Steve's Journey

2011-02-07T05:35:00.001-08:00

WALKING - It's good for you. Helps you to lose weight. I haven't seen that part yet, but it probably is keeping me from gaining weight. It's also good for your dogs (if you have any). It's sad, however, to walk by other dogs, chained up in their yards, wrapped round and round, so that they don't have more than a couple of feet to move in, on a freezing day. I hope God has something special in store for irresponsible pet owners.

RETIREMENT - One year ago today I said "so long" to the man. Actually, I'm still working for the man part time, but things are so different now. I can charge a consultant fee, work my own hours and get paid mileage. But the greatest benefit is that there is absolutely NO STRESS. Lois's retirement check is coming regularly now, and I can walk away from the part time job at the first sign of stress. Sweet!

JAIL BUDDY GONE - No more trips to the county jail. My felonious friend has been transferred to the other end of the state. The location is too far for me to negotiate a visit, so I will try to be more diligent in writing. Regardless of the crime, he's still a human being and God's child. And this next part of his journey has to be both intimidating and depressing. I realize that, given his medical condition, I will never see him again in this life.

VETERAN BENEFITS - I have finally been approved to become a patient at the local veteran's center medical complex. Boy, do I have a shopping list for them! On the other hand, I'm not looking forward to the battery of medical tests that they may want to perform. I've come to realize that not knowing what might be wrong with you isn't so bad. When the doc listens to your heart, then goes "H-m-m," you begin to plan your funeral. Been there, done that. Maybe I should just lie low.

BIBLE STUDY - Two things that I've learned about the Methodists: they love announcements; and they're not big on discussion. While we absolutely adore our lady pastor, the Wednesday night "studies" are 80% fluff and 20% stuff, with 0% serious interaction. And this is with a small group --- eight people total. We have prayer requests, combined with praise items (called joys), then announcements, then the actual prayer, followed by reciting the Lord's Prayer. In the time remaining she reads from a book about the Bible passage; we rarely open our Bibles. Most of the others don't even bring Bibles! The same thing happens in Sunday school (different teacher). Even when you answer a question with a comment that might prompt further discussion, you get "Uh-huh. Thank You," then on we go to the next paragraph. Makes me miss some of the fundamentalist Bible studies. But if I had shared then what I know now, they would have invited me to leave.

2011-01-29T09:44:00.001-08:00

We took the dogs to the vet today. They are so different from each other. Jasper started shaking as soon as he saw the building. Jada immediately made friends with all the dogs and cat, as well as their owners. And she couldn't wait for her turn to see the doc. Even after he gave her two shots, she was still okay with him. We took Jasper for Dr. P to look at his joint problem. He recommended an anti-inflammatory, starting with a shot, followed by pills.

Dogs are great companions, so much better than cats. Someone once said, "Dogs have owners, cats have staff." So true. Dogs are sensitive to your moods and always ready to please. However, I do believe that Jasper needs some anger management. He doesn't play well with others.

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Boy, you sure can accumulate a lot of paperwork over a short period of time. I thought that I was all set to do my 2010 taxes, but I couldn't find the previous year's return and the online ID/password. I also wanted to see if the VA would accept me as a patient this year, but I couldn't find the criteria paperwork. Over the past several months I have been on a paperwork reduction campaign. I used to keep every receipt that was generated. Now I've streamlined my life --- sort of. I document transactions, reminders, retirement and VA analyses, etc. on the computer and saved the files to a flash drive, which I remove (safely) each night when I shut the thing down. All receipts, after they have been recorded, are pitched. Any receipts, pay stubs, or paperwork (old) that had account numbers or personal info gets burned. But it seems that every time I peek in a closet, more paperwork!

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We just received a flower arrangement from our neighbors, along with a condolence card. Earlier today Lois received a phone call from her best friend in high school, also a call of sympathy. It feels good to have people who care.

2011-01-26T14:23:00.000-08:00

What to write about? I know this is supposed to be a daily journal, but some days are just not journal-worthy. Eat, go to work (part-time), eat, watch TV, write Framed By Faith, read, etc..

Speaking of reading, I just finished a good book. Not The Good Book. I read a little of that one almost every day. This book is called Honor In The Dust, by Gilbert Morris. I generally select new books from the library because they're not so nasty. I have read older books, particularly if I like the author's style, but, seriously, I have no clue what some people put in their mouths, because it is totally unrecognizable by the time they have dripped or smeared it on the pages they were reading. Yuck!

Back to Honor In The Dust. It was set in the 16th century, when William Tyndale was going underground in order to translate (and print) the Latin Bible into English. While this was going on, King Henry VIII was hanging and burning those who aided the translation, as well as those who smuggled or owned the newly-translated books. The reason, of course, was that the Church had proclaimed that only the priests could translate a verse or passage at a time, because only they were ordained by God to know what it said or meant.

This book tells the story of two brothers, set against each other by the greed of the elder brother, who wants to inherit the estate. The gospel of Christ is presented about 2/3 of the way through, and you see the determination of those who are willing to risk their lives in order to have a first-hand look at the Bible in their own language. The title was taken from Psalm 7:5 (KJV). It was a good read, and would make an equally good movie.

For any that are wondering, I haven't stopped praying. I am just experimenting on how to construct this journal, and I'm giving the prayer-at-the-end a break. Thank You, Lord, that I'm still praying in my head.

2011-01-23T13:41:00.000-08:00

On the fourth Sunday of each month our pastor leads a combined Sunday school class. Yesterday morning she shared what the Methodists are all about, in the brief time that she had. She emphasized the openness of the Methodist church, which often draws criticism of the Methodists being middle of the road, or too liberal.

She also introduced the Wesleyan Quadrilateral. While John Wesley himself did not name it, or categorize it, the four squares contain references to sources (Scripture, Tradition, Reason and Experience) that he drew from for his teaching. I sent Rev. Barbara an email after church about how we liked the lesson. She wrote back that she was pleased and added that Wesley did not give all four sources equal weight; he put Scripture at the top, with the others working in relation to interpretation of Scripture.

I think the Bible is an amazing collection of writings, but I am not able to put it on a pedestal, as many Christian denominations do. I fully realize that all I know about God, Jesus, etc. comes from the Bible and that those who have taught me over the years also use the Good Book as their source. Still, I'm interested to see just how open this church is, and Barbara in particular. She focuses on the love of Christ, demonstrated in our service to others, and I like that.

2011-01-21T05:00:00.001-08:00

Jill (my daughter) put a profile picture of me on my Facebook page, and it's already gotten a positive comment. It looks like a newborn shot of my 5th grandson. Fat grandpas make great baby beds. :)

*****

I learned an interesting thing on our walk yesterday. We have two dogs, Jasper and Jada [they gave me permission to use their names], mixed labs. We walk them using 16-ft extended leashes. I had noticed this before, but I paid more attention this time from the start. When they circle each other, they always circle counter-clockwise. In other words, whenever I had to untangle the leashes from crossovers, it always followed this pattern. They may begin a clockwise routine and reverse it, but they never completed a clockwise move. This pattern remained throughout the 2 mile walk. Interesting. I'll have to test this some more, but not call out each time they complete a circle (like I did yesterday), because it may annoy Lois. I'll get back to you. Like you care :)

*****

Lois and I had a stimulating 3-way phone conversation with Jill yesterday morning, regarding my recent article on an "alternative salvation plan." What made it interesting was that it wasn't a debate. A debate is a system in which one side attempts to win the argument. None of us were in it for that. We three have different takes on the Bible and Biblical doctrines (Lois and I are more in line with each other), and it was enjoyable discussing the reasoning that we each have on various spiritual matters. Of course, all of this is prompted by our (Lois and me) sudden exit from Christian fundamentalism and my pithy ramblings on framedbyfaith.com. I particularly like to have my thoughts challenged, and Jill makes a good sparring partner.

A large part of the discussion centered on the reliability of the Bible. How much of it is God-breathed? Is it dangerous to pick and choose some verses, yet hold out other verses for closer scrutiny? Can some verses be lost in translation, or were God's words interpreted incorrectly? How much can be taken literally, and what should be regarded as symbolic? Good stuff. It's in this interchange of ideas that I have come to realize that I was unable to discuss calmly spiritual matters when I was a Christian fundamentalist. I'm learning so much more now, and I am eager to continue in this fascinating dialogue.

Another thing I've learned over the years is that, in order to make the dialogue effective, both parties must keep their answers or comments short. I don't mean just one or two words, nor do I mean just one or two sentences. But some people (not you, Jill) can go on and on, re-stating the same position. That could be due to the fact that, while you were talking, they were forming a lengthy response in their mind, not really hearing what you said. Another is that they believe that an overwhelming response gives credibility to the perceived truth embedded in that response. Also with lengthy comments, the speaker will often hit several points that you need to respond to, but, by the time you get your turn, you've either forgotten some of them, or you wish that you had taken notes. I am willing to accept the fact that I have a simple mind, and I need to process things in small bites.

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Lord, thank You for days off, dogs and discussions. All things are beautiful when received in love.

Amen

2011-01-19T07:40:00.000-08:00

ALTERNATIVE SALVATION PLAN DISCOVERED! "Through love and faithfulness sin is atoned for." (Proverbs 16:6) This is so much better than having to kill an animal, or even the innocent Son of God. It's in the Bible, right? So, doesn't it have to be true? Am I picking and choosing which verses I like? Maybe. But, let me be clear. I am choosing based upon rational thought and understanding. I believe the Holy Spirit is leading me in that. Am I rejecting verses that don't make sense? No. I'm merely holding them up in question, in the hope that one day they will make sense. By not choosing the obscure verses, am I rejecting Christ? Absolutely not. I am open to His leading. I am not prepared to accept any teaching that doesn't make sense. Perhaps that is based upon my sinful condition, because of my lack of "faith," but I don't think so. Again, I have asked God to show me the way. I honestly don't think that I will get the vacation to Hell prize for wrong answers. Discipline? Yes. Hell? No, at least not the burning torture for ever and ever thing, with no hope.

*****

Here's a pet peeve. I like to read books from the new book section at the library, both fiction and non-fiction. I would say that only 10% of the books are free of grammatical errors. Don't they pay people to edit these things? If they can't get qualified staff, why don't they contract it out to someone --- like me? I could do what I love and get paid for it. I never cared much for English studies in school, but somehow it stuck with me. Maybe I'll contact some publishers and offer my services.

*****

I just heard a local talk radio host ask a listener, "If you meet someone who is not a Christian, don't you still consider them a brother or sister?" The man replied, "Not in a spiritual sense." Say what? Then how do you consider them? Were they created by God? Of course. Does He love them? He says so. Hate the sin, love the sinner, my fundy Christian friends would say. Love the sinner, but don't bring them close unless they undergo a spiritual change. Is that it? No can do. They will ALWAYS be my brother and sister.

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Lord, help me to understand the truth, even if it's not what I'm currently advocating. Above all, spur me on to love, no matter what the spiritual persuasion of my neighbor.

Amen

2011-01-17T13:59:00.000-08:00

Back to the road trip. Lois, my daughter and I had a great discussion about relationships and commitment. J--l cited two occasions where we left church groups and appeared to never look back. She said that we were able to easily disengage ourselves from people that we had grown close to. I can't speak for Lois, but it has given me cause to examine myself.

There were actually three times when we left church groups that we were close to. That is, we up and left, without a mandatory reason, like a job move, etc.. All three are addressed in this blog/journal. But for the purpose of exploring J--l's assessment, I must revisit and rethink our leaving.

The first was Rev. R's church; he was the Dallas Seminary graduate. This was the second church that we attended after moving to Bristol. There were two conditions that made it difficult to continue there: 1) we were starting to get more Reformed theology teaching, which we disagreed with; 2) Lois was uncomfortable with one particular family, and neither of us can remember what the issue was with them. The pastor was kind-hearted, gentle and generous. I should have met with him to discuss the things that made us uncomfortable. I didn't want Lois to have to continue in a church where she didn't want to attend. But these people were our friends, as well as fellow believers, and I must confess a lack of maturity on my part in being open and honest with them.

We left Rev. N's church because of a disagreement that I had with him and the elders regarding church discipline on a personal level. Again, we could have stayed because of the people we cared about, and I could have removed myself from church politics. And again, Lois had been ready to leave long before the time we actually left. She was frustrated also with church politics, controlling leadership issues and seeing families leave because of the pastor. But it seems that our love and concern for the families there should have overridden our need to leave. We did maintain contact with the families that left when we left, but that only served to hurt the church more. Wisdom on my part was sorely called for.

The departure from house church was a lot more difficult to sort out. The greatest stress in the group was knowing that there were serious marital difficulties in two of the families, and it became very uncomfortable to meet each week and pretend that things were okay. We had just begun to open our eyes to doctrinal issues, but that was not what pulled us away, as far as I can tell. Like both Rev. R's and Rev. N's churches, I never went to any church leaders to seriously discuss why we were leaving. In this case I sent an email to the male leader of one family. I reported to him that we felt that the Lord was calling us away from the group, perhaps to teach us on a different level.

While I really believed in my heart that God had spoken to me, I will allow that my mind could have sought an easy way out. I wanted to keep the lines of communication open, but, by just leaving suddenly, we had hurt and frustrated those who were left. Two families had already left, and another was talking of leaving (aside to us). When we left, a single man and the family that had talked to us left also. Matters were made worse when we were asked by the people that left if we were going to continue house church. They wanted to come to our house. We said that we had no intention of starting another house church, but we said that they were welcome to have a meal with us on Sundays. Big mistake. Now, there's nothing wrong with having two house churches close together, but the timing was terrible. While we didn't have singing, prayer time, etc., we were most certainly gathering in the name of the Lord with those who had left the other families.

I was vehemently accused by a leader of the former house church (via emails) of plotting to form another house church all along. He went on to charge me with being controlling and manipulative over the years. None of this was true, and I responded that I was sorry that he felt that way. A phone call later with his wife confirmed that they both saw me as a liar, with the intention to hurt them. I know my heart, and I can assure anyone that I had no such plot or intentions. But the damage was done. Several attempts were made on our part to reconcile with them, but they have cut us off completely.

Again, I can't speak for Lois, but all three experiences have taught me that relationships are precious. And while spiritual differences are bound to come, some of which may cause some to not be comfortable meeting together, the more important position is honesty and love.

We have a new church now and are beginning to get to know the pastor and congregation. God is big on second chances. And third chances, or as many as it takes. I look forward to the day when old wounds will heal and love prevails.

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Lord, even though hindsight is supposed to be 20/20, why is it that, when we look forward again, the way can still be foggy? I want to love, and be loved. Give me the strength, honesty and courage to be open with people. And please give me the wisdom to know when to speak and what to say. There is a time for every purpose under Heaven. Show me the times.

Amen

2011-01-16T11:17:00.000-08:00

One more thing about the funeral. The "full time worker" (pastor) in his message said that believers who die must exist with disembodied spirits until the Rapture, when Jesus comes back to collect His own and raise the dead. He said that when we are reunited with the Lord, then we get new bodies. It could be my age, but I don't ever remember that teaching. I had heard that either you immediately go to be with the Lord and get your new body or you had an eternal sleep until the final judgement. This prompted a discussion in the car about God reassembling the molecules of even those who have been vaporized in a bomb blast or those who had been cremated and their ashes scattered to the winds. Now, I certainly agree that God has the power to do such a thing, but I'm more inclined to think that the spirit just gets a new body. It may have enough of the same appearance as the person we remembered, but without the imperfections. But I'm okay with floating around if that's what He wants.

*****

I went to visit jail buddy yesterday. A Bible verse comes to mind. It's the one about remembering those in prison. (Hebrews 13:3) I wonder if it meant remembering any who are in prison, or only those who are in there for professing or proclaiming Christ. This fellow is a confessed sex offender, who also happens to claim Christ as his Savior. Am I called to visit him because he is a Christian, or simply because God still loves him? In church today the pastor said that while we are praying for recovery of the shooting victims in Arizona, we should also pray for family members of those that died in that rampage. Then she added that we really should pray for the young man who did the shooting. While I know that it must be extremely difficult for any of those related to the victims to care for the shooter, can any of us reach a point at which we have true compassion for an individual with a troubled mind, who unleashes the rage within him?

My jail friend seems truly repentant, but only God knows the heart. He's looking at 20 years and is fighting the feeling that this is the end of his life. I have tried to encourage him in the fact that God has not abandoned him and will be with him through this part of his journey. This is my first experience of visiting someone regularly who has been incarcerated. For several years in my younger days I participated in jail ministries, but this is totally different. I can't imagine what it would be like to face 20 years with less-than-reputable company for one serious, but stupid mistake. I also reminded him that while he is alive, he still has the potential to influence lives by being a man of peace and an encouragement to those around him, to prison officials, as well as inmates.

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Father, I don't know for sure what form we will take after death, but I am sure that we will be in Your loving care. /// Please bring peace and comfort to those victims in Arizona who are in the process of healing, as well as for those who will need to recover from the loss of their loved ones. /// I pray for those who are in prison. Many are in jail around the world because of their belief. Others have failed society by whatever processes made them into who they are. Please let my friend know that he is still loved by You and that the ministry of reconciliation will ultimately bring all into your inner circle.

Amen

2011-01-15T16:23:00.000-08:00

It's interesting how funerals can tend to be more like reunions. You get to see old friends and family from near and far. I wriggled into my tie (ugh-h) and joined the family for receiving at the church. Aside from a few indecisions (does the family go out and come back in; should the casket be closed for the funeral?), it was a very nice service. Memories were shared by a son, a daughter, her husband and my daughter (who also sang). A grandson read a scripture passage, and a granddaughter had designed and prepared the bulletin.

Of course we didn't get away without a thorough dousing with the gospel message, given by the full time worker (they don't call them pastors or preachers in the Plymouth Brethren church) and sprinkled in the comments of one of the relatives who shared. My father-in-law was buried in the Resurrection Section of Woodlawn Cemetery in Orlando. It was a beautiful, sunny day (70 deg), with a gentle breeze. Another round of gospel message was presented, in case we didn't get it back at the church.

*****

Aside from my wife, Lois, I have not given any family names of my daughters, sons-in-laws or grandsons. This is to protect and respect their privacy. But if any of you are reading this and want to give me permission to use your first name, you know my number. I love you all.

*****

The trip back was safe and joyful. We encountered significant icing on the roadways in Atlanta, including witnessing the aftermath (by sheer moments) of a pile-up on the interstate due to the icy roads. It was in the opposite lanes, with a barrier separating us from them. Traffic was heavy, and emergency vehicles were having difficulty in reaching them. The rest of the trip went well, and we arrived in Fairview (outside of Nashville) after dark. My 11-month-old grandson won Cutest and Most Cooperative Traveling Baby award, and the two-year-old grandson won the Best Traveler EVER award. They both were amazing and a lot of fun.

Lois and I got back to Bristol safely (no thanks to my tire dealer) the next day. I went to have the front wheels balanced in Nashville (actually nearby Dickson) and found that something had been rolling around in my new tire, chewing up the inside wall. It was one of those infernal tire pressure monitoring system devices. I truly dislike them; they have caused several leaky and flat tires since we have owned the car. And to make matters worse, the idiot who worked on my tires last had duct-taped the device to the wheel! So, on Monday I'm off to the dealer to try to get him to make good on his inefficient staff error.

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Father, a big thank You for traveling mercies, and for somehow working it so that we didn't take my car to Florida, because we could easily have been in serious danger. I pray for those who were injured in the icy road crash in Atlanta. And I pray for those who will be helping my mother-in-law in this time of loss. Finally, I pray for any who might think that Lois and I have lost our salvation. Salvation is from the Lord. And since I'm praying to You now, obviously I couldn't have lost it.

Amen

2011-01-10T17:30:00.000-08:00

We got in late last night, at least too late to try to keep up with a daily journal. The trip was great, and we even made it through Atlanta before the big ice storm. As we were traveling on down I-75, we encountered a large convoy heading north toward Atlanta. It consisted of some 60 to 100 power utility trucks, along with at least 30 tree service trucks. Very impressive. Hope all of this is cleared up by the time we head back.

Lois and I slept in the room that her dad had died in just three days before. Her noise machine (white noise) starting acting mysteriously, with the sound going up and down, or cutting out altogether. Haunted? I checked it out in another room today, and it still doesn't want to cooperate. Silence was not golden last night for Lois; she needs that background noise. She originally got the device to counter my thunderous snoring. But now that I use a cpap mask, I don't snore. The ensuing silence is too much for her, now that she is conditioned to the noise.

Today was quite busy, chasing grandkids, receiving visitors and taking phone calls. Lois's mom also appears to be at a loss. She was used to the daily routine of caring for her spouse, and we were all helping her with her normal chores. So she is trying to cope with not only the change in routine, but the loneliness that will surely come when friends and relatives have gone away.

The funeral is set for tomorrow, starting at 9:30 AM at the church to begin receiving guests at 10:00. The funeral will follow at 11:00, with the interment several miles down the road at the cemetery. Family then will return to the church for a meal, prepared by the ladies of the church. So tonight's much-needed sleep should come easily.

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Father, I never tire of thanking you for keeping my family safe. And I pray for your watchful care over those who are being adversely affected by these winter storms. Please give everyone here strength for tomorrow as they remember their loved one who is now in your care, having left this earthly home.

Amen

2011-01-08T17:33:00.001-08:00

Have you ever tried to use those road condition helpers, like dialing a 3-digit number or going to your state web site? Don't be surprised if you find that the roads are better than they indicate. We left in a blowing snow, headed for Nashville. The road conditions were supposed to be treacherous for 3/4 of the way. One hour into the trip, no snow falling, blue skies. Two hours, no snow on the ground and sunshine.

We completed the journey in six hours, without listening to radio or CD. How could we do that? Well, when you're traveling with your best friend, you have plenty to talk about. You can even have quiet moments, when speaking isn't necessary. Then there's phone calls from the daughters, texting with a friend (I didn't do any of that, honest, I was driving!) and several stops to keep you occupied.

Three things you should check and/or fix before you go on a trip: 1) balance the tires -- unbalanced tires can wear your tread and make your hands fall asleep on the steering wheel; 2) address any strange noises -- what's that thump, thump when I turn left? -- my shade tree mechanics lesson via Google says it might be a cv joint going out, whatever a cv joint might be; and 3) windshield washers are a necessity on long trips, especially after heavy snows and heavier road salt --- of course, like me, you can always find the clearest spot on the windshield to see through while driving, or you could stop frequently and clean the windows.

The highlight of our one gas stop, though, was connecting with our old friend, Dunkin Donuts, and his little friends, Munchkins! The GERD (see previous blog or look it up) has eased up enough that I can tolerate a treat, as long as I keep the snack small. Which I did.

This was the first leg of our funeral road trip, and it went off without a hitch. No road rage (I never do), no slip-n-slide and no tickets (which I haven't done in a good while). And it was great to be with our daughter and her family again. She and our two grandchildren will join us on the next part of our journey to Florida tomorrow. Traveling mercies are always needed and appreciated.

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Lord, what a beautiful day we had! Thanks for calming the riot in my esophagus; I can still feel the irritation some, but it is much more manageable. We also give You thanks for safe travel thus far, and pray for continued safety on our journey. Be especially close to Lois's mom, Lord, because, even though we praise you daily, it is so difficult when you lose your mate of over 60 years.

Amen

2011-01-07T11:40:00.000-08:00

We got the call at 5:30 AM. Lois's father had died at around midnight. Following a bout with Alzheimer's disease that lasted ten years, he finally shook off his earthly garment. Lois is now one parent away from being an orphan like me. One person gets on the eternity bus, and the rest of us take one step forward in the line. That's life.

The day has been busy with phone calls and travel plans. Death has a way of altering all of our plans in a specific time window. And you're thinking all the while. You have mixed feelings about his passing. Lois said that he was now free from his earthly prison. And yet there is a finality to it. He would never have recovered. Nobody does from that disease.

As we grow older we begin to gradually discover that we can't do the same things that we could when we were young. Then, as we decline, we realize that we can't do them at all. But old people have two things going for them. They have plenty of fond memories. As children our minds would reel with anticipation that would only last until the moment was over. At this time of life, however, we have endless re-runs to enjoy. Sure, there were bad days. But when you become content in your current skin, the bad day re-runs don't seem to play as often.

The other thing we have going for us is a growing desire to see and be a part of the hereafter. We have become acutely aware that these few years on earth could not have been for nothing. We don't just believe in God; we can feel Him. We have amazingly energetic spirits in these now-defective bodies. And those spirits must have someplace to go.

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Lord of Life, be with our loved one who has just joined You. Help him to embrace the truths that he may have been confused about in this life. Be with his spouse in her grief. Give her courage for her new journey. And show us how we can continue to convey love to the family. Keep us safe as we travel to the funeral. We will indeed be transporting precious cargo.

Amen

2011-01-06T04:34:00.000-08:00

You know how after a few months into winter you start to get the "cold in your bones?" That means you're so ready for spring. Well, we started feeling the cold in our bones on December 23rd --- two days after the official start of winter! As I look out of my window at yet another snow, I can see a long winter ahead. Br-r-r-r.

Of course it's even more noticeable when you keep your thermostat at 63 degrees (thanks, Lois). She drops it to 62 deg when she can get away with it ;) And for a good reason: heating cost. We have an old house with 10-ft ceilings and a staircase. We also have gas heat; it heats quickly and well, but, even though prices have dropped some this year, the bill can jump up easily. So we bundle up and hunker down until we see the first buds on the trees.

Did I mention that I love being retired? The things I used to do outside of work I still do, but I don't have to rush around getting them done now. I get more exercise because I can take two 2-mile walks each day. I can volunteer more. And my part-time work hours are flexible, so I can accommodate wife or grandkids. On the downside I have more time to ponder my diseases, or suspected diseases. I wonder if something will progress before I can qualify for medical care. I'm what they call uninsurable. I think it has been about six years since I was kicked off state Medicaid --- even though I was paying a lot for it each month.

But, surprisingly, I'm still here. I was a dedicated patient. Whatever the doctor or specialist ordered, I would follow through. Endoscopy, colonoscopy, stress test, whatever. When they were taken away from me, I finally had to rely on God to see me through. That's a good thing. Next year I'll qualify for Medicare. I wonder if I'll go back to being a dutiful patient, or will I have the willpower to stay away unless it really hurts?

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Lord, I thank You for the seasons --- the beauty of the snow, the freshness of spring, the warmth of summer and the pungent sweet smell of brilliantly-colored leaves. And thanks for keeping me around awhile. I've lived a glorious life, even though I was not a very obedient child. Sorry for that. But here I am, waiting to see what happens next. Your will be done.

Amen

2011-01-05T05:04:00.000-08:00

I was excited to get a comment on one of my Framed By Faith articles (12/4/10). I don't usually get comments, but I was especially honored to hear from a respected writer by the name of Grace Fox. I confess that I know little about her, but I would like to get her book and read her thoughts on the subject of fear.

It's important to note that I haven't abandoned fundamentalist Christianity. I've always said that God's truth can be found anywhere, that there is a purpose for people believing things that may not make sense. At least they are keeping the communication lines open with God. The sincerity of that openness will determine how much the Holy Spirit will teach the true things of God. And I constantly pray that for myself.

I also left a comment today on an article on Beliefnet, in hopes that it might generate some traffic to my site, Framed By Faith. The article was on the commercialism of Advent juxtaposed against the less-celebrated Easter. I remarked that Advent was special to me in that Christ came to deliver God's real message: I love you. Now, live right! I see Easter as Jesus's great victory over death, giving us the courage to face, and not fear, death. I put my screen name as Framed_By_Faith, but when you click on it, you get a Beliefnet profile page that let's you set up your own home page. I didn't do the profile because it didn't appear to have any information that would link to Framed By Faith.

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Father, thank You for believers everywhere, no matter the denomination. And I give You thanks for Your truths that are embedded in other religions outside of Christianity. I continue to ask for wisdom for both blogs, as I share what is on my heart. As one of Your children, I want so much for others to find the true warmth in You --- especially those who are holding to their doctrines rather than holding Your hand.

Amen

2011-01-04T02:54:00.000-08:00

Lois shared with me an article that she had read in the Upper Room, a Methodist devotional. It was about a person who was confronted by the maintenance man in his building. The fellow had come to repair something in his apartment and remarked seeing several religious books there. He told the renter that he wanted to become a Christian, but didn't know how. The writer didn't give any details regarding how the man witnessed to the repairman, other than to say that he felt free to share Jesus with him.

Since our view (Lois and I) of the gospel is significantly different than it used to be, we discussed how we would handle a similar request. I think we both came to the same conclusion. Jesus went about giving the good news of God's love. The result was that He gained followers. So a Christian today could be anyone who follows Christ. To truly follow Christ is to understand and believe what He said about God. Of course this overlooks the atonement and its effect on the proper plan of salvation.

I have come to realize that I was so steeped in the fundamentalist Christian movement that I had taken its doctrines to be the eternal truth and that all who rejected, or even challenged, that truth would be tortured in Hell for all eternity. And because of my new approach to the gospel, I felt somewhat ostracized from those who call themselves Christian.

The wonderful thing that I have discovered, however, is that there are so many more who either don't dogmatically push the atonement, or who would rather focus on Christ's teaching and the love of God, manifested in our love for others. When I approach the subject with people, I don't tend to get the shock and awe that I would from a hardcore fundamentalist Christian. This is refreshing and makes me more comfortable in being myself.

Our church pastor mentioned on Sunday that she might be visiting us this week, so it will be interesting to see how deep we get in our conversations. I realize now that I don't have to wear my doctrinal positions on my sleeve, but it would be interesting to test my faith against those who hold firm to issues that I may now have reservations about.

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Lord, I thank You for revealing Yourself to us, even though I have trouble sorting through a lot of the reported revelations. I feel in my heart that You are near, even when my mind struggles with answers to difficult questions. And thank You for giving me a wife, with whom I can openly discuss the deep issues of life.

Amen

2011-01-03T08:12:00.000-08:00

I didn't make any New Year's resolutions. If I had, it would be to lose weight and keep my blogs going. My GERD is urging me to get my weight under control. As for my blogs, I think I'm doing fairly well. This one has become a daily journal, and articles are added to Framed By Faith three times a week. I enjoy writing, and I wish that I had taken it seriously very early in my life.

The worship leader at our church declared her New Year's resolution to the congregation, in that she wants to be a better Christian every day. I think that's a good one for all of us. There may be some differences, however, on what it means to be a better Christian. Some would say go to church more, or read your Bible more. Others would instruct us to be nicer to our neighbors, devoted to our family and be peacemakers. Many would say sharing the gospel daily. But, again, what does that mean?

In Sunday school (Methodist) we discussed the concept of God as our Redeemer. When asked how we get redemption, there were several responses, from asking God to redeem us to giving our hearts and devotion to Him. Interestingly, no one brought up the name of Jesus. In our fundamental background it would be a blasphemy to not connect Jesus's death with our redemption.

Since Jesus spent His entire ministry turning many hearts to God, I feel right at home with fellow church-goers referring to God as our Redeemer. The only reason that Jesus called people to follow Him was because He was following God. He knew that if we became like Himself, then we would be in God's perfect will.

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Father, I pray that I might be a better person in this new year. I'm already a Christian because I follow your Son, Jesus. I know that I don't have the whole salvation/redeemer stuff completely figured out, but it is obvious that You care for me as a son. Because I am Your son.

Amen

2011-01-02T04:11:00.000-08:00

This is the Lord's day. Also Epiphany, marking the last day of the Christmas season. Traditionally the day that the magi visited the baby Jesus. There are several versions on when these guys actually showed up. And the famous star apparently wasn't low enough to point directly at the nativity gathering because the wise men were asking around in Jerusalem about where the child was to be born. Today they would have just Googled it.

Epiphany is not just an event. It can be a light-bulb. I'm sure that I had an epiphany several years ago when I came to realize what I now believe to be the true meaning of the gospel. Amazingly, Lois was completely on board the minute I began to tell her. But epiphanies may not bring what you would expect. We were immediately thrust into the minority of the Christian belief system.

Of course, what is now found in the standard Christian doctrines includes a lot of stuff that has been added on (or re-interpreted) since the early church. So, it may be, perhaps, that we are in good company with the first believers. Unlike the standard gospel, which can be shared with all, this gospel can only be shared with those who haven't heard, or can't accept, the traditional gospel.

We shared it with one individual, who fully embraced it, then left it, and is now a Greek Orthodox follower. Another fellow came on board slowly, continued to take the best of both worlds, and is now serving time in prison. Two families totally rejected us and refuse to even discuss spiritual things because of the "false gospel" that we allegedly now have. Lois's sister doubts our salvation. A widow in our neighborhood accepted it with joy; and she had been well-founded in the traditional gospel. Not a very good track record so far. But didn't Jesus say that the road to eternal life would be narrow?

Of course, I don't mean that only a few of us will live forever, and the rest will burn in Hell. I believe that all are God's children and that He will eventually get them back onto the narrow path. Could we be wrong? It's possible. We're willing to accept that, because we love the Lord dearly, and we know that He will do the very best for us. What we are learning has drawn us much closer to Him, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. We enjoy freedom and peace.

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Lord, with thankful hearts we have celebrated the birth (on earth) of Your Son, Jesus. And I know that You know our hearts. We love you, Father, and we believe that what we believe came from You. If we are wrong, please show us the right way. If we are right, please show us how to share the truly good news. Lord, we also believe that you have taught us that how we live our lives as loving servants is far greater than any doctrine. Your will be done.

Amen

2011-01-01T17:54:00.000-08:00

1-1-11

Welcome to the positive new year. In binary code each "1" and "0" can mean True/False, Postive/Negative, On/Off, etc.. So all 1's on the first day of the year could mean "all systems go." But that's just my oversimplified computer logic. Some people look with trepidation at the new year. Will our government collapse? Who will live and who will die in my family? What disease will I or someone close to me contract this year? Will I win the lottery (based upon my investment into the Tennessee Department of Education, of course)? Who in this year will change their love for me to hate? Who will grow to love me? I think that we are to look forward with positive anticipation. There will be plenty of time to address problems when they appear.

NEW YEAR'S DAY MEAL

We had two daughters, one son-in-law and four grandsons over for another family gathering. Of the traditional menu items we had: black-eyed peas (coins or good luck), greens (folding money(Lois put them in the soup for her and Becki)), cabbage (more monetary prosperity(we used KFC cole slaw)), and peaches (I think my mother said they represented gold, but I can't find it anywhere else). No pork or corned beef; we had boiled shrimp and manicotti. I forgot to locate an online New Year's Day prayer, so I winged it, as I have for many, many years. It felt good. We followed it up with a rousing game of Sorry, and the youngest grandson on site won! What made it extra special is I got their noses out of their Ninentendos that they got for Christmas.

Long day, brief news.

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Father, I thank You for the New Year. Help us to improve in those areas that we failed during last year, and also help us to understand what living each day truly means, because 2012 will come soon enough. /// I don't think I can ever stop thanking you for my family. May they be richly blessed in this year.

Amen

2010-12-31T18:08:00.000-08:00

A BEAUTIFUL DAY

We were blessed with a glorious day today. Blue skies, sunshine and a temperature around 65. I could get used to this. I just need to remind myself that the first day of winter was only NINE DAYS AGO. But we take each day as it comes. The snow was exciting; now it's gone. But it will be back. Lois and I are reminded of when we lived in Florida, how a day like today would be a chilly winter day in December. Be thankful for each good day; there's a lot of other people who have it worse.

NEW YEAR'S EVE

The grocery stores were packed today, as were the liquor stores (we saw them as we drove by). Everyone getting ready to party in the new year. For most of my married life I partied alone, because my partner can't stay awake until midnight. Now that we are older, I have trouble staying awake until midnight. So we go to bed, then roll over when the dogs wake us up at midnight because they hear fireworks. Tonight we had a special treat. We celebrated New Year's with London, England, at 7:00 PM EST, by way of Nashville, Tennessee, with my daughter and her family, by means of speaker-phone. Thanks BBC.

Short blog tonight. See you next year.

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Father, thank You for bringing us through this year. Give us hope for the year to come. Let us love and laugh and live. Be with those who will wake up tomorrow and won't remember what they did tonight. And especially be with those who wake up and DO remember what they did --- and it wasn't good. We're all a work in progress, Lord, and that's what makes us special. We are Yours.

Amen

2010-12-30T19:00:00.000-08:00

SO LONG, CHRISTMAS

Some folks leave their decorations up until New Year. Others leave them up until July. Still others never take them down. Not us. We gave them another five days; now they're gone. If you turn the M upside-down, ChristMas becomes ChristWas. As in Christ WAS born in Bethlehem. Jesus's birthday party is over, and everyone has gone home. Now people can stay away from church until Easter. Here's hoping that a growing number of Christmas observers will come to realize that the emphasis is less on who Christ WAS, but who Christ IS. He truly is life-changing.

SIR GIBBIE

Lois and I continue to re-read the works of George MacDonald. She is currently re-reading Sir Gibbie, written in 1879. Neither of us can read through a story without prompting some discussion between us on spiritual truths that we find. This story is about a mute orphan who is the closest resemblance to an earthly angel that anyone could hope for. He is the living persona of I Corinthians 13:4-7. He is eager to do what is put before him, going about his business cheerfully. Even when it was found out later that he was a laird (lord) by birth, it never detracted from his generous spirit. Lois and I compare ourselves to him, often finding that we come up way short. We are too quick to judge and rationalize. Hopefully, that is changing, be it ever so gradually.

PIZZA AND POCKY

Usually once a week our daughter brings her three boys over for a visit; our oldest grandson also joins us. The boys get along wonderfully. They hang out together for a while, then I go get pizza. When I got back with the pizza I asked one of the boys if he brought some pocky for dessert. I first learned of pocky over Thanksgiving when their father and they were trading quips about pocky, like, "My pocky can beat your pocky," or "Let's pocky off to the store." So on Christmas day one boy got some pocky in his stocking. Turns out it's a Japanese biscuit stick coated in chocolate, actually quite good. Normally after pizza we will play some kind of game. But since two of the younger boys got Nintendos for Christmas (their middle brother got one for his birthday), today was different. I can find a book to read or visit with my daughter, and the oldest grandson interacts with each of them, while working his ipod. One of the boys asked me to take the Brain Age challenge. It's a series of problems to solve, the results of which tell the estimated age of your brain. I'm sad to report that I have the brain of a 75-year old --- I'm 63 :(

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Lord, I pray that we can take the concepts of joy and giving from Christmas and make them a permanent part of our lives. I also pray that we might have the innocence of Sir Gibbie, always ready to do good. /// Thank you, Father, that our family from here to Nashville can come into our home and truly feel at home. May they always be aware that we love them dearly.

Amen

2010-12-29T18:13:00.000-08:00

THE MAN FROM G.E.R.D.

When you get older your bodily functions become the centerpiece of many of your conversations. Bowel movements and overactive bladders aside, Lois and I are currently discussing our GERD (gastroesophageal reflux disease). It's basically heartburn that has backed a moving van up to the base of your esophagus. I have suffered from it for decades; Lois is just starting to take it seriously. I take one prescription medication and one OTC (over the counter) for it, but I still get bouts of irritation. So we're trying to watch what we eat, as well as when we eat, like just before bedtime. You're supposed to not eat 3 hours before you go to bed. But who can stay awake 3 hours and not get hungry? I seriously need some willpower, because I don't want to face the advanced condition that can bring on esophageal cancer. Rev. N (previous blog) got it, and I'm told that it's a painful way to die. We are bombarded with warnings of serious conditions that affect millions of Americans. Yet we still refuse to lose weight, stop smoking and stop drinking. And waiting for a New Year's resolution won't cut it.

PROUD TO BE A DOCUMENTED WORKER

Oh right, I was born here. Well, it had to happen. The Latinos are now upset that, when they sneak across the border into the U.S., they are referred to as illegal aliens. Hello. Coming into this country without going through the proper channels IS illegal. And whether you come from Mars or Mexico, if you aren't a U.S. citizen, you're an ALIEN. As one news reporter put it, "This isn't just pushing the political correctness envelope; it's poking a hole in it." I get the desire they have to flee from the drug cartels and risk their lives getting into the Land of Plenty. But own up to your name, and stop whining about it.

FATHER, KEEP HER SAFE

Whenever Lois leaves the house to go to the store without me, or to a ladies meeting, I pray, "Father, please keep her safe." I've grown attached to her (have been for a long time), and I can't bear the thought of not seeing her again. I don't know if my prayer will actually protect her, but I want God to know that I'm wanting Him to watch over her. And for the record, I prayed the same prayer over each of my teenage daughters whenever they left the house without us. I even prayed it again when I was watching out the window late at night (or early morning) to see the car headlights coming up the street. I don't know if those prayers were necessary or effective, but all four of my girls are alive and well today. And for that I am thankful.

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Lord, you know I've asked before, but I really could use some help with my unhealthy ways. And I pray that when diseases do come (some already have), You will help my mind to focus on You until this earthly tent is discarded. /// Father, I think of You when I enjoy the privileges of living in the free world. I pray for those less fortunate; perhaps they think more of You because they are in need. /// Lord, I can't imagine the heartbreak of losing a spouse or a child. I am truly blessed by those You have given me and have increased my tent by son-in-laws and grandsons.

Father, please keep them safe.

Amen

2010-12-28T18:24:00.000-08:00

WAKE UP TO MURDER

The first thing I do in the morning is take my coffee, go online and check out three things: weather, local news, then national/world news. At the top of the local list was a story of a man from a nearby town who shot his wife to death the day after Christmas. No reason was given for the murder. I can't imagine how it must feel to take a life. It's difficult enough to be on the killing end of a military conflict; to forcefully stop the heart of another human, especially someone close, is really hard to comprehend. Your first reaction is that the killer must be crazy, just what the defense attorney would want you to say. I suppose there has to be crimes of passion, along with premeditated murder. Does God love a murderer --- or just a crazy murderer? Where do you draw the line?

MY UNWANTED ALARM CLOCK

For many years I was awakened with coffee and a kiss. Not many husbands can relate to that. I'm not sure when that stopped, but I think that it was my decision. Was I crazy? I never needed an alarm clock because Lois had an internal clock (just like her father) that got her up plenty early. Now we both have a different alarm clock --- sciatic pain. It wakes us up long before any well-respected alarm clock would dare to. We both take the less aggressive prescription pills, along with over-the-counter NSAIDs (non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs), but they're only effective about half the night. The rest is spent in tossing and turning. Pain from sciatica is located just above the hip, usually radiating downward along the leg. It can range from excruciating to chronically annoying. But we share the disease with millions of Americans, the only difference being that they have insurance :(

WHERE IS BABY JESUS?

One street over from our house a family erected some plywood cutouts for Christmas decorations, including the Nativity. However, the manger in the scene has been empty from Day 1. We checked every day to see if the baby would show up. Then we decided that Baby Jesus would appear Christmas night, proclaiming his wondrous arrival. Not a chance. It's two days after Christmas, and He's still missing. There were news stories this year about people who paid for GPS (global positioning satellite) chips in their Baby Jesus, so that he could be tracked if stolen by vandals. These people, however, needed to put out an APB (all points bulletin), because the Holy Child never showed up for roll call.

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Heavenly Father, I sometimes struggle with how our world could have been created to allow such atrocities as murder. I can't explain it away, but neither can I give up my trust in You. Let me love where love can be given, and help me to not be brought down by the ugliness in the world. And I know that many others suffer worse pain than Lois and I are experiencing. Thank you for helping us to persevere, and we look forward to those new bodies you have promised. You can call off the search for Baby Jesus. I found Him. He's in my heart.

Amen

2010-12-27T18:19:00.000-08:00

MORE SNOW

My daughter did not like to hear that I was out shoveling snow off of the sidewalk. She knew that such activity was a leading cause of heart attacks in winter. It's a good thing she didn't know that I walked the dogs later in our super-icy alley. Oops! But I'm still amazed at how snow makes everything look so beautiful. And when the sun breaks through, the snow begins to sparkle.

FOND MEMORIES

We had received a Christmas form letter from a family that attended our house church. They had moved westward in Tennessee and we hadn't heard about them in years. They were such a sweet couple and, at the time, had two shy, but adorable little girls. They've since added to their family. What struck me most was how warm and humble they were. We looked up their address and found that they were only a couple of hours from our Nashville daughter. It would be great to see them again. But you have to wonder what they would think of us if they knew what we believe now. Sometimes I feel like an undercover Christian. I have this gut feeling that many Christians are too comfortable in their faith, with no desire to challenge what they believe. Of course, I could be wrong, but it will be wonderful when, someday, we're all on the same page.

CAR TALK

With 88,000 miles on our car, I decided it was time to have the transmission fluid changed. The folks at Jiffy Lube remind me at each oil change of a number of recommended services for my particular vehicle, all of which hit my wallet with increasing intensity. I'm stuck between "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" and "woulda-coulda-shoulda" when something goes wrong. So I checked the net and decided to accept the advice of my old friends (not personally), Ray and Tom Magliozzi (aka Click and Clack, the tappet brothers). They said do it. So I did.

GAME ON

After several straight days of holiday hustle, Lois and I found a little free time on our hands. I know, we're retired, so we should have a lot of free time, right? You'd be surprised how busy our days are. Anyway, today we took a break to play some Canasta. It's a card game that I started playing with my parents ever since I could hold cards. It would be interesting to know just how many games I've played in my lifetime. Lois and I seem to be pretty evenly matched --- or is it the luck of the cards? The game is relaxing, and we're both good sports. Of course, winning feels so good.

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Lord, thanks for sending those extra guardian angels to keep me upright on the snow and ice today. And thanks for friends of churches past, whose hearts will one day blend with ours in worshiping You. I pray for wisdom on things that I'm not very good at, like maintenance on cars and handling money. Thank you for relaxation, when I can unwind with my best friend. I know that rest was designed by You, and some of us rest too much, while others desperately need it. Help us to have a healthy balance in caring for these mortal tents You have put us in.

Amen

2010-12-26T18:21:00.000-08:00

'TWAS THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS

Usually after Christmas I feel a little down; not only the excitement is over, but the anticipation of the excitement is over. But, for some reason, I didn't feel that way this time. We woke up to more snow. Not enough to keep us from going out, but a few inches to keep everything looking like a postcard. It's also special to wake up to the good news that no terrorist attack on the United States had happened on Christmas, despite all of the warnings. I still don't get terrorism. How could a good god want people to kill people in his name? And why would anyone want to commit suicide in the process, not really being sure what is on the other side? It sure gives credibility to the act of brainwashing. Of course our own Judeo-Christian Bible contains passages in which the LORD God gives a similar order. I don't know how I ever believed it. Of course, if it is true, then I am totally missing God's purpose, and I trust Him to straighten me out. I think that we grow fastest spiritually when we are willing to consider (and possibly commit to) change.

HOW MANY BLACK FRIDAYS ARE THERE?

This was supposed to be another banner day for stores due to the plethora of gift returns and after-Christmas specials. What makes a person stand in a long line to return a gift that they don't like, when they could wait a week or two and avoid the hassle? I mean, they didn't even have the thing two days ago. I did, however, take advantage of a great post-Christmas special. After countless times of trying to wrangle my coat zipper back down when it came off track, I decided to look for a new one (coat, that is). Sears had great winter jackets for 70% off. Of course, you always have to wonder if the coat would have ever been on the rack with the original price on the tag. Anyway, at the register I was asked if I wanted to sign up for a Sears MasterCard. I said no, because I couldn't be trusted with one. Actually, I was thinking of Lois, who definitely can't be trusted with one. I know she doesn't think of it as free money (I hope), but she tries to rationalize budgeting low monthly payments that never seem to get the balance paid off. Truth be known, I'm not sure I could even trust myself.

What is it with a government that sets a bad example for its citizens by spending what it doesn't have. If millions of Americans max out their credit cards, it's supposed to be helping the economy. How wrong is that? What I didn't tell the Sears clerk is that I already have a Sears MasterCard. It just happens to be in about 30 pieces, lying in the bottom of some landfill, along with its cousins --- JC Penny, Belk and Lowes. May they rest in peace-es.

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Father, thank you that Christmas is still in my heart the day after Christmas, and may tomorrow be likewise. I pray that the mothers of terrorists would decide to put an end to this chaos. That they would either raise their young ones to live peacefully, or stop having children altogether. And thank you that, at least for now, I have the willpower to not add debt on top of debt. Now maybe we can work on my nail biting and nighttime snacks.

Amen

2010-12-25T19:17:00.000-08:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL

We woke up to a white Christmas. Not so much snow to keep family away from coming to dinner, just enough dusting to make everything look clean and bright. Lois and I and the girls entered into an agreement some years back that we would stop buying gifts for each other and use our individual resources for their children, and our grandchildren. So far it's working great. Our tradition is to gather at our house on Christmas morning, share a light breakfast and watch the kids open their presents. This morning we started a video hook-up with our Nashville daughter and her family. It was great to be able to see and hear them in our living room. It was short-lived, however, because we kept losing the connection. There may have been network problems on such a busy day, but I suspect that my laptop has issues and is more likely the culprit. The dinner also was excellent and the fellowship sweet. I read a short Christmas prayer by Robert Louis Stevenson. I think the folks at our table are still used to me praying in the usual way, but Lois and I feel that this could be the beginning of another great tradition because the Lord has put so many intimate prayers in the minds of a lot of writers.

AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT

Nothing wears you out like a busy Christmas day. Ours started at 4:30 AM for Lois, 5:30 for me. But it was worth it all and makes Christmas night rest so welcome.

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Lord, thank you for a beautiful Christmas day. Thank you for our three lovely daughters and our six beautiful grandsons. And, of course, our fine son-in-laws. And thank you especially for the birth of Jesus, who would grow up to speak words of truth from You. He would show us how to live and love, and how to make Christmas wonderful, overflowing to each day of the coming year.

Amen

2010-12-24T18:17:00.001-08:00

CHRISTMAS COOKING

'Twas the day before Christmas and all through the house --- cooking smells. Lois and I (mostly Lois) worked on Christmas dinner dishes (eating, not washing), with me making a last minute grocery run. It still amazes me what all goes into this holiday meal, and the time it takes to prepare it, only to see it consumed in less than an hour. But leftovers make it all worthwhile.

I WON'T BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

I wrote a letter to jail buddy, who will be spending the better part of the next 20 years behind bars. I still can't believe that he won't be joining us for family gatherings (he never came for Christmas). It is still harder to believe that he did what he confessed to --- aggravated sexual battery of a minor. I have visited him countless times over the past six months, have attended every hearing, as well as the sentencing. Soon I can only write letters, because he will be transferred to a state prison facility. I'm sure there are those who can't understand why I didn't cut him loose from our 12-year friendship when I found out what he did. I did make it very clear to him what I felt about his crime, and he fully realizes the seriousness of it and understands that this is a necessary part of his journey. But God never gives up on us; I feel that I can do no less for J---. I don't know his heart, nor do I know if he is truly repentant, but, if he is, then who am I to hold judgement over him? God can surely be with him through his incarceration.

CHRISTMAS EVE CANDLELIGHT SERVICE

After many years of not attending one of these, Lois and I bundled up and headed down to our local church. The congregation was sparse, but the service was warm and loving. It culminated with communion (all are welcome in the Methodist church) and the passing of Christ's light to each other by way of candles, while singing "Silent Night." It's difficult to not get choked up, especially when Rev. B is always near tears. While I still have many questions about the things of the Bible, and especially some interpretations that have been carried forward, I see a very necessary role of the church and clergy in Christ's kingdom. George MacDonald wrote, "Religion is simply the way home to the Father."

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Lord, I thank you for family and the love that surrounds us. Bring our love to those who can't be with us this Christmas. I know that J--- is still your child, even though he violated a child. Please bring healing to her and forgiveness to him. He welcomes your discipline, because he understands that it is a necessary step toward reconciliation. And thank you for the sensitivity of our pastor --- a good sensitivity that seeks to love and embrace all that she encounters. And, just for the record, I'm not waiting up for the Big Guy; they don't come any bigger than You.

Amen

2010-12-23T18:58:00.000-08:00

MORE SHOPPING --- STILL FUN

This was grocery store shopping for Christmas dinner. There will be eight family members around our table on Saturday. Of that group five are vegetarians, two are omnivores and one is a vegan. Try coming up with a menu for that combination! We have three omnivores locally, but our oldest grandson has to skip our meal and join his other grandparents for Christmas dinner. Even though the challenge comes up each holiday, Lois and the girls meet and surpass it with several tasty dishes. I can't say firsthand, but I'll take their word for it :)

FINAL SHOPPING --- WITH A TWIST

I believe this is our second go 'round at what is shaping up to be an annual event. Lois and I gather up the local grandsons, give them a few bucks and take them shopping for gifts for their parents. What a thrill! We enjoy so much being with them, watching them carefully select just the right present, then grabbing a bite to eat. And they all, without prompting, thanked us for taking them.

The traffic was busy, and the stores were crowded, but our little charges remained patient. I can think of no other holiday that clogs up the highways and byways so. There must be something to this Christmas celebration each year. Maybe Jesus is pleased that we are exchanging gifts in honor of him --- at least for those of us who do it for that reason :(

A CHRISTMAS CARD --- WITH PREACHING

We got a very nice card from Lois's sister and her husband. The card was homemade, nicely done, with the message of God's love to us by sending his Son. Enclosed was a handwritten, 2-page letter from Lois's sister, listing supporting verses that implied that Jesus came to die for our sins. She closed the letter with the promise that she was praying God would shine a light in our darkened hearts. What a nice Christmas wish! We left fundamentalist Christianity; we're not spiritually dead! You'll have to read previous articles to find out what we now believe, but I can assure you it includes God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. If we supposedly have darkened hearts, why are we experiencing so much peace, freedom and love?

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Father, I don't know if you want us all to be vegetarians, but thank you for the graciousness that is shared around our table by such diverse eaters. And what wonderful grandsons you have given us! I thank you for keeping us safe today with our precious cargo. Lord, I pray that Lois's sister would come to realize that she need not fear our destiny. If we don't get anything else right, we would want her to know that we love You dearly and trust You daily for each step we take. I look forward with joy to that day when we will be reconciled with her.

Amen

2010-12-22T19:18:00.000-08:00

THE BEST PART OF WAKING UP

Is waking up ... at my age ... pa-dump! The next best thing is morning coffee with Lois. This morning was an early shopping day, so we launched it with breakfast out. Then to the stores. Early risers seem to be in better spirits, and store clerks are still fresh, before the hoard of complaining customers arrive. I'm not sure that she is always aware of it (even though I tell her), but I totally love shopping with Lois. Actually, I love doing anything with Lois. While we, like most marriages, have had our ups and downs over the past 42 years, not many can say that their spouse is their best friend.

This was a relatively uneventful, but busy day, which ended with ---

OFFICE PARTY

Not the drinking and carousing kind. I never could figure those out. Half the people can't remember what they did, and the other half end up paying for what they did. Not really, but I'm sure that a lot of them fall into one or the other of the two categories. All in celebration of Christ's birth. Go figure. This party, however, was actually a dinner (delicious, by the way) given by the doctor and his wife, at a local steak house. I was asked to pray after the salads were served, which was a bit difficult with a tomato wedge tucked in my cheek. Okay, so I don't pray before meals much anymore. It doesn't mean I've left the faith. But the food and fellowship were great.

__________________________________________________

Lord, I thank you for my best friend, who remains beautiful inside and out. Thanks again for keeping me ticking past retirement age and for former (now part-time) employers, who have treated me like family for 12 years. Sometimes we didn't get along, but it all turned out well in the end. Thank you for sleep, the time my body rests, and my spirit roams.

Amen

2010-12-21T18:31:00.001-08:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS, FOX

I don't know how "fair and balanced" they are, but I admire Fox News for not only boldly proclaiming Merry Christmas, but for inserting Biblical verses in their holiday greetings. All of this political correctness is driving me nuts. It's Jesus's birthday, folks. Deal with it.

THE LONGEST NIGHT

At least a couple of my grandsons were going to stay up last night to witness a phenomenon. The last time a total lunar eclipse occurred on the same night as winter solstice, Rembrandt probably stayed up for it. I don't know if the boys made it, or if they saw it, due to overcast skies, but I hope they did. Me, I was z-z-z-z-z-z.

WORKING FOR THE MAN --- A LITTLE

Now that I'm retired, going to work is quite pleasant. The Social Security Administration allows me to earn a little extra money along with my government retirement checks. Aren't they nice! So I put in some time at the office. I never realized how much stress I had been experiencing until I retired. Now, going in a few hours a week as a consultant, still no stress. Sweet!

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Father, thank you for sending your Son; though many may still not notice, He's made a huge impact on us. And the night sky especially shows me just how awesome your creation is, and how our little, spinning planet is just a dot on your enormous canvas. I'm sorry that I didn't allow you to help me overcome the stress on the job. Maybe you did; it could have been a lot worse.

Amen

2010-12-20T19:42:00.000-08:00

LOOK - IT'S A NEWS ALERT!

What's with Fox News? No matter what the news, or how old the story is, the flashing banner reads FOX NEWS ALERT or BREAKING NEWS. It's like the boy that cried "wolf." After awhile you ignore them, then you miss some really important news. FOX NEWS ALERT --- cat rescued off of roof in Jamesport, Missouri --- FOX NEWS ALERT

THANKS, KIA

Why do tire problems always happen on the coldest days? Curse those fancy cars with their fancy do-dads that always break down! Okay, my KIA minivan is not fancy, but it has a tire pressure monitoring system (TPMS) that lights up when it thinks a tire is getting low. Trouble is I've had a tire that kept getting seriously low plus one completely flat tire BECAUSE of the TPMS monitors leaking. And fumbling with the air valve cover with freezing fingers is no thrill.

YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN

I just finished homeschooling my 17 yo grandson on his first expository essay. It was thoroughly rewarding (at least for me), and he did a terrific job. I'm convinced that he has a knack for writing. Plus the assignment put me back in touch with some of the classics, like Nathaniel Hawthorne's short story about a man who loses his faith, then shuns his Faith (his wife), showing how those that seem pious may not be so squeaky clean.

A LITTLE CONSIDERATION?

I came out to run an errand, and someone had blocked my driveway. That always irks me. The inner terror wants to locate the culprit and lecture them with, "Are you an idiot?" "Can't you see that you're blocking someone in, which, by the way, is against the law in the city?" "I should have had you ticketed!" Then the angel on my right shoulder says, "Come on, it's Christmas. Be nice." Then the deeper voice within me says, "Have I not taught you anything?"

SPEEDWAY IN LIGHTS

I love the annual tradition when I load up the grandsons in the minivan and take them through the grounds of the local race track. Bristol Motor Speedway strings up about a bazillion lights in 200 designs that you can drive through, then end up on the track of the World's Fastest Half Mile, finally taking a break in the infield, freezing your tail feathers off while the kids climb aboard a pirate ship and ride the rides. I have such neat grandsons, and I miss the two long-distance ones who would love to join in.

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I pray, Lord, for the truly difficult times that people are having in the world. I pray also for patience for dealing with things and people who push my buttons. And thanks for giving me another year to bask in the warmth of my loving family.

Amen

2010-12-19T19:10:00.000-08:00

SHARING MY FAITH --- OR NOT

Lois and I had a great discussion this morning about our involvement with the Methodist church and if what we believe, which is contrary to what they believe, will eventually be a problem. This conversation was prompted by a phone call from the pastor, Barbara, last night. She only called to tell us that Sunday school was cancelled, but we chatted for a little while, and in the course of that conversation she commented on my singing and speaking voice. I told Lois that our new faith was very likely responsible for our view of church and doing leadership things in it. I also said that, if I was honest, how could I not spill the beans, so to speak, to explain why I don't sing in the choir, teach a class, sing solos, etc.? We finally came to realize that we were different with regard to our church re-involvement because Lois could just go to ladies' meetings and keep her faith low. But for me, coming from over 40 years of experience of "performing" up front, and now writing a blog, Framed By Faith, where I basically lay it all out, it's quite difficult to explain why I've changed without coming across as if those things are now beneath me, which they aren't. They're just not where I'm at now. We agreed to proceed, with the Lord giving us wisdom to address things as they come up.

CANTATA

The choir did a great job, as did the soloists, organist, pianist, violinist (Barbara) and choir director. The church was full, and everyone clapped when it was over. I'm still having trouble wrapping my mind around whether this was entertainment or a form of worship. Maybe it was a little of both.

A WALK IN THE PARK

After several successive days of snow, ice and freezing weather, the skies parted, and the sun put in an appearance. It's quite exhilarating to walk the dogs on a beautiful, yet chilly, day. Lois and I are both concerned about the condition of outside pets in our neighborhood, especially when the weather is unbearable. Following a previously failed attempt to get animal control to address the issue, we would almost rather see the dogs die than to see them suffer so. I think God may having something to say to people who abuse pets.

WON'T YOU BE MY NEIGHBOR?

I saw her from my window, across the street, fiddling with the water meter cover. I walked over and asked what problem she was having. She said that a faucet was leaking (on the hot side), where her ex-husband (who still lives with her) had attempted to replace a washer. He was working the flea market and hadn't returned home. I said that she could turn off the hot water at the water heater, so that she didn't have to turn off all of the water. She said that the water heater was in the basement and that she won't go down there. I offered to go do it for her, but she declined, saying that he would be home soon. She struggled at turning the shut-off key for the main line, so I turned it for her. Again I offered to get just the hot water turned off. No --- thanks anyway, she said. She would wait for him to get home. We've lived in this house for over nine years, and it's still difficult to get some neighbors to trust you. But I can't blame her; I've already forgotten their names. Some neighbor I am!

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Lord, help me to be honest about my faith, but wise in sharing it. Keep me from being judgmental; instead let me enjoy life and those living it with me. Thank you for neighbors; please make me a better one.

Amen

2010-12-18T14:32:00.000-08:00

My dad was a Methodist from birth. My mother was a Methodist by default. They are both buried in a Methodist cemetery, next to their home church. Most of our married life Lois and I seemed to be drawn to non-denominational churches. I'm not really sure why. I think it might have been because they were so structured. We didn't realize that the very churches that we were attending were plenty structured.

Our current goal is to use church in order to re-build our social network. I know that sounds selfish and contrary to the accepted reason for going to church, which is to worship, but there it is. We had lost intimate fellowship with other believers because some had rejected us for what we now believed, and we were quite certain the rest would if they knew. And we knew that we couldn't attend the type of churches that we were used to because our new belief would ultimately come into play.

Our research of the Methodists showed that, generally speaking, they were open to various doctrines, while being centered on the basic gospel: man sinful, God loves, Jesus died, accept Jesus, go to Heaven. We weren't sure if, being in the Bible belt, our local Methodist churches were more fundamental than the United Methodists in general.

I had already scoped out the UM church on our street. I visited it a couple of times with jail-buddy (see previous article). Lois was not interested in going to regular church at that time. The pastor was a lady. Having finally gotten over my women-teaching-men hang-up, I was pleasantly surprised with what I saw in her. She was tall, with long, flowing hair and a long, flowing robe. Looked like an angel. She conducted the services with such sincerity and love, and she appeared to have the heart of a humble servant.

So when Lois and I decided to visit a few years later, we were pleasantly surprised to find that she was still there. Lois reacted the same way as me. Rev. B had such a sweet spirit and emanated pure love. After a couple of Sundays we took the plunge and attended Sunday school. The ten or twelve people in our class were friendly and welcoming. The lessons from the prepackaged Methodist material contained many things that we now don't believe. But we figured that in order to live in Rome, you had to at least act Roman. We gave some responses in class, but have been careful enough so far not to ruffle any fundamentalist feathers.

We're not sure where this is going with the Methodists, but we are slowly getting to know folks, and we are feeling a little more at home when we go. Nobody has asked us any specific questions about doctrine, so we are safe so far.

Well, that brings me up to date on my journey. So, what's next? I guess I'll turn this blog into a journal, hopefully a daily journal. I'll try to not offend or incriminate anyone :)

And I may not always make a daily deadline. I'm still hammering out a fledgling blog called Framed By Faith, my goal being three articles a week.

And I may go back to titles, just for fun. See you tomorrow. Maybe.

2010-12-17T10:30:00.000-08:00

To my great surprise, and with thankful heart, I lived long enough to retire early. And was I ever ready for it! I literally felt a huge load of stress lift from me when I walked out of that office on my last day. I have since returned as a consultant part-time, but I have absolutely no stress with it. I'm enjoying each day that God provides and am looking forward to my next milestone --- Medicare.

I've been uninsured for a few years, and I have a couple more years to go before I reach Medicare age. This is another thing I have been thankful for, that I have had no major heart or diabetes concerns. I never had insurance coverage at work, so leaving the job had no impact on me. I take each day at a time and have often whispered, "Your will be done," when I'm lying in bed, thinking that something might be happening to me.

I celebrated my retirement by going with Lois to Nashville for the birth of our sixth grandson. We stayed for about 1-1/2 weeks and thoroughly enjoyed being there for the event, then we came back to prepare our house for sale (failed attempt, by the way). I went to the local senior center and got all of the information on retiree activities. However, I have yet to pull one off. I went for Scrabble. Nobody showed. I went for bingo. Turns out the others had gotten there early, ate quickly, then played bingo early because they were bored. All over by the time I arrived. Tried to join the bowling group. The schedule kept being changed or canceled. So I haven't been back. Old people are too frustrating!

Lois and I realized that, with our newfound faith, all of our friends were gone. So we tried to hook up with a church, at least for the social fellowship. We had tried bingo at the Catholic church, but being in a smoke-filled room with 75 people who won't even look at you for two hours was not what we had in mind.

We had always wanted to try the Unitarian church in a nearby town, so we decided to check it out. The people were pleasant, the songs were melodious (even though we didn't recognize them) and the messages (non-gospel) were interesting, at times. But we couldn't find God anywhere, let alone Jesus.

This particular church was Unitarian Universalist, and we had researched that denomination online. It came close to what we believed. Unitarian in that there's one God. Okay with that, except that we also believe God has a son named Jesus. Universalist in that God created everyone, loves everyone and is working on making things right so that everyone can spend eternity with Him. That's okay too; we're just different on how we believe he's going to do it.

The church boasted on the fact that you could believe anything and still be welcome there. I wasn't quite sure how they would pull that off, so I was curious. We attended several Sundays. Turns out that they didn't pull it off very well. The preaching/teaching was neither Unitarian nor Universalist. It was heavily humanist with a generous portion of Wiccan thrown in. I was missing having some Jesus in the format. Maybe some god, with a capital G. It wasn't happening there. So we left.

Our next focus would be on the Methodist church that happened to be located on the street where we lived. Would this one take?

2010-12-16T04:49:00.000-08:00

If you have a dramatic change in your belief system, I have a word of advice: keep it to yourself.

The single fellow that had been meeting with us rode back with another family from our trip to North Carolina. We found out later that the couple he was riding with had questioned him about what we believed.

The wife of the couple that we all had visited in North Carolina appeared to be an open-minded woman, who was always searching for the truth. She sent us a lengthy email after our visit, asking questions on various doctrinal issues. The sincerity of her request prompted me to respond, taking each of her points and addressing what we believe regarding them. I wrote my responses from the heart, with little to no reference to George MacDonald throughout.

It appeared that I had been set up, because a couple of days later I received a call from C--k, the man of the house who had been getting together with us. He said that they were going to "take a break from meeting." I did not ask him why, but I suspected the reason. One or two days later he sent an email to us, saying that they could not continue with us because we were followers of George MacDonald. I replied by email that I was sorry that he felt that way and that, if they ever wanted to discuss it, we would love to meet them. They didn't.

The couple in North Carolina then sent us an email, bemoaning our apostasy. They attached an article on servants of the Devil, creating a New World Order by challenging the established Christian faith. We didn't reply.

I need to note at this point that at no time do we ever reference George MacDonald. We do love his writing, but we feel that the greatest thing we learned from him is that God loves us dearly and that we should trust His Holy Spirit to teach us. We have also come to realize that God uses instruments in all of his creation to speak to us and that we should never fear to ask questions. We can never go wrong if we earnestly love him and our neighbor, and we should seek and speak the truth in love. It is not for us to attempt to change anyone's mind; that is the work of the Holy Spirit, in God's time. MacDonald also strongly urged that we should never believe him or anyone just because they said it.

We continued to join weekly with the single fellow and an older widow who lived in our neighborhood. We shared a meal and had great discussions on all things spiritual. I believe that we were an encouragement to her. She has since died, and the single fellow is now behind bars (another story).

So on we go to the next part of our adventure.

2010-12-14T03:38:00.000-08:00

We had made it clear that we had no intentions of starting another house church. We were certainly not opposed to anyone coming for dinner, including any families from our former house church, but we were not promoting it. We encouraged them to continue to meet.

As a result of our leaving, one other family stopped attending as well. One single fellow asked if he could have dinner with us, to which we agreed. He said that he didn't know which group to pick, and we reiterated that we were not starting a rival group. We would not be singing gospel songs, having prayer time or doing any of the anticipated programs that we had done in house church. I had prepared several printed songbooks for house church, but we left them with the other group.

The other family that left also asked to come to dinner. We should have realized that this could be construed as forming a separate group, but we constantly encouraged folks to attend the other group if they wanted the house church experience. It put us in a bind, because we didn't want to flat-out refuse people who asked to be with us --- even for just a meal.

One day we came home to find our song books on the front porch. We sent them back by another family. They showed up on our porch another time. We sent them back again, emphasizing that we had no intention of using them. This time they didn't come back.

One time we received what appeared to be some important mail for a young girl with the house church group, but it had been mailed to our address. I called her home and spoke to her mother about how to get the mail to her. She was cool to me and spoke of our deception in leaving the group. I told her what had transpired, exactly as I have written here, but she replied that she and her husband did not believe me. I was very sorry to hear that, and, since you can't make someone believe the truth, I wished them well and ended the call.

Over the next few months we began to get together weekly with a few folks. Again, this was at their prodding. No singing, no Bible study, just a meal, followed by casual conversation. A family that we had met in North Carolina asked us down one Sunday, so several of us drove down to be with them. We had a good time with them and returned home satisfied.

We weren't aware that a family member of ours had given them information about what Lois and I currently believed. Knowing him, I am sure that he spoke as if it was the absolute truth, because he believed it also, and this type of approach never ends well. He since has moved on to another denomination, changing what he believes with the wind. But the damage had been done.

I would go on to make it worse.

2010-12-13T04:08:00.001-08:00

Venturing away from the security of fundamentalist Christianity is not for the faint-hearted. Be ready to lose friends. You may lose family members also.

Our house church was losing steam. Families began to leave. Some had several children, so we felt the impact of their departure. One family wrote a letter, sharing honestly their feelings about marital unrest in another family, along with concerns of lack of discipline in that family's children. Another family moved away. Still others left, saying that they wanted to start house church in their neighborhood, some distance away, or they left simply because house church wasn't for them. One family was not comfortable with the meetings and indicated that they might be leaving.

We had not as yet shared our new belief with the group. We only shared it with immediate family and one close friend. We were also still finding our way, sorting out what we had believed with what we may believe now.

I had written before that tensions were mounting within our group (see blog article 12/5/10). The group was not meeting one or two weekends because two of the families were out of town. It was during that period that I felt strongly that the Lord was calling us out. I don't think it was because of the tension in the group necessarily, but it was possibly to prepare us for more teaching on our new faith.

I realize that it could have just been weariness within the group, and I'm willing to accept that. But I do believe that the Lord can direct us in such situations. Lois was relieved to hear of my new desire to leave and confessed that, if it were up to her, we would have left sooner. The next week we received a call from a couple whose home we were meeting at, to see if we wanted to get together the following Sunday. I informed the caller (the wife) that we had been "called out" and that we would not be returning. She was the one with the bipolar condition, that we had met with her and her husband. She asked if it had anything to do with them, and I assured her that it did not. In fact, we have had them over for Thanksgiving dinner and have spoken to them several times since we left.

I also wrote an email to the fellow who had a leadership role in the house church. He was the one to whom the other family had written the letter about marriage and child discipline. He was also the fellow Lois had talked to when we first considered house church. I used email because that was his preferred method of communication, and it was often difficult to get him by phone. He graciously responded by email that all families were free to come and go and that they would miss us.

We found out later that he was not okay with our leaving. Or should I say, he felt that our agenda was to start our own house church and take their families, with the exception of themselves. In hindsight, it would have been better to wait until the church was together and inform them of our leaving.

As our new faith grew and our former house church struggled, the lid was about to come off.

2010-12-12T03:38:00.000-08:00

Lois and I are regular readers. I can't really say that we are avid readers, but we read more than a lot of people our age. Several years ago she suggested that I might like to read one or two of her books, which were novels by Scottish writer, George MacDonald. I had seen the books lying around, but I pretty much dismissed them as romantic novels. Not the cheap Harlequin love stories; these were historical romances.

She said that I might like them because they contained a lot of religious references. I was hitting a dry spell in my reading material, so I started reading Thomas Wingfold, Curate, written in 1876. It was an easy-to-read writing style, but went into great detail about hills and houses, tables and chairs, streams and foliage. Boring. However, as I began to read on, I started having a more-than-casual interest in the dialogue of the main characters. They weren't overly churchy (some rarely attended church), yet they spoke of God and Jesus with ease.

They were asked questions that any fundamentalist Christian could be asked today, but they answered graciously, in a manner that made a lot of sense. They also posed questions back; such that any fundamentalist Christian today would have difficulty answering with honesty. It was as if scales had fallen from my eyes. I was starting to see things more clearly, while at the same time seriously wondering about doctrines I had held onto for years.

