Life's A Trip

My Family

2012-02-07T19:27:00.001-05:00

Let me tell you about my family. I have tons of siblings. There is one father for all of us. I know he must be famous because he's had lots of books written about him. In fact, the best seller of all times is about him. Some of my brothers, who claim to know him best, say that he is very loving to all his children, at least that's what some of us have been taught to understand. But, let me tell you about some of my family members.

Akira used to live near Sendai, Japan. In March, 2011, a gigantic earthquake hit the area, causing a horrible tsunami. The small factory, that Akira and his family owned, was completely erased. His home was flattened. Akira lost several family members and more than a few friends. He wasn't even able to recover the family Bible, a treasure of several generations. Luckily, Japan is an advanced country, so Akira's life, although greatly changed, will go on. When I heard the news of my brother's bad luck, I did send him some money and paid for a few of my other brothers to go help with the massive cleanup.

Abu exists (you can't really call it living) in a refuge camp in the Darfur region of Sudan. He doesn't understand the war that rages around him. All he knows is that he and his family are never safe. He heard that his mother had been raped and killed in another camp. His nephew died of starvation,in his mother's arms, before he was ever able to celebrate his first birthday. Although Abu mourns, he feels that his nephew might have actually been lucky since there would never have been a life, of any kind, for him. I sent Abu word that I was shipping some rice and beans for them to eat, some tenting for shelter, and maybe even some medicine. I let him know that I wouldn't be coming to help myself since it was much to dangerous for me. I did promise to send him the book about his father, in his own language, so he could read about how much his father loves him.

My sister, Celeste, lives outside of Port au Prince, Haiti. Since the earthquake two years ago, she and her family have shared a one-room house, made of tin and cardboard, with another family. There is no kitchen, no bathroom, no running water, no work, no school, not much food nor medical help. Although they have lived like this for two years, they really can't see a change for the better anywhere in the future. A Catholic priest sometimes makes the 20 mile trip from the city to hold mass, a celebration of our father's love, but Celeste says that not many people in the camp attend any longer. I did go down there for a week, all the time I could spend, to help with moving those people with nowhere to live into camps. I was glad to do it, but I had to get back to my own family, home, and job. Sometimes I take a moment or two to wonder about how Celeste is doing.

The last time I spoke to Akira, Abu, and Celeste, I reminded them how very much our father loves all his children. Somehow, I don't think they were paying much attention to me. I guess that they had other things on their minds. I promised them that, some day, all of our father's children would have a big reunion. I got the feeling that they probably weren't too interested in attending.

Fiction?

2012-01-28T13:20:00.000-05:00

Although I am trying to read more non-fiction, my second most favorite thing to do, behind talking to folks, is to read fiction. I've helped to track down the worst of the serial killers. I've saved the world from total destruction by catching the bad guys and stopping their evil plans in their tracks. I've helped to build a great cathedral in Europe. I've helped Hunter Quatermain find King Solomon's mine. I've rafted down the Mississippi. I've helped Ayn Rand to answer the question, "Who is John Galt?". I've broken wild horses and wooed the fair maidens of the Old West. This doesn't sound like much good would come from it except to rest and kill time. However... I am going to quote a couple of things I've read just lately that seem to say, at least to me, that a lot of what I think is fact and not fiction. Even fiction authors seem to want their protaganists to be real and, once in a while, I like what those characters are and what they have to say. That said, here we go.

From "Unspeakable" by Sandra Brown:

     His travels had exposed him to different relegions. He had sampled peyote with a shaman from one of the tribes in Arizona who believed the gods spoke through drug-induced visions. He had caddied one summer for a golfing rabbi who had talked to him about God's covenents and the promised Messiah. He had discussed the gospel with a group of Christian seminary students at an outdoor rock concert.
     All believed wholeheartedly that something greater than themselves was directing their destiny. Something greater than themselves was at least helping them choose the right path.
     Jack didn't know which relegion was valid, or if any of them were. He couldn't imagine a God who was omniscient enough to create the cosmos only to direct the lives of men with such petulance and caprice. The reason for natural disasters escaped him. He didn't comprehend why bad things happened to good folk, or why mankind was forced to suffer pestilence and famine and war. He wasn't so sure about the whole concept of redemption, either.

From "Booked to Die" by John Dunning:

     Today I'm a mess of contradictory political views. I believe in human rights. I believe in due process, but enough is enough. I'm a fan of a just and swift execution where vicious killers are concerned. It's just ridiculous to keep a guy like Ted Bundy on death row for ten years. I hate abortion, but I'd never pass a law telling a woman she couldn't have one. I believe in the ERA, find it hard to understand why two hunderd years after the Bill of Rights we're still arguing about rights for half our people. I like black people, some of them a lot. I supported busing when it was necessary and would again, but there's something about affirmative action that leaves me cold. You can't take away one man's rights and give them to another, even in a good cause.

Understand, I don't believe or endorse all of this, but the fact that you are reading fiction doesn't mean that you aren't thinking.

Here I Go Again!

2012-01-13T12:16:00.000-05:00

As I get older, I find it harder to climb up on my soapbox. As long as I keep reading the newspaper and watching and listening to news reports however, I'm bound to continue to use that platform. Two items have made the local, national, and even international news over the past few days. I feel a strong need to comment on them both. The really good thing about my blog is that I do it mostly for me. If you happen to read it and agree with what I say, that's great. If you don't agree, I sure don't mind hearing from you. If you decide not to read it at all, that's okay too. Its not like I'm trying to make a living writing it.

The local item first. At East Forsyth High School, near Kernersville, a SRO (School Resource Officer - our euphemism for campus cop) broke up a fight by using a Taser on one of the two students involved. An argument began in a classroom and turned into fisticuffs in the courtyard. The SRO, a police officer assigned from the K'ville PD, followed his training and protocol to end the fight, by firing his Taser, when one of the two involved was slow in responding to the SRO's orders to stop. Evidently the weapon used is low-power since, although it knocked the student down, he was able to immediately follow the order to "put your hands behind your back" while on the ground. The K'ville Chief of Police and the school principal have publicly supported the SRO's actions as being correct. That said, I'm very sorry that the action had to be taken. I'm even sorrier that we have to have SROs on each school campus, from elementary through high school. The W-S Journal reports that East Forsyth has about 60 fights per year. That's about one fight every two or three days! The Journal has also reported that there are gang problems at East Forsyth. With that and the fact that we are really growing some big high-schoolers now, I support the SRO 100%. Here's where I have a real problem... both students were black and the police officer was white. S. Wayne Patterson, the president of the W-S chapter of the NAACP said that the "incident is outrageous." He continued that "If racism didn't play a part, then the officer would have talked to the students instead of using his Taser. Anything could have happened to that young man." He is right. The student could have had his head bashed in in the fight, been sliced with a knife, or had much more damage done while the officer was trying to "talk" to them. Race! Race! Race! Why is it I don't find it hard to believe that, if a black officer had tased a white student, under the same circumstances, and the white community had complained, Mr. Patterson would have accused the white community of being racist and defended the officer? As long as our leaders, at any level, use race as the culprit in any and almost every situation, we will never find peace and acceptance among the races.

Now the national and international incident. Four battle Marines will, sooner or later, be identified as those pictured urinating on the bodies of enemy combatants. These Marines, men in size but hardly adults in age, have been shot at, bombed, seen their buddies bodies torn apart by the ravages of war. They have suffered much more than most of us can possibly realize. I lament that the picture was taken and published, but I especially lament the fact that these Marines will be thrown to the dogs. The U.S. imprisons living human beings in Guantanamo and offers them no rights under law. In North Carolina, we debate whether or not a prisoner on death row should be able to use any legal argument in his defense. Many feel that the sooner we put them to death, the better. These are warm, living bodies. Where do we get the right to take the moral high ground and condemn the Marines. I'm in favor of telling the Taliban that, if you don't want the bodies of your folks urinated on, don't put them where they are going to be killed. I'm also very much in favor of keeping our troops where they have much less chance of being killed! During my generation's war, I heard more than once said, "If we catch one of those pajama clad bastards alive, we're going to rip off their heads and shit down their necks." Given what was happening in Vietnam and the U.S., I think I would have joined the line to do just that. Our Marines aren't perfect, but they are the best defense we have. If we grant them the right to kill the living, how can we condemn them for having no respect for the enemy dead? Semper Fi!

From the Flight Deck

2011-12-22T11:50:00.001-05:00

The last US combat troops left Iraq in the wee hours of the morning. After years, many dollars, and more than 4,000 lives lost, we are finally coming home. Was it worth it? I wouldn't want to ask that of those who served nor especially those who lost loved ones. However, I do believe that in 10 years, maybe as few as 5 years, the situation in Iraq will not have improved significantly for those still trying to live in the country. John Prine once sang that we were trying to "save Viet Nam from the Viet Namese." What we succeeded in doing was losing some of the best and brightest of my generation, proving that maybe the French Foreign Legion wasn't all that inept after all, and filling a memorial wall in Washington with names. One of the saddest war pictures, to me, is that of the last US helicopter evacuating what few people it could from that Saigon rooftop. The Russians were kicked out of Afghanistan. It is surely only a matter of time before we follow them. Will there ever come a time that we Americans learn that our military can't save the world, that democracy won't work everywhere, and that morals can't be legislated? I pray that time will come, but I don't expect to see it.

On a bit of a lighter side, my dreams are driving me crazy! The other night, I dreamed that I was driving my school bus and, at the same time, delivering the morning newspaper from the bus. What a job! Why can't I dream of reading by the ocean, dating Angelina Jolie, or driving cross-country with the dog? At least delivering papers from a school bus is easier than my dreams of trying to solve computer problems using an archaic language.

Back to some heavier stuff... over the past few weeks, I have been the only adult around when two of my bus students had major melt downs. The first, I found curled up on a bus seat crying. I thought, at first, he was in real physical pain. I found out that he lives in a small house with a single parent, his mother, and with his brother who is barely into his twenties and unemployed, his brother's girlfriend, and their infant child. My guy has no privacy and way more responsibility than he should have at his age. My second student was leaning against a support pillar on the high school bus loading ramp and sobbing as if his heart would break. This is his first year in high school and he is being picked on in gym class. I see this happening and I think of Columbine. I also think that I would like to take a baseball bat to those who are bullying him. In each case, I let the child, and they are still children no matter how hard they try to be grown up, have my contact information and told them I would be available to them 24/7. Neither one has contacted me and I hope that things change, in their lives, so that they don't feel that they need to do so. In the meantime, I'm looking for some kind of training that will make me more able to understand and help them. I hugged them both, but I learned long ago that hugs won't cure the world's ills. Pray for them and for me, if you will.

Please take the time to rejoice in this season. Keep your eyes open for opportunities where a smile, a greeting, or a dollar may make a difference in someone’s life and take that opportunity. I know from past experience, hard learned, that they won't come again.

Merry Christmas!

Steve

2011-11-04T03:09:00.000-04:00

I'm ready to come out of the closet. Steve and I love each other. As teenagers, we would never have used that word to describe our relationship, but that's what it has always been, love! Today, he is my brother-in-law, but we are probably closer than most brothers. Steve would do anything in this world for me and I would do the same for him. He knows things about me that I wish that he didn't know, but he is willing to accept me just the same.

We grew up together. He was as comfortable in my family home as I was (probably a bit more since he wasn't too worried about being punished for raiding the refrigerator just before dinner.) Just like real brothers, we had a bunch of disagreements and a couple of fights along the way. It was from Steve I learned that my strong desire to pop someone in the nose with my fist could often be abated by someone having an equal desire to pop me in the nose - and a 4 inch longer reach! This was a lesson that I learned the hard way, but didn't put to much good use in later years. Even though I was known as an exceptionally good looking , student-athlete, it was his tall, skinny old body that took him to All Conference recognition as an offensive lineman (of all things!) You've probably read about swimmers struggling to escape when trapped in a mass of seaweed. I felt the same when I had to practice against Steve with all those long arms and legs. Actually, it was probably more like a meatball trying to escape from a plate of spaghetti!

In the early days, Steve and I didn't put much value on higher education. We both took time off from work and study at someone else's expense. I enjoyed my vacation on campus at NC State while he took a mountain vacation at Appalachian State. Somehow, we both ended up in the Marine Corps and I'm pretty sure that it did both of us some good. It taught us a lot of things about ourselves and what we were capable of doing, with the proper motivation (a motivational form that I appreciate for the results, but not one I ever enjoyed for the technique.) The Marines trained me in Information Technology when it was in its infancy. A college degree wasn't required in those days to advance in the field. All you needed to be able to do was to wire panels, punch cards, and code COBOL programs like a mad man. Surprising no one, except maybe himself, Steve went into sales after the Corps and found that he was very, very good at it. I really believe that, given the opportunity, he could have sold halo polish in hell.

Just lately, I've come to recognize that I've failed him. While I am a loving Liberal, I've somehow allowed him to become a hard headed, right-wing Republican! I suspect that much of the fault can be laid to all the times he got hit in the head playing football! From this, you may rightly infer that we don't talk politics. We have agreed to disagree, which is pretty big on my part since I'm sure he is wrong. To borrow a quote from a Willie Nelson song, we just "talk about the good times we've had and all the good times to come."

Steve is a lot older than I am, a full seven months. I just don't know how much longer his advanced age will let him hold on to life on this earth. I do know this... whichever one of us kicks the bucket first will leave a huge void and ache in the other's heart. Oh well, I am convinced that being a Republican is not enough, in and of itself, to keep you out of heaven, so we will have each other to love for eternity (and I'll probably still be trying to figure out how to get inside of that extra four inch reach.)

La Migra Viene

2011-10-13T10:44:00.000-04:00

My brother-in-law, Steve, never reads the comics in the newspaper. There are many days when I think that's all that I should read. Most days, just glancing at the front page makes my blood pressure spike.

Chuck Brodsky is a well known folk singer / songwriter. He calls Asheville, NC home and I've been lucky enough to hear him perform several times. One of my favorite songs, of his, is "La Migra Viene" (the Imigration Police are coming.") It tells of him being a part of an apple picking crew. It's hard work and he isn't nearly as good as his co-workers. Right in the middle of work, a shout goes up, "La migra viene!" and many of his fellow workers and friends jump and run, afraid of being put aboard a big yellow bus and held for deportation.

In an article in today's Winston-Salem Journal, it is reported that Legal Aid of North Carolina "has filed a federal complaint against the N.C. Department of Labor alleging that state labor inspectors have failed to ensure safe working and housing conditions for migrant farmworkers." The filing states that "many migrant housing units are overcrowded, in disrepair and have unsanitary cooking and washing facilities." There are other allegations, but you get the picture.

Speaking for the N.C. Department of Labor, Dolores Quesenberry said, "This letter is just a political stunt to promote a leftist agenda. They're always talking about unregistered camps and horrible conditions, yet they will not provide adresses or locations. If they did, we'd go and inspecct. Instead of playing politics, we need to find solutions to everyday problems and help the hardworking men and women of our agricultural community."

I'm not sure why this would be considered a leftist plot. North Carolina's governor is a Democrat. Does the N.C. Department of Labor really think that those darned leftists believe things would be better if the governor could be discredited and a Republican be elected to office? For myself, I think that Legal Aid probably has valid grounds for the filing. I have friends in farm worker ministry who could take me to camps, like those described, today. Even without those connections, I believe that I could find such camps within a couple of weeks. Why do you suppose it is that NCDL can't find them without someone taking their hand and leading them?

If I was an Hispanic farm laborer, in this country legally, and happened to know that some of my co-workers were undocumented, I believe that I would still run when I heard, "la migra viene" rather than try to prove my legal status from inside jail. I also believe that any NCDL convoy showing up to inspect reported camps would be lead by an ICE bus. How trusting would you be?

Also in today's Journal, Alabama's new imigration law is creating hardship for plant and business owners, schools, and both legal and undocumented aliens. Both legals and illegals are frightened. It seems that it is very hard to prove you are innocent in an environment biased toward believing you guilty until proven innocent just because you are fluent in Spanish.

Getting It Said

2011-09-20T10:35:00.002-04:00

It has been 3 months since I last posted to this particular blog. I once saw a pressure cooker explode. I don't want to do that, so I'm climbing back on my soap box while my old knees will still allow me to step that high. At this point, you know that you are going to hear my opinion on something that is really bugging me. If you don't want to read it, class excused. Otherwise, I'd really like to hear your thoughts on some of the things I intend to address over the coming days, weeks, months, years.

ACC used to mean "Atlantic Coast Conference", a onetime conference with a reasonable number of teams (home-and-home schedules were possible for basketball and in football, you were able to play all other conference members) and a certain amount of parity. That went away several years ago with the addition of Boston College, Virginia Tech, and Miami. Now, Syracuse and Pittsburgh are joing the conference. I think that it is not unreasonable to rename the ACC the "All for Cash Conference". Somehow it is hard for me to imagine several bus loads of rabid Syracuse fans trucking south in order to celebrate that well known rivalry between them and Miami. Who is really going to care if Carolina beats Pittsburgh in basketball as long as they can schedule (an up-in-the-air question) and defeat Duke? Several years ago, I chatted with sportscaster, Brent Musburger, when he was in Winston-Salem for a WFU - Duke game. Wake had already beaten Duke at Cameron Indoor and had high hopes and a great team capable of defeating them at home (they did!) Somehow, I don't see anyone other than ESPN3 sending a team to cover the Pitt - Miami basketball game. The latest expansion of the ACC is a done deal and I will learn to live with it. I do have one last question that I would like to propose to the powers that be... where will the conference basketball tournament find a place big enough to play and where will the tickets come from if less are alloted per school?

This one really drives me crazy. The NC State Legislature, in their infinite wisdom, has voted to place a referendum on a state constitutional amendment defining "marriage" as legally being only between a man and a woman (can you say, Pontius Pilate?) Those of you who know me, know where I stand on this and, I promise you, I'll be there to vote next May. What really sticks in my craw is the cost! The Winston-Salem Journal has carried articles for the past few days in which proponents of the vote, opponents of the vote, political analysts, and legal and financial experts have talked about the huge amount of money that will be collected and spent on ads in support of one side or the other. In my state, people are going hungry. At one of my schools, a copy can't be made unless you furnish your own paper. There is not enough school budget to buy copy paper! The Food Bank of Northwestern North Carolina has empty shelves! First responders of all types and educators at all levels are loosing their jobs! Where are our priorities? How can a person spend even a dime on amendment ads when their neighbors are hungry and the teachers of their children cannot adequately prepare for a class that is now too large? If you have an opinion on the amendment issue, I urge you to vote. I urge you to speak up in forums. I urge you to discuss the issue with family and friends. I urge you with all my heart to spend your money, not on TV ads, but on those who can use the help so badly.

I pray in silence and God hears me in silence.

The End

2011-06-22T08:26:00.006-04:00

Thoughts tumble in my mind. It seems to me like watching clothes dry in a machine with a glass front door. My thoughts are picked up on the bottom, carried to the top, and then, with a solid "thump", coming crashing back to the bottom. I imagine myself as a hamster in a glass cage. I run and run on the wheel, going nowhere. Once in a while, knowing beforehand that it will be hopeless, I go over to the glass wall peer out and scratch on it, just trying to reach for something different in my life.

I've determined that this will be the last entry in my blog. I grow tired and angry and I don't really feel disposed to share that, over and over, with anyone. Over two years ago, I just knew that God had called me. "Here I am.", I called back and did what I thought I was being asked to do. In the past two years, I've found God to be failing in many ways. There are darn few of "His" children, with whom I have any contact at all, that I care about identifying as my brothers and sisters. Those that I don't know, God seems to not know either.

Here, where we are mostly fed, clothed, warm, and dry: We want to go armed so we can kill. We drive as if we are more important than anyone else and the safety of others, even children in our own cars, can't be our concern. Politically, we try to legislate morality as we see it, telling women what they can and cannot do with their own bodies and telling others who they may and may not love. Financially, we seem to have an "I've got mine and I don't intend to share it." attitude. On Sunday morning, we attend a pep rally for God and then we leave the game to be played by "professional" Christians.

I've always felt that the example of management went a long way in establishing the demeanor of those being managed. If God doesn't care, why should we? Even if I agree that God doesn't cause bad things to happen, how can I deny that, with all of his power, He doesn't do anything to stop them either. Do you stop one child from touching a very hot stove and then allow another child to be badly burned? When a child dies, I don't want to hear that "God has a plan." or that "God must have needed another little angel." Using that logic, God must have a gracious plenty of young angels who have starved to death or been killed in wars.

