To Autumn, Maddi and Reese

Autumn, Maddi and Reese you would not believe how very precious you are to me. I love you with all of my heart and being. Here is something important that I want to share with you. Just the other day, in the ice and snow, I helped Autumn out of the car. She looked up at me and asked, "Papa, will you hold my hand?" My heart filled to overflowing. I told her that, "Of course I'll hold your hand. I'll always be there to hold your hand." I want all three of you to know that I will always be there to hold your hand. As you grow older, life will not always be easy or fun or even fair. Sometimes your friends will hurt your feelings. Sometimes you will be sick. Sometimes you will think that your mother and father, your grandparents, or your teachers have blamed you for something that is not your fault. Sometimes you will not get what you want even though you have worked and wished very hard for it. Sometimes your family, friends and even your pets will leave you to go to heaven. I want you to never forget that, when these things happen, I'll be there to hold your hand. Someday, I will die and go to heaven. I'm very sure that I'll be going to heaven, because God has promised me. When I get there, I believe that God will understand that I still want to hold your hand very tightly when bad things happen. There will be times that I can't reach out to take your hand even when we are both living near each other. I'm pretty sure it will be hard to take your hand from heaven, so here is what you need to do when I'm not right there beside you. Close your hand into a little bit of a fist, just like you were holding on to me and I was holding on to you. You will feel your hand grow a bit warmer. When this happens, remember that I am there for you, holding your hand, will always be there for you, and will love you all forever.

A Quick Ride With Santa

Tonight, I took a ride with Santa. Our first stop was a church in Virginia. It was crowded with people, from the very young to the very old, who were there to celebrate the birthday of the Christ child. There was warmth, light, food, music and fellowship. Children dressed as Mary, Joseph, shepherds, angels and wise men sang and played in the certain knowledge of being loved and cared for. The misfortunate of the neighborhood had been invited to dinner and a food bank. It was easy to believe in the presence of God in this gathering. In the wink of an eye, we zipped across the Appalachian Mountains and into Harlen County, Kentucky. We visited a very small church in the middle of the mountains of the coal mining business. It was a wood frame church, hard to heat and to light. There was a palpable tiredness within the membership of the gathered congregation. Hands and faces were permanently tattooed with the blackness of coal and lined with hard labor and hard living. Snotty-nosed children shivered as they sang birthday welcome songs to the Babe of Bethlehem. There wasn't any food to spare for the occasion, but there was a big pot of hot coffee on top of the old wood stove. The joy in the knowledge of a living Christ child made it easy to know that God was even here in this almost forgotten place. Once again and very rapidly we took to the air. This time, we landed in a refugee camp just outside of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. There, as Santa delivered very few presents, I held a very young girl-child who was dying of starvation and cholera. As the parents wept and their friends kept vigil, the Star of Bethlehem shone brightly in the sky above. That star, alone, seemed to provide the only proof that a loving God might be present as the child breathed her last breath, never having seen even her first birthday. Santa's laugh sounded almost hollow as we next visited the Darfur region of the Sudan. Almost all Christmas joy had left me as I helped to bury a mother who had been raped and murdered in front of her husband and children. I prayed over her grave, but I prayed alone. It was not possible for those families, living in constant fear and want, to believe that a God of love actually exists, no matter what they hear about Him sacrificing His own son. As dawn was drawing near, Santa asked if I had time to make one more quick stop before dropping me off at my home. Of course I agreed. We made a stop very near my home in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. The place to be visited was a one-bedroom apartment in a fairly shabby complex in a not so safe neighborhood. An extended family of 12 persons called the apartment home or at least were using it for shelter. The family appeared to be Hispanic. I couldn't tell by looking if they were in the United States legally or illegally, but it didn't make any difference to Santa. Three men in the family were the only ones able to find work. Two of them weren't at home this Christmas night because they only jobs they could find required them to be working. As Santa and I enjoyed a quick and graciously provided dinner of rice and beans made with gifted food from a local church food bank, the children eagerly shared with us what they were learning in school and at church. In return, we shared a few simple gifts that were accepted as if they were the crown jewels of England. As we left this family, they all wished us feliz navidad, merry Christmas, and it was clear that God, through Christ, lived in the hearts and lives of these people. In these little vignettes, I have actually visited both churches and have been in the apartment that I describe. Of course, I haven't been in Haiti or Darfur, but I've read of the terrible things happening in both of those places along with countless other places in this world. Do I want to change places? That's a silly question. Of course not. I like my life the way it is. What I would like is for the God that I love and who loves me to be more even handed. As my friend, Heather, pointed out to me not so very long ago, Jesus wept at the grave of Lazarus. Even though Christ knew, absolutely knew, that He was going to raise Lazarus, He wept because of the pain suffered by those gathered to mourn the passing of Lazarus, their friend. I know that Christ joins me today in weeping for the people of the world who suffer. I just wish and pray that somehow, life could be kinder to them all.

Why Not?

I have been arguing with one of my sons this afternoon. He is convinced that the world, at least the United States, is populated almost entirely by greedy, self serving persons. He argues that one person cannot make a difference, so why should he be involved in trying. In my heart, I want so badly to be able to change his mind. I want to be able to argue vehemently that one person can and often does make a difference. I want to be able to do those things, but I find that I can't. God doesn't want me as one of His people trying to make a difference. It seems to me that most of those that I have previously called on for spiritual support are no longer accessible. It seems that roadblocks rather than smoother roads are almost always the case. Job's wife advised him to "curse God and die." I won't curse God, but if I can't and won't ever be able to make a difference, including as an example to my son, why not just die?

Darkness

Mother Teresa once wrote: Now Father -- since 49 or 50 this terrible sense of loss -- this untold darkness -- this loneliness this continual longing for God -- which gives me that pain deep down in my heart -- Darkness is such that I really do not see -- neither with my mind nor with my reason -- the place of God in my soul is blank -- There is no God in me -- when the pain of longing is so great -- I just long & long for God -- and then it is that I feel -- He does not want me -- He is not there -- . . . God does not want me -- Sometimes -- I just hear my own heart cry out -- "My God" and nothing else comes -- The torture and pain I can't explain -- I would never ever try to compare myself with Mother Teresa, but in this particular case, I believe that I feel her darkness. God does not want me. Otherwise, where is my calling? What am I to do? Mother Teresa had a relationship with God through her calling as a nun since she was 12 years old. I'm 65 and don't feel like I have a relationship. How long can I wait? Am I to drive a school bus and do taxes for the rest of my life? Is this what my "calling" is to be? After one of my blog entries, not too long ago, a reader really took me to task. She let me know quickly that my acts, no matter how good they may be or how well meaning, weren't the answer to God's plan, but instead wanted to know how many souls I had brought to Christ? To how many have I told Christ's story? Her questions have some validity, but let me tell you that the school system doesn't want me leading a prayer service on the bus. H&R Block doesn't want me give my testimony to my clients either. I'm pretty simple minded and don't have much imagination. If God really wants me, why doesn't He understand that I don't understand. You did not choose me; I chose you and appointed you to go and bear much fruit, the kind of fruit that endures. John 15:16 I feel like the little, non-athletic fat kid that is picked last for the baseball game and sent out to left field where he won't be in the way and won't do much damage. There is no fruit for me to bear, only darkness.

Random Thoughts

Mostly, my thoughts aren't very good ones. I try not to think of any of them very often. I think that Sara and I could really use some time off, but with school bus driving and HRB, I don't see anything happening until late Spring. We are going to give up the dog, so that would be one less hindrance to a quick weekend off, but there is just too much else in the way. I think that I need to discuss my depression medicine with my doctor. However, the last time, he wanted me to see a specialist. This was not a rewarding experience! For one thing, the specialist immediately took me off of the medicine that I was and still am taking. In just a very few days, I was in a deep pit. I don't mind trying to change meds, but I can't wait for the 4 - 6 weeks that it normally takes for a new medicine to take over for the old one. That many weeks, that far out of balance, may be all it takes to push me completely over the edge, just as happened in Columbia, SC several years ago. The way I feel right now, it is far better to hide myself in the anonymity of a crowd than to be with one or two friends. Church and Sunday school aren't reaching me right now. If I never went back to Sunday school, it would be okay. There is no appeal to watching DVDs and answering simple questions. I think that I would much prefer strong discussion and even disagreement. I am probably going to try a visit to another class next Sunday. Actually, my whole relationship with God seems to be in bad shape. There is no easy way to explain this, but here are the thoughts that I had on it just the other day put in the terms of the food I eat. I was born eating mashed turnips. I don't like turnips, but even as a young person, I recognized that turnips were better than being hungry. When I accepted Christ as my savior, I switched from mashed turnips to mashed potatoes. Boy, did I ever like mashed potatoes. Sometimes, they even came with a bit of butter or, on very special occasions, with lots of gravy. Those were the times that I seemed the closest to God and it seemed to me that I was doing just a little bit to advance the Kingdom. In the summer of 2009, obstacles were overcome and hesitations answered by what I considered God's plan for me, and I spent 3 month on the Navajo Reservation working with the area Methodist Mission. I went from eating mashed potatoes to eating vanilla ice cream. During the best times on the reservation, I had chocolate syrup on that ice cream. Almost always, I felt like I was following God's plan for me and I wanted it to last forever, or at least to last much, much longer. When the funding dried up and I returned home, I just knew in my heart that God had even more exciting ways, for me to be in service to him, ready for me to undertake. Boy was I wrong! After almost 15 months back home, I've decided that God really doesn't have a plan for me after all. I am all the way back to eating mashed turnips and I find that I really don't care. If it is not plain to me that God actually wants me, why should I worry about finding and fulfilling His plan? Prayer is something from the past and church just a habit. My sons worry me. One of them either can't or won't find the time to talk to me about the one big issue that has me concerned, even though he is aware of the concern. I don't so much care what the future outcome of the issue might be as I want just to know what rationale is behind the current course of action, or inaction as the case may be.It is as if I am holding a lottery ticket and know already that I've matched 5 out of 6 numbers. My son knows what the 6th number is and knows whether or not I'll have a winning ticket, but doesn't seem too concerned about letting me know that 6th number. The other son refuses to protect himself against a future issue concerning money. Just how far into the future or how much money, who knows? But as surely as night follows day, it is coming. I'm glad he isn't Noah. I don't think he'd bother with building an ark until the water was waist deep. I still think that I would just like to quit on my everyday life. Unlike Maya Angelou, I do not "know why the caged bird sings."

