Traveling the Rock Road

Let me ask you a couple of questions I’m sure some will find redundant or unnecessary, but hey, let’s go for it anyway.  How many of you consider hearing very important?  How many think about your hearing on a regular basis?  Okay, how many take for granted hearing and the sounds around you, never really give it much thought?  Now of course all of us with the ability to hear understand how precious of a gift we have.  I learned at an early age the value of hearing from someone who never had that opportunity, namely, my mother.  Mom suffered from severe hearing loss all her life and had to wear hearing aids to be able to listen to anything at all.  She was constantly telling me, “Johnny, always take care of your hearing; you don’t realize how wonderful you have it.”  Then she would say, “Listen to everything around you, drink it all in; and someday if you listen carefully and you might get the chance to hear the earth sing!”  I must confess, besides her physical disability mom had some (shall we say) quirks that made her different from most other people particularly how she thought and perceived the world around her.  (It wasn’t until years later before dementia took her over that I realized the little funny lady from West Virginia possessed more scholarly common sense and insight than most people, including yours truly, gave her credit for.)  But I did heed her advice and paid careful attention to the sounds and tones around me.

Being a musician, hearing has always been important to me for I have a passionate love for every style of this art.  If I were not able to drink in every note and score, no doubt I would be less the individual.

I also love the sound of laughter, especially children’s.  No tone can be as heartwarming and create joy in someone like hearing children at play; such a blessing.

I like playing games with hearing; for instance I work in an environment where the noise decibel in certain areas can be deafening, so loud in fact that hearing protection is required.  My job requires that I spend time walking through these areas.  When I do, I play close attention to the roar of the machinery and the other sounds generated around me.  As I continue my course, I pay heed to how long it takes before the volume diminishes to nothing and a new sound from another department takes over.  I concentrate on what I hear and how soon it’s gone all the way back to my lab where there is only the quite running of analytical equipment.  Hearing can be and is fun.

I think the sounds I enjoy most are outdoors, natural echoes like the wind blowing through the trees and rain as it splashes to earth.  My personal favorite is the times Cathy and I have hiked a good distance to waterfalls.  The large ones you can begin to hear a ways off similar to the sound of wind, but as you draw closer it gets louder until you are surrounded by the roar of the water cascading over the side of a hill or mountain.  I often wondered, “Is this what mom was talking about, the earth singing?”  Maybe, but something inside me told me no.  When she spoke of this global serenade, so to speak, she made sure to emphasize the importance of not just hearing, but listening.  To people with hearing loss, sounds quite often run together like paints will on a fresh canvas if they become wet, causing the picture to be blurred.  In the case of hearing impaired, sounds become nothing more than noise, an unrecognizable and sometime confusing clamor.  To become coherent sounds, two things must work together.  First, the addition of a hearing aid or device to amplify the volume of a sound, and second, strong concentration on what is being produced audibly.  My Father-in-law who also wore hearing aids had perfected this art of attentiveness so well that he seldom had his television above a whisper, but could understand every word that was being broadcast.  So was it the combination of hearing aids and concentration that enabled my mother to hear this earth melody that I could not but as I grew older, so wanted desperately to also?  Listen, listen, listen, that was the key she taught, not just hearing, but listening.  G.K. Chesterton himself said, “There’s a lot of difference between listening and hearing.

That’s where I had to start, not just trying to hear a song, but learning to listen to every facet of my life, especially others.  If someone is trying to teach me something I have to listen to learn.  If someone has a different opinion, I have to listen to understand why they feel as they do.  If someone does not like something about me (and approaches me in love as a friend), I have to listen to determine if their perspective has validity and then I have to work on that something in my life that needs to be corrected.  But I believe the greatest lesson in listening I’ve learned is to the Word and Voice of the one I call Savior, Lord, My God.

Proverbs 2:1-5 says “My son, if you receive my words and treasure up my commandments with you, making your ear attentive to wisdom and inclining your heart to understanding; yes, if you call out for insight and raise your voice for understanding, if you seek it like silver and search for it as for hidden treasures, then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God”

Again, as I’ve said in the past, I’m not much into practicing a religion, but I do have passion to follow a “faith” I’ve come to believe as truth, the truth that comes in knowing Christ Jesus as Lord and Savior. 

As I continue to listen in my faith life, you’d be amazed (maybe not) at what I hear sometimes; but that’s another story for another time.

Did I ever get the chance to hear the song my mom spoke about?  Well, the answer is yes! I’ve had that pleasure on several occasions now; the last time was in Kentucky at Daniel Boone National Forest.  There, my Lady and I descended one of the natural rock walls that surround the Red River Gorge.  Reaching the floor of the gorge, we walked along a trail for a mile or so until we reached a point where there was nothing but dead silence, no man-made sounds, no wind, no rushing water; nothing.  Closing our eyes and concentrating deeply, we listened.  It begins still, almost silent, but then; there it is.  A hum–no, a low-pitched chime.  Possibly an ever so very quiet choir voice sustaining one magical note eternally; Awesome!  Okay, I know what some of you are thinking; “Miller, cut the jive, all that was happening is you were having a 70s flashback!  The earth does not sing and there’s no evidence that it does!”  Oh Au Contraire, Doubting Bear!  Scientists have written many papers on the subject as more people come forth to testify they have experienced this phenomenon.  It has been described by some in certain regions, as only audible with special equipment.  Others have described it loud enough to hear with the human ear and emulating the sound of birds or singing voices.  I don’t have the time or desire to focus in on any of these studies (Go Google!)  I just know it’s real, just like my mama told me.  Is there a special reason or understanding to what these sounds are and mean.  I’m sure that’s another subject that has a vast numbers of answers depending on the researcher.  I’m not that sharpest tack in the box by a long shot, so I can’t and won’t debate what they are to others; I can only give you my twist on the subject, again set forth on faith alone. You see in Isaiah 44:23 it reads—

Wait a minute!  You know that’s something else you can Google.  Actually, I’d start there! Are you hearing or are you listening?  You just might be missing a world symphony, and more! :o)

Yesterday I was in the yard leaf blowing the last of fallen leaves.  As anyone who has ever used a blower knows you start with a small pile stretched across the yard, as you continue the pile grows larger and larger.  My four year old granddaughter couldn’t resist jumping and rolling in the traveling mounds as I was blew them forward toward the street.  She would stay right in the midst of the leaves as they swirled around her.  When the last of them were gone she would quickly jump up from the ground and dive into the new swell of foliage that was larger than the last.  Pretty soon her seven-year-old sister saw what was going on and had to get involved in the fun also.  Now with two wiggling and giggling obstructions in the path of my task, it made the job of cleanup a lot slower.  What should have taken 20 minute ran almost an hour, and yes, I could have made the girls get out of the leaves, but why?  What was more important at that moment, getting yard work done or creating a memory of fun and laughter with grandpa?  Well, in my way thinking the answer is a no-brainer.  There was no way I was going to stop the girls’ fun, even if it took twice as long!  You see, I’m a big believer in creating lasting memories; good, fun memories, something you can look back at and have it bring a smile to your face.  And nothing can do that more for this man than making people laugh and smile, especially children.  I believe it’s the essence of physical life to bring happiness to others, particularly loved ones; in so doing you bring happiness to yourself.  The main reason I feel that way is because in my early days, I had a person in my life whose philosophy on life was contrary to the one I just described; and the memories it created in me are ones I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Price, my great-aunt’s husband was a rather large man in stature, standing over 6 feet tall and weighing near 300.  He was the 1^st male influence I had in my life since I never knew my father.  As long as I did the things that made him happy, he was okay to be around; the only problem was I didn’t always know what that was.  It never took much to set old Price off and when he did get mad, life for me as well as my mom could get pretty ugly. Since the two of us had to live with my aunt and Price I guess he felt that gave him the right to do whatever he wanted.  I could be playing and all of a sudden have a huge beefy hand knock me to the ground for reasons such as making too much noise or just because he was in a bad mood.  Very seldom did I have friends over the house because Price just wouldn’t like it.  If I did get to have company, I usually was ridiculed or physically hurt after they left for what ever reason he felt justified. Probably the worse that ever happened was when I was bouncing a ball on the sidewalk that led up to our house.  New grass had just been planted and I was told to stay off the yard.  Price was working on the front steps with a hammer.  When his anger erupted, I doubt if he even realized he had the hammer in his hand.  But the moment I lost control of the ball and it got in the yard, he swung around and hit me in the back of the head, opening a large wound and leaving a scar I have to this day.  When mom saw what he did she ripped him a new one, which in turn got her beat.  (Just a side note here, what I’m describing is a text book case of a bully, someone who hurts and terrorizes ones smaller and weaker than them.)  I could go on with other examples forever, but it’s not worth telling.  I will say the physical abuse finally stopped one day when he came at my mom again and she picked a very thick coffee mug and let if fly, hitting Price in the forehead and dropping him like a bad habit. The little small-framed gal with the hearing and learning disability then stood over that big man and let him know what she would do to him while he slept if he ever touched her or me again!  Later in life, she told she would have busted his head years earlier had she known that’s all it would take to get him to stop the abuse.

When you’re young and all this is going on, life can be pretty confusing.  You don’t know what to do to make it stop.  You don’t know what you ever did to be treated in such a manner.  You couldn’t tell anyone what was going on back in the 60s, it seems that it would be written off as just child discipline and even cast the child in a bad light if they did complain to someone; an attitude with some back then that you probably had it coming anyway.  Please now, don’t get the idea I’m here to tell about a terrible chapter in my childhood, to which it was.  What I’m doing is relating facts about my life that I have no doubt are a mirror image to many others; and to also tell where and how I found freedom.

My Uncle Price passed away in 1970, but by then I had little to do with the man.  I was playing music by then and most of my friends were older and I would stay with them often so there would be large gaps of time where I wouldn’t even see him.  I knew he was sick with cancer and slowly dying in a bedroom that I never went near.  When the time of his death came, I wasn’t home and felt no emotion when I received the news.  I was not ever present for his viewing or funeral.  He was gone, but still there was a memory, a bad memory that I just couldn’t seem to shake or rid from my mind for no more than short periods of time.  It was if he was hurting me all over again, except this time mentally over physically; and there would be times I thought I would lose my mind because of it.

My favorite writer, C.S. Lewis once said, “Everybody thinks forgiveness is a good idea until they have something to forgive.”  When I became a Christian I remember praying God to forgive me of my sins and take control of my life.  It’s been good, but I’ve had my highs and lows.  During the times of the lows, I’ve had to return to God and ask once more for Him to forgive me for my unfaithfulness.  The good thing is I know every time I do, He does just that–forgives me for whatever I bring to Him (1John1:9) and because of His love, He then remembers it no more (Psalm103:12).

It occurred to me one day when I was being mentally tortured by a man that had been gone for 25 years that the problem didn’t exist with Price, it existed with me.  My man Lewis said in another of his works. “Forgiving and being forgiven are two names for the same thing.  The important thing is that discord has been resolved.”

Like a ton of bricks it hit me, as long as I held on to the evil this man did, he or it would continue to harm me.  It wasn’t until I realized that it wouldn’t change, until I did for Price what the Creator of the universe did for me; forgive.  One night while driving home on a two lane road this thought came on me so hard I couldn’t continue to drive.  Pulling over and exiting the car I sat on the hood for a few minutes and then declared in a loud voice, since there was no one around to hear me, “PRICE! You fat mud-sucking overbearing jerk, I will never forget what you did to me and my mother, but by the name of Lord Jesus Christ, I do for you what He did for me; I FORGIVE YOU!”  I was startled by a noise farther off the road.  When I looked closer, I saw that it was some cows that had come over to the fence and were staring at me as if to say, “Dude, less coffee, more sleep, you need to chill.”  Returning to car I was laughing so hard I could hardy drive.  (I had the idea that God was getting a good chuckle out of me also.)  Wow, I was thinking about Price, and I was laughing, awesome!

Here’s how I’m going to sum this up; if you or someone you know suffers from what I did, don’t let it go on, seek help.  Don’t let anyone or anything rob you of the happiness God wants you to have.  The pain or even the hate is not worth hanging on to; it only robs you of life.  For me I’ve had reoccurrences of hurt I once suffered on many occasions, but each time I turn it over to God and declare I forgive you, Price  (in a much quieter voice than the 1^st time).  I truly have experienced healing in a way I never thought I would. God you are so awesome!

This week, this day, experience healing if you are in need.  Forgive the unforgivable, I guarantee it will be the most exhilarating feeling you ever experience.  Then, this week, this day, go out and laugh, make someone else laugh, learn and never, Never, NEVER forget, you are someone special!  Not because I say so, even though I believe it, but because the Creator of the universe says so.  Psalm 139:13-16, John 3:16

So who wants to join me and the girls in the leaf pile?!! :o)

“I have had more trouble with myself than any other man I’ve ever met.”  Dwight L. Moody

It’s been a few years since the day I crossed paths with my friend, Walt and received the oddest greeting he had ever given me.  It went something like this, I had just entered a store and saw him coming toward me; “Hey Walt, how you doing, buddy?!!”  “Oh, hi John,” and walked right passed me, out to the parking lot, went quickly to his car and drove away.  Now maybe that doesn’t sound odd to you, a couple of acquaintances see each other out, a quick greeting and then move on; but that wasn’t Walt.  He was the type of person that if he knew you, it was a big smile, hand shake or a hug, a compliment of some type and then questions on how things were going in your life.  Then he might say, “Hey, got time to get a coffee, my treat?” or maybe “Let’s get together soon, I’d like to hear more on what’s going on with you.”  That’s the Walt I and many others had come to know, not this guy with the quick “howdy” and then move on.  “Okay Miller, think, what’d you do or say to the guy to offend him?”  I haven’t always been known for tact in dealing with people from time to time.  True, I can be blunt, but that’s because I sometimes don’t know a better way to get my point across.  (I’ve learned diplomacy with age; kinda!)  But try as I might, I couldn’t come up with one incident where I might have done anything to Walt.  I was always glad to see him and hear what he had to say, he was completely genuine in his concern for me as well as others, hence I treated him with the highest regard.  Several days passed and I was talking to another friend about my encounter with Walt and how strange it seemed to me.  “Don’t you know?” he said, “Walt left his wife and moved in with someone new.  He left his church and won’t associate with any of us from his past now.  I hear he’s gotten pretty wild in his lifestyle; who would have thought Walt was just waiting for a chance to cut loose!”  Who would have thought it indeed?  I hold no PhD in the study of human nature, but one statement I will make and stand firmly is no one instantaneously changes their lifestyle, ways of thinking or convictions; there is always an underlying reason that perhaps has been building momentum of years.  With Walt I wouldn’t know what that reason was unless I asked.

Phone conversation: “Hello?”  “Hey Walt, this is Miller, lets get together for some coffee.”  “Why, John?” Now there was a question, how should I answer it?  “Well, I could tell you it’s because I miss your ugly face and I’m a glutton for emotional trauma, but I don’t think you’d believe me huh?”  A laugh on the other end, “True I wouldn’t believe you!”  “Well then, let’s not play games, there’s something going on with you that I confess worries me and I want to talk face to face.  I’m not looking for confrontation, but it would mean a lot to me as your friend to hear what’s going on with you.  I won’t judge or lecture you; I just want opportunity to understand what changed.  After that, if you wish, we’ll go our separate ways and I won’t bother you again.”  There was a long pause before he said, “Rex’s, 30 minutes.”  We sat in a booth toward the back so we could have some privacy as we talked.  “So what do ya wanna hear, John?”  “Well, for starters, how are you?”  “Good,” Walt quickly stated, “happier than I’ve been in years.” “That would take some doing, seeing you’re one of the happiest people I’ve ever known.” My comment brought a small smile to his face as he looked down into his coffee cup.  “Are you going to tell me you weren’t really happy,” I questioned.  “Yes and no,” he responded.  “When I was around you and the others I was happy, that was real.  But there were things going on that few knew anything about, financial problems and other pressures I was dealing with.  Then Kate and I started have martial troubles and they just never got better.”  “Okay,” I interrupted, “let’s stop there for a moment.  “You were the person who was always talking to others, including me, on how to overcome difficulties or where to seek help, Dude, you were the go to guy with the answers; what happened?!”

“What happened?  Everything for others, nothing for me, all the things I did for people in need brought me great happiness; I loved being there for them.  But when it came my turn to need help, there was no I could turn to.  My problems kept getting bigger and I had less time and resources to do anyone else any good.  It got to the point where I wasn’t happy at home and if I went out I was afraid of whom I would run into; I couldn’t handle hearing one more problem that someone else had.”  We were quiet for what seemed to be a long time before I asked in a quiet voice; “Walt, wasn’t there anyone you could turn to, to be what you had been to so many others, an ear, a caring heart?”  Another long episode of silence ensued.  “I went to one person who I looked at as someone that might be who you just described, and you know what they told me?  Walt, you know all the answers, you can get this worked out, I’m sure.  They were right; I did know all the answers, except how to make them work in my life.  A month later I moved out and Kate and I divorced.  I never expected to end up like this, but since I walked away it’s been like a heavy burden lifted off my back.  I’m happier now than I have been in years.”  “Okay, but just one more question.”  This is the one I really wanted to hear. “When you think about Kate, your children and grandchildren, and other people who looked up to you, does that bring you happiness also?”  That was the point, I guess, where I stepped over the line.  Walt’s coffee was finished so he stood, laid a 5 on the table and said, “No, no it doesn’t, but that’s why I choose not to think or talk about them.  It was good to see you John, but please, don’t call again,” and he turned and walked out.

There’s a lot more I could tell you about my buddy, Walt, but it’s not necessary for where I’m going with all this which I’m going to sum up in 2 points; ready?
1.) If you find you’re in trouble in such a way it is causing adverse effects on you and your family, Seek Help!  Don’t shoulder these problems alone; find someone who is capable and caring enough to lend you a hand.  Some of the hardest ones to take this advice are the ones like my man Walt who are looked at as leaders or people that have all the answers.  Maybe they see it as a sign of weakness to allow others to know they struggle also, I don’t know what a person’s reasoning is, but I do know we are all susceptible to “Crash and Burn” be it mental, emotional, physical or spiritual, no one is immune.  Please, seek help.  On the other side of the coin, you may know or suspect someone is going through problematic moments in life, don’t be afraid to ask if they need help.  They just might be waiting to see if someone notices and cares enough for them to offer a hand or a heart.  This is one I’ve heard time and again from people; if only someone would have asked.  As a Christian, I have a network of friends that I know care for me and want to know if there’s anything they can do or pray about in my life.  (Galatians 6:2, 1 Thessalonians 5:11 and Romans 15:1 are good reads.)

2.)  I took some classes on money and getting out of debt that changed my life, financially speaking, tremendously.  (I’m not looking to talk about that, but if you want to know more get hold of me and I’ll tell you all about it.)  One of the points I came away with is you must first, and foremost address your basic needs; food, shelter, living expenses.  You cannot shortcut these and expect to have success; you must meet the crucial requirements of you and your family.  That’s the same thing that is needed in the other characteristics of your existence.  Helping others is a wonderful calling, but it is essential that you first meet the needs of you and your family, physically, mentally, emotionally, and yes, spiritually.  Ephesians 5:28-30 says it all.

Over the course of time and maturing, I have learned the importance of what I’m telling you here (which is the only reason I write these, if I feel I have found a treasure I want share it with others), but the most important tool in keeping my life directed on the right path has been prayer.  I gave this stat one other time, but it bears repeating.  Of all the married couples in the United States, 50% will end in divorce.  But with couples that are committed to praying together regularly that rate drops to under, 1%.  This is where the man must make the 1^st move, take the love of his life by the hand and say, I love you so much and I want to come before God with you in prayer.  Give it a go, guys; you’ll be amazed at what it will do to your marriage!  I know men who can pray with other men or in a group, but never spend the time to pray with their wives.  Okay, I better stop; I think I’ve said enough.

Guess the reason I wrote this today is because I’ve seen too many good people make bad decisions, that had they done the things I’ve listed above would not have themselves in the shape they ended up in; not because I say so, but because they say so.

As for my old friend Walt, well, it took a while but things actually turned out okay down the road.

But that’s another story! 🙂

Hope everyone has been having a great summer while I was away.  My Lady and I took some time off to do a little traveling plus get some other things accomplished that I’ve needed to.  Part of our trip away took us back to our hometown where we attended a reunion, visited with old friends, and just took in the sights of the old stomping grounds.  No trip back to Fremont would be complete without going be the old homestead and seeing what shape it’s in; but this isn’t it.  The old house I grew up in was an old two story apartment house that my family turned into a single dwelling over on the east side of town.  As family members passed on or returned to our place of origin, Southern West Virginia, the house was sold and mom and I moved over to west side into this colonial style house you’re looking at in the picture.  This was a complete opposite of our 1^st home, which went from a multi-unit to a single dwelling.  This place had been a single living complex, probably very beautiful in the early part of the 20^th Century, to a 3 apartment house with my mother and me sharing the top floor.  She and I had done apartment living a couple of other times while residing in Fremont, but always moved back to the Howland Street house; always back home.  This time was different, there was no moving back for there was no home or family there anymore, it was just me and her; that was a very strange feeling.  Being just the two of us, there was no need for a large house, and frankly, by that point in my life I spent little time there anyway.  Matter of fact, I didn’t even have a key to the place, but there was no need.  If I was out late and the place was locked up I had my own way in. Standing on the concrete banister on the porch I could reach up and grab the top of the yellow arch, then swinging my foot over on a lower, flat surface of the arch.  I could propel myself up enough to grab the ledge beneath my bedroom window, push open the window that I kept unlocked, and slide into my room.  It was a rather precarious feat, scaling up the side of this building with little to grab on to, but back then I was easily 50 pounds lighter and very agile.  The whole task of getting in my window I could do in seconds, but that was also the trick to the stunt; keep going, don’t stop, use the momentum to boost yourself up. Yep, that was me back then, no fear of harm, ten feet tall and bullet proof, or so I thought.

My man Lynn and I had just come from performing music at a venue.  Before, and after the concert we made the decision to indulge in what could be referred to as “enjoying herbal ecstasy to the fullest extent.” (Okay, we got stoned, alright?!  Remember, I was young, and DUMB!)  The hour was late and we needed a place to sleep.  No problem, just head over the apartment and my shortcut into the house.  Remember I said one of the secrets of climbing the outside wall was keep moving?  Well, that’s a little hard to do when ¾ of your brain cells are numb.  All I remember is hoisting myself up as always, but stalling out on the ledge under my window.  The next thing I knew I was floating into my friend’s car.  Actually what happened is I lost my grip, fell backwards, striking the cement banister with my back which slowed my rate of fall, and then landing on the sidewalk, head and shoulders first; BAM!!  Lynn gathered me up, got me in his car and sped off to the ER at the hospital.  That had to be quite a trick on his part seeing I was a good 4 inches taller than him and the car he got me into was a compact VW Karmann Ghia.  Now that’s working off pure adrenaline; praise God for it and Brothers like Lynn! 

At the hospital things were coming back to me, but in a weird way.  If I opened my eyes there were no images, only blinding swirls of light that made no sense so I would shut them again.  People around me were yelling and moving me fast from one point to another, I was placed on my back and it felt like they turned a water hose loose on my head.  They had to wash away the blood to see where the injury was.  I heard someone say, “We’re going to have to cut this hair away so I can see what we’ve got, hand me the razor.”  I must have tried to say something because the next thing I heard was, “Shut up, it’ll grow back!” Works for me!  A couple of hours must have passed, but it seemed like an eternity.  I was now in a dark room, which was easier on my eyes.  I had a couple of IVs hooked to my arm and I was finally alone with just one thought going through my head, “God, what’s going on here, am I going to die?”  Next moment, sleep; at least that’s what I hoped it was.

When morning came, my sight was returning more to normal.  Nurses were checking my vitals and I found I was in some type of male ward with several other men.  My girlfriend was there along with my mom. Later Lynn and the rest of the guys in the band came to see me.  Except for some aches and pains I felt pretty normal.  When the doctor came in, he started by ripping me a new one for pulling such a stupid stunt–no argument.  “Four things saved your life,” he stated, “When you hit the banister most of the impact was on your back, bouncing off that you landed shoulders first with your head whip lashing against the concrete, which again softened the blow to that thick head of yours.  The third is if your buddy hadn’t been there, most likely would have died from losing blood–you never forget what he did for you.” (I haven’t.)   “Hey Doc, you said there were four reasons, that’s only three.”  He was now giving a look that seem to say, “Don’t you get it?  I don’t know anything about you, son, but my feeling is that you need to thank God that we’re here talking this morning.  Had that fall occurred just and inch father back you wouldn’t be here today, I’m still shaking my head when I think about it.”  So am I still today and that’s been over 40 years now.

I was released from the hospital 2 days later and spent the good part of the following week just lying low and thinking a lot of thinking about what the Doc said.  Why was I still here?  Why did it turn out the way it did?  Was it luck?  Was it more? 

I had been in church off and on my whole life and I held to the position that there was a God, but I just didn’t understand how that related to me, or how he saw me, or if He even cared for me.  I guessed He did, but I didn’t how or why He did; just wasn’t sure what to believe.  A few more days passed and I finally left home and walked over to this old dance studio, where my band practiced.  I was a little unbalanced on my feet and also self-conscious about the gapping bald spot in the back of my head where they shaved the hair to stitch me up, but still, it was good once again to be out in the world.  Walking up the stairs to the studio, I could hear two people talking; it was my buddy who had been with me the night of the accident and a fellow musician who had been the drummer before I joined the band.  I was going to make a joke about being replaced since I now had brain damage, but their talk seemed too serious for me to interrupt, so I just went to the kitchen, got a beer and came back and sat down.  The fellow drummer was talking religion to my friend; I had heard he’d become one of those “Jesus Freaks,” but I just saw it as another passing fad.  But hey, as long as he’s happy why knock him, so I sat quietly and listened, and then listened some more.  He was talking about a God that loved me so much that nothing could take that love away, (Romans 8:38,39) and that God was offering me a free Gift (Romans 6:23) and that I could know I’m going to Heaven someday (1John 5:13, John 17:3) and that God’s love was so immense for us that He sent His Son to pay a price for my life (John 3:16).  I could go on or even put in a cliché here to stress my point, but I’m not going to; it comes down to this, you either believe it or you don’t.  That night I left thinking about all I was told about the love of God, and life.  I didn’t do anything with that knowledge for some time except think, a lot.  Finally a commitment came to believe what I had been told, what the Bible says.  Has it always been an easy commitment?  Nope.  Have I wavered from what I believe at times?  I’d be lying to you if I told you no.  But through the years of studying many beliefs as well as my own, I find Jesus to be the only one that holds truth.  Do I expect everyone to agree with me?  No, but my belief in Christ wouldn’t be worth much if I didn’t feel that way, now would it?  Remember, I always try to stress I’m not a religious man, just one of faith, and in Christ is where I’ll take my stand!

Occasionally, we make it back to our hometown and once in a while I walk past that old house on Park Avenue.  For years you could still see the bloodstains from where I landed; and I remember that night and I thank God for sparing my life.  I then look up to the window where my room sat, and I remember Oct. 7, 1972.  That’s the night I knelt by my bed and asked a blood stained Savior to come into my heart; and I thank God for that night when he gave me Life.  Awesome!

I don’t know what tomorrow brings since I’m still accident prone to this day (once a goof, always a goof, I guess!), but I do know what my future holds, Life!  Bring It!!!

Back some 20 years ago I found myself, like many fathers of young boys, coaching a little league baseball team.  This caused for some interesting moments to say the least since this was my 1^st time ever in this position, and I soon learned most of the youth I was in charge of had never played a game of organized ball; wasn’t long before I could tell it was going to be a long season! All the boys were great to work with, some a little more rambunctious than nerves could take at times, but never the less, wonderful kids.  Now I’m not one of those youth coaches that put heavy emphasis on winning.  Perhaps that comes from my days in little league where my main position was “riding the pine” as they say, which translates to sitting on the bench watching the better players take the field.  That might have some bearing, but mostly my philosophy in kids sports is that there needs to be two key ingredients to be successful, fun and fundamentals.  The job of a coach is to be a leader, confidant, and teacher with the later being the most important.  I ran a youth football league for 10 years and we held strongly to this belief.  We never had places for winning the season or all-star teams.  We concentrated on teaching the game of football and doing the best we could to ensure that each child’s time in the league was a good one, and we accomplished that by making sure everyone played at least half the game.  We must have done something right because for a time we grew to be the largest pee-wee football league in the state of Indiana.  Also, check any of the local high-school football programs back then and you would find 70 to 85% of the roster was made up of boys that came from our program.  (Okay, enough blowing that horn, got sidetracked, sorry!)  Anyway that’s how I approached coaching baseball; we would concentrate on learning every position on the field and every boy getting the chance to play where ever they wanted, and like most youngsters, the majority wanted a chance to pitch. Most teams would have three, maybe four pitchers; I had nine. Of the nine, I had one legitimate pitcher, a couple others that could get the ball across the plate, sometimes, with the rest who could toss some balls that even made parents and fans in the bleachers take cover!  It made for some long innings watching the opposing team come to the plate and just stand there (or jump out of the way of a crazy pitch) until they drew a walk.  The scores sometimes made you feel like you were watching football instead; 21-0, 18-3.  As bad as it would get sometimes and I’d want to put in my ace, I stayed the course and let everyone who wanted to pitch get his shot, which is what a few “aggressive type” parents wanted to do to me at time.  Oh well.   Win or lose I wasn’t changing anything.  I encouraged each to give their best and not to worry what the outcome might be.  And who knows, maybe a miracle of memory just might develop.  That came one afternoon in the form of a gangling young man named Johnny.

Johnny was taller than most of the other boys on the team, getting a good growth spurt at a young age, but he had a tendency to be just a little awkward since, like many his age, coordination had not caught up to his size yet.  But Johnny was a champ, every time he took the field he gave all he had no matter what the score. So when he told me he wanted a chance to pitch, there was no way in the world I was going to tell him no; the end result was not pretty.  Like most of the other wannabe pitchers Johnny had a control problem getting the ball across the plate.  He could throw hard but couldn’t key in on getting it into the catcher’s mitt.  When he finally slowed his approach down, he got it across for a strike but it was so slow a good hitter would send the ball into outer space.  Johnny got rocked his 1^st time on the mound, but I encouraged him to just relax, shake it off, his next outing would be better; it wasn’t.  Now you would think that after a boy takes a shellacking, not once but twice, he’d want to stay as far away from that nemesis as possible, not Johnny.  He couldn’t wait for his next outing and pleaded with me to make it soon.  Personally, I was hesitant, I wanted everybody to get his chance to pitch, but I also didn’t want anyone to come away traumatized by the event.  I let a couple of games go by without Johnny pitching, but he would always ask at the end, “When can I pitch again?”  Seeing he was bound and determined, I relented and said, “Johnny, next game you take the hill.”  With a big smile, he was off to his parents’ car.  As I watched him head off, I prayed, “Lord, please don’t let that youngin get hurt physically or emotionally next game!”

Next game we drew a team that had put it to us pretty hard the 1^st go-around and I wanted to throw my best pitcher, put then a lanky grinning lad was in front of me saying, “Ready to go coach!” Nothing left to say; “Go get em Johnny!”  A few of my players, and yes, even some parents questioned my sanity, remembering the last 2 outings with Johnny pitching.  The decision was made and I knew at least there were 2 of us there that were satisfied with it; play ball.  The 1^st inning started quite like all the others, 2 hit, 2 walks, 2 runs. The boys came into the dugout for their turn at bat.  I noticed Johnny and didn’t like what I saw.  His face was twisted with anger as he threw his glove down, grabbed a bat and waited his turn since he was 3^rd in the line-up.  1^st batter, strike out, 2^nd batter, ball hit back to the pitcher, out number 2.  Now Johnny was up to bat, still with a grimace plastered on face.  1^st pitch, line drive to left field and Johnny goes into 3^rd with a triple!  Our side of the field exploded with excitement, no one on the team had hit a triple before now!  Next batter, lined to center for a double and Johnny scores!  As he crossed the plate, he became the cheerleader yelling with all his might.  His enthusiasm became contagious to the rest of the boys and we finished that inning scoring 6 runs.  My assistant coach said, “Let’s let Johnny go one more inning, if he gets into trouble again we can make a switch, hey we just might win this game!”  I nodded in agreement, but I wasn’t so sure that’s what I wanted to do; I didn’t have to worry about it.  Now the other team was up to bat and they were the ones a little rattled for a change.  1^st pitch, “Strike.”  2^nd pitch, “Foul Ball!  3^rd, “Ball.”  4^th, “Strike, You’re Out!”  Johnny threw his hand in the air with his index finger sticking out as to say “We’re Number 1!”  That hand went soaring upward many more times as Johnny pasted strike after strike over the plate.  His energy level flowed over to the rest of the team with boys getting hits that night that had never even touched the ball before then.  The game was called by the “mercy rule” in the 5^th inning.  That’s when one team goes way up in score for the other.  I knew this rule well from having it called in some of our prior games.  Only this was the 1^st time it was ever enacted with us winning!!

“Faith means believing the unbelievable, hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.” G.K. Chesterton

It would do my ego wonders to tell you we turned everything around after that night, kinda like the “Bad News Bears,” that would be the thing fables are made of.  We did manage to squeak out a couple more wins, but nothing like that magic moment when it seemed like everything came together for the team, and for Johnny.  The best I can figure, what happened that magical evening for a bunch of kids who hadn’t come anywhere close to tasting a victory, is one of them came to that game determined to win, to show that he, that his team was better than what they had been playing.  At first, it looked like the same result, but Johnny dug down deep inside himself and found what he needed, what he knew was there to be a winner. There’s a song we used to sing that went, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going.”  Johnny’s fire to give his best caught on to the rest of the team that night, and oh my, did it ever burn!

As I’ve said in the past I don’t see myself as anyone special, but over the course of my life I’ve accomplished a few things that some might catalog as special.  If that is true, I give credit to the three most likely reasons why; determination, faith, grace.  I’ve made changes in my life that at one time I considered impossible to do, but by determination I stayed the course and achieved the goal set forth.  I had to have faith that I could do what I set out to do, if I can’t believe in myself, how can I expect anyone else to believe in me?  Then the most important, the grace of God that He has poured over my life when I accepted his Son into my life.  For me, anything and everything I’ve attained has been by His guiding hand.

Check out Mark 9, especially verse 23.

Always remember, Friends and Family, when I share something about me or even about someone else, it’s not for the purpose of blowing a horn, its for possibly helping someone who just might need to hear something encouraging as we travel together on the “Rock Road.”  That’s what’s it’s all about, if you find a treasure, be willing to share it with others who may need it.  For me, that treasure comes in the lives and stories of ones like Johnny who encouraged the Gray One here.  But the greatest encouragement, the greatest Treasure I have found along the Rock Road; is the Rock!  That’s no wrestler, that’s a Savior.

Hey everyone, have a great and blessed week.  Dig Deep, there’s a talent God has placed there you might not have tapped into yet, awesome! 🙂

“No person was ever honored for what he received, but for what he gave” Calvin Coolidge

I would imagine nearly every town and city across the U.S. has historical landmarks.  In my town it’s a monument to Thaddeus Kosciusko, an army general from Poland who fought in the American Revolution for the colonies and settled our fair community (Hence, from we where get the name of our town; Warsaw and our county Kosciusko).  In the small hamlet of Winona Lake, that sits right next to Warsaw, is the preserved home of Billy Sunday, famed evangelist during the early part of the 20^th Century.  Back in the hometown of my youth, Fremont, Ohio, there’s a commemoration to Colonial George Croghan who with a small unit of troops defended the fort that had been in Fremont during the War of 1812.  These are people who deserve to be recognized for their achievements, true enough.  But often, in my way of thinking, there are folks who carved their name out, maybe in not such a prolific way as fighting great battles, but still, all the same left an indelible mark on a place and a people; before you is a picture of one of those people that I feel did just that, and one of my Heroes of the Rock Road.

Bill lived and also ran a small store on the east side of Fremont.  Some called it drugstore, others a grocery, and still others a soda shop.  The actual name of the establishment was “Behren’s Confectionery” and it was a bit of all three. Bill had emigrated from Germany and opened his establishment around 1949.  He married the love of his life and together they had two wonderful children, their son being one of my childhood friends.  It’s quite easy to know the majority of the businesses when you live in a small community and Bill’s was no exception to that rule. If anything, it stood forth because nearly everyone could tell you where “Behren’s” was located, but also most could pick out its proprietor in a crowd.  In the store was a lunch counter that was always busy serving sandwiches, soda drinks and many types of ice cream creations.  Delicious food, true, but there was another reason for folks to be there, especially a certain older crowd of men, that was to visit a friend, for that is who Bill was to the special visitors of his store.  I enjoyed the way he would interact with the ones who stopped for a cup of coffee and conversation; mostly the latter.  There would be laughter and story telling as Bill never missed a beat working behind the counter, always with that natural grin that he so easily wore.  Even if you never stepped foot in the front door of the store there was a good chance you knew who Bill Behrens was, especially if you were a youngster.  Besides running a very popular store, our Hero had another talent; he could make the most incredible homemade ice cream you ever tasted!  Bill would supply his delicious treats to the schools in our community.  Whenever his car pulled up at one of the grade schools, every kid on the playground knew who it was and the excitement would flow knowing what would be in the lunch cafeteria that day! That same treat also made him a hit at the local retirement home.

But this man also had another gift that I know many would attest to, the gift of caring. During times of hardship that would befall people for different reasons, Bill would carry a credit so they would have food to feed their families and get back on their feet.  This was a side of the man I never knew until a visit back home once and a conversation I had with one individual who expressed just how much was done for him. “When no was willing to do anything, Bill was there for me and my family.  I thanked God many times for that man; this world would be a better place if there were more like him.”