There were two justifying factors that made this experience phenomenal. One is that I wasn't looking for a new belief system, nor was I questioning what I had previously held to be true. I was involved with church for as far back as I can remember. From teenager to middle-ager I was steeped in the Christian tradition, holding on tightly to the fundamental Christian faith. This centered on the atoning sacrifice of Christ, the eternal torment of Hell and the glorious promise of Heaven for those whose names were written in the Book of Life. I preached, taught and debated in favor of the Jewish traditions of the Old Testament being fulfilled, as prophesied, in the person of Jesus Christ of the New Testament.

I was licensed as a Baptist minister and held positions of deacon and elder in various churches through the years. How could reading a historical novel shake my world so easily?

The second amazing factor in this experience is that, when I began to share what I was learning with Lois, her eyes were immediately opened. If you knew her church background, you would never have believed that she could possibly embrace any of what I had been sharing. She admits to having read the "preachments," as C.S. Lewis called them, but they didn't seem odd, nor did they turn any light bulbs on.

Obviously, this didn't all come about from one little book. I wanted to read other writings of George MacDonald. One of my daughters gave us an article called Hope of the Gospel, that she had printed off of the internet and stuck in a 3-ring binder. This was a small portion of MacDonald's Unspoken Sermons series. I was even more impressed. From then on I tried to get my hands on everything he had written (some 45 works in all, including poetry).

Again, I must point out that I am not easily swayed on anything. And I'm not very open-minded. So what was it that drew me to this new way of thinking about God, Christ and the working of Holy Spirit? I'm thinking the Holy Spirit. Couldn't have been the Devil, because he would have wanted us to turn FROM God, not draw closer to Him.

Lois and I had many wonderful discussions about this new and freeing look at the things of God. What we didn't realize is how it would change our relationship with family and friends.

2010-12-11T08:00:00.001-08:00

Let's get the third heart attack out of the way. It was relatively uneventful.

Lois was in North Carolina during the week, working on cleaning my dad's house, to get it ready for sale. I was coming down on the weekends to help. This particular weekend, however, our house church group was coming down to help us build a deck, replacing the rickety one that stood at the end of the trailer. Midweek I was feeling unusual things going on with my heart and went to see my cardiologist.

She did an in-house x-ray and noticed a blockage that had her concerned. She scheduled a catheter procedure for three days later in order to check out the blockage. I was told to call before then if I had any strange symptoms. I called Lois, and we agreed that she should come back, and we would postpone the house church workday. I felt really bad that I had ruined our plans.

Just after midnight two nights before the scheduled procedure, I was awakened by what seemed a significant gas buildup around my heart. I called the cardiologist's answer service. I was told to go on to the medical center where my cardiologist was on staff. Lois drove me there. When we arrived, I was checked out by the ER doc and found to be doing okay. In fact, I felt okay by then and apologized for taking up their time.

The doctor said that my cardiologist's associate would be there doing heart caths in a few hours and that her office wanted me admitted so that they could work me in, given my heart history. Lois had gone back home to rest, and I was to call her whenever I knew the surgery schedule. They woke me up at 5:30, saying that they had a cancellation and could start the cath in about 30 minutes.

I called Lois to give her my "see you on the other side" greeting, but she didn't answer. I then called my daughter, who didn't realize that I was in the hospital. She said that she would get hold of Mom and let her know what's happening. The cardiologist completed the procedure and found another 95% blockage in a major artery. He inserted another stent. This time my recuperation was less painful (like the back pain I had with the previous heart attack).

It's now been almost eight years since that last attack. I'd like to attribute it to eating right, etc., but it appears to be due to a medical decision to treat my sleep apnea. Obstructive sleep apnea is a condition that causes you to stop breathing many times during the night. Aside from excessively loud snoring, the condition can put a tremendous strain on your heart.

My sleep apnea was discovered through a routine trip to an ENT to have a nosebleed corrected. He noticed enlarged adenoids in my throat and recommended a sleep study. The study confirmed it, and the rest is history. I was fitted with a CPAP (controlled positive air pressure) machine, and my nights are snore-less. I still have atrial fibrillation (heart flutters), but the lack of insurance keeps me from having it looked at.

So much for my physical life. Let's move on to the most important spiritual change in my life since my original salvation.

2010-12-10T04:08:00.000-08:00

[Insert second heart attack before father dies]

My second heart attack came three years after the first and three years before my father died. The third heart attack would be three months after he died.

Heart attack #2 came on a Wednesday morning at the doctor's office where I worked. It was two days after celebrating the 4th of July at my daughter's house. That day was exceptionally hot. I came to work on Wednesday morning, not feeling very well. The nurse noticed my condition and asked what was wrong. I said that I wasn't feeling well, but couldn't really identify the problem. My heart (or arm) wasn't hurting like the first heart attack, but I was told that I had turned very pale. I took one of the nitroglycerin pills that I carried in my pocket. Not much improvement.

She told the doctor and then put me in an exam room. The doctor came in, asked me some questions, checked my pulse and blood pressure, then said that I probably was at the beginning of a heart attack. He proceeded to hook up an IV, but I can't remember what he was giving me (probably something to keep the blood from clotting). By then I was feeling very weird. The rescue unit was called. It was somewhat embarrassing to be wheeled out of my own office on a stretcher. I told the staff that I would be right back.

Lois was called, and she met me in the emergency room. The EMT had given me a nitro spray while I was in the ambulance, so I was starting to feel better. A cardiologist was called in. He listened to my heart and told me that there was a significant thump in the heart rhythm. He wanted to go in by catheter and take a look. I had to sign all of the necessary release forms and told Lois that I would see her on the other side should I not make it. (I know, very melodramatic.) The hospital staff scolded me for saying that and assured me that I would be fine. I told them that I wasn't being morbid; it was just that I was okay to stay and okay to go.

During the procedure they discovered that a major artery in my heart was 95% blocked. They popped it open with angioplasty, but it collapsed again. They inserted a stent, a small wire device like the spring on a ball point pen, that would keep the artery open. Recovery was more difficult than the events leading up to it, because I had been suffering from sciatica pain. Following this type of procedure, I was required to lay flat on my back for eight hours --- the worst possible position for my sciatica!

My blood pressure had dropped to 60 over 40, and they couldn't give me anything for pain. Even my daughter urged them to help me. I had just read in C.S. Lewis's devotional book, The Problem With Pain, how we should not ask to be delivered from the pain. We should instead pray that the Lord would be with us in the pain. I tried it. Then I fell asleep. How, I don't know. I awoke later with a nurse leaning over me. No pain. I asked if she was an angel. She said no.

Other than my family, I had two visitors while I was in the hospital. One was the nurse from my office. The other was the pastor of the EV Free church. He gently chided me for not contacting him, that he had to find out through a third party. It was then that I realized that we had never become fully committed to that church. And I felt strongly that we would never be.

2010-12-09T04:26:00.000-08:00

The last time I saw my dad alive was on a Monday morning. I stopped by his hospital room on my way back to the office. He asked me to clean his partial (dentures), and then we talked for a few minutes. He said that the hospital was having trouble with his insurance, so before I left, I met with the billing person and gave them the correct filing information for his claims. Then I came back up the mountain to my job.

Later that week, on a Friday afternoon, I was working, anticipating my weekend trip to NC to spend time with Lois and my dad. Then Lois called. My dad had crashed again and was not expected to recover this time. The doctor wanted a decision about putting him on a respirator and possibly inserting a feeding tube. Even though my dad had said that he didn't want to be resuscitated, I was unsure about this move. I talked with the doctor that I worked for, and he said that I might want to allow the respirator until I got there to assess the situation better. I was just about to call Lois back, but she called first. He was gone.

The day before his death, my dad was having a rough go of it. He was thrashing around in the bed, as if he was fighting the inevitable. He received a brief visit from M--l and a friend. They were laughing and joking, but he was unresponsive to their lightheartedness. M--l was all bubbly and talking about how he would be fine soon and get out of there. She was totally oblivious to his condition as he lay there before her. He didn't respond, and they left.

While it's hard to lose someone close, I will never forget the beautiful experience that Lois relayed to me later about my dad's final moments. He was doing some more thrashing, but then calmed down. Near the end he pulled his oxygen mask off and appeared to breathe normally. Lois said that color came back into his face and his eyes were clear, as if he had been completely healed. Incredibly, he appeared to look ten years younger! A nurse came into the room to check on him, but didn't put his mask back on. She signaled silently to Lois that the end was probably near and wanted to know if they should do anything more for him. Lois shook her head no.

He began looking around the room. My aunt, who was also in the room, told Lois that he might be looking for her. They were standing on each side of his bed. He laid back a little, and began to stare in Lois's direction. My aunt thought that he was looking at Lois, but Lois said that he was fixated on something or someone over her shoulder. There was no one else in the room. And then he was gone, eyes open. Lois closed his eyes. The staff, who had monitors at their station, did not come in for a few minutes, apparently to give Lois and my aunt a few peaceful moments with my dad.

He had died on a Friday, just like my mom. This time I decided to have the funeral on Monday, unlike my mom's, which was on Sunday. The funeral home arranged for a military funeral at my request. I went into the same visiting room as my mom's, where my dad's body was laid out. We received friends and family in the same adjoining room. Most of our house church group drove down and surprised us at the receiving.

On Monday afternoon we had the service in my dad's home church. It was raining, and I was asked if they should move the military portion of the service inside the church, without the 21-gun salute, of course! I said that I wanted the event at the graveside and prayed that the rain would subside.

As we were led into the church, M--l stepped forward from the foyer and asked if she could sit with me. I was numb and replied that it was okay if my family agreed. They didn't. My daughters cut her off in line and pushed me forward. My musical daughter played, with trembling hands, and sang a hymn. The pastor did well with the message, but my heart was not ready to hear his reference to my dad's "beloved M--l."

After the service was over, the funeral staff were prepared with several big umbrellas to escort us to the grave site, next to the church. The rain stopped, completely. The service went well, including the military volley. Then we proceeded to the fellowship hall, where church families had prepared a wonderful meal for us. The sky started sprinkling. Thank you, Lord.

2010-12-08T04:27:00.000-08:00

My dad seemed to be improving. He was in good spirits, but had trouble eating, complaining that his tongue was sore. In anticipation of his recovery, we began to make plans for his recuperation after leaving the hospital. Since we couldn't convince him to stay with us for awhile, Lois bravely volunteered to temporarily move into his NC home to care for him. I would drive down on weekends.

We packed her up, along with our two dogs, and made the move. She went every day to see him at the hospital and would call me in the evenings to give me updates. The hospital staff were very helpful and caring. He celebrated his 82nd birthday by receiving a small cupcake with a candle, along with his meal --- neither of them consumed, because of his loss of appetite and tongue sensitivity.

When I arrived for the weekend, he reminded me of the family reunion on Sunday. I said that, under the circumstances, they would understand if we didn't go. However, he insisted that we attend to represent him. We did so, and I announced his status and condition to the family members. He usually prayed over the meal, so I stepped up to fill in.

The following week I was called to the hospital. My dad had crashed. By the time I arrived (2-1/2 hour drive), he had stabilized. Lois was with him. I saw the cupcake on a side table, still with the candle in it, wondering if he was ever going to eat it.

He remained on the same floor of the hospital, in the cardiac care unit, and his room number changed three times. Clotting was still a problem. He was still receiving oxygen through a nose tube. We were called into a private meeting with a pulmonologist one evening, after Dad had taken a turn for the worse.

The doctor told us that this particular night would be critical and that the plan, should my dad survive, would be to insert a basket-like device in arteries leading to the lungs. This would trap any clots coming from his legs. He was beginning to receive whole blood infusions, because his own, oxygen-poor blood was wreaking havoc on internal organs.

The doctor went on to say that, while it was very natural to reach the end of our road in life, we, unfortunately, have the technology to help a person suffer for a longer period before they die, all in the interest of keeping them alive. That was profound. But in my dad's case, instead of dying with dignity, he was fighting like a tomcat.

I was told that his pastor was called in, and so I visited a few moments with my dad alone first. We discussed the fact that he may not make it through the night. We didn't need to have the "Are you saved?" discussion, because I already knew that he was a professed believer. He understood his situation and admitted that he was okay with dying.

The pastor arrived. He was a warm, friendly and intuitive fellow, who had a genuine love for people. He himself suffered from Krohn's disease, but he never let that get in the way of his service. We had a similar discussion that I had had with my dad earlier. The pastor prayed with us and then left. I settled in to spend the night in my dad's room. Lois had gone home (the temporary one) to take care of the dogs and rest. My aunt stayed in the waiting room.

During the night the oxygen level alarm went off a few times, and I adjusted his mask, where it had moved from maximum intake. I prayed, not necessarily for his life to be spared, but that the Lord's will would be done with him. I was prepared for God to take him, as well as being ready to nurse him to recovery. The rain was coming down outside.

I had managed to stay awake until about 5:30 a.m.. I went out to the waiting room to check on my aunt, and she encouraged me to lay down on a couch for a few minutes. I told her to wake me when the doctors started making their rounds. Then I fell into a sound sleep.

I was awakened when Lois arrived, much to the delight of other waiting room patrons, who couldn't sleep due to my extra-loud snoring. The doctor reported that, because my dad had done so well, they would proceed with the surgery. The device was implanted, and my dad was moved to the last room he would see.

2010-12-07T03:32:00.000-08:00

One annual event that we never missed was the family reunion on my dad's side. It was held at his home church on the second Sunday of October, which happened to fall within days of his birthday. My dad used to ride to this church in a buckboard wagon when he was a child. The church was about a mile and a half from his home.

We knew that his health was in decline. He was eighty-one and had congestive heart failure. Ten years before this he battled bladder cancer. Now he couldn't catch his breath walking across a room, but, after sitting in the exam room for half an hour, would tell the doctor that he felt fine. He wasn't lying; it's just that, sitting still, he did feel fine. How often do we hide the real truth without realizing it?

We had been getting reports from my aunt that his feet and ankles were swelling significantly, and I felt that we needed to check it out firsthand, even though it was a week before the reunion. We thought we would come early and surprise my dad. We had to drop a casserole off at the house on the way to the church. My dad's car was still in the driveway, even though it was past time for Sunday school, which he attended faithfully.

Upon entering the house, I found him sitting in his recliner, all dressed for church (always wore a suit and tie), not moving or snoring. I thought he was dead. I called his name, and he jerked awake. I asked him what he was doing, and he said that he was going to Sunday school, but had sat down for a few minutes and fell asleep.

He had difficulty moving around, and we recommended that we all skip church that day and just visit. Even this time he asked when we would be leaving --- just for planning purposes. We ignored it, and Lois began to prepare lunch. After the meal he said that maybe we could play some Canasta, to which we agreed. But before we could start, my favorite aunt arrived.

We spent the next hour or so talking about his health. We suggested that he go to the Emergency Room to get checked out, but he refused. We even suggested that he take a few days and stay with us until he got to feeling better. We live near a large VA facility, where he could get treatment as retired military. He declined the offer. So we visited some more, then Lois and I headed back to Bristol.

The next afternoon I received a call from Lois, who had received a call from my aunt. My dad had collapsed at home and was transported to the hospital, where he was admitted into intensive care. I came home and called the doctor in order to assess the situation. We weren't eager to take the 2-1/2 hour trek back down there immediately, unless he was in danger. According to the doctor, my dad was in danger. His oxygen level had dropped significantly, and blood clots were forming in his body.

We packed quickly and arrived at the hospital that night. Waiting for us was my aunt, M--l and her daughter. My aunt pulled me aside and told me that M--l had my dad's wallet. She apparently had been called by my country aunt (who had found my dad), and she arrived at the hospital first. She used the credentials from his wallet to get him signed in. I asked her for the wallet, and she turned it over to me. I thanked her for helping him get admitted.

We waited for news on my dad, and a short time later, a doctor came out to update us. He addressed his information to M--l, but my aunt jumped in and said, "Talk to him (pointing at me); he's the son. She's the girlfriend." So from that point on, I was in charge. But I relied heavily on Lois for advice and encouragement.

After awhile we (the immediate family) were allowed to visit him. I asked him how he was doing, and he said that he was feeling fine, just a little weak. I told him he gave us a scare and that maybe the docs could get him back on his feet. The hospital required the visits to be kept short, and as I was leaving, I choked up and told him that I loved him. He replied that he loved me too.

I didn't realize at the time that he would never leave that hospital.

2010-12-06T11:17:00.000-08:00

Another significant death occurred during our years of house church. After my mother died in 1991, my dad and I were actually starting to get closer. Lois even convinced him that it was OK to hug his son, which he had never done before.

He visited often, and we included him on trips that we took. We kept up the tradition of the canasta games, and would often times help me with gathering and splitting firewood. I liked when he helped me, because he would tire easily and say, "Don't you think we need a coffee break?" I always jumped at the opportunity.

He seemed perfectly happy living alone, but would occasionally talk of the need for female companionship. He actually had proclaimed it before my mom's funeral. Almost a year following my mother's death, he got his wish. M--l was a thin, fairly attractive woman, around my dad's age. When we first met her, Lois and I both felt an eerie similarity between her and my mother. But after getting to know her, the similarity ended.

M--l had just finished off an engagement when she met my dad, because her fiance had died suddenly. My aunt dubbed her the black widow of that town. I knew she wasn't after my dad's money, because he didn't have any. They went on weekly dates, and he would drive his old car a half hour to pick her up each time. She rarely came to his place.

They had made an agreement in the beginning to not let their relationship interfere with their individual families. Holidays and family gatherings would be celebrated apart from each other. Any time we visited my dad, he would annoyingly ask when we were planning to leave. "...not rushing you, I just wanted to work our visit in with my plans with M--l." I sometimes would respond with, "Well, we can leave right away. We don't want to get in the way of your plans." I'm not proud of those responses. As I've said before, for years I have acted like an idiot, off and on.

As their relationship grew, he would tell us more and more about her family. Occasionally, we would be pressed into meeting her daughter or a grandchild. My dad hinted at marriage. I told him that he didn't need my permission and that he should understand that she could never replace my mother. So each year we expected to hear from him that they were married. This lasted for a little over nine years. No marriage; just friends. We suspected, and confirmed after his death, that they were more than just friends.

One Labor Day weekend he came to visit us. He announced that he would have to renege on his original agreement with M--l. He really liked being with her family and would, this year, prefer to spend Thanksgiving with them. I calmly replied that if he would rather not be with us, then it would be best if he didn't come. The rest of the visit was normal and pleasant, and nothing more was said about his promise to M--l to spend the next holiday with them.

He was unable to keep that promise.

2010-12-05T05:46:00.001-08:00

We opened up our home for house church to begin meeting on Sunday evenings. We weren't ready to give up on day church yet. I played the guitar and taught mostly, but we also gave plenty of time for anyone to share. The meals were excellent, and the fellowship was comfortable. We had more families come and go, and other families stayed. Our numbers swelled to around forty.

At that point it was time to cut EV Free loose. I contacted the pastor and informed him that we were leaving. He asked if there was something wrong with the church, but I replied that we felt that the Lord was calling us into house church, at least for the time being. Since I was teaching Sunday school, I went alone for a few weeks and then left.

I have fond memories of house church, because there was a level of intimacy that cannot be experienced in regular church. At the same time we were unable to share corporately things that were being told privately. Like marriages that were struggling. Or openly discussing differences in doctrines. Our worship was surface. While this can be found in any church on any given Sunday, it felt different in the close relationships of house church.

We spent about seven years meeting in each others homes, even traveling to Wise, Virginia and Hendersonville, North Carolina. But there was tension gradually building in our little church. Some ladies had begun to take more and more time to teach the children in the meetings, rather than take them into another room. When we tried to address that, we were met with opposition from them and at least one of their husbands.

Another woman suffered from a bipolar condition and had problems in her marriage. Her behavior in some meetings made some of us feel uncomfortable. An outburst in one meeting prompted me and another fellow to call a meeting of the men. That only made matters worse. Lois and I met alone with the couple and had a very good discussion of several matters. We felt that reconciliation had been achieved.

2010-12-02T03:01:00.001-08:00

I think my age must be getting to me, because I'm getting confused as to the order of churches that we visited or attended over the years. I know that at some point we were attending a Presbyterian church. We liked it because the pastor had interesting sermons, and the music was innovative.

Whenever we liked a church, we would expand to Sunday school attendance; and we did so here. We hadn't considered joining the church because of our bad ending experience with Rev. N's church. We were happy just being regular-attendees. At the Presbyterian church I was careful not to take on any leadership responsibilities. No song leader, teacher or governing official. This might have been because of my opposition to the Reformed doctrine of Calvin.

A few months into our church experience, someone asked our Sunday school teacher (in front of us) if we were members. He replied that we were almost members, that we had just not taken our vows yet. Now, outside of my wedding and United States Air Force vows, I was dead set against any other vows. I began to feel the pressure, so we left.

It's interesting to think about the fact that we (I) never faced a problem head-on and lovingly and honestly dealt with what made us feel uncomfortable. We always preferred to just move on.

Next up was an Evangelical Free church in nearby Kingsport. We had read some things about the EV Free churches, and we were particularly pleased that they were vow-less. We also enjoyed listening to Chuck Swindoll on the radio, and we knew that he was with the EV Free church out west before he joined up with Dallas Theological Seminary.

The local EV Free church was meeting in a storefront, and our first visit was pleasant. The people were warm and friendly, and the pastor also had interesting sermons. For some odd reason, unlike the Presbyterian church, I was more inclined to open up by doing several solos (singing) and teaching children's Sunday school. I still avoided church politics.

The church was quickly outgrowing its current location, and we learned that plans were already underway to purchase another building. A few of the members were well off financially. The new home would be a church whose members had outgrown their building and needed to go bigger. I helped with the physical move and continued to teach and sing at the new location.

About the only reason I can think of for us eventually leaving this church is that we became discouraged by leadership decisions and the pastor's role in them. At some point in time we became aware of the concept of house church. This is usually a group of non-denominational believers who meet in each other's homes. They share a meal, and the "service" is generally an open forum format.

We found a website online that identified a local house church organization. Lois called and spoke to a man whose name was on the website, but he gave very little information about house church. He didn't feel it proper that he should speak to the woman of the house, and I wasn't at home. That particular response was so odd to us that we never called back.

While we were attending the EV Free church, we were also having a Bible study in the home of some friends who had also left Rev. N's church and were now attending the same church. We also became good friends with a fellow that Lois had met walking our dogs in the park. J-n was a pleasant man, a few years younger than me, who was quite interested in spiritual matters. We invited him to the home study, and he was eager to attend. A professor and his family (four children) were also meeting with us. They had also left Rev. N's church.

J-n shared that he had been meeting with a house church for a few years, but that the numbers had dwindled down to just one family. He asked if he could invite them to meet with us in the Bible study, to which we agreed. On our first meeting we found them to be a very nice family --- husband, wife and six children. They started coming regularly, and we soon learned that the father was the same man Lois had spoken to on the phone.

After some time meeting with us, they invited another family from Wise, VA, about an hour's drive from here. That couple had two little girls and were very nice as well. Realizing that our numbers had swelled, we began to seriously consider having our own house church.

2010-11-30T07:55:00.001-08:00

[another insert before we left Rev. N's church]

My first heart attack --- how could I forget? As this is my spiritual journey, then I consider major medical events spiritually changing, and therefore life-changing.

It was a sunny summer evening. When I got home from work, the table was set, and Lois was preparing dinner. We were taking care of our (now) oldest grandson, and he and I dipped into a jar of peanut butter in advance of the meal. I recall being quite hungry. It didn't seem to curb my appetite, because I ate supper with a fervor.

Immediately after supper I went out to mow the grass, as I had done many times before right after a meal, whether it be wood-splitting or fence-mending. This time was different. As I started up an incline in the backyard, I began to feel a tightness in my chest. It felt like I was having an allergy attack, a familiar experience that would be quickly relieved with an antihistamine. So I downed a pill and sat down to rest a moment before finishing the mowing.

The tightness never lifted. In fact, it started to become painful, extending to my left shoulder and upper arm. Knowing the basic symptoms of a heart attack, I called the number for my doctor's office. The office was closed; the answer service said that whoever was on call would call me back. In a few minutes a female physician's assistant called back. I knew her; she attended our church. When I described the symptoms, she said that I was very likely having a heart attack. Because of our location outside the city, she recommended that Lois drive me to the emergency room rather than wait for volunteer emergency transport.

Lois strapped the grandson in his car-seat, and I climbed into the passenger side. As we traveled, the pain and pressure became quite intense, to the point that I began gnawing on the seatbelt.

