Traveling the Rock Road

Welcome to the Miller Manor, built and established September 1983, same year our youngest, Justin Michael was born and also when I planted that giant maple tree, then barely a twig.  Back then the house didn’t have garage, only an open carport.  There were concrete steps leading up to the front and back doors. Just a typical 3 bedroom, one bath ranch style home sitting on an unfinished basement.  The basement couldn’t be sunk in the ground to the normal depth since unbeknown to us we had bought a lot that had a high water table.  It had to be poured 3 feet higher than usual making our house sit higher than anyone else’s in the neighborhood.  So it wouldn’t look so obvious, we simply added brick and siding to cover the concrete walls so they wouldn’t be seen.  So there you have the start of the first owned residence of John, Cathy, Jamie, Jeremy, and Justin. And start was really the only purpose of this house on Vandeveer St., Warsaw IN.  I liked this little abode, but I only saw it as a short term investment, a stepping stone to bigger and better houses down the road.  Well as anyone can tell you, the best laid plans of mice and men don’t always develop as hoped.  A business venture that I sunk a lot of hope and money into ended up flopping and nearly destroyed our family economically.  Instead of surging ahead financially, we lost nearly everything we had and I was forced to do anything I could to bring in money including working 2 full time jobs at a time.  Besides my regular job, I taught music as well as played music, I did maintenance work at a hotel, I was a bouncer (that’s a story in itself) and finally a fate that was nearly worse than life itself, I was a softball umpire; Whoa!!  

Furniture wore down to nothing and for awhile we were keeping our clothes in boxes and the kids were sleeping on mattresses on the floor. A car loan was out of the question, so I would scour the trade papers to find the best automobile that a few hundred dollars would buy.  I remember one old clunker we had that if I had to pick my daughter up from school; she would wait until everyone else left, then make a mad dash to the car, dive onto the floor in the backseat and stay there until we got home!  To this day I thank God for the Lady He brought into my life, for of all the many talents she has been blessed with stretching a dollar was undoubtedly her strongest suit.  The magic she performed to make meals for a family of five with so little money available was incredible.  She kept all the bills juggled and paid which was a feat in itself considering many times our outgoing was higher than our income. The kids were great also.  They had to be brought into the scope of our situation and made to understand that for a while what many other children were getting or doing they would not.  Never once did any of them ever complain about a thing; I do thank God for the Miller Mob with which He blessed this man.  All energy and resources were used to pay off our indebtedness and to hold on to the one thing we all wanted to save; the house.  Over the course of time we worked our way out of the giant hole of debt that was created and life hasn’t been too bad since those dark days.

About ten years ago now, I had opportunity to pursue my 1^st desire of moving up to a larger and nicer home.  The time was right and the money was available.  The kids were grown and gone but still, I thought they’d back the idea of mom and I moving on up; boy, did I ever get a wake up call.  Two of the kids didn’t say much about the idea of selling the house, but it was obvious they weren’t overly excited about the idea either.  It was our middle child Jeremy who put feelings into words. “Geesh dad, if that’s what you want to do, okay.  It’s just that when ever I come back I feel like I’m coming home; now it’ll just be coming to your house.” Wow, I wasn’t expecting that!  Then a girl out in California whose sisters and her use to spend the summer with us called, “You can’t sell, yours is the only house from my childhood I could close my eyes and walk into every room!”

After these conversations I remember sitting quietly in my chair in my small living room and listening.  I could here the voices and laughter of children, many children.  The amount of kids that came though our doors is almost overwhelming.  All the kids in the neighborhood, all of my children’s friends, Cathy doing Bible club in the summers, for a while we babysat many kids.  As the kids grew older and bigger so did their friends.  With our youngest, Justin, it was football players (Try to fill up a half dozen of those walking buffalos on a Saturday morning breakfast!).  With Jeremy it was musicians and artists.  (We even had a concert in our basement that nearly a hundred kids showed up for!)  Then there was our daughter, Jamie Melissa.  With some kids, they’re bringing home stray cats or dogs; with Jamie it was kids that needed a roof over their head, a meal in their stomach, and kindness when none could be found anywhere else.  (All these years later that’s still one of her biggest hobbies!)  I can’t count the number of times I’d wake up in the morning not knowing how many young people were bedded down in the house. As I mentioned, we had 4 girls that stayed with us a lot from California who became so close we intermingled their name (Kizer) and ours to become the Milzers!  Thinking about all these, plus the people that Cathy and I had over, I made an attempt to count up the many conversations we had in the very room I was now sitting, laughing, crying, and almost always praying with; well, it was more than I could wrap my mind around.  Then there was the important nucleus of this residence, the five Millers ourselves.  This is where we became a family, the only home the kids could remember, the place where loved, fought, grew and learned from each other; I guess I always knew it but on that evening, sitting in my favorite chair in my little front room I put it to words. “This isn’t a house, this is an institution of love; this HOME.”

It was once said “Strength of character may be learned at work, but beauty of character is learned at home.”  I’ll never say my kids are perfect (They have my DNA after all!), but I couldn’t be prouder of how they’ve turned out, guess that all started with a couple of green parents, a loving God we devoted them to and a place they have and can always call home.

Proverbs 24:3-4  By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.  God has made me a rich man in my little house; our home.

Over the course of time we’ve made improvement here, built a garage, added decks front and back, remodeled the basement and so on.  Yep, it may not be much to someone else, but to me and my family it’s the greatest home on earth.

Have no plans on going anywhere. Then again, when I retire in a few years (Good Lord’s will and the creek don’t rise) if someone out there has several acres in eastern Tennessee they might want to swap me even up; let’s say we have lunch!
Enjoy the life God gave you! 🙂

I was reminded of two different episodes of my life this week that happened some years back.  Different, yes, but in how they turned out were striking in similarity, so much that I decided to combine them in this week’s blog.

The 1^st story involves my conversion to Christianity.  When I began to seek understanding on what it was I now believed, there was a discovery that a main premise to calling yourself a follower of Christ Jesus was forgiveness.  The Bible tells us we need to forgive each other just as God had forgiven us.  That part wasn’t too hard for me seeing I never liked carrying a grudge toward anyone for any reason.  But what about people that I needed to get right with for the way I treated them; Whoa, there’s a whole different subject!  I’ll be first to confess I haven’t always treated people the right way, sometimes out of something as simple as a misunderstanding, but sometimes out of my own arrogance and self-fulfillment.  This weighed heavily on me, professing to be a new person, a new creature in Christ but having one who held grudges against me just didn’t sit right.  After talking to my Lady, some wonderful Christian friends, and a whole lot of prayer; I realized there was only one resort, seek out as many of the folks that I wronged and ask for their forgiveness. Some, it was easy for they were still a part of my life in some aspect.  I could just say to them, “Look, I just want you to know that I now realize how I hurt you, I am so sorry and hope you can forgive me.”  It was remarkable to me the effect it had on those people, healing was not only happening for me, it was happening for them as well to hear the words I had to say.  Some were harder to track down and in many cases I ended up sending a letter telling why I was contacting them.  Again, many wonderful responses came back.  I just knew I was doing what God wanted me to and as long as I did that, everything would great. “TILT!”

I remember the day I walked up to an old friend’s front door and knocked on it; this was someone I had brought great emotional pain to years earlier.  The man who answered had aged since the last time we were together, but still I recognized him as he did me.  “What do you want here?” were the first words out of his mouth.  “Dude, I’m here to tell you I was wrong, it was selfish on my part and hurtful to you.  I just want to tell you how sorry I am for what I’ve done and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive.”  Well, my old buddy didn’t waste time or words; “I don’t want your apology; no, I don’t forgive you; no, I don’t believe you’ve changed; I don’t trust you now and I never will; now get off my property and don’t ever come back here!”  SLAM!!!  The air thrust from him closing the door made my hair blow back, and it also made me angry.  I stood there for a moment giving thought to putting my foot through the door, marching right in, grabbing him by collar and saying, “You stubborn jackass, can’t you see I’ve changed!  Now you forgive me or I’ll knock you into next week!”  I’m totally sold out that there’s something to the Holy Spirit and even angels directing a person’s life.  My face was flushed with anger, but I could hear a small still voice saying to me, “You’ve done all you could, it’s time to leave now, let’s go.”  As I drove away I could hear another voice, not so quiet, not so still saying, “You Failed!  And you call yourself a Christian!”

The 2^nd story is about a young man I got to know shortly after moving to Indiana.  I had become a volunteer with the local youth probation office working with kids with troubled pasts.  Over the course of nearly 40 years, I have worked with literally thousands of young people in many different settings, but few have stayed with me like the memory of a boy we’ll call Tommy.  Tommy came from a home where his father was a hard core alcoholic.  He had been removed from the home on several occasions, living in youth shelters and foster homes, but always returning to his place of origin and always in trouble with the law or at school.  Over a 2-year course, we had Tommy in our lives often, getting him out of trouble at someplace or with someone, receiving a call and going to pick him up somewhere when he was too drunk or stoned to get home, doing everything possible to help in school and finally allowing him to move in with us when he had no where else to go.  During that period Cathy and I felt we were in a living hell so to speak.  He disrespected us at every turn, disobeying any and all rules we put before him. Try as I might and praying so hard and so long for that boy that my knees were growing calluses, we could not get him to straighten up.  It became so bad I finally had to ask him to leave.  And I heard that voice again, “And you call yourself a Christian!” Some fifteen years later I get a call from a familiar voice, it was Tommy.  He had moved around the country and was back in the area looking for a place to stay.  “John, I’ve never forgotten you and all that you did for me, you were one of the greatest people in my life and I love you!”

Sounds good doesn’t it?  I agreed to meet with Tommy, but first contacted a police friend of mine to see if he could get me any background on what he’s been doing.  Seems Tommy had learned how to work the system has he grew older.  He bounced from California, Texas and Florida, then home to Indiana for a while before starting his hobo existence all over again.  “Yep, our boy Tommy has become quite the conman, moving from place to place, taking people for money or possessions, getting into trouble and then moving on knowing whatever he did wouldn’t be enough for the authorities in each state to come looking for him.”  I met with Tommy after that for lunch and listened to his story of how he’s now a changed man and just wanted a fresh start and knew he could get that here living with me and my Lady again.  But now I had 3 young impressionable children of my own and there was just no way I could let him anywhere near them.  The words came easy, “No, Tommy, I can’t have you in my home.”  Hearing those words threw him into a fit, the real Tommy was now on display.  And for the 1^st time I was hearing those words coming from a human being. “AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A CHRISTAN!”  I paid the lunch bill, laid some extra money on the table for him and said, “Yes, yes indeed I do; but more than that, my Savior calls me that also.”

Here’s a quote I keep in my desk at work;

“The longer I love, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life.  Attitude, to me, is more important than facts.  It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say or do.  It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill.  It will make or break a company…a church….a home.  The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day.  We cannot change our past…we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way.  We cannot change the inevitable.  The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude…I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you…we are in charge of our attitudes.” Charles R. Swindoll

I was not drawn to Christianity because it was a nice religion or that it would make me a nicer person that everyone could see and love.  What hooked me was learning about a God whose love for me was so great He was willing to except me just the way I was and make me a new creature in Him.  Does that mean perfect, never doing anything wrong, loved by all?  Heck No!!!  What it means is this, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9

I’m never going to be able to control how people look at me; I can only hope my words and actions are doing the name of my Lord worthy.  But no matter what anyone else believes, I have assurance that God knows the real me and loves me all the more anyway.

Awesome!!!

Mother’s Day was nice this year, got to spend a little time with my three favorite moms to date, my Lady Cathy, my daughter Jamie Melissa, and my daughter-in-law Tracie.  But it was also a time of reflection on others who once held this precious and hallowed title, in particular the two in the picture, my mother as a child with her mother.  I never knew Grandma since she died in 1942 from cancer, but I learned a lot about her from my mom, family members and my own personal investigation.  Cosby Jane Marshall Laxton was the oldest of her siblings and the 1^st to be married off to John Thomas Laxton, my grandfather.  It’s hard to narrow in on knowing someone who passed away 12 years before you were ever born, but as I mentioned, through the help I already cited, I’ve been able to get somewhat of a picture of who Cosby Jane was.  For example, from all accounts, she was quite an intelligent woman most likely possessing a high IQ.  This is easy to believe based on her two sons who were of the same category along with at least one of her sisters.  It would do a lot for my ego to say a certain grandson of hers also carried the same attributes, but, let’s not go there!  That’s a bragging point of dear old grandma, but like anyone, there’s always another side, hers was a constant battle with Depression.  For whatever the reason, be it biological, or possibly self-induced, Cosby would battle that great demon all of her short life.  This condition would be the major factor of a strained relationship she had with my mom leaving her with a very confused childhood.  When my mother reached adulthood, she would often look back at her early days, at times with anger, and wonder what it was that made her mom act the way she did, for you see Depression as a sickness was not understood then the way it is now.  This would be something my mother would struggle with to understand for years to come, just as her only son would in his minute knowledge of this difficulty as he was witnessing it; you see my mother suffered from Depression most likely the same way her mother did.

So therefore, as many who have had family members or close friends afflicted with this dreaded sickness can attest, life can become hard and confusing, not only for those suffering, but for the ones closest to the individual.  I have no doubt that is what sparked the Dementia in Mom’s life in her later years.

Alright, no doubt there’s ones sayings, “Geez Miller, I thought you’d have more positive things to say on the subject of mothers seeing yesterday was when we honor them, instead you’re raining all over their parade!”  Point well taken, but stay with me just a little bit longer, okay?

Ma lived independently until the last three years of her life when we had to move her in with us.  That move made for some interesting times in the Miller home to say the least, but even with the dramatic ups and downs that came often, we got through them okay.  It was during these times that I saw a woman emerge far different than the one I knew all my life.  There were times she would sit in her rocker with a far away look in her eyes but, also contentment in her demeanor, far different from what had become her norm. And at these times she would begin to speak of her mother, but not in the manner I’d grown accustomed to, but she told me stories of Grandma I never heard; stories of warmth and even her humor she had never expressed of the woman before, and they were fun to listen to.  She was finally realizing that those strange ways of her mother were something she had no control of; when that reality set in it cleared all the negatives she had held for so many years and now was finally able to see Cosby Jane in a new light, a loving mother who battled afflictions all her life, but still was the mother she loved with all her heart.  This new revelation had quite an effect on mom because it triggered several other ill memories she had to make right.  One involved a 500-mile road trip her and I made so she could make a situation right that had gone very wrong years prior.  When Ma left this world, she left it harboring no ill feelings to anyone and most of all, at peace with herself.

Mom settled a lot before she died, so much it made a huge impression on her little boy who had such a hard time dealing with her as she was that he left home at 16.  Now he (I) was seeing her the way he did when he had the innocence of youth, that wonderful mother God had blessed him with that he wouldn’t trade for anything.  My, oh my, what a precious gift a mother is to each of us!

Cosby and Catherine shared a bloodline, they also shared an illness.  But more, so very much more they shared a love that only a mother and child could have.  Maybe it wasn’t the most noticeable at times, but believe me, it was there, and it was real, just like I’m sure you have with the person you call mother, with the person you call child.  If there’s something in the way that causing a stumbling block of realizing that love, how bout starting here to find it again;

“Love is patient; love is kind.  Love is not jealous; is not proud; is not conceited; does not act foolishly; is not selfish; is not easily provoked to anger; keeps no record of wrongs; takes no pleasure in unrighteousness, but rejoices in the truth; love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.” ~I Corinthians 13:4-7

Remember, “The loveliest masterpiece of the heart of God is the love of a Mother.”

AWESOME!!!

I blogged once before on this subject, but I think it’s worth revisiting. 

This week we posted the picture you see on FB and had so many kind remarks I thought I’d write about it today.  The dress you see worn by all the girls is Cathy’s when she was three.  As time passed it became our daughter, Jamie’s and then on to our grand-daughters Hailey, Madison and Mae.  (The pic of Mae in the dress was photo shopped; she has a little ways to grow into it.)  But as each girl grows out of it, it’s returned to my Lady for safe keeping.  Yes, this dress is very special in the Miller family.  In part it’s a representation of a new life, a new beginning.  For you see it was the one and only item of clothing Cathy possessed when she went to live with her mom and dad; Cathy was adopted.

Cathy was born in Columbus, Ohio to a 14 year old mother.  Not being able to keep her new baby, Cathy was taken to an orphanage in Tiffin, Ohio where she lived for the next 3½ years.  Now I know some of you are wondering how she could end up being in the orphanage for such a long time; even back then children were placed fairly quickly with couples who had been on a waiting list to adopt.  So why this long stretch for such a little adorable cutie who just kept getting better looking as she grew older (No prejudice on my part of course!).  Well I see three reasons.  The first has to do with some, shall we say not so above the board legal matters that were happening back in the 50s.  I could elaborate on this more, but I’m not sure what I could say without consulting legal advice first.  (I know I got you brains mulling over that one and maybe someday I’ll write on this aspect; Maybe!) But as shrouded in mystery as this possible reason for Cathy’s delayed adoption, I do not see it as the main factor; two other causes play a higher role.  Mary Catherine (her birth name before it was changed to Cathy Lou) was this beautiful bundle of joy waiting for someone to love and want her, and someone did; the people who ran the orphanage.  From all the stories we’ve been able to find, these folks who were older, fell in love with Cathy and chose to make her their own.  She interacted with the other children at the orphanage, but lived mostly in the private section of the establishment with the managing couple.  So my Lady could very easily have gone a direction that would not have put her in my life as well as many others, but that wasn’t the plan.  As I said this couple was older and the husband suddenly died unexpectedly.  The wife realized she could not care for Cathy by herself and since they never legally adopted her she could be placed easily with another family; enter Clyde and Betty Lenhart.  They were a Fremont, Ohio couple who had been on the waiting list to adopt for a very long time.  When the call came they had to go to Tiffin immediately and make their decision quickly whether they wanted Cathy or not.  (Like they were going to say no once they had this girl in their arms!)  In what must have seemed like a New York minute, my Lady went from living in a very large place with many people to a two bedroom ranch style home with her new parents.  There’s a lot more I could say on how this happened so fast, but that would take us back to the things I’m not sure I can talk about. Matter of fact it was quite interesting how I acquired all this info and that I will share with you someday. (Soon as I’m positive the statue of limitation has run out!)

I’m just going to jump to my main point now before I get long winded.  Cathy’s start to life was not your typical story; there were more bends and turns in the years before she even went to kindergarten than what many will experience their entire life.  Here though, I believe, is the true reason for her early path on the Rock Road.  God knew this little one was a very special individual, anyone who knows my Lady will attest to that.  And He had a special plan for her life.  It wasn’t a calling to fame which anyone who ever heard her sing could have easily happened.  It wasn’t to wow the world with her intelligence (another area she is highly adept to).  It was for the calling to be a daughter, wife, mother, grandmother and friend to many whose lives would not been the same without her; or even would have existed for that matter.  You see Cathy had another special gift and that was recognizing who her Lord and Savior was from a very young age and never looking back. He saw, before any of us did how much love she had to share with others while still keeping her first love for Him at the center of her heart.

When Cathy left the orphanage that day she took with her a baby ring and necklace that was a gift from here birth mother, 3 stuffed animals, and the dress.  She continues to have all these possessions still today, but it is the dress that seems to have the most meaning.  It almost seems God was saying, “I know times have been a bit confusing, but you need to know I’ve always been here for you with a plan for your life, and here’s a beautiful dress for you to remember when it all started.”  Now this in my own theory on the dress, for you see, for whatever reason, Cathy has no memory of anything before living with her new parents, only the gifts she brought with her.  As for the rest, well same place I get all my vital information.  Here are a couple of vital tidbits I’ve picked up there; “God Has a Plan for your Life.  “For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, they are plans for good, not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11 also, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28

God had a special plan for my Lady (and do I ever thank Him for that!) just like He has one for me, and for you also.  Cathy’s starting point for the plan in her life is marked by a little blue and white dress that is handed down from generation to generation for others in our family to realize its importance, and their importance to God.