I never knew much about the early days of Bill and what made him the way he was.  Perhaps it was coming out of Europe at a time when there was no many needs and needy people that he never forgot.  Possibly what he did for others, someone once did for him and he made the commitment to “pay it forward” as the catchphrase goes.  I’m not really sure why Bill was the way he was; but I can offer a good guess.  There’s some I have met in my life that possess what I refer to as the Warrior’s Heart.  That term in itself conjures up visions of gallantry and courage in the face of battle, never turning aside, never retreating, and well it should.  But I broaden the definition to include this; “always, Always, ALWAYS, do right.”  Show me a man or woman who is consistence in how they treat people, how they extend charity to ones in need and how they give up themselves in word and deed and I will show you an individual of honor, I will show you one who possesses the Warrior’s Heart, I will show you the Bill Behrens of the world!

“We make a living by what we get; we make a life by what we give.” Winston Churchill

Bill closed the confectionery the year I graduated high school and the following year I left Fremont and never saw the man with the Warrior’s heart, Sir William, again.  Both he and the store are now gone and I doubt if many of the present generation would know who I was speaking of if I mentioned his name; sad.

On a bicycle journey a few years back, I was passing through my old hometown and I took a moment to stop at the place where the store used to stand.  In place of it are a gas station and car wash, the irony was they were closed down with weeds growing up.  Wonder if anyone knows who even ran it, probably not in this day and age of franchise businesses.  I closed my eyes and for just a moment I saw the store again.  I saw the soda fountain with Bill and his help busying themselves serving phosphates, banana splits, cheeseburgers and that famous, delicious homemade ice cream.  I saw the usual crew of regulars who came in for coffee, conversation, a laugh with a friend, and a smile.  I could hear one getting up, heading to the door calling back, “Thanks Bill, see you later.”  I used to think folks were thanking him for the service or the food.  Later I realized they were thanking him for who he was to them, a dear friend.  Awesome!

I haven’t been back to Fremont for a while so I don’t know what’s going on or standing there at the corner of East State and Fifth, but I do have a suggestion.  Fremont, you have a giant of a man, a warrior in the purest sense of the word that used to do business here.  I feel a plaque would be in order.  Something possibly along the lines of “To Bill Behrens and Behrens Confectionary, a place where all could feel welcome, and a man who was a friend to all and a hero to many.  May his memory be a lasting legacy to our community, and may God raise up more business owners who possess the Warrior’s Heart like Bill.”  But, that’s just one man’s thoughts who was blessed by this individual.  Any others?

Side note: I know I usually wrap all my writings around my faith and love for my Lord and how He can work in your life.  Well maybe I didn’t say it in so many words, but do this will ya, check out Phil 4:8. Never, Never, Never tire of doing right.

Nuff said. 🙂

“I have learned that sometimes “sorry” is not enough. Sometimes you actually have to change.”

The rumble that came from the Harley that came pulling up in my driveway alerted me that I was about to be visited by someone outside my usual sphere of friends and acquaintances.  When I opened the front door, there stood a man, tall, a tad overweight, in cycle leathers, dark sunglasses and wild blond hair that was obviously wind whipped from riding without a helmet.  This figure of a man didn’t seem familiar to me; that is, till he spoke.  “John John, you haven’t gotten any prettier over the years, give me a hug you crazy maniac you!”  Oh good grief, it’s Harry!  Totally recognizing who this was I did give my old friend a hug, but at the same time there was this little voice calling to me in the back of my mind saying, “Quick, slam the door, you don’t know if the statue of limitations has run out from the last time you saw this guy and what he got you into!” Good Old Harry, probably the best front man and singer I ever worked with in a rock band.  I don’t care who or what the crowd’s mood was, if you didn’t have a good time when Harry was out front entertaining, that meant you went home early.  My man Harry had a way with people, you could come into the club where we were playing in the worst of moods and end up feeling like you had been with one of your best and funniest friends; give Harry the mike and it was Showtime for Dr. Feelgood!  Yes sir, everyone wanted to be around this guy, to be able to say they saw him or earn bragging rights that you were not just a fan, you were a friend.  Those are the things I remembered about Harry that I liked; besides that he was kind of a big brother to me.  The other side of the coin of “Good Time Harry” well, that left a little to be desired.  He was a good egg; always nice to everyone he met, unless he had over indulged in Mr. Jack Daniel’s well known elixir.  Usually at that point, the mouth would override the brain and he’d end up squaring off against somebody, generally with a resemblance to the Incredible Hulk!  (The end result was seldom pretty!)  That was one of Harry’s downsides; the other was his attraction to the opposite sex, and vice versa.  Harry had the looks, the moves and the grooves and all that made him quite popular with the ladies.  I expressed my concern over his lifestyle to him on a couple of occasions.  “John John, you’re only young once, if you don’t make the best of it now you’ll regret it later.”  I understood being young and enjoying the revelry of it, but that wasn’t my issue; it was a dark haired, brown eyed gal he shared an apartment with back in his hometown by the name of Lana. 

She never came on the road when we were playing, Harry didn’t want her to, for good reason, so that gave him ample room to enjoy the company of other pretty faced young ladies, shall we say.   Because of the closeness of Lana and Harry, she knew a side of him that no one else did.  On several occasions she confronted him about his escapades with other girls.  Harry always handled it the same way, complete denial and a fierce anger that she would even accuse him of such a thing.  And it worked the way he orchestrated; she would back off in fear of his temper and also of losing him. When leaving his place after one of his rants to Lana who stayed behind in complete tears, Harry smile grinned at me and said, “Works every time!”  That was some 30 years ago, the band dispersed and I never saw Harry again until he showed up on my doorstep.

“So, what are you up to these days Harry, still in music,” I asked over some coffee.  “Oh, a little, nothing serious, never could find another wild, crashing drummer to hang out with that would put up with me,” he joked.  “I work a factory job now over in Illinois, got married and have five kids.”  “Five!  Harry, you?  All from the same woman?” I asked in total disbelief.  “Yep, found a good one, kinda like Lana.” “So you two didn’t marry?” I questioned.  “No she ended up marring Jimmy (one of the guys from the band) and they still live around Lima; that’s what brings me here.  I was just over seeing them and thought I’d stop and say hello before heading home.”  Again I questioned, “So you guys stayed close over the years!”  “Hardly,” he shot back. “Her and I had a pretty messy breakup, you know, the way I treated her and everything.” “Okay,” I started, “Then what was the visit?”  It took Harry a moment as he looked down at his coffee cup before speaking. “Well John John, you might find this hard to believe, but I became a Christian a year ago.” Well, that brought a smile to my face, but then he went on.  “During this time I’ve been learning and trying to do right by God, my family and others.  For a long time now I’ve had Lana on my mind, and I knew what I had to do.  I told my wife what my intentions were and she gave me her full support.  So I drove back home and looked the two of them up.  I didn’t know exactly where to begin, but I knew what I had to do so I prayed God would lead me to them.  I stopped at the shopping center when I got to town (now his eyes got wide) and who walks out of the store I parked in front of?  Lana!  I could tell she was surprised to see me and even a little nervous.  I asked her if she would go back in the store, sit down over a cup a coffee, like we’re doing, ‘cause I needed to tell her something.” “So did she do it?” I pondered.  “I didn’t think she was going to, but then she said okay.”  “Well that’s awesome Harry, now you going to get around to telling what it was all about?”  A grin and sip of coffee before saying, “Patience John John, I’m getting there.”  Looking past me more than at me, like he was seeing something from afar he said, “Back when Lana and I were together, I treated her bad, terrible, in a way no one should ever be treated.  For the longest time it didn’t matter how I treated her, she was willing to put up with all of it, she loved me, but I was too blind to recognize what love really was.  With the help of God and the wonderful woman I married I came to see how little I actually knew about love, and the more I thought about Lana, the sicker I became.”  Now he turned his attention to me and the story he began. “When we sat down I didn’t waste anytime, I had to tell her. Lana, I was so wrong in our relationship.  I took for granted your love and gave none in return; you did nothing to deserve the way I treated you and I am so sorry.  I pray one day you might be able to forgive me.”  Wow, I was quite taken back by what I just heard and with a tear in my eye (because there were tears in Harry’s) I asked, “And did she forgive you?”  Head went back down to the coffee cup for just a second and then, “I don’t know, not real sure and I can’t blame if she doesn’t” I shrugged, “Sorry the trip didn’t go the way you had hoped Harry.”  “Oh but it did!” he instantly shot back.  “Yes, it would have been great to hear those words, I forgive you, but that wasn’t the point of the visit.  It wasn’t about what I expected to get from her, it was all about what she needed to get from me, a true, heartfelt admission of my ill treatment of her, and then to hear those words, I’m sorry.  I probably won’t ever see her again so I won’t know if she ever forgave me, but I will know in my heart that I finally set right a wrong I committed against another person.  That, I can live with for the rest of my days.”