The Big Yellow Bus II: Don't Look Back!

In 1980, Don Knotts and Tim Conway spoofed Sherlock Holmes in the movie, "The Private Eyes". Secondary to the theme of the movie, Tim Conway, as Dr. Tart, is always trying to convince Don Knotts, as Inspector Winship, that there is really a monster called a Wookilar. The Wookilar is a human body with a pig face and tusks. Don Knotts is a die hard nonbeliever. In the last scene of the movie, which I highly recommend by the way, Inspector Winship is driving away from a, maybe, haunted house where they have somehow managed to solve a murder mystery. Dr. Tart, still trying to make a believer of Inspector Winship, happens to glance into the rear view mirror. Sitting in the backseat looking right back is, you guessed it, a Wookilar, pig face, tusks, and all. At that point, the movie ends. The moral of this little recap is don't look into the rear view mirror, you may not like what's looking back. That is certainly the case with my afternoon middle school run. In the morning, I deliver middle-schoolers to class before 7 a.m. They are still pretty groggy and don't cause much grief. In the afternoon, it is a whole different story. I sometimes feel that the only difference between having a bus full of middle school aged kids behind you and backing up to a monkey cage is that at least the middle school kids aren't throwing their own feces at me (not that I'd put it past them if they happened to think of it!) I really don't mind the noise. Noise doesn't hurt anything. I don't even mind having to sweep up the candy wrappers and other trash that they dump on the floor, even though there is a trash box at the front and at the back of the bus. Trash doesn't hurt anyone. What I have a real problem with is constantly having to tell them to not hang out of the windows (No longer a problem. I caught several of them throwing things out of open windows today and will refuse to let them open any of them again.) and to sit down. I'm sure that they think these simple rules are put in place to keep them from enjoying themselves. Until an accident happens, no one will believe that something could happen to them. Even if an accident does happen, they still won't believe that they could ever be involved. What worries me most about this is their disregard for their own safety. What worries me next most is that my job could very well hinge on someone getting hurt. As far as behavior goes, my high-schoolers are two dream trips. There are two things that keep me level headed and in no fear of throttling one of them. The first is that it is too easy to remember what I was like at that age. Little do they know that, no matter how bad they are, I've set a bar that they won't ever be able to reach (my sincere apologies to anyone who suffered me during those years.) The other thing is that I try to always remember that I'm carrying a bus full of future teachers, preachers, nurses, policemen, contractors, managers, craftsmen, tradesmen, etc. I think about what we became as we aged (and aged our parents!) and most of us didn't turn out too badly. I'm hoping that these kids do the same. Some of my kids are cute and have actual personalities. Some are lumps. Some can speak English in complete sentences. Some use the "F" word regularly when they think that I'm not listening. Some will look me in the eye and ignore me completely when I wish them "good morning." Some will at least acknowledge that I spoke. Some will actually wish me good morning or something similar in return. The one thing that is certain is that I have no morning persons from either school level. I guess that there is at least one more thing that is certain. It is never dull driving my bus. Coming soon... the plumage and mating habits of the pre-teens and teens as observed by this bus driver.

Today I Flee

Today, I flee. I don't want to think about the yard or the house or plans for the holiday seasons or presents to buy or groceries we need or phone calls and emails that need returned or bills that need paid or work that needs doing on the vehicles or laundry to pick up or cleaning out the attic and washroom or how I can get closer to the kids on my bus or why I never feel like I've had enough sleep or why I seem to never be able to get to the Y or the reason that I really participate in service activities or why I get up and go to church every Sunday or how I can face more years of doing the same thing day after day. I don't want to think about an actual retirement that I have no faith will come or plan for a future funeral that I'm sure will come. I've grown up but now I realize that I want to be Peter Pan. Today, I flee. I go to where I can meet people I've never met. I go to where I can hear stories that I've never heard. I go to stroll the quiet streets of small towns and to enjoy the energy of big cities. I go to where there isn't a single other person within miles and miles. I go to where I can worship God as I watch the Atlantic Ocean wash the shores of Mount Desert Island in Maine. I go to where I can worship God as the sun sets on the Pacific coast of Northern California. I go to where I can worship God as I gaze in awe at Colorado mountains that are so tall they seem able to touch heaven. I go to a place where no one knows me and puts no expectations on me. I go to a place where I put no expectations on myself. I go to where I can sleep when I feel the need or never sleep if there is no desire. I go to a place I can taste different tastes, breath different air, and drink water that doesn't taste like home. Today, I flee. Today, I flee. I don't flee work. I can drive a school bus. I go to find a job driving in North Dakota or in central Nebraska or in the panhandle of Texas. I can do taxes. I go to find work preparing tax returns in upstate New York or in southern Illinois or in the Four Corners of New Mexico. If need be, I can flip burgers. I go to find that job in Ohio or in rural Mississippi or in Idaho. I don't flee to find a job in God's service. For a year I've marked time waiting for that to happen and it hasn't. Today, I flee. Today, I flee. I flee with Sara and a dog. I need no one else. I will miss family. I will miss friends. I will miss the familiar surroundings. I'll miss the hoopla of the holidays, but I won't be lonely. On Christmas eve, I'll serve meals at a homeless shelter and thank God that I have been able to flee. Those who are homeless, not by choice, cannot flee. Today, I flee. Today, I flee. I drive when I can. I take a bus or train or catch a ride or walk when I must. I travel light and I live simply. I don't need a multi-room house. I don't need to own many things. Libraries have books and newspapers and computers. Today, I flee. No, today, I do not flee. The desire to flee is almost overpowering. The reasons I need to flee are legitimate. My love for Sara is my anchor. I can't leave her and she won't leave. My sincere prayer is that however long she lives, I'll live one day less. I never want to live without her. If that prayer is not answered and she leaves me alone, on that day, I flee.

Marching for God

For those who don't live in the Winston-Salem area or don't follow local news, here are the simple facts. The town of King, NC (less than 20 miles from Winston-Salem) has been flying a Christian flag, among other flags, though no other religious flags, at a Veteran's Memorial in a city park. One King citizen, himself a veteran, complained to the city council that the flag might be an affront to persons of other religions or no religion who had fought and perhaps even died for their country in military service. The King City Council and the city attorney received letters from the ACLU of NC and the Americans United for the Separation of Church and State urging the City Council to remove the flag in that it was a violation of the First Amendment of the Constitution of the United States. The council voted to remove the flag. Last Saturday, according to the Winston-Salem Journal, "more than 5,000 people marched and rallied in the city of King to tell its city council to return the Christian flag to the Veteran's Memorial." The Journal quotes one of the marchers as saying, "This community (King) stands together to support the Christian flag. It stands for God, peace, love, purity and the blood of Jesus." That brings us to this blog entry. I confess that I have no patience with 5,000 persons marching for a flag. I don't know how long the parade actually lasted, but let's just say that the average marcher spent 2 hours from home to home including the march. Maple Springs, my church, uses about 50 persons to pack 2,000 meals for Stop Hunger Now in about 2 hours. If the marchers would put the same effort into SHN and my math doesn't fail me, they could pack 200,000 meals to be used to feed the hungry. The Samaritan Inn in Winston-Salem is a homeless shelter that feeds its guests breakfast and dinner each day. I have no real idea, but let's just say that they could easily use 10 volunteers per day to spend a night and prepare and serve the meals. If those 5,000 marchers all volunteered for just one night each, the Samaritan Inn wouldn't need to go begging for volunteers again for the next year and a half! How many houses do you think that Habitat for Humanity could build using the manpower of 5,000 persons? You want to march? I don't believe that the walks to cure breast cancer or diabetes or heart disease would turn you down. 5,000 walkers would probably totally overwhelm them. If you don't like those, organize your own marches for the hungry, the homeless, the refugee, the jobless, the uneducated, the underpaid who serve us so well (nurses, teachers, policemen, firemen, trash collectors, etc.), or so many other needy and deserving causes. The Winston-Salem Journal also quoted one marcher as saying that "They've taken God out of our schools and now they're trying to take our flag." I think that there is real irony in claiming to worship an almighty god and then claiming that man has the ability to remove that god from places where his presence is not wanted. What kind of almighty god is that? My god has asked me to help him spread the knowledge of his love and mercy, but so far, he hasn't asked that I defend him. I'm quite confident that he is capable of doing that for himself. Did you notice the word "purity" in the earlier quote. That word, alone, gives me chills. I was thinking that we got past that pretty early. Paul did take the word of Christ's dying for our sins to both the Jew and the Gentile, didn't he? What does purity mean in King? Must you be a WASP (white, Anglo-Saxon, protestant) to be accepted in King. If you are of a different religion, skin color, sexual orientation, etc. will you not be welcome? If you choose to not wave the Christian flag or, please say it's not true, you are a card-carrying member of the ACLU will you be escorted to the town limits? If you are a disciple of Christ disguised as a short, fat school bus driver who just doesn't agree with your flag waving position, will you still be welcome in your churches? One thing I know is that my church is into this "purity" thing 100%. Each and every one of us who attend Maple Springs is for sure purely a sinner! I will now attempt to get down off my soapbox without breaking anything. God is good!