What marks your starting point on the Rock Road our Lord has for you?  If nothing, then why not start today; you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.  Don’t believe me?  Then ask the smiley cuties here in the half century dress, they’ll tell ya.  They have a God given example!!! 🙂

As far back as I can remember the only occupation I had an interest in pursuing was a career in music.  The desire to perform has burned inside of me since the first time I ever heard a live band.  It was magical to me, to watch each musicians work their instrument in a way that they blended with the others to make sound, beautiful harmonious melodies that completely swept me away, be it four piece rock group, jazz ensembles, or large orchestras.  I really didn’t care what it was I was going to play, I just knew I was born to a musician, and a musician will be what I do to till the day I die!

I started first trying to play guitar, an instrument I struggled with terribly, so bad that my music teacher informed my mom that it would be best not waste any more time and money on me, I just didn’t have it.  Broken hearted, I just knew he was wrong about me and thank goodness I had a mother that felt the same; on to drum lessons where I caught on much better and quicker.  This is where I found my entry into music and I made the best of it playing with any and all who would have me.  What I didn’t possess in talent in the early days, I made up for in explosive power (In other words I beat the tar out of those drums!).  I didn’t care if the performance was for 10 or 10,000; I put every bit of my heart and energy into playing.  Well somewhere along the road, two life changing events came my way, the 1^st was a discovery of a Savior in Jesus Christ to whom I gave my life.  The 2^nd, the young lady that God had chosen for me entered my life.  Over 40 years later I’m here to attest those are still the two constants that have stayed with me.   Music moved to a back burner so to speak.  I didn’t think it was right to be playing music in bar settings when I just became a new Believer.  Plus when Cathy and I married it was obvious that being gone most nights doing gigs wasn’t the best way to get our new life started.  Whether I liked it or not there had to be changes, and those changes had to come on my end.  The love of making music didn’t end there; it just took a different course.  My Lady was blessed with a beautiful voice, but a crash, bam, boom drummer wasn’t the greatest accompaniment to showcase her talent.  Back to my first love.  With the help of a friend who showed me more in an afternoon than my previous guitar teacher did in 6 weeks, I came away with 5 guitar chords and that was enough to play many songs that Cathy could sing.  It wasn’t long before we were doing special music numbers at our church, plus other churches and organizations.  This type of playing was fine and I really did enjoy it, but I felt an emptiness of sort.  I couldn’t help but feel that I was still meant to play music more than just a few Sundays a month for ten minutes.  I would talk to Cathy about how I felt God was calling us to do more with the talents He gave us, but I just didn’t know how to pursue it.  It was then someone told me of a small Christian college in Indiana that had a great music program headed up by a man who had been a professional musician.  I was informed that under his leadership many went on to either teach or become performers in their own right.  I “JUST KNEW” this was where God wanted me to be.

After a whole bunch of forms to fill out, I was accepted to the college for the fall semester of 1974.  We would need more money than we had for moving expense and getting settled in our new home in Indiana so I took a job at one place I knew I could make good money quick, the local foundry in our hometown.  Going to work in an establishment such as a gray iron foundry doesn’t require much aptitude or education; if you could put up with the dirt and the heat and show up for work everyday, you had a job.  At the end of each shift I would have to shower up to 30 minutes to get all the dirt and smell off, it was terrible.  The only thing that kept me going back was the thought, “Get past this and you’ll never have to work in a foundry again.”  Ten weeks later and a couple thousand dollars richer we headed west to our new lives, for better lives in the name of our Lord at least that was the plan. Whoa, what’s up with this?!!  There’s not enough time to go into the occurrences over the next three years; let’s just sum it, for now, and say I was left wondering if I had made the biggest mistake of my life!  Learning on a college level was a lot harder than I imagined, but I “JUST KNEW” God would instill me with what I needed to get the grades; wrong!  Then there was attitude and friend, did I have enough of that to go around!  Being older than most of my classmates, I had a different outlook, a more serious approach that didn’t allow me to enjoy the people around me.  Finally, I struggled a lot with the school’s policies and rules that I saw no more than legalistic BS! (Uh, that stands for Bologna Slices!)  It became harder for me to even show up for classes.  When I finally left three years later I had become hard hearted and disillusioned.

“God, what in the world have you done to me?!!  Didn’t I come out here for you?  Didn’t I give up everything I was doing in my old life for you?  You let me down!   You tricked me!!!  I don’t get it, I JUST KNEW you wanted me here!!!!!

I Just Knew——————-I Just————————————————————–I

It took some time, but a light finally came on inside this hard head of mine; I “just knew” what God wanted for me, but not once did I ever ask Him.

“The supreme challenge you will face in making Christ-honoring, biblical changes is dying to self.  The biblical perspective concerning “self” is exactly opposite to what the wisdom of this world proclaims.”  John C Broger 

I became so wrapped up in what “I saw” and what  “I wanted” that I forgot the most important part to knowing God’s will for my life, ask Him if this is what I should be doing or not.  In all the years since I have trusted Christ as Savior, I have come to learn the more I talk to Him, the more He will lead me in the direction He wants me to go.  And how do I do that?  Simply, prayer and reading of the Word of God diligently.  If you are a Believer who’s struggling with where your life is, I’m willing to wager you do not put these methods of communicating with the Creator of the Universe into practice as well as you should.  No offense, I’m just talking from experience.  As always I stress the point; I am not a religious man, but one of faith. And the more I put my faith in the one I call Lord the more He has led in not only in a direction He wants me to go, but one that I enjoy pursuing.

Proverbs 3:5-6

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, And do not lean on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.”

So was it a mistake for me to come to Indiana?  I don’t think so, the time I did spend at the school taught me more about music than I ever learned before, enabling me to use it better for what I wanted to do in the first place, to be a minstrel in the service of my King!  The opportunities to play, be it Christian or secular have been vast and for that I give thanks that I am where “He Wants Me.”  Also I came to realize another way to serve that I didn’t give credence before, writing.  It’s hard to tell how big an audience of readers a person has. When you’re playing music you can look out over a crowd and get an idea.  But writing, well that’s something you might or might not be able to get a feel for.  But no matter if its one or a million reading my blog, I love and will continue to write.  Why?  Because I know, this is what “He Wants Me” to do!

Now both of the fields that I’m involved together don’t make me enough money to live. As much as I love doing these things, I need a steady occupation to pay the bills–a tent making as Paul would put it.  So what do I do?  I work in a FOUNDRY!  Granted, it’s nothing like the one back home, much cleaner (especially for me since I work in a lab). 

I’ve had opportunities to leave this job several times, but I’ve chosen not to do so.  Why? Well, because I like what I do and the people I come in contact with.  It’s made a good living for me and my family; they even paid for that college degree that brought me to Indiana in the first place (different school though).  Most of all, after much conversation on the subject I have determined it’s where I belong, at least for now.  Why?  Because it’s where “He Wants Me,” to be.  I’ve got no argument!

Blessings to you, fellow Travelers of the Rock Road!!!

I believe it was on my 10^th birthday that I received, what I then considered, the coolest gift I had ever been given, a portable transistor radio.  Yes, young folks, back in the early 60s, before boom boxes, tape players, CD players, ipods and even 8-tracks, this was the way you listened to your favorite tunes.  Oh, you might have had a hi-fi record player in the home to spin 45s and LPs, but to have your music with you all the time you had to have a transistor.  Pretty wild, huh?  And here’s the real kicker children, all the good stations were on AM and not FM!  The station of choice to listen to Beatles, the Stones and all the other rock bands, plus all the latest hits from Motown was CKLW, which broadcasted out of Windsor, Ontario, just across the river from Detroit.  Late in the evening radio waves from as far west as Chicago and St. Louis and east from places like Philadelphia and Atlanta would drift into my Ohio hometown and I would see how many I could dial up on a given night.  My little radio was all equipped with capability to pick up short wave frequencies.  It didn’t work real well, but occasionally, after midnight, I could listen to people talking in languages foreign to my ear.  Wouldn’t have the slightest idea what they were saying but just the fact that they were located in some far off land kept me completely mesmerized for hours.  Often I would fall asleep listening to a far off station only to awake the next day to a scratchy static sounds from loosing the station with the morning light.  This little techno-innovation of 1964 probably didn’t cost $20, but to me it was worth a million.  As far back as I can remember I’ve always had a love for music, now I could have it with me all the time; awesome!  I mean everyone loves to hear music; at least, so I thought.

It was a couple of weeks after my birthday and I was walking down the street listening to my radio when I passed two older boys.  One of the boys shouted at me, “You think you’re cool with that radio, don’t ya?”  I was caught off guard by this remark.  I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong, so I just looked back over my shoulder and said, “No.” Proceeding up the street I ran into a couple other boys, but these I knew from the neighborhood.  They asked if they could see my transistor which I let them.  When one went to hand it back to me a hand from behind reached out and grabbed it, those older boys had followed me.  I didn’t say anything as the one looked it over carefully and said, “Pretty nice.”  “Thanks” I responded and reached out to retrieve it from him.  In the next moment my heart sank into my stomach.  Instead of handing it over, he gave it a toss as far as he could throw it. Luckily it was winter with a lot of snow on the ground so maybe it wasn’t damaged badly.  I ran as fast as I could to get to it but the boys followed right behind me.  Just before I could reach for it one knocked me down hard, face first, into the snow.  I raised my head up just in time to see the other boy take his booted foot and smash my radio farther down into the snow. Finished with their “fun” they walked off with one of them smirking “Bet you don’t feel so cool now, do you kid?”  Frantically digging I retrieved my radio from deep in the snow; but there was a crack in the plastic housing and the antenna was snapped off.  Walking home now I was crying my eyes out wondering why did this happen. Ward Fought, our next door neighbor saw my condition as I came down the sidewalk and came out of his house to see what the matter was.  I showed him my radio and he took it in his hands to examine it. “Johnny, leave this with me and let me see what I can do.  Come back over tomorrow, okay?”  The next day I went to see Ward and he had my little music maker working good as ever.  “Nothing real bad” he explained, “Just had to take it apart to let all the components dry properly, then I took an antenna I had from an old radio and hooked it up.  Can’t do much with the crack, it’s always going to be there, but I put some epoxy glue on it and it should hold.”  Ward turned it on and the music blared once again. “Sounds pretty good, huh” he said with a smile.  Good old Ward, I couldn’t thank him enough for what he did.  It did sound just as good as ever, but something had changed.  I never took it out of my room again and seldom did I even play it.  As much as I had loved this special gift from my mom, it now was a reminder of what happened that day the two older boys waylaid me just for having it.  It just didn’t make any sense, I didn’t do anything to them, all I was doing was listening to my radio; why would that be taken as acting like I’m better than someone else.  I would ask that question again, but in a different format, some 25 years later.

Olivia worked at a convenience store that I would often visit on my way home from work.  A beautiful young lady that was nice to everyone who came through the door.  One day when I stopped it was obvious Olivia was upset, possibly crying earlier.  “You okay?” I asked since this was out of the ordinary from the cheerful girl that usually greeted me.  “Yeah, I’m fine” was all she said and then silence that let me know she didn’t want to talk about it.  It was a couple of days before Olivia opened up with what was still wrong.  One of the other regulars mistook her friendliness as something else and asked her out.  She said, “I politely told him that I was seeing someone and couldn’t but thank you any way.  The next thing I knew he was belittling me, saying I was a big tease and that I wasn’t as pretty as I thought I was.” Pausing for a minute before speaking she said only a few more words; “and then it got worse.  I was crying but he didn’t care and probably would have gone on with his titrate if someone else hadn’t come in the store.” She then said words I heard coming out of my own mouth many years back; “Why’d he do that, I never did anything to him. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

I’m not by far the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it hasn’t taken me long in life to recognize not everyone has a kind heart or spirit.  I’ll go out on a limb and give the vast majority the thumbs up on kindness, but we all realize that there’s that “Mouthy Minority” who look for a chance to rain on someone else.  And don’t get the idea I’m coming down on people like that as not worth the time of day; I got this Book I read often that tells me God sees all of us as special.  I’ve learned that many people who tear down others for what they have, sometime or another had the same thing happen to them.  Anger becomes their defense and weapon for the purpose of retaliation, no matter if the one they attack has done anything to them or not.  I could have easily been one of those people because of instances in my life that were damaging to me.  Somewhere along the Rock Road I learned I didn’t have to be that way no matter how bad I get treated at times. If someone did something to me that was wrong , what good would it do to follow suit?  I had to learn no matter what anyone else did, I must do right!  That Book I spoke of has these words written in it; “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” Quite possibly that might sound corny, or even being too soft, but to date I find it works better than any retribution I could come up with.  (There’s another place that talks about the effects of being kind to ones that aren’t.  It’s found in Romans 12:20, but for the sake of time lets not go there today!)