“True Strength cannot be measured in what a man achieves in life.  It can only be measured by how much of his strengths he passes to other not just in action but in word, such as I love you, I forgive you, and the big one, I’m sorry.”  J. David Miller

As I watched Harry rumple down the road on his Harley when he left my house I tried to bring up the image of the man I once knew, but it just would come.  After our visit I saw there was a new one where the old once stood.  No longer “Good Time Harry.”  I suppose some would now call him “Got Religion Harry,” but I don’t think that says it either.  I think “Heart Giver Harry” would fit best.  It sounds a little corny, but it appears to me Harry discovered someone loved him so much that He gave His heart, His life for him. When that occurred, Harry found out that he had a heart of his own, and from that point forward has been sharing it with others.  When we’re young we have a tendency to not recognize that our actions and words can sometimes bring hurt to others.  In some cases that hurt has been known to follow some all their lives thereafter.  I know this to be true because I’ve been on both ends.  For me, healing came when I could finally “forgive” ones who harmed me, some I’m sure probably don’t even realize any wrong was done. That was a part, but just like Harry I found another healing not just for the recipient but for the giver.  It may not be the complete remedy, but it sure can take away a lot of pain.  I know this from people who have told me it would have made all the difference in the world in their lives to have heard certain words.

Perhaps we all have at least one case where we need to say those certain words to someone else.  I know, it’s not easy; but with God’s help and a little strength conditioning we all can do it.

Hey, I’m a person for fitness so what say we all work together now, okay?

Okay, Ready, and one;

I’m sorry.

And two,

Please forgive me.

AWESOME!!!

“Being Brother and Sister means being there for each other”

This is a picture of my Grandson Blaine and his sister and my Granddaughter Hailey Jo.  These two can fight like cats and dogs, aggravating the fire out of each other, one minute, and then the next be each other’s biggest fan.  There was a time I would have branded this type of behavior strange; perhaps abnormal would be a better descriptive.  But after seeing the relationship my kids had with each other (and lived to tell about it!), I’ve come to realize this is just part of growing up.  You see, my Lady and I have the rare distinction of both being only children and based on that premise, we had little understanding on the interaction of siblings.  It’s like anything else in life, you can get a glimpse of what goes on, but unless you’re apart of it you really can’t grasp the whole reality of the situation, which brings me to my story.

The year was 1996, our daughter Jamie was a sophomore in high-school, Jeremy, our oldest son was in the 8^th grade and Justin Michael was a 7^th grader.  The Miller household had come to that terrifying moment in history, three teenagers under the same roof!  When they weren’t adding gray hairs to my scalp, they were attacking each other with some sort of taunt or cutting remark.  I expressed to a friend my concern for their relationship to each other and my thankfulness I didn’t keep firearms in the house, sometimes fearing how high the hostility could escalate.  My friend, knowing my ignorance of “normal” family settings and sibling rivalry assured me that I had nothing to worry about.  I’d like to send my kids over to see how well yours get along.  Compared to our house this is Happy Acres!  “But I know mine will be alright just like I know yours will.  They may not always agree now and for the rest of their lives, but they will be each others biggest fan, you watch and see.”  Several nights later I got a glimpse of what he was talking about.  Coming home one evening from being gone, I passed a group of teens in a parking lot in what seemed to be a heated exchange, with at least a couple of them.  It didn’t register at first but then it hit me, two of those teens were mine.  Exercising my “parental prerogative to snoop,” I circled back at the next block and came up the back way to the parking lot.  What was being played out was Jeremy was out with a couple of his buddies when these four, older teens, accosted them.  One of the older teens has some beef with Jer’s friend and just like typical “bullies” these four older and bigger boys were planning on cleaning up the parking lot with my son and his pals.  Just one set back for the fearsome foursome they hadn’t planned on.  “It’s a bird!  It’s a Plane!  Nope, it’s one big sister seeing her little brother (who by that time in life was a good 4’ inches taller than her) and she was hacked!  Jane Dandy to the rescue Jack!  Now try to vision what’s being played out at that moment, you’ve got 4 boys, average age 16, facing off with my 100 lb soaking wet daughter.  Behind her stands the other three boys who’s ages were 14, not saying a thing and I believe doing a little praying that their very excited and loud heroine was going to defuse this situation, and nearly all of them were taller that Jamie Melissa! The confrontation went on for some time with Jamie and one of the older boys doing all the yelling while the remaining six chose to keep quiet.  He was telling her what he planned to do and my dynamite charged daughter assuring him that wasn’t going to happen in this life time!  Maybe the proper parental thing I should have done was come out of my secluded spot and break up this melee.  If the fur started flying I could get there pretty quick, but for now all I could do was sit with a grin on my face, listening to Jamie out shout this guy and thinking to myself, “You four tough guys might want to consider getting some more help!”

“To the outside world, we all grow old.  But not to brothers and sisters.  We know each other as we always were.  We know each other’s hearts.  We share private family jokes.  We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys.  We live outside the touch of time.” And out of all of that grows an incredible love; Awesome!!

My children are no longer children, two are in their 30s and the last is just a step away.  They have gone separate ways, each to his or her life’s direction, with each being different from the others, just like when they were kids.  Still today, they may not always agree with each other or like the same things, but they have that one common thread running in them, they are family and nothing or no one will ever take that from them.  They are each others strongest critic, and they are each others biggest fan. It is because they know each other so well that these attributes exist, yet it is because of this knowledge, this understanding that no one else possesses the way they do, the way only a brother or sister can possess that their love is without conditions and endless.

That’s what I’ve found so appealing about the Christian life; I have a family that cares for me.  There are ones who know in a very special way, all the good, the bad and the ugly; yet love and care for me, as I do them.  It’s unfortunate that I say not all in my belief system extend charity (love) as what is handed down in the Word of God.  I can’t speak for them, I can only talk about the ones who do pursue the act of love, the act of family set forth in the Bible, and oh my, there are many!  I know they love me, not by word, but by action.  They stand in the gap as my Jamie Melissa did for her brother, only they do it with continued prayer.  Show me someone who is praying for me and I’ll show you someone who cares for me, loves me–family!

Here are some verses I hope you’ll take a moment to read this week that give a picture of what I’m saying:  Philippians2:1-4, Romans 12:10, and of course 1^st Corinthians 13:1-13.