I fear God. I fear His anger. I fear His indifference. I fear that I will never feel His arms around me. James writes that, if we draw closer to God, He will draw closer to us. The very best that I can do is to approach tentatively. I am not able to run enthusiastically to His arms no matter how much I long to do so.

And so now, I return to my hamster wheel where I'll continue to run and run and get nowhere. I am such a coward that I could never cause harm to myself. On the other hand, there are many times that I ask God for painless release from the tedium and weight of this life. How long must I run in this wheel, my God?

Blessings and MoWing

2011-06-07T10:33:00.003-04:00

My granddaughter, Reese, who doesn't turn 6 until the end of this month can teach us all something about blessings. She is really into leading the mealtime blessing. We all hold hands and she prays out loud. She thanks God for as many individual blessings as occur to her (sometimes the blessing goes for an extended time, but always worth paying attention.) On occasion, she has been known to end the blessing by saying, "God, please don't send us any more blessings. We have enough already." From the lips of a child to the heart of this adult; there is a real lesson to be learned here and probably a sermon or two as well.

Since March, I've been MoWing. This isn't a typo, it is the acronym for Meals on Wheels. Since I have a school bus driving gap each day about the same time as MoW delivers, I've managed to find 3 days a week that I can take a route. The blessings are many. It is logical, of course, to figure that some blessings accrue to those receiving the meals. I'm ready to tell you, however, that those blessings don't begin to compare to the blessings that I receive.

First off, I get to work with and for two very special people. Sally McLeod and Anita Abernathy have had plastic surgery... I'm sure because they never stop smiling (is that natural?) They seem to love their jobs and they make all of the volunteers feel needed and valuable. MoW can always use more volunteers (336-721-6910). They begin delivery about 9:30 a.m. and most routes can be completed in an hour to an hour and a half, usually twelve to fifteen stops. MoW will be glad to put you to work one day a month, one day a week, every day, or some combination. They are wonderful about working out a schedule to fit what the volunteers are able to give. So far, I've met volunteers who are old friends from Maple Springs UMC, First Baptist Church, and Old Salem. There are probably others that I know, but our days just haven't overlapped yet.

The folks to whom I deliver meals are just like everyone else in that they have good days and bad. I run mostly the same two or three routes, so I see them at least once a week and sometimes more often. Many have pains. Some try to hide them and some share their anguish. Many are immobile and you can tell that they would like to be working in a garden or on their yards or just walking the aisles of WalMart. Many seem to enjoy the couple of minutes that I visit with them more than the meal itself. They all have life stories and, slowly, I'm hearing them and getting to know the folks as individuals. One wrote a well known, early '60s hit song, sung by one of the "girl" groups. When I see him, I always leave singing it. Some of the professional caregivers that I meet at the homes are all heart and, I believe, would probably work for free if they could and the need was there.

Besides the blessing of getting to know people, God has placed a couple of reminders on my heart. I am never allowed to forget that there are and always will be people in worse circumstances than my own. A day out on a route reminds me that there is always food in my refrigerator. Another blessing dawned more slowly. As you might imagine, some of the neighborhoods are not the best. Though this is true, I began to notice that squirrels still play in the yards and trees and birds sing without regard to their surroundings. This is God's reminder to me that we are all His and are blessed. Sometimes, we just have to open our eyes and ears to know it.

Spittin' Steam

2011-05-06T16:56:00.005-04:00

I am so mad that if I were to spit, it would probably come out as steam!

Today, you saw my school bus coming down the road as you neared the stop sign on your side of the intersection. Instead of stopping, you floored it, ran the stop sign, and jumped in front of the bus. You didn't care that I was doing the legal speed limit nor that I had a bus full of elementary school aged children. You gave me almost no time to react. I locked the air brakes on the bus and just avoided creaming the rear of your car. You didn't even glance back. I threw kids onto the floor, into the back of seats, and into each other. Physically, there were only bumps and bruises; no serious injuries this time. I had a bus full of terrified, crying children. I didn't have time to even get your license number and, you probably knew, no one would do anything to you anyway. Little did you care about more serious consequences like broken bones, including skulls, necks and spines. You were just glad that you weren't held up by another "damn" school bus.

This scenario didn't happen as described. Not because you didn't do just exactly as described, but because I anticipated that you would. I did end up with some upset children and it wouldn't surprise me to hear from some parents. In fact, I hope that I do!

I anticipated your stupid move because of expert training by my bus driver instructor. She had a mantra that she taught us: "Anticipate. Anticipate. Anticipate!" What she didn't say and what I've learned for myself is to anticipate idiots, fools, and those whose life is so wrapped up in "self" that other drivers or pedestrians make no difference to them.

Idiots are those who think that a 15-ton school bus can stop in the same amount of time and distance that it takes a compact car to make the same stop. They either don't consider or don't care that it is not possible to stop an ocean liner in the same distance that a speed boat can be stopped. Often times, I am driving my bus at the posted speed limit, but that just isn't enough for many drivers. Speed limits aren't really laws anyway, are they? They aren't like, "Thou shalt not steal." Aren't they actually just parameters showing us how fast we can drive without much chance of getting a speeding ticket? Everyone else speeds, so if a school bus can only do the speed limit, why shouldn't you be in front of it?

Fools are those who either can't tell time or have no self discipline. Every single school day, school buses drive exactly the same route at almost the exact same time. It shouldn't be rocket science to figure out that leaving home a few minutes earlier or later or taking an alternate route might help the problem of being caught in school bus traffic. Yet, as it happens, every single school day, I get to see the same drivers in the same cars jump through stop lights and stop signs at the same intersections trying to get in front of the same school buses. Fools must truly be those who do the same thing time after time and yet expect a different outcome each time.

I probably have the least patience with those of you totally wrapped up in "self". School buses are required to drive very slowly in bus parking lots and student pick-up zones. The reason for that should be obvious. I see you every day drive past a sign that clearly says "School Buses Only" because you cannot or will not wait in the long line that other parents are in waiting to drop off their children. You drive much faster than any bus is allowed. You are on your cell phone. You are putting on your makeup or eating your breakfast. At least one of you has a pet in arms. How absolutely uncaring can you be! School buses turn on flashing amber lights before turning on stop lights to pick up children. If you see the amber lights, your thought process seems to be, "If I hurry up, I can get past the bus before the red stop lights come on." Some of you make it and some just go on through the red lights, just like you do at intersections. What you fail to consider, since it is only you that you are thinking about, is that a child might be running a bit late and, seeing the amber bus lights, might hurry across the road without waiting for the red lights as well. You believe that you might win the lottery, but you don't for a minute think that you might kill a child!

I could spit steam out of the sheer frustration of failing to get you to see the ultimate cost of your poor decisions. I will promise you this... if any of you who read this are guilty of such actions near my bus and I happen to recognize you, the next time we meet, I will be so much in your face that you will think that you've donned a Ross mask. Please, please read this carefully and then read it again. Share it with someone. If, between us, we can keep even one child from being killed or injured, isn't it worth the effort? You and your job just aren't that important. If all else fails, be a little bit late getting to wherever you are going and feel good about doing it safely.

Who Would Really Want To Be "Meek"?

2011-04-17T08:07:00.005-04:00

If one reads the Beatitudes, as found in the fifth chapter of Matthew, it can be said that the rewards that they promise will be delivered in heaven, all except for one: "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth."

The following are headlines or parts of headlines taken from the Sunday, April 17th edition of the Winston-Salem Journal newspaper:

"Youths beat a gentle man; One beat the system"

"Woman accused of assaulting father in '02; She is now charged with stabbing her boyfriend to death"

"Experts warn of Facebook stress"

"Barrage said to kill at least five civilians in rebel-held Misrata"

"Violent storms kill several in N.C."

"Tornados kill dozens across Deep South"

"Bomber kills 5 NATO, 4 Afghan troops, interpreter"

"Mothers killing kids isn't so uncommon"

"Husband kills wife, 3 children, himself"

Who would really want to inherit this earth? If there is indeed a heaven, being there doesn't have to be much better than the earth as we know it in order to be wonderful! As far as my share of this old earth might go, you are welcome to it.

Running Away

2011-04-16T13:39:00.011-04:00

I caution you that this is going to be long, so you may just want to skip it. I would guess that almost everyone, who tries to write, does most of the work in their head before putting it down on some media. I know that this is the case for me, although my organization of thoughts may often be disjointed.

I'm ready, for about the 5th or 6th time, to run away from home. All of us had the "I'll show them. They'll be sorry." thoughts when we were young. Maybe we even made it around the block, but we always came back before anyone missed us. Later years bring real desires to run. Maybe it's a terrible job, an unhappy relationship, too many responsibilities, a choice that must be made, but can't be faced or a combination of many factors.

I think that I missed my absolute best chance to run when I got out of the Marine Corps. All I could think of was getting back to college (the damned expected route - "I'm now grown up and must do as expected!") Sara and I were young, very much in love, and had no real obligations to anyone other than our partner. We were used to living in small towns and very large cities. We were used to living in houses and efficiency apartments. We were used to making a living on our own. The love and the lovemaking didn't depend on geographic location!

Do you remember Tod Stiles and Buzz Murdock traveling Route 66 in their Corvette? How about "Me and You and a Dog Named Boo" travelin' and a-livin' off the land? Sara and I couldn't have afforded a Corvette, but we might have been able to afford some old clunker or even, in those days, taken a Greyhound bus. A year of exploring the US, with maybe some side trips into Canada and Mexico, wouldn't have made a difference in the grand scheme of things, but what a golden opportunity was missed.

Today, I want to run away again. I want it to be Sara and me and a dog named Lenny. For lots of reasons, I know that this just isn't going to happen, but the road calls to me with such a strong Siren song that sometimes I think I'll die of need to travel it. I don't think I've changed that much from the young Marine who was willing to go, but Sara has changed a lot. She has a family and friends and likes the idea of knowing where her next meal is coming from, where she will sleep tonight, and what she can pretty much expect from tomorrow. I would gladly give up those things, but I won't give up Sara, so the road may sing, but I cannot answer.

I don't run from work. Let me work, but let me do it my way for awhile. Let me deliver meals to the needy in Detroit. Let me drive school buses in Denver. Let me rebuild houses in Port au Prince. Let me prepare federal tax returns in Shiprock. Let me clear tsunami damage in Japan. Let me teach at The Gathering schools in Cielo and Nazaret. Let me live instead of exist.

Winston Groom, the author of "Forest Gump", also wrote a book titled "As Winters Die." I didn't care much for the book ("Better Times Than These", about Viet Nam, was better), but the title drove a stake through my heart. How many more winters might I see die and how many more springs will I see follow? Sometimes I think that I will burst from need. Who knows, maybe life on the road would take me away from the constant depression that I medicate daily and will medicate for the rest of my life.

What would I expect from the road? Sights, sounds, smells, feels, tastes. The stories of people I've never known. The opportunity to meet those who are trying to make their little corner of the world a better place to live. The chance to comfort those who need a hug or a friendly ear or a shared meal. The greatest expectation would be that the shared experiences would bring Sara and I so closely back together that one of us would not be able to breathe without the other inhaling.

I will love Sara forever and will stay with her wherever that might happen to be. On the other hand, in my truck, I keep a spare toothbrush, a bag of dog food, a clean pair of underwear (a lesson from my mother), and an atlas. So... if you ever see the little black truck, front seat filled with a smiling fool and a huge yellow Lab, heading out of town, don't expect to see it come back any time soon.

Random Thoughts (Again)

2011-02-01T17:36:00.005-05:00

Gulliver: When anyone mentions the classic story, "Gulliver's Travels", the image that comes to mind is almost always that of Gulliver spread-eagled on the ground, surrounded by Lilliputians and staked to dozens of ropes. I have no trouble being empathetic to his plight. Like Gulliver, I'm tied to the ground by many ropes and surrounded by many Lilliputians. Some of the ropes are called responsibility, attitude, compassion, love, and ownership, among others. Some are strong enough to anchor an ocean liner while others are as thin, and yet as sticky, as a spider's web. My Lilliputians are known as family, friends, bosses, church, school bus riders, tax clients, and just people I meet on the street. As you know from the story, Gulliver was able to break from the bounds of the Lilliputians and continue with his travels. I do not believe that is going to happen to me. Itch: I have come to the conclusion that one of the worst itches to have, if you can't scratch, is the desire to trade automobiles. Sleep: Sara tells me that she very seldom dreams (and she almost never gets up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom!) I wish I could say the same. I never lay down to sleep that I don't dream. I have taken naps that lasted no more than thirty minutes and had a dream or dreams. I don't really know when a dream ends and another begins. Some nights it seems like there are many dreams and other nights it seems that I have only one dream, but it has acts and scenes within it. My dreams are vivid and often violent. I've been known to attack Sara in my sleep, which quickly ended her sleep. I have been known to dive out of the bed, dreaming that I was fighting with someone, and ended up knocking over the nightstand and lamp (needless to say, this also woke Sara.) I never have peaceful dreams. If dying is akin to peaceful, dream free sleep, it may not be too hard to anticipate. Lenny: I have a new dog, an old yellow Lab. I rescued him and went for an older dog so that he and I would match each other's life style pace. Lenny loves to be hugged and scratched and I love to hug and scratch him. Lenny loves to eat and I love... well, at least I don't mind buying all that food and feeding him. Lenny loves to curl up on my feet in the evenings when I'm home and I love warm feet. Lenny loves to chase things thrown for him and, as long as he brings them back, I don't mind throwing them. So far, Lenny doesn't do steps and we don't know why. He doesn't act like his hips hurt, but in his foster home, he never saw the upstairs. We only have a couple of steps into the house and he does those okay, but I'm still trying to find a way to get him into the front seat of my pickup. I can't lift 93 pounds of dog no matter how much I want him to travel with me. Vultures: If you have read the Peanuts comic strip for any length of time, you have seen Snoopy perched on top of his dog house pretending to be a bird of prey. That's the image that comes to mind as I sit in my bus waiting for the middle school children to be released to go home. Our buses are parked side-by-side and the drivers are all seated peering over the steering wheel and hood. As the children are let out of school, we gobble them up like so many kernels of corn. When all bus vultures have feasted, we take flight and deposit them across the county as if they we just so many seeds passing through the vulture body. Maybe it is no wonder that I dream the dreams that I have.

Climbing Back On The Soapbox

2011-01-14T11:52:00.002-05:00

On the front page of the Winston-Salem Journal one day this past week, a member of the U.S. House of Representatives from North Carolina was quoted in a way that makes me ashamed to be from North Carolina and to have him as one of the national representatives of our state. He announced that he is opposed to government medical assistance to those suffering from HIV / AIDS if they caught it from living a "perverted lifestyle." As I read the article, I could feel my temperature rise. The "gentleman", based on this published statement, previous published e-mail from him, etc. is clearly homophobic. This is the same type of person that, several years ago, would have used the "N" word and thought nothing of it. I would guess that he realizes that there are more voters of color than there are of a different sexual orientation, so he tones down one set of rhetoric while increasing another. He is still no one that I would want for a neighbor nor for whom I would ever cast a vote. It is very hard for me to believe that he ran unopposed and I hope that doesn't happen again. While it may be true, and I've not studied enough to know, that AIDS was once spread mostly by homosexual activity, that is not the case today. AIDS has reached a pandemic level on the continent of Africa, the country of Haiti, et. al. Does this man think that the population of those places are all gay or lesbian? Again, I do not know if it has been largely controlled in the U.S., but I do know that we cannot let the sick suffer! Based only on the picture of him published with the article, I suspect that he is overweight. Surely we are intelligent enough to recognize that eating unhealthy foods and failing to exercise are often causes of stroke, heart disease, diabetes, and other diseases. Since he probably lives a perverted lifestyle of eating unhealthy choices and exercising seldom, it would follow that he wouldn't want any government medical support of persons suffering from the mentioned diseases and others. Where would he draw the line? I see his thoughts and statements as a perversion of the type of persons that God would have us be. I have two prayers: my family and friends will continue to be merciful toward the sick, no matter the cause of the illness and that those reading about this person will realize that, while he represents North Carolina, he is not representative of North Carolina. God is good!

To Autumn, Maddi and Reese

2010-12-28T18:26:00.003-05:00

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

2010-12-24T21:31:00.007-05:00

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?

2010-11-25T18:49:00.003-05:00

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

2010-11-13T15:48:00.006-05:00

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

2010-11-08T09:57:00.005-05:00

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!

2010-11-04T17:19:00.008-04:00

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

2010-10-31T14:33:00.006-04:00

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

2010-10-24T21:23:00.012-04:00

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

2010-10-17T11:27:00.009-04:00

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

2010-10-16T19:49:00.006-04:00

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

2010-10-06T10:22:00.003-04:00

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?

2010-09-29T06:04:00.003-04:00

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

2010-09-23T08:16:00.011-04:00

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!

2010-09-16T16:04:00.008-04:00

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

2010-09-14T20:10:00.003-04:00

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...

2010-08-19T01:25:00.004-04:00

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

2010-08-12T09:30:00.012-04:00

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

2010-07-09T18:15:00.009-04:00

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

2010-07-04T16:25:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-24T18:51:00.007-04:00

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

2010-06-23T08:10:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-22T20:34:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-17T16:19:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-16T07:59:00.005-04:00

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

2010-06-10T20:15:00.004-04:00

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

2010-06-08T06:30:00.006-04:00

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

2010-05-17T16:10:00.008-04:00

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.

Random Thoughts

2010-04-29T10:24:00.015-04:00

"Random thoughts" might be a bit of a strange title, but I so seldom have non-random thoughts, that I have to grab onto what I can as it passes through. I've found myself making more notes lately. Sometimes it is a book title or a praise song I particularly like. Sometimes it is an item for a to-do list. It seems many times lately, that it is musings that I jot down during a sermon or just a religious conversation. I want to try to re-catch some of those random thoughts later and jotting them down seems to be working. I'm not sure whether I need more memory help, want more memory help, or just need to have something to do with my hands. At any rate, here are some of the things that have passed from ear-to-ear and back just lately. In a recent sermon, Terry Matthews (I'm going to start using just his first name. You ought to know who I'm talking about by now.) spoke about those people who come into close contact with a Christian lifestyle. He classified them as Spiritual Spectators, Seekers, Jesus Followers, and Kingdom Builders. I won't go into how he defined each one. Suffice it to say that he made very good sense, at least to me. He made the point that it often takes a "crisis situation" to move us from one level to the other. In the sermon, he addressed positive, upward movement along the spectrum. My random thought at that time was yes, but won't a crisis situation sometimes cause us to move backward as well? I have had first-hand experience in a crisis situation causing a great shaking in my faith foundation. In that case, I think that I went from at least trying to be a Kingdom Builder to being somewhere between a Seeker and a Jesus Follower. My foundation did not crumble completely, but there was an anguished cry of, "Why, Lord?" On the cross, Christ uttered such a cry himself, so I found that I was able to cling to the knowledge that, as a man, Christ also questioned his faith. Several years ago, my friends Cory and Michelle Boyte lost their daughter, Lillie, to disease. As a parent and grandparent, I cannot imagine a greater pain. There must have been so very many times during Lillie's sickness and after her death that the cry of "Why, Lord?" was raised by them. I do not know what it must have done to their faith at the time, but I am so certain of where on the spectrum they are now. Anyone who has seen "Lillie's Friends" charitable organization grow over the past few years and especially those who have been blessed in participating with Cory and Michelle to raise money to battle the disease in Lillie's name, know without a doubt that they are Kingdom Building! I praise their effort. I pray God's blessings on them, their family, and on Lillie's Friends. I claim their friendship and love them more than I have words to tell them. They are such an example for one who stands on a shaky foundation as I do much of the time. I'm not sure where I heard this, perhaps in the same sermon by Terry, but it is a story about Jimmy Carter. You all remember Jimmy Carter. He was probably one of the most moral men to have ever been President of the United States. It is a shame that that attribute didn't transfer to being one of the most capable presidents as well. At any rate, as the story goes, someone asked Jimmy Carter, "If you were arrested and put on trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?" This past president, a person who could have rested comfortably on his laurels, became very active in Habitat for Humanity. He is not only a major speaker and fund raiser for them, but he has labored until he had blisters on his own hands. Another Kingdom Builder without a doubt. I don't think I spend that much time talking to preachers, but it sure seems to me that I get some of my best thoughts from them and, I'm pretty sure, that in return, I give them plenty to use for future sermons. Seems like a fair trade to me. My friend, Christina Holder, isn't a preacher yet, but she does a pretty fine job when she has the pulpit. Several months ago, she told of a situation in Africa where a woman was placed into a pit and left there for a period as punishment for some crime. Christina's point was that sometimes, as Christians, it isn't enough to reach down into the pit and try to lift someone out. Sometimes, we are called to get down into the pit with them. After that sermon, I tended to think of myself as someone who would get down into the pit. Little did I know. A recurrence of depression hit me like a ton of bricks and, oops!, I found that I was the one in the pit. I was complaining to my friend, Paul Kennedy, a retired Baptist minister about God leaving me in the pit. He suggested that I should make it a point to catch a recent sermon by David Hughes, the pastor of First Baptist. David spoke of being in the pit and having God being there with you to hold on to you. He talked of the Psalms of King David and how David would swing from depression and the pits to love and praise of God. I really liked the sermon and dropped by to tell David that I did (I'm sure that he didn't need to hear the thanks as much as I needed to say them.) David suggested a couple of studies that he did personally that took him into the Psalms and all that they could teach him. I've ordered the books he suggested and will begin the study as soon as they come in. I guess that I've said all this to make the "random thought" point that we as Christians may find ourselves in the pit and needing help or we may find that we should get into the pit and provide the help. It seems to me that our task is to cling tightly to and love our God and our fellow man. I know, I know, it says that in the Bible much better than I ever can, I don't need to say it, only believe and act on it. Moving On. I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. Iam lost... I am helpless... It isn't my fault. It takes forever to find a way out. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe Iam in the same place once again, but it isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out. I walk down the same street. There is deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in... it's a habit. My eyes are open... I know where I am... It is my fault. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it. I walk down another street. Portia Nelson

Arizona!

2010-04-29T08:17:00.006-04:00

Arizona! What a great state! What great people! Arizona was the home of Barry Goldwater, a great military strategist. He was a strong proponent of bombing Viet Nam out of existence. In the short run, this would probably have saved a long war and lots of young American soldier lives. In the long run, we would probably also have been called upon to bomb Cambodia, Laos, North Korea, China, and Russia, among others. Even that might have solved some of today's problems. He was probably just a man before his time. Arizona is the home of one of the world's biggest ditches. Where, more conveniently in this world, can Americans line up to pay good dollars (well, maybe not so good dollars in today's economy) to gaze in awe at what a trickle of water can do if you let it go long enough? I'm sure that the Grand Canyon has been responsible for lots of gutter repair and bathtub leak fixing when the visiting tourists got back home. Art! Arizona has art. Can you just picture the imagination of the first realtor to look at the dirt and rocks of Sedona and say to himself, or maybe herself in this case, "We'll never be able to sell this to normal people, but I'll just bet that we can work up a neat campaign to sell it to those crazy artists. After all, the rocks do look a little bit red in color in a certain kind of light. They'll probably like that." Exotic wildlife abounds in Arizona. You can get up in the morning and shake the scorpions out of your shoes. You can feed your little pet dog to the coyotes. Arizonans think so much of their native wildlife that they've even named one of their professional ball teams after a rattlesnake. What a tribute! With all that going for it, no wonder some 460,000 illegal Mexicans want to make it home and no wonder those pure-blooded Anglo Arizonans want to keep it to themselves. The Apache, Navajo, and other first-comers probably wanted to keep it to themselves too, but what's a poor Indian to do when the borders leak like sieves? In case you've been cloistered lately, you probably don't know that the state of Arizona has just passed a law allowing for all those suspicious looking Latinos to be questioned about their legal right to be in the state. Isn't it wonderful that legal residents of Hispanic origin can now be taxed to pay the police to question them about their origins and residential legality. How's that for a plan to keep the local dollars working in the local economy? One thing you can surely bet on is that this new law is going to help Arizona's exports. Even today, 460,000 illegal aliens are making their way rapidly toward New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, and California. Don't you just know that those states are going to have people waiting at the state line with welcoming, open arms? 460,000 more folks to clean homes, mow lawns, collect garbage, flip burgers, and pick crops... what's not to love about that? Just in case this new law doesn't do it for Arizona, I have some ideas that they might want to try. I can't take credit for the originality, I just thought that Arizona could expand a little bit. I like comedian Bill Engvall. As a part of his comedy routine, he tells anecdotes about questions so stupid that they end in the punch line, "Here's your sign." What a neat idea, have illegal aliens wear signs around their necks that say things like, "I'm illegal, but I'm happy to be here!" or "I'm with illegal (and an arrow pointing to the left or right.)" or "I may be illegal, but you're paying for my health care and education!" This idea could be the start of a whole new cottage industry. Arizona could even hire illegals to work in "illegal" factories. Bill didn't come up with this idea himself ,the Nazis did it even earlier. I'm reading, "The Diary of Anne Frank." In Denmark, the Nazis made all Jews wear the Star of David emblem cut from yellow cloth. It not only identified Jews, it made a convenient target for any hothead that wanted to take a shot at one (a problem, or perhaps a solution, that I understand Arizona has now.) In the United States, we often circumcise newborn baby boys and pierce the ears of newborn baby girls. The Nazis used tattooing to mark Jews sent to concentration camps. In Arizona, they could combine the two ideas. Any child born, from now on in Arizona, could have an "A" tattooed somewhere easy to spot by the police. Of course, you know that any child born in the United States, even if his or her parents are illegal aliens, are automatically given citizenship. The "A" could stand for "American." Just look how this could be expanded to help in other areas as well. If the child later becomes an alcoholic, another "A" is added. "AA" would then indicate to any bartender that the person was not to be served even if they were of legal drinking age. An Arizonan joins the American Automobile Association and gets to add even more "A"s. All you would have to do when you check into a motel is show the "AAA" tattoo and, presto, a discount! One other obvious use of the "A" tattoo; you finally reach the age of 55 and you get an "AARP" tattoo. Not only does this show people that you are probably older and wiser than they are, but you'll finally get the respect you deserve for just having made it that far through life. You see where I'm going with this? Arizona legislators could have a field-day passing laws for issuing new tattoos. The Arizona DOT could begin legislating "vanity" tattoos and pairing them with vanity licence plates. This could turn into a real gold mine of opportunities, one more place Arizona could put all those illegal aliens to work. Now I don't expect the state of Arizona to thank me for my ideas. It is enough thanks to know that I can pass safely through the state since I very obviously have fair skin and speak atrocious Spanish. Now for my disclaimer. I've written this all in fun; sorta dark comedy. If you happen to agree with all I've written above, please let me know. You might not be the person that I think you are and we might have to end our friendship. I respect the problems that, especially the border states, have with illegal immigration. My prayer is that the proposed solutions will never cause the human dignity of our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ to be abused and that, some day, we will find a way to share our bounty in peace.

Waving The White Flag

2010-04-27T03:03:00.003-04:00

Okay, God, I give up! As I listened to Jeremy preach at Seeds last night, I conceded the battle to God. A part of Jeremy's message, that we are all Christ's sheep and that we should always be aware of those around us and welcoming as they approach our flock, made me actually stop and think. Just like Terry, Jeremy must sometimes believe that, just because I have a glazed, faraway look in my eyes, I've stopped listening and started traveling. Not always so. Sometimes I take the thought that is being presented and run even farther with it as it impacts my own life. I had a chance to spend a little bit of time with Anne Elmore, our associate pastor, this past week. Sometime during the conversation, I remember rather passionately telling her that I want to be a shepherd! I want Christ to assign me a little flock. Sheep who would know my voice and sheep that I would know intimately. I want Christ to trust me with the responsibility of helping in a much more direct way than what I've done so far in my life. I don't want to spend the rest of my life as a supernumerary. Last night, in the small Seeds group, as I listened to Jeremy, I found that I am ready to concede the definition of my roll to Christ. I'm ready to wave the white flag. If I am a disciple who can be depended upon to watch carefully for that one lost sheep; if I am a disciple who helps to guard the flock against enemies; if I am a disciple whose arms hold a lost sheep and returns it to the flock; if I am a disciple who is used as the Shepherd's sling or staff to ward off danger; how can I ignore being that disciple just because I think I want to be a shepherd instead? My prayerful goal now becomes one of letting go of my own desires and becoming so much more aware of those desires of Christ for me. I have accepted Him as my shepherd and I must now listen for His voice.

Something Is So Rotten That I Can Smell The Stench From Here!

2010-04-23T20:12:00.005-04:00

I sit here tonight devastated by the news I received late this afternoon. My friend and former boss was fired by Census management today. I am so very sorry that those who are both inept and uninformed are given the power to crush a person. Based on many years of successful management; I fired no one, wrote up only one, and brought my projects in on time and budget, it is my opinion that the two persons who are mainly responsible for the act of the firing aren't qualified to carry my boss's briefcase. Given the same circumstances that she faced, neither of them is capable of either doing her job or inspiring their employees to work nearly as hard for them as her own team members did for her. I feel at least partly responsible. Possibly I had a chance to support and protect her. Until she had the time and training to learn the responsibilities of her new position, something that wasn't granted to her, I could have at least partly protected her back. When I finally gave in to depression and the pressure of the job and allowed management to run me out, there was no one left to support and protect her. You can bet your backside that her own management wasn't capable of doing it nor did they want to do it. That might have put their own head on the chopping block. There are observations that are easy to make that seem to be very telling concerning the management of the Winston-Salem Census office. First of all, I believe that my friend has had to report directly to two of the worst managers I've ever experienced. In spite of this she has managed to reach and exceed her assigned goals more often than not. One of the reasons for this is that her self pride had her putting in more work hours than anyone else in the office. Another reason for this is that she so obviously cared for her team members, that they would very often put in lots of unpaid overtime and extra effort to try to make her successful. I don't believe that either of the two persons responsible for firing her command that kind of respect and affection. Perhaps the most telling observation is that, only months ago, the Winston-Salem Census office opened with a local office manager and five assistant managers. One of the assistant managers is not a direct report to the local office manager and is, therefore, relatively safe from being fired. Of all the other managers, only one of the originals still remains. Draw your own conclusions about capabilities of an upper management that will ignore the cost of hiring, training, and then replacing a series of managers. It will be a long time before I can escape the stench of this latest incident. In the meantime, I intend to write to my senators and my congresswoman concerning my evaluation of how our tax dollars are being used and how their constituents, employees of the Winston-Salem Census Office, are being abused. I'll copy those letters to everyone in Census management that I am able to identify from the Secretary of the Department of Commerce to the Winston-Salem assistant managers. One last thing I need to say... "S", I am so very sorry that I wasn't there for you and I hope that you will be able to forgive me for letting you down.

CTO?

2010-04-23T19:41:00.000-04:00

I had an opportunity Wednesday to attend a meeting of the Triad Job Search Network. This is a weekly meeting of those seeking to be re-employed, after losing past employment, mostly through no fault of their own. During the two hour meeting, there is peer encouragement, success stories, training, coaching, possible opportunity sharing, and moral support. The other attendees were actively looking for 40 hour a week jobs in their old career field or were considering a change to a new field. I was there more in the roll of a spectator and because my friend, Lori Carter, is one of the moderators. I don’t really want to work 40 hours a week. I’m more or less retired and just want a little something to bring in some “rainy day” money. I could hardly have picked a better day to be there. We had a guest speaker. In my career, I have run across my share of CEOs, COOs, CFOs, and more than my share of CIOs. Wednesday was the first time I ever met a CTO. Okay, you’re saying to yourself, “I know what a CEO, a COO, a CFO, and a CIO all are (if you don’t know, ask me later.) What in this world is a CTO?” Ah ha! That is the exact same question I asked myself when I read the name and title of our guest speaker as it appeared on the meeting room white board. Lisa Snowden’s business card lists her as a Senior Vice President and (pay attention, here it comes) Chief Talent Officer. Her job is to identify and hire the very best talent available for her company. She was at the meeting to share her experience with those hoping to soon be employed. I think she did a bang-up job of that. She shared her top 10 list and discussed it carefully. She used anecdotes to bring the lessons to life and answered questions until there were no more to answer. Since I’m not looking for a fulltime, career type job, I didn’t pay as much attention to what she said as I did other things about her. I knew I was going to like her as soon as she walked into the room. Her field of business is not known for being on the cutting edge of haute couture. On the other hand, since you are going to be talking to a group who is trying to put a good spin to being unemployed, why dress like you are attending a wake? Lisa came in wearing a pink pants suit. It may not have occurred to her when she put it on, but it looked like spring and like joy and like she was there to deliver good news. We sat in chairs arranged in a circle and she sat down in one too. I would have had to have had a podium to cling to and to hide my knocking knees, but she relaxed and treated us like people she might like to get to know. What I liked the very best though was her body language as she spoke. Her hands were in constant motion and so were her eyes. She leaned forward when she was really trying to drive a point home and relaxed in her seat when there was group conversation. I could have listened and talked to her all day and felt at the end that I hadn’t been interviewed so much as begun a friendship. As I walked her out to her car, I kidded her telling her that I thought I could have listened to her talk about rectal cancer in raccoons and found myself to be equally as interested. Her skills in presentation of herself and her subject were lessons for us all, whether or not we wanted a job. What company would have a CTO in their upper management? My first guess would have been one of the cutting-edge, techno industries. My last guess would have been a bank. Lisa is a member of the management team of Piedmont Federal Savings Bank. Growing up in Winston-Salem, I was familiar with Piedmont Federal Savings & Loan Association. I never considered the reputation of one bank more than another, but had I been asked, I would have described Piedmont Federal as a true example of a hometown financial institution; not one that just pretended to know their customers better, but actually worked at it and did. I don’t know whether or not Lisa is the first CTO at Piedmont, but I hope that she will be there a long time and won’t be the last one. I salute the management leadership that puts so much emphasis on its people that they are willing to invest in a Lisa Snowden. I salute Lisa Snowden that she is willing to invest in spending time trying to bring out the very best in job seekers. Just her presence sells Piedmont Federal to me. I happen to be in the market for a new banking partner. I’m not all that wild about the huge size and economic vulnerability of my current bank. I don’t know that I’ll end up being a customer of Piedmont Federal, but I do know that I’ll now stop by and hear what they have to say.

What It Is Is Depression

2010-04-22T12:32:00.006-04:00

Well, I guess the best way to say it is just to say it... I suffer from depression. I have done so for many years now. I really didn't recognize it for what it was until about 10 years ago. I guess I figured that everyone experiences some down times, some incidences of extreme road rage, some bone deep weariness, and a huge dissatisfaction with the way God is running the world at the moment. My problem finally came to a head when Sara told me that I was either going to have to get some help or she was going to have to leave. I've never read anywhere that fear is a good technique for helping to control depression, but let me tell you, the fear of loosing my Sara was more than I could bare to think about. I can say absolutely that my friend, Lori Carter, saved my marriage, and it might not be too much of a stretch to say that she saved my life. Lori was serving as the Parish Nurse, on staff at First Baptist Church, at that time. I knew that she was someone I could talk to and, when I called her, she wasted no time in meeting with me. I didn't have a clue what was wrong. If Lori has filled me with platitudes, you know the ones, how you can set the tone of your own day, etc., I would have believed her and tried to work on having a more positive mental attitude. What she did was walk with me, listen to me, and tell me to do two things RIGHT NOW! She insisted that I see my medical doctor and that I see a counselor. I did both and began finally to recognize that I have a medical problem (for those of you who think that I don't have a brain in my head, I do, it just doesn't work right!) Medicines for depression take time to work, often as much as 4 to 6 weeks. During that time, Lori held on to me tightly. We would walk and talk and allow me to vent. Over the years since, I don't see her as often as I would like, but she has a permanent spot in my heart that time nor distance will ever be able to change. My depression is pretty much controllable with daily medication. There seems to have been lots of times over the past 10 years that my doctors and I have had to tweak dosage or to even change medicines. I've just begun either my 3rd or 4th change to a primary medicine. They seem to work pretty well for a time, but eventually they just don't do the needed job. Sometimes, I can recognize a need for change before it becomes imperative. Sometimes, I can't. Depression has cost me at least two jobs. In looking back, the pressure of the job had to have played a large part in my falling into the pit. I just didn't recognize the danger until it was upon me. Several years ago, I was on the road working as a computer systems contractor. I wasn't making it home many weekends and the hours of work were horrific. Without realizing that I was so close to falling, I suddenly found myself standing in the parking lot of the place I worked. I was in tears, on the phone to Sara, saying that I couldn't take care of myself and couldn't get home. I had to have her come get me. How wonderful to have someone who loves me so much that she will drop everything to rescue me. The last job was local, but the pressure of it was incredible as well. Ironically, I did recognize that I was in danger and had been to a psychiatrist just the day before I quit. I guess that I didn't recognize the signs quite enough in advance. I'm not working right now. I'm actively looking for something that will allow me to make a few dollars, keep me off the street and busy, and not put too much pressure on me. So, if you hear that I'm not working, "don't cry for me, Argentina." I'll find something. My depression will get better with this new medicine. I'll spend time with my whole family at the beach in a couple of months. My family and friends will hold me and pray for me while I'm in the pit. God will always love me. It may not sound like it sometime, but life is good and I really believe that.

Passion

2010-04-19T20:43:00.007-04:00

I suspect that my pastor, Terry Matthews, is still a bit amazed when I get something out of his sermons. It's not that they aren't very good sermons. He probably just doesn't believe that I really do my best listening with my eyes closed and a thin stream of drool leaking from the corner of my mouth. I made lots of notes on Sunday's sermon and I intend to write about it soon, but this time I'm just going to pick on a single point. Terry used Rosa Parks as the example of a life defining moment. Most of you know that Rosa Parks is the black lady who refused to move to the back of the bus when commanded to do so by a Montgomery, Alabama public bus driver. I doubt that she woke up that morning thinking that this was the day she was going to change the world. She just very quietly said "no" to a social injustice. 2010 is the 50th anniversary of the Woolworth lunch counter sit-in. Blacks were allowed to order and eat at Woolworth, but they had to stand while the counter stools were reserved for whites. Four young men claimed space at the counter by taking reserved stools. They were allowed to stay, but they weren't served. From what I've read, these young men just wanted to change one small social injustice. I don't think that they set out to write history or to change the world. Just lately, I blogged about the Class of '63. We graduated high school as teens and grew to adulthood in perhaps one of the most dynamic decades in history, at least in U.S. history. We witnessed assassinations of political leaders, a foreign war that became more unpopular each day it continued, a domestic war on social injustice that also cost lives and burned cities, men walking on the moon, and a moment the world held its breath while the U.S. and Russia edged closer to nuclear war. We saw students bomb and burn campus buildings and we saw our own troops fire on and kill students on those campuses. We waited in very long lines to buy gas that wasn't even available and we began to see computers involve themselves more deeply into our lives. We said goodbye to Buddy Holly and hello to the Beatles. It was a very bi-polar decade with great highs and great lows. No matter how you view the period, you have to admit that there seemed to be a daily passion. It was hard to be a young person during those years and not be caught up in some cause. It has been several years now, but I once polled my Sunday school class about what current issues would cause them to "take to the streets" in protest. Hardly anyone could come up with a single item. I did get one person who mentioned saving the rain forests. The world is upside down. Today, in the same edition of the newspaper, you are able to read about drastic budget cuts expected in the spending on public education and about the looming chance of a professional football players strike because of disagreement about the way billions of dollars are being split between team owners and players. Not so long ago, teaching jobs and jobs in health occupations seemed to be forever safe. Not so now. Pay goes down, jobs go away, and the newspapers are full of words unaccompanied by action. Where is the social justice in that? Our prisons are filled to the bursting and yet we find no better way to handle societies problems. I cannot believe that persons with dark skin are innately more prone to crime and yet the demographics of our prison population tell a different story. During our past presidential election, I overheard someone say that, if Obama was elected, he would soon be assassinated. This wasn't said because of his politics, but because of his skin color! Race is still playing a terrible roll in social injustice. Sometimes, as a nation, we try to be the world's policemen and yet, we send troops to Iraq and Afghanistan while ignoring Darfur. Can you say "oil dependency"? We speak of opening up vast offshore areas to oil exploration and drilling. This is immediately followed by the explosion and sinking of a drilling platform accompanied by fears of a major incident of pollution. Are we as a society so demanding of having our own way that we are unable to give up some parts of our high standards of living so that others may live just a little bit better? I'm not a leader, but I'm a pretty good follower. I'm ready to take to the streets once again in protest. Let's get passionate! Isn't it time to stop world hunger? Isn't it time to reduce and balance our prison population? Isn't it time to pay for services we take for granted like being educated, protected, healthy, and clean and let athletes play for the fun of the sport? Isn't it time for the 11 o'clock hour on Sunday morning to stop being the most segregated hour of the week? Isn't it time to provide our children a better world and opportunity than to lament that the best of times are now behind us? Isn't it time to get passionate about injustice and inequality? I have the passion. I just need to find a leader worthy of following as we once again take to the streets. Could that be Christ and His church? Shouldn't it be Christ and His church?