Two humorous things happened on the way to the hospital. My two-year-old grandson was excited about the trip, continuously pointing out things to me. "Grandpa, look at the trees! Grandpa, see the doggy?" I could only wince and grunt. When we arrived on the hospital campus, Lois turned on a road that she thought led to the ER entrance. We ended up on the helicopter pad. I remarked, "Wouldn't it be interesting if I died because we went to the wrong place!"

A short turnaround brought us back to the ER. The physician's assistant had alerted them, and a couple of medical staff were waiting for me with a wheelchair. They took me into the trauma room and began to ply me with questions, while hooking me up to various pieces of equipment.

Two more people arrived shortly to provide spiritual assistance. One was Rev. N. He immediately took control of our grandson so that Lois could stay in the room with me. That single act was a godsend. The other savior was my doctor's associate (my own physician was out of town). He got real close and began to pray in my ear. I honestly don't know if it was the medication they were giving me or the spiritual support I received, but a tremendous sense of peace came over me.

I looked over at Lois and saw that she was sitting there calmly, not smiling, but not seemingly distressed. Didn't she think I was going to die? Why wasn't she upset? She told me later that she figured that if she had "lost it" (broken down), they would have her leave the room, and she wanted to stay with me.

The ER docs told me that they had administered a clot-busting drug and that I was stabilized. The were admitting me to the ICCU (Intensive Cardiac Care Unit) to watch me through the night. The ICCU visiting schedule was very limited, so I'm not sure who came in to see me. I was pretty foggy, but I remember someone coming in and kissing me on the forehead. Lois also told me the next day that a hospital staff member had approached her the previous night to get her to sign a release for my organs should I not make it. She was furious, especially since they asked her right outside my sliding glass door in the ICCU. I heard nothing.

The next morning the cardiac surgeon came into my room. He said that the clot-busters didn't do a good enough job and that they had to go in and take a look at my heart. They were going to start with a heart catheter, but needed my permission to take additional steps, including open heart surgery, if they find the situation warrants it. He gave me the odds of survival at each level of treatment. I asked if I could get a second opinion, like my doctor's associate. He replied that I could, but that his schedule was very tight, and if I waited too long, he would not be available until very late that night.

Dr. B came in, and I shared my concern that I had to make a quick decision. He said that the surgeon was the best around, and that he personally would recommend the procedure(s) for his relative. Then I asked if I could talk to my wife.

Lois came in. She assured me that I was in God's hands and that she would like me to do whatever would help my damaged heart. I signed the papers.

I was taken back for surgery within the hour. The result was that they only had to perform angioplasty in one artery in the lower backside of my heart. This involved feeding a tube through my upper leg into my heart, then inflating a balloon on the end of the tube. The procedure successfully opened the artery, and it remained open. I was out of work six weeks to recover. I was told that a myocardial infarction (heart attack) always left permanent damage to a portion of the heart, but that it was a very strong muscle that could recover and continue to function properly.

Now that my physical heart was on the mend, my spiritual heart was being treated. I received get-well greetings from a lot of fellow-believers. Church members visited me in the hospital and prayed with me. This was a plus from my fundamentalist background. If I had a heart attack today, few, if any, people outside my family would check on me. I think I would miss that.

I was very thankful for another chance at life. I was determined to be a better husband and father. But, unfortunately, with time and with life getting back to normal, the prideful me would not do anything in return for God adding extra years to my life.

My heart attack came two days after my 49th birthday. But it would not be my only one.

2010-11-27T09:42:00.000-08:00

My mother died on a Friday. Normally a funeral would be three days later, but we wanted to allow as many relatives as could come the opportunity to do so. We planned the funeral for Sunday afternoon at my parents' church. My favorite aunt stepped in to help me and Lois with a lot of the arrangements. As I mentioned before, my dad just seemed to be along for the ride. He certainly wasn't in shock, but could possibly be feeling a bit of guilty relief. Their relationship in their senior years was rocky, at best.

We searched the trailer for her will, as well as any insurance policies that might help cover funeral and burial expenses. No will, and expired policies. This, of course, didn't deter us from proceeding with the typical arrangements: nice coffin, receiving/viewing at the funeral home, funeral support at the church and a nice double headstone for her grave (with a starting date for my dad already engraved).

After they had her body prepared at the funeral home, Lois, my aunt and I went to give our approval. She was laid out in a casket in an adjoining room from the family receiving area. Lois and my aunt went in first, then I went in alone. All of the typical cliches for this event ran through my mind. "They made her up well; she looks good." "Looks like she's sleeping." "Looks peaceful." What came out of my mouth was more like, "I know you're not in that body." "I miss you already." "I'm sorry that I wasn't a better son." "Lord, take care of my mother." Not a tear did I shed in that room. But when I rejoined my wife and aunt, the sobbing erupted. I don't recall feeling embarrassed --- just helpless.

My parents attended a United Methodist Church out in the country, only a few miles from where they lived. As Methodists go, the current pastor-du jour was a woman. My fundamentalist background had basically put me against women in leadership positions. The Apostle Paul warned about it (I Timothy 2:12), but God may have approved of it (Judges 4). My dad and I had a brief discussion on the subject. I pointed out the specific New Testament references forbidding women to have authority over men. He said that he had read those, but then he went to the Source. Yeah, like I'm gonna believe that God told him it's OK to have a woman preacher! Or did he?

The lady pastor was not very personable, in my book, but she was who we needed to conduct the funeral service. She called Saturday morning and, upon hearing that the funeral was to be the next day, asked if we could go over the details on the phone, because Saturday was her "laundry day." Boy, did that burn my hotcakes! Needless to say, I don't remember anything she said at the funeral. I had tuned her out, and I'm not proud of it.

2010-11-23T04:10:00.000-08:00

I had never cried before my mother died. Well, almost never. I bawled after the car accident when I put three fellow teenagers in the hospital (see blog entry 10/6/2007). I never recall crying after that, no matter what happened. I think I saw it as being strong. But following my mother's death a new tenderness had sprung up in me. It would take many years for it to grow, but I would easily tear up over many things --- death, loving moments, even one of those squishy family movies.

The asked if I wanted to see my mom again before we left the hospital. I said yes. They took us back to a room in the ER, where her body was covered with a white sheet, but her head remained uncovered. The nurse cautioned me to not move the sheet, because they had not "cleaned her up yet." After another bout of crying, I approached her and kissed her on the cheek. It was still warm. My dad didn't seem to address her at all; it was as if he was just a friend, coming along with me for moral support.

We talked on the way home, and I fought the urge to scold him for scolding her at the meal. He was all I had left, and I had to maintain a good relationship with him. When we got back to the trailer, he began to scurry around, straightening up the place for the visitors and relatives who were sure to come. He asked me to go outside and do some weed-eating. I was glad for the opportunity to be occupied. While I was working outside, my uncle Otho from across the street came over and addressed me as Clinton, one of my dad's neighbors. It was then that I knew he was already in the clutches of Alzheimer's. I told him who I was, then I told him about my mother. Then he turned and walked away.

Lois and the girls arrived just after dark. I was never more happy to see them. While it may not have appeared so to my daughters, I always missed them greatly when we were separated. And my dad was right. The relatives began to descend the very next day. From that day forward, and with the exception of my favorite aunt, they gave their condolences, then proceeded to ask what we were going to do with this or that of my mothers things. They also would assert the fact that this or that item was either promised to them by my mother, or that it was really theirs, and my mother had taken it. To make matters worse, my dad went around the room offering various things of hers to people --- while her body was still warm, so to speak!

Weeks before her death, we had visited my mom and dad, and at this visit she went through a modified soul-cleansing, if you will. One of the things she confessed was that she had given birth to what would have been a big sister to me, but the child had only lived a few days. I had already confronted them with my birth certificate many years before, citing that it identified one previous stillborn child; they both, at the time, claimed that the record was in error.

Also on this visit she strongly encouraged me to, upon her death, get a U-haul truck and load up just about everything, saying, "Your daddy doesn't need much to live on." I asked what he thought about it, and she said that he would be fine. I wasn't. Of course, she was concerned about the relatives (all on her side of the family) converging on her "treasures." I thought about this when it actually happened. When my dad died eleven years later, we rented the truck.

2010-11-20T03:27:00.000-08:00

At first it appeared that my mother was choking, but it was immediately obvious that she was convulsing. My dad and I got her to the floor and began CPR. He did mouth-to-mouth, while I alternately did chest compressions. After a few minutes he said that I should call 9-1-1. The emergency operator wanted me to give specific directions and stay on the line until the rescue unit arrived. I had always thought that with the 9-1-1 system your address came up on a map and they knew exactly where you were located. Not true. My folks lived in the country, and this was a volunteer group.

I didn't feel that I should stay on the phone and leave my dad to deal with the CPR, so I recommended that I drive one mile to the main highway to show them how to get into the home. I jumped into my Mitsubishi and floored it. A moment or so after I stopped the car, I heard the siren of the ambulance. I remember praying that the Lord's will be done. I didn't want my mother to suffer, yet I wasn't prepared to lose her.

The rescue unit followed me to the trailer, where they took over CPR. I assisted by squeezing the bag valve mask while they did chest compressions. Two times I stopped for them to shock her with the defibrillator pads. No success. They placed her in the ambulance and continued to administer CPR while we drove to the hospital, the ambulance in front, followed by my dad and me in my car, followed by a 2nd rescue unit.

On the way to the hospital we got bogged down in heavy traffic on I-40. We were behind two tractor-trailer trucks who were blocking both lanes with no apparent intention to move over, even while an ambulance with flashing lights and blaring sirens was right behind them. I remarked how it was amazing in our country how all traffic will pull over to let a dead person pass on the way to a cemetery, but they can't seem to make way for a live person to get needed help in an emergency. As we finally passed the trucks, my dad yelled a curse at them out his window. I had rarely heard my dad swear.

At the hospital they took my mom back, but directed us to a small room off of the emergency waiting room. It was nicely furnished and had a phone on a single table. I told my dad that we shouldn't go in there, because nobody got good news in those rooms. We went in anyway. Shortly after, the doctor came in and reported that my mother had died. They had opened her up and tried to restart her heart, but to no avail. He said the condition of her heart indicated that she had likely died within two minutes of the attack and that she did not suffer. He offered the hospital phone for us to make calls and said that the nurse would come to get us after they had cleaned my mother up.

My first call was to Lois. One of the girls answered, and I said, "Let me talk to your mom." When Lois came on, I choked out the news of my mothers death. Then I broke down, and the tears flowed like a waterfall.

2010-11-10T12:35:00.001-08:00

[This remembrance should be added in before we left Rev. N's church.]

My mother died on July 19, 1991. In my arms. Cardiac disrhythmia, the final act of congestive heart failure.

It was my annual trip to pick blueberries with my dad --- gallons of blueberries. This time we were also going to pick peaches, so I made it a 3-day weekend. Had never done that before, and I rarely went to visit my folks by myself.

I arrived on Thursday evening. We had a pleasant visit, shared a meal and proceeded to play our favorite card game, Canasta. The three of us played. My mom won. My dad went to bed, so my mom and I played another game. She won again. I had always considered myself a skillful player, but she almost always won --- probably at least 8 out of 10 games. Just seemed to always get the good cards. She also always brought out the chocolate covered cherries halfway through the game, I guess to soften the blow of my ultimate defeat.

I was the next one to go to bed. I woke up in the middle of night feeling very warm. With my mother's condition, she always kept the house warm, even in the summer. When I was young, she kept the house like a meat locker. This night I was sweating. I got up to find my mother sitting in her big wingback chair, smoking. She had told me that she had quit smoking, but I knew she hadn't. A non-smoker can usually detect hints of smoking activity --- slight smells in the bathroom, a cigarette butt thrown where the owner thought it wouldn't be seen, etc.. I never confronted her about it and didn't tonight either.

I asked if she had a fan I could use in my bedroom. She produced a small, oscillating fan. I knew that she kept odd hours, but I didn't realize that this would be her last night on earth. I was very sleepy and missed the opportunity to spend that time with her.

My dad and I rose early at daybreak and went about three miles down the road to pick peaches. Our intention was to come back to the house for a meal, then go back out to pick the blueberries, some 8 to 10 miles away. When we arrived back at the house, my mother had laid items out to fix a late breakfast, but she herself was sitting in the wingback chair. She was wearing what looked like a new nightgown. She often wore nightgowns around the house, usually black in color, but this one was cream-colored. She had also taken a shower, which she rarely did in the morning.

My dad proceeded to fix the breakfast, grumbling as he went, and I visited with my mom. Neither of them would let me help with the meals on visits to them. I learned from my mother that she had run out of her fluid pills. These are required for congestive heart failure patients to reduce fluid buildup in the body, especially around the heart. I told her that she needed to contact her doctor immediately, and she replied that he had gone away on vacation. I said that the office was surely open on Friday, and that most doctors have someone covering for them, and that the office would be able to call in her prescription to the pharmacy. Then we would check with the pharmacy later, so that I could go and pick up the prescription that day. She followed my instructions and called the doctor before we sat down to breakfast/brunch.

My dad's grumbling was increasing. He had burned the biscuits, and he complained how he had to do everything around there, that she had never taught him how to cook things properly, etc.. I thought his behavior was odd, because I rarely heard him raise his voice. He was generally quiet and pretty easy-going (or so it seemed). I told him that the biscuits were fine, the breakfast was fine, and let's just eat.

We sat at the table. By now it was 1:00 PM, and my mother wanted to watch her "stories" while we ate. For as long as I can remember her whole life centered on soap operas and horoscopes. I had learned in my fundamental teachings that soap operas were bad, that they put on display lives of selfishness, pride and lust. My mother, along with her mother and my aunts were always avid viewers of the soaps. I would half-heartedly tease her by calling them As The Stomach Turns and The Young and the Listless. She would tease me back by reading out loud my horoscope for the day, knowing how it irritated me, because I had also been taught that divining your future from the alignment of the stars and planets was certainly a tool of the Devil.

We sat down to eat. I sat next to my mother, with my dad across from me. My mother said that I should move over one seat so that I would have a better view of the stories on TV. I muttered something about "not caring to see those things," but dutifully moved over. We ate. My dad continued to complain.

And then it happened.

2010-11-08T04:00:00.000-08:00

Due to privacy I will skip over a brief period of my life, only to say that it brought me into conflict with my employer and my church. My family knows about it, along with a few select friends --- and especially God --- but sharing the details would only open old wounds, which God has healed.

I left Raytheon amidst a conflict with upper management. I'm thankful, however, that Raytheon respected my work ethic and secured my pension (at least so far). The end came with Rev. N's church over how to handle discipline within the church. Because I was respected by so many people there, I felt that the Lord would have me leave rather than be a source for contention and division.

The girls were much older, so concern for a youth group did not figure in with our search for a new church. After a brief period we discovered that the church that met at the YWCA was still in operation. The pastor there had left the church to take on a larger church on the coast. We learned later that he had died due to complications with a heart valve replacement in California.

We were welcomed back, and one of the older men and I began to take leadership responsibilities. We shared preaching/teaching duties and basically had to forgo Sunday school because of the diminished size of the church. We also discovered that we could no longer afford our space at the YWCA. We began to look around the area for another place to rent. We finally located a store-front in nearby Blountville.

An elderly church member allowed us to use her old rickety piano, and, after a laborious effort to move the beast in my little yellow truck, we finally gave it a new home in the church. I proceeded to press one of my daughters into playing hymns, figuring that she could use the experience, and the captive audience (they had to go to church!) would overlook her playing flaws on keys that were already musically challenged.

The highlight of our little church was the arrival of a young man named Kevin, who brought with him his wife and three small children. Kevin was a defrocked Presbyterian minister. His troubles began when he started questioning some points of the Westminster Confession in seminary. Despite his difficulties with his professors he finished seminary and was assigned a church that afforded a one-year residency period, after which he would be given full minister status.

According to Kevin his teaching at the starter church was not well accepted, and word got back to the Presbyterian leadership, and he was asked to leave the ministry. He was descended from a long line of Presbyterians, so this was a major setback in his life.

Like the Mormons, God continually puts unique people in my life, perhaps to test me, or, better yet, to show that anyone can have a genuine love of Christ, regardless of what coat they wear. Kevin and I almost immediately formed a friendship. The other church leader and I met with Kevin in a restaurant in Johnson City, and, following a brief interview, were considering asking him to be our new pastor. I know that we were concerned (at least I was) with his Reformed theology background (see blog 11/3/10), but I don't recall whether we chose not to pursue the offer, or if he declined. It was clear that we could not afford to provide enough monetary support for him and his family.

Lois and I felt that God was beginning to open our eyes to new ideas, and, looking back, we see Kevin's teaching role in that change. Like Rev. N, Kevin and I had many personal discussions on spiritual matters. I remember him saying at one point that belief is all about the packaging, that if we were honestly willing to open the packaging, we would be surprised how close to each other we are in thinking. The problem is that we accept our doctrines all bound up in impressive wrappings and are not often willing to even take even the bow off.

Kevin began to teach us about the end times. It was the first I had heard, or wanted to hear, about the position of Amillennialism. Millennialism refers to the 1,000 year reign of Christ as recorded in Revelation 20 (mill in Latin means 1,000). So the debate down through the ages was about when Christ would return for the saints --- before the thousand years (pre-mill) or after the thousand years (post-mill). Some broke it down even further with the tribulation period (seven troublesome years before the 1,000-year reign), whether Christ would return before the tribulation, after the tribulation or mid-way through the tribulation.

Kevin taught all of the positions, without showing a preference for a particular one. But on a personal level I found that he was most interested in the Amill position. This view held that Revelation was all symbolic and could be broken down into several sections that showed the entire Biblical, and mankind, spectrum ending with the church age, and the ultimate destiny of man.

This was my first experience of really looking at the Bible as possibly meaning anything other than what I had been taught for years. It began to awaken in me the idea that Biblical interpretation was both a blessing and a curse, that the Bible was written in a way that afforded just such a diversity of interpretations.

It turned out that Kevin came to us because he was finishing up his masters degree at ETSU, and then he and his family moved on to the midwest where he was from. While Kevin and I never came to a common ground on his Reformed position (probably due to my fundamental foxhole), we had a great friendship, and, yes, like the others, I wish I had kept in touch.

Shortly following Kevin's departure we realized that our small, struggling church was not going to make it. So we lugged the old piano back to its home, put the church stuff in storage, and limped along with some home Bible studies.

2010-11-06T03:48:00.000-07:00

Before I talk about leaving Rev. N's church, I must relate a pleasant experience we had with the Mormons.

One Sunday morning a couple by the name of Jim and Lisa, along with their two children, were in attendance at our morning worship. In the course of getting to know the new people, it was discovered that they were Mormons. My cult defense system was immediately launched. But this challenge would be different.

I wondered why they were coming to our church instead of going to a Mormon church, which was less than 5 miles away. They didn't talk Mormon, act Mormon (see blog 9/16/10) or seem different in any other way. They were nice. Really nice. That was disarming. Their Christian demeanor brought down my defense shield and raised my curiosity antenna.

One of our daughters was performing in a musical group and had landed a couple of performances at a Christian coffee house in downtown Bristol. Lois and I noticed that Jim and Lisa were there and we quickly became friends with them. They were easy to talk to and were genuinely loving. We later learned that Lisa was suffering from a kidney disease and was on a transplant list. But instead of being gloom-and-doom about it, she was joyful and encouraging to anyone she met.

Lisa would fill in at the piano from time to time, and Jim and I would often work alongside each other at church workdays or events. We became very comfortable with them.

One evening when we had them over for dinner, I fired doctrinal questions at Jim. They had previously informed us that they were with the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (RLDS). This group today goes by the name of Community of Christ. I knew from previous studies that this group had broken off from the larger group of Mormons around 1860 and settled in Independence, Missouri.

Not knowing anything about their doctrine, I questioned Jim on several things that the Mormons believed. On each major point he replied that they either didn't believe it literally or that they were open to it becoming more clear at some point in time. Toward the end of the questioning I remarked, "Jim, you're fast becoming not-a-Mormon." He laughed and said that if we visited their home church, we would be surprised to find that it wouldn't feel like a Mormon church --- or at least what we would envision, having never been to one.

After a year or so, Jim got a job transfer back near their hometown, and we had to say goodbye. There was one follow-up visit after their move when they had to come to Bristol to finish up some business. We had a great visit with them. They have truly been an inspiration to us.

We had built some great relationships over the years, but, to our discredit, we failed to maintain them, even from a distance. While it remains a touch of sadness, our hope is that we will see them again, if not in this life, maybe in the next.

More close relationships would come and go. Some of them would be affected by the change in our belief system.

2010-11-03T03:57:00.000-07:00

In searching for a new church, Lois and I did consciously make an effort to find one that had a good youth group for the girls. At most of the churches we visited, one would have a friend that a daughter was in the same school with, and another would have a friend of a different daughter. That made it difficult to decide, and it seemed that the girls weren't that interested in youth groups. But of course who can get enthusiastic going to a new place, being with people you don't know?

We visited a church that was meeting in the King College cafeteria. The pastor was a young man who turned out to be the youngest son of Joseph Bayly. Mr. Bayly was an author of several books and articles. Two of his popular books were The Gospel Blimp (later made into a movie) and View From The Hearse. Rev. N. had been the full time youth leader at a local community church, but, following a concern about the elders, felt led to start an interdenominational church.

Again the reception to me and my family was warm and welcome. Rev. N. had a friendly smile and a warm, positive disposition. He battled cystic fibrosis, but in later years succumbed to esophageal cancer. He and I spent many hours discussing spiritual matters over coffee. Before long I was leading singing and teaching a Sunday school class. We were encouraged to join the church because Rev. N. really felt that I would be a good candidate to fill an opening on the elder staff. Some time after becoming an elder I accepted the position as treasurer.

The church eventually bought a home and renovated it into a sanctuary, office and Sunday school rooms.

On the downside, Rev. N's sermons tended to be confusing (Lois and others felt so too), and his remarks at elder meetings were lengthy and somewhat disjointed. I remember asking him one time why he used so many words to make his point. He replied, "So that later I won't have to eat them." I liked that, and it was a great reminder to me to not let my passion trump my wisdom.

One of Rev. N's brothers had visited from another state, and following my Sunday school class, Rev. N came into the room to look through some papers on the shelf. His brother went over to him and I overheard him saying something to the effect of that he liked my teaching, and was I Reformed?. Rev. N replied "no," but that I was "getting there." This came as a surprise to me because I had never heard Rev. N preach or teach about the Reformed doctrine.

John Calvin and his mentor, Martin Luther (both lived 1400s to 1500s) were opposed to the workings of the Catholic church and began to develop their own doctrines. Probably the greatest subject on which they differed was the method or plan of salvation. Luther believed that faith alone, combined with good works assured professed Christians a spot in heaven. Calvin developed a theme centered on the total depravity of man, with God predetermining a select number of "elect" who would go to heaven. So, by default the rest would spend eternity in hell.

When I confronted Rev. N about this doctrine, he said that he purposely avoided teaching it in order to uphold the structure of the interdenominational church. He felt that the preaching of the gospel was essential and was universal to all Christians and that God's will would be fulfilled, no matter what we believed.

Sometime later another elder was added, who was more outspoken about the Reformed doctrine. On some occasions he and I would have spirited discussions (if not heated debates) about God's role in our lives. At one point I asked him how he could believe that, if all people were born into sin and thus incapable of saving themselves, how then could a merciful God predetermine that they would burn in hell forever simply because they were not the elect. He replied that it was a mystery of God, beyond our level of understanding. I thought the response was hogwash then, and still think so to this day.

I began to grow more uncomfortable with that church. Lois was eager to leave, but I was determined to stick it out. Wives can often be good indicators of what the Lord's will is, but husbands can easily keep the blinders on.

However, upcoming private issues would lead to me leaving my job and my church.

2010-10-26T07:46:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-10-20T06:20:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-10-11T12:07:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-10-01T07:46:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-09-23T07:54:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-09-16T06:33:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-09-08T06:30:00.000-07:00

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.

MOVING ON UP - AGAIN

2010-08-24T16:06:00.000-07:00

Dr. D was an elder at the church (still is, I think) where we would resume attendance after we moved back from Clearwater, Florida to Orlando. He was also our daughters' pediatrician. I'm not sure why I contacted him, but, on a visit to Orlando, I went to his house and discussed my current dejection and the fact that I had messed things up again.

I suppose the reason I wanted to talk to Dr. D was because of his pleasant personality and the fact that he was socially accessible. He was soft-spoken, cheerful and eager to listen. I was told by others that he had struggled in the father role, but I would see similarities later in my own life, where my church behavior would be far preferable to my home demeanor. I went to his house, explained my dilemma and was encouraged by him to pack up the family and return to Orlando. Lois's folks were again gracious enough to let us stay there, and Dr. D arranged for us to store our stuff in an unused Sunday school room at the Chapel (the Plymouth Brethren church).