I see a lot of my kids in my grandchildren; one generation, with the way they fought and turned my hair gray, while the next is making it fall out with their bickering and fighting.  It’s like repeating history all over again; Oh MAN, I sure hope so!!! :o)

“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” Mother Teresa

Old Ernie, now there was a character once you met you never forgot, most likely because you wanted to remember him well enough to avoid at all cost after that! Ernie was an old crotchety chap that lived next door to some friends of mine in Michigan, just across the Indiana border. I found him to be a tall individual in his 60s the 1st time we met, very little hair, and what he did have was completely gray. I would see him as he arrived home from the workday. The soiled work uniform told me he had put in a hard day; his large calloused hands emphasized that he had been doing it for years. For a gentleman who obviously toiled hard for a living, I couldn’t help notice his posture straight and his pace quick and punctual, like a trained military man. My friends knew very little about him since they had moved to the neighbor just short of a year ago. What they did know did not sit well with them. My friend Frank told me, “Yeah, in the time we’ve lived here, I’ve had three conversations with Ernie and I can remember all three. One was my lawn was too long and I needed to cut it. The next, I didn’t get my trash cans put away fast enough one week and they were partially blocking the sidewalk. And the last was when the dog got out and left a pile on his yard. He told me in no certain terms the ramification that would follow if it ever happened again. He hit the wrong nerve finally and I really told him off and we’ve never spoken since!” Frank also told how he knew a couple of guys that worked with Ernie and how nobody liked him there. “He’s real picky, you don’t leave anything in his work area that’s not his, not even a cigarette butt; if you do, he goes ballistic! He even jumped a few guys one day who weren’t doing anything, just standing around talking and drinking coffee. Gave them a bunch of guff how they ought to be working and not acting stupid, like it’s any of his business what someone else does! Other than a couple of older guys like him, his machine helper and the boss, everyone just stays clear of the jerk! He’s supposed to retire in a couple more years and nobody there will miss him, but then I’ll have him home, next door all the time. I’ll have to sell and get out of here before that happens, I won’t be able to take it!”

I got a small taste of the Ernie described to me on my next visit. He pulled up and got out of his car like he always did at the same time, every day after work and was into his military strut when I called out from Frank’s front yard, “Good afternoon, good day at work?” Ernie immediately came to halt and stared directly at me, which caused my blood to run a little cold. Strolling over to the edge of this yard he inquired who I was and what I was doing there, which I told him his neighbor was a good friend of mine. Without missing a beat Ernie came back with, “Not very picky who you hang out with, are you? Tell your “friend” one more loud party and I’ll call the police.” And turning on his heals he headed into his house. I chose not to deliver the message to Frank, figured it would be like throwing gas on an already blazing fire. Now I won’t portray myself as an expert on knowing people and what makes them tick, but something told me there was more than what meets the eye with old Ernie. Not only that but years earlier I made the mistake of casting a dark shadow on how I saw someone who’s attitude was a lot like this man’s. Later learned what fueled that attitude and that there actually was a lot more good in them than I saw or gave credit to. Something told me that was the case with Ernie also; it would be almost a year before Frank and I made the discovery of who this ill-tempered Ernie really was.

It was summer and I had made a trip up to see my friend Frank. A silent, invisible wall had gone up between his house and his surly neighbor’s, which is just another way of saying things hadn’t gotten any worse but they hadn’t improved either. A unspoken covenant was etched that said you leave me alone and I’ll do the same with you and we’ll both get along just fine. This was a little strange to me considering how well I knew my friend. He wasn’t the type to hold grudges or not get along with someone. He did his best to live by the words “live at peace with all men.” I surmised he had finally met his Waterloo in Ernie and resolved to live with this barrier between the two as long as they were neighbors. But something else was going on that Frank hadn’t revealed to me, yet. Saturday morning at his house, he woke me up early to say we were going out for breakfast. A short time later we were sitting, drinking coffee at a diner. “I’m expecting someone to join us so we won’t order yet,” Frank told me with a small tone of secrecy in his voice. Fifteen minutes passed and a young man looking to be no older than 20 strolled in the front door. “There he is,” Frank said while standing up and motioning him over to our table. We made small talk with this young man over breakfast with Frank and him throwing friendly, but funny barbs at each other. “Well, you two have hit it off well,” I spoke, “Where did you guys meet?” There was grin between them before Frank spoke. “We met right next door to each other; Jimmy here is Ernie’s son.” Okay, they had my attention, let’s hear the story.

Jimmy was going to college out of state so he and Frank had never met until he came for summer break. It was apparent that he was closer to the age of being Ernie’s grandson than his son. Jimmy was a late-life child from Ernie’s second marriage. His first ended years ago when his wife then left him for another. He had two children from that marriage, but they had little to do with him which broke his heart. “So all these years he has worked hard at the factory and became bitter because of his 1st wife and what she did to him, right?” I asked. “Oh no, “Jimmy responded, he has only worked there since I was a little boy.” “Dad used to own a company that was in direct competition to where he works now. The bottom fell out and he had to close the doors. When he went to work for the place he’s at now, they were more than happy to give him a job. Dad thought they would give him a spot in management, but they got their jollies by humiliating him with a menial job on the floor, something he never got over.” I also learned that the military strut in his walk was no accident. “Before dad started his company he was a major in the Air Force and commander of a unit of bombers during WW2.” Jimmy proceeded to name off medals and commendations that Ernie had been awarded that was lengthier than this post. “I guess that’s why he has no patience for some of the guys he works with,” Jimmy told me. All those years in the military left him with the mind set if you have a job to do, don’t fool around, do it! “Yeah, dad is set in his ways but he’s really a great guy with a sense of humor like mine.” That statement made Frank and I both push back in our seats. Ernie with a sense of humor, you could sell tickets to people to see that. Frank now was looking at me. “I don’t know when I’ve been so miserable living somewhere, knowing I had a neighbor I couldn’t get along with. I prayed often for God to open some door where he and I could come together and become friends, I believe that door is Jimmy.” Jimmy sat there chowing down on his pancakes, all the time wearing a silly smile that said, “Yep that’s right.” Frank was correct, the relation he was building was Jimmy could be a big help to winning Ernie over, but there was something else.

It’s been said over and over through the years, each of us have a story to tell, some good, others not so good, at least in certain areas. I hold to the belief that nearly all of us start life happy. Where will you find a happier setting than a baby with their mom and dad, or a group of kindergartners learning to play and sing together? Somewhere after that point we start to develop our own traits, usually influenced by sources and situations around us. For some the road of life is a smooth one, while for others, not so. Those who land on a hard road generally become hardened themselves and possibly even recluse because they don’t want others to know what they’ve had to go through, such as our man Ernie. So the question comes down to, how do we approach people such as the Ernies of the world. Unfortunately, in today’s society the easy way is usually the norm, ignore them and maybe they’ll go away taking their attitude with them. But, can we agree that the most rewarding is making a friend where there wasn’t one? And taking an interest in another the way you wish people would do for you? That’s what Frank did with Ernie. To judge or to learn? To wound or to heal? To be part of the problem or part of the solution? Guess its best said in a pop song I once heard, when it comes to judging others, I’m stating with the man in the mirror, “We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation.”

Another book I like to quote says it this way, “Stop judging others, and you will not be judged. For others will treat you as you treat them. Whatever measure you use in judging others, it will be used to measure how you are judged. And why worry about a speck in your friend’s eye when you have a log in your own? How can you think of saying, `Friend, let me help you get rid of that speck in your eye,’ when you can’t see past the log in your own eye? Hypocrite! First get rid of the log from your own eye, then perhaps you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend’s eye.” (Matthew 7:1-5 )

Just a thought on the subject. 😮

On another one of my visits to see Frank, I found him in the backyard with Ernie and Jimmy, all three gazing up into the sky at a plane flying across the sky. “Dad’s teaching Frank how to judge the altitude and speed a plane is going using a counting method,” Jimmy explained. Ernie looked over at me, threw his hands up and shook his head, “Oh its hopeless, Frank does okay counting unless it goes past ten, then he needs to sit down on the ground, take off his shoes and socks to count his toes. By then the darn plane’s out of sight!” Frank looked over at me now and said, “I’ll translate what he just said, I speak fluent Ernie. ‘Hello John, it’s nice to meet you. I’m just out here talking to my friend and neighbor Frank.’” A smile from Ernie and then the words that says it all, “Close enough! 