Traveling the Rock Road

Back in 1974 Cathy and I left our home in Ohio and moved to Indiana for me to attend school at a small Christian college located there. It was a little awkward at first being older than the rest of incoming freshmen plus married, but I was determined to make the best of it. Also I hadn’t been a Christian all that long, so there were some things I still had to learn that I was looking forward to. Unfortunately, there were some unexpected bumps early on that made things a little difficult; the first was an article in the school newspaper.

I was having a cup of coffee in the student union when the front page of the paper lying on a table caught my eye. There was a silhouette of a guitar player and a title above it saying, “Giving up the world for Christ.” The writer of the article then went on to describe how he practiced to become one of the hottest rock guitar players in the Dayton, Ohio area, but kept it secret from his family since they wouldn’t approve. He was also able to purchase several guitars, amps and join the top band in the region, then sneak out and play nightclubs and dives to all hours of the night and get back home with his parents none the wiser. “Hmm,” I thought, “I need to get another cup of coffee and read more about this incognito Eric Clapton!” He went on to tell how his band kept getting more popular and finally got their big break, opening act for a large music festival where this incredibly famous band was going to be the headliner. Now my forehead was wrinkled and I was scratching my head in a little confusion. I knew the band he mentioned and they fell more in the category of “one hit wonders,” but, okay, I’ll keep reading. After our Guitar Hero’s band played they were immediately approached by an agent for a big name record label that happened to be at this concert telling them how incredible and wonderful and powerful and (Well, you get the idea) they were and he had contracts to sign them to a great record contract right then and there. Rock and Roll Cinderella at its best, this guy and his crew would soon be hobnobbing with the likes of the Rolling Stones and living the dream! That is, until (and I could mentally hear the dramatic music rising in the background with his next words) God convicted his heart about what he was doing.

“I looked out over the thousands of people there at the concert and realized all I was doing was helping them go to hell.” Whoa, that’s pretty dramatic! He finished up with, “I just couldn’t do the devils work anymore so I told the band and the agent I wasn’t signing the contract. The guys were mad at me because if I didn’t sign, the agent didn’t want them. I was able to sell all my musical equipment, move away from my hidden life without my family or church knowing what I had done; now I’m here at school putting my life in order the way God wants me to so that I may serve him better.” The End.  The writer, of course, continued to keep his identity anonymous; and truthfully had I written this, I would have kept myself secret also.

Now there was a lot I didn’t know about being a Christian back then, I admit that! But I did know a thing or two about the music industry and playing in a rock band. No disrespect to the brother who wrote this, but it was a total fabrication. If you’re that hot a musician, there’s no way you’re going to play all over a local area and not have people who know you find out. Plus, it would be nice if record companies worked like he described, but that’s just not the case. I could go on with many details of why I found this whole tale false, but there’s no need for that. I did keep the article for a number of years and showed it to numerous musician friends who came away with the same reaction that I did.

I did find myself in a discussion that afternoon with a couple of students who listened to my argument and agreed with me, but a good number defended the writer and his story because it was so marvelous what God had done in his life. One guy sitting at a table nearby never said a word, but looked disgusted at me and made me wonder, “So is this the Secret Santana?” Guess I’ll never know.

Okay gang, here’s where I’m going with this; I’m not as interested in the story he forged as to why he did it in the first place. What was the reason or intent? Well, over the course of my lifetime I’ve seen and heard different ones tell of a dramatic chapter in their lives they gave up for the sake of God and others. One college girl speaking at a church told how she had been a wild child, drinking and doing drugs, but turned her life around with the Lord. Nice story and the girl smiled a lot, that is until she saw her parents in the audience at the close and they knew different. When questioned as to why she lied, her answer was she felt that her life was boring because she had never done any of those things and no one would want to hear the real story. In doing a study of numerous well-known testimonies that later proved to be fabrications, it seems this girl’s words ring true with others also. The common thread is a want for people to be in awe of what someone did or didn’t do, thus making God look good though them. (That last part I got from someone else.)

Max Lucado tells us, “You are the only you God made… God made you and broke the mold.”

In other words, God sees you, loves you and can use no matter who you are or what abilities and gifts you possess.

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them. Ephesians 2:10

We don’t need to find some fantastic story to tell of ourselves because God already gave us one.  He’s given each of us something special that no one else has.

Richard Stearns says it this way, “What has God given you? Moses had a stick, David had a slingshot, and Paul had a pen. Mother Teresa possessed a love for the poor; Billy Graham, a gift for preaching; and Joni Eareckson Tada, a disability. What did they have in common? A willingness to let God use whatever they had, even when it didn’t seem very useful. If you will assess what you have to offer in terms of your time, your treasure, and your talents, you will have a better understanding of how you might uniquely serve.”

As each of you Travel the Rock Road, you carry a life scorecard with you. Some will have some incredible home runs posted there; still others will have only a single or two. That doesn’t matter; the One keeping score sees us all the same, winners in Him. Awesome!!!

See Ya Soon!!!

