Sweet doesn't fit me.
Here in this haven of old people, where Bettie and I now live, several people have addressed me as "Sweet Rayburn". Dementia is not uncommon among the elderly. I am no more "sweet" than an old Rottweiler protecting his Master's children. So, who, or what, am I at 92?
I am an unabashed truth-seeking realist who may be kind to little children, the elderly, and victims of the evil, but I am the frail nemesis of killers, criminals, rapists, communists and corrupt politicians. I am merciless to the merciless and intolerant of the intolerant. I will forgive my personal enemies, but not the enemies of God. That is His business. I am an ancient Marine, and sinner, who surrendered his life, at the Battle of Chosin Reservoir in North Korea, to preach Jesus and the grace of God to other hopeless sinners. That I have done, but not without human flaws. I relate to the Apostle Paul who claimed to be "the chief of sinners" in 1 Tim. 1:15. But that did not stop him from preaching Jesus and God's grace to a lost world.
I must confess that, in my final years of pastoring, when dealing with difficult and complaining old people, I often prayed that God would make me a sweet old man. But I remain an old Rottweiler with a lot of scars and little else to offer but sweet Jesus to the repentant and a low growl to His enemies.
