I know, and have taught, that we are not to dwell on our past failures, that God takes us where we are at and prepares us for the future. But, as this is a blog of spiritual remembrances, I must reflect on times of sadness when I did not heed his instruction. One such moment involved the woman whom I had accepted as being my helpmate.

It has taken a number of years before I would realize that Lois has been, and is, more spiritual than I will likely ever be. But I didn't realize it back then. I had always prided myself in the open communication that we had enjoyed, not understanding until much later that I was, in fact, closed, sometimes-moody and temperamental.

Lois never gave up on me, though; if she was hurt, she would retreat for a while, then again trust me for an intimate marital and spiritual relationship. On one such occasion she shared with me that she was beginning to feel that the Holy Spirit was really speaking to her, that she was beginning to understand and enjoy a relationship with God. I responded that it didn't make any sense because I knew about the Holy Spirit, that I was the one knowledgeable about the Bible and was the teacher, and that her explanations didn't track with what I knew to be true, nor was it supported by scripture.

I could see her countenance immediately change from excitement to sadness, and I knew I had failed. But my pride was still in control of my life, and I did nothing to reconcile. I would never be able to count the number of times when I would use condescending language on my wife (and later my daughters), and for that I am truly sorry.

The last verse of an early church song (2 Timothy 2:13) reads, "if we are faithless, he will remain faithful, for he cannot disown himself." I don't feel that I was an abusive husband (certainly not physically), but I had been trained in the knowledge that the man held a superior role as the head of the wife and discipliner of his children, and I prided myself in successfully fulfilling that role. But Lois remained the faithful image of Christ. She assumed the subservient role and patiently waited until her Lord and mine would take me down a few notches.

She showered me with encouragement and love, occasionally mixed with tears. The tears would break me. Over the years Lois would, by the hand of the Lord, become my true salvation.

Living in Orlando with my young family I had my first encounter with the Mormons (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints). It wasn't the door-to-door proselytizers that you see today. A family with daughters our girls' age moved in around the corner. In fact, over a period of time, the children between our two families began playing together.

It's important to note at this point that I had been thoroughly trained to spot cult groups (those that have crackpot leaders or bizarre origins or anything that deviates from what our forefathers allegedly brought to this land under the name of Christianity). And Mormons were high on the list.

But these folks seemed harmless and were quite friendly (at least the mother and children). We later learned that the family was growing rapidly due to the fact that they desperately wanted a boy. The mother would get pregnant as soon as possible after the last delivery, only to give birth to yet another girl, despite the doctor's warnings that each pregnancy was a danger to her health (she had to undergo Cesarian section each time). From what I read of the Mormons (probably from Christian fundamentalist writers), it was a special blessing for a family to produce male offspring because these lads were in line for godhood over eons.

The next thing that we noticed was seeing the family taking a walk around the block together. It was nice to see them together, but it was odd to see the father walking ahead of them reading out loud to them. The radar again went up, and the scale tipped toward the negative side of our relationship.

One time when the mother had her kids over at our house, she asked me if I knew much about the Mormons. I replied that I had been taught some things, but wasn't sure how much of it was true. She offered to give me a book, not the Book of Mormon or The Pearl of Great Price, but another book that explained the Mormon faith. Like a good Christian leader I accepted it and promised to give it a close look. In fact, with highlighter in hand, I began to go through it methodically, checking references to our Bible against what was actually in our Bible.

I found so many discrepancies and misinterpretations that I gave up on my analysis less than a third of the way through the book. On a later visit with her I told her that I just couldn't justify the statements in the book with my own beliefs. She seemed to take it well and acknowledged that further discussion may prove helpful. I also thought it odd that I was having these conversations with the woman of the house rather than the man; another of the core teachings that I had received was that the woman was to be silent and subservient. So this was a stretch for me to be talking with her; I don't recall having any contact with her husband, aside from the occasional wave while driving by their house. She had revealed to Lois at one time that she had come from a matronly-structured family and was used to being in charge.

Our families' relationship began to wane when our girls were invited to their house for a sleepover (they were never allowed to sleep over at our house --- should have been a clue). The girls seemed to have had a good time, but reported to us that the mother was teaching them some "special" songs and talking about things that they didn't understand. That's when we drew the line. No more sleepovers. We began to reduce all communication. And then it was done.

Our last exposure to our neighborhood Mormons was through a local radio program on a contemporary Christian station. Lois was listening to a call-in program about home schooling. Segregation was still going strong in the south, and Orlando officials had ordered busing to enforce integration into the schools. We opted to put the girls in a private Christian school. Other talk around town was to home-school, which was still a relatively new concept in that area. In the mind of the Christian community home-schooling was only done by cult groups.