Even though it’s been nearly 35 years I remember the day well I received the call; “Hello,” This is the operator, I have a collect call from Bob G—-, will you accept the call?” I let out a little chuckle before saying, “Sure.” “What’s so funny?!!” Bob barked at me soon as we connected. “I don’t know, just a feeling I had that I’d be hearing from you; what’s going on Bob?” Mindy threw me out is what’s going on! She and her new boyfriend drove me across town and stopped in front of this flophouse, got my suitcase out of the trunk, made me get out of the car and left me here! It’s scary here but I’ve got no place else to go and I only have enough money to stay two more nights. I was an idiot to ever get involved with her and I just want to come home. Would you be able to send me bus fare to get back to Indiana?” Oh boy, here’s a good one! I told Bob to call me back in 30 minutes and hung up. I sat there for a moment, thoughts in rewind as I remembered everything that led to poor Bob’s demise.

He had met this gal a good twenty years his junior and fell head over heals in love with her. In most situations falling in love is a good thing, but in Bob’s case there were five major problems, namely his wife and four kids. Several people tried to warn him he was making a mistake, but he wouldn’t hear of it, he knew what he was doing. Actually Bob wasn’t very popular with many folks because of his attitude and bragging ways and this decision didn’t help any. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him, he was going to be happy! Within six months he divorced his wife, moved in with Mindy and shortly thereafter they married. A couple months later he told us at work that the two of them were moving to where she had lived in Boise, ID. I told him it’s not a good time to be giving up a good job, and of course he didn’t listen to me either. It took about another three months living in their new fancy apartment there in Boise before the money ran out, Mindy moved a new guy in and old Bob found himself alone and a resident of the Fleabag Hilton.

Cathy and I discussed his situation and what, if anything we could do. After all, we had our first child and my Lady was a few months from giving birth to our next; so money was tight. After some discussion and prayer, we decided to send him the money, with Cathy adding this, “Let’s not tell him we’re loaning him the money, if he doesn’t pay it back it’ll just make me mad and I don’t want that hanging over us.” Bob picked up the money at the nearest Western Union, bought his bus ticket and soon was singing “Back home again in Indiana!” Couple of weeks later he stopped by the house to say he had found a job and would pay us back as soon as he could. Taking Cathy’s cue, I told him “Don’t worry about it Bob.” I still remember his next two words, “Okay thanks,” and he left. My gal and I agreed we didn’t want to get an attitude toward this guy, but he sure didn’t make it easy!

August of ‘81 our first son Jeremy David joined is sister, Jamie Melissa as part of the Mille Clan and it was a very happy time. Unfortunately, the rest of that year wasn’t the greatest since I was laid off from my job for one week a month, and when I did get to work it was only part time. Money was certainly tight, but my wonderful wife being a born economist was able to keep our heads above water; there weren’t any luxuries, but we did alright.

One day Bob stopped by the house unexpectedly for a short visit. He told us how he was working two jobs now and was finally getting back on his feet, and the bragging that turned so many people off to him was back in full gear. Then he stopped, reached in his back pocket for his wallet. Opening it he pulled out a good size wad of money and began counting it. Cathy and I looked at each other a little wide eyed now. Were we getting ready to experience a miracle at a time we could use one. Was Bob actually getting ready to pay us back the money we gave him? Be still my Heart!! After Bob had finished counting his money in front of us he shoved it back in his wallet saying, “Going to the grocery and just wanted to see how much money I had on me. When we left Cath and I agreed that he would never get passed our door again; and the anger burned!!!

“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” – 1 Thessalonians 5:18

It took a while for us to remember that we gave the money as a gift so we wouldn’t harbor the ill feeling we now had. Should Bob have made an attempt to pay us back especially since his situation was now better than ours? Well, there’s a side of me that says I think so; I know I would have, just like any of you would. But again that’s not how we gave him the “gift.” It wasn’t based on what he would do, but what we felt we should do. Then again the little voice in my ear was saying, “Well at least he could have shown some appreciation for what we did for him, Right?!!! I think it was shortly after this turmoil that God slapped me upside the head with this quote from His servant C.S. Lewis: “To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.”

As an old friend would say at a moment like this, “Well ain’t that a kick in the head?” Yep!

If I’ve learned anything about the faith I profess, it’s that it cannot be based on what anyone else does; it must be anchored to what my Lord teaches me about living for Him and doing His will over mine, no matter what.

“We must cease striving and trust God to provide what He thinks is best and in whatever time He chooses to make it available. But this kind of trusting doesn’t come naturally. It’s a spiritual crisis of the will in which we must choose to exercise faith.” Charles R. Swindoll

No argument!

Traveling the Rock Road is not always an easy passage, especially when ones like my man Bob crosses your path, it can make the journey harder and even give credence to ending the journey entirely. But I’ve found that whatever the cost, as long as I continue to trust in the “Rock,” my Lord and Savior, the payoff overwhelms the cost.

2 Corinthians 8:9 – For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.

When my heart drinks in this truth, this richness; I have to ask, so what’s a few lost dollars anyway? Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.
See you next time!!

It was 30 years ago I found myself sinking into the deepest emotional depression I had ever experienced; one of the greatest influences on my life, my Great Aunt Pearl, tragically died in a car accident. This sudden loss of a person that I loved so much was more than I could bear, and if it wasn’t for God’s healing hand on my life, along with people He placed in my path to help me, I dare not think of the shape that I might have stayed in. One of those people was a man I surely didn’t see as a help or comfort at that time; later on I would look back at what he gave me as something precious as gold.