Making Sense of the Census

2010-04-16T16:19:00.006-04:00

I don't think that it is possible to make sense of the census. The census, by law, is taken every 10 years. I can't think of another project that depends heavily on the use of computers, outside of the Y2K projects, that has more time to plan and prepare for execution. Ten years and we still can't get it right! I don't have any insider knowledge to rely on, but what I understand is this... the taking of the census count was supposed to depend very heavily on hand-held computers. Each person in the field, and this is where the majority of employees work, would be able to enter data directly from their HHC (hand-held computer) into a major computer system somewhere via wireless transmission. The HHCs did not come close to performing as they should have. In my old office, for example, instead of 1000+ persons entering their own payroll information daily, it will fall on several office clerks (and not enough of them and those not well trained!) to manually enter 1000+ handwritten payroll sheets every single work day and this is just one of several ways that the HHCs failed. By the time the Census realized that there was a major problem, it was too late to fix it. This leads to the second thing that I have been told in conversation with management from the 2000 census... the software that is being used today is basically the same software that was used for the 2000 census, but it was quickly adapted to handle today's conditions. Heads should have rolled. Did you hear of a congressional hearing on census stupidity? Neither did I. Maybe there was one, but the waste of time, money, and manpower certainly didn't make the headlines. Now, I'm going to talk about my own office and there will be some names included. I figure that I can't be fired since I quit at lunchtime on Thursday. I might be sued, but I'm not sure that you can be sued for the truth and even if I can and loose, there isn't much anyone can take from me. The census is a firm believer in training done by verbatim reading. I understand that this aids in being certain that everyone trained gets the same instruction set. What isn't taken into consideration is that this doesn't allow for experience and expertise to be passed along and it doesn't allow for daily, hourly, and sometimes minutely changes that are made in the way things are processed and the policies and procedures to be followed. The policy is that the verbatim reading must be done by a management level person. This is a real farce. I've known some very good people managers who couldn't pronounce a three-syllable word correctly. I've also known some very sharp census clerks, who had learned their jobs by doing them and making them work, who weren't allowed to do any of the training. It is probably a ridiculous comparison, but would you want to have CPR performed on you by a doctor who had read about it or by a nurse who had actually done it many times? I once had the nerve to question this policy with my manager. I was scheduled to do verbatim training on a task on which I had no experience. We had a very experienced clerk available who could have done a much better job of the training. I asked my manager what she would do if I went out and got hit by a bus. Her response was that her family didn't play the "what if" game. As a manager of many years of experience, I learned that playing the "what if" game was an integral part of planning: if Ross is sick and I have 15 persons scheduled for training, what would we do? If the HHCs fail to perform as expected, what would we do? I used to call this "contingency planning" and made it a part of every project in which I was ever involved. In our office, we followed policy when it was expedient to do so, but we bent and even broke policies when we felt it was necessary. I have no trouble backing up this claim. I wonder, is the way that lower level census personnel are treated a symptom of poor management, the economic times, both, or some other reason? There are so many persons wanting a job and the census can't hire them all. There is a ready supply of job candidates. Don Shank is the area manager for the area that includes my old office. In a teleconference on the last day I worked, he said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that we should just get rid of any clerk that isn't doing the job and hire replacements until we get clerks that can do the work. There was no question of the legitimacy of their training or support. There was no thought given to the fact that management might be failing our clerks rather than our clerks failing to perform. There was no mention of where the time might be found to properly train them. I mentioned in an earlier blog, that I had done verbatim training for a class and was so pressed to get them out into the field that I wasn't allowed time to cover instructions on the daily activity of filling out a time sheet. Again, this example is a real reach, but can you imagine doing verbatim training to teach a squad of Marines how to shoot a rifle and then send them to war without any instructions on how to reload their weapons once they had used all of their original bullets? One of the favorite responses given when a procedure question is asked is to "look it up in the manual." Not once are we ever given sufficient time to digest the instructions found in the "manual" nor is consideration given to how much longer it might take a neophyte to find something in one of many manuals than it does to just give a straight answer to a straight question. If there is plenty of time, this might not be a bad training technique. Given the fact that there is never enough time, this approach fails miserably. Time after time, in our office, we have found that there is never enough time to do a task right, but time is always found to do it over. I hope that all of the rest of the many census offices in the US are managed differently than my old office. The technique of choice is in the Winston-Salem office is "fear and intimidation." The mantra is "what have you done for me lately" and blame is the name of the game. I absolutely adore the direct manager that I had when I left yesterday. She puts in way too many hours trying to do the the best job of which she is capable. She was just moved from manager of one area to the management of my area. She has been ill-trained for the change and yet is ahead in the major milestones just as she was in her last area. At the same time, she constantly fears for her job. I have seen her publicly berated in front of the whole office staff and held and comforted her as she tried to hide her tears back in a corner of the office. I suspect that, if her husband knew what really goes on, he would be ready to clean up the office with some of the managers. I left in order to protect what little sanity I had remaining, but I feel so very badly that I put more pressure on her. I hope that she understands and forgives me. I don't know the area manager, Don Shank, as a person or a manager. I haven't been around him enough to draw any real conclusions. This much I do know; if he is as important as our office management make him out to be, he must sit at the left hand of God. I can't count the number of times that I've heard, "Don Shank wants this now!" I can't count the number of times that I've had to interrupt something that desperately needed done to hire persons or to get them paid because "Don Shank needs this 10 minutes ago!" Maybe Don Shank is a convenient scapegoat for my old management. I hope so. I have trouble believing that someone could be such a poor manager otherwise. While I'm naming some names, and I intend to name others later, let me mention three: Rea, Arizona, and Tony are not actually assigned to the Winston-Salem office although they all spend considerable time here. I admire each one of them for their knowledge and their desire to get the job done. I have disagreed with their approaches sometimes, but I cannot ever fault them for their work ethic. I claim the friendship of all three and hope that they feel the same. It would really hurt to know that they thought I wasn't worthy of their friendship. As the clock approaches 5 p.m. each day, we hear the "what have you done for me lately" cry. A clerk can knock out a ton of payroll forms or call, interview, and hire a dozen census takers, or plan and schedule 20 training sessions, or process several dozen personnel folders, or prepare supplies for the training sessions and the crews going out into the field, and at 4:45 p.m., you can bet that one of the upper management is going to ask why some other task hasn't been completed yet (and probably drop Don Shank's name as the requester of the uncompleted task.) This one thing turned out to be the straw that broke this camel's back. At 8 a.m. on Thursday, I joined my manager, and the manager of the Winston-Salem office in a teleconference with Don Shank. I was a second thought, pulled into the conference once it had already begun. I think that Don wanted to impress on me just how tenuous my job as a supervisor in the Admin Dept might be. He pointed out that some changes could be made and probably would be made. That didn't really bother me much since I work hard and don't feel like I owe the government a penny back on my paltry paycheck. Later that morning, I was a part of firing an employee. He really wasn't performing up to standard, but it is never fun to be a part of giving someone the axe. At what should have been my lunchtime, I was pulled into another meeting with my manager, the Winston-Salem office manager, and one of the regional technicians assigned to our office. It was pointed out to me that I had failed to accomplish an assigned task. I made the point that everything in our office was treated as a #1 priority. I said that I was willing to get the task done that afternoon, but I really didn't want to hear the "what have you done for me lately" questions at 5 p.m. The office manager stated that she would reserve the right to ask that question no matter what. As long as she was manager, she said, she would ask anything at 5 p.m. that she felt like needed asking. That was the straw! I calmly stood up, laid my ID badge in the middle of the table, and walked out. I will work as hard as I possibly can, but I will not be crucified for not completing something in a perceived timely manner when every single task is considered a #1 priority. The last thing (that I'll mention, not that bothers me) is the "blame game." For many years of management, my technique, when things went wrong, was three-fold. First, I wanted to fix the problem regardless of the cause. The second step was to find a way to prevent the problem from recurring, whether by a software change, a procedure change, a retraining, or whatever. The third step, and it was used only when the same problem was recurring, was to identify the individual responsible and offer retraining. Only on very, very rare occasions did I find it necessary to take any other action. People want to do good. They don't want to make errors and they want to establish themselves as dependable. If you believe that about your people, than the fault has to be in the tools that they are provided by you or the training that they receive from you. If you want to place blame, blame yourself as a manager. That certainly isn't the case in our local census office. In my entire career, I never fired anyone, I wrote up only one person, and was never written up myself. At our local census office, the joke is that, if you haven't been written up, you just aren't doing anything. Before I mention a few more names, let me say that the way we were all picked for our jobs was to do well on the census test (and sometimes get veteran's preference points), show up on a list of candidates by test score, and accept the offer. When I first came to the Winston-Salem office late in 2009, I don't think that I could have picked or worked with better people if I had personally interviewed each one of them. Robert, Lori, and I came almost all at the same time. Lori and I were soon promoted and the only reason that Robert wasn't was that he just didn't want the grief that would go with the job. He was as good or better than any of us. He left a couple of weeks ago because he had other things he wanted to do. Scott, Justin, and David came a bit later and fit right in. Scott, too, has left us for greener pastures. David is running our supply room and I hate to think of the mess we would be in without him. Justin has just been promoted and will be missed in his old job. Frank is a manager and we have become friends. Sara and I have been out to dinner with his family and I hope that we continue to build on this foundation. Suzanne works so very hard, cares so very much, and is my lifetime friend. She has the promise of a heartfelt hug anytime I see her. I hope to be able to build on a friendship with Suzanne and her husband. There are so many others in the office and in the field that I've gotten to know. With the attitude the office shows toward them, the office just doesn't deserve them. I'm so very glad to know them and would like to see them all often in the future. There are many I've not named, but I hope that they will forgive me and that we will rejoice whenever we see or hear of each other in the future. Who knows, maybe 2020 will find us all fighting the same battles all over.

The Class of '63

2010-04-11T20:39:00.003-04:00

Sara is actually a member of the Class of '65. I'm a member of the Class of '63. Sara's brother found her copy of the '63 yearbook from her high school and got it to her. We enjoyed looking through it so much that I pulled out my own '63 annual and paged through it remembering things that took place almost 50 years ago. I worry that the youth of today are going to miss out on something big by not having yearbooks. I read that more and more schools are not having them made. The current crop of young people are members of the computer age. They don't know a time when there were no computers on each person's desk. They don't understand being able to revisit memories 50 years removed, so they aren't worried about whether or not annuals are available. While it is true that pictures and writings can be saved on a computer, how can we possibly tell what they will look like in 50 years? Is there going to be computer systems available that will still show pictures of the Class of '10? Will there be some way that the remembrances and musings of our best friends from high school are still available to recall? I'm afraid that this won't be the case. As I looked through the two annuals, I thought about how much we seem to have lost already. Sara's yearbook showed a picture of the Future Homemakers Club and another of the Future Farmers Club and yet another of the Future Teachers Club. Since I attended a much more "sophisticated" city high school, we didn't have those particular clubs. We did have have pictures of the Home Economics classes and the Shop classes. In my school, girls were expected to take Home Ec and boys took Shop. I stunk at Shop and would probably have done better taking Home Ec. I do remember making a lamp that was supposed to resemble an old pump. When the handle was pumped, the light switched off and on. It sure didn't look like much, but at least the light worked. In Home Ec, the girls learned to cook and sew. The boys always volunteered to try out the cooking results, but we weren't about to model the aprons that were sewn. Clothes sure seem to have changed. The senior pictures in both annuals had the boys in shirts and ties and the girls in nice dresses with necklaces. I guess that the pictures in the '10 yearbook with be in color so that the low-slung pants of the boys will allow the color of their underwear to show. Many of the students in the '63 yearbooks wore letter sweaters and jackets. This included both boys and girls. I understand that in the '10 class, it is a constant fight to keep students from wearing gang colors. My annual had a whole page dedicated to pictures of Hall Monitors. Hall Monitors, of course, were students assigned to sit in the halls and check passes of students moving about during class periods. Now the hall monitors wear law enforcement uniforms and go armed. It is enough to make an old person want to cry. I walked in fear of my parents, my football coach, and the assistant principal. If I got into trouble in class, something that seemed to happen a lot, the assistant principal would have me doing something we called "detention hall". Once I was released from detention hall, I would rush to football practice only to find that the coach already knew why I was late and that he planned to have me run laps, after practice, until I, hopefully, had learned my lesson. Besides the assistant principal and the coach, I was doubly cursed. I had twin sisters who attended the same school. It was their greatest joy to race me home and report to my mother and father the latest kind of trouble I had been in. Detention hall, extra laps, and then grounding for a couple of weeks. You would think that I would have learned sooner or later, but that doesn't seem to have been the case. Just read the comments that my fellow students and friends made in my annual! In just 3 more short years, the Class of '63 will be able to hold its 50th class reunion. Since my school was pretty small, we will probably be able to hold it in a telephone booth (oh yes, for those of you who aren't old enough to remember '63, a phone booth is quite small, if you can even find one now.) I spent 3 years in high school and, at the most, knew my fellow students for only 17 or 18 years (that's if we grew up in the same neighborhoods.) Just the same, I remember them, love them, and hope to be able to see them at the 50th reunion. I just don't think that the Class of '10 will have the same warm, fuzzy feelings about each other 50 years from now. There are just some things that the computer can't replace.

Mowin' Lawns and Old Dogs Redux

2010-04-10T16:10:00.002-04:00

This afternoon, I mowed the lawn for the first time this year. I seem to be able to let my mind just wander better when I'm mowing than any other time. I really, really miss Abby. Abby was my big, old black Lab. She died about 1 1/2 years ago. I loved her more than I have ever loved anything on earth that wasn't human (and loved her a lot more than most humans that I know.) Outside of work and church, Abby went almost everywhere with me. She would have done those two things two had I only invited her. When I mowed the lawn, she would plod along behind me, patiently getting out of the way when I made turns, until the heat of the day got to her. At that point, she would go lay in the shade and watch every step I took. If I disappeared around a corner, you could bet that she would be up and following, just to be sure I didn't get away from her. She was my dog and I was her human. She loved me unconditionally. I love Sara and she loves me, but there are conditions. We expect each other to be faithful to our wedding vows. Abby and I didn't need vows. I could no more have hit her or starved her than I could take a couple of running steps and bound into the sky flying. Abby protected me. She never barked unless someone she didn't know tried to come into the house. Even then, it wasn't so much a bark as a very deep growl and a charge at the invader. I've seen people back out of the house twice as fast as they came in frontwards. Whenever we drove somewhere, she either carefully watched out for other traffic or slept with that big head on my lap, trusting me to take care of her. She feared only thunder. If a thunder storm came, it was my job to open the door to the bedroom closet, where she would stay until the storm passed. If you really love dogs, you know you have to be able to accept some things about them. Dogs smell like dogs. That shouldn't surprise anyone. Horses smell like horses and, I suspect, that elephants smell like elephants. Sure your house is going to smell like a dog lives there. I much more like the idea of visiting a house that smells like a dog than visiting one where the lady of the house wears a gallon of some awful perfume each day or the man of the house wants to smell like he just bathed in musk. Dogs poop and pee. So do I, but I was taught at an early age to use the bathroom. I believe that, had I been able to teach Abby to use the toilet, she would have done it just to please me. Sure dogs can be taught to use the yard and that brings on some other problems, but farm kids learn early on to watch their step. Maybe that's an art that city folks ought to practice as well. To tell you the truth, I believe that I would rather have to wash dog poop off of my sneakers than to try to get someone's big, old wad of gum unstuck from the bottom of the same shoes. Dogs shed. Abby was black and she seemed to be shedding all the time. Our carpet always had a black sorta tint to it. Well, Sara and I shed too. The difference is that we know how to clean up behind ourselves. When Abby died, Sara wanted to know why I even wanted another dog. There are lots of reasons I could have used, but what I told her was that, when she started meeting me at the back door, dressed in the suit she was born in, jumping up and down for joy at seeing me, I might not want a dog so badly. We went out and found Pepper. Pepper is my dog now and I'm mostly hers. Pepper is a miniature poodle. Poodles don't shed, which takes care of one of Sara's biggest complaints about Abby. Another truism: big dog, big poop; little dog, little poop. We don't have to be nearly as careful where we walk when we go out into the back yard. We've had Pepper for several months now and we are still getting used to each other. Pepper likes to be with me. When I take a nap, she will be right there at the foot of the bed and almost nothing will make her move. On the other hand, when Sara and I are sitting in the den reading or watching TV, Pepper will only sit with Sara. Maybe Sara's lap is softer. Pepper barks. She doesn't bark a whole lot, but neighborhood dogs barking will set her off. Also, when anyone comes to the door (including me!) she runs down the hallway away from them and barks. None of that jumping for joy at the back door for her - probably beneath her dignity. I'm trying to teach her to play rough with me, but somehow it isn't the same wrestling with a 12 pound poodle as it was wrestling with a 100 pound lab. I'm hoping to teach her, this summer, to want to ride with me everywhere and to want to go anytime the truck door opens. For now, I'm just happy having her here. Will Rogers once said, "If dogs don't go to heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they do!" I've sent a few dogs that I've loved dearly on ahead of me. I just hope that they are all there waiting and jumping up and down with joy when I finally make it home.

