Jesus' Mountain
by
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There was one such time a Florida Highway Patrolman on duty at
the Florida Turnpike, flew into my toll booth parking lot about three
o’clock in the morning and ran up to me. He said, “Betty, there’s no traffic
tonight hardly at all. I just had to shoot a six footer crossing the highway
so it wouldn’t cause a wreck, its in the median strip! I can watch your
booth if you will jump in your truck, go to the mile marker where I left
it, and cut off the tail, I’ll take fried gatortail to all the officers and toll
collectors on the turnpike tomorrow night!”I believe that, too, was the
week of Christmas.
I guess that when you work the midnight shift you get a little spacey.
For some reason both of us thought it was a great idea, after all, what a
waste, six feet of free holiday hors’doevres! He watched the booth, I flew
away in my pickup, and spotted the gator in the center of the road up on
the median.
Our turnpike station at the Jupiter exit had a janitor and maintainance
man, a friendly, loving older black preacher-man we all thought a lot of,
named Martin. He always had his Bible with him. One day he had told me
I was disobeying God because women weren’t supposed to wear pants, but
skirts. Then he had me read it out loud for myself from his old, worn out Bible.
That day I ordered the skirt that went with our official police-looking
uniform. All the other collectors hated the skirts and I would be the
only employee for five years in the official suit. The employee manual
specified that with the skirt you were required to wear nylon stockings
and black closed in shoes with a dressy (short to medium) high heel. The
skirt matched the gray sport jacket that had our Florida Turnpike patches
on the sholder sleeves, and the gold badge on the front with name tags
and collar brass.
That’s what I was wearing when I crossed the desolate highway with
my opened pocketknife and knelt down on the grass cutting on the tail
of the very large gator. He was bigger than a six so it was taking longer.
Even dead gators won’t be still for that and the only way I could do it was
to sit on him while I did it. I was just thanking God there was no traffic
when I saw on the horizen headlights headed my way. I was relieved to
see it was a semi because I knew most all of the semi drivers to be very
down to earth and would find it funny.
I sawed away faster than ever as I heard the breaks of the semi truck
slowing down behind me. I glanced back at the driver who had rolled
down his window, and even though his voice was barely audible above
the loud engine, I clearly heard him say, “NOW, I’ve seen everything!”
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About the Book
When the Judds recorded “Grandpa, Tell Me ‘Bout the Good Ole Days”, our whole family began singing the title around the glowing pasture campfires, and my late cattleman husband would do just that, telling about the colorful Luckey family history, and his personal hunting, fishing and cowboy stories. Sometimes, it was, “Grandmaw, tell us another one!” when I would once again share the adventures and miracles of my lifetime, the police stories and hunting tales, my true confessions and faith in Jesus and how He’d brought me through every low valley to the joyful, victorious mountain tops! I can still see, just like it was yesterday, the glistening of the tears on their cheeks by the firelight; but much more often, it was their hysterical laughter heard echoing through the woods on smoky nightime breezes....the happiest of times, and the strongest family love we’d ever know.
About the Author
Betty Luckey was born Elizabeth (Betty) Winsom Swan on March 16, in 1943 in Jamestown, NY, to Sherman Winsom Swan and Dorothy Weakland Swan. Her dad was called by God to preach while he was in the Army Air Force when she was a baby. Immediately following his military assignment, they would moved to Louisville, KY, to live at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary until her dad’s graduation. Her dad pastored the First Baptist Churches in Midway and in Paris, Ky.
When she was thirteen the First Baptist Church of West Palm Beach called her dad to pastor the First Baptist Church of Lake Park, Florida, that was their mission at that time. It was there she met her husband, Gary Luckey. They would have four children, ten grandchildren and two great grandsons. They had homes and ranches in Palm Beach County, Okeechobee, and Highlands County, living at their ranch near LaBelle before settling in North Carolina.
Betty spent almost thirty years in law enforcement, as a 911 operator, a police officer, a Sheriff’s Auxilliary deputy, and as a security guard in Nashville at Trinity Broadcast Network. Gary retired from Pratt and Whitney Aircraft in 2000, and Betty in 2004 from the Seminole Indian Police Department at Brighton Reservation, near Okeechobee, Florida.
She was a pastor’s secretary, church pianist, and adult Sunday school teacher at the First Indian Baptist Church at Brighton. She and Gary also owned and operated two restaurants there. In 2019 they moved from Florida and settled into their log home in the Smoky Mountains near Murphy, NC. It was there they became active members at Notla Baptist Church together, singing in the choir.
Gary passed away from the Caronavirus in 2020 and Betty wrote her second book. The first one was published in 2005 about miracles in her life, and was entitled “Operation: Devil’s Garden” by Elizabeth Swan Luckey.