Andrew was about twenty years older than me, worked at the same place I did, but in another department. He always seemed cheerful and could come up with some of the silliest jokes you’d ever heard. I’d sit with him at lunch whenever possible because he just made you feel good, always had uplifting words or something to make me laugh and smile. Andrew could certainly be a little ornery, but generally it was all in fun and everyone knew that about him; one of the main reasons he was liked so well.

But after Pearl’s death I avoided Andrew, I was in no mood for joking around. I didn’t think he’d understand what I was going through so I stayed as far away from him as I could. Now Andrew wasn’t naive, he knew something was going on with me and wasn’t going to let it rest until he knew what. We both worked the late night shift and one morning as I was walking across the parking to get in my car and leave, I felt an arm lock on to mine. It was Andrew and he was saying, “Come on, we’re going to breakfast, my treat.”

There was a little restaurant walking distance from where we were and I could tell trying to say no was fruitless. As we ate, there was a bit of small talk about work and such before he got around to saying, “Now, we’re not leaving here until you tell me what’s going on with you!” Over the next half hour I laid it all out, how Pearl had been my mentor and my closest friend, how much I loved her and how much now it was killing me that she was no longer there for me. There was a noticeable time of silence between us after I finished, but then he began. “Johnny, I want you to do me a favor.” “If I can, what’s that Andrew?” “I’m older than you so I’m probably going to pass before you do. When I do and you hear about it,” and he leaned over the table to look me closer in the eye, “I want you to laugh!” Now I’m a little ticked. I knew I should have never spoken my heart to a man that didn’t take anything seriously; but then he continued.

“Tell me something, have I ever made you happy, made you smile or made you laugh?” “Yes, of course you have like so many others at work.” “Okay, how?” “Well with your stories, your jokes and your positive and carefree attitude, people like a dose of that, it helps get them through the day.” Now he was smiling like he did when he would hook me with one of his jokes. “I wasn’t always that way,” he said, “Growing up was miserable for me and it later made me hard and some folks didn’t like me much, tell the truth I didn’t like myself either. One day I made a decision I would do everything possible to turn that around, to be likeable, fun and even an encouragement. If you think I carry on at work, you ought to see me at home; I do everything I can to make my wife and children laugh, because laughter is one of most beautiful sounds in the world to me.” As I listened, I didn’t see what his attitude of humor had to do with my situation, was I supposed to laugh because a person I loved dearly was now gone? I spoke a few words and got up to leave, until he said, “Let me finish.” “Your Aunt Pearl, she sounds like a wonderful person and I bet a lot of people liked her.” “Of course they did! She had a way to making you feel good and knowing she cared for you. This restaurant would close before I could tell you all wonderful attributes she possessed.” That’s where he stopped me, “So why aren’t you hanging on to all those great things about her instead being so sad?” There was no time to answer before he started again. “When I die, I don’t want people to be sad that I’m no longer here, I want them to remember the things I did that made them happy, made them smile, and even laugh. If I accomplish that, then I know my life had meaning and purpose. Your Aunt Pearl would not want you to be the mess that you are right now, she’d want you to be happy when you thought of her and the things she taught you, that’s how she’d want you to remember her! Then he drove one last nail home, “And aren’t you of the belief she’s in a better place now?” “Yes she is,” I shot out. He didn’t even have to say it, I could see all over his face, a look that said “So shouldn’t you be happy for her then?”

“A good character is the best tombstone. Those who loved you and were helped by you will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered. Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.” Charles H. Spurgeon

It took time for Andrew’s words to sink in that morning; he wasn’t saying it was wrong for me to have sadness at the loss of my beloved Pearl, but it was if I chose to stay in that sadness instead of remembering and practicing all the great lessons she passed on to me; there was truly more to be happy about than sad, I realize that now. Thanks Andrew, you silly ornery old cuss you!!!

I still think about Pearly Mae often, but now-a-days it’s with a smile, and sometimes even a little laughter; after all she’d want it that way. And like her and my bud Andrew I’m making efforts to paint positive marks on the lives I touch, particularly my family who I’m sure will have plenty of stories of how the old man made them laugh, and even learn.

As I continue my “Travels on the Rock Road,” I thank God for the Pearls and the Andrews he places in my path to help me with the journey.  I probably will never know what’s said about me when I’m gone, I hope it’s what I’ve tried to get across to others about me, life and my Lord. I guess the most important thing I’ll want to hear when the time comes is this, “You have fought the good fight, You have finished the race, You have kept the faith. Welcome home, my son.” Awesome!!
A Blessed and Happy 2015, Friends and Family. See you next time!!

As a child there were a couple of times that I was separated from my mom. As a single mother it was hard for her to find work that would support us while at the same time meeting all the needs that a young child has. So on occasion I would find myself staying with extended family members until mom got on her feet and could come get me.

During one period of time, I was sent to live with relatives in Eastern Kentucky. This was a family of six who were nice, but very strict in everything I did. I had never heard of the term corporal punishment back then, but I learned what it was all about if I stepped out of line; and I sure missed my mom. I would think about how we would sit on the couch and play or just hug. As I said these folks were nice but emotions were something they didn’t show or share often. If I got hurt there was no compassion especially if I cried. It was more like “shake it off, it’ll get better so stop crying,” and I sure missed my mom.