Faith

She's laying there, asleep on the den rug. The warmth of the sun, shining through the patio doors, has finally robbed her of her vigilant guarding of the back yard. Just for the moment, birds can fill themselves at the feeders. The bravest of the chipmunks can climb up on the deck to try and recover any seeds the birds might scatter. Squirrels are free to tiptoe across the yard toward the bird feeders. Even the fat rabbit comfortably stuffs herself in the patch of wild strawberries that grows in the back corner. I'm sure she dreams. Her paws twitch. She almost has a smile on her face as a small moan escapes her. As she sleeps, she is finally able to catch that darn fat rabbit before it escapes into the deeper growth on the hill. A full belly, a safe bed, warmth of the sunshine. How could life be any better? "Come on", I tell her. She cracks one eye a bit and looks at me like I'm crazy, before settling back into a more comfortable position. Again, I tell her, "Let's go. I have things for us to do and I can't wait all day for you to sleep." That finally gets her attention. After all, going someplace with me is probably her third favorite thing to do, after eating and sleeping. In the back of her trusting, but intelligent eyes, I can almost read her thoughts. "Okay, I'll go, but I don't see you carrying any extra food or water in case I get hungry or thirsty. And what about my blanket? If we have to spend the night somewhere, I definitely want to be warm and comfortable. Oops! I see that you also don't have my favorite toy. You know, that's my most precious possession and I don't want to take a chance on someone taking it while we are gone wherever it is we're going." I look deep into those same eyes and say, "I want you to go with me. I love you and I won't let anything bad happen to you." That does it! She leaps to her feet, takes a quick doggie type stretch, and races to the kitchen door as if to say, "For you I'd do anything and follow you anywhere. Let's go do the work you have for us to do." I pray that I can live up to Pepper's expectations. I also pray that my faith in Christ, like Pepper's faith in me, will get me up and following, no matter how comfortable I am and no matter where that calling to follow might lead.

The Big Yellow Bus

Faith... For some reason, the Winston-Salem / Forsyth County school system has entrusted me with the safety and well being of 60+ students and a brand new school bus. Okay, all false modesty aside, I did score very well on the 5 days of classroom instruction and on the 3 days of driving. A very big difference, however, is that none of those children were around during my training. I'm running a route for middle school and one for high school each morning and afternoon. I take them to school in the morning and home again in the afternoon. I've just finished my first week and it has not been dull. For one thing, my morning route begins at 5:45 a.m. I don't have very many students who are "morning" people. If I'm very lucky, I'll get a grunt when I greet them, "Good morning!" Most of the time, I get ignored. In the afternoon, things change. The high school students will smile and return my greetings. The middle school kids make more racket than I heard at the last Wake Forest home basketball game. What are they feeding them at lunch? If I owned Red Bull, I would be checking the lunchroom leavings for energy ingredients I could use in my product. So far though things are working out. I ignore the middle schoolers and the high schoolers ignore me. One morning we ran about 10 minutes behind because of a Jack-in-the-Box puppy. I opened the bus doors and a student and dog got on. The dog had great fun playing "catch me if you can" and the kids already on the bus helped him when they could. The puppy's young girl owner finally caught him and took him off. As soon as she set him down, back in again he popped. After about a half dozen times of this new game, we finally got the timing down to the point that I was able to shut the door as the girl slid through and the puppy bumped his nose on a closed door. I think that we learned together that the best place for this dog each morning was in the house and not at the stop. My routes have several places where it is necessary to back up into a side road in order to turn around. My bus is 43 feet long, so it isn't an easy thing to turn it around in bright sunlight. It is very difficult in the dark and especially in the dark when it is raining. Most roads are not 43 feet wide. I know this because I have put both ends of the bus over the edges of the road. One morning, in the dark and rain, I got past a turn I was supposed to make. I looked for a place to do a back and turn and picked the wrong place. I backed up into a ditch and, had it been dry, would have been okay, but it was raining and had been for several hours. The back wheels sank to the axle. I got on the radio and announced to Control and all buses on my particular channel that I was stuck in a ditch on Vienna-Dozier Road. Control asked me, "Where on Vienna-Dozier?" Intelligently and in full possession of my emotions, I fired right back, "All the way across it! I'm blocking both lanes." Every driver using our staging lot has managed to find the time to kid me about that answer. Well, every school system car that had a blinking light, an extra bus, a huge wrecker, the highway patrol, and every homeowner within a 1/2 mile radius showed up for the spectacle. I stood by myself, in the rain, figuring that not only was I going to be fired, I was going to be made to walk home. Well, I'm still driving, but I think that, should I get caught even sneezing while driving the bus now, it will be the end of my job. To make the day even worse, on the afternoon route, my brand new bus over heated, had to be parked half way around the route until a mechanic came with coolant, and could not complete the high school portion of the run because of timing. Yesterday was some better although much colder. I couldn't get the heater to work. The high school students were much too sophisticated to say anything about something as mundane as being cold. On the other hand, I knew exactly how many middle school students I had on board because each one took it upon himself or herself to tell me that they were not only cold, they were freezing to death. The school system has faith in me. I have faith in me. Underneath it all, I think the children and parents have faith in me too. The thing that I have to do now is to continue to give them reason for that faith. It won't hurt to remember that the bus is 43 feet long too.

Tired

I am so very tired this morning. I feel like I am slogging along with a full pack, rifle, helmet all through ankle deep sand. It is a beautiful morning in Winston-Salem, at least weather-wise. On the other hand, the hearts and souls of my fellowman seem to be dark and ugly. As Christians, we often speak of God sightings. It is no wonder that we do so. There is so much bad going on that we have to be especially vigilant just to see God at work. On a morning like this morning, I want to raise my face to the skies and shout "Why?" Why do You make the skies so beautiful, the leaves so colorful, the birds to sing, but the hearts of your own children so ugly? So many of us are so often filled with hate that not only can we not wear the cloak of our religious beliefs, but we can't put on the cloak of compassion and we even have difficulty wearing the cloak of civilized human beings. I read in the paper that a gay young college student commits suicide because of an extremely cruel stunt pulled by his roommate. I read in the paper that a NC state legislator, running unopposed, sent out an email disparaging those of a different sexual orientation in words that, in a better world, would make him withdraw from the election in embarrassment. I read in the paper that people are being burned to death in a toxic mudslide. Do you believe for a minute that those responsible for the dump site didn't know what they were doing or that they cared? I watch a family join in prayer at a restaurant table and a young person reading from the Bible in a coffee shop. Then I hear a college professor tell me in all seriousness that, "Of course all Muslims are terrorists. It is in their nature." On the Internet, I hear that our President is a closet Muslim and that all Hispanics in the US are illegal aliens. I once again raise my face to the sky and shout, "Why? Why can't we love with even a bit of the amount of energy that we use to hate?" I am only one person. I can't change the world and I despair of even making very slight changes to my corner of it. In 1959, fifty years ago, the Kingston Trio released an album containing a song titled, "The Merry Minuet". I'm going to put a copy of the lyrics at the bottom of this blog entry. With just a very few changes in the wording, it is still most applicable today. So, you "Big Bang" theorists, be looking for a bright light in the skies above India, or Israel, or Iran, or North Korea, or Pakistan, Russia, or perhaps even the United States. Maybe that big bang, accompanied by a mushroom shaped cloud will be the announcement of the end of the world as we know it. On a morning like this morning, I almost hope so.

The Merry Minuet

Kingston Trio

Sheldon Harnick

They're rioting in Africa. They're starving in Spain. There's hurricanes in Florida, and Texas needs rain.The whole world is festering with unhappy souls. The French hate the Germans, the Germans hate the Poles.Italians hate Yugoslavs, South Africans hate the Dutch. And I don't like anybody very much!But we can be tranquil and thankful and proud, for man's been endowed with a mushroom-shaped cloud.And we know for certain that some lovely day, someone will set the spark off... and we will all be blown away.They're rioting in Africa. There's strife in Iran. What nature doesn't do to us... will be done by our fellow man. God is good?

Who's Going To Fill Their Shoes?