Then things began to come together. My old boss at the Akerman law firm agreed to take me back on third shift (to Lois's disappointment), and a Chapel family allowed us to rent their house because they had taken a job in Atlanta. It was in this house that we would witness our first real snowfall (with accumulation) in Orlando. Actually, enough piled up on the hood of the car to make a snowball.

It was at this point in my life that I would again turn my mind to spiritual matters. In 1973 the New York Bible Society released the New International Version (NIV) New Testament portion of the Bible; the Old Testament was published in 1978. The project intrigued me. I read everything I could about the team of international Biblical scholars and the almost-ten year project they underwent, how they studied thousands of ancient Greek and Aramaic texts that only became available around 1947 and later (the King James translators only had 11).

Up until that point I had only read the Authorized King James Version (KJV) and some of the Revised Standard Version (that the Methodists use). I had also looked at the Living Bible, a paraphrased rendition created by Kenneth Taylor in 1971. The NIV was refreshing and, in my mind, remained close to the KJV, leaving out the annoying begats, thees, thous and ests (like livest and lovest).

The NIV was a bold move and immediately ruffled the tail-feathers of many Christian fundamentalists, who claimed that the KJV was the only authoritative scripture, and that "if it was good enough for the Apostle Paul, it's good enough for me." It was also my first break from the tradition of my elders, but not from fundamentalism, since a large number of them grew to love and accept the NIV. There are still quite a few that hold onto the KJV and declare that any other translation or paraphrase is an abomination.

This would be a good place to address (if I haven't already done so) what I think is Christian fundamentalism. The root word is fundamental, which, in and of itself, is quite harmless; it means a root system or strong base to support and uphold valued principles or laws. When you add ism to the word, you lock in basic tenets of the faith held by a very large number of self-professed Christians. These include the ideas of: inerrancy of the Bible, that it's God's word, free from historic, scientific or teaching error; God exists as one being, manifested mysteriously in three persons (himself, Jesus and the Holy Spirit); the virgin birth of Christ; and belief in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ (who died for our sins) as the atoning sacrifice and the only accepted plan of salvation, the decision of which will reward us with eternal life if accepted, or permanent torture in hell if rejected.

For at least 20 more years I would not only hold fast to these teachings, but defend them in debate and teach them regularly to those who need to repeatedly hear it from someone who they think knows the truth.

But I didn't have a clue.

Round Robin Madness - part 2

2010-07-19T10:33:00.000-07:00

The people at my new job in Chicago greeted me warmly, from management to the sales staff. I was ushered into the director's office by Ron (see previous article), where it was explained to me that in order for me to get the feel of the operation, it would be necessary for me to make some sales calls (by phone) to start. A slight warning light in my brain began to pulse.

But always the trooper, I agreed to the plan and, taking script in hand, began to make the calls. I was cautioned to not deviate from the script and if I secured a sale, I was to ring a bell on the top of my cubicle after I hung up from the call, prompting the sales staff to applaud my success. The script involved telling the party who answered that I was simply calling to confirm if they were getting regular delivery of their magazine subscriptions (a lie). If they weren't getting any subscriptions, I was prepared to offer them a great deal on the subjects of their choice. If they were already getting subscriptions, I would confirm what they were, then offer a special deal to supplement their reading material with other magazines of like interest.

Surprisingly, my first few calls were successful. Okay, so maybe this wasn't so bad. I called and called and called. After awhile I realized that, like playing cards, golfing or bowling, I had experienced what they call beginner's luck. Sales weren't coming so easily, and I began to mull over why I had really been hired. And I missed my family. I was staying at Ron's house, but it just wasn't the same. Plus their favorite meal was beef tongue. Ugh-h-h!

I don't recall how long I was there before the homesickness and work discouragement began to take their toll. One day I met with Ron and the director over lunch to discuss my state of mind. In hindsight, I could probably credit Ron's influence with management for them not sending me packing. Ron was to head up the team at the new office in Tampa, so he had a lot of pull. It was determined that being away from my family was the core of my woes, so it was decided that I would fly back to Orlando and drive my family up to be with me.

While family closeness is important, it was only my selfishness and immaturity that led me to uproot my wife and children again and drag them to the frozen north. They seemed to take it well, and we were able to stay with my sister-in-law in nearby Oak Park, Illinois. After a month or so with her, we were given an opportunity to house sit (closer to my work) for the balance of our stay. This greatly helped me to survive my work experience, and we never missed a Sunday at the local house of worship.

The only highlight of my sales career there was on a day when a call I made was answered by a woman identified as Mrs. Pigh. I had seen the name on the call list and was hoping that the "h" wasn't silent. It was. Wandering through my script, I would faithfully interject her last name (pronounced "pig") to make the call personal. Not having any success at my usual fare of magazines, I did learn that she had children. Now, we were trained to change up on the type of magazines offered if we got a lead for another age or gender. I couldn't do it. My mind went directly to "Then could I interest you in some special magazines for the Pigh-lets?" That's when I lost it and could not complete the call. I quickly hung up before I burst out laughing. I apparently needed to let off some steam, and this opportunity filled the bill.

Finally the day arrived for part of the sales team (including myself) to pack up and relocate to sunny Florida. I was elated. We packed the family up again and drove straight through to Orlando. This would be our home base, while Lois and I located a place to stay in Clearwater, just across the causeway from Tampa.

To put a merciful end to this long story, the Florida job was a bust. I found that you can hate your work in pretty much any state. I began to question my goals and direction for my life. I was a Christian leader; why was I selling magazines?

I even visited a local pastor to get some advice on how to break into full time Christian service. He asked me how much I was witnessing for the Lord. I've always been very uncomfortable witnessing, and I replied that I really hadn't done all that much. His counsel was that if I couldn't comfortably present Jesus Christ before men one-on-one, then I had no business being in full time Christian service. He was probably right. I never pursued a Christian career from that point on.

But what was I to do with this albatross of a job that wasn't even providing sufficiently for my family? My salvation was to come from an elder in the Plymouth Brethren church in Orlando.

Round Robin Madness

2010-07-11T05:45:00.000-07:00

Never the one to be content with my life, I once again succumbed to the temptation to make the fast track by responding to an offer from my old college roommate, Ron (see blog 11/12/07). An unexpected call (and visit) from him revealed that he had secured yet another sales job that promised to make him (and anyone who followed in his steps) rich. In fact he was in Florida, scouting out a branch office for a call center, when he thought of me.

I'm sure I have written before about my growing enmity with sales people and the sales profession. So becoming a magazine salesman, even by phone, was not my idea of a successful career path. But Ron, already assuming the smooth salesman role, assured me that they did not want to hire me for sales. Instead they wanted to draw upon my fine arts expertise in order to produce and coordinate continuous motivational programs to encourage the large sales staff to generate sales.

That was all I needed to hear. That, and the offer to fly me up to Chicago for an interview with the executive manager, was all I needed to seal the deal. The plan was to complete some initial training and brainstorming for a few months in Chicago, then proceed to Tampa, Florida, where we would set up the branch office.

I flew to Chicago, completed the interview, got the same sales pitch as Ron had given me, then promptly accepted their offer. It paid more than I was making, so I easily recognized a natural progression up the food chain that would more than suffice to support me and my family.

Just before I had accepted their offer, however, I had received some material in the mail that contained a list of the magazines they pushed. One that caught my eye was Oui, an adult mens magazine --- okay, soft porn. My Christian fundamentalist radar went up immediately, and I began to feel convicted about working for a company that promoted seriously un-Christian material.

I called Ron and expressed my concern. Still the smooth negotiator, he explained that I wouldn't personally be selling the offensive magazine and that my testimony would remain intact because everyone, from the executive manager down to the sales staff needed to see my life in Christ on a daily basis. Boy, rationalization can be a killer! I fell. I flew. And I started.

Little did I know what I was getting into.

Moving On Up --- And Then Back Down

2010-06-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

The law firm of Akerman, Senterfitt and Eidson was located on the 17th floor of the CNA tower in downtown Orlando; it was the tallest building in town at that time. My job was computer operator. My boss was a Mr. Beam, a rather quiet fellow, who I didn't spend much time with because I worked third shift.

My duties primarily involved taking time sheets that came in from (I believe) 25 attorneys, entering the data in a computer program, then periodically printing bills to be mailed out to clients. The going rate at that time for their attorneys was around $95 per hour, and every little thing done by the attorney or his staff was billed in increments of 6 minutes, or one-tenth of an hour.

Needless to say, the actual work was quite tedious. But I didn't mind it. I could type very fast, and, once the data was entered (or reports run), my shift was over. This would often put me home around 4 or 5 in the morning. The only highlight in my brief career there was when I was attacked at 3 AM by a deranged cockroach (another story).

Our church life now centered on Lois's parents' church, a Bible chapel, that followed the traditions of the Plymouth Brethren. While this particular "assembly" objects to the PB reference, I stand by my assessment, having researched it. The church had no pastor, but they did have a "full time worker." Their leadership consisted of elders and deacons. Their 11:00 service was called family Bible hour. The real service was at 9:30 and was called the Lord's Table. For one hour men would take turns standing and expounding on the death of Jesus Christ. Sprinkled throughout this activity was hymn singing with no accompaniment. Women were not allowed to speak and were encouraged to wear head coverings. At the end of this "meeting" communion was passed through the gathering, followed by offering baskets.

I managed to find part-time work as a paid music director for a Methodist church. I didn't get much negative feedback from the in-laws because I was supporting my family, and my wife and children were attending the "meetings" while I went to work at the other church.

I did attend some evening meetings at the chapel, where I met a rather interesting man named Roger, who came to show 16mm films centered on the gospel. He managed his own business with the help of his wife and children. The business consisted of receiving and shipping these Christian movies throughout the state of Florida. It also included mending the film, advertising and presenting some films at local churches.

Following a brief interview with him, I was invited to come and work for him part time. The work was interesting, and I enjoyed being with his family. However, all of this took me away from my family, which, upon looking back, I regret. Logging the many hours would oftentimes not leave me in a very receptive mood at home. But I was doing the Lord's work. Or so I thought.

Lois and I also started working with a youth group from the chapel. And we planted a garden (small). And we welcomed the arrival of our third (and final) beautiful baby girl. Life was good.

And then things changed.

Looking For A Place To Land

2010-01-10T06:59:00.000-08:00

The trip from Carpentersville, Illinois (just outside of Chicago) to Orlando was tiring but exciting. We could feel our bodies begin to thaw as we left the snow and the cold, heading south. In the evening after dark on the first day of the 2-day trip, we stopped at a motel to get some rest, but we couldn't sleep well and got up at about 4 or 5 in the morning to continue on.

I remember stopping for gas shortly after we crossed into Georgia. The sun was shining, and we were shedding our outer clothing. Lois and the kids were getting ice cream, and I was pumping gas, listening to music on the outside speakers at the station. Minnie Ripperton was singing Loving You, and birds were chirping in the background of the song's soundtrack. For a moment it felt a little like heaven.

We rolled into Orlando after dark --- me, my pregnant wife and our two daughters. No job, little money and devoid of pride, Lois's folks welcomed us graciously and opened their home to us. Looking back, I realized the foolishness of leaving a job when you have no other job lined up, especially when you have a family. I would make that mistake one more time in this journey. I now understand that the Lord uses you wherever you are at. It doesn't mean that you can never move, but we must always consider how major changes affect us and our families. It also means that you should carefully weigh advice or input from your family members, as well as others around you that you trust.

My new job was to find a job. I left the house at 8:00 AM and didn't return until supper-time. Occasionally, if I was near the house, I would stop by for lunch. I passed out resumes, filled out countless applications and put many miles on my car --- and my feet! To be honest, I've always felt uncomfortable staying with my in-laws, which would explain why I could stay gone for hours. It was probably because I was not a people person, even though I had performed or spoken in front of hundreds. Not quite introverted, I had a very tight comfort zone.

As in the Chicago area I found that I was under-qualified for some jobs because I had no experience and over-qualified for others because I had a degree. And I was depressed.

This did not help toward being the positive, assertive job-seeker that I needed to be. I tried a few sales jobs, soon realizing that it was not for me. In fact, it probably helped develop my enmity towards sales people to this day. I tried selling insurance to businesses and remember feeling let down each time I was rejected. One job was selling cutlery door-to-door. The opening pitch line was that you got the housewife to give you a penny. Then you would impress her by cutting a penny in half with your amazingly sharp scissors --- just one of the many fine products you were willing to display! Little did I know that in those days pennies were made of 95% copper and 5% zinc. You could cut it in half with anybody's scissors! The composition is almost reversed in today's penny, but you can still cut it with a little more effort. Needless to say, the cutlery job didn't work out either.

Proverbs 18:22 says, "He who finds a wife finds what is good ..." I would add that he who finds a good wife is truly blessed. And so I was. Because I was one gloomy dude. I don't think I could have lived with myself. Lois couldn't leave me and go live with her parents because she was already living with her parents! But she never gave up on me. She would continually encourage me, and I'm sure that she constantly prayed for me.

Her prayers were somewhat answered when I finally got a lead from the newspaper classifieds. I rushed downtown to interview for a computer operator position with a large law firm. The pay wasn't much, and it was third shift work, but it had benefits. Hope began to awaken within me. At the same time Lois's unmarried sister had been looking to buy a house in Orlando, so that she could transfer from Chicago as a telephone operator. The transfer was to take some time to complete, so she offered for us to rent the house from her.

New job. Getting out from the parents' home. Life was good --- again. Maybe now things would get back to normal.

Or would they?

Hawking The Lord's Stuff

2010-01-05T15:43:00.000-08:00

Life was good. I had just gotten my degree. I was on the fast track with a promising manufacturing company. Then I got a call from my college roommate, Ron (see blog 11/12/07), saying that he had a great opportunity for me. He had landed a job with the Fleming H. Revel Publishing Company, who, at that time owned Spire paperbacks, a large collection of Christian material. They had just opened a branch office nearby and had another opening for a sales representative.

Now, I wasn't keen on sales jobs, but Ron convinced me to talk to his boss, who turned out to be David E. (see blog 6/14/09). David was the administrator at Cook Publishing, who had tossed a grenade into my aspiring fine arts career earlier. It seems that David had accepted an offer to assemble a local sales team for Revell. He knew that I would be calling him, and was pleased to hear from me.

He explained that Revell was really taking off in new book releases, and they were needing more reps to contact bookstores across the country. Unlike cold-calling as in the numerous call centers today, this sounded more legitimate, more respectable. And, to be sure, the bookstore managers were expecting our calls and showed serious interest in purchasing great quantities of books. The job paid salary plus commission for the first 90 days, then the commission would more than compensate after the salary stopped. An added perk was that we got one free copy of every book that came out, plus one copy each of every paperback that was still in print. We also got special discounts on Christian jewelry, which my mother especially loved.

Since the base salary was at least what I was currently making, with the potential of making more, by encouraging people to invest in literature about Jesus and God, how could I turn down such an opportunity? I told David that I would need to pray about it. He replied that that was fine, but, in his opinion, if you're living in the Lord's will daily, you will already know what to do. And, he continued, the position wouldn't be open much longer. It didn't take long for me to decide that this was the Lord's will (or so I thought). Still stupid.

The office was new and clean, the secretary was gracious, David was a great boss, and I enjoyed talking daily with the bookstore owners and managers. Our hit book was The Total Woman by Marabel Morgan. It was a pithy piece about how to be the perfect housewife --- obedient, sexy and spiritually on target. And we sold a boatload of the books. I loved going to work.

But as all good things must come to an end, so would this grand new career. Two main things would be the driving force for me to make another move, this time literally --- back to Florida. Enter Ron, my old roommate. He was witty, charming, immature and still fiercely competitive. He would circumvent the established guidelines to arrange extra large quantity sales, then brag to me about them. He also would say and do things to break my concentration or interfere with my conversations, even to the point of flipping paperback books at me from a revolving book rack we had in the office.

I was not very wise in handling such tension, and I was not a tattletale. I began to dread going to work. On top of that, the three months came and went, along with the base salary. While we were selling lots of books, the commissions were tied up in publishing red tape, the story being that the company needed to receive enough revenue from the actual book purchases in order to pay the commissions. (I must not have read the fine print.) The waiting was difficult. I had two young daughters and a wife to care for. And the commissions only dwindled in. My boss, David, who later became a good friend, was very helpful in getting a partial salary extended for me, but it just wasn't enough.

Lois and I had also had enough of the Chicago winters, so we loaded our two young daughters into the car, attached a U-Haul trailer and, with my tail between my legs, headed for the Sunshine State, where we would be staying with her parents while I, once again, looked for work. We would also become a part of the Plymouth Bretheren, much to the delight of her folks.

And once again the Lord would provide a great career opportunity. The big question was: how would I handle it this time?

Color My World

2009-06-28T13:29:00.000-07:00

My first job after earning my degree was with American Plastics Coloring Company (don't remember the real name). The company's only product was concentrated coloring elements for plastics processing. There were two basic areas: the manufacturing floor and a lab. One dirty, one clean. I was started out in manufacturing. The pay wasn't great, but I had medical coverage for my family, paid holidays and the promise of a Christmas turkey. Really.

Did I mention it was dirty? I don't remember getting a uniform, but I could wear jeans and a t-shirt because they wouldn't be recognizable by the end of my shift. There were two types of color concentrates --- a powdered dye and coloring beads. The dye was made by mixing ingredients in a huge vat. Noisy and dirty. And sweaty, but fortunately my sweat didn't affect the colors. The beading process was more fun and not as dirty.

Several bags of powdered dye were dumped in a bin, mixed with water, then extruded into a long water trough about ten feet in length. Four strings of soft plastic would emit from the extruder at the same time, side by side. The trick was to move the strings along the trough, using wooden paddles, as the plastic cooled and hardened. At the end of the trough the strings were quick-dried by a powerful blower, then chopped into quarter-inch beads.

Panic buttons were everywhere, and panic I did. Strings would end up going everywhere. Water splashes abounded. I felt like I was in an I Love Lucy skit. I don't think I prayed, but I probably should have. The bosses were patient, and I finally learned how to operate the beast. This may have been a testing period because shortly after mastering the process, I was moved into the lab.

The lab was cool. By that I mean it was air-conditioned, and it was very interesting. The lab process began with receipt of a color swatch from the customer. One client was Oscar Meyer Company, who wanted a particular yellow for their bologna packages. Another was Brut; they wanted a specific green for their aftershave container, but it had to be translucent, so that the colored liquid would appear to be clear.

The challenge was to mix ingredients to match the color swatch, then create a color chip, using an injection molding machine. Finally, compare the color chip with the original desired color sample. Almost all first matches failed. This required re-mixing ingredients, adding or removing colors and making more chips until the desired match was accomplished.

But the challenge wasn't over. When a successful match was achieved, we had to convert the formula for making a larger quantity of color dye that would be produced in manufacturing. This involved the use of a smaller extruder, making more chips and checking the match. Now I was regretting my low grades in math. Converting formulas was not my strong suit. There were four of us in the lab, and once again patience on their part was needed to get me through.

This would also be my first encounter with Christian doctrines that would make me feel uneasy. That's right, in a lab. The lab superivsor somehow quickly picked up on the fact that I was a fellow-believer. And he also happened to be my pinochle parter (We played cards at lunch --- no money involved). He was an intense person, and I wasn't an effective partner to his liking. He also challenged me on several levels in spiritual discussions.

This fellow would introduce to me what later I could only identify as Reformed theology, or Calvinism. He had specific Bible verses that supported his theory that God condemned everybody, then chose certain ones who would be saved through the blood of Christ. While I firmly believed that Christ died for our sins, I couldn't agree that God would intentionally pass over people, simply because they weren't chosen, people who would go on to be tortured forever in a fiery hell. His supporting verses just had to mean something different.

He was so aggressive in his approach that our "discussions" were little more than impassioned debates. I began to avoid him and dreaded lunch periods, where I would once again fail to get his bidding and playing signals in the card game. I suggested changing partners or playing cutthroat, where each player is responsible for his own performance. But the supervisor insisted on playing partners and that I had to join him because we were fellow Christians.

It's amazing how we all got along in the lab, but God works in mysterious ways, and we had a great working relationship. The supervisor was even becoming receptive to the fact that I was avoiding spiritual discussions. He confessed that he was often too hot-headed, that he enjoyed being with me and that he was willing to accept that both of us could be off on our interpretations of scripture.

So things were finally going well. We even agreed in the lab to go to 10-hour days, thereby giving us three-day weekends and four-day weekends on an alternating basis. Good job, great benefits --- even the pay got a little better. Not to mention the upcoming free turkey (or ham).

But the Tempter was about to step in at just the right time. I got a phone call that would entice me to give my budding career up. As I said, I was stupid.

Graduated But Still Learning

2009-06-21T12:35:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it is difficult to keep focused on my mission for this blog, that being the recording of my spiritual journey. But so much of our lives is bound up in trying to separate our spiritual journey from the real world, when, in fact, the two are inseparable. What we do in our daily lives (where our church family doesn't see us) is a true reflection of our spiritual walk.

Before I leave my college days I must relate the fact that three significant things happened during those final two years. Another beautiful baby girl came into our family. I got my degree. And it looked like my marriage was in serious jeopardy. Not necessarily in that order.

I don't think the marriage was ending, but my young wife was almost at the end of her rope. My classes, studying and working were taking all of my energy and creating a life that contrasted to my role as husband and father. And I was an idiot. I was proud of my little family, but I lacked in the ability or desire to nurture them.

As I reflect on this I see that I myself had no role model in either of my parents to provide sincere, hands-on love to those who are most important to you. I saw my own role to be that of breadwinner and disciplinarian. I think now that I had reinforced it with my incorrect view of God. He supplied our needs and kicked our butts. And that was because he loved us. Tenderness was not manly.

To my shame I also failed in sharing many of the parental duties, again blaming it on being wiped out at the end of the day. But I always seemed to muster energy and enthusiasm for church things. Later in our marriage Lois would confess that she wished she had married the guy she saw at church, not the one she had to go home with. She has already earned sainthood for the many years she endured my mood swings and periods of pouting.

I did not intend to make this a negative article. We had many good years and many fond memories. I could never in a million years have found a better mate --- or any better daughters. But this is a spiritual journey, and it's made up of memories, reflections on encouraging things, as well as hurtful things. We learn from our mistakes, and sometimes it takes years. And sometimes we recognize God's hand in it, and it deepens our relationship with him. We begin to see those around us in a different light, particularly those who we are blessed to be able to call immediate family.

A Degree In Hard Knocks

2009-06-14T11:57:00.000-07:00

I had finally made it. My parents flew in for my graduation. My mom was so proud. My wife was proud. I was relieved. I had earned a bachelor's degree in fine arts, and I was ready to hit the road. I could paint, draw, act, sing and play. Who wouldn't be anxious to receive this talented college grad?

I passed out resumes. I called companies. I went door to door. I answered "help wanted" ads in the paper. Many wanted help. None wanted my help. I had a degree, so they wouldn't let me flip burgers. I had no experience, so they wouldn't let me make their commercial, direct their musical or photograph their babies.

So I tapped into my resources at our church. These were the folks that knew me. Some were influential. They could open doors. One guy, David E., worked for the David C. Cook Publishing Company. He agreed to take my art portfolio and show it to some executives.

Weeks later I received a copy of a letter that some uppity-up had sent to David, along with my portfolio. The reply basically said that "Mr. Johnson's drawings were interesting, but he should seriously consider another line of work." Yikes! I was just one brick shy of devastated. I took the letter back to a couple of my college professors, asking them why I should have gotten such a response. I had gotten all A's and B's in my classes. Why was I not now qualified to pursue my career?

They responded that Cook Publishing was insensitive and unjust in dismissing me so hastily, and that I shouldn't give up. I seriously questioned my type of degree, the school I went to and the reliability of good church contacts. But I had to feed my family and take the next step.

I was willing to take anything at this point, so back to the want ads I went. I finally got a decent interview with a plastics coloring company. They were disappointed that I didn't have experience, but felt that since I could manage to get a degree, maybe I would work out there. I also foolishly rationalized that an art degree and coloring were a good fit, so I obviously was right for the job.

I'm sure I must have prayed during this degree-to-job hunting period. I put in my time at church. But beyond that not much spiritual activity was going on in my life. I could envision what God wanted for me, but I don't think I ever stopped to find out what he really wanted for me. The job didn't pay much, but had decent benefits and had the potential of being a great career start. If only I would have stayed. Another one of those should've/could've/would've events.

The Art of Not Applying Myself

2009-05-24T08:49:00.000-07:00

(I'm back. Have been busy working on my newest site, framedbyfaith.com)

Thanks to the internet I have, after almost 30 years, discovered that Norman Jonsson was NOT the creator of Tony the Tiger and the Jolly Green Giant. Which goes to show how much attention I was paying to him and his training of me. I did discover, however, that he was the lead advertising guy for those two characters, along with other commercials, such as Franco American spaghetti and Allstate.

As I mentioned before we had met at church, and I seem to remember that he and his wife sang in our choir. Lois and I visited their home several times, and I personally spent many hours in his basement because he had agreed to help me with a senior project, producing a 60-second commercial for Judson College.

In said basement he proudly shared with me a number of photographs and reel-to-reel footage of the commercials he had produced, along with interesting stories about their development. He said that the original Jolly Green Giant valley was created in a 12 X 12 room, and the "giant" himself was actually a 13 year old boy.

He showed me outtakes of the Allstate commercials and dug out the castle prop from the Franco-American spaghetti commercial, where an unknown hand sets down a giant can of spaghetti in front of the castle. Norman also demonstrated his skill at sketching, painting and lettering. In only a few minutes he could create amazing results in a cartoon, a name or a drawing.

Norman explained to me that he didn't come by his skill easily. He said that, while some are truly gifted artists, others can achieve the same level of expertise by a lot more work. In his early days Norman had avidly practiced at sketching, taking blank paper and pencil with him wherever he went, including church, at bus stops and while going out to eat. He began at the Disney studios by sweeping the floor and helping out with odd jobs --- for free!

Even while I was studying with him, Norman would be called away to do commercials, even though he was officially retired. One was a Pampers commercial, where he filmed a number of babies and interviewed several mothers at the nearby Schaumburg Mall.

I share all this to say that I couldn't take full credit for my senior project because Norman did a lot of the grunt work. Sure, I worked on the story board, and I arranged for students to participate and got the necessary waivers signed. But the actual technical work, Norman did. He filmed. He edited. I picked background music, and recorded the voice-over, but Norman put it all together, with split-screen opticals and supers, with little actual hands-on support from me.

The result was a high quality, professional commercial that I was anxious to show to the college president and dean. They were impressed and wanted me to donate it to my alma mater. I wanted money. They said no. I couldn't believe that one of their rich board members wouldn't cough up a few hundred to buy my film. After all, I was a struggling student with wife and kids. So I put the film back in the can and have since lost it. But they didn't get it. And I regret that now.

This was the first of two letdowns I would experience from college. With all that God was teaching me, I was a worse spiritual student than I was as a college senior. What happened after I got my degree was my next disappointment.

Let The Cold Winds Blow

2008-06-07T09:49:00.000-07:00

It was snowing. And snowing. And freezing. And I had to attend classes on crutches. We had to let some loan payments slip in order to buy food and medicine. But an amazing thing began to happen. Even though we were careful not to bemoan our plight to other student families, it seemed that several times when we could barely scrape up enough for the next meal, a little bit of money would show up.

Sometimes it would be with an unsigned card, in an envelope, put on the inside of our storm door. Other times we would find an envelope with money in our campus mailbox. I'm not sure if my wife was working there at the time, but if she was, she was never aware of anyone placing gifts in our own box. Birthday, Christmas and anniversary money always came at the right time.

We also got to know a couple, Mike and Jane, who were a great encouragement to us. Mike worked full time as a machinist, so that Jane could get her degree. They were not professing Christians, but surely showed Christian love and obedience to Christ's teaching. Once, when our car broke down, Mike cheerfully crawled under it for an hour or so, on a bitter cold day, and fixed the problem. And this after having just gotten off of work on third shift. Sadly, however, as we had done with so many "friends" before, we didn't develop a close relationship with Mike and Jane because they didn't believe as we did. Even among fellow believers the doctrines had to match, or we couldn't bind together. The Lord would begin to set that straight later on in our lives.

The most memorable of acquaintances, though, was a long-haired hippie-looking fellow named Jim. He approached me one day when I was trying to manipulate my crutches and dropping books. He was wearing a rumpled khaki outfit and asked if he could carry my books. I reluctantly agreed, but warned him that it could go no further, as I was married. (Kidding!) Jim was a student at Judson, and he and his wife, Rosie, would often house-sit around the area, including the home of the noted Christian childrens book writer, V. Gilbert Beers.

Jim wanted to become a full time youth pastor at a large church. Being at a Christian school in the north presented a first for us, in that the students chose Christian careers, rather than being "called," as I had been taught. As our friendship grew with Jim and Rosie, our discussions centered on the fundamental faith. But I don't recall any judgemental behavior, which often comes with the territory. We certainly did it enough.

Jim was my sound technician for my senior project, which was a stationary stage setting for Robert Bolt's "A Man For All Seasons." We destroyed Lois's curling iron to carve grooves in styrofoam to simulate castle block and recorded roosters crowing, wind howling and dogs barking. All in all, it was great fun, and I got an A+.

Having visited a number of churches, we finally settled on a fairly large non-denominational church. More song-leading, choir-directing and solos. We would meet a number of interesting and loving people --- especially one amazing man, Norman Jonsson, the creator of Tony The Tiger and The Jolly Green Giant.

Judson U --- Again

2008-06-05T04:15:00.000-07:00

We had many good experiences at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, but two stand out the most. One is that I got great administrative training in the Air Force. I started out as Chief Clerk (not a very exciting title), then served 6 months as Acting First Sergeant, then finally Special Assistant to the squadron commander.

I could have made a career of the military and reached full retirement at age 41, but I chose to take a 3-month early out for education purposes. This decision was based upon the fact that the Vietnam war was still going strong, and I was assigned to a tactical fighter squadron. We always had to keep a duffle bag packed and would sporadically be called to the base on alert, never knowing if we would be boarding the plane for a 12-month overseas tour in-country.

Not wanting to have another opportunity to look death in the face, combined with the annoyance of having to salute and obey second lieutenants (nurses, supply officers, etc.) just because they had a degree, well, it just seemed like moving on was the right thing to do.

The greatest experience, however, was the new addition to our family. Following an early-pregnancy miscarriage, my wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Our only companion previously was a golden German shepherd, given to us by another airman who was shipping out. The dog had been through both obedience school and guard dog school. But when he growled at my daughter, he was history. We found him a good home in Orlando when we went down for the music conference (see previous blog).

I had mentioned before that my mother doubted that I would ever finish college if I got married. I was determined to prove her wrong. So we loaded up the family and moved to Elgin, Illinois (just outside of Chicago), where we lived on campus, and I attended classes. Most of my credits were at Judson University, so it seemed more prudent to complete my studies and get my degree there. Judson had also become fully accredited since I last attended, so all of my credits were good.

The school operated on a trimester program, where you could attend classes five days a week and earn a four-year degree in three. I only had one year to go, but it was probably the most difficult year of my life. The GI bill was paying for my education, but only a small part of it. I had to take out a government-insured student loan, and we struggled to get by.

My wife worked in the mail room on campus, and I delivered fourth class mail door to door. Back then the post office wouldn't deliver all of those annoying coupons and ads, so companies were contracted to deliver them in baggies that you hung on the doorknob. You were paid by the piece, so you could do quite well if you were willing to work at it.

My routine was that my wife would drive the car, a VW station wagon, and I would sprint to each house and deliver my goods. This worked great until one winter day, when I slipped on a patch of snow-covered ice and went down with my full weight on my foot, breaking a bone near my ankle. No disability offered. No jobs available. No income. Things couldn't get any worse.

Then the car broke down. Now I was in a position to see the outpouring of the love of God to me and my family.

With A Song In My Parts

2008-06-04T18:14:00.000-07:00

Sunrise Baptist (I don't remember the real name.) was a nice, homey church of about 120 people and a portly pastor. Over years to come I would realize that whenever anyone would hear me sing in the congregation, I would soon be pressed into some type of service, be it choir, choir leader, Sunday school teacher --- whatever. I never felt that I had that good of a voice, but either I sang more loudly than anyone else, or I could carry a tune in a bucket.

This church was no different. Before long I was their new song leader and choir director. We had to join first, of course. This was done on our Statement of Faith. You just affirmed to the congregation that you knew Jesus and wanted a church home. They generally didn't ask very many questions because they wanted new workers.

Also being a fine arts major (even though I flunked out) and a veteran Campus Lifer, my credentials immediately secured me a spot on the staff (unpaid, of course). I assembled my fledgling choir, some of which didn't even have buckets to carry their tunes in, and began to hone them into a single instrument that wouldn't cause the congregation to squirm in their seats. This would take several Sundays.

On the home front we were getting to know several couples in our trailer park, all of which had at least one spouse stationed at Myrtle Beach Air Force Base, and none of which were professed Christians. It would be better to say that they weren't outspoken Christians, testimony-on-the-sleeve kind of thing. It was a lot like our experience in the Phillipines, where the heathens seemed to be more human, and a lot more interesting.

But even with our off-base relationships we were faithful at church --- both services on Sunday, Wednesday nights, week-long revivals and such. The only Christian couple that we actually met were a lieutenant and his wife. We attended a Christian function with them, had dessert (cheesecake, yuch-h-h!) at their house, and discussed the fact that our relationship couldn't go much further because I was an enlisted man.

I was more likely to have "spiritual" discussions on occasion with other guys at work. But more often than not they merely attempted to embarrass me with dirty jokes, vulgar comments about women and how much fun it was to get wasted (drunk). One guy even brought to church a woman that he was having an affair with. I shook his hand, welcomed her, then tried to avoid eye contact for the rest of the service. I didn't realize then that I was already developing a legalistic outlook on life, even though I constantly maintained that I was not legalistic.

Being able to conduct myself well from the platform, I became a big hit with the church folk. The choir liked me. The people liked me. The pastor wasn't too sure about me. It's funny that the two main things I remember about him was that he was always the outdoor grill cook at church picnics (He would always lick his fingers in between moving the meat around on the grill., and he drove a new car. He would go to car dealers and convince them that if he drove their cars around, it was good advertising for them, not to mention the fact that they were supporting the Lord's work.

Well, apparently I was doing so much that the deacons began to feel badly that they weren't paying me and wanted to come up with some way to encourage me monetarily. I had heard of an upcoming music conference in Boca Raton, Florida, led by John W. Peterson and Don Wyrtzen, and I asked if they would consider paying for my trip. They loved the idea and proceeded to approve it. Only problem was that the pastor was the boss of them, and he wasn't crazy about the idea. They stood up to him, though, and soon my wife and I were headed to Florida, she to spend some time with her parents, and me to join with some of the most talented voices and orchestral performers in the Southeast.

I came back to the church rested and elated at my musical experience, eager to share my adventure and thank everyone for my trip. No one asked. The pastor wouldn't even give me the opportunity to address the congregation on what I had witnessed and learned. It was clear that they feared him. And yet they felt that they needed him. They knew that when my tour was up, I would move on. What could they do?

As I had done before, I felt that I owed it to him to meet with him, one on one, before we were to leave the church. I told him that I felt that he had too much control, that he wasn't sensitive to the needs of the people. He replied, "You may be right." And that was that.

I found out just before we left that my choir director/song leader replacement was one of the guys that had told dirty jokes in the office. Maybe it was time for him to have a little talk with Jesus.

Down By The Sea

2008-06-03T02:27:00.000-07:00

After 16 months of living off base in the Phillippine Islands, everything back in America looked good. Even gas stations looked like theme parks as we drove by. My parents kept our old VW for us, and we began to look for a place to live in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

Being just a sergeant, we still had to live off base, but this was so much better. We rented a place in nearby Garden City, just two blocks from the beach. My career had to change because there was no longer a need for so many air traffic controllers, so the Air Force took my next best skill, which was typing, and decided to make me an administrative specialist. I asked if I happened to fail at the admin training, could I get on as an air traffic controller? They said "no way, but no problem," I could become a cook or a military police officer. All of a sudden being a clerk wasn't so bad. And keeping up the typing has helped me to this day.

First on the spiritual agenda was to find a church. My wife's parents were quick to point out that there just happened to be a "chapel" right there in Myrtle Beach. (Plymouth Bretheren churches not only didn't want to be called Plymouth Bretheren, they didn't want to be called "church;" they peferred "chapel" or "assembly.")

We visited one Sunday, but didn't much care for it. The people were nice but the preaching basically consisted of church-bashing --- that is, citing everything wrong with everyone who didn't believe what they did. But visiting them once wasn't enough for them; they began to visit us, regularly, usually at supper time. I finally made it clear on one visit that we did not believe that this was where the Lord wanted us to worship and that we would not be back. That stopped the visits.

But it didn't stop the leaders. They wrote a letter to my in-laws, accusing us of abandoning the true church. This was followed by the arrival of "bretheren" material being sent to us by my wife's parents. The most notable (and dogmatic) of the writings was by an itinerant preacher by the name of Alfred P. Gibbs, one of the founders of the Plymouth Bretheren movement in the U.S.. He considered all other churches to be apostate, that is, turned away from the true faith, and were in line for serious condemnation. Looking back, I realize that it was our first experience with what could be considered a cult group.

This made us more determined to not be a part of the Plymouth Bretheren. Ironically, some six years later we would be actively involved in an "assembly" in Orlando, Florida. But for now we would show them; we became Southern Baptists.

You're In The (Air Force) Now

2008-01-02T12:38:00.000-08:00

It was a time of war. In an effort to stop the spread of Communism in other parts of the world, the United States saw fit to enter the Vietnam conflict. President Nixon had just introduced the draft lottery, in order to provide an equitable distribution of the national conscription. I won. Since I didn’t particularly want to die in Southeast Asia as an Army soldier, I joined the Air Force.

I left for basic training in February of 1969. After shedding 15 pounds, I was sent to Biloxi, Mississippi for air traffic control training. I was insecure and still madly in love. So, I had my wife join me at tech school. We scraped and got by on my meager military pay. We also visited a few churches, but did not commit to one because we knew my assignment would be brief. After a visit with my folks in North Carolina and her folks in Florida, I shipped out for my overseas assignment. Neil Armstrong had just walked on the moon, and I was headed for the Philippine Islands.

My wife had gotten a good job back home and was living with her folks, so we could have saved a good amount to help us get established when I got back. But, once again, stupidity prevailed. I very soon got lonely and homesick. There were several of us married guys like that. The routine for getting a spouse to join you was to meet with the chaplain, get a note stating that your current mental state would be detrimental to your service and that it was necessary for your mate to come over on a temporary visa. You then presented this recommendation to the first sergeant, who, basically, had no other choice but to approve it.

So, after a lot of paperwork and more Filipino pesos than I would have liked to have spent, my wife arrived in Manila, terrified and tired. I rationalized that it would be good for her to experience a third world country, but, truth be known, I needed her. Now, almost 40 years later, I still have trouble being away from her for any length of time --- but I’m getting better.

Being a lower-ranked enlisted man, we were required to live off base. We found an apartment in nearby Angeles City, complete with little-to-no running water, no hot water, bats, pigs and cobras all about, and a view of Mount Pinatubo, an inactive volcano, which became VERY active in 1991. The heat and humidity were oppressive, the rain lasted forever, and the locals left a lot to be desired. But we were happy. At least I was.

We became friends with other couples in the compound, especially one pair from Ohio. One fellow we met had gotten a nearby apartment and arranged for his wife to join him. He shared a meal with us, and we talked about our faith. He was a devout Christian, and we thought we would be able to share that bond with him during our stay. However, he and his wife never seemed to get along with the other folks, and we soon came to realize that we were preferring our non-Christian friends to them. Looking back, I believe that we had not treated them with enough respect. And for that I am truly sorry.

I worked rotating 12-hour shifts, so we had good excuse not to go to church. We had picked up a used car, so on my time off we often escaped to Subic Bay on the coast or north to Baguio in the mountains. As I recall our adventures --- water-skiing in shark-infested waters, driving across rickety bridges suspended 1,000 feet above the nearest tree-top, being stopped by armed militia seeking “donations,” and wandering through underground Japanese tunnels --- I can now see God’s sparing hand upon us.

At the end of my overseas tour I was given opportunity of picking three possible locations for my next assignment. I had learned from seasoned veterans that you always made your preferred destination the third choice. Taking a chance, my choices were Minot, North Dakota (Thank the Lord I didn’t go there!), Naples, Italy (wouldn’t have minded looking up my wife’s relatives), and, finally, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The plan worked. For the next two years I would swim in the ocean, eat inexpensive lobster tails --- and become a desk jockey.

I would also return to some serious church-going.

Where To Worship

2007-12-27T02:38:00.000-08:00

Life was good in Deland. I was completely on my own, with my new apartment, new job and beautiful new wife. She worked as a keypunch operator. I worked at a sawmill, then later operated a band saw at a place that made transformers. We lived on the edge of the Stetson University campus.

We attended Deland Baptist Temple, a small, autonomous church that was part of the World Baptist Fellowship. Their doctrine seemed to be the same as my Southern Baptist thinking and my wife’s Chapel beliefs. The people were nice. The pastor was friendly. And we fit right in. I taught some Sunday School classes and spoke to the teens. I even drove the church bus, which was actually a van. I picked up a few kids, as well as some older folks who didn’t have rides.

One character that stood out in my mind was an elderly woman from nearby Orange City, who played the piano. She was quite outspoken and opinionated, but we were drawn to her and her husband. Another fellow made a brief appearance one Sunday. He came in barefoot, was friendly in nature, and left a $1,000 check in the offering plate. That raised two questions: 1) What did he want? And 2) Was the check good? Answers: We never saw him again, and I don’t remember what the pastor spent the money on.

So why did we pick this unusual, little church? I think it was because we wanted something different from what we had been raised in. One Wednesday night, however, changed that. I was about ten minutes into my teaching when I saw the pastor and his wife sit down on each side of my wife. Then all three got up and left the room. A few minutes later my wife sat back down, alone, crying.
We left quickly after the service, and I asked her on the way home what had happened. She said that the pastor told her that her baptism was illegitimate because she had not been baptized by an ordained minister in a real church, and that she would need to be re-baptized.

Now, a word about her home church, the Plymouth Brethren. The name comes from a group that met in a home in Plymouth, England in 1830, under the teaching of John Nelson Darby. However, most of the current “assemblies,” as they are called, do not trace themselves back to this group. They see themselves as descended from the original church, always operating in the background of the organized church. Their doctrine is pretty fundamental, in line with most of conservative Christianity. They had no membership, other than the “right hand of fellowship” from the elders, their only official leaders. Their core “meeting” was a one-hour worship service each week, with open “sharing” by the men, hymn singing without musical accompaniment, and concluded with a communion service. Their women wore head coverings and kept silent. They had no pastor or minister, no seminary graduate, but would often employ a “full time worker,” who would preach and visit the sick, and, for his service, would receive one weekly freewill offering per month. An elder or the full time worker could baptize.

So the pastor at Deland Baptist Temple had a dilemma --- by his reckoning. I met with him on a Saturday. The discussion didn’t last long. I cited Ephesians 4:5 (“… one Lord, one faith, one baptism…”), and he returned with a passage on obeying the authority of leaders (Hebrews 13:17). I decided that we should leave. He requested that we not contact others in the church, so as not to cause division. I honored his request, but, in hindsight, have regretted it. While we had no intention of turning the church against the pastor, the truth that led to our departure should have been shared with, at least, those whom we knew well. We received a few phone calls, but quietly responded that it was “the Lord’s will.” Who knows what reasons the pastor gave?

This would be the first of a few run-ins I would have with clergy.

Get Me To The Church On Time

2007-12-11T19:06:00.000-08:00

By the time I got the bad news about my future at Stetson U., I had already proposed to my girl. I went through the entire process of meeting her dad --- alone --- and asking for her hand in marriage. He made me wait for what seemed like forever before he came out of the bedroom to receive me. By then I was working for a company that made canning equipment. So I had a job, and I convinced him that I would be finishing school at the earliest opportunity.

He appeared to be more interested in my testimony. He had heard me sing at Campus Life, and I had visited the chapel where he and his family worshiped. I shared the fact that I had given my heart to Jesus, that the Son of God had died for my sins, and that my future wife and I would live the Christian faith. I assured him that I would take care of her. I even threw in the plan to go into full time Christian service (which I still believed). The whole package took about twenty minutes, and I got his approval.

This was in December. We were to be married the following June. We still can’t agree on whose idea it was to get married so soon, but I suspect that I had the greater influence. I gave her the ring the same night that I took her to hear David Wilkerson (The Cross and the Switchblade). I don’t remember anything about his sermon. I was in love, and her ring seemed to cause her hand to float up in the air often so that folks could see it.

We were married in June at her parents’ church, and we honeymooned on the Gulf Coast in a small vacation home loaned to us by a neighbor. The house was on a small canal, a few blocks away from the beach, with a few other houses around it. But there was basically no civilization around it, that being decent stores, restaurants or shopping malls. The closest attraction was Weeki Wachi Springs, where we went to see the “live” mermaids, young women in big fish tails (with bathing suit tops) that could hold their breath under water for a really long time, behind a glass.

Just before we got married, I had changed jobs and started working for a sawmill in Deland, so that we could be near Stetson U., whenever they were ready to take me back. So, following the brief honeymoon, we stopped by Orlando to tear through our wedding gifts, then head up to our apartment, where we would enjoy the newness of married life for the next seven and one-half months.

As devout Christians we were anxious to find a church as soon as possible. She had been brought up in the Plymouth Brethren church (more on that later), and I was of the Southern Baptist faith. We were both ready for a change. Little did we know, however, what Deland Baptist Temple had in store for us.

Stetson Who?

2007-11-28T02:51:00.000-08:00

The second phase of my undergraduate studies took place at Stetson University in Deland, Florida. Like Judson, Stetson also had a religious affiliation at the time I was there, that of the Southern Baptists. I found that odd because the school had a strong student body government that had petitioned to have cigarette vending machines installed on campus.

Also like Judson, I was admitted to Stetson on probation, having poor grades, with shaky credits that were being transferred from a non-accredited college. And for one more year I would not change my performance level --- I think it actually got worse. I lived on campus, but spent so much time at home, some 30 minutes away, I might as well had stayed there.

I proudly displayed my minister’s license in my dorm room, but was told by my hippie roommate that I had better not try to convert him. I didn’t. In fact, I can only recall one occasion, when I had taken him and his laundry to a local Laundromat, that we had any serious discussion about religion. He was pretty much turned off by the hypocrisy of the so-called Christians around him. I had been trained to respond that, regardless of how he felt about it, it still wouldn’t do him any good when he was standing in Hell. But, for some reason, my lips weren’t saying it. I think that even back then I was too embarrassed to witness because, deep inside, I couldn’t fully cope with my own beliefs.

A stronger force was at work within me, however, that of having to face an angry God for challenging the doctrines that he had set forth. So I continued to trust --- in the teachings of men.

My love life was taking a new direction. Being caught up in the Elvis subculture, I set forth to date a new girl every night, if possible. I would again make my selection from the beauties at the Youth For Christ (now Campus Life) Saturday night programs. This didn’t last long because I was soon attracted to an Italian girl, who would later become my wife.

Now being absorbed into my new romance --- sorry, Honey, not your fault --- my course achievements plummeted. In short, I flunked out of college. My counselor, who was also failing me, said that I would be suspended for at least one semester, while I attempt to settle down. He recommended that I either go into the military or get married. I did both.

My mother said that if I got married, I would never finish college. She was wrong. But first I had to get through nine months of work and four years of the United States Air Force.

Party, Study, Pity Party

2007-11-12T17:28:00.000-08:00

I brought many of my bad habits from high school to college with me. I aced some classes, failed or nearly failed others. Not being a drinker, my version of partying was staying up all night, eating junk food, watching TV and pursuing romance.

I had a close relationship with a girl from high school, who was only 4 feet, ten inches tall (I’m 6-2). I have always remained faithful in each relationship --- all four of them. However, being away from my girl was always difficult. For whatever reason, when I came home for Christmas, we had a serious conversation about our future. I had maintained that the Lord wanted me in full time Christian service. (I realize now that he wants us all in full time Christian service, but that’s a different story.) She didn’t see that as a viable way to support a family. So it was over. And I don’t think her mother ever really liked me.

Back on campus I met another girl, Janet (not her real name), and I immediately was swept away. With the exception of some classes and sleeping, we spent every waking moment together. She introduced me to the concert choir and college gospel teams. Being able to sing fairly well (I think), I took to both quite well. Even as a newly titled Reverend, I hadn’t begun to speak much, other than the standard testimony.

Traveling around the area with the gospel team, and around the northeast with the choir was great fun, but it continued to erode my already-shaky study habits. I gradually polished my testimony and slowly became less the loner. All of the faculty liked me, and I was elected choir president for the following year.

Janet’s roommate, Mary (not her real name either), was engaged to another student, a senior, who had his own car. He headed up one of the gospel teams, and the four of us would often travel together. He was much more serious than his betrothed, but they seemed to be the right fit for each other. I wrote to her almost two years later to explain why I had left her best friend for another.