Often I would ask about her and when she was coming back for me, but I would be ignored as if I didn’t say anything, and I began to think, maybe she isn’t coming back for me.

One day a large box showed up and inside was filled with toys, games and clothes and it was all for me. I didn’t understand why I receiving this, but I thanked the parents for the gifts, only to have them say it wasn’t from them. I thought a while about it and then asked, “Did my mom get these for me?” Again I didn’t receive an answer, but this time they both looked at me hard, and something told me I hit the nail on the head. Until that box fell apart, I would climb inside of it with one of my new toys and say to myself, “Mom’s coming for me, mom’s coming for me.”

The day came when my Great Aunt Pearl came to visit and spent the better part of a night talking with the parents. The next day there was some sadness in these people and they even gave me hugs right before Pearl and I boarded the bus to leave. “Pearl, where are we going?” With a smile she answered, “I’m taking you home.” I didn’t know what that meant, by that point in my life I had lived in Kentucky, West Virginia, Maryland and Ohio. Where was this place we were going and how would I recognize it as home? That answer came when the bus came to a stop, the door opened, and there was mom waiting to greet me. I can’t tell you if I even understood where I was, but that didn’t matter. All that did was mom was there waiting on me, that in itself said, I was home.

I learned that the box sent to me wasn’t really a big mystery; yes it had come from mom but the reason it was sent was because it was Christmas time and she wanted me to have something to know she was still there and stilled loved me. The people I lived with didn’t celebrate Christmas so they made no mention of it. Also it was their plan to keep me and not let me return to mom, but that’s another story for another time. Perhaps as time went on, they thought I would forget about my mom and stop asking about her, but can anyone really separate someone else from their parent, from their first love?

Some 2,000 years ago a Gift was sent to children from their Father letting them know He had not forgotten them; that His love was still there for them. That Gift was in the form of a Child.

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

These many years later, I can’t recall its content, but I still think about that box of love that was sent to me as a symbol to let me know I wasn’t forgotten, and I would someday be home with the one who loved me most.

Many more years ago a manager with a baby was the eternal representation of the same thing, the same love. That God the Father hadn’t forgotten us, and waits in jubilation for the time when we are with Him, and Home!

On behalf of my Lady and myself I like to thank all who have “Traveled the Rock Road” with us this year, and we look forward to more journeys in the coming year.

A very Merry and Blessed Christmas and New Year to you and your loved ones!!

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!”

Her voice was raised and excited, words were running together she spoke so fast, but that didn’t matter. The message she was conveying was the most important matter on earth and we had to address it immediately. She said it over and over again; “We have to go, we have to go!” This was a phone call I received 10 years ago and the subject matter a trip she felt we had to take. Over the course of our lives together I had seen her often “over the top” in expressing attitude and emotion on almost every subject under the sun, but now that dementia had invaded her life anything, or nothing could send her into a tailspin of panic.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, the person I’m talking about is my mother; and if you don’t understand dementia, it’s defined as “a chronic or persistent disorder of the mental processes caused by brain disease or injury and marked by memory disorders, personality changes, and impaired reasoning.” So because of all this, I seldom took her fits of urgency and distress very seriously, after all there wasn’t much I could do about a situation that occurred twenty years before I was born, but at that moment it was as real as if it had just happened. But this emotional 5 alarm fire rang a different tone than the usual ones she brought to me. There was this need in her, this urgency to see people she had associated with in years past in a place she hadn’t visited in just as long; she wanted to go home to West Virginia. We sat down and talked so I could get a handle on what she was thinking and why. For years she had no desire to return to her place of birth, or see any of the extended family of her childhood; she felt content living out her days near me and my family. But I believe people with dementia have moments of sober thinking if you will, where thoughts, people and places become clear. In mom’s case, she was having moments of remembering a place and a people that were once very dear to her, from that developed this desire to go, one more time, while she was still able to have them in her memory. I explained to her it wasn’t the best time for me to be taking off work and we would have to wait until later. The look on her face was that of a child you had just dropped the big bomb on that Santa Claus didn’t exist. Her voice was a little weak when she said, “I have to see them, I’ve got to know something.” “What’s that Ma?” “I have to know if they still remember me and like me.” So much for any argument I had; “Pack your extra knickers Ma, we’s headed down home!”

All of you that have taken vacations with small children in the car can relate to how frustrating it can be with the “Are we there yet, I’m hungry, are we there yet, I gotta go to the bathroom, are we there yet, I don’t feel good and, oh yeah, are we there yet?!!” Well traveling with an individual stricken with dementia can be just the same and even worse. By the time we reached our destination, my nerves were ragged and I had a tension headache that would have killed a bull elephant and I was beginning to wonder if this had been a terrible idea from the start. What was everyone going to think when they saw her and the condition she now possessed, well it is what it is and time will would have to tell.

I had written mom’s cousins telling them of our intent and asking if they would meet with her when we arrived. Two that were closest to mom’s age where the first to arrive. Leaving them alone in mom’s hotel room to talk, I retreated to my room praying everything would go okay. After an hour or so we all went to lunch and had pleasant conversation with mom trying to listen as much as she could smiling the whole time. (She suffered all her life from hearing loss and now the dementia was making it worse.) The next day three other younger cousins got together with us over lunch and for two hours the laughter and silliness ran unbridled, and mom smiled a lot.  After that we went to another relative’s home and he pulled out old picture albums from their younger days, and mom’s smile lit up the room. On our final day, we drove the roads that took us back to her childhood hometown of Mullins and mom’s memory was as sharp as a tack for the next few hours, and I smiled as I listened to her wonderful memories.

