Traveling the Rock Road

This is one of the first stories I published when I began “Traveling on the Rock Road.” It’s a story told to me by one of the greatest influences on my life, my Great Aunt Pearl. I’ve been asked several times to repost this narrative, so here on the anniversary of Pearl’s promotion into Heaven 31 years ago, I bring once again (with some reediting) the story I simply call “30 cents revisited.”

I do hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading.

One of the greatest influences on my life was my Great Aunt Pearl. During my 60 years I have had opportunity to meet many individuals who made their mark in fields such as politics, entertainment, business and industry, education, theology, science, writing, culture and so forth. Many made vast contributions to society and several I have emulated a number of the ideologies and positions that I hold today. Of this collection of teachers and mentors, the Grand Lady from West Virginia, my Aunt Pearl still stands head and shoulders above the rest, not by what she achieved scholastically, but according to what she poured into this man’s life by her example and the wonderful stories she told of life lessons she learned, many I continue to remember and learn from. I believe of all the tales she related, the most impressionable was one that I titled simply “30 Cents.” During the Depression years of America a vast amount of the population found themselves in an impoverished state with the grand people of the Appalachian region hit extremely hard by the decline in coal mining, the major source of revenue for many. My Aunt Pearl and her husband, the man we called Price were newlyweds who found themselves without regular income and had to rely on any means possible to survive. Anyone who knew Pearl also knew of her ability for self-sufficiency and determination. One of the main ways she put food on the table was to raise a garden. I have always believed that the adage of the person with the green thumb was a portrait of my beloved Pearl. She always grew the most beautiful gardens back in Ohio that were larger and most fruitful of anyone around us. And back in the late ‘30’s, living in West Virginia; Pearl seemed to have the same knack knowing that when canning season came, she would be able to put up enough food to last them into the next growing season. Pearl told me that it was around this time period she had grown the best garden she had ever put out and was very delighted with all the food she would put up. One major problem stood in the way of reaping the fruits of this harvest, which was the preservative needed to go into the jars to ensure that the food would not spoil after it had been canned. Pearl knew exactly how much she would need and how much it was going to cost, which seemed like a fortune to her at that time—30 cents. Because she could not find work and Price, due to illness was not able to work, money was something they seldom had. When relating this story to me I remember how she paused for a moment, then with determination in her voice she emphasized how she knew that the only answer to her dilemma would come from earnest prayer to God. So she had cried out saying, “Lord, I know you didn’t give me all this, just to have it go to rot. Please send me 30 cents.” When she finished her prayer, she began remembering a few places where there might be a little change. So the search began—in old pocketbooks, coats, trousers, behind furniture, down in the sofa cushions, every crack and crevice that was in the house. This undertaking took up an entire morning, but when the pursuit was over, and she sat down to count the pile of pennies she had gathered, there were exactly 30. You might have thought that she would have got up and made a run to the store right then to purchase that precious preservative she needed so badly, but she could not move. Pearly Mae told me how she sat there for the longest time crying and giving praise to her Lord and Savior for how richly He had blessed her.

Philippians 4:19, “But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.”

Through my childhood years, I came to know this story very well as Pearl would relate it to me on numerous occasions, not with the purpose of telling how hard she had it, but for a two part lesson in life. First, never take anything that you have for granted, not even something as little as a penny. The second and most important point she drove home was to never forget how much God loved us and if we put our trust in Him, He would never fail. She used the example from the Bible of the 30 pieces of silver that after Judas received became completely worthless once he realized that it represented betrayal and a complete separation from the One who loved him most.

God blessed my Pearly Mae by giving her 30 pennies and she was always thankful to Him because of it. Over the course of her life as a “Traveler of the Rock Road” God continued to bless her, and she in turned blessed many others; but those stories are for another time.

If you ever have the privilege of visiting my beautiful birth home of Southern West Virginia, there’s a cemetery located on a hillside there in the town of Princeton. Half way up the hill is a grave site with the marker “Pearl Mae Price”. If you sit there for a moment you can look out at the beautiful mountains this saintly woman cherished so deeply. And if you happen to be a treasure hunter and have a pen knife, dig one inch from the bottom right hand corner of the gravestone and you will find 30 cents I placed there many years ago. (Do me a favor though and put them back after you find them.) I try to dig them up and hold them whenever I visit. Holding these coins in my hand is a reminder not only of how much God blessed Pearl’s life, but how very much she blessed mine and all with whom she came in contact.

She truly possessed a wealth that far exceeds anything many in this world could understand as riches.

“I do not come to God that He may give me all that I want, but I come to Him that He may give me all that I need.” Author Unknown

As each of you continues your own “Travels on the Rock Road,” may your riches in life go far beyond what worldly treasures can offer.

See ya next time!!