God, Maslow, and the US Census

2010-03-28T18:49:00.002-04:00

Thursday last, I drove to work thinking that it was past time to do an update to my blog. I was going to name it “Lamentations” or something similar. I am feeling pretty down and have been for several weeks. I have been able to feel myself sliding more deeply into depression and my doctor and I have been trying to tweak my medications. Also, these old knees are causing me a lot of pain, creating a loss of sleep and the need for a cortisone shot. I am a supervisor in the Admin department of the local Census office. With about half an hour left of the Thursday work day, I found myself walking around in my department giving out a few pats to the back, kidding with some of our more quiet people, passing out some sympathy and understanding to a couple of our newer folks who had been a bit roughed up by my boss, and just generally trying to let individuals know that their contributions were valuable, that their presence was important and that, if they found a need to vent their feelings, they could safely come to me. I wanted at least my folks, the folks assigned to my area, if not the whole office, to leave for the day feeling pretty good about themselves and the work that they were doing. I felt pretty good about them and the work that they were doing and thought that I should share that feeling with them. I never did get around to updating my blog last Thursday. I slept well and enjoyed some pleasant dreams Thursday night. I woke Friday thinking that perhaps, since I seem to be pretty good at pouring oil on troubled waters and helping people to feel good about themselves, this was my gift and that God’s plan for me was to do just that at the Census office, a place where that gift seems to be at a premium. I drove in to work rethinking my blog and considering an update I would call “Blessed”, because I believe that I am blessed. I’m surprised that I couldn’t hear God laughing out loud. A bit of an aside… You all know about Abraham Maslow and his pyramid defining a hierarchy of human needs. According to Maslow, humans don’t worry about the next level of needs until they feel that the current level of needs is satisfied. I have never known want. I don’t worry about what I’m going to eat or what I’m going to wear or my personal safety. I leave that up to God. I do, however, appreciate a sincere “attaboy” as much as the next person. I need to feel appreciated and I need to know that I’m serving God as He would have me serve and doing it to the best of my ability. God has surely read Maslow and I am, after all, His child. Shouldn’t He understand this need? Didn’t He put that need in me? Back to my Friday morning story. I arrived at work feeling good, looking forward to a good day at work, to be followed by a weekend away at a B&B with my Sara. The world was a good place to be. If you’ve read previous entries in my blog, you know that serving God in the Census office wouldn’t be my choice, but I believed for the moment that I was being directed and that I would be able to do my very best until the office closes in September. I could not have been more wrong. By Friday evening, the job had beaten me up so badly that I didn’t have a single spare good word for anyone. Instead of leaving feeling like something had been accomplished, I left without the energy or the desire to speak a word to anyone, let alone a kind or encouraging word. All I wanted to do was to go home, pull the drapes, and cry. Had it not been for the planned trip that is exactly what I would have done. As it was, it took a couple of hours of riding, with Sara driving, singing along with an Oldies radio station, and a couple of glasses of wine before I began to even think I might be able to return to something approaching normalcy. The Census office has beaten me. If that is indeed where God wants me to serve, He’s just going to have to find someone else. I’m going to be looking for almost anything else to do and, as soon as I can find it, I’m leaving (help from any of you would be nice!) For many years, I was a good manager. I attribute this to the fact that I like almost all people as individuals, very much like and try to look after people who are working for me or who are my responsibility and, because of that, feel that they have always tried hard to take care of me. We “had each other’s back” as they say. My projects were generally successful because my folks wanted to make me successful. That isn’t the case where I am working now. Instead of working together trying to attain a common goal, the feeling is one of being chained below decks and being flogged to row faster, by our management. I definitely do not believe that these feelings are specific to me. For example, I seem to be involved in more than my share of training of new-hires at our office. I’m glad I’m not training them for battle. Policies are often bypassed for expediency. I’ve sent census employees out to do a day’s work without being allowed the time to train them to fill out their daily timesheet. Worrying about getting them paid in a timely manner is secondary to getting them out in the field counting bodies. I’ve had to set folks, who have been barely introduced to our software, at computers telling them to do their best entering data and to ask the person next to them for help if they needed it. Of course, interrupting someone working fast, to have them help with a problem, is frowned upon. Setting expectations beyond the level of training acquired seems to be a prevalent Catch-22 in our office. Because our management doesn’t seem to recognize the difference in “urgency” and “emergency”, there is never time to do a thing right, but always time to do it over. On Friday afternoon, after twice spending non-productive time, first waiting on a conference call that didn’t happen and then sitting through a conference call that wasn’t necessary, we were “flogged” to get a mass of census data entered. We were told that it HAD to be done by 5 P.M. At 4:45 P.M., it was decided that there were so many mistakes in the work, a fact I attribute almost exclusively to poor training, that it would need to be audited and corrected before being blessed by our management and forwarded to the regional office and that the task would have to wait until Monday to be completed after all. Immediately after that debacle, I tried to point out to a couple of my own managers that, had the power in the building failed Friday afternoon, the work would not have been done, some needed training might have taken place, and the job could possibly have been well accomplished in the same amount of time that it is going to take anyway. The response, completely ignoring the point that I was trying to make, was “Well, yes, but the power didn’t fail, did it?” What they don’t seem to have any grasp of is the fact that we, as managers have been the failures, not our employees. We spent time and resources on a task that wasn’t accomplished anyway and, in the process, wasted our even more valuable credibility with our employees. Even if they continue to be flogged, how hard are they going to work next time for management that they perceive to not have a clue about what’s going on? How long will persons respond to logic that says, if we run into a wall the first time we try to get something done, the best plan is to back up and force our folks to run faster and harder at the same wall? I have “run at the wall” of trying to get this point across to my own managers all of the times that I am able. I believe that I have to remove myself from the situation in order to protect my own mental health. As of today, Sunday, my old boss has been promoted. I am now working for a super fine person who happens to have very little knowledge of my area’s activities and responsibilities. Through no fault of their own, except the desire to keep a job, my new boss has been put into a position where failure looms major and success will go largely unappreciated, a familiar Census position to this person. These events make me pause to think about personal integrity. When I watch how people act toward each other, I often am convinced that, if integrity could be measured in drops, we would be hard pressed to fill a cup. In my own case, I fail miserably. I do pledge this however: I will have enough personal integrity that, in spite of my feelings toward the office in which I work, I will do everything within my power to make my new boss a success. No one will recognize it or even care except me, but isn’t that what makes integrity “personal”? Now, if I could just experience a “burning bush”!

Having Your Flowers Now

2010-01-30T08:00:00.005-05:00

I work 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. It is an unusual job. We know already that it will end no later than the last part of September this year. With very strict job parameters, very important goals, and pressure growing on a daily basis, it is an easier place to work some days than it is others. I've not been bored for even a minute and I look forward to going to work every single morning. The boss is a veteran of the job. In the past, his offices have set performance records. He knows that we have the ability to be a record setting office ourselves. Most days he is from the Dean Smith school of management. Once in a while, he leans more to the Bobby Knight (my apologies to those who don't follow college basketball) school of management. Naturally, I like the Dean Smith school better, but sometimes all of us need the Bobby Knight method to shake us out of our complacency and wake us to the urgency of our job. One of the things that he does that I really like is to walk through the office every morning greeting each of us. Another thing he has done is to involve the whole office in a monthly potluck lunch. At that time, we get a more detailed overview of what's happening and what our expected role is and is expected to be. We also use that time to recognize employees who have gone above and beyond the call of duty in job performance the previous month. Since the census (okay, now you know where I'm working) is only held every 10 years, the boss has been involved in other vocations. Among them is included work in the funeral business. From that job, came something that he shared with us prior to recognizing the outstanding employees this last month. What he said stuck with me and inspired me to share it with you. He told us that, during his time in the funeral business, he had seen many flowers given in memory of persons who could no longer enjoy them. This had inspired him to develop recognition programs wherever he worked. His point was that he wanted his employees to be given their "flowers" while they could enjoy them. I have to admit that, when the nomination policy for recognition was first announced, I thought it was a bit hokey. Now, I'll be the first to admit that it made me feel good seeing several employees honored by their managers and peers. I liked seeing them enjoying their "flowers" now. Here is my final point... now is the time to share your flowers. Do you owe someone an apology? Don't wait to send flowers to their funeral, give a heartfelt apology now. Have you been remiss in keeping in touch with friends? Don't wait to attend the funeral. Get in touch now. Have you been meaning to volunteer at a mission, but just haven't found the time? Bring those "flowers" with you and find a way to share them with those who need the boost they will give. The boss and I will never see eye-to-eye on everything, but on this one thing, he has been able to share a small "flower" with me that I'll cherish forever.

"Roots and Wings" and Some Other Things

2010-01-03T20:08:00.005-05:00

I want to talk about the Other Things before I get to Roots and Wings. It's early in the year 2010, the time we all talk about resolutions, at least those of us who live in eternal optimism do. I've proven to be much better at pointing others toward the resolutions that they should make and trying to help them keep them than I am at making and keeping my own. This year, I've resolved to try to work harder on my own resolutions. I began by not resolving to loose weight, eat more healthy food, and get more exercise. I've made those same three resolutions for 50 some years now with limited success at best. In truth, I weigh just about what I did 50 years ago, so I haven't been a total failure. At least I've held the line. This year, I've made two resolutions that I don't believe I'll have as much trouble keeping. The first resolution concerns family and friends. I resolve to get in touch with every single family member, friend, and personal acquaintance listed in my email address book, my cell phone contact list, my Facebook friends, and my PDA contact list. I want to make this a face-to-face contact when possible, a phone contact if necessary and will fall back on email when all else fails. I'm only making one other resolution. With apologies to my pastor, Terry Matthews, I resolve to shorten my "lag time". In his sermon on Sunday, Terry recounted a personal story. Not so long ago, he had been caught having to drive on some iced over streets. As he slowly and carefully made his way up a hill, a woman driver (the driver's sex is not pertinent to the story, but I can't resist a jab at women drivers - she was probably on a cell phone and didn't realize how close she was) began to tailgate him. As us folks from the South know, we don't care how much snow you had back home, ice is almost impossible to drive on. Anyway, to return to Terry's story, the closeness of the driver began to make him very nervous. Terry said that it took him no time at all to think of things to say to the tailgating driver. I'm sure that these must have been things he learned back in his college days and hadn't recalled since. Realizing that it would be unseemly for a pastor to hang out his car window and share his thoughts and being certain that at least one member of his congregation would be standing around in the cold doing nothing but hoping to catch the preacher out, Terry refrained from verbally expressing his thoughts. Terry told us that, as he drove on, thoughts and expressions of a more Biblical nature came to mind. His only regret was that the "lag time" between his original thoughts and his second ones created enough time for the other driver to be on her way. His point, in a nut shell, was that, if we are more knowledgeable of the Bible, we can shorten our personal lag time. If an experienced pastor needs to work on his personal lag time, just think of how much work I have before me. I resolve to spend more time in the Bible. Now, let's talk about Roots and Wings. I still keep a small plaque on my bedroom wall. It says, "Two of the greatest things we can give our children are roots and wings." My own parents did a great job of both. I grew up in a neighborhood filled with friends and love. I always felt safe. Not only did I have roots, several of my closest friends grew up considering our home a part of their root system as well. I got to really spread my wings before I ever turned 17. In the summer following my 16th birthday, my father and I did a driving tour of the northern part of the US, and some of Canada, from the Atlantic coast to the Rocky Mountains. I saw Mount Rushmore so long ago that Lincoln hadn't even started growing his beard yet. Over the years since, I've been able to live in Center City Philadelphia, very rural Mississippi, and the eastern part of North Carolina. I've been lucky enough to work in Maine, South Carolina, the Caribbean and Central America. I've been on mission trips to the Dominican Republic and spent a summer on the Navajo Reservation in the Four Corners. I'll never know the extent to which I've been able to give my own children roots and wings, but I hope that I've been a bit successful. What of my current roots and wings? I'm afraid that I've reached a time defined by strengthening roots and weakening wings. I can live with that. I'm rooted in a home and neighborhood that I like and a wife I love. On the other hand, I sometimes ache for the wings that once were. I won't ever stop longing to see what is just over the next hill or around the next bend in the road. I know that there are "blue highways" (William Least Heat-Moon) that I'll never travel. There are small villages and great cities that I'll never visit. There are new friends that I'll never meet and strangers I'll never laugh and kid with. I sometimes ache at the thought. With additional apologies to Terry Matthews, as I sat in church last Sunday, I suddenly thought about how much I missed the small church in Shiprock, on the reservation, and my friends there. Later in the afternoon, I called Kenneth Lee, one of my Navajo friends there, just to hear his voice and catch up on the latest happenings. There are rich persons who have homes in NYC, San Francisco, and maybe Paris. It would probably seem very strange to them to know that my dream would be a home in Winston-Salem and a home in Shiprock. When I first hit the high desert, I didn't like anything about it. Terry Matthews (shows up a lot this blog, doesn't he?) cautioned me to be patient, that I might change my mind. In the 3 months I was there, I learned to love it. I want to see the Shiprock again. I want to walk the streets of Durango. I want to drive the countryside. As long as a person is able to believe, love and dream, life is well worth living.

Random Thoughts Around the Christmas Season

2009-12-27T17:35:00.004-05:00

The Bethesda Center - The Bethesda Center is a Winston-Salem homeless shelter. Our Seeds (the name of our small Monday night worship group) folks went to the shelter a couple of weeks ago take refreshments and to lead a short devotional period. We had about 40 men and a few women join us. It was a wonderful evening. A couple of the guests sang spontaneous solos. Prayer requests were for family and friends, none for self, except for one request for a job. No one seemed to feel sorry for themselves. Instead, the room was filled with the Holy Spirit, with men who know and love God, with men who want to know God, and with all of us who want God to draw closer to us. I hope to have my Sunday school class do an evening there soon. The Love Feast - The Focus Sunday school class has hosted a Love Feast at church for many years now. It used to be held in the classroom. It was moved to a bigger room several years ago and for the past two or three years has been held in the fellowship hall. A week ago, on a very messy-weather Sunday, almost 100 celebrated together. The Love Feast is held during the Sunday school hour, between our 3 church services. It is one of the few times of the year that folks who attend the different services not only worship together, they fellowship together afterward. It is a Christmas blessing to see (and hug) those friends you don't see so very often. Worship services - My pastor, Terry Matthews, presented a really good sermon this morning. I wonder, is he getting better, am I getting more receptive, or is God directing my thoughts in a such a way that I hear the message that He has for me through Terry? Music is also a very important part of my worship experience. The music at every Sunday's service leaves me feeling blessed for attending. On Monday, Katie's soft voice and guitar open my mind and heart. Gifts for my Navajo friends - I wanted to get presents for my friends on the Navajo reservation at Four Corners Native American Ministry. When I realized that wasn't going to happen, I wanted to send Christmas cards to each of them. I couldn't seem to find the time to do personal cards, so I went to plan "C". Plan "C" stands for cyber-gifts. I tried to think of 3 or 4 gifts for each friend, gifts that they would appreciate, but would not or could not get for themselves. I sent them word of the gifts I would have bought, if possible, via email. I had a lot of fun doing that. So much fun that I'm thinking of doing it for even more friends next year. I have to admit that the thought of cyber-gifts wasn't original. Sara and I were watching one of the many Christmas feel-good movies in which members of a poor family were given clippings from a Sears catalog in place of the real thing. Doing this wouldn't help the economy very much, but it would certainly help my budget, let friends know that they are thought of, and be just plain fun picking things that fit . The Christmas Spirit - It seemed much easier to get into the Christmas spirit this year. Last year, I don't think it happened until Christmas eve. This year, weeks before Christmas, the spirit seemed to be there. More people smiled. More people were wishing "Merry Christmas!" More friends were being made. We had decided not to go into debt for presents and were holding to it. We were going to Lynchburg for Christmas at Ross & Danylle's house. I was working full-time and training for a part-time job as well. A Christmas to remember. The greatest gift of all - Ross and Danylle have bought a house in Lynchburg. Danylle's daughters are with them for week days and were there for Christmas. Maddie is 6 years old and Reese is 4 years old. I have been wondering what to ask them to call me as we draw closer. The problem is resolved and it was perhaps the greatest Christmas present I've ever received. As I got to the front door on Christmas eve, I was met by two beautiful girls who were yelling, "Grandpa, we're glad you're here!" How special - celebrating Christmas with two new granddaughters. God is good.

It's Just Not That Easy In A Telephone Booth

2009-12-04T20:27:00.004-05:00

"Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird. It's a plane. No, it's Superman!" If you don't recognize that famous TV and movie line, you'll probably not know that in the years BC (before cells) there were lots of phone booths to be found many places. If you don't know about the Man of Steel, you might not have ever even seen a phone booth. Superman, cleverly disguised as Clark Kent, a mild mannered reporter for the Daily Planet, often found telephone booths handy for a quick change of clothes. You know, you just can't rip off your business suit and prepare to fly off in your tights right in public. That will blow your disguise completely. You have to find a place to change in hiding, therefore, the phone booth changing room and the maintenance of the clever disguise. Tuesday morning, I got up early and met my friend, Burnie Little, for coffee and conversation. Tuesday was a work day for me so being early wasn't much of a sacrifice. It was Burnie's day off though, so I really did appreciate his giving up some early morning sleeping hours. Readers of my blog know that I haven't been excessively happy lately. When I returned from the Navajo Reservation, I really wanted to go into full time religious service. That was my prayer. But it just doesn't seem to be God's plan. Although I was deeply disappointed at first, and am still disappointed, I am becoming more comfortable with whatever God's plan for me may be. That is some of what Burnie and I talked about early last Tuesday. My pet phrase has been, "full time service," as in church ministry or social outreach ministry or domestic / foreign missionary work, whatever, as long as it was full time service. Burnie shared an interesting take on this notion. He feels that all Christians are in full time service. We are all full time disciples of Christ cleverly disguised. Perhaps we are disguised as a physician's assistant. Perhaps we are cleverly disguised as a volunteer at Old Salem. Perhaps we are disguised as a thrift shop manager or a retired minister. Maybe our full time Christian disciple disguise today is as a friend with the right word of encouragement at the right time or an ear to listen. I, for one, have decided to disguise myself as a short, pudgy worker in a local office (this is not an easy disguise for someone 6' 6" tall with a 32" waist, but I am managing quite well, thank you.) Burnie made his point with me. Now I just need to try to live his philosophy. Oh, yes, it wouldn't hurt for me to know where the closest phone booth is either. I wouldn't normally do it this way, but I want to take blog space to say thank you to all those friends who have taken the time to be so supportive of me as I've struggled with some of my own demons. You've taken the time to speak to me, to write to me, to pray for me. I've heard from friends that I've not seen nor spoken with in months, if not years. You will never fully know how very grateful I am. I also have to share a real blessing with you. Today was my extended family's Christmas party. We had 31 people that I love very much there. Ages ranged from 2 to 88 years old. One of the great things is that no one left us this last year. My mother, who has been moving from extended care to the hospital and back for the past several months was there. My brother-in-law, Will, is great with her and managed to get her to agree to come out on a pretty messy day. I began the day knowing that I would be able to lead the blessing. This is something that comes hard for many of us, not because we don't pray, but because we love our family so very much that we get choked up from the blessing of reunion. Each new arrival at the site, every person hugged, brought tears of joy and thanksgiving to my eyes. By the time for the blessing, there was just no way for me to get through it. Once again, it was Will to the rescue. He sure is special! Bailey, Mary Lynn, Danylle, Cindy, Jason, Mindy, Patrick and Kim, Adam and Petty, you were all missed. My prayer is that you are all well and will all be able to join us next year. To quote Tiny Tim, who had also just finished a big meal with his family, "God bless us everyone!"

Mowin' Lawns and Old Dogs

2009-11-28T14:05:00.004-05:00

I mowed the yard today for the last time this year. I really missed someone. I hadn't thought about her, while mowing, at any time earlier this year, but somehow she was there today. During the summer of 2008, Abby, my big, black Lab was still alive. Every time I would mow, she would trudge patiently along behind me. She didn't care about where we were going, just that she was going with me. It was never the journey or even the destination, it was all about the company. At least that's what I would have said if I had ever been asked. Sara and I have been married for 43 years. She, too, has spent years patiently trudging behind me wherever I thought I needed to go. It was never the journey or even the destination, it was all about the company. I took her from small-town North Carolina to our first apartment in the very center of Philadelphia. Over the years, we've moved from that city of well over a million people to a very rural, southern Mississippi town of about 600 people and to several other different places of various sizes. Somehow, Winston-Salem grew to be home, the place we seemed to always return to, but it never was about the journey or the destination, it was all about the company. At least that's what I would have said if I had ever been asked. Today, I wonder. If Abby, the Lab, had decided to start down the road on her own, would I have followed without question? Years ago, if Sara had decided she wanted to finish college in Idaho, would I have followed uncomplainingly? If she had received a great job offer in Vermont or Cleveland, would I have wanted to go? I think that I can honestly answer, yes (well, maybe not Cleveland.) What I recognize at this time of my life, is that, at least for me, it has not only been about the company, it has also been about the journey and destination. I love Sara more than words can ever say and I am very blessed to have her in my life. I cannot imagine better company in the past, today, or as we move into the future together. I've rarely traveled anywhere without her nor seen anything special without her that I didn't want to be sharing with her. The great thing is that she hasn't minded, at least too badly, the journey or the destination. Here is where I am a little bit worried. Sara has settled down. If I am committed to the company, and I am very committed to the company, that means that I have settled down as well. I'm not ready. I can't imagine never knowing what is just over the next hill or just around the next curve in the road. I can't imagine never again meeting a cowboy or a trash man or a brew master or a woman firefighter or a shrimper or a lumberjack. I can't imagine not continuing to have my life enriched by tales of different lifestyles from those who have lived them. My friend, Rodney Aist, is just barely older than my own children. He is a PhD, an ordained Methodist minister, has lived in Scotland and Jerusalem and on the Navajo reservation. He has made a pilgrimage walk through Spain and has managed a summer camp for several years. He has hiked and camped and slept beneath the Northern Lights. I can sit and listen to him tell about all of those things for hours without being even a little bit bored. Maybe he wishes he had a wife, children, a dog, a house, and a truck. He still has a chance to do those things. Some or all of them may be the next thing over the hill or around the next curve in the road. The thing about Rodney is that he wasn't going to find me at my house, I had to go find him. Another friend like Rodney may be waiting for me to find, but I believe that I have to be on a journey to a different destination to have that opportunity. I don't believe that God's plan for me includes new journeys and new destinations. I am trying hard to accept whatever that plan may be. In the meantime, I'm going to try hard to be the best "me" that I can be right where I am. After all, I may no longer have the journey or the destination, but I can continue to be eternally grateful for the company.