Someone said, “Life brings tears, smiles and memories. The tears dry, the smiles fade, but the memories last forever!”  Had I denied my mom the opportunity to live memories, good memories once again for a short moment, it would have robbed her of life she so desperately needed during those days of confusion that were closing in around her. She needed to relive just a little of a life of innocence, laughter and happiness that she once possessed and cherished so dearly. I think it did as much for me to be a part of that moment. I think it was God’s way of saying to this man, “I gave you special people in your life, as well as places and moments for a reason, which is to experience the happiness I want for each of you, here and with Me someday in heaven, that is if you’re willing to accept it in the love in which it is given.”  Looking at it that way rules out any inconvenience I might have felt taking a road trip with an unruly elderly woman-child.

We pointed the car north and headed home with mom talking about all that took place, but now once again confusing recent happenings with ones from the past. Didn’t matter though, she was happier than a child coming from a birthday party!  Occasionally as we drove on mom would roll down her window as I passed a semi and pump her fist up and down trying to get some them to blow their big air horn. First thought, “What are people thinking seeing this grown woman pulling this stunt?”  Then the second thought, “Look at the smile on her face! I am so glad God allowed me to Travel the Rock Road with this dear soul!”  Oh, what the heck? The next truck we passed we both rolled down the windows and pumped our fist.  “Hey, play that loud horn, big boy!” “HONK HONK!”  We got one, Awesome!!!
See ya next time.

We’ve had a great weekend with all of our family together for Thanksgiving.  After our family meal, our sons, Jeremy and Justin and I headed for the studio to do some jamming.  When Cathy joined us, we put together this familiar song that we hope you will enjoy.  Blessing to you and your loved ones.  I’ll catch up with you all again next week.

This story appeared in the Christian Worldwide Journal back in 2009. I read it just recently for the first time and was moved to tears how God had his hand on the first settlers here in America, and the first Thanksgiving that happened because of a young Indian boy named Squanto. His story is worth the few minutes it will take to read it, or perhaps fitting to be read to your family on Thanksgiving. Either way I hope you’ll take the time to be blessed with details many of us never heard before.

Friends and Family, Brothers and Sisters, allow me to introduce to you an incredible “Traveler of the Rock Road,”

A Happy and Blessed Thanksgiving to you all!

Here is the “Story of Squanto.”

God’s steadfast love and faithfulness reached to His people in wondrous ways, as the Pilgrim fathers discovered. The story of Squanto reminds us that, even now, God is preparing the way for our provision and care. More reasons to give Him thanks and praise this holiday season. This BreakPoint commentary first aired in April, 2006.

Most of us know the story of the first Thanksgiving; at least, we know the Pilgrim version. But how many of us know the Indian viewpoint?

No, I’m not talking about some revisionist, p.c. version of history. I’m talking about the amazing story of the way God used an Indian named Squanto as a special instrument of His providence.

Historical accounts of Squanto’s life vary, but historians believe that around 1608; more than a decade before the Pilgrims landed in the New World; a group of English traders, led by a Captain Hunt, sailed to what is today Plymouth, Massachusetts. When the trusting Wampanoag Indians came out to trade, Hunt took them prisoner, transported them to Spain, and sold them into slavery.

But God had an amazing plan for one of the captured Indians; a boy named Squanto.

Squanto was bought by a well-meaning Spanish monk, who treated him well and taught him the Christian faith. Squanto eventually made his way to England and worked in the stable of a man named John Slaney. Slaney sympathized with Squanto’s desire to return home, and he promised to put the Indian on the first vessel bound for America.

It wasn’t until 1619 – ten years after Squanto was first kidnapped – that a ship was found. Finally, after a decade of exile and heartbreak, Squanto was on his way home.

But when he arrived in Massachusetts, more heartbreak awaited him. An epidemic had wiped out Squanto’s entire village.

We can only imagine what must have gone through Squanto’s mind. Why had God allowed him to return home, against all odds, only to find his loved ones dead?

A year later, the answer came. A shipload of English families arrived and settled on the very land once occupied by Squanto’s people. Squanto went to meet them, greeting the startled Pilgrims in English.

According to the diary of Pilgrim Governor William Bradford, Squanto “became a special instrument sent of God for [our] good . . . He showed [us] how to plant [our] corn, where to take fish and to procure other commodities . . . and was also [our] pilot to bring [us] to unknown places for [our] profit, and never left [us] till he died.”

When Squanto lay dying of a fever, Bradford wrote that their Indian friend “desir[ed] the Governor to pray for him, that he might go to the Englishmen’s God in heaven.” Squanto bequeathed his possessions to his English friends “as remembrances of his love.”

Who but God could so miraculously weave together the lives of a lonely Indian and a struggling band of Englishmen? It’s hard not to make comparisons with the biblical story of Joseph, who was also sold into slavery; and whom God likewise used as a special instrument for good.