Country music legend, George Jones, released his version of this hit song in the mid-1980s. In it, he sings of the greats of country and western music that have died and laments that there may be no one to fill their shoes. I keep thinking about writing Ross' Book of Lamentations, but it would be too long and too boring to be worthwhile. Instead of doing it all in one big gulp, I've decided to gnaw around those lamentations once in a, hopefully, rare while. I lament the fact that we are losing our oral traditions and it seems that our written traditions may not be far behind. The Library of Congress (or maybe it is the Smithsonian, I forget which) is working on recording interviews with both the common and great people of our country, which seems to me to be a lot like saving one starfish at a time, better than nothing, but not saving a lot of starfish just the same. I think that the time would be better spent building front porches and re-enacting Blue Laws. I read (soon to become a lost art as well) that schools are tending to no longer do annuals / yearbooks. The cost is too high it's said. Tomorrow evening, four of my friends and I are going to get together over beers and share '62 and '63 annuals from each of our high schools. How can you put a price on the enjoyment that will create? What will today's graduates pull out to share when they reach our age, a 50 year old computer file? If there isn't enough money to print annuals, run a campaign to have each high school student take just one step back in the service level of their personal cell phones. I'll bet that would pay for an annual or two! In the years before I left home, Sunday morning was reserved for church and Sunday afternoon was spent visiting at the home of my grandparents. The house had a porch and a fireplace. In warm weather, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends all gathered on the porch and talked of daily news and recounted past stories, some of them many times over. If the weather was too cold for the porch, the crowd gathered in the room with the fireplace. The children played or read in the corners and the adults circled the chairs near to the fire. I heard war stories, depression stories, hard work stories, and sometimes stories that would make me blush and wonder about what "those" words really meant. Those days are gone. I don't think my children and grandchildren would want to sit on our front porch, assuming we had one large enough, and hear us reminisce about Viet Nam, long waits in gas lines, the horror of a front page headline shouting that college students had been killed on campus by our own National Guard. No one wants to hear of racial shootouts in downtown Greensboro or hear that Watts and other blighted urban areas were burned to the ground by people who were so frustrated by their lives that they knew no other way to show it, or where we were when we heard that President Kennedy had been shot and killed, or what we felt when we heard Martin's "I have a dream" speech. No one wants to hear about hundreds of textile and steel plants shutting down and Sara and I put out of jobs more than once. No one cares about student protests that shut down campuses, and fears of race riots so high that many cities imposed total curfews. They wouldn't want to listen to old folks talk about the first man in space or the first to step on the moon's surface. The cell phone, iPod and iPad generation doesn't know what a party-line was or care how funny or aggravating it could sometimes be when multiple families used the same phone line. A couple of weeks ago, I had a great opportunity to sit quietly and listen to a Marine, now in his 80's, tell about being in the first wave to go ashore at Tarawa in the South Pacific during WWII. I was enjoying his stories and asking every question I could think of. I asked him if that had been the worst day in his life. He surprised me by telling me that going ashore on the first day of the Inchon landing in Korea had been worse because he had been wounded there. Wow! Two major battles in two major wars and here was a live and active participant in both. In 2009, I was able to become friends with one of the original Navajo Code Talkers. He could tell stories all day long and I could listen until he could no longer speak. My mother passed away last week. She used to tell us the sweetest story of where she and my dad were and what they were doing on VJ Day. I think that story will die with me and it won't be all that long until no one recognizes the term "VJ Day". My dad told a funny story on himself about being thrown from his cutting horse into a barbed wire fence while working on the family farm and ranch. The horse picked one cow to separate from the herd while my dad picked another. They parted company with my dad coming out the worst for the experience. Do you realize that they aren't even making western movies any more? My favorite thing to do in the whole world (remember my age!) is to listen to the stories of those I happen to meet. Everyone has stories, even the youngest of my friends, my desire is to always care enough to take the time to listen. If you haven't done it, try it, you'll like it too. Just be sure to do it before we are all reduced to having to twitter everything we say. God is good.

Ojo Del Tigre

Okay, the title of this blog entry is just me showing off. In English, it means Eye Of The Tiger. The Spanish version just sounds a bit more passionate and passion is what I want to talk about. I seem to do some of my best thinking after a sermon or discussion with my pastor and friend, Terry Matthews. Last Sunday, his sermon was from the Book of Revelations and he spoke about the passion of the church and its members. He set the sermon up in a way he does sometimes and I love it as far as catching and holding my attention. He talked about the picture, Rocky III. Since the time of Rocky II, Rocky, the reigning world champion, has become more famous, richer, and less passionate about winning. Early in the movie, he is beaten badly by a new, young challenger. His old nemesis, now friend, Apollo Creed, tells Rocky that he no longer has the "eye of the tiger"; that he has lost his passion for fighting and winning. Spoiler Alert: Rocky regains both the eye of the tiger and his championship by the end of the movie and Adrian still loves the old guy. Terry's point was that the Christian church must retain and grow its passion for love of God and service to Him. There is no neutral ground. A church grows or dies. It is not possible to separate the passion of a church from the passion of its members. Terry said it so much better than I am able, but I am in total agreement with him. I've also found that, when I get to know passionate members of God's church, they are passionate in other aspects of their lives as well. Take me, for example. I am passionate about the Washington Redskins, the Wake Forest Demon Deacons, and... oh yes, my wife, children and grandchildren. Passion certainly isn't a trait limited to Christians. I know Jews, Muslims, Hindus, non-Christian Navajo Indians, an atheist, and a Rasta who are passionate about life and about serving their fellow man. I hope to always find myself surrounded by those whose best joy in life is in passionate service. These eyes are nowhere as young as they once were, but if you look closely, I'm hoping that you'll see the tiger looking back. This morning, I'm wanting three things from this life. I want to never stop living it passionately. I want to travel. I want a big Labrador retriever (I'll name him Bailey after my uncle. My uncle is a big man with an even bigger loving heart just like the Labs I've been lucky enough to know.) God is good.

Never Set The Vacuum Cleaner Down In Dewy Grass!

September 16, 2010 marked the 44th anniversary of my marriage to my friend, confidant, nurse, cook, housekeeper, mother of my sons, and my legal lover (the time before the marriage is none of your business!) As such, I thought that I would take a minute to note a few things I've learned since I asked her if she would marry me. 1) You don't make your best impression if you propose over the telephone, half full of scotch, from a neighborhood bar. Sara and I were living hundreds of miles apart with her in North Carolina and me stationed in Philadelphia. I couldn't stand not being with her any longer so I reinforced my courage, got every quarter there was in the bar till for making the call, and as soon as she answered, said something super elegant like, "So, ya wanna get married?" I heard her make sort of a gagging sound and thought she might be getting sick, but she stayed on the line long enough to let me make her know that I was serious and to say "yes". As soon as we hung up, I filled the other half of me full of scotch. 2) Never tell a woman, with an iron in her hand, how to do your shirts. Marine dress shirts have three pleats in the back and two pleats in the front. Mind you, I didn't know how to iron them when we first got married, but I wasn't hesitant about telling Sara how they should be done. Sara had the ironing board set up in her parent's bedroom and her Dad and I were watching as she ironed my uniform for me. Like an idiot, I kept telling her how I thought it ought to be done. I noticed her Dad kept shaking his head at me, but I've never been too good at picking up subtle hints. Finally, Sara had had all she could take of my help. She slammed the iron down - hot side down! - on my shirt and said, loud enough for the neighbors to hear just so I wouldn't miss another subtle hint, "If you want the d&&med thing ironed, do it yourself!" Her Dad laughed until tears came out of his eyes and I don't think she's ever ironed another shirt for me since. The best I can recall, the scorch mark never came out of my uniform shirt either. 3) There is no satisfaction in arguing with a closed door. I have always been a get hot fast, take inappropriate action, get over it quickly kind of guy. Sara and I didn't know each other long enough before we got married (about 4 months total) to ever have a fight. After we got married and we had a DISAGREEMENT, I expected her to stand up like a man and fight back. Wrong! She just found a room - the bathroom in our first apartment, an efficiency, and later the bedroom - went in and quietly shut the door in my face. Where's the respect in that? I would shout for her to come on back out, that I wasn't through fighting yet. She would respond with nothing but silence. I never did find enough nerve to open the door and go in. 4) There is a big difference in morning people and those who are not morning people. I'm a morning person. I'll let you guess about Sara. The morning of our 44th anniversary, I jumped out of bed, slapped her on the butt, and said, "Good morning, beautiful. Happy anniversary!" She said, "umf" and pulled the covers over her head. After showering and brushing my teeth, so I know I smelled good, I went back into the bedroom, leaned over her in bed and said, "Happy anniversary. How about a kiss?" She said, "Go kiss the dog and leave me alone!", which is a lot for her to say before about 10 a.m. I'm sure she'll be much more passionate the morning of our 45th anniversary. 5) Never set the vacuum cleaner down in dewy grass. Sara and I spent our wedding night in my folks house. We were the only ones there, for any of you who are wondering. As a poor, young PFC of Marines, I didn't own a car, so I had borrowed my Dad's car to take on our honeymoon to the mountains. I got up early the morning following our wedding and took it upon myself to clean up the car before leaving. There must have been a bushel of rice in the car. Dad used to swear that he was still finding grains when he traded it six years later. The cord to the vacuum cleaner wouldn't reach to the driveway, so I pulled the car into the yard. I plugged in the vacuum and carried it out to the car. Being unmindful of the fact that the yard was soaked with dew, I set the vacuum down on the grass. Sparks flew and so did I. Sparks flew from my very short hair and I flew about 6 feet across the yard. I paid to have a professional do the rest of the car cleaning. I really thought I had gotten by with doing something so dumb. Sara hadn't noticed anything but the lights flickering inside. Later I found out that the neighbors across the street just happened to be watching out their front window. They told my Mom and Dad that it was the funniest thing that they had ever seen and that they laughed so hard that they almost wet their pants. I still have a real fear of using a vacuum cleaner. 6) I'll never love anyone else the way that I have and do love Sara. All kidding aside, and all of the stuff above really happened, I was so incredibly lucky. It's just a shame that it didn't work out that way for both of us.

An Island

At some time or another, we've all played the deserted island game. You know the one. If you are stranded on an island, what books would you want to have with you? If you are stranded on a deserted island and could select one person to have there with you, who would it be? I used to think I would like to have Angelina Jolie. Now I'm thinking that Betty White might be a better choice. Books would certainly be nice to have on an island, but I don't think that they would take the place of a human voice, body warmth, intelligent conversation (I'm sure that Angelina would be able to talk intelligently.) So, who would you want to be there with you? Okay, you say, "I'm a Christian. I would want another Christian there with me." So which Christian would you choose? How about a fundamentalist Baptist? Maybe a Unitarian Universalist? How about Pastor Terry Jones, the infamous burner of the Koran? Would a member of the Jeovah's Witnesses be your choice? Would it be a Mother Teresa type or a Christmas and Easter Christian? Do you think that a Christian just like you would be a generator of intelligent conversation? If so, maybe that would be your choice. I think that my friend, retired Baptist minister, Paul, would be high on my selection list. He and I are both pretty liberal. The conversation would probably not be very heated, but I'm sure we would figure out how to cure the world's ills through our love for our fellow man. My friend, Methodist minister, Eileen would be a good choice for me too. She directs an outreach mission working with Whites, Blacks and Hispanics, mostly poor, some documented and some probably not, but she doesn't care. I love her love of Christ and how that leads her to a career serving all of God's children. I have a couple of new young friends, Trish and Mustafa. Trish is a Socialist and an atheist. Mustafa is a Muslim. They are both young enough to be my grandchildren and I would be proud to be able to claim that relationship. I would love to be stranded on an island with either of them. Both of them, although they are not Christians, are heavily involved in advocacy for human rights. This isn't because of the big bucks they can earn, they just have XLG sized hearts. Would either of them be able to convert me from Christianity? Not in my lifetime. My love of Christ is too strong. On the other hand, maybe time with them would allow me to go and make disciples. At the very least, there would be some wonderful opportunities for the exchange of thoughts. Daniel Defoe placed Robinson Crusoe alone on a deserted island. It can be easily argued that Friday, a black man who couldn't speak English, saved Crusoe's sanity and probably his life. It is important to me to be able to remember, as I go through this life, that different just means different. It does not necessarily mean wrong or dangerous.

I Never Met...

Yesterday must have been the day to find things of interest in the performing arts. I had a CD of the Broadway show, "The Will Rogers Follies" playing in the truck all day and in the evening, I watched a PBS presentation of the musical, "Tales of the South Pacific" broadcast from the Columbia Center. I'll blog about "running" next time. For now, I'm going to say just a bit about Will Rogers. Will Rogers (1879 - 1935) was a man of many facets: stage performer, movie actor, author, philosopher, political analyst, and, perhaps most importantly, good will ambassador. He was born in Oklahoma to parents who could claim the Cherokee Indians as a part of their heritage (Maybe these were Cherokees who once had roots in North Carolina. I would like to think so anyway.) Even today, Will Rogers is often quoted. "I never met a man I didn't like," is perhaps one of the most famous of the quotes and, to all appearances, seems to have been mostly true. The person playing him in the "Follies" explains to us where that attitude comes from. Will explains that, when an Indian travels, he is always looking behind himself. Not only does this give the Indian an idea of what markers to look for on the way home, it gives him an entirely different view of the things happening around him. The white man, on the other hand, only looks straight ahead and assumes that everything he passes looks the same from any angle. Will goes on to say that his parents taught him that you must not dislike any man if you have only had a front view of him. You must walk around behind him and look past him to see what he is seeing. Everything about his world is colored by his view of life and, until you have taken the same view, you have no right to dislike him as a person. You may find that there are very good reasons for the type of person that you are standing with. This might give you a chance to help change the view or change the attitude created by the view. At the very least, you will better understand. The way that Will explains it sounds much better to me than just "walk a mile in his shoes," but that is exactly what Will is saying. It is not an easy thing to remember to do. Often our view isn't all that much to be looking at either. Often we are tired or busy or sick and we just don't want to make the effort. Two lessons come from this: try to always appreciate the other man's view and try to remember that someone may be making the effort to look over your shoulder at your view. Be ready to give and accept help whenever the opportunities come. God is good.

Airports

The year I turned 21, I made my first flight. I flew from Philadelphia International to Boston's Logan. Both airports seemed huge to me and, even though it was an evening flight, they were both very busy. That same year, I was in and out of Penn Station in Philly, Union Station in Washington, D. C., and Grand Central Station in NYC. I got lost more than one time in the Port Authority terminal in NYC. I suppose that many people found the crowds aggravating and depressing. Except for the couple of times in my career, when I was flying every single week, I found them to be great places to be, full of energy. Once, in Atlanta, I got to sit and talk to Senator John Stennis (D-MS) for about an hour, just him and me. There is no way I would have been able to get a 1 hour audience with him in his Washington office. My favorite thing to do, in the whole world, is to meet and talk with new people. Some of you are friends because of this and some of you probably wish I had never even said "hello". People are always waiting in airports, train stations, and bus stations. They are either going somewhere and waiting for their outbound ride or they have come from somewhere and are waiting for their baggage or they are waiting to pick up someone who is coming to their location, all of which intrigues me. I've found that most people will talk about themselves, to an interested person, if they have even a few minutes. I love to hear their stories. Earlier this week, I was picking up my friend, Paul Kennedy, at PTI (Greensboro, for you non-natives) and got to the airport about an hour early. I took a book in with me to pass the time waiting, but didn't get a single page read. Instead, I talked to some really neat folks. Person number 1 was a Continental flight attendant. She was waiting out an east coast storm before taking her scheduled flight out. I found out from her that her flight, originating in Atlanta, had not even left the ground there yet. That meant she wasn't going to join the flight crew for that airplane for at least another 2 hours. Is there a lounge for flight crews? Not at PTI. You would think that the airlines could band together and open at least one small lounge. She and her co-workers were going to have to "just hang out" until time came to finally go to work. Another thing that made her memorable was that, about age 35 to 40, 3 years ago, she completely changed careers. She had been a kindergarten teacher for 13 years, had been worn down by parent, paper, and policy problems, and had decided to try a new direction. I'm sorry that we lost a kindergarten teacher, but as I told her, I have a great deal of respect for her decision to try something else. I sure wasn't that brave. Person number 2 was a faculty member in the Wake Forest University Department of Religion. There are rocking chairs scattered around the waiting area at PTI, a really fine idea. There was an empty one beside this gentleman (young, long hair, shorts and sandals) and I asked him if it was taken. When he answered, he didn't sound like he was from the South! I was wrong. He was from southern New Zealand. He was waiting for a flight to arrive, so we talked about the courses he teaches and about NZ. I am going to look at the possibility of auditing one of his classes before too long. I found out that he has lived in the USA for 13 years and is actually an American citizen. As I said, he talked funny, but he looked just like you and me, if you know what I mean. SPOILER ALERT! I am about to make a political statement. Feel free to scroll past it to the next paragraph, if you want. Under the new illegal alien challenge law in Arizona, do you think for a second that, should he be stopped by the police, he would be asked to prove that he wasn't in the US illegally? How stupid! Of course he wouldn't. He doesn't look Hispanic or sound Hispanic, so he must be here legally even though he is obviously different. Can you say "racial profiling"? Person 3 and Person 4 were sorta together. Once Paul arrived, I went down to the baggage claim area with him. I spotted Person 3 holding a sign for one of the nicer places that Wake Forest puts visiting dignitaries. He was waiting to drive the expected person back to Winston-Salem. He let me know that he is retired and works this job part-time. Wow! I told him that I had been looking for a job just like his and asked him how he found it. Oops! A family member already worked for his employer and gave him a foot-in-the-door. I guess I'll just have to wait on my sons to come through for me. Person 3 confessed that he had driven various VIPs, but was instructed to never talk about them and, for goodness sakes, don't ask for a picture or autograph. What fun is that? Person 4 arrived on the same flight that Paul was on. I had stepped away from Person 3, but not so far that I couldn't overhear Person 4 introduce himself as a doctor, a very young looking doctor, I might add. While the driver was going to get the car, I asked the young doctor if he was a medical or PhD. Turned out that he is a 34 year old PhD coming here to interview for a faculty position at Wake. He had only heard about and applied for the position the previous week, was flown here for a single day of interviews in a matter of days, was met by a car and driver, and was going to be put up in a very nice place. I'm just guessing, but I'll bet that the job would be his to loose with a bad interview rather than get hired through a good one. I found out that, should he be offered and accept the job, he would be here for at least 3 years with his wife and 2 young daughters. I'm going to get a couple of WFU friends to watch for his name being announced as a new faculty member. I believe that he and his family would be great additions to our town and WFU and maybe they could try my church or I could help in some other way. I would like that. So, I spent an hour doing what I like best (that wasn't always the case, but I'm older now) at no cost to myself except being willing to sometimes be rejected or make a fool of myself (pro wrestler, Andre the Giant, just shook his head no when I asked for an autograph.) I'll take an hour like that anytime. Try it. You might like it too. God is good.

Our Six Senses

At one time or another, all of us has known someone with one or more of their senses impaired. We've all wondered what it would be like to be blind or deaf. More rare, I suppose, but maybe as bad or possibly worse, what would it be like to not be able to smell or taste or feel touch? Some of us have done the experiments of wearing a blindfold and found ourselves staggering around or the one where we hold our nose and taste a potato and an apple and find it hard to tell the difference. Would you give up the sense of hearing? That would be tough. What would it be like to no longer hear the cooing of a dove at dawn? Would you miss the distant sound of a train whistle pulling you to travel, at least in your dreams? I wouldn't be able to hear my granddaughters call me Papa or Grandpa anymore, names I truly love. I wouldn't be able to hear Sara whisper that she loves me (on the other hand, I've practiced selective hearing with Sara for years.) I don't think I'd want to give up the sense of hearing. How about losing the sense of smell? That doesn't seem too bad. But wait, don't decide too quickly. Would you miss the smell of grass just after it's been mowed. What about fresh baked bread? Have you ever held a newly bathed and powdered baby? There's some danger in not having a sense of smell too. When is the last time you felt inclined to sample a big taste of something that smelled like fresh poop? And don't forget, the sense of smell is tightly tied to the sense of taste. I know of a person who lost a lot of weight because nothing tasted right because she had a severe sinus problem. So, let's do without a sense of taste. After all, most of us could stand to loose a few pounds, right? Would you miss the sweetness of a ripe pear or the full-of-summer-memories taste of watermellon? Can you imagine ice cream melting on your tongue without being able to taste it? From the texture alone, you would probably want to spit it out. Worst of all, you would probably begin to eat brussels sprouts or stewed okra because you wouldn't have a clue how bad it really was! Let's move on to our sense of sight. Where on earth would we be without "the rockets RED glare" or "PURPLE mountains majesty" or "long, cool woman in a RED dress" or "GREEN, GREEN grass of home" or "BLUE moon"? A whole bunch of songs wouldn't make much sense to us if we didn't have sight to put colors in perspective. Spring blossoms or fall leaves, forget it! A child's smile, a pretty girl or a handsome guy, using only your imagination, it just wouldn't be the same. Try attending a football game and having someone describe the action! Sight might be the last sense I would want to give up. I am a hugger! Where would I be if I couldn't feel the warmth of another person? Touch something really hot or really cold without a sense of touch and you could be in deep trouble. If you couldn't tell you had spilt hot coffee in your lap, how would you know to sue McDonald's? A glowing ember is beautiful, but your sense of touch tells you not to pick it up. If you couldn't feel the hardness of a pew, what would keep you awake during church? Touch is certainly an important sense and not one I'd give up easily. You know, I don't think I would give up any of these five senses gladly. Still, it is the sixth sense I value most. That is a sense of self, the sense that helps me stay centered. It might be different for different people, but for me it is formed by the joining of several parts: my relationship with God, the love I'm able to share with Sara and the rest of my family, and my ability to help those who aren't able to help themselves or who aren't as fortunate as I am. If these things are in balance, there is a sense of peace within myself. That is the sense of self that I strive to reach. Without using glasses or hearing aids or other means of help, I can't make myself see any better or hear better, but I can always work on improving my sense of self and I can improve it every single day. God is good.

Saving

Saving is important. It can define us. In this case, I'm not talking about saving souls, perhaps the most important saving any of us may have the opportunity to do. I'm not talking about saving money, something we all should do. I'm not talking about saving the things found in the family junk drawer, although that might go a long way toward defining the persons who stuff things in them. I'm talking about saving the little things that are a bit more difficult to name. For the second time in my life, I'm going through the collected minutiae of a loved one, the things that help to define the person that they have been, the things they have considered important enough to save; the clipped newspaper articles and announcements, the old family pictures, the saved postcards, the certificates, the letters of congratulation, the church bulletins, the report cards. Sometimes we save those things that have pertained to our parents or even older relatives and have been passed through the generations - black and white photos, original deeds, birth, marriage, and death announcements. Sometimes we save things that are particular to us - a college diploma, the bowling score sheet or the golf score card, a meaningful note from a friend at a down time. Sometimes we save those things from our children - a report card with all "A"s, a handmade Father's Day card, a picture with a huge grin showing no front teeth at all. Sometimes, we save a copy of that little prayer or poem that touched us and, hopefully, made us a bit better person, at least for a while. Sometimes, it is a cartoon that made us laugh or got us to look at something in a different way. The point is that we have saved them because they mean something to us. We might be saving in an old shoe box or a ratty file folder. Where we save isn't very important. What is important is that we know where these things are and can put our hands on them at whatever seems to be the right time. This saving is important to us, but it means something about us to the next person who goes through them as well. I've just finished going through a parent's file folder. Some things in it made me stop and wonder why they were thought important. Some things made me laugh out loud. Some things brought tears to my eyes. Taken all together, they helped to more fully define the parent. I kept some things and added them to my own file folder. Others, I trashed. Some day, my own children or maybe even my wife, will look through my file folder and better understand the kind of person I was, at least maybe a little bit better. I'm guessing that most of you already have your shoe box or file folder. If you don't, start one. The memories saved will mean something to you and will, some day, make you more understandable and meaningful to someone who has loved you. God is good.

I'm Hungry

I had a friend tell me that she enjoys my blog postings, but sometimes they are too long for her to have time to read. Oops! That sounds like some sermons I've heard. I'm going to try for shorter. I don't promise anything. Sometimes we just like to hear our own voice. Do you recognize the difference between hunger and appetite? Last Wednesday evening, I visited my friend Eileen Ayuso at the walk-in medical clinic sponsored by The Shalom Project at Green Street United Methodist Church here in Winston-Salem. The clinic averages seeing about 60 - 70 people each time it opens its doors. The staff is all volunteers! On Wednesday, I met doctors, PAs, nurses, pharmacists, folks with knowledge of medical claim forms, and people with no medical background at all, all giving their time to serve others. I don't know if all the volunteers are Christian. I'm pretty sure that it doesn't make a difference to the patients. Eileen would probably like for all volunteers to be Christian, but I think she would probably settle for anyone who has a heart to serve their fellow man. Each and every one of the clinic volunteers have a hunger to serve. So, you don't want to spend several hours in a crowded facility working with sick people, but you love to work with children. I know of opportunities to do everything from tutoring one-on-one to playing with children in a healthy, nurturing environment. All it takes is a hunger to serve. Okay, pressing the flesh is not your thing, but you love to garden. Both Maple Springs UMC and Green Street UMC have community garden plots. You can press the dirt instead of the flesh and, at the same time, feed the poor and hungry. All it requires is that you have a hunger for service. Do you like to help others shop for clothes? Would you like to run a little clothing shop of your own? Green Street UMC and the House of Service both have clothes pantries. I'm sure that there are others locally as well. Clothes don't get received, sorted, cleaned, checked, stocked, and made available by themselves. The greatest requirement to work in a clothes pantry is a hunger for service. Can you cook? Okay, a more difficult question... can you cook for hundreds? I have a friend who helps to cook and serve one day a week every week at the Samaritan Inn. She has a real hunger (please excuse the pun) for service. Do you enjoy grocery shopping, especially when it isn't your own money you are spending? There are lots of unfortunate people visiting lots of food pantries. There just doesn't ever seem to be enough volunteers to keep them stocked and open. All it takes to qualify is a hunger for service. "Mother, I'm hungry." "It's only an hour until dinner time." "I know, but I'm still really, really hungry." "Well, there are some carrot sticks in the refrigerator. Have some of them." "Ugh! I was thinking more about a couple of the chocolate chip cookies you have hidden behind the canned tomatoes on the top shelf of the pantry." "You aren't suffering from hunger. You are suffering from appetite! You know that there is a difference and you can wait until dinner." You probably recognize some version of this conversation. I had it more than once with my mother and Sara had it with our sons. They are probably having it with their children. There is a difference in an appetite for service and a hunger for service. An appetite for service sounds like, "That's probably a worthy cause, but my favorite TV show is that night. Do you have something that doesn't take as long to do and on another night?" or "That's a good thing you are doing, but I don't think I would feel safe in that neighborhood. Maybe you could ask me again the next time there is a volunteer need." A hunger for service sounds like, "What a great idea! Tell me what you need for me to do and get out of my way!" or "I have some extra time. Can you put me to good use somewhere?" My prayer is that I will never judge what any person does or does not do with their time, whether they have an appetite or a hunger, and that I will never loose my own hunger for service. God is good.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I don't know anywhere near as much about Dietrich Bonhoeffer as I would like, but everything that I learn makes him more of a personal hero. This morning, I read Cal Thomas' column in the Winston-Salem Journal editorial pages. He wrote about Bonhoeffer and a biography of him that has just been released. I'm quoting from Thomas' column: "Bonhoeffer quickly tired of the 'God-lite' theology at Union (Union Theological Seminary in New York) and decided to visit churches that held more substantive beliefs. He discovered a black church in Harlem where Adam Clayton Powell Sr. preached riveting sermons, and people joyfully worshiped God as if they actually believed he exists." I can't help but wonder, how many churches in Winston-Salem would Bonhoeffer have to visit before he found the one he sought? Am I doing what I can to make my church the one? God is good.

My Mother

My mother is 89 years old! My father and his father both died at 73 years. I would like to make it to 74 just to set a bit higher standard for the men of the family. I don't know if I want to be able to celebrate my 89th birthday. Almost a year ago, my mother moved into what we would have once called an "old folks home." I'm pretty sure that term isn't considered politically correct now a days. She doesn't require a lot of special attention, but she needs more than the family is capable of providing should she live in one of her children's homes. In truth, at her age, she would probably drive us crazy even if she needed no special attention. She has advanced dementia now and won't ever be going anywhere else to live. Sara, my sisters and brothers-in-law, and I have been working on getting her condo ready to sell for the past few days. My knees won't allow me to do a lot of picking up and moving nor bending and stretching to do painting, so it fell on me to clean out her desk and safe and get her paperwork organized a bit better. I've stumbled across what she must have considered important documents and keepsakes. To me they all represent memories. I found a picture of my great grandmother surrounded by her children, including my grandmother. I found her birth certificate and her wedding certificate. I found vacation pictures, old letters - including some I had written to her, and newspaper clippings. As I sat here tonight, thumbing through these things, I felt like an interloper. I found myself smiling and having tears running down my cheeks at the same time and I don't know why. I think that it must be that her memories trigger memories of my own. God knows, trying to raise four children, with only six years between the oldest and the youngest, should qualify her for sainthood. She loved us, nurtured us, and did her best to have us be the best persons that we could be. I'm ashamed that I probably failed her miserably. I haven't heard her sing in years, but my memory is of her singing like an angel. When the six of us piled into the car to travel on vacation, she would often sing the old gospel hymns. I learned "The Old Rugged Cross" and "Swing Down, Sweet Chariot" and met Jesus through my mother. Today, she lies in bed or sits in a wheelchair mostly lost to the world around her. I have no idea what the mind does when one has dementia. My prayer is that it takes her to times and places when the world was a wonderful place to be. I hope that she gets to play with her three sisters as a young girl. I hope that she still takes pride in joining the Army when WWII broke out. I hope that she still smiles as she holds me and watches my father graduate from the University of Nebraska and that she knows he couldn't have done it without her. I hope that she still misses him when he gets called back to serve in Korea. I hope that she still cruises to the Caribbean with her sisters and their families and enjoys their home at Myrtle Beach. I hope that she swells with pride when all four of her children graduate from college. I hope that she still wonders at the joy of being a grandmother and then a great grandmother. I pray that all bad memories of all bad times are gone and that these, her last days, are a wonderful time for her. God is good and I pray that He will be especially good to my mother.

Lucas II

Lucas Little passed away from this life on Wednesday, June 16th. I cannot imagine a pain greater than loosing a child; a child of any age. I cannot imagine the anguish God must have felt as Christ hung on the cross, knowing that He could save his son so easily. I cannot fathom a decision that meant having a child to die in order to save me, but I have been made eternally grateful that Christ willingly gave His life and God allowed it. I have at least four sets of friends who've lost a child: Wiley and Anne, Lee and his wife, Cory and Michelle, and now Burnie and Tina. Oddly enough, they are all Christians. They all have a burning love for Christ, even after a devastating loss. They seem to grow stronger in this love every single day. I don't know. I've never asked them straight out, but the promise of being rejoined with their child eternally must bring them great comfort. There is no doubt in my mind that there is not one single day that they don't miss their child. That is to be expected. We all miss those we love. The greater mystery and the inspiration for me is that, my friends, who love their missing child, love their God so much the more. I will continue to pray for Burnie and Tina and the family and friends of Lucas. I will continue to thank God for my own children. I will continue to try to borrow from the strength of my four sets of friends. I will remember, as Burnie says at the close of each blog entry, "God is good." www.prayforlucas.blogspot.com God is good.

Non-fiction

I mostly read fiction. Because my 6 or 8 favorite authors just cannot write as fast as I can read and to flex my mind muscles once in a while, I have been known to pick up a non-fiction book. At Seeds, Monday night worship, a few weeks ago, the name Leonard Sweet came up. Dr. Sweet is the Dean of the Theological School at Drew University. His writings were recommended and the church library happened to have a copy of "A Cup Of Coffee At The Soul Cafe" so I checked it out, both from the library and by beginning to read it. I should know better! Rarely do I stop reading right in the middle of a fictional story to think about what I've read. Since this isn't true with non-fiction, it takes me a lot longer to read a book. If I happen to own the book, I like to make margin notes and underline and highlight and leave pieces of paper marking the spots I want to revisit. I don't own "The Soul Cafe" so all I can do is put in little pieces of paper markers. I want to share one of those with you. The following is quoted from the book: Here is a a recent interview with a sharecropper's child in Selma, Alabama, by Raymond Wheeler of CBS-TV: "Do you eat breakfast before school?" "Sometimes, sir. Sometimes I have peas." "And when you get to school, do you eat?" "No, sir." "Isn't there any food there?" "Yes, sir." "Why don't you have it?" "I don't have the 35 cents." "What do you do while the other children eat lunch?" "I just sits there on the side" (his voice breaking). "How do you feel when you see the other children eating?" "I feel ashamed" (crying). If I had tried to guess how this child felt, prior to reading his last answer, I would have guessed several feelings before I got to "ashamed". I'll tell you that his child's situation made me "mad"! I'm mad at me. I'm mad at the United States. I'm made at humanity in general. Why don't I do more? Why don't we do more? Why should any child be hungry or feel ashamed that he doesn't have the money to eat? In this particular case, we aren't even talking about a 3rd world country, we are talking about the United States, the most blessed country on Earth. There are those who are at work. I have teachers in my family and I've known many dedicated teachers. I've never known one who didn't spend at least some part of their paycheck to try to help some child live a little bit better. I have another friend who volunteers to feed the homeless one day every single week at the Samaritan Inn. This same friend is also very involved with the support of an orphanage in Haiti. At Maple Springs, members donate cash and food to our community food pantry. When we do our semi-annual project to package meals for shipment to very poor countries, we have volunteers from age 5 to 85. Many are doing as much as they can. I'm not. "And whoever causes one of these little one who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were thrown into the sea." Mark 9:42 NKJV You cannot teach of a loving god if you cannot be heard past the rumbling of an empty stomach. A child going to bed hungry will find it hard to say his prayers. If you feel that you will be outside of your comfort zone volunteering to feed the hungry (and I would urge you to give it a try), then buy a little extra food when you grocery shop and give it to a food pantry. Donate a little bit of money to an agency that has a good reputation for feeding the stomachs and souls of the hungry. If you feel you can, volunteer to rub elbows with the hungry at the Samaritan Inn or anywhere else feeding the hungry. In Winston-Salem, Green Street United Methodist serves dinner every Wednesday evening. Go help set up, serve, and clean up. You won't need to work hard to find a way to serve both God and the hungry. I'm nowhere near where I would like to be in this endeavor. My prayer is that I'll find places where God is already at work and will join Him there. I ask that you hold me accountable. When you see me, ask me to tell you what I'm doing about feeding the hungry. I hope to never find myself able to help a child (not just a youngster, but any child of God) who is ashamed because he is hungry and realize that I have not done so.

Poems and Prayers and Promises

In 1968, I first heard the music of John Denver. Now, 42 years later, I am still a big fan. This evening, as Sara and I drove across town, we were both singing along with his songs. We don't know all the words to all the songs, but we didn't miss many (I, of course, sound much better than she does.) One of my all-time favorites is "Poems and Prayers and Promises": "and talk of poems and prayers and promises and things that we believe in; how sweet it is to love someone, how right it is to care." I don't know much about poems. If songs are poems set to music, I have many poems that I love, especially old-time gospel hymns and folk songs. At the same time, I like to read from the Song Of Solomon. I enjoy some of the work by the Beat poets like Ginsberg and Ferlinghetti. I never get tired of "Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. I know the words to several bawdy limericks. If I ever get a chance, I think a class on understanding and appreciating poetry would be good to take. I don't know much about prayers either. I have absolute faith that prayers are heard. I don't begin to understand how and why they are answered the way that they are. I am reading a book now in which the author says that, "I don't believe in predestination, fate, chance, or luck. I believe that a combination of free will and random chaos controls our destinies." I think that this couple of sentences is a good jumping off point for deep discussion. God allows us free will to make both good and bad decisions. God is in control, but I am not sure how He exercises that control. If the term "random chaos" is used to describe events like a person, driving as safely as humanly possible, being hit head on and killed by a drunk driver who walks away from the crash, then it seems that God must be allowing random chaos. Even if the driver who was killed has prayed for travel mercies just prior to setting off, I do not and cannot believe that God has not heard the prayer. It is the way in which the prayer is answered that has always puzzled me. When it comes to promises, I believe that a man's word should be his bond. I also believe that we do now and always have failed miserably at keeping promises. How often do we hear someone say, "I promise you" or "trust me" and wince? We know that the good intention is present in the moment, but will the promise be honored in the long run? God keeps His promises. He doesn't promise that you won't have trouble in your life. In fact, you may feel like you are leading the life of Job, but He has promised us an everlasting, heavenly life with Him and that word will be fulfilled if we only believe in the promise that has been delivered to us through Christ Jesus. How about "things that we believe in"? I believe that the Ford F150 is a doggone good truck. I believe that the Wake Forest University football team will always be fun to watch, but will never win a national championship. I believe that natural gas feels warmer when it heats than other methods. I believe that I attend a church that has one of the finest staffs that it is possible to assemble. I believe that Sara got the short end of the stick when she married me. I believe that Autumn, Maddie, and Reese are the prettiest and smartest grandchildren ever. I believe that wearing a tie to work does not make a person one bit smarter. I believe that a mountain vacation is better than a beach vacation (although it is a pretty close race!) I believe that North Carolina is the most wonderful state in the union, followed closely by parts of Virginia and Colorado. I believe that even a menial task can be a wonderful experience, especially if it is done to the best of your ability and even more so if it is done for someone else. I believe that cake is better than pie (another close race!) I believe that, the older I get, the less reason there is to hurry. I believe that the generations that will follow mine are no worse, only different. I believe that it is okay to dislike an individual, but it is absolutely wrong to hate a group. I believe that dogs make much better pets than cats and that the Labrador Retriever makes the very best pet of all. I believe that, the older we get, the more temperature changes bother us, although I believe that most of us would rather the temperature be on the warm side more so than the cold. Hardly anyone retires to the North. I believe that there is never a time we don't have enough room in our hearts to add another friend. I believe that everyone has a story to tell and that most are interesting. The problem is that some of us do a much better job telling the story than others. I believe that the worst live theater production is better than most movies ever made. I believe that the term "God sightings" should be applied to every single thing in our lives. They are always there if only we look. I believe that there is no such thing as bad banana pudding, that Jif is the best peanut butter, and that western style BBQ is better than eastern style. I believe that God loves us and that covers it all. How sweet is it to love someone? How right is it to care? There is nothing in this world like love. Try holding a newly born baby or the hand of a dieing friend. Try receiving the smile of someone whose day has been brightened by your presence. Try sleeping at night when you know that someone you love is upset with you. Love can't be easily defined, but it can make your heart grow to bursting with happiness or break your heart from sadness. Life without love is unthinkable. I cannot imagine a life without it. Love sparks caring. Caring ignites service. Service is a sign of love. Like a wheel within a wheel, just try to picture a world full of love. If you can picture it, you can live it. Give it a try. In the past few weeks, I've experienced the joy of renewing old friendships, celebrating birthdays with extended family, and finding opportunities to add friends to my life. God is indeed good. Please pray for Lucas Little and his family and friends. Pray for my friends Paul and Mark who are both having a tough time. Pray for Danylle, away from her family, and for her family who misses her. That's just the top of my list. Add to it as you see fit and talk to God. You'll be glad you did.

