I couldn't believe that we were actually living in the mountains. They still appear majestic to me, even to this day. I flew up to start my new job and find a place for us to stay. I started looking around Raytheon, so that I could be close to work. About 5 minutes away I started climbing a winding street that ended in a cul-de-sac. I spotted a For Sale sign in front of a long driveway that went on up the knob (that's what they call little mountains here). I drove up to turn around, and encountered a breath-taking view of the valley as I came back down. I called the realtor as soon as I could get to a phone.

Lois and I had wanted to do a lease-purchase agreement --- an arrangement where you rent until your own house sells, after which you would purchase the new home --- all within a set time period. The seller said "No thanks." So I kept looking. I found another place towards Blountville that had a fairly decent home set right up against a knob (see first paragraph). I had been told by co-workers that Blountville wasn't a nice area to live in (I now know differently), but I looked anyway. The realtor showed me the house, then we talked for awhile in the driveway. I remember my legs beginning to ache, because we were standing on an incline. Being from Florida, I hadn't experienced that feeling since I was in college in Chicago (not mountains, but steep enough hills).

Later into the conversation the realtor invited me and my family to visit his church. It was a Presbyterian church in the Bristol city limits. I didn't know much about the Presbyterians, other than the fact that they sprinkled instead of immersing during baptism. I had heard something about their view about predestination (how God decides your destiny), but was not well-read on it.

We visited the church on a sunny Sunday morning. The people were friendly, and the realtor I had met invited us out to lunch. During the meal we discussed the area, my job and their church. A few days later we were visited by the pastor after supper. I had been doing some reading about the Presbyterians from my study books (the information superhighway had not arrived yet), so I was ready for him. He was cordial, and we were gracious hosts. I asked him about sprinkling in baptism, and he referred me to an Old Testament reference to the "sprinkling of the nations." I may have asked other questions, but I don't recall what they were. I think I had already made up my mind not to go back.

He was pleasant and open, inviting us to come back whenever we wanted to. I responded that the Presbyterian structure and doctrine were quite different from what we were used to, but that we may visit again. Following his visit I began to look around for another church.

I noticed in the local paper that a small non-denominational church was meeting at the YWCA on Sundays. The church minister was a graduate from Dallas Theological Seminary. I knew that the DTS doctrinal statement was in line with what we believed, so I took the family there for a visit. The pastor and his wife were warm and friendly, as was the congregation, but no more so than at the Presbyterian church. The pastor invited us to their home that evening for youth group, saying that we could visit with some of the adults of the church while the children were meeting.

It wasn't long before I became the song leader, Sunday school teacher and coordinator of special music. We stayed with the church for several years. I was even asked to participate in the Men's Steering Committee; the church didn't have deacons or elders. What was interesting was that one of the men on the committee was actively involved in an extra-marital affair and had missed most of the meetings. We prayed for him and his family. It was easier to judge rather than love and be open and honest with the situation. To be sure, what he was doing was wrong, but none of us loved him enough to take him to task for it.

A year after moving to Bristol we finally closed on a new (used) house --- the very first one on the knob that I had looked at when I started my job!

At one point a family came to the church, and the father would begin to discuss openly the Reformed Doctrine. The foundation of this belief system was that God is sovereign, and by sovereign they meant that God purposefully chose before time who would get saved and go to heaven and who would be eternally damned to hell. And to my surprise the pastor and at least one of the church leaders was of the same mind. This disturbed me, but I wasn't ready to jump ship just yet.

As we went along Lois began to have serious issues with the new family mentioned earlier. I don't remember what the issues were, but it made it difficult for her to attend services. So I used the Reformed problem as a reason to meet with the one church leader mentioned earlier. He came to my home, and I basically explained that we could not continue at the church because the predestination doctrine would always be an issue with us. Looking back, love still didn't prevail, and I never even met with the pastor to discuss my concern. Several weeks later the pastor and his wife took Lois and me out to dinner. I believe they truly loved us and wanted us back, but I was determined to hold my ground. Again, I could have been open about my feelings on the Reformed doctrine (and the other family), but I kept quiet.

We now see clearly that people are more important than doctrines, and we are learning the hard way that, since our doctrine has changed dramatically, our former fundamental friends have abandoned us.

So we began another search for a new church home.

Over the years at Lockheed Martin I worked under numerous supervisors. Only one would engage me in spiritual discussions. Actually, they were quite one-sided because he was long-winded. He was basically a humanist but seemed to be intrigued with what people believed, and he would spend an hour or more (on company time) waxing spiritual on several occasions. He was my boss, so I figured the job paid the same whether I was working or listening. A co-worker, who was an atheist, would hiss and boo whenever he walked by my boss's door if he heard us talking religion.

His greatest argument was the lack of real evidence to prove God or that Jesus actually came from heaven. My response was a modified version of Pascal's Wager. Blaise Pascal, a French mathematician and philosopher from the 17th century theorized that we had nothing to lose by believing in God because, even if, in the end, there was no God, we would still have lead a fulfilling life of peace and contentment by following His teachings of doing good.

I told my boss that if I believed and, in the end, there was no God, then I would have lived a life of goodness, love and peacefulness by believing in Him (Pascal's Wager). However, I said, if he did not believe, and it turned out that there was a God, then there would be hell to pay --- for eternity. His only reply was, "You may be right." We never talked again of spiritual things, and I was able to get more work done.

After being at Martin for seven years, the family and I decided to take a real vacation. Our goal was to head for Mechanicville, New York, just outside of Albany, on the Hudson river. This was the little town where Lois grew up. It was an opportunity for me to meet more of her side of the family --- all Italians.

Part of the travel took us along the Blue Ridge parkway in the Appalachian mountain chain. We had taken a couple of short trips to that area previously, staying in a cabin provided for us by Dr. D (previous blog) and thoroughly enjoyed it. But this time Lois and I were smitten with the beauty of the mountains and the refreshing weather. Following our trip we began to plot how we could actually live in the mountains.

This meant moving away from both sets of parents (my parents had actually moved to Orlando to be near us --- just around the corner). So we had to do some serious rationalizing in order to pull it off. What started the ball rolling was a comment from a fellow worker at Lockheed Martin when I was relating our vacation experiences. He said that another company, Raytheon, was sharing a major missile project with Martin and happened to have a manufacturing plant in the mountains in Bristol, Tennessee.

Reasons for moving started to flow. We were in a high crime area. The public school system was less than desirable. Private school costs were excessive. The hot weather was oppressive. And --- we just really wanted to go. I contacted Raytheon, flew up for an interview and, one month later, got the job.

We never consulted the children. That was a big mistake. We may have prayed about it, but it would have been one of those prayers where your mind manufactures God's blessing and encouragement to go.

Other than our parents we didn't tell anyone until we were sure I had gotten the job. The notice was too short for the Chapel to give us a going-away party. I flew up to Bristol and began my new job a few weeks ahead of moving my family there.

Dr. D jokingly told us that we had "sand" in our shoes. That meant that we had Florida in our blood and would definitely move back some time over the next few months or years. It's been 25 years now. No sand.

The first order of business after finding a place to rent was finding a church.

Altogether we spent about nine years at the Plymouth Brethren church, called the Chapel (although Lois grew up in it). In those years I taught Sunday School, lead Bible studies, preached, served as a deacon, served as chairman of the deacons, served as treasurer, started a jail and film ministry, sang solos, duets and trios, served as song leader and directed children's musicals. Not all at the same time, of course.

As I have written before, the servant of that church was, in all appearances, a very different man from the one seen by his wife and children. But I do remember many happy and peaceful times with my family, and I hope they do too. I loved them dearly (still do), but for some reason was unable to show it enough.

I was well versed in the scriptures, as well as with the most popular commentaries, so I was able to hold my own in the pulpit or in spirited discussions of Christian subjects. The interesting thing, however, is that had I been asked a few questions then that I freely put forth to people today, I would not have had an answer.

It was actually my dad and I who started the jail ministry, following the call from the jail chaplain to churches around the area. We represented the Chapel once a month by conducting a service at the county jail in downtown Orlando. We were locked in a room roughly 15 X 20 in size with 10 to 20 inmates, who were brought from their individual cells to our service. Both my dad and I played the guitar (he better than me), and we would alternate in preaching the sermon.

Funny thing about jails. Everyone gets saved. And everyone's innocent. "I don't know how my fingerprints got on the door of that stolen car, but my heart belongs to Jesus!"

Eventually other men of the Chapel would take a turn with me in the services. I was most interested when Dr. D (see previous blog) would accompany me. He would let the inmates ask questions, and quite often some would put forth queries that had vulgar language or innuendos. Dr. D didn't flinch. He answered each question using medical terms associated with the vulgarity referenced, finally bringing it back around to a Biblical response. There were no follow-up questions.

In our jail training we were instructed to neither pass or receive messages with the inmates, no matter how innocent, because they could be coded signals for illegal or deviant activities between the inmates and someone on the outside. We were told to come, do our service, pray for them, and don't look back.

One time, however, an inmate who had just gotten out, recognized me in a Burger King. He was stilled "saved" but needed some cash. I gave it to him and invited him to come to our service at the Chapel. He had no transportation, so I had to pick him up each time. I soon realized that his portion of the conversation while we traveled was all about how "hot" certain women were at the Chapel, how another acquaintance of his was "going to get what's coming to him," etc., etc.. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to turn the conversations around or get him to participate in the jobs I found for him in the area, or be patient and gracious for the free meals that were lined up for him.

The pastor (called a full time worker at the Chapel) had a similar experience, where he followed a new believing inmate's care all the way to the state prison. Jim (the pastor) wrote and visited him, got him assigned to the prison chaplain and picked him up many months later when he was out on probation. He stayed in Jim's home for several days, after which Jim got him an apartment in the home of one the regular attendees at the chapel. A month later the fellow stole from his landlady and took off.

Maybe jail ministries are a good thing, but follow-up is a bummer.