Squanto’s life story is remarkable, and we ought to make sure our children and grandchildren learn about it. While you’re enjoying turkey and pumpkin pie this season, share with your kids the Indian side of the Thanksgiving story.

Tell them about Squanto, the “special instrument sent of God”, who changed the course of American history.

I’ve been asked a question on several occasions about my Great Aunt Pearl, the woman who helped raise me and taught me so much about life and God, and her marriage to the man everyone knew as Price, someone who spewed hate and anger with almost every breath he took. So the question is this; how in the world could two people be so different and stay together like they did? That was one that certainly had me scratching my head on more than one occasion, I sure didn’t get it. He needed her tons more than she needed him, what kept her from not walking away and being happier without him? It was several years later with my Pearly Mae and I sitting at the kitchen table she explained to me the whys of her actions. But first I have to back up a bit, catch some of you up that don’t know the story.

Pearl and Price met in 1936 and shortly thereafter married. She was a beautiful dreamer with a radiant smile from West Virginia and he was a tall, handsome and rugged Kentucky man with stories of conquest and adventure that captivated my Great Aunt so that she felt and knew this was the man she wanted to spend her life with, to share in great quest with him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after they married that a new version of who this man was came forth. Price wasn’t good at holding jobs because of issues of anger and then later health problems; he was a serious diabetic and had to give up working altogether which meant Pearl was now the bread winner of the two. Time passed and her older sister died of cancer leaving three kids. The oldest joined the Marines and went to fight in WW2. The youngest went to live with another family member, this left only a girl who had physical and emotional issues, my mom, who Pearl took in and raised as her own. To cut to the chase some years passed and yours truly arrived on the scene. So the dreamer who visualized seeing the world and exploring new heights was now saddled with three people to care for.

If Price ever showed Pearl tenderness, it must have been before I came along; if he spoke soft, it was small talk subjects. The majority of the time he could be as hateful to her as he was mom and me. He was never physically abusive to her, but if he got mad (which was often) he would speak to her in such a hateful way I didn’t know how or why she put up with it. She would busy herself I think to keep from saying something back. I’d be mad at the way he talked to her, but Pearl would get me off in another room and say “Johnny, he’s only talking that way because he doesn’t feel good, he really doesn’t mean it.” I couldn’t figure that excuse out, but I wouldn’t argue; and I knew if I said something to him I’d get it twice as bad.

As time went on Price’s health started to diminish rapidly, to the point he could no longer get out of bed. His legs no longer could hold him up and he had to have constant bed care given to him by Pearl and my mom. I kept a distance from his room because even though his body was weakening his mouth and the venom he poured out still worked just as well, perhaps even better. Several days before he died, I had to go in and see him where he threatened me to grow to be a good man or else; I just turned around and walked out without ever saying a word. That would be the last I’d ever see of the man called Price.

So now we’re back to where I brought you into this story, Pearl and I sitting at the kitchen table several years after Price was gone. I brought up how I reacted to him on his last days and was feeling a little remorse from my hard heartedness. Pearl began staring out the kitchen door like she was concentrating on something off in the distance. There was a noticeable time of silence between us, but then she began. “His last words to me were the gentlest and sweetest I had heard in years. “I want you to know that I love you and always have,” he said. I thought that must have been a great moment between the two of them, but then she went on. “I couldn’t say anything at first, but then I told him the way I’ve stayed and taken of you should tell you how I feel about you.” Another pause, “I just couldn’t bring myself to say I loved him.” Wow, and I thought my reaction to old Price was bad! Here his wife of 30 plus years was telling him she might have taken care of him, but it sure didn’t mean she loved him–or did it?

I read these words not too long ago: “Love is not an affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as it can be obtained”

As the years went on, Pearl told me stories of Price I had never heard that brought a smile to her face as she recounted them. She told of when his health turned to where he couldn’t work anymore, he was the one that connected her to the civil service where the two of them traveled across the country working different jobs for the war effort, and her finally getting to see sights and places she had only dreamed of. Price and that experience taught her how to use a hammer, a saw, and even a welder. She told how he and those experiences taught her about being self-sufficient and self sacrificing in preparation of a better tomorrow. She also talked how she never really loved nature and the outdoors until she met Price, the one place he was happiest and most content; and how after that she couldn’t get enough of it. In those last years she wore herself out working and taking care of Price, often going on just a few hours sleep before starting a new day. She’d look at me with some mischief and determination in her eyes and say, “That’s what made me so strong!”

When my beloved Aunt Pearl retired and moved back home to West Virginia, she rededicated her life to Christ and set forth to be one of the best hostesses the area had. She loved to surround herself with laughter and happiness as often as she could, something else she attributed to her man, for he did enjoy having folks over.

G.K. Chesterton said this; “To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.”

Price was a harsh man who treated his family with cruelty, including the one he called his wife. When his days were closing out, that wife couldn’t bring herself to say she loved him, so does mean she didn’t? There was a time I would have said yes; but that was before I knew my Pearl’s heart and her ways. She taught me love wasn’t summed up in a few words, it was lived out day by day in your heart and your attitude, something I believe she learned from the one she called Lord (Check out John 3:16 and John 15:13)

In 1984 we lost Pearl in a tragic car accident, her Travels on the Rock Road were now over; but two things happened. Pearly Mae Marshall Price came into the presence of her Savior, Jesus Christ happy to be with her eternal love. The second, what remained behind was laid to rest on a hillside in Princeton, West Virginia next to her earthly “Love,” Arthur Chester Price.