V!

2009-11-22T16:48:00.004-05:00

Are you familiar with a TV show, new for this year, called "V!"? If not, maybe you remember a mini-series of the same name a few years ago. If you have missed both of these, the TV series named "Aliens" came close to the same type of story. In the new series, V!, the V stands for Visitors. These Visitors are aliens who have huge space ships hovering over 20 some of the largest cities in the world. The Visitors appear to be of human form and claim to have come in peace. Not far into the story: we find that the aliens really don't look human at all, but are disguised; that they don't come in peace, but to take over the world; and that they have been here for ill-purposes for some time already, but are just now making their presence known. Disguised as humans, it is impossible to tell a Visitor from anyone else. By now, you are probably asking yourself, "where in the world (no pun intended) is he going with all of this?" To add a bit more confusion, let me tell you that I don't sleep at night. I haven't slept for several months. Some nights I read or watch TV or work on my PC. Some nights, I stay asleep, but am plagued by nightmares. I strike out at things in my dreams, sometimes putting Sara at risk and sometimes knocking everything off of the nightstand. Sara and Pepper (the puppy) are about to vote me out of the bedroom! Sometimes I talk in my sleep and sometimes I shout out loud. Last night was a nightmare, shout out loud night. That's the bad news. There is good news. The nightmare, as best I can recall, involved me being attacked by the Devil. He disguised himself (now you see the tie to V!) as a human: as strangers, as friends, and even as my mother. All of these people, actually the disguised Devil, were trying to convince me to turn away from God and turn to Satan. Somehow, I was able to see through the disguise each time and, although I was very fearful, I was able to call for help. These shouts for help were what woke up everyone in the house and set the puppy to growling. The good news... the shout was "Help me, Jesus!" I have been down lately and felt that God was drawing away from me. Thank God, that seems to be only my conscious thoughts. I take comfort, not from the lack of sleep, but that, in my unconscious thoughts I am still and always turning to Christ for my help. I know that Christ has saved me and will never let me go. My plan is not God's plan and my time is not God's time, but that seems to be becoming more bearable. Am I disappointed? Yes. Am I more accepting? Yes, slowly. Do I still want to be in full time service? Of course. I miss the Navajo Reservation and my friends and work there and wish that God had planned to replace the thrill of service there with service here. With the help of my Christian friends here, I'll work on being more patient and more aware of what God does plan for me and ask of me. I would really be remiss if I didn't thank all of my friends who have reached out to me over the past few weeks. I've been hurting and I've needed you. Hopefully, there will never be the opportunity to return the favor, but I pray that I'll be there for you if you need it. I love all of you.

I Think We're Back In Kansas, Toto!

2009-11-15T17:17:00.002-05:00

Many years ago, I drove through Kansas just as the wheat was ready to harvest. I remember the day well, not because there was so much to remember, but because there was so little. The black, two-lane highway was arrow straight. It was bordered by equally spaced telephone poles. The overwhelming colors were the brilliant blue of a cloudless sky and the gold of wheat fields stretching for as far as the eye could see. There were no houses, no driveways, no fences, no animals or people, and for miles on end there was no other traffic. In the right frame of mind, this drive should have been wonderful. It was... for about the first 30 minutes. After a while, the feeling of awe became one of being trapped. Trapped in sameness.

Well, Toto, I think I'm back in Kansas. Sara and I aren't financially positioned to live off of her salary alone and we have vowed not to touch our retirement savings until she is ready to retire. That means that I work. I have been out of the IT field for so long now that it would be very difficult to find a job even if the market was wide open. For right now, I'm luckier than many. I'm working full time for the US Census and probably will be until next September. I'm working part-time for H&R Block and probably will be until mid-April. That means 5 days a week for the Census and nights and weekends for Block. At least that will keep me off the streets and out of trouble. Like the Kansas highway, as I begin I will feel great about working. In the long run, the sameness of it will probably drive me crazy. As far down that Kansas highway as I can see, nothing changes.

Have you ever watched a good carpenter choose lumber? One of the things that they will do is to eye along the length of a plank to check for bowing. If a piece is bowed, it is set aside. It won't be used for first quality building. As a carpenter, Jesus must have looked along many boards and set aside many that didn't measure up. I feel like I've been measured for my usefulness as good lumber, found wanting, and set aside. A couple of months ago, a missionary from our church, Christina Lowder, presented a homily in which she told of a Liberian woman being put into a deep hole as punishment. Her point was that there is always a need for someone not just to reach a hand down to the woman, but to get into the hole with her and support her in her trial. I want to be the type of person who gets down into the hole. I no longer believe or hope that is going to happen. I've been measured by the Carpenter and found wanting.

This is probably going to be my last blog entry for some time. The scenery at the bottom of a rut doesn't change much or often. When and if it ever does, I'll post again.

Peace?

2009-11-01T17:24:00.003-05:00

On March 23, 1775, Patrick Henry addressed a gathering of the political leaders of the colony of Virginia. At that gathering, he gave an impromptu speech which is still considered one of the most powerful patriotic speeches ever given. Within his remarks, he said, "Gentlemen may cry, 'Peace! Peace!' -- but there is no peace." He was right! Shortly after this speech, the colonies were in a full scale war with Great Britain fighting for the right to form their own country. We all know how that turned out. On October 3, 1938, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, in an address to the British Parliament gave his infamous "Peace In Our Time" speech. He had just returned from meeting with German Chancellor, Adolph Hitler, where he signed an agreement giving after-the-fact approval to Germany's military partitioning of Czechoslovakia. He was trying to convince Parliament, the British people, and perhaps himself that Hitler was a man of honor who would take no further military actions. We all know how that turned out. Is there peace to be found this side of heaven? How about in the sanctuary of His church? On September 15, 1963, members of the Ku Klux Klan bombed a Birmingham church, killing four innocent, young girls. On July 27, 2008, a deranged gunman opened fire in a church containing a crowd gathered for a children's program. He managed to kill two and wound another four before being stopped. This isn't uncommon news nor is it current news. In 1170, Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, was killed on the steps of the church alter. Where are we safe? Where is there peace? Romans 15:13 says, "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Just this morning, a member of my church collapsed during the worship service. She was carried to the hospital by ambulance. I believe she will be okay this time, but what of her joy and peace? What of the peace of other congregants? I am tired and drained, so undoubtedly that contributed to how very much this morning's incident bothered me. I trust in my God. I trust that Christ came to give us eternal joy and peace as we abide with Him. I have very big problems in believing that the promise of joy and peace means that it will be this side of heaven.

Time

2009-10-22T14:35:00.004-04:00

Life is a trip. God put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation and three months later returned me home. To see how the whole story began click here. I never much minded someone else getting a raise when I didn't. It never came directly out of my own pocket and I tried to believe in fairness and honesty. I was lucky enough to be in a vocation that paid pretty well, based mostly on experience and not education. The Marine Corps trained me in data processing in the mid-60's. That was a time when most households weren't even getting computerized bills, let alone anyone imagining that there might come a day that computers would be almost as common in homes as were televisions. I led in with that paragraph in order to say that I hope you'll be fair with me. I'm set to do some good old belly-aching. I know many people who are so much worse off than I am and I don't mean to take anything away from their problems. I'm certainly not trying to trump any complaints they may feel justified in making. I hope that they won't think that, like the pay raises I mentioned, I'm trying to take anything out of their pockets. I'll try to always have a sympathetic ear, but this is my blog and my complaints, so I'll tell you up front, if you don't want to read them, pass me by right now! My last great day was on Thursday, August 6th of this year. That doesn't sound like too long ago, but let me put it a bit in perspective for you. August 6th was just over 70 days ago. We now have exactly 70 days left in this year. Within the next 70 days, you'll pass out candy on Halloween. You'll eat turkey for Thanksgiving. You'll celebrate the birth of the Christ Child. You'll veg-out in front of the TV and watch a New Year's Day full of football. I will begin work at H&R Block on the 2009 tax season. Are you ready for the next 70 days? I wasn't ready for the last 70 and those seem to have been 70 long days. How do I know that August 6th was the last great day? I know because it was the day before I found out I would be leaving FCNAM and the Navajo Reservation at the end of August. The 2+ months prior to that were packed with great days. The week of the 6th, the Maple Springs UMC mission team was in Window Rock and I spent most of the week with them. I spent one day that week taking my son, Ron, back to Shiprock to see the kind of things I did at work and meet some of my friends. I spent a couple of days doing the kind of things that I had learned helped to make FCNAM run just a little bit more smoothly. I loved them all! I've had a few pretty good days in the last 70 days. The Friday before I left, there was a lunch for me. There were hugs and tears and I knew that I was leaving lifelong friends. On the way home, I was able to visit with Jerry and Lynnette Harris, who have been friends for the past 25 years. Also on the way home, I was able to visit my sister and brother-in-law in Tampa and spend a little time with their sons and daughter-in-law. My brother-in-law, Steve, and I have been friends since 4th grade and he had just had serious cancer surgery. Seeing the family helped fill a real need within me. A weekend ago, Sara and I visited with my son, Ross, and his friend, Danylle, in Lynchburg, VA. All of those were certainly good days. There have been some hours of some days that have been pretty good as well. I've spent some, not nearly enough, time with close friends. I've spent most of a couple of days helping Twyla Pardue and Jeremy Pegram move what seemed like a ton of food from the local food bank to the church food pantry (does it always rain on the days food needs to be moved?) Believe it or not, one of my pretty good hours was at the doctor's office. My friend, Burnie Little, is a PA there. I made an appointment with him because I wasn't sleeping and had a general feeling of malaise (I believe that, without my daily medication, I could drop into depression faster than I could fall off a cliff.) Burnie is a strong Christian who listened to me carefully and then spoke to me wisely. I am sleeping better, but the sense of malaise hasn't abated much. I'm not sure it will until I once again experience some great days. It was just over 70 days between the time I got laid off by Old Salem and the time I was sure that I was going to the Navajo Reservation. During that time, I looked for non-existent jobs, I volunteered some, and I did some small extra part of the household chores. Since I've been back, I've looked for non-existent jobs, I've volunteered some, and I've done some small extra part of the household chores. That has been just 70 long days. I want to be able to see more clearly just what it is that God has planned for me. I daily pray that it won't be the same thing for my remaining years that it has been for the past 70 days. I'm not sure that there has been enough Cymbalta manufactured to keep me together if that turns out to be the case. God hears my prayers. God knows that my desire is to serve Him full time. God knows that I am discouraged. How can I know I am not stumbling off of God's chosen path for me if I cannot see it?

Paths

2009-10-12T20:37:00.007-04:00

Life is a trip. For each of us there is only one destination. For each of us there is a path to that destination. None of us walks the exact same path. I know my destination. I do not know the path. The Navajo Reservation was not a destination. It was an area through which my path led. Being back home in Winston-Salem is not a destination. It is a continuation of my path. God will guide our feet along the path if we wish, but He will also allow us to chose to wander from His chosen path. Sometimes the paths are very steep and rocky and the effort of continuing along them is almost more than we can handle. It is often during this time that we blame God for putting us on such a difficult path and wonder why. Sometimes the path winds downhill, is tree shaded, and the birds sing for us. We are prone to pat ourselves on the back for choosing such an easy way and we forget God's involvement. If we are within God's will, often our path will touch the path of another. The best of this situation is when we join as husband and wife. Our paths are not one, but we can reach out a hand to help each other along difficult places when help is needed or we can just reach out a hand in love and companionship. Sometimes, two paths meet for such a very short time that it is possible for us to miss the opportunity to reach out a helping hand or to take a hand that is offered to us. If we are on the path that God has chosen, there is always a reason for the paths to meet. Yesterday, I was working alone in the Maple Springs pumpkin patch. A girl, probably the age of an average Wake Forest coed, stopped by. She asked a question about pricing and then wandered out into the middle of the church yard. In a couple of minutes, I noticed that she was kneeling, head bowed, and shoulders shaking with sobs. I went to her and knelt beside her (a surprise, since my knees usually won't bend that well.) I put my arm around her shoulders and asked if she wanted to tell me what was wrong. All she told me was that she had done something terrible. Her pain broke my heart and I'm positive that it broke God's heart as well. I told her that Christ would forgive anything and would never stop loving her no matter what. In a couple of minutes, she was able to get herself under control, dried her eyes, and asked me to sell her the pumpkin that she had been holding. Before she left, I gave her my email address and phone number and told her that I would like to hear from her that she was okay. I also told her that I would be glad to help arrange for her to talk to our associate pastor, Anne Elmore, if she wanted. She left me to wonder what it was that she had done so terrible and to pray that she would find peace. I didn't hear from her today and really didn't expect to. Our paths touched for only a very few minutes, but I was able to reach out a hand to help. This is God's gift to me. I pray that more opportunities will come and that I will always be aware and ready to respond as God would have me do.

A Holey Man

2009-10-09T06:42:00.013-04:00

Life is a trip. God put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation and three months later returned me home. To see how the whole story began click here. I know that you are thinking that there is a major spelling error in the title of this posting, but you would be wrong. In this posting, I'm going to talk a bit about a man with a hole inside him. I returned from the Navajo Reservation not understanding why God brought me back home so soon, but sure that He had great things planned for me. After all, I had just begun to really fit into life in the Four Corners ministry and feel like a productive part of the team. Why else would I be returned home if it weren't to do even greater things? That doesn't seem to have been the case, or at least I'm having trouble identifying the great things I'm back home to do. Six weeks ago tomorrow, I left Shiprock. I knew then that I wanted to be involved in full-time service to the Lord, but didn't know where or how. Six weeks later, nothing much has changed. If I am a part of God's plan, shouldn't I be doing something? Those of you who know me best and, for that matter, some of you who know me hardly at all, know that patience is not my long suit. I'm ready to do God's work NOW! Why isn't God ready? For about five of those last six weeks the feeling of despair that I would ever again be allowed to experience the joy of being about God's business, the feeling I had when I left the Navajo Reservation, left a huge hole in me. I am the holey man. Within the last week or so, some things have happened that have begun to help me close that hole, at least a little bit. I am schooling to work for H&R Block again this coming tax season. I also fully expect to be picked up again to work on the 2010 census (I worked on it in the spring of 2009.) I continue to search for other jobs and, in the meantime, I am lucky enough to draw a bit of unemployment. This allows me time for volunteer activities, always an important part of my life. As a part of the job search, I asked Rev. Bill Medlin, the District Superintendent of the Winston-Salem District of the Western North Carolina Conference of the United Methodist Church for time to talk with him about my goals and my feeling of being called to full-time service. He graciously and quickly scheduled the half hour I requested and allowed the meeting to stretch to almost twice that length. I didn't know until that meeting, and many of you may not know, that the Methodist Church has a position called a Licensed Local Pastor. A Local Pastor is heavily trained, not nearly so much as those who want to be ordained, which takes a masters in a religious discipline, but trained none the less. A LP is assigned to a single church (charge) and can perform for only that church any functions that an ordained minister can perform for any Methodist Church. A LP preaches, teaches, performs marriages, funerals, baptisms, communion, etc. He or she is just restricted to doing it only for the church assigned. The road to becoming a LP is not quick and an assignment is not guaranteed even after all the training. I have asked Rev. Medlin to accept me on the LP candidacy track. My very best friends and advisers have been straight forward with me. They have advised tempered enthusiasm and patience. They have pointed out many of the trials and tribulations of being a pastor, especially the only one at a church. My friend Jeremy Pegram, a staff member at my church, Maple Springs UMC, and a full-time divinity student as well, advised that I go for it. His thought was that the time is long, the study and training extensive and intensive, and that there is no stigma attached to discovering, after beginning, that I really am not answering a call. He pointed out that anything I learned in the process was bound to benefit me in later endeavors. Anne Elmore, who works hard serving as the Associate Pastor at the church, when she isn't working twice as hard being my friend and confidant, was very straight forward about the life of a minister. She also took the time to talk with me about the hole that I am feeling by sharing a prayer by John Wesley: "Lord, make me what you will. I put myself fully into your hands: put me to doing, put me to suffering, let me be employed for you, or laid aside for you, let me be full, let me be empty, let me have all things, let me have nothing. I freely and with a willing heart give it all to your pleasure and disposal." I haven't slept through the night in weeks now. Part of it is the hole. Part of it is concern over my elderly mother and concern for family and friends who are fighting cancer and other diseases. I scheduled a visit with my friendly neighborhood Physicians Assistant. Burnie Little is another one of those who would probably have more time to do medicine if he weren't so busy working at being my friend. (I guess being my friend could turn into a full-time job if only people who befriend me would allow it to be.) I told Burnie about the hole and that I didn't think God was using me right now and that I couldn't sleep because of that. Burnie told me about a preacher he had read about. This preacher felt a call to move from area to area preaching and starting churches. Although he was very good and felt like he was doing exactly what God wanted him to do, things changed for him. This far, the story reminded me of my time on the Navajo Reservation and how, just I felt good about my calling, things changed for me. To continue Burnie's story, this preacher actually ended up in prison! While he was in prison, he began to write. His writing was to become a large part of our New Testament. This preacher's name was Paul and God changed Paul's plan to God's plan. Some of Paul's churches still exist, no small thing, but his writing became a major part of the greatest selling book in all of history. And now you know the rest of the story. Burnie's point was that God's plan is unfolding in my life, just as it did in Paul's, whether I recognize it or not. After helping to begin the healing in my soul, Burnie gave me a prescription to help with the lack of sleep too. I want to end by sharing something else I read just lately. "Many times, there are angels at work in our lives. When they don't have wings, we call them friends." Thank you, my friends. I love you.