My other area of interest was children's musicals. All three of my girls were enthusiastic participants and never (that I knew of) selfishly concerned themselves about who got what part. The only problem I had was occasionally with some parents who couldn't seem to get their kids to rehearsals, but were offended that they didn't get leading roles. The only other problem I had was with one accompanist --- me. Yes, I had the bright idea to accompany the kids on The Music Machine. Up to this point I had limited experience and ability on the piano, but I did know how to read music. To make matters worse I was bent on memorizing the thing, so that I could keep more eye contact and head-directing going with the children.

For more weeks than I can remember, I was at the Chapel 5:30 every morning practicing the musical. While I'm not an accomplished musician, I have a knack for rating music, and I was my worst critic. The night of the performance it seemed only a miracle got us through. Thankfully, I was hidden in the dark with only a small light for my music, but embarrassment could easily be read on my face. A great weight was lifted from me on the last note. The audience was gracious, and the children were forgiving. And I never pulled that stunt again.

One of my favorite musicals was one that combined adult solos with the children singing. I pressed my dad (who had a great baritone voice) into service, along with some wonderful talent in the congregation, and the performance was probably our best.

Looking back I believe that all of what we go through, no matter how insignificant, creates the shape of our spiritual development. Like the potter's clay, the object may often need to be re-shaped as we learn new things and challenge old. The years at the Chapel were a memorable experience.

But the Lord knew I would not stay. So he prepared to take the clay pot, giving it all the free will he could put up with, and mold it into something new. He may have created light in a day, but he would take almost 25 more years to re-make me. And I'm pretty sure he's not done yet.

I'm not sure if best friends are hard to come by; I've only had three. And one remains. I had a best friend in high school, who also was my best man at my wedding. After I got married, Lois soon became my best friend. That friendship has been tested over the years (mostly by the immature male in the family), but has survived the test. True friendship isn't really true unless it is tested. A true friend may smack you (hopefully figuratively speaking), but will never give up on you.

Bob C. was a true friend. He and his family (wife and two sons) started attending the Chapel, and I can't remember where our personal relationship started. That may be how true friendship begins; you are just drawn to each other. We began to do more things together individually, not necessarily as families, maybe because their boys and our girls were too young to like each other as play-friends. But Bob and I got to know each other so well that each could tell what the other was thinking --- in most cases.

We would attend chapel functions together, even at times when our wives and children would stay home. He would help me fix my car sometimes. Actually, he would work on my car while I held the light and fetched tools. And along the way we would discuss many spiritual matters. After Sunday mornings in the worship meetings when individual men would stand up to speak (the women were to remain silent), Bob and I would analyze what was said and look at the Bible to see if we got similar interpretations. We didn't always agree on Biblical verses or their meanings, and we differed some on how to raise our children, but at no time did it ever occur to us that our friendship might be in jeopardy. We were close.

Bob was also the sound-man at the Chapel. He handled the microphones, taped accompaniment for specials and prepared sermon tapes for shut-ins. He was especially helpful to me when I conducted children's musicals. I remember one Christmas special that had a particularly difficult part on the soundtrack. I was very attentive to detail, and I would not use musical accompaniment that had children's voices on the track. I wanted the congregation to hear our kids, who had terrific voices (most of them). The difficult song was a rendition of Jingle Bells that began with nothing more than a rhythmic ringing of reindeer bells. At a point so many measures into the ringing the children were to begin to sing while the bells continued to ring the same way. If all went well, the orchestral accompaniment would come in at the right place. If I started the children too soon or too late, it meant disaster for the rest of the song.

In order to ensure the correct entry point Bob and I spent at least two hours playing the introduction over and over, counting measures, listening for any hint of when the song would start. We would jump in singing, only to find that we had started at the wrong place. For the umpteenth time of listening to the intro, one of us noticed (I don't remember who got the credit for it) a quick, high-pitched ching ching sound, signaling that the next measure was where the children would come in. We tried it, and it worked every time. Success!

The Chapel also did an annual dinner and stand-up comedy/skits for adults just before Christmas. I did a few gigs by myself. They thought I was hilarious, but Lois failed to see the humor. I even got my dad involved in one program, where he played his harmonica, including the world's smallest (I think). Bob and I began to develop our own routines later on. He was a terrific straight man.

I could always count on Bob in a pinch. Once, when I was treasurer, I was down to the deadline on producing a budget statement for the Chapel. I was really struggling with getting some accounts to balance out. And to make matters worse, I was on an all night assignment at Lockheed Martin, preparing a slide show for a top manager to present at the corporate offices up north. Bob made me promise to call him whenever I got done with the assignment --- no matter what time --- and he would meet me at the Chapel and help me find the anomaly. I called him at 4:00 AM. He met me there. I made coffee. We found the error(s), and I typed the budget (no desktops or laptops then). We had a great time.

My family and I moved away to take a job here in Tennessee, and I only saw Bob one more time when they came to visit us in the mountains. The reunion was wonderful. And I haven't seen or heard from him since.

A prominent part of my current belief system is that we will all be reunited in eternity as part of God's perfect plan. I don't know if Bob is already there, but I'm sure looking forward to seeing him again.