See you next time!

Phone rings, “Johnny this is Ray, it’s so hot out Linda and I have decided to go to the beach to cool off; can you tell us which one would be best for being close to the water?”

Or “Johnny, if a man becomes a father at 20 when his son turns 10 the boy will be 1/3 the age of his dad. Ten years later when the father is 40 and the boy is 20 he’ll be ½ his dad’s age. When they’re 50 and 30, he’ll now be 2/3 as old as his dad.” “Okay Ray, I see that; your point is what?” “Well at this rate there’s a time coming when the boy is going to pass his dad up and be older!? Then another one of his gems was, “Johnny, if a man suffering from multiple personalities threatened to kills himself, would that be considered a hostage situation?” So it was with my beloved Cousin Ray Marshall, a man with a comical wit faster than a gun slinger’s draw. You never knew what he was going to say, but if it was something filled with levity and lightheartedness; he’d grin the broadest grin and fill the room with laughter more than anyone else could.

Besides his humorous wit he was the king of practical jokes. Once when we were leaving a parking lot, he rolled down his window and yelled to a man, “Hi Hank, how you doing? You sure look better than the last time I saw you. Alright, see you at the card game,” and we drove away quickly with the man standing there completely puzzled but gingerly waving us goodbye. I said to Ray, “You know that man?” “Nope, never saw him before in my life,” and once again the laughter rolled! Probably my favorite was a story he told during his coal mining days. He had come up to a friend who was working a jackhammer, placed a hand on his shoulder, said a few words and then walked off. It took a minute before the unsuspecting victim realized my cousin had walked off, because he still felt the weight of Ray’s hand on his shoulder. It actually was Ray’s hand, a weighted artificial one he bought at a magician’s shop. Ray said when his friend saw him standing at a distance and then saw the lone hand on his shoulder; you could hear him scream from one end of the mine to the other! As I sit here gazing at a picture of this jester of a man more and more stories like these flood my memory, enough that I could easily sit and write of his escapades all night long. But if I did that, I would be cheating you of getting to know who this person is, and why he’s loved by so many.

When I speak of Ray’s humor, smile and laughter, I speak of a portion of his personality and ways. I don’t believe this man ever met a stranger; he had a way of making anyone and everyone feel comfortable, especially in his home. If there wasn’t room for one more person to sit, or to share a meal Ray would find a way. He loved to learn from others anything he could, and learn he did well. If he was ever told something it stayed with him from that point on; his ability to remember details that others couldn’t was beyond amazing. Ray was as comfortable holding conversations with intellectuals he met at the college his daughter taught at, to sitting at break on large stones with a group of fellow coalminers two miles beneath the surface of the earth and to endless silly talk with his grandchildren he loved dearly. Ray’s daughter, a professor at small university once told me she loved for people in her academic world to meet her dad, not just to see how wonderful of a man he was, but to show him off, to say, “Look how wonderful I have it to have this man as my dad!” All three of Ray’s children will attest to these same bragging rights, they know they were blessed with someone different from other dads and those differences were what made him special.

Scholastically, Ray never achieved above a high school education, marrying his beloved Linda and childhood sweetheart he set out make a living anyway possible to support his family. But as I mentioned he learned from talking to others, plus reading and later gathering information via the internet. With that he often challenged what the norm was especially in politics and government. His was not a desire to argue as much as it was to hold accountable the people elected to represent us in government. And Ray could do this with a combination of down-home easy going character as well as cite laws and court decisions like a Supreme Court justice, except maybe with a joke thrown in here and there!

I once spent time in D.C. with a lobbying group; during that stay I had wished Ray could have been with us. Instead of being treated in a patronizing manner by certain senators and representatives, I pictured a couple turning to aids and saying, “Call security and see if you can get this guy out of here! Then cancel the rest of my appointments for the day, I’m taking a sedative and going to bed!” Of course if my dear cousin saw something like this he’d be saying, “Hey, can I do anything to make you feel better, get you a glass of water or something?” (Could you imagine what we could do if we had about 100 Rays to turn loose on Washington; Awesome!)

Probably the biggest impact Ray had on me in my younger years was his ability with the guitar. Before the Beatles or even Elvis, this man’s talent on a six string could keep me mesmerized for hours. If he had more opportunity, I believe he could have been one of the top guitarists in the early county music or bluegrass field. He not only drew enjoyment from playing music (and this next is one that probably only other musicians will under stand), he became a part of the music, in his heart and soul; that was evident to all who heard him perform. Because of that passion I knew one day I would play and live music just like my cousin and now my children who come after me. When I got older I loved playing along with Ray and he and my wife sang “Almost Heaven West Virginia.”

Well what can I say? Thoughts and memories are coming so fast they’re running together and I have to walk away and regroup. Perhaps some wouldn’t see what is so special about this man anyway, just a West Virginia coal miner, common folk like most of us. But anyone that pays attention to my writings knows people like Ray are the ones I like to talk about, unsung heroes of everyday life that we never hear about. So who exactly was this man you’ve written about, John; what more could you have to say? Well allow me to fully introduce this “Traveler of the Rock Road.”