Well that’s how to handle the radio smashers and the beauty attackers; but what about the damage they’ve instilled?  We wouldn’t be honest if we said such assaults do not leave scars.  Both cases I’ve written on have today have one commonality, what was attacked was not the person, so much as the gift they possessed.  I mentioned that the radio my mom bought me cost about $20 because of the extra features it had. Not a whole lot of money in today’s world but back 50 years ago mom was making a mere $1 an hour.  For her to buy me this gift took some sacrifice, but that didn’t matter, she wanted me to have this “Gift.” From that start came a love of music that has never died with many opportunities to perform what I love so much for others to enjoy, and even an added bonus, use my now extended “Gift” in the service of my Lord; Awesome!  As for Olivia, her “Gift” was her beauty and her friendly spirit.  She used that Gift to make others happy other when they met her, to make ones feel special, that this beautiful girl would make their day just a little brighter with a kind word and a smile.  Olivia recovered from her assault that day and I hear she went into nursing.  Still using her Gift plus her extended Gift making people happy!

This man learned a long time ago that Gifts are important, for they are generally given in love.  (The greatest of those Gifts you can read about in John 3:16.)  The question then to be asked is what do we do with the Gift?  Do we show it off or do we hide it?  Well, of course we show it off, it’s our way of saying thank you to the Giver of the Gift, it’s a way of saying, yes I am special but not because I say so, but because someone else does.  Our Heavenly Father has given us many diverse Gifts along the Rock Road, the best is offered through His Son Jesus Christ in the form of eternal life to each who accepts the greatest of Gifts. That’s my belief and I’m sticking to it! 🙂

Went a little long but I just felt I needed to say all I did. You are special, you have been give a Gift, and I’m sure to someone you are a Gift.

I think I used this quote once before but its worth repeating once again.  “Our talents are the gift that God gives to us… What we make of our talents is our gift back to God”

Blessings to each of you as you Journey along the Rock Road.

I have been blessed with the unique distinction of being able to call three different areas home.  Going in reverse order I’ve called Indiana home since 1974.  It was never my intention of staying here so long.  My Lady and I came out here for the purpose of allowing me to pursue an education in music and then return to where we moved from or possibly somewhere else.  What’s that old saying; best laid plans of mice and men?  We never planned to stay here but after 39 years, I feel it’s safe to say we’re pretty well rooted here.  This is home.

Before our move to Indiana we lived in Ohio.  Cathy was born there and my family settled around 1960.  All of hers and the majority of my childhood memories are centered on a farming community several miles south of Lake Erie.  The only home Cathy knew back then is there.  The old apartment house my family bought and made into our home is there also.  Beside family, all of the friends we grew up with are there along with the memories of laughter and fun times that go together with youthful days.  It’s where we met, fell in love, married and moved into our 1^st home, a little 2 bedroom place that cost us $105 a month! This was home.

I mentioned my family came to Ohio in 1960, for my birth state is the Wild and Beautiful West Virginia, Southern West Virginia to be exact, right up against the state of Virginia. I’ve mentioned in earlier blogs that childhood in Ohio wasn’t that great for me because of abuse at the hands of a great-uncle and also learning problems in my early school days that made me a target for bullying of all types.  The highest moment of my life was always when my Aunt Pearl and I made the yearly trip back to West Virginia.  That visit was sanctuary for me, seeing people that I loved dearly and sneaking off into the hills every chance I got. The center of activity was just outside a small community named Rock.  My heart would always skip a beat when we reached this settlement because then it was just one more mile of travel along the Rock Road  (Hey, that sounds like a great name for a Blog and manuscript!)  Out in the country, along a hillside sat my Uncle Dave’s and Aunt Virgie’s home (the house you’re seeing in the picture).  There was a large yard that ran downhill to my Uncle Sam and Aunt Dorothy’s home.  In my earliest days, I can remember my Great Grandmother Emmazetta Marshall (I love that name!!) still living and residing with Dave and Virgie.  There was also my Great Aunt Lily, one of the kindest souls I’ve ever known, living there.  This group was rounded out by Great Aunt Dot (or Dotsky) who lived in another community, but would come to see us when we came in.  These ones I have mentioned I lovingly referred to as the “Old Guard” of the family.  There were many other relatives we would see but these are the people that, in my opinion, held the family together, the ones who made you feel special, made you feel loved.  This is home.

Three homes, not a bad situation to have, huh?  But the question now comes forth, can I really claim all these places as home?  Well, yes, and no.  Yes for all the reasons I’ve given, but no because of time and change.  When we left Ohio we had every intention of someday returning, because it was home.  But over the years any family we had there is now gone, so were our childhood homes and even many of our friends who left the area also.  The memories of our youthful days will always revolve around Fremont, and we still return occasionally for a visit, but truth of the matter, it’s no longer home.

It’s now been a number of years since the last of the Old Guard passed away and the houses I loved to visit in West Virginia have been sold and changed over time.  I still visit from time to time, but without them, it’s just not the same.  The beauty of the hills and the forest is still there, but the people who taught me so much about life are no longer apart of them.  There have been times I’ve traveled back, but not told any of my remaining family there I was in.  I wasn’t being rude or evasive, but I had a need to travel the Rock Road once again, and to listen.  Going on my remembrance I could once again hear their voices, and relive the deep heritage they instilled in me.  I love to go back, physically, and mentally, again, it’s no longer home.

I do so much love our home in Indiana, its nothing extraordinary, but it’s the house we built to live in and raise our children.  It’s the place all of them recognize as home, and there are even other kids that became apart of our lives that have a special bond to us and our little abode.  There’s a good chance we’ll finish out our days there, but there is also the possibility we made relocate someday after retirement Good Lord’s will and the creek don’t rise.   My Lady and I still have a love for the mountains and it wouldn’t take much to finish out our days in Tennessee or North Carolina.  Knowing that about us, I can truthfully say that Indiana, as much as we love it, isn’t really home.

So where can I call home if none of the places I wrote tonight about apply?  Am I saying that I have no where I can identify with, where I can boast citizenship?  No, of course not, only I haven’t been there yet.  When I chose to put my faith in Christ I was given a new citizenship. The Bible teaches that we are here for only a moment, visitors and strangers in the land as our ancestors were before us.  Our days on earth are like a passing shadow, gone so soon without a trace; 1^st Chronicles 29:15.   I have such a love for life and for everything around me that it’s hard to imagine some place even better, but if I’m to believe in a God who loves me so much that He promises something even better than what I see now, then I have to believe He’s saving the best for last! (Check out John 14:2-3)

At my age I realize that most of the living I’ve done is now behind me.  It’s been a long journey, but Sweet Jesus, what an awesome journey it’s been, and still looking forward to seeing what’s around the next bend on the Travels of the Rock Road.  I also know when the journey finally does come to an end, I have the assurance that it’s only beginning, I’ll at last, be home; AWESOME!!!  Think I’ll let my man Buddy Greene sum it with the words to one of his songs:                                                                  

“I don’t belong and I’m going someday home to my own native land

I don’t belong and it seems that I hear, the sound of welcome home band

I don’t belong I’m a foreigner here, just singing a sojourner’s song

I’ve always known this place ain’t home and I don’t belong.”

“There is nothing small in the service of God.”

I suppose some would say I’m bragging, while others would conclude I’m complaining, when truth is all I’m doing is stating a fact. And that fact is, that in the 40 years of marriage Cathy and I have celebrated, we have found ourselves called upon to help or service someone or something more times than I could begin to count.  There have been important times of being called to duty that definitely will always stick with us. We have found ourselves sitting with people who have gone through very traumatic moments like losing everything they have to some form of ruin, or worse, losing a loved one, and in this day and age, even finding myself sitting with family as they watch a dear soul lose the battle for life caused by the deadly virus AIDS.  Yes, those are the events that stick with someone for a lifetime no doubt.  But what about all the small contributions, for lack of a better word; a ride to an appointment, a $20 loan with the promise of payback (knowing that will never happen).  Then there’s the individual who just needs someone to listen to them when no one else will.  I could go on forever with examples, but like I said it could be easily interpreted as bragging or complaining.  But I’d be willing to wager a new nickel I’m not alone in these endeavors; that many people find themselves being called into non-gratuitous service; or as some might define it, “being used by others.”

Granted, there have been the ones that seem to have a problem all the time, that no matter how much you help it’s never enough.  Well I’ve come to learn you’re just not going to be able to help every person that crosses your path, that no matter what you do, the person or the situation never seems to get any better.  So does that mean you’ve done nothing but waste your time and possibly resources?  Certainly not!  There was a time I would have thought contrary to that but two factors changed that mindset in me; one came in the fashion of a pint size toddler with sleepy eyes.

It was years ago and I was working out of town because I couldn’t find a job locally.  A man who worked at the same place and lived near me asked if he could ride with me since he didn’t have a reliable car.  Feeling a little funny about this character I reluctantly agreed and started picking him each morning.  Seldom was he ever ready and even made us late for work a few times.  As time went on and I got to know my rider better I came to realize he suffered from anxiety issues, that nearly anything could send him into a deep panic attack, a couple of those I witnessed 1^st hand in my car.  As we rode back and forth to work I spent countless hours trying to help him understand that he didn’t need to fall apart every time adversity, be it small (which is what it was most of the time) or large would confront him. Once or twice I really thought I had gotten through to him, only to find him right back in the same wild-eyed terror the next day.  After several months of this, I was resolved that nothing was ever going to change and now this demeanor of his was starting to affect me.  I was going to have to part ways with my friend.  There are times that’s the only avenue you have left and for the sake of your own well being or a loved one, you have to make a tough decision like that.  That situation worked itself out when his brother got a job there and he wouldn’t need to ride with me anymore.  But before that transition came about, I still picked him for another week.  On one of those mornings I was sitting in front of his trailer waiting like I had many times when his wife came rushing out.  He was in there having one of his attacks and she couldn’t get him calmed down.  Entering I found him rushing from room to room looking for something he felt he just had to find.  I tried to calm him down to no avail.  I found myself getting angry at the whole situation and turned to head out and go to work without him; but then, there she was.  She couldn’t have been 3 years old, long bushy brown hair, dressed in a sleep shirt that reached the floor.  Rubbing her eyes from sleep, she had been awakened by all the noise her dad was making.  I found myself looking down at her as she looked up at me, and then; two little arms outstretched for me to pick her up. As soon as I gathered her up, her head was down against my shoulder.  I stood there for what seemed to be a long time swaying back and forth as this little angel clung to me. When she was finally asleep, her mom took her from my arms and returned her to bed.  Her dad got passed his attack and we headed for work.  And for the very first time, I was glad God had put this man in my path.  I left the job and never saw this man again.  

Flash forward a dozen years or so and I’m at the grocery store where I see the wife of my former rider.  She had a teenage girl with her who I knew instantly was the angel that slept in my arms.  I wasn’t going to say anything, but the mom reminded her of that night, and the next thing I knew I had the same arms around my neck, only a lot bigger than previous. “You don’t know how often I’ve thought about that time when I was scared and you helped me.”  Wow, I poured hours into helping her dad, to no avail, and here I’m being told just a few minutes of holding made a difference in this child’s life. How cool is that for God to “use me” in such a way?!!

Okay, I said there were two factors that changed how I looked at being a help when it seemed it’s not worth the effort.  The second one again stems from my position in Christ. I’ll say it again as I’ve said it many times, I’m not a religious man; I’m a man of faith. And if I hold to that faith then I hold to what the Word of God tells and teaches me.

Hebrews 6:10 tell us “God is not unjust; He will not forget your work and the love you have shown Him as you have helped his people and continue to help them.”

If I’ve learned anything, calling oneself a Christian means you have chosen to follow a path where you must be willing to be “used” at any moment, at any time; its not a passive life, it’s a life of action.  Will you see accomplishments at every endeavor you put forth in the name of the Lord?  Absolutely not.  But that doesn’t mean it didn’t have a purpose, that God won’t use it somewhere, sometime.  The saying ‘God loves a cheerful giver’ is true, especially when you’re giving of yourself; He doesn’t forget!!!

Travelers of the Rock Road are many, most are like you and me, common to the world, nothing special to write a book about.  Just traveling on, seeing what the next bend offers and what good they can be in the Service of the King.  If you’re one of them and sometimes feel wore down from the journey, thinking maybe what you have to offer isn’t really worth much, just remember what one person said; “In Christian service the branches that bear the most fruit hang the lowest.”  Just a thought I hope you’ll give consideration to. 🙂

It was about 30 years ago that I took an interest in weight lifting and bodybuilding.  I had a good set of weights and benches, but I just didn’t seem to be getting the results I was looking for so I joined a local club who had a professional trainer we’ll call Henry.  It didn’t take Henry long to see where I was making mistakes in my attempts to add muscle.  From the very 1^st workout routine he put me on, I began to see and feel a difference.  He instituted types of lifts into my conditioning that could make a 20 pound weight feel like 100.  In 12 weeks, I added muscle tone I never achieved in all other workouts.  Every four weeks he would dramatically change everything I was doing, most often without increasing the weight.  “You have to shock the muscles into growing not by lifting heavier, but by lifting smarter,” he would say.  Yep, Henry was a miracle worker when it came to helping guys train and it didn’t matter the challenge be it putting on muscle or burning away fat, Henry had an answer that worked.

To meet Henry in person, you might not have gotten a 1^st impression that this individual could be so knowledgeable in weight training.  You could tell he was in good shape, no bulging layers of fat protruding anywhere on the man. But Henry stood 5feet 4 at best. He looked to be in his 50s and spoke softly and little at that.  If you came to him and told him what you wanted to accomplish, he’d say, “Okay, let’s get started.”  He’d then take you to his office where he would get out a binder and start placing pages of workout routines in it. This would be your workout bible, you had to bring it every time you came to the club.  As with me, he would change up a routine and place new pages in the binder as you advanced in your training.  Maybe in the early phase you would be a little hesitant on whether or not this not so rugged looking individual knew what he was doing, but you wouldn’t stay that way once you got into the program; the results would speak for themselves.  Also, once you got to know who Henry was, you found out this man was the real deal.  Outside of Henry’s office were several pictures of a man fully ripped from the neck down and I liked to watch new people studying the pictures and then suddenly realize, it was Henry!  

Henry was older than he appeared and back in the 50s and 60s he competed on the world stage in bodybuilding, lightweight division.  He had many more pictures of himself and some of the top muscle men in the world in his office.  

His life story was something you would see on an old movie.  A young boy, orphaned early in life and running the backstreets of Brooklyn, until a local policeman takes an interest in Henry and gets involved in weightlifting at a local boy’s club.  The rest is history, Henry is a natural and gains notoriety for his muscle toned body.  Then an agent gets him into competing and Henry travels all over the world to many tournaments and exhibitions.  As fame would have it with so many, Henry got involved in a bad lifestyle filled with drugs and alcohol.  He later found himself penniless, living in Columbus, Ohio sleeping in shelters.  It wasn’t until a friend found him and helped Henry get his life back on course by letting him sleep on his couch. He then met his future wife and made a vow to clean up his life if she would marry him.  They married and Henry kept to his word.  One of the biggest stumbling blocks in his road was that the only thing he knew was bodybuilding; he had never done anything else.  So Henry and his new bride would have to locate to where ever he could find work as a trainer, that’s what brought him to our town.  These tidbits of Henry’s life were something he shared with everyone.  Cathy and I got to know him not only as a trainer, but as a friend.  The club was a mile from our house so we had him come over for lunch on occasion and casual talk, something he enjoyed.  Over the course of time, he let us peer into the life he once led.  As time passed he became more comfortable with others and shared more of his life story.  He even allowed a local news writer to interview him and put many details of his career in the paper.  Henry was, once again, becoming quite the celebrity, only this time on a much smaller level, something that he could handle and enjoy much more than the earlier days.

It had been over a year after I met Henry and thought I knew everything about him, until one day at the club.  Members who worked out there were always bringing muscle magazines in to ask Henry workouts that were being shown.  Always there were pictures of the routine demonstrated and Henry would give his appraisal.  

Then one day a guy brought in an article, no pictures, only a new technique and he had to hear what the master’s opinion was.  Henry looked nervous as he put on his reading glasses and seemed to scan the commentary in front of him.  A small group of us had gathered around, always interested, in new workouts and what Henry’s take on it was.  After a brief moment he looked up and said, “Well, maybe.”  Then looking at me he handed the paper, “Here John, what do you think of this?”  What do I think of it?!!  To me that was like Hank Aaron, back in his day, asking the batboy what bat he thought he ought to use. Without really looking at the article I handed it back to him; “Henry, whatever you say is okay with me,” I said with a smile.  Henry wasn’t smiling; “Okay, let me take this to my office and study it,” and he turned and headed off.  Something wasn’t right, that’s for sure but I didn’t think it was the right time to pry.  After my workout, I showered, got dressed and headed out of the club; but I could see Henry was still sitting in his office. Opening his door I went in and sat acrossed from him. “Henry, are you okay, did I do something to upset you?” Now he gave a little smile.  “No, not at all I was just looking for you to fish me out like my wife does, but if you don’t know what’s going on you can’t.”  He could see the look of confusion written on my face, so he just said it, “John, I can’t read.”  Starting back to the early days when it was discovered he was gifted in his art of muscle building and progressing on from there no one ever took the interest in whether Henry could read or not and he reached a point where it was embarrassing to him, so he never mentioned it.  He was able to fake his way through a lot of things and later friends and his wife were able to cover for him.  I felt terrible like I should have caught it and been more of a help later, but Hank wouldn’t have any of that.  “I’ve started to learn how to read with the help of my wife.  I’ve found it’s a lot like everything else I caught on to, I memorize.  That’s why I came in here to see how many words I could pick out and maybe understand what it says.  What I don’t get, my wife will help me with when I get home so, you see, it’s okay.  Memorization, that’s something I could relate to for I, like Henry, could not read until I was 12 years old.  To have any hope of understanding what was going on in class, I memorized the words I could in hopes of just getting by.  Henry and I spent the better part of an hour talking and comparing notes on how fearful we used to feel that someone would discover our secret.  So here was something we shared, but we also shared something else, that was the love of a Savior in Jesus Christ.  The friend that took Henry in back in Columbus was a Christian and poured all the love he learned from following Christ into Henry.  It had such impact on Henry that one night on bended knee in his friend’s apartment he made Jesus Lord of his life.  He pulled out a little tape-recorder I had seen him listening to in the past.  On it he showed me where his wife had recorded many Bible verses for Henry to have with him always.  He had complete books of the Psalms that he could recite right along with the recording.  Reaching into his desk he pulled out a tape, placed it in the recorder and said, “Here’s the one I listen to every day.”  Pushing the play button only a few words were recorded, his favorite verse as well as one of mine; “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”   Henry, “As long as I know that, I know everything will be okay.” I got no argument.

The next day Henry talked to the guy who brought the article in and told him his opinion. He also told him he had to get his wife to read it to him first since he couldn’t read.  After that seemed even more comfortable and everyone who knew felt the same way, read or not, Henry was the best weight trainer any of us had ever met, he was the teacher, we were his students, and oh my, did we ever learn!
A short time later the club closed up and Henry was gone.  The next time I saw him, he looked different, weaker; he was battling liver cancer.  But when he saw me that same smile came to his face as he related to me what he had been doing since the last time we saw each other.  He talked and talked and before we parted ways he reminded me of our verse; “Remember, we can do all things with the muscle God gives us!”

Later that evening, I was thinking of Henry, his condition and his outlook and knowing I would never see him again I realized this man, this teacher was still training the student. Wow, strong in body, strong in spirit, strong and happy, in his march into Heaven, awesome.

Top that, Charlie Atlas!!!