Mottos

2009-09-13T00:20:00.004-04:00

Life is a trip. God put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation and three months later returned me home. To see how the whole story began click here. I've had occasion to ponder on two different mottoes lately. Both are well known, at least in the United States. The motto of the Boy Scouts of America is "Be Prepared". The motto of the U.S. Marine Corps is "Semper Fidelis". In English, the Latin phrase, semper fidelis, means "always faithful." Like Paul, I tend to do the things I ought not to do and to not do those things that I should. This is where I need to train myself to be better prepared. While on the Navajo Reservation, I always carried a two-gallon gas can in my truck and usually carried a case of bottled water tucked behind the seat. I was told, early on, that I needed to be prepared for New Mexico and reservation conditions. I often drove to places where there was no ready supply of gas. Sometimes I forget to check the gas gauge in the truck, so the gas can was my attempt to be prepared. It wasn't unusual to find Navajos thumbing for rides to various places on the reservation. This is where the bottled water came in handy. In the Four Corners area, there is a constant need to stay hydrated. I was able to offer water to anyone that I picked up thumbing and the offer was never turned down. I was prepared to help them. I am not always so prepared. On the way across the Florida panhandle, I stopped one morning for breakfast in a small town. As I pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the restaurant, a large, black man leaned into the passenger side window. He told me that he was going from business to business through the town applying for work and not having much luck. In fact, that was the reason he was just leaving the restaurant, he said. He went on to say, however, that he had no money to eat and hadn't had a meal since the previous day. He asked for money for food. Anyone approaching me to beg for money or to try to sell me anything is almost always out of luck. I immediately raise defensive walls and this time was no different. I mumbled some excuse for not giving him any money and went on inside for my own breakfast. As I was leaving town, I happened to get caught at a stoplight. I glanced over at a strip mall and saw the same man leaving one store and turning into the next store. I realized that, perhaps, he was actually doing exactly what he said and going from door to door looking for work. I now know that I should have been better prepared to consider his plight and I will try to be better prepared. Instead of throwing up those defensive walls, I will be better prepared to listen to and consider the stories of anyone who approaches me. That doesn't mean that everyone will get money from me. In fact, most people still will not. In this case, however, I was already stopping to eat. I like to talk to people. Inviting him to join me for breakfast would probably have been a good experience, certainly no hardship, for me and would have allowed me an opportunity to witness to him even if it was only by a little act of charity. I want to be better prepared to recognize everyone as a child of God and to follow through with a small act of charity when it is possible for me to do so (sometimes, I really just don't have any money!) I am not always faithful. The United States Marine Corps is always faithful: to the USA, to the Corps, and, most of all, to each other. God is always faithful. To quote a fellow blogger, "The phrase is 'Always Faithful.' It isn't 'Sometimes Faithful.' Nor is it 'Usually Faithful,' but always. It is not negotiable. It is not relative, but absolute." God's motto could be "Semper Fidelis." Mine will never be, no matter how hard I try. Sometimes, it is hard for me to remember that God is always faithful. I've been home for a week. In some ways, that doesn't seem like a very long time. In others, it seems like forever. Try standing in a room with all of the doors closed to you for a week. You will probably begin to feel trapped. You might start thinking that there is no way out, that no one will ever open a door to you. I am having trouble remembering that God is always faithful. I want to work in full time service to God here in Winston-Salem. Nothing seems to be happening, though I have tried hard to network. Am I meant to go back to work in some part-time job and volunteer when I can? That is not what I want nor how I feel. God's motto is "Semper Fidelis," but I wonder, is He being faithful to me? If He knows my heart, why does it feel so empty at this moment? Please pray that I will be able to except that God is always faithful to me and that I will have the love and patience to remain faithful to His plans for me. I love all y'all, Ross

One Door Closes

2009-08-15T15:11:00.004-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. As I write this, I am in the process of packing to head back to North Carolina and home. I said, in the past, that I wasn't going to worry about funding. I was at peace in my mind that, when God had other plans for me, the funding would stop. As of the end of August, the funding runs out. Several things happened that could have extended my stay, but they were not going to give me the freedom to extend it for a much longer time. I believe that I am following God's will. Life isn't always fair, but God is. That doesn't mean that following Him always seems fair. Sometimes, I want to shout at God. "You put me here, you allowed me to make friends and to begin to see a little bit of progress in the things I'm doing, and then You ask me to change directions. How fair is that?" If the past 3 months haven't done one other thing, they have allowed me to realize that the rest of my life needs to be committed to God's service. Since, like all of you, I need to keep a roof over our heads and keep us fed, it probably won't be fulltime service, although I am open to that, but I know that God has plans to use me. There are many opportunities in Winston-Salem. Like I learned in the "Experiencing God" study some years ago, I just need to find where He is working and join Him there. I intend to keep my blog going wherever I am, and I hope that you will join me in it. Let me tell you about the week that the mission team from Maple Springs was on the reservation. As I spent time with them, it was so very good to renew old friendships, begin new friendships, and spend a week on a mission trip with one of my sons. I discovered that unexpected talents abound within the group. Jordan can lead a group of children and keep their attention. Joe is like the Pied Piper. He had kids following him everywhere. Bryan can sit down with a pad and pencil and make a construction project come out right. My own Ron can paint (a talent I plan to make use of!) There were 23 of us involved and every single one brought something to the trip and, I expect, left with more than they came with. Even a short mission trip is a life changing event. I expect to see some of these people continue to blossom around Maple Springs and I hope to see some of them going on the next trip. The Navajo benefits from our being on the reservation, but we benefit so very much more. My own PC is trashed, so I'm typing this at the Farmington Library. My time is almost up and I need to get off this machine. I hope to see each one of you sometime in the near future. I'll be driving home beginning on Saturday, 8/29, but expect to visit with some old friends in Mississippi and family in Florida along the way. Prayers for safe travel are always appreciated. I love all y'all and miss you. Ross

God Is Truly Awesome!

2009-07-28T16:06:00.002-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. Let me tell you about Jerrod. Some of you have already heard me tell my story of God's sense of humor. I was complaining that I didn't feel very useful here sometimes. I expected to be helping to relieve people's burdens and that didn't seem to be happening. God laughed. For the next two weekends, I delivered pew cushions to two of our small, isolated churches. In just a few hours, I relieved the burdens of a hundred people! After helping me to laugh at myself, God got serious. He gave me Jerrod. The Navajo Nation has a funded, summer youth opportunity program. Young people are helped to be placed in jobs at which they can work 100 hours over several weeks. Pastor Coleman was approached about having one of the young persons placed with the church. She agreed and got a 14 year-old young man. After only a day or two, it became obvious that she just didn't have the time to supervise him. I was asked if I minded taking him under my wing and, of course, I agreed. When I met Jerrod, I was favorably impressed. No piercings. No tattoos. No flashing underwear. He spoke without mumbling and shook hands with me. I know. I know. I'm being judgmental. But Jerrod made a very good first impression and had nothing obvious to overcome with me. He works hard and doesn't have to be told every little thing to do. He will even look for work sometimes. Although he wasn't wild about having to get rid of the dead mice we found when cleaning out church closets, he did it without complaint. We carry bags of trash and dirty diapers from the day care center. He tries to work and hold his nose at the same time, but he does work! Jerrod is lucky. He and his sister both live with their father and mother and his father is employed as a truck driver. He lives almost into Colorado, out in the high desert. No running water. His mother keeps the house immaculate and keeps Jerrod and his sister the same way. The whole family is a joy to be around. They accept life as it is and work around any bumps in the road - a lesson for Christian and non-Christian alike. The family, including Jerrod, is not Christian. In fact, they are in the process of building a new ceremonial hogan on their grounds now. Oops! God, did you really mean for Jerrod to be assigned to me? I don't have any experience working with non-Christian young people, You know? Jerrod and I talk sometime and sometime we just enjoy each other's company in silence. I invite him to church functions (none yet) and answer any questions, and he has had a few, as simply and truthfully as possible. We are building a bridge of trust between us. Yesterday, we were confronted by two very drunk Navajo men as we were leaving the mission compound. It got serious, but not especially dangerous. It provided me with the opportunity to give him my carefully prepared "grandpa's speech #3". That's the one where I told him that he was a better person than those men and that, however he perceived the god that he worships, that god would be greatly disappointed in him if he followed the drunks example and that my God loved him and would be disappointed too. I told him that his family worked hard to make him the person that he is today and that they would be terribly disappointed as well. I ended up by telling him that I expected to attend his high school graduation (class of '13) and that, if I heard that he was drinking, I would come back to Shiprock early and personally kick his butt all the way back to the Colorado state line. We ended up laughing together at that image, but he knew I was serious about considering him a fine person and continuing to be one. He leaves me Friday. I'll miss him. I don't intend to forget him or even let him go. He likes to fish and I'm going to find time to take him. He doesn't care much for football, but hey, everyone has some little fault, and together, we can overcome this one. I'll stay on him about his grades and find some way to acknowledge his accomplishments. He may become the only grandson I ever have and I want him to grow into a man I can respect. Last Saturday, I drove north through the Rocky Mountains. I visited some of the old mining towns: Telluride, Placerville, Rico, Ouray, Durango, that today are high-end winter sports and tourism sites. The views were truly awe inspiring. Except maybe for the fact that I should probably have been taller and smarter, God doesn't make mistakes, and He certainly didn't with the Rockies. I cannot begin to imagine what the first man to view them must have thought. I saw rivers that ran crystal clear and rivers that ran gold from the minerals in the rocks. I saw waterfalls tumbling hundreds of feet and waterfalls stepping down the mountainsides in baby steps. I saw aspen groves and towering pine forests. At times, I don't believe that I could have been more in tune with God had I been in the world's greatest cathedral. If awe is worship and wonder is prayer, I spent about 6 hours in the most meaningful worship service ever. I will be going back and would like nothing better than to be able to take all of you with me. I love and miss all of you, Ross

A Left-handed Compliment

2009-07-19T15:30:00.002-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. This is written by me to me. I forget so often. Like Paul said, those things that I should do, I do not, and those things I should not do, I do. You know what a left-handed compliment is? It is like the old joke. A young man is trying to get a friend to go on a blind double-date with him. The friend asks why he should and wants to know something good about the blind date girl. The young man replies, "Well, she doesn't sweat much for a fat girl." That is a left-handed compliment. I don't think it would make anyone feel very good. I am terrible about paying God left-handed compliments. How often I pray that He will heal someone or correct some problem or injustice. How often I ask Him to take care of me or to assure me that what I am doing with my life is the right thing to be doing. Those are left-handed compliments. Of course, I am saying that I believe God is capable of healing, of fixing problems, of giving me assurances. But, and this is a big but, I often forget to tell Him directly. I pray for help, but forget to praise Him. God already knows what I need and what I want. He is going to take care of me even without my prayers. What He wants is a relationship with me. As a mother or father, how would you feel if the only time your children came to you was with their hand out? Isn't it great when, for no reason at all, they take the time to tell you that they love you? I heard at two different worship services this weekend that God wants a relationship with me. That means not just when I need something, but all of the time. He wants to walk with me and to talk with me. How awesome is that! I invite you to join me in turning your eyes, ears, and heart to God. Walk with Him. Listen to Him. He will always be there for you and for me. I love all y'all. Ross

A Heart Does Better Listening Than Speaking

2009-07-09T13:27:00.002-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. I am making friends with a member of the Shiprock church. He is divorced and living alone. His wife and 9 year-old son live in Flagstaff. He gets to see him about once a month. He has traveled a very hard road, but is back to where he needs to be. He is a member of one of the church boards and a very hard worker. I had an opportunity to help him with a church building project last week. With my help, we finished the project in about 4 hours. Without my help, he would have probably finished it in about 3 hours! He is patient with me and I enjoy spending time with him. One of the things that the court told him, when he was divorced, was that he had to have a much better place to bring his son before the son would be allowed to visit him in his home. The house he lives in was terrible. A mission team that was here in Shiprock for 2 weeks worked almost exclusively on repairs and rebuilding of his house. There is still a week or two worth of work to be done by the next team or two we have here. The house looks much better and, by and large, he is pleased with the results. However, there is something that we overlooked. We had a 4th of July celebration at the church. I was talking to him about the changes to his house and how he liked them. He made a comment that really set me thinking. He said that he loved the work that had been done, but that he was afraid that some of the changes, moving pictures to paint walls, for example, were erasing memories. You all know me, it could easily have gone the other way, but at that moment, the ears to my heart were open instead of the mouth of my heart. His comment really made me stop and think. Many of our mission teams, and I include myself among that number, come here and work on houses. To us, they look poor, crude, and maybe even, by our standards, uninhabitable. It is so easy for us to overlook that, to the families that live in them, these aren't just houses, they are homes. They don't just represent shelter. They represent family. They represent memories. They represent a bit of pride in that they have a place to live and are not on the street. They may well represent all of the wealth in this world for the residents. Our attitudes, as Christ's representatives, must always be accepting. A really good attitude may or may not even be noticed, but a bad attitude will be recognized immediately. This is a lesson that I'm trying hard to carve into my heart forever. Love to you all, Ross

One Body, Many Parts

2009-07-02T14:17:00.005-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. I haven't done this before, but I want to begin with some scripture that has become more meaningful to me since I've been here in the Navajo Nation. From I Corinthians 12:4-6, "There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all men." From I Corinthians 12:12 "The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ." (NIV) These readings are from Paul's letter to the church at Corinth where he addresses gifts of the Holy Spirit. I saw a great example of this at work yesterday. Rodney held a staff meeting in the morning. There were 13 of us gathered. Among that 13, 9 were women and 4 were men and 8 were Navajo and 5 were Anglo. Ages ranged from somewhere in the 20s to somewhere in the 70s. Different jobs represented included: director, office administrator, thrift store manager, church pastor, church administrative assistant, director of the child care center and her 3 assistants, 2 men who work directly with the mission teams doing hosting and building, and two staff volunteers (yours truly was one of those.) We traveled around the circle introducing ourselves, telling about our jobs, and the joys we are finding in doing them. I'll admit that I've been a little bit low sometimes out here. My mental image, before coming out, was very hands-on. I pictured myself holding the hands of ones in grief. I pictured myself, delivering lifesaving food to those with nothing to eat. I would carry the sick to the doctor and visit those in the hospital and in jail. Of course, I would be offering to pray with everyone. Each and every one of those with whom I came into contact would want to hear my testimony. Well, it didn't turn out like that and it took Paul, writing almost two thousand years ago, and a staff meeting to bring it home to me. Thanks to a glorious and giving God, I have gifts to use. Can I take care of a crowd of 2 and 3 year old children? Nope. Can I keep the financial books and track the money that must flow through the ministry? Well, maybe, but I would hate every minute. Can I lead building teams? Shoot, I can't even tell a right-handed screwdriver from a left-handed screwdriver. Can I run a thrift shop for 20+ years, like our current manager, and witness to customers in her quiet, loving way? That is an emphatic "no" and I wouldn't even want to try. Can I minister to a congregation? Not in this lifetime. But I have gifts! Do I feel comfortable talking to a busy store manager and asking for financial support? Yes. I've been a manager. I know how to cut to the chase or engage in friendly conversation if there seems to be time for that. Can I help unload a truckload of donations? You bet. I would much rather do that than swap places with the young people working repairing a house roof. Can I go get the mail and sort it out so that checks get deposited and bills paid? Yes, and with only a few lessons. That gives our office administrator more time to try to keep our director straight. Can I visit other social outreach ministries, whether secular or religious, and get them to consider ways that we can partner with them? Yes. I'm pretty good one-on-one and love to hear from people who are excited about the work they are doing. So, my family and friends, here's what I need from you... I need your continued prayers. I have too much to do to get bogged down in feeling sorry for myself because I'm not Mother Theresa. Pray that I will always feel that I am gifted in a unique way and that I am able to do things to ease burdens that others either can't or won't do. Continue to help support me financially if that is something you find possible and you want to do. Times are hard, but I'm living in a place where recession isn't recognized. Not because the economy isn't bad, but because it has always been bad. Lastly, join your heart with mine in the love of a Christ who gave more for us than we will ever be able to give to others. Oh yes, the joys that I spoke to in the meeting included new friends, a better understanding of how God works, and new information that I can bring home with me to better help those in need in my own community. I love and miss all of you, Ross

I Don't Know

2009-06-22T14:37:00.002-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. I feel good about what I'm doing here, but am I doing any good? I don't know. A week ago, my friend, Jeremy Pegram, who is on staff at my home church of Maple Springs UMC, preached a sermon using Jesus' parable of the sower and the seeds. You know the story: some seeds fall on the path and are eaten by birds; some seeds fall on shallow soil and don't have the roots to grow; some begin to grow, but weeds spring up and strangle them; and some have everything go right and grow and bear fruit. Instead of mustard seeds, Jeremy used the pumpkin seed as an example in his sermon. I'm not much of a gardener, but even I know that a single pumpkin seed, if cared for, can grow a vine that will take over a yard and which, in turn, will produce lots of pumpkins. To bend Jeremy's use of the pumpkin seed just a bit, think about how many people will eat pumpkin pies, spend time with their children carving pumpkins, and enjoy lighting them up on the night of Halloween. The youth at Maple Springs will sell pumpkins and use that money for mission projects (do you know that those pumpkins are grown right here on the Navajo Reservation?) The final results of a pumpkin seed might feed, create quality time for families, create memories for children, and earn money to do more good for more people. But does the sower of the pumpkin know this when he plants the seed? Does he think about it? Does he even care? Does he know that the results of his effort might mean so much to so many? Doing the things that I am doing here makes me think of being the sower. Some of the seeds we attempt to sow will never bear fruit. Some will fall on closed minds. Some will fall on closed hearts. Some, however, will touch the fertile ground of worried minds, aching hearts, and wondering souls. Which of the seeds will produce positive results? I don't know. I'm not called to know. I'm called to sow. Last week, I worked on a project to get FCNAM on a Lowe's Home Improvements donation list. I also worked on a project to submit a proposal to the same Lowe's to have some of their volunteers help set up the buildings necessary to a church outreach. I took several boxes of children's books to the women's shelter. I helped unload a whole trailer load of clothes for the thrift shop. Will any one of these efforts save even one soul for Christ? I don't know. I'm not called to know. I'm called to sow. Each one of us is called to sow wherever we are. Will we succeed? I don't know. We aren't called to know. We are just called to sow. Peace and Love Ross

Doing What I Do Best

2009-06-03T13:22:00.005-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. One of my very favorite things to do, in the whole wide world, is to talk one-on-one with folks (I am 64 years old after all, what do you expect?) Rodney is putting that to, what I hope will be, good use. He has asked me to begin to visit, establish a contact, and summarize the services, schedules, etc. of various outreach groups here in Shiprock. Some of these are religious, some are secular, and some are governmental. For the past several days, I've visited everywhere. I've been to the Boys & Girls Club and the Senior Citizens Center. I've visited the Pediatrics section of the Navajo hospital here and will be doing a small project with them very soon. I've visited the battered women's shelter and delivered lots of dolls (donated in Winston-Salem for me to bring with me) for gifts to the families there. There are 20 different families represented at the shelter right now and that fills them to capacity. There is a waiting list of women and children who have nowhere else to go to get away from an abusive life situation. I've visited the local Catholic church. They sponsor the AA meetings here. There are two meetings a week and, from what I'm told, there could be more if more leaders were available. I've wanted to visit the day care centers, including our own Methodist church run one, but they are all closed for some reason. School is out, so I don't know where the children are. I'll soon find out. What else have I done? I participated in a 'paint the town' day. Gang graffiti is a real problem here. The Shiprock Navajo Police Department sponsored a day to paint over the graffiti. I worked with about 30 - 40 other folks. Only 3 of us were not Navajos. By and large, I was either treated very nicely or ignored. Mostly, I was treated very nicely. The Navajos that I spent the day working with were curious about me, why I was here, and where I came from. It was pretty hard work and, much to my horror, I found that my hand will fit not only a paint brush, but a roller handle as well. I sure hope that word of this doesn't get out back home. I've worked very hard to protect my "I can't do anything with my hands" reputation. I'm still not sure how I got paint in my arm pit, but let me tell you, it was sure no fun getting it out. Since it turned out that I was good at painting, Rodney assumed that I was probably good with tools in general. Oops! He asked me to get together with the two men who are the most responsible for working with mission teams when they come here to Shiprock. He wants to establish an inventory of tools that we maintain here all the time; tools for every purpose that we can think of. My approach has been to begin an inventory list on paper. From there, the three of us charged with trying to build this inventory can work on what we have, what we need, and where we might be able to get it. It hasn't been all work. I've visited Mesa Verde National Park, home of some 600 pueblo dwellings in one condition or another. I've visited Durango, Colorado. Durango is a place I could grow to really love. After visiting, I described it to someone as a place where old hippies go to die, young hippies go to age, yuppies go to blossom, and tourist go to watch it all happening. Durango is undoubtedly going to be my "get away from it all and preserve your sanity" place. I've also driven to Farmington (30 miles away) to have dinner with some new friends. We had a great evening together and I believe that they will turn out to be life-long friends. This afternoon, I'm going to put out posters of a concert that will soon be held at my new church, so I had better get started. Please keep me, FCNAM, and the Navajo in your prayers. Peace and Love, Ross

Random Thoughts From The Road

2009-05-21T20:41:00.003-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. I haven't counted, but I've probably visited 40+ states in my life. I still haven't found one to match my own (the mountains of Colorado run a close second.) If you can't get close to God on the Blue Ridge Parkway, you are probably going to have a hard time getting close to Him anywhere. Arkansas has the worst interstate highways I've ever been on. There's irony in the fact that a past president was a past governor there. Crossing the Mississippi at Memphis doesn't make it seem so mighty. There are so many small islands that you seem to be crossing several smaller rivers. I've never seen a city that looks good from an interstate highway running through it. Nothing's changed that opinion on this trip. In Texas, cows seem to have more living area than most people. Speaking of cows, I passed several very large cattle feeding lots. Someone should suggest that old cemetaries be used for that. Surely the dead are the only ones who can stand the odor. Oklahoma seems to have an average of 1 casino for every 2 exits off of I-40. This is a good state for anyone with a gambling addiction to stay well away from. I saw a couple of what seemed to me to be large wind turbine farms. At least, there were lots of fans turning. They seem to be randomly placed and pretty far from each other. I wonder why. Although I saw the entrances to several ranches, I couldn't see the ranch houses. Each entry gate displayed the brand. Do we still brand cows or just use ear tags now? Do the ear tags have the brand icon? Oklahoma has (and I saw it from the highway) what is advertised as the largest cross in the western hemisphere. I couldn't help but wonder why you would want to build something like that ("Ha, my cross means I honor God more than you do.") and how many people the funds would have fed, clothed, and educated. I drove about 50 miles on the original Route 66 concrete highway. In the west, it is dead straight and hugs the contours of the land. Two lanes the whole way, I can't imagine the traffic. I read that, during the Dust Bowl, Oklahoma lost about 60,000 in population, mostly to California via Route 66. Can you imagine doing that today with no a/c, no DVDs for the kids, and none of the other things we take so much for granted. With no internet, when you got hungry you looked for a restaurant and when it was time to sleep, you looked for a motel. Tucumcari has about 40 motels, of which, only 20 are still operating and Tucumcari is right on the interstate. Closing 66 put an end to a lot of dreams I suppose. One last thought... I am a creature of habit. Toilet paper has to come off the front of the roll, not the back. The toilet seat has to be left down (1 mother, 3 sisters, 1 wife and 1 granddaughter - I've learned!) My cell phone has to be put into my right front pocket. On a trip, Sara has to repack our suitcase in the morning while I get the coffee. Why is it that I can't seem to get everything back into it the same way it came out? I bought the t-shirt today, so that can't be the problem. The next trip, Sara is going to have to come, like it or not. I don't have time to spend worrying about how to pack neatly. It is 7:30 here and still bright daylight. At home it is 10:30. My watch is on time, but my brain is running fast. I am pooped so this is all for now. The adventure really begins next week, so follow along as you will. Peace and Love, Ross