Ray Marshall, man of some sorrows but more of joy? Yes. Ray Marshall, jokester extraordinaire and musician? Yes. Ray Marshall, devotee, student and even teacher of life? Yes. Ray Marshall, lover of his family, from his beloved Linda of 57 years, to his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, sisters and their families and friends that he treated like family? Yes! And Ray Marshall, believer and follower of his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, YES!

To the shock and sorrow of all of us who knew and loved this man, Ray was suddenly called Home to be with the Lord on Oct. 30. No one was ready for this departure. I suppose many of us feel cheated that he’s no longer here for us in that way only he could, somewhere just to talk like we’ve done for so many years. Even with the knowledge that Ray is in Heaven, happy as can be, the selfish side of human life wants him back here with all of us again. Since we know that can’t happen, we have one precious item to hold him with us, and that’s our memory of how he blessed so many.

“After you are gone the assessment of how you enriched others is not by what you have lined their pockets with, but what you have written on their hearts. Therein lies the true inheritance.” J David Miller

Today scores of us are much richer because of what Ray Edmer Marshall wrote on our hearts, a message of love, happiness, joy, and most of all, Hope. Ray, my cousin, friend and Brother knew where his Hope lay at the end of his “Travels on the Rock Road.” His hope was in Jesus as Lord and Savior, now he’s Home and looking forward to all of us joining him someday.

John 5:24, Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life.

Looking forward to making music with you again, Cuz, in God’s Resurrection Band! Save me a spot next to you because it will no longer be Almost Heaven, it will be the real thing for eternity. But I better not be finding a fake hand resting on my shoulder!!

Thanks for putting up with the Gray One’s ramblings, see you again soon!!!

Rick was a well-liked man by the fellow employees at the firm where he worked, although sometimes he was a little over the top with his insistence of tight security and preparation just in case something did happen. Evacuation drills were performed often with Rick at the helm shouting orders from his megaphone making sure everyone heard and obeyed his commands. Like I said, Rick was sometime seen as obsessed with making sure everything and everybody was prepared in case of an emergency and when that fateful day came, Rick Rescorla was seen as a prophet and is remembered as a hero. Rick was a former military man and now head of security at Morgan Stanley located at the World Trade Center. After the first attack on this building back in 1993, Rick sensed this would not be the last and warned everyone who would listen. He then set his well thought out evacuation plan into action with many drills and when the planes hit the Twin Towers all the Morgan Stanley employees were ready as Rick led them down and out of the South Tower to safety. Many lives were saved, but unfortunately when he returned to the building to see if anyone was left; when it collapsed, Rick Rescorla was lost.

As I read this remarkable man’s story I was touched at his dedication not so much to the job but to the people he cared for and gave his life to protect. We can readily say he went above and beyond; that’s the stuff heroes are made of. Not to take anything away from this remarkable man, but I would venture to say I’ve read many stories of heroes like Rick Rescorla over the course of my life, more than I could ever write about or even mention. We have been blessed with many that history tells us about. I guess what really stands out about this man is that he knew in his heart that the attack that occurred on 9/11 was imminent; it wasn’t a question to him as to will it happen, as much as it was when will it happen. This knowledge wasn’t just a gut feeling for Rick; having served in the armed forces both in Britain and the United States a good portion of his life, he understood the enemy and what they would do to achieve their goal. Armed with this information, Rick went to several government agencies warning them of the danger he saw coming. Unfortunately, like so much in life, without hard facts no one takes you seriously and his warnings went unheeded. After reading this, I had wondered what kept Rick there in the face of an impending threat of destruction and even death? Maybe someone else might have said, “If on one wants to listen to what I’m saying, fine; I’m out of here!” Then after the attack hit all the media outlets, tell the story of how they tried to warn everyone; maybe even write a book and go on a speaking tour. (I mention this because I saw a couple of people who did just that; think that’s all I’ll say on that subject.) Still, wouldn’t that be better than possibly losing your life based on a hunch you had that came true? Evidently our man Rick didn’t see it that way; it appears he saw something he considered more important than his own life, which were the lives of others. No matter whether anyone else believed his theory, Rick felt so strongly about it that he determined he would stay and do everything in his power to saves lives whatever the cost to him; in the end that’s exactly what he did.

There’s an old English Proverb that says, “A hero is a man who is afraid to run away.” Perhaps that’s was the driving force of Rick Rescorla, he was afraid, afraid of what could happen to people he cared for if he turned his back and walked away. Oh my, what an awesome hero, warrior, and friend this man was to so many.

I would have loved to have known this fellow “Traveler of the Rock Road,” to have had opportunity to talk and even more, listen to all he had to say out of caring and love for others, I just have a feeling I might get to someday.  If you haven’t seen it coming I’ll just come right out and say it; Rick’s sacrifice reminds me of one that did this for all of us some 2,000 years ago. A Hero that touched my life so fully with His sacrifice that to this day I as well as others still give honor for His saving grace.  In John 15:13, He tell us; Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. Thank you Jesus!

The Gray One will be gone next week celebrating 41 years of marriage to my Lady Cathy and thanking God for everyday of each year.

Looking forward to us coming back together in two weeks.

Never forget how special you are to me, and to God!!