Lucas

I've known Burnie Little for many years now. We began as a doctor - patient relationship. He's actually a PA, but I see him much more often than I ever do my doctor. We accidentally took the same Spanish class together at Forsyth Tech one time. He grew to be my always friend and, many times, my spiritual guide and mentor. He has known me in my good times and my bad. We shared coffee and meals together outside of his office. I heard how his wife, Tina, home schooled his two sons and he could not keep the father's pride in his family hidden nor did he want to do so. Burnie and Tina have a relationship with God, through Christ Jesus, that I strive for in my own life and fall short of achieving. The wonderful thing about this relationship is that it supports them even when times are very, very bad. This is a bad time. Their oldest son, Lucas, is in trouble. Lucas Little was involved in a serious car accident on May 27. He was admitted to intensive care in critical condition with brain trauma, fractures of the skull, cervical vertebra, right leg, and bilateral collapsed lungs. He remains in very critical condition today. Because the whole Little family is so loved, admired, and respected, they were slammed with requests for news about Lucas. Burnie set up a blog so that he can post current news and he is very faithful about keeping it up. In the blog, Burnie does updates on the condition of Lucas, asks for prayer for specific needs, and lets us know a bit about how the rest of the family and very close friends are doing. Burnie, Tina and I serve a mighty God who is capable of doing things far beyond our imagination. He is in control of this entire situation. We believe that it doesn't hurt to let Him know that we praise Him and seek His help. We ask that you help us with this effort. Please read Burnie's blog, pray for Lucas and the things Burnie lists, and add Lucas to your prayer list and to your church's prayer list. God is good. http://www.prayforlucas.blogspot.com/

About Sara

I've known Sara for just short of 44 years now and have been married to her all but 4 months of that time. Besides the obvious, I'm a male person and she's a female person, there are so many differences in us that it is ever a wonder to me why she has stayed so long with me. Those of you who read this blog and know her understand what I mean. Those of you who don't know her would probably enjoy the experience of getting to know her. I've read of couples who have known each other for years, dated for years, and even lived together for years and, 6 months after they finally get married, they are divorced and apart. I'm not sure what causes that, but I do believe that we had two real advantages. First and foremost, it was Sara and not someone else I married and, secondly, the unique situation we first found ourselves to be in - far away from home and no phone. I first met Sara in late April of 1966. I don't really even remember the first meeting. I was very good friends with a girl from Sanford, NC. We had gone to Louisburg Junior College together for a year. After I joined the Marines in 1965, I was stationed at Camp Lejeune and visited Sanford several weekends to see this girl. She knew Sara. On one of the weekends, we picked up Sara and a couple of other Sanfordites and just drove around. I know this happened, but I really don't remember it. What I do remember is the second time we dropped by Sara's house to pick her up. I was sitting in the front. Sara got into the back seat and leaned over and kissed me! Things like that just didn't happen to me. I was a young Marine and full of myself, but I recognized my limitations, especially in the looks department. Many years later, when asked about the incident, Sara confessed to remembering it like I just told it and said she did it because she thought I was "cute"! Puppies are cute! Four year-old girls at their first dance recital are cute! Even old couples walking hand-in-hand are cute! If she had used that word when she first leaned over and kissed me, I would probably have bristled. Marines are not cute! 44 years later, I'm really glad she thought I was. That was the last weekend I went to Sanford to see the old friend. From then on, it was Sara. Over the next 4 months, I was transferred to a Marine computer complex in downtown Philadelphia, PA. I lived in a barracks on the Navy station. I only made it back to Sanford a couple of times to see her and I spent a week at Carolina Beach, more or less with her. Sara worked that summer as a waitress at the beach and lived in a little hotel a block from the ocean. I took a week of leave to go down and be with her. With my usual good sense of timing, or perhaps it was her mother and father's better sense of timing, I picked the week that her mother, father, brother, and little sister were there too. At least they didn't stay in the same hotel, for all the difference that made! Sometime that week, Sara surprised me again. A letter to me had been forwarded to her by my parents. It was from an old high school friend who mentioned that he'd heard that I was shipping out soon for Viet Nam. As Sara was reading over my shoulder, she said, "We'll just have to get married before you leave." Married!! Here I was still thinking about how best to get her naked as often as possible and she springs the "M" word on me. I was only 21 years old. I hadn't even owned my first car yet and she's talking about getting married. I went back to Philadelphia with that question unresolved, but still thinking about how best to get her naked as often as possible. Late in August, with Sara on the phone in Sanford and me (and Cutty Sark) on the phone in Philly, the decision was made to tie the knot. I told her to let me know where and when and I would be there. The date, that has since gone down in infamy, was to be September 28th. I didn't realize until years later that its not unusual for wedding planning to take a year or more. I guess she just wanted to close the net now that she had her catch in it. Four months without even really going on a date and, 44 years later, I'm beginning to believe that the marriage might last. There is so very much to know about my Sara. She's brave in unexpected ways. I'm not sure she had ever been out of North Carolina before we married, but that didn't slow her down even a little bit. We were married for a couple of months before I could work it out to get an apartment and get her up to Philly. The night I was to meet her at the train station, I borrowed a friend's rarely used car. As luck would have it, it had two flat tires! I finally made it to Penn Station more than an hour late. Over in the far corner of the cavernous waiting room was my bride, patiently waiting behind a small fort built of luggage. There was no panic, no worry, and best of all, no blame for me not being better prepared. Our apartment was on South Broad Street. South Broad is 8 or 10 lanes wide, I don't remember exactly how wide, but she told her mother that we were living right on the highway. It didn't bother her that we couldn't afford a phone and that we had to walk a half block to use one in a hospital lobby (this probably helped us get along better since it was a very small apartment and neither of us could go running home to mother.) She quickly found a job in the biggest department store in Philly and then changed to typing hospital records. Neither job nor location bothered her. I don't know, the knee deep snow might have bothered her a little, but she didn't fuss about that either. She just bought a pair of boots and kept going. Growing a bit older and wiser didn't slow her down even a little when it came to trying things. She can't swim, but wasn't the least bit worried about going whitewater rafting. She can't fly either, but when we went hot-air ballooning, it was Sara leaning over the basket sides trying to see everything and me holding on for dear life and standing as close to the middle of the basket as possible. In the Bahamas, we rented motor scooters. She went off and left me on hers. It wouldn't go fast enough to please her. The one thing that I know she won 't do is to ride double with me. That's another story from the past and you can ask her about it if you see her. She will travel at the drop of a hat and, I don't care if she can't speak a word of a foreign language, she understands "go" in almost any language. My Sara is so very smart (you have to get past the fact that she married me before you can really buy into that.) After high school, she went to work in a factory. 15 minutes later, she decided that she probably wasn't cut out for factory life and decided to further her education. When I met her, she was attending a community college. Since she got married and moved, she wasn't able to finish then. Two kids later, while keeping a home and working a job and a half and getting darned little help from me, she finished her associate degree in accounting. Many years later, after the children had become adults, she went back to college at nights, still holding down a full time job, and earned a bachelors degree. She wanted to explore becoming a travel agent about the same time we came into a little bit of unexpected money. She went on to a travel agents' school and, at one time in the past, knew all of the ins and outs and tricks to booking the best travel deals. She has taken computer courses, photography courses, and went to school to learn how to weave using a hand loom. We now own a one-of-a-kind original "Sara" rug. If she wants to learn, don't get in her way. Sara has a work ethic that I can't match and really don't want to. She has always gone in to work early and stayed late. She works harder for self-perfection and to make things run right than almost anyone I know. She is unbelievably organized. If I were to need an assistant, I would hire her in a minute, but I wouldn't be able to work with her very well. She would have expectations of me that I probably just couldn't reach and I wouldn't want to disappoint her. How big can her heart be? An old childhood and lifelong friend of mine comes to stay with us for four months, in the summer, every year and has for about 15 years now. Ron was a last minute stand-in as a groom's man at our wedding. While in the service, he had an accident that left him partially paralyzed and on military disability. He hasn't done a day's work since. He is a world-class slob. She loves him like a brother and treats him just like one of the family. She fusses at him when he doesn't do something he should or when he does something that he shouldn't. She absolutely won't put up with any of his "I can't do that. I'm handicapped." crap either. Ron wears contact lenses. Several years ago, he was complaining about not being able to wear them and how much he would like to do so. He thought he wouldn't be able to put them in and take them out. She pushed and pulled and nudged and scolded him to go to the eye doctor until he finally did it. Now he hardly ever wears glasses. I love her even more for loving him. My Sara is human. She cries sometimes when she is sad or feels bad. She has been known to grumble when things don't go right. She hates for any WFU Deacons team to loose. She doesn't appreciate the art of baseball. Rarely does she hit a golf ball that gets into the air. I don't think she's ever done a vindictive thing in her life, but she can talk a good game. She forgets to use her turn signal sometimes. With that said, I still see so very much of Christ in her. She holds me and comforts me when I am sick in body or mind or spirit. She encourages me to look after myself, but she does her very best to look after me when I can't or won't. She has dropped everything to rescue me when I absolutely had to be rescued and couldn't help myself. She has raised children and is helping to raise grandchildren who love her and love to be with her. On my 65th birthday, she gave me a card in which she had written, "I will love you forever." I don't know how long forever is, but I know that I'll love her forever plus a day. My hope and prayer is that I will not fail too badly in being lovable and that I will not fail in letting her know often how very much she is loved.