A Creep of Faith

2009-05-16T18:22:00.005-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. Did you ever watch a very careful person prepare to go swimming in an icy lake? They approach the edge most slowly; no dashing into the water for them. They don't even want to take the chance of getting splashed before they are ready. They carefully dip one big toe in, quickly draw it back out and shake the water off. They stand there for a moment considering the differences between how cold the water is and how much they want to go swimming. Here they go! One step. Two steps. All the way up to their knees. They stop and look longingly back to the shore. There is still time to turn back, but how badly will that damage their pride if anyone is watching? Continuing to advance all the way up to their waist, it is time now to make the 'get your head wet' decision. Is it best to splash a little bit of the ice cold water on their chest, under their arm pits, and then on their face, or do they finally suck up all of their courage and take a big dip or a dive all the way under? Either way, there is a bit of sputtering and gasping and then, look, they're in! The water is still cold. Their lips begin to turn blue. But, by golly, they've done it. They are in swimming. Folks talk about making a "leap of faith." For me, committing to missionary service with the Navajo has been a "creep of faith." I'm just like the person entering the icy lake water. First, I stick my big toe in. This doesn't mean actually listening carefully to the still, small voice of the Holy Spirit. What if, instead, I just ask a few close friends what they think of the idea? They know me well. They wouldn't lead me astray, would they? The majority seem to be at least somewhat in favor of me taking the next step. I hear a lot of, "Are you crazy!? Well, you might as well do what you feel like you need to do." I wade in cautiously up to my knees. I'm talking to my pastoral staff about what I believe to be a calling and asking for their advice. They are kind enough to leave off the, "Are you crazy?" part of the response and help me to pray and to begin listening more carefully to the voice of the Holy Spirit. They help me to search for actual opportunities to be in service to God. Oops! An opportunity shows up and it sounds like it is made for a person with my desires to serve and my few gifts. I can still turn back to shore, but at what cost to my selfish pride? More prayers and quiet meditation. An interview. An offering to accept a position of service. I am now in the icy water up to my waist. God has pointed a way for me to go. The only decision left is the 'head' decision. I can go with the church group for a week and sort of splash my way in or I can take a deep breath, say a fervent prayer, and take that big plunge, going for months of service. I decide to immerse myself all at once and I dive in. The shock of the icy water, of someone like me presumming that God really wants me to serve, takes my breath away. The thrill of God being always with me quickly dispells the bit of fear that I feel. The water is still very cold and my lips will still turn blue, but I know that God will hold me close, keep me safe, and allow me the shear joy of swimming in the waters of service. That, my friends, is where I am on my "creep of faith." I am committed. On Tuesday morning, I will hug my Sara so tightly that I'll be able to feel myself holding her for miles and miles and, I hope, for days and days. She will go east to her job and I will go west across almost 3/4 of the United States to mine. I'll have to be careful driving for the first few miles, because there are sure to be tears in my eyes. John Denver wrote in a song, "How can I leave you again? I must be clear out of my mind." Sometimes, I wholeheartedly agree. Already, I find myself lying awake at night, anxious because I know that in just a short time I won't be able to reach out and just touch her in order to calm my fears and share my concerns. I pray that God will be with her, protect her, and let her know every single day how much I love her. God gave me Sara and surely, He will keep her for me. I leave other family and friends who are so very important to me. For one reason or another, there are probably some that I won't see again in this world. Layoffs, education, and other opportunities will always create movement. Some family and friends are older than me and may be called home before my return. My prayer is that, whether they just move or actually leave this world, they will know I love them and anticipate the day we will be together again. I leave my church: the body of Christ. I know that I will miss those members and friends on Sunday morning, Monday evening, and even in those doggone committee meetings. I am equally certain that they will support me; with gifts, if possible and with prayers always. This might sound a little maudlin, but I don't mean it that way. I'm excited! God's time is not our time, so maybe I'm making a leap of faith after all. Look out, Navajo Nation, here comes God's servant! Peace and Love, Ross

Go, Cat, Go

2009-05-03T18:47:00.003-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. Country music great, Carl Perkins, first wrote and recorded "Blue Suede Shoes" in 1956. The opening line reads, "Well, it's one for the money... Two for the show... Three to get ready... Now go, cat, go. For a couple of months now, I've thought that I would never get to the "go, cat, go" stage of my Navajo mission trip. Now, with just over two weeks to go, I'm working hard on the "Three to get ready" step. I've been making lists and checking them twice. I've already packed a couple of boxes of books (no TV for me!) and started using the guest bedroom as a staging area. The summer months alone would not be too hard to pack for, but since I fully expect not to come home until at least Thanksgiving, I have to prepare for cold weather as well. Every time I think I have it all together, someone (usually my Sara) asks me if I've thought of something I haven't even considered. I've erased my lists so many times, they are beginning to feel like Kleenex. A couple of out-of-the-ordinary things have happened to / for me and I want to share them with you. Farmington, New Mexico is a town of less than 20 thousand. It is the largest town near Shiprock and is located about 30 miles to the east. As continuing proof that God works in mysterious ways, I've already made a friend in Farmington. About a month ago, I was on Facebook hoping to find a friend and fellow church member. I didn't find her, but I did find someone with the same name who was listed as living in Farmington. I emailed her, told her a bit about who I am and what I am going to be doing, and asked if she minded being asked some serious and some not-so-serious questions. We've exchanged several emails since that time. She teaches gifted children and, I suspect, that she thinks I wouldn't qualify for her classes. However, she has been very upfront about answering anything I thought to ask. For example, I now know that her classes are about 1/3 Navajo, 1/3 Anglo, and 1/3 Latino. This poses some interesting teaching problems for her and, in the larger arena, poses some political problems for the area. She does not speak Navajo although she has taken classes. She says, "Navajo is incredibly difficult and almost impossible to learn. The sounds used in the language are very different from sounds used in English. The structure of the language is extremely complex. Words build not only at the beginning and the end (prefixes and suffixes), but also in the middle. The language doesn't include articles (a, an, the) or plurals or verb tenses (those are figured out in context.) Also, Navajo is a very visual language and many nouns are actually descriptive phrases and quite long." The country is wide open and she tells me that people out there approach distance very differently from what we would do. "We'll go to Albuquerque and back (360 miles round trip) in the same day to attend meetings, go to a medical specialist, pick up parts, etc. So the 30 miles from Shiprock to Farmington is considered to be in the same neighborhood." Just in case any of you have the idea that I'll be totally isolated, she's set my mind at ease. At least in Farmington, I'm not sure of Shiprock, there are independent pizza parlors, Chinese restaurants, movie theaters, and legitimate theater and symphony. The high schools have active athletic programs and Farmington even has a semi-pro football team. There are two Walmarts in Farmington, but none in Shiprock. The best news that she was able to share with me is that both grits and Jif peanut butter are available without me having to drive much more than 60 miles round trip! I really look forward to meeting Susan and her husband. The great thing that has happened for me is the results of the silent auction held as a part of this year's mission fair. The financial results were great enough to pay for another month of my stay in the Navajo Nation. I had great help in setting up the auction and in monitoring it as the time passed. I hesitate to try to name all of those who so kindly donated items to be sold. I'm afraid that I might miss someone and I really wouldn't want that to happen. As I write this, I'm not sure how the powers-that-be at Maple Springs feel about me touting the businesses who so kindly donated to a person that they didn't know, at a church they didn't attend, for a missions project they didn't know much about, but I'm going to try to let you know who they are so you can support their businesses. We had 40+ items and sold all but one of them. I'll be writing thank you notes to the majority of the donors, trying to express just how much their support meant to me. I guess that's it for now. Love and Peace Ross

Departure Date and Silent Auction

2009-04-05T16:06:00.004-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. My arrival date in New Mexico has been set. I will be meeting Terry Matthews at the Albuquerque airport on Monday, May 25th. Backing up 5 days from there means that I expect to leave driving out on Wednesday, May 20th. Sara sat me down and talked to me about the trip out. She knows that I will be excited and will push to get there as soon as possible. I'm not sure why that's so since I can't do anything much until Terry's plane arrives. She has insisted that I drive normal hours, i.e., not very late at night or very early in the morning. She wants me to be on the road when help is available if I run into trouble. She also insists that I stay each night at somewhere safe, clean, and with a continental breakfast. Her point is that I can not only eat breakfast, but can also grab a couple of pieces of fruit to help me through the day. She knows me well enough to know that I'll neglect myself rather than take the trouble to do the right thing at the right time. Knowing myself, I would probably only stop to use the bathroom and grab a biscuit at the Bo's or when I was so dead tired I couldn't safely continue on. I told her that I would text her when I crossed state lines, went through major cities, etc. That way she can follow me as I make the trip and raise the roof if I begin to loose control. Maple Springs UMC, my home church, will be including my commissioning as a missionary representative as a part of the church services of Sunday, May 17th. I invite all of my family and friends to be a part of one of the services and help me to celebrate the acceptance of my calling. There is a man and his three children that I met when I was working at Old Salem this past fall. Ben Newell is the director of Together For Hope of Arkansas. He and his family live in Helena, AR which is on the Mississippi River an hour or so south of I-40, my direct route to New Mexico. I've been in touch with Ben a couple of times via email and we hope to get together to break bread on my way out. I'm guessing that I'll be able to get there around lunchtime on my second day traveling. I am looking forward to seeing him and his children again, maybe meeting his wife, and taking the time to share with each other God's plans for our missions. I know from experience that a two person support group is not a bad thing to have. On Sunday, April 26th, from 2 p.m. until 5 p.m., Maple Springs UMC is holding a Missions Fair. We will be using the day to showcase the missions that are going on within our church, community and around the globe. We are teaming up with the group, Stop Hunger Now to make and distribute 10,000 meals. We will have crafts for kids, VBS registration, Sundaes on Sunday, and great music in our fellowship hall. We will also be holding a silent auction. Proceeds from the silent auction will be going to help support my own ministry to the Navajo. (I want to take a second right here to thank all of those who have donated items for the auction.) There are some neat items and you may find that you have to bid against me for a couple of them. If you are a member of Maple Springs, please volunteer to support the Missions Fair with your time or gifts. Whether or not you are a member, please plan to attend. I know that you will have fun. There is just one last thing for now. If you have found a way to support my mission trip with money or donations for the silent auction, thank you very much. If you would like to make a donation of either cash or a quality auction item, that would certainly be appreciated as well. I can feel the power of prayer behind my effort. If you are one of those praying for me, please don't stop. I will never have too many friends praying. I love you all. More later.

When and What?

2009-03-19T06:56:00.004-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. It seems that the most common two questions I'm hearing now are, "When are you going?" and "What will you be doing?" I expect to be able to arrive in Albuquerque, NM, in order to meet my pastor and friend, Terry Matthews at the airport there sometime in the last two weeks of May. The exact date has not yet been set. Terry will fly out to help me get my feet on the ground. He has been there many times by now and understands much that I will have to learn. I'll meet him at the airport in Albuquerque and we will travel together the rest of the way to Shiprock. I'm sure that he will be a great help to me and I really appreciate the fact that he is willing to give up some of his valuable time in order to be with me. The time available to get to know each other better and have one-on-one conversation is a big plus for me too. I actually expect to leave 5 or 6 days prior to our planned meeting. The drive doesn't take that long, but I want to be able to see a little something of this country as I travel. Some part of the time, I'll travel off I40 and on what little remains of the old Route 66, the Mother Road. That appeals to the romantic in me. I'll post the actual departure date and expected arrival once the date is set. Just exactly what I will be doing is not tightly defined at this time. Rodney Aist, the Director of FCNAM, has drawn up an eight-point job description for me. Each point defines an area of hoped for impact, but until I begin my service, it is difficult to say where we will be most successful. I use the 'we' there to describe the team of Rodney and me. In football terms, Rodney is going to be the player / coach, plan the offense and defense, and call the plays. With his guidance, I'll try to be successful blocking, tackling, and running the ball. Yeah, it is hard to imagine this chunky body carrying a ball, so it is a good thing that I won't really have to run very often. Briefly, here are the eight points defined in the job description: 1) Advocacy Program - Work with the director in developing the initial phases of a ministry advocacy program, i.e., advocating for the Navajos and helping them to advocate for themselves. 2) Men's Ministry - Work with the Shiprock UMC pastor to strengthen the men's programs of the church. 3) Local Missions - Explore possibilities of engaging with the church's local missions program. 4) Congregational Development - Become familiar with the curriculum of the Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations and implement its language in the work with FCNAM. 5) Mission Team Program - Work with the Cove church (35 miles away) to develop the congregation's summer mission team program for 2010. 6) Navajo Undergraduate Program - Research and document undergraduate education available for our member congregations. 7) Promotion and Development - As determined by the Director, engage with various local promotional and developmental projects. Liaise with the Western NC Conference and the W-S District in developing ministry support. 8) Administration and Supervision - Needed administrative work as defined by the Director. As you can see, the scope of these areas is wide and exciting with many opportunities for His service. They are areas that are very open-ended and the work on them and the impact from them may well outlast me by years. At least that is my hope and prayer. I hope that this answers, at least somewhat, the two questions I mentioned at first. As always, I ask for your prayers. I know that God will never fail me. I would like for you to pray that I will have the strength and skills not to fail God.

There's More To It Than Just Packin' A Suitcase!

2009-03-09T09:43:00.003-04:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. For the past few days, I've been using almost every means available to begin to raise money for my ministry. I've sent emails, written snail mail letters, contacted Sunday school classes, and talked to folks face-to-face. Now, one of the very hardest parts, staying steadfast in the belief that God will provide and that the money will be available as needed. I've found out that some things will be more expensive than I had hoped, but hey, I'm a fan of peanut butter and Ramen Noodles and I need to loose some more weight anyway. Yesterday, I received the job description for the job I will be doing. There are 8 areas noted on it. I'll have no reason to ever be inactive or bored. The job description excites me a great deal. It provides me with opportunities for research and planning on big picture, long range project areas, hands-on work with the Navajos through our churches and other social advocacy groups, and work with the mission groups that visit the area each summer. There is a lot more detail, but the big thing is that it makes me feel like my prayers about my calling are being answered. There are several items that I'll be able to start work on even before I go out. Can you say "Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations"? I've been spending a lot of time with my nose in a monster book called, "The Foundation Directory." I borrowed it from a local foundation in an attempt to find funding for my own ministry. I've not been very successful there, but it has given me wonderful ideas on possible support for our programs. Now I just have to make about a million pages of notes before returning the book. I'm told that the book is very expensive, so I don't think I'm going to buy it just for casual reference. Still 6 or 7 weeks before I start packing my suitcase, but I don't think I'm going to be able to just wait for the time to pass. More later.

The Hardest Part

2009-03-05T08:51:00.001-05:00

Life is a trip. God has put me on the road to service in the Navajo Nation. To see how the whole story began click here. Today I begin to work on the hardest part of my call to being a missionary... raising money. I'll be using email, snail mail, the church bulletin and newsletter, speaking to Sunday school classes, applying for grants, and anything else I can think of. I have to make myself remember that I'm not asking for money for myself. I'm asking for money in order to be able to do the things that God wants me to do. When Moses fled Egypt after killing the Egyptian, he left a life of untold wealth and became a shepherd. He had less than nothing when God called him to return to Egypt and lead the Israelites out of captivity. I'm pretty sure that Moses didn't tell God he couldn't go because he had no money. I'm also pretty sure that God didn't plan to pack him a bag lunch. God just expected Moses to begin his mission and assume that he would be provided for. I believe that God will provide the resources for me to make this journey, but He expects me to do the work. Today I intend to write a letter / email to be posted to family and friends asking for donations; a difficult thing to do in this economy. Today I'll also work on comments I want to be able to make to Sunday school classes, during the church hour, or to anyone who will listen. Today I'll begin an address list of family and friends I want to contact. Today I'll contact a friend who understands grants and who has the resources to help point me in the right direction to seek one or more grants. God will provide, but like Moses, I have to at least make the effort to strike the rock with my staff before I am granted water. Prayers for success are requested.

In The Beginning

2009-02-24T04:01:00.001-05:00

I'm sure that this blog will start slowly, but I hope that it will soon explode with new thoughts, ideas, and experiences. I was once an active member of First Baptist Church in Winston-Salem. Although I didn't pay much attention at the time, First Baptist and First Presbyterian were making several joint trips each year to Mission Emanuel in the Dominican Republic. My friend, Monty Y., went with a mission team, for a week, one summer. He returned changed. He sat in our Sunday school class and tried to recount his experiences. He got pretty choked up telling of his visit; the things he had seen and the things he had done. It was clear that the Holy Spirit was moving in him. I wasn't sure where the thought was taking me, but I knew immediately that I wanted and needed some of whatever blessings he had received. Each of the next two years, I made a DR mission trip myself. The work was hard, but the reward was so much greater. As time allowed, I tried to stay involved in Mission Emanuel and in reaching across cultures in my own home town. Because my mother and other members of my family were active at Maple Springs UMC in Winston, my wife, Sara, and I moved our membership back to Maple Springs, the church I had grown up in. From my experiences, I knew, and told family members and friends that, should Sara happen to leave this world before me, I would need to involve myself in missions in order to keep my soul alive and my heart from breaking. I now believe that God has plans for me that don't include doing things based on my idea of when a good time to begin would be. That takes me up to now. A couple of years ago, I retired from a career in computer systems and went to work as a historic interpreter at Old Salem . In January of this year, I got caught in an economic layoff. Even without a "burning bush" experience, I strongly feel that God has spoken to me and said, "I want you to work for me now." So, with a loving and supportive wife still beside me, I began to look around for doors that God was opening. I first approached Jack Larson, the director of Mission Emanuel. Although I thought I would be a good fit, Jack lovingly and logically let me know that Mission Emanuel was not a door that God had opened. He encouraged me to keep praying and seeking God's will. Two days later, on Monday, February 16th, I met with Terry Matthews, the senior pastor at Maple Springs, to talk about service opportunities. In hindsignt, Terry is a resource I should have approached earlier. I've known him for a lot of years and have grown closer to him over the last couple. Terry has long been active in working with the Methodist churches, on the Navajo reservation, in Arizona. He was instrumental in leading Maple Springs to unite with the Window Rock, AZ church in missions to the Navajo. I told Terry that I felt that I was being called to mission work, but that I needed to get out of my comfort zone and to immerse myself in a different culture. Being able to go home to dinner and my own bed each night was not where I felt I was supposed to be. Terry had an idea. As our church becomes more active in missions to the Navajo, there would seem to be a benefit in having a presence on the reservation. Terry knows the director of FCNAM (Four Corners Native American Ministry) and promised to contact him for us. Yesterday, exactly one week after our meeting, I heard good news. There is a need and a position for me on the Navajo reservation. I will begin in May serving a three month internship - the oldest intern they've ever had. The internship can be extended if all parties agree and this is something I fully expect to happen. Although the needs must be fleshed out, initially I will be involved in helping to coordinate the mission trips made by other churches to the reservation. I will also accompany the Navajo youth on two summer trips that they have scheduled. Other times will be given to assisting the Navajo pastors of the Methodist churches at Window Rock and Sawmill. Between now and May, I will be involved in raising funds to support the trip and will be preparing myself spiritually, mentally, and physically. Life's a trip and I'm beginning a new leg of the journey. More later.