I returned to Judson for my second year as a seasoned student with my own car. My plan was to swing by East St. Louis and pick up Janet, then head on up to campus. To my surprise and disappointment, Janet informed me that she could not return that year due to lack of finances. We attempted to maintain the relationship throughout the year. I made several trips to southern Illinois, and she made a few trips to Judson.

Janet suffered from what she called brain aches. I never quite understood that, but I would learn over the course of time that this was only one of several peculiarities that I would discover in her. My mother didn’t much like the fact that she was two years older than me.

I will now write about how the relationship ended, but I must first introduce my second year roommate, Ron (another fake name). Ron was a preacher’s kid from Devil’s Lake, Wisconsin. He stood 6-4 (that's why I'm not using his real name) and had a steady girlfriend back home who was about the same height as my short high school girl. He had a pleasant personality, but he quickly became annoying because he was obsessed at bettering me in everything. His girlfriend was better. His part-time job was better. His home town was better.

The college had its annual spring formal banquet some time after Valentine‘s Day, and I had arranged to pick Janet up at the train station. I had bought a corsage and a large heart-shaped box of chocolates. I kept these in her ex-roommate’s (now married) apartment on campus.

I had been doing a number of speaking engagements, traveling with the gospel teams, and had just preached to a crowd nearby the night before the banquet. Afterward I went to Mary’s apartment, where I received a phone call from Janet. She said that she had an oppressive feeling and felt quite certain that the Lord didn’t want her to come up for the banquet. She also felt strongly that Satan was at work against her. I was crushed. The trusting part of me couldn’t blame her, because I believed that such forces were at work. But the romantic spirit in me wanted her to come anyway.

I gave her corsage to Mary, then walked dejectedly back to my dorm, carrying the box of chocolates, which, after I arrived, I tossed in the trash. Bad move. Ron saw my action, laughed at my sad news, then lunged for the candy in the trash. I didn’t realize that I could sink any lower, but I did.

I don’t think I saw Janet again until I left for the summer. My parents had decided that, since Judson was non-accredited (at that time), it would be best for me to transfer somewhere else. That somewhere was Stetson University in Deland, Florida, about 40 miles from my home in Orlando.

I suggested to Janet that we agree to date other people and see what the summer brings, but not officially break up. Looking back, it has occurred to me that neither of us ever sought the Lord’s will in our lives; we were totally focused on ourselves. And I was totally focused on her.

But God would continue to work in my life, whether I realized it or not. I would continue to make good choices and bad choices. And it would definitely be a life-changing summer.

Judson Who?

2007-10-30T03:02:00.000-07:00

My first day of college was unforgettable. My grades in high school were so bad that I had to find a liberal arts college that would take me and not break my parents’ bank account. I wanted to have some distance between me and home, so I found Judson College in Elgin, Illinois, just northwest of Chicago.

Often confused with the all-female college by the same name in Alabama, Judson was named after Adoniram Judson, the first protestant missionary to Burma in 1813. It became Judson University in August, 2007. Originally Judson was affiliated with the American Baptist Association, the northern counterpart to the Southern Baptists. The preaching of the American Baptists was more mainline and less hellfire and brimstone. Like most other colleges that have religious foundations, Judson has evolved as an independent academic institution.

In the fall of 1965 my parents and I arrived at the Judson campus, having driven from Florida over a two day period. We climbed out of the car wearing matching red and white plaid shirts. How geeky was that? Immediately a big black man strode up to me, smiling, holding out his hand and saying, “Hi, I’m your big brother!” I fell back with the reply, “No, you’re not!”

After a confusing few minutes of sorting things out, I learned that upperclassmen were assigned to freshman, in order to help them acclimate to their new surroundings. The only other black person that I had been in the same room with was Joe, the cook at my mother’s restaurant, whom she often referred to as a “good n******.” My “big brother” said that he had sent me a letter, with photo, but I hadn’t received it. I wonder now what I would have done if I had gotten it before we left on our trip.

I didn’t like the way my mother talked of blacks, but at the time I did not consider her racist. I am now not only convinced that she was, but that it had rubbed off on me. I finally accepted my new friend, but I avoided most opportunities to have any contact with him. He had even offered to drive me around town and show me the area, but I was afraid we would end up in the black section; so my fear drove him away. He finally gave up on me.

I look forward to the day when I can ask his forgiveness and embrace him as a true brother

Bits and Pieces

2007-10-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

It’s interesting how certain conversations, even brief ones, stick in your mind after many years. As Youth for Christ president (in the school club) I was busy keeping things organized, giving devotionals and working with new converts. One young fellow started out as an eager believer, but his parents --- particularly his dad --- weren’t so sure about what he had gotten into. When he suddenly stopped coming to the club meetings, I gave him a call at home.

He said that his dad had explained to him how the Bible didn’t make any sense and that he was foolish for coming to the club meetings. I replied that his salvation experience was a very serious matter, that he should continue in his new belief, even though he was forbidden from being with us. He then quoted a passage from the Bible (also suggested by his dad) --- Matthew 5:20 Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and the Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven. (KJV)

He explained that since he wasn’t planning on entering another life in a box (case), then he didn’t have to worry about the warning. I said that he was misinterpreting the scripture and that his salvation was eternal, unless he really hadn’t accepted Christ in the first place. Little did I know at the time that we were both stupid in our understanding of what God was saying.

One time David B. and I pretended we were sick in order to skip school. Our real purpose, however, was to go down to the Youth for Christ center and help Joe N. work on the Christian Victor’s float for the upcoming parade. The YFC director, Gus, came out and mildly admonished us for cutting school. We had justified our action by the fact that we were doing the Lord’s work, and that presenting the gospel in a visual format was more important than school. Joe didn’t seem to care either way; he was just glad to get the help.

On another occasion I was at David’s house, hanging out with him and his little brother (I can’t remember his name). The brother challenged me regarding the fact that if I really believed that all who rejected Christ were going to spend eternity in Hell, then I should be on my hands and knees, begging them to repent. I mumbled something about how that wouldn’t bring them any closer to accepting, but in my heart I considered it too embarrassing to see myself employing such dramatics.

This same boy would convict me again weeks after the auto accident that put him and his brother in the hospital. Immediately following the event, I went home, devastated, because the accident had been my fault; I had acted irresponsibly and had almost cost someone their life. I went to the hospital the next day to check on everybody. David’s brother had already been released. David was in good spirits, joking that a broken collar bone would keep him out of the army, and it did (this was during Viet Nam). The young girl was also in good spirits and seemed to hang onto her recent salvation experience, in spite of the fact that it seemed that God had not protected her from injury on the very night of her decision.

However, for days I couldn’t eat or sleep. I moped around the house. Finally, one day, I just let it all out; the tear dam burst, and I lay sobbing in my mother’s arms. I needed to get away. The Christian Victors had planned an overnight fishing/witnessing trip on the coast and, after much compelling from Joe, I went along. The night was pleasant. We sang gospel songs around a campfire. And I slept --- like a rock. I was told the next day that no one in the group had ever heard another human being snore so loudly.

As embarrassing as that was, what came next was worse. David’s brother had been released from the hospital the day following the accident, was already recovering well, and had come along with us to the beach. I had begun to feel like a burden was lifting from my chest, when he walked right up to me and said, “How can you be here, laughing and enjoying yourself, when my brother is lying in the hospital?”

I was speechless. Others tried to defend me, but I really felt that he was right. Why wasn’t I at the hospital, caring for my friends? I had single-handedly made the whole traumatic event all about me. I’d like to say that I rushed back and did what was right, but I didn’t. First off, I couldn’t drive, having lost my license for a time. Also, I let my well-meaning defenders talk me into to continuing my own recovery. Perhaps they were right, but I believe that the whole ordeal began to shape me a little on the inside.

One final thought from high school. I began preaching more; I even made a tape for my grandmother. I fancied myself an upcoming Billy Graham. I was asked to preach in a number of churches, and I was supported by my home church, Edgewood Baptist. They even issued me a license to preach. Back then, such a document was official and authorized you to do whatever ministers do. You could marry people (I did one, but it later failed.), bury people and visit the Intensive Care ward at the hospital.

My mother loved it. She told everybody that I was a reverend --- even addressed her letters to me at college as Rev. Steve Johnson. And so I went off to Chicago, Illinois, armed with my credentials and a determination to change the world for Jesus.

The Crash

2007-10-06T18:12:00.000-07:00

I had begun driving early in high school --- actually got my learner's permit at age 14. I didn't have to drive to school; it was only a block away. So I used my car to run errands for my mother (she owned and operated two restaurants) and haul my friends around.

I distinctly remember driving five different cars during high school and college, but my favorite was a '56 Ford sedan. I don't remember the models of any of my cars and have carried that stupidity through to my current life --- although I think I'm now driving a Ford Ranger XLT pickup.

Florida was famous for sudden thunderstorms with a significant downpour. I had taken it upon myself to transport other kids my age to and from the Youth For Christ Saturday night rallies, as well as to other Christian functions. David B. was my regular co-pilot. One Saturday night following a rally, I was in the process of taking a bunch home. David was in the front seat with me. There was a cute, young girl between us (she had just “gone forward and accepted Christ” at that evening's program). In the back seat were David's younger brother and the son of one of my Mom's waitresses.

I will already confess at this point that my car had faulty windshield wipers. Actually, they didn't work at all. I was pretty irresponsible, and my mother didn't get around to fixing them (my Dad was overseas --- again). We were driving in downtown Orlando after dark. It began to rain hard. I recall turning left at a traffic light, having seen no other traffic. Suddenly, out of nowhere, my car was slammed on the passenger side by a city bus. The bus seemed to continue hitting us, maybe two or three times, until the car was lodged against a telephone pole.

I will also confess that we weren't wearing seat belts, even though two were installed in the front seat. Seat belts were just starting to be installed in cars then; they weren't required by law, and nobody was using them. Still, it was noted in the police report that we had been sitting on them.

The car was resting against the telephone pole at the rear passenger door on the driver's side, and the bus had backed up a few feet. I was able to get out of the driver's side and began quickly assessing the situation. David's passenger window was shattered, and there was blood on his face. The girl next to him was crying, and her foot seemed to be jammed into the floorboard. David's brother was upside down in the back seat, and the boy next to him was relatively unharmed.

The rain had stopped, but the engine started smoking. Fearing that the car would catch fire, I frantically tried to get my passengers out. Both passenger-side doors were jammed, the left rear door was against the pole, and the girl couldn't move to get out of the driver's door. I recall getting very frustrated that a crowd that had gathered would not give assistance. They kept telling me to wait for the ambulance. I was frantically pulling on David's door, but to no avail.

All were transported to the hospital. I was also told to go in order to be checked out. I don't even remember who drove me. Three were admitted. David, with a broken collar bone, our female passenger, with a broken foot, and David's little brother, with a busted knee-cap. The other boy was released with minor scratches, and I was released after a lot of window glass was removed from my hands.

Life was a blur for several weeks.

Victory In Jesus

2007-09-25T02:40:00.000-07:00

Weekends were busy for me in high school. My newfound faith found new friends in the form of a local gospel team called The Christian Victors. Their theme verse was I Corinthians 15:57; their theme song was Victory In Jesus by E.M. Bartlett.

Buddy P. was the president. He was a mentally-challenged young man (older to me) with a heart of gold. He literally loved everyone. Always had a smile. Always spoke of God's love. He had a special desire to write to movie stars and tell them about Jesus. He wrote hundreds of letters --- and got many replies, including autographed photos.

The other two leaders were Joe N. and Denny S.. Joe was a robust fellow with big ideas. He was a great encourager and was instrumental in helping people to develop their potential. At one point during my high school years he owned and operated a small pizza place, where he sold pizza by the slice, didn't serve beer, and provided a place for teens to hang out. It attracted mostly Christian teens, who practised their testimonies on each other, ate pizza and drank Coke. It was just down the street from my house, so I was a regular.

Denny was a quiet, friendly fellow, who was engaged to a lady who was the sister of a temporary girlfriend of mine. I don't know what Denny did for a living, nor do I recall what he did for the Team. Denny, Joe and Buddy were the only adult influences in my life at that time, since I was an only child, and my folks were generally unavailable.

The Christian Victors went around to churches to share their testimonies in word and song, followed by some preaching. One Sunday at a church Joe was leading the group and asked if any of the team had anything else to share (we were near the end of the service). I raised my hand and said that I would like to sing a song. I had been singing at home along with my record player to the sounds of the Beatles, Elvis and Tennessee Ernie Ford. Since John Lennon didn't seem appropriate in church, and I imagined I had a rich bass voice like Ernie, I stood and sang a solo without accompaniment. To my surprise, most everyone loved it.

I found it easy to learn both tenor and bass parts, so I became a regular participant in quartets, trios, groups --- and now solos. This experience began to bring me out of my shyness, and I was more willing to share openly in front of any number of people.

Then a horrible automobile accident, in which I was driving, almost sent me permanently back into my shell.

I Have Decided To Follow . . .

2007-09-15T02:36:00.000-07:00

My Dad was overseas in Vietnam; my Mom was a busy restauranteur (owned and operated two of them); I was immersed in a "safe" Christian community. It had a leader, named Gus. It accepted me, when no one else would. It had a guidebook, the Bible, with their interpretations. It had unwritten rules that were strictly adhered to. And it didn't take kindly to asking questions or leaving. Sound like a cult?

Youth For Christ had two goals: 1) Get saved; and 2) Teach you to get others saved. I struggled with, but succumbed to the first one and utterly failed at the second. Each rally would close with an altar call. The altar was the audience-edge of the stage; the call was a heartfelt plea to accept Jesus into your heart, all accompanied by the incessant singing of Gospel verses until someone responded. It didn't usually take long.

I never went forward, but on one occasion, following a rally, I went home, knelt by my bed, and said the words that were supposed to change my life. From then on I proudly boasted (to my Christian friends only) that I had accepted Jesus. The second part of the altar call was for those who felt that they hadn't been living for the Lord and wanted to rededicate their lives. I recall wondering how so many of the kids around me, the same ones who had recently gotten saved, were already backslidden to a point where they had to go forward again.

Shortly after my salvation experience I wrote to my Dad in Vietnam and spoke to my Mom, who was at that time living a less-than-pious lifestyle. I got a letter back from my Dad, saying that he was pleased that I had salvation, that all the years of taking me to church must have took. My Mom lectured me on how she used to sing in a gospel group as a child, that her daddy (my grandpa) was a preacher before he got cancer and took to drinking, and that I couldn't teach her anything about Christianity.

After you got saved, Youth For Christ, like Billy Graham's crusades, would steer you into a local church that had similar teaching. Somehow I ended up at Edgewood Baptist, not far from my home (but not down the street), where I would be encouraged to be baptised by immersion. While I was assured that baptism was not required for salvation, it certainly rounded out the process and was "commanded by our Lord."

One other important YFC experience. I had a brief relationship with a cute Italian girl that I met in the youth choir. A few years later we would meet again and commit to a marital bond that is now going on 40 years.

With salvation firmly in hand, I was prime for another Christian group that was lurking in the shadows of Youth for Christ, seekng new converts to fill their agenda. This was the experience that would move me from the pew to the stage.

If You're Saved And You Know It . . .

2007-09-03T03:21:00.000-07:00

YFC was the place for me --- in high school. Ever the loner, I wandered through my first year, making few friends, putting in my time. I wasn't really unhappy; I just didn't fit in. I played right guard on the Junior Varsity football team (I've always been a big boy.), but I didn't play very well, and the hot Florida sun workouts didn't fit in with my chocolate sundaes and TV.

I was just starting to drive, and I became friends with another loner, David B., a short, stocky fellow, who came from a fairly well-to-do family. I also discovered (or they found me) a small group of upbeat kids, led by a curly-haired young man by the name of George S.. He was president of a school club called Youth for Christ. Already having a secondary religious nature, I easily adapted to this band of Christian enthusiasts.

I was regularly teased for my straight-laced behaviour by several other boys in school, but this new group of friends welcomed me just as I was. The interesting thing about the off-color teasing from the "heathen" boys was that they thought that I didn't know what they were alluding to. But with TV (been watching it since I was born), and the worldy Jimmy D. and David B., I was pretty savvy to the innuendos directed my way. However, I didn't let on that I knew, and I felt uncomfortable being around such talk.

The YFC club met weekly in one of the classrooms. The meetings consisted mainly of reading the Bible, praying and brainstorming on how to get our classmates "saved." I recall one campaign we pursued to add God into our team spirit. Edgewater high school's mascot was an eagle, so we printed up the verse Isaiah 40:31 (they that wait upon the Lord ... shall mount up with wings like eagles), mimeographed (There's a word from the past!) hundreds of them and stuffed them in all of the hall lockers before the big game.

The only other activity in the YFC club was preparing for Saturday night, when clubs from all of the other local schools would compete in Bible memorization at the Youth For Christ rally in downtown Orlando. Several hundred students would congregate in the YFC youth center for singing, entertainment and preaching. The contest consisted of sitting on an electronic signal pad attached to a folding chair, then waiting for the moderator to begin reading slowly a verse from the Bible. The contestant who knew the verse would jump up, then, when acknowledged as having been first, would be required to complete it and give its reference. It was actually quite fun, even though it was King James version. Sort of like Shakespeare doing a Christian game show.

I would later become president of Edgewater's Youth For Christ club, but first I had to get "saved."

Sunday Best

2007-08-23T02:39:00.000-07:00

Throughout junior high school (now called middle school) I was a typical latchkey kid. A latchkey kid is one who lets himself in the house after school because no one is home to greet (or care) for him. My dad was stationed overseas in the Air Force, and my mom was a catering manager at a large hotel in Central Florida.

I can't explain it, but I felt the need to go to church on a fairly regular basis. My mother never went, except on Easter. There were two local churches near my home --- one Methodist, and one Lutheran. They were both within bike-riding distance. I seem to remember visiting the Lutheran church and joining the Methodist church, not necessarily in that order. The Lutheran service was stuffy, what I would later call liturgical. It contained a lot of responsive reading, prayers that were read and a formalized communion. I don't think that I went very often.

The Methodist church was more informal, and the pastor was a nice fellow. I even attended some Wednesday nights. I had a best friend, Jimmy D., who would go with me sometimes. Jimmy was a skinny Yankee who had a mouth on him (He used the F-word a lot.), but he was a loyal friend, and we talked about everything. One Wednesday night at the Methodist church, we were sitting in the back, talking lowly, but snickering a bit more loudly --- about what, I didn't have a clue. After a while, the pastor asked us to step outside with him, where he proceeded to explain that, while we were welcome at the church, we would have to behave properly. I was sufficiently embarrassed to where I never misbehaved in church again. Jimmy, however, went on to do time.

The only other "religious" associate in middle school was a Catholic kid who lived in the neighborhood. He, Jimmy and I roamed the community, camped out and participated in my first (and only) experience at vandalism. Back in those days the fruit market owners in small towns were very trusting; they left their goods set out all night, unprotected. During one of our campouts, we roamed the area and came upon the stand. Being hungry, we helped ourselves --- then proceeded to smash fruit --- bowling with cantalopes, launching watermelons and firing tomatoes. (I'm embarassed even now to write about it.)

We didn't destroy many, just enough to qualify as vandalism. Well, Jimmy D. bragged about it to the girls living behind my house. They told their mom. She called my mom. I was called on the carpet. My mother threatened to haul me down to the store owner to personally apologize. She didn't do it because she didn't particularly like the neighbor lady poking into our business. She should have busted me. But I was humiliated enough that my teenage life of crime ended right there.

The purpose of this side story is that, after the incident, the three friends discussed our involvement. Jimmy D. was fine, because he knew just how many times that you could go before the judge before you were finally sent to juvenile detention. The Catholic boy was fine, because he was taught (or so he felt) that you could do anything you wanted, as long as you went to confession and made it right. I wasn't fine, because I had disappointed my mother. And it hurt.

First Impressions

2007-08-11T02:44:00.000-07:00

Downey Memorial church was located in Union Park, Florida, just east of Orlando. Interesting thing about "memorial" churches. Their purpose is to provide a place to worship God, but they are dedicated to the people who started them, or who paid for the building, did something heroic or was a pillar of the community. Church wings, pews and hymnbooks are likewise dedicated, thus shifting the focus to man, rather than The Man (Jesus).

Downey was a non-denominational church, and my dad took me there regularly. I was age ten or eleven. My mother rarely went to church, except on Easter or Christmas, and on those occasions she would wear a large, flowery hat that blocked the view for anyone several pews back. My dad taught Sunday School there, and I was in his class. One event I remember in particular was the day he brought saltine crackers and grape juice in order to teach us about communion. He said the saltine crackers were like the unleavened bread that Jesus ate --- I guess because they were flat. I don't think that I was allowed to participate in the real communion until sometime later.

The preacher was a nice fellow with a young family. He lived at the edge of a small lake, and the church would hold baptisms in his back yard. My dad and I went to visit him once, and he was out back, in the lake, taking a bath. He wasn't naked (Thank the Lord!), but was all soaped up and proceeded to rinse off. I remember thinking how icky it was seeing an area that held sacred events now polluted with soapy water.

The small church was quite popular and quickly outgrew its capacity. So I participated in my first building program. Well, not really. I just hung around there. Unfortunately, my dad never taught me how to do things, whether they be fun things (like scuba diving), or work things (like hammering, sawing, etc.). I could only watch. I did, however, enjoy hanging around the work site of the new building after dark, talking with my friends --- boys and girls. I think I was just beginning to like girls, but I wasn't really smitten until high school.

The new building was very nice, but the congregation now seemed small. In fact, they were shrinking in numbers. I remember my dad saying that the cost of construction was so high that more "money sermons" were needed, thereby discouraging folks who felt that more attention was given to their wallets than to their souls. I'm sure that I attended every Sunday, but I can only recall one Sunday in particular, when a fellow two rows up started jerkng, foaming at the mouth and writhing on the floor. It was really quite unnerving, but a couple of guys hauled him out of the building, and he appeared to be fine later. I don't think anyone even prayed for him.

I would return to that church six years later to sing a solo.

Born Again Again

2007-07-26T02:51:00.000-07:00

My trip began on July 31, 1947. I didn't plan it; it just happened. I gasped for air, and the rest, as they say, is history. This blog was not intended to be an autobiography, but may take on such an appearance. Nobody (except for one or two) cares a whit about the story of my life. It certainly wasn't noteworthy or glamorous, and it had its share of much wasted time and numerous mistakes.

What I do want to capture, however, is the course of my spiritual journey --- how I came to believe what I believe now. Everyone has a spiritual journey, some more noticeable than others. But mankind has struggled with religion since the beginning of time. We never seem to give up in our search for the real truth, that which will give meaning to our lives. I think I have found it, but not until recent years.

My Italian wife had an aunt who, upon meeting someone for the first time, would ask, "What's your story?" (Meaning, "Tell me about yourself.") So, here's mine.

My first recollection of anything religious was as a young child, age 3 or 4, living on 12th street in Hickory, North Carolina, where I was born. It seems that I was taken to Sunday School in a brick building nearby, but I recall nothing of what I observed. I also seem to remember having a pet dog, that got run over just in front of the church.

Maybe the trauma of that event blocked out any other memories of church, because I don't recall anything else related to church until I attended my first funeral. I may have been about 6, and my mother took a quick swipe at my dirty face with a smelly washcloth just before the funeral.

The deceased was my grandpa, on my Dad's side. I only have two memories of him. One is that he would always be waiting for us on the front porch, whenever we drove up. And, he would wind up the old pendulum wall clock just before bedtime every night. That clock is now decorating my living room, but has since stopped working.

At the funeral my mother lifted me up to the coffin and encouraged me to touch my grandpa's face. It was cold and leathery. But I wasn't afraid, and I recall nothing else of the funeral.

It is interesting that, at age 60, you begin to feel somewhat isolated, when you have no parents or other relatives to help you with the details. I don't know what the official age is when you're considered to be at the "other end" of your life. But, thank God for family. With family you're never alone. Which is why we should consciously include those who have no natural family close by, who need to feel the warmth of your own household.

Next stop on my religious tour was at age 8, when my Air Force family moved to Orlando, Florida. I was in vacation Bible school on the air base, and one of the projects was a paint-by-number painting of David defeating a lion that had been attacking his sheep. I was very meticulous in my attempts to add color to each section. But since VBS only lasted days --- not weeks --- my teacher helped me finish it. So, I honestly don't know how much of it is my own doing, but it still hangs in my family room to this day.

Within a year we moved from adjacent to the base to the east side of town, and my Dad starting taking me to a small, independent church. It was at this point that my religious observations began to develop.