Back to the call-in show. One call came from a woman who was sympathetic with the dilemma that parents were facing and offered to help educate folks on the home-schooling option. She was very pleasant and gave a number for people to call. Lois heard it. She recognized the voice and the phone number. The cult alarm went off. She called me. I called the station, and they said that they would look into it. But nothing happened. And that was that.

We had always acknowledged that God had taught us to love, but, looking back, love never seemed to take priority in our encounters. There was us, and there was them. Right must prevail.

Along with foolishness.

I've decided to forgo titles for these blogs. They're not read by that many people, and I'm spending way too much time thinking of catchy headings. I'm also reminded that this is to be a recording of my spiritual journey, rather than any other legacy.

I realize that I have been, for the most part, negative on myself, when, in fact, there are many who have made the same mistakes as me, if not more. I have attempted to be honest in the assessment of my life, and I also am trying to draw a correlation between my so-called spiritual life and how my faith was applied (or not) on a daily basis. Many devout Christians actually lead two separate lives. They recognize that they are accepted uniquely by individuals and groups within the context of church, work and play. Since no one wants to experience rejection, we modify our behavior for comfort. We also bring pride into almost every situation. It gives us a sense of power and control, even though we are unwilling to admit it.

In May of 1977 Lois and I decided to purchase a home. With help from the GI bill and $25 down we started paperwork on a 3-bedroom home in the Pine Hills (West Orlando) area, just one mile from the Chapel. We had a few setbacks with the lender, but finally took possession of our first real home. I was still working full time for the law firm and part-time for Roger (the Christian film distributor). I think that it was around this time that I had begun to lead singing at the Chapel.

Then in October of the same year I got a break for a better job at Martin Marietta Aerospace (now Lockheed Martin) in Orlando. My father-in-law was an electrician at the plant and had faithfully spread my resumes around to department managers that he had gotten to know. I got a call, followed by a lengthy interview, then an offer. I accepted. Once again I tendered my resignation with the Akerman firm. My boss, Mr. B., put it to me bluntly: "Burn me once, shame on me; burn me twice, shame on you." I would not be welcomed back to that office.

Administrators with no engineering background were relatively new on the scene in the defense industry, so they didn't know what title to give me. They hired me as an associate manufacturing engineer. My dad would tease me quite often later with, "You can fix this; you're the engineer." I would respond with the fact that I'm called that because I associate with engineers. As I moved up in my career the position would become engineering administrator, then senior engineering administrator.

Over the next eight years I became more involved in my career and ventured into the inner workings of the Assembly (aka Chapel, aka Plymouth Brethren Church). Being a salaried employee with a corporation, I soon learned that my time was not my own. Growing assignments brought overtime (unpaid, of course), and I agreed to additional responsibilities at the chapel. The part-time job with Roger had to go.

It's difficult to remember in what order I took on things at church, but I somehow regarded service to God as a priority. My secular work was on top because I had to support my family (he that doesn't provide for his family is as bad as an unbeliever). I knew little about what caring for your family really meant; it certainly required more than just bringing home a paycheck.

One thing about churches is that once they get wind that you have some talent and are willing to do some things, they latch onto you. In fact, your cup is overflowing --- and not in a good way! I helped plan the music, along with being song-leader. I was voted in as a deacon and later became chairman of the deacons. Next was children's Sunday school teacher. Followed by treasurer.

One bright idea I had was to start a film ministry on Saturday nights. Even though I had left Roger, I still kept in touch. My plan was to rent gospel films from him and view them on Saturday evenings as an alternative form of entertainment for families that attended the chapel, along with any visitors (or unbelievers) they might want to invite. I seem to remember that I pressed Lois into providing some light refreshment following the film on most nights.

This project did have a shaky start, however. I needed to convince the elders to buy a 16mm film projector and to provide a small budget with which to rent the films. I presented my idea in a meeting with them one evening. There were three of them, including Dr. D (see previous post). Following my pitch one was silent, Dr D was interested, and the third fellow challenged me with, "How can we be sure that you're not just doing this to give your family something to do on a Saturday night?" I opened my mouth to respond with, "Well, if you can't take me at my word ..." But Dr. D interrupted by saying that he thought it was a great idea and that he would be willing to personally buy the projector if the chapel would allot funds for renting the films. That night finesse would be added to a growing list of his positive character traits in my book. I got the go-ahead.

In those same eight years two more ministries would spring up. One would be rewarding. Both would have challenges.