First time I met Big Joe my thoughts were something like this, “Good Lord, I must be at the wrong place! Should I pull out of the driveway before he sees me? Should I go get the police?” All I know is when I pulled in the drive of the big country house along the river there was Joe with a young boy probably about 15 and both were talking loud and excited. Then, “Slap!” Joe swung a big beefy open hand around that landed on the side of the boy’s head knocking him to the ground. “Don’t lie to me, don’t you ever lie to me, you understand?!!! Face flushed and tears flowing from the boy’s eyes he sobbed out the words, “I’m sorry Joe, I won’t do it again, I promise!” “Get up to your room until I call you!” And the young man was up running in the house as fast as he could; and I thought, “He made that boy cry.”

“Howdy, you the volunteer from the school?” I was hesitant to answer, but got out a weak “yes” to his question. The college I attended required that each student take part in some program that was a reach out to the community. The Ranch as I’ll call it in my story, was a place where boys came who had gotten into serious trouble, kind of a last chance to clean up their act or get sent to some reformatory. My first thought was “I think this would be a worthwhile organization to lend a hand to. My second though was, “What on earth have I gotten myself into?!!”

“Okay come on in the house and I’ll get you started with one of the boys.” I followed Joe up the steps thinking this guy’s built like a tank, all arms and shoulders and no neck.” When we got inside he yelled, “Jimmy, get down here!” Another boy about the same age as the first I saw shot down the stairs and stood almost at attention. Joe in a rough voice stated, “This fellow is going to help you with your homework, go get your schoolbooks.” With an almost inaudible voice this young one said, “Joe, I’m sorry, I forgot to bring my books home.” That big meaty hand shot forth again, but this time to grab under the arm and push this kid up against the wall. “You’re supposed to bring your books home no matter if you have homework or not, right?” Joe was growling out. I could tell he was in pain by the way Joe gripped him. He got out a very quiet, “Yes.” “You’ll eat in the kitchen alone tonight after everyone else does. Now get out and go clean in the barn and he gave him a hard shove; and he made the boy cry.

Joe and I headed into the kitchen where he poured us cups of coffee, then he began to talk to me in a voice calmer than any I heard him use up to that point. “All the boys that come to the Ranch have had serious run-ins with trouble, most to the point that they’re looking at a life of hate, anger and jail, all because someone didn’t care enough to teach them right and wrong; that becomes my job and I only have a short time in their lives to make a difference.” “Okay, Joe,” I responded. “You certainly know more than I do about what you’re doing, it just seems a little over the top, couldn’t you get in trouble for hitting these boys? He quickly responded, “Oh I have, member of the board of directors for the Ranch have been out here a couple of times. They ask me, “Joe, did you hit a boy, did you make him cry? And I say sure did and then add, but he never did the same stunt again that got him swatted in the first place! Other directors that were before me never lasted long because the let the boys run over them, that doesn’t do either of them any good. The director can’t lead because he can’t control and the boys go on through life not learning from their mistakes, until it’s too late.” His voice got a little softer; “I care for each of these guys more than that.” “Got a heck of a way to show it,” I thought but kept my mouth shut. He then called for another young man to bring his books and sit with me at the table before excusing himself and heading out to the barn. It wasn’t long before I heard a blood curdling scream coming from the barn. “What’s going on out there?” I said almost panicked. The lad sitting with me responded, “Jimmy’s alright, Joe’s probably tickling him or holding him upside down or something. After we get in trouble Joe always talks to us, then plays around to show he’s no longer mad.” “Do you like Joe?” I questioned. “Well none of us like it when he’s mad, but otherwise he’s great! He teaches us a lot of things and takes us places like we’re one big family.” Then the boy’s eyes got big. On Fridays if everyone has done what they’re supposed to, we have the big event!” “Big event, what’s that?” “After dinner we all have to sit real quiet until the last person finishes eating. Then Joe will say, “Okay, let’s go.” And we run into the living room pull all the furniture away from the middle of the room, Joe comes in, drops to his knees and we all gang tackle him!” Now I’m chuckling, “Wow, him against all you guys, isn’t that a little unfair?” “Unfair? We’ve never once pinned him! He throws us all over the room, you get banged up a little, but Joe doesn’t get too rough, it’s a riot!!”

I must have been so enthralled in the boy’s story I didn’t hear Joe come back in the house and head upstairs, for now I heard another boy crying. My young instructor in the methodology of Big Joe piped up, “That’s Jeff, the boy you saw him with when you first got here. Joe’s talking to him about what he did, why it was wrong and what could happen if he doesn’t learn to do right. Then he gives a big hug and tells you he loves you, we’ve all had that with Joe.”

A whole different picture began to emerge of the man I first thought would make a better guard on a prison chain gang than the director of a home for wayfaring boys. Joe believed if a boy learns to cry for the right reasons, you have the foundations of a true man. Just maybe there was method to his madness.

“Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength, pleads no excuse of impossibility; for it thinks all things lawful for itself, and all things possible.” Thomas a Kempis

Now, I know that some of you do not agree with Joe’s ways and discipline, and that’s fine; like I said I was skeptical when I first saw him in action also. And had I encountered a bunch of kids terrified or angry with the way they were treated I might have kept that mindset. But what I found was a group of about a dozen delinquents who for the first time were getting good grades in school, doing work around the house, learning good behavior and habits they had never practiced before. Most of all I think they were leaning what it meant to be really loved, and they liked it!

The day came when Joe left the ranch, I don’t know if he finally wore out his welcome with the board or if this “Traveler of Rock Road” went to another destination that needed a person to give love the way he did. I do know that a group of the toughest boys that anyone ever tried to harness, stood in silence, as he hugged each and said loved them before he drove away, and he made the boys cry.

So do I have a biblical point to my story today? Well sure, didn’t you catch it?

Okay, here it is, see if you agree that my man Joe met the criteria given.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

For me, I got no argument; way to love ‘em, Joe!!
See you soon!

Maybe it was the way I was raised that brought about the feelings and connections I have with a few people. No brother, sisters, grandparents or even a dad, the only immediate family was my mom; a great aunt and great uncle to fill the void.

Then there were aunts, uncles and cousins that I had as relatives and loved, but all of them lived far away from me and at best I only got to see any of them once a year. So perhaps that is the reason I bonded with a few people that became more than friends, they were the family I never had. These few have known me for the better part of my life, they’re people that if I didn’t see them for years I could still reconnect with at any point and we could continue the same as if time had never passed.

One such person was a young man I met in the 7^th grade back in ‘67. The only thing we had in common was a love for playing music as I was a drummer and he played guitar, but that was enough to start a friendship that’s lasted 48 years now. During this nearly half decade the two us had quite a few adventures, playing music, traveling, and even sharing apartments. Also along the way we’ve shared laughter, sorrow, pain, successes, setbacks and achievements; but I think the favorite element to life we experienced together is talking about our dreams. I believe the true test of how strong a relationship you have with another is the ability to confide in them your deepest thoughts and yearnings, knowing they can be trusted to keep them private to everyone else.

That’s the way it’s been with my man Lynn starting as young teenagers and here we are now on the threshold of becoming senior citizens. It’s certainly been great knowing I can drop in on him without prior notice for some conversation, maybe a little golf down the road from his place, back to the house to beat on a couple of guitars playing every C.C.R. song our memories can call up, finally out to the barn with Mr. Sam Adams, watching the moon rise, talking and remembering. To me that’s a friend, family, a brother; someone who’s always there for you.

Saying all that, you can imagine my sense of urgency and fear when I was informed yesterday Lynn had suffered a heart attack and was being kept in a sedated sleep in a Toledo Hospital, then to hear this morning things had taken a turn for the worst and he may not make it, even with surgery. “Wait a minute, NO, this isn’t happening! I’ve lost many loved ones over three scores of existence, most recent the closest cousin I had in the world, but not this one God. We’ve gone through too much together for it to end now when there is so much more left to do and accomplish. For Pete sakes, we’ve haven’t made it to the nursing home yet where we were going to chase residents and nurses in our motorized wheelchairs equipped with stereo systems playing Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild!”

That was a quick conversation I had with God, also reminding Him of Lynn’s wife, children, grandkids and a great grandchild; he’s still needed by many, including yours truly. When my short rant was over, I sat quietly and sometimes quiet can be thunderously loud, especially when God is saying “Be still and listen.”

It was then my heart, mind and ears were flooded with; “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.” “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.”

The reality came to me that Lynn and I also shared something else, a belief and hope in Jesus Christ as Savior. Then that little voice was back again, “So John, what is it, are you trusting in Me or just practicing a religion?” I use that term a lot and it can be real aggravating when God uses it as a tool to get my attention, and kick me in the butt!

There was a peace that came over me, one that I’ve experienced on other occasions when brought to the point of saying, “Lord no matter what, I will trust in you.”

As I have explained what made Lynn closer than a brother, these few words are what makes a faith into something real, it’s either all or nothing; I choose all in Christ.

“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

My prayer now is, “Lord, in Jesus name, please heal Lynn; but no matter what, I will trust you. Amen”

Sometimes “Traveling the Rock Road” can wear me down, get the best of me and even make me want to stop the journey; but I know who waits for me at the end, that makes it all the more worthwhile!

As for my friend, my brother and fellow sojourner Lynn, well while writing this I’ve received word that he came through surgery well and is now headed to recovery. Tears are now falling making it hard to finish this, but they’re happy, elated, and rejoicing tears! Good Lord’s will, I’ll head over later this week to see my buddy.

Maybe we’ll make future plans to purchase those Harley Wheelchairs with the high powered stereos. What da ya think Steppenwolf, or something for subtle?

Steppenwolf it is!!! See ya next time.

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.