we could get him a photo ID. Not so fast. Now we needed his birth certificate. Think about that for a minute. A ninety-year-old man needed to produce a document that proved where he was born, who his parents were, and that he really was the little baby everyone welcomed into the world back in the 1930s.

Back to Chandler we went. We dug through papers until we found what appeared to be his birth certificate. It had all the information, but it was a copy. The next morning we returned to Tyler, feeling optimistic. Strike three. “I’m sorry,” the clerk kindly explained. “It has to be a certified copy.” She directed us across town to the office that could issue one.

Off we drove. When we arrived, the doors were locked. It was Juneteenth. The office was closed. So tomorrow I’ll begin again, trying to help my ninety-year-old Pop get a certified birth certificate so he can get a photo identification card so he can get a replacement title for a pickup truck he will never drive again. Life has a funny way of turning simple things into pilgrimages.

To Poppie’s credit, although he hasn’t been thrilled about all these errands, he’s been gracious enough to thank me for carting him around East Texas. Truth be told, I’ve enjoyed the company. We’ve listened to Frank Sinatra rolling down the highway. We’ve swapped old stories. We’ve laughed about people we both know. At ninety, every extra hour together is a gift I don’t take lightly.

This little adventure has also caused me to think about something much bigger. If the SAVE Act—the Safeguard American Voter Eligibility Act—were to become law in its current form, my father could face additional hurdles proving his eligibility to vote. He’s voted for more than seventy years. He has never questioned that privilege. He also doesn’t vote exactly like many of his friends and neighbors around here. His politics lean a little to the left but please don’t tell the President.

Now, to be fair, supporters of the SAVE Act argue that requiring documentary proof of citizenship, such as a passport or certified birth certificate, is a reasonable safeguard. They believe it helps ensure that only U.S. citizens vote in federal elections and strengthens public confidence in the integrity of elections.

Critics see it differently. They argue that documented cases of non-citizen voting are already quite rare under existing law and that the greater danger is creating obstacles for people who are already eligible to vote. They point to elderly Americans, rural residents, low-income citizens, naturalized citizens, young people without passports, and married women whose birth certificates no longer match their legal names. I have often wondered, though I think I know the answer, why wouldn’t we want and strongly encourage, every eligible voter to VOTE!

 

 

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After spending several days chasing paperwork for my father, I understand why those concerns are raised. My dad is fortunate. He has me and I’m retired, and have a pickup to cart him around. I have enough flexibility to spend days driving from office to office, money for gasoline, and the determination to keep trying. Not everyone has those advantages.

Whether one favors the SAVE Act or opposes it, my little journey with Poppie reminded me that government paperwork, however well intended, always lands in the lives of real people. Sometimes those people are ninety years old. Sometimes they’re tired. Sometimes they’re confused. Sometimes they simply don’t know where a piece of paper has wandered after nearly a century.

As for me, tomorrow morning I’ll be standing in another line with Poppie. Maybe we’ll finally get that certified birth certificate. Maybe we’ll finally get that photo ID. Maybe we’ll finally get a title for a truck that has already enjoyed its last drive and when he thinks about that he’s not too happy. He would really be pissed if someone told him he couldn’t vote.

And if the line is long, I suspect Frank Sinatra will be waiting for us on the ride home. After all, growing old may require a lot more paperwork than it ought to—but it still sounds a little better with Ol’ Blue Eyes singing in the background even if Poppie, who can’t really sing is singing nonetheless.

Gracious Lord,

Thank You for fathers who taught us long before we ever realized we were learning. Thank You for the hands that once steadied a bicycle seat, held a fishing pole, gripped a steering wheel, and worked faithfully to provide for a family. As the years turn, those same hands become slower and more dependent, reminding us that every season of life is a gift.

Give us patience when the paperwork piles up, when another office sends us to another office, when another document seems just out of reach. Help us remember that people are always more important than procedures.

Bless those who write our laws and administer them. Grant them wisdom to protect both the integrity of our elections and the dignity of every eligible citizen’s right to vote. May they never forget that behind every regulation is a real person with a real story and voice that needs to be heard with very little dissuading that’s the way of democracy.

Especially, Lord, remember the elderly among us. May we never make growing old harder than it already is. Let us honor those who have carried the responsibilities of citizenship for decades by treating them with kindness, respect, and compassion.

Thank You for unexpected gifts hidden inside inconvenient days—for windshield conversations, old stories told again, Frank Sinatra on the radio, shared laughter, and one more afternoon with a ninety-year-old father. Teach us to treasure these ordinary moments before they become precious memories.

And when our own children someday find themselves patiently driving us from office to office, grant us grateful hearts, gentle spirits, and enough grace to say, “Thank you.” In the name of the One who knows our names without asking for a birth certificate, and who welcomes us not because our papers are in order but because His grace is sufficient to supply all of our needs.

Amen.