Traveling the Rock Road

“You will know that forgiveness has begun when you recall those who hurt you and feel the power to wish them well.”

I read several articles and posts on Facebook that brought to memory a dear lady from my childhood and also her outlook and approach to life that I feel we can all learn from.

Auch hallo Johnny, es ist schön sie zu sehen.  Möchten Sie etwas Schokolade kuchen?  Danken Sie oh Frau Rush Ihnen, die sehr nett sein würde!

When I was a boy back in Fremont, Ohio, I would regularly visit our next door neighbor, (Who we’ll call) Mrs. Rush, who was originally from Germany.  She was a short, white haired woman who I always saw wearing a smile and as often had a kind word to pass on to others.  When I went to see her, she would teach me a few words in German so that we could greet each other in her native tongue like the phrases I quoted.  (That, I must confess after all these years, I had to take from a German translation site.)  Her 1^st words to me usually were, “Well hello Johnny, it’s nice to see you.  Would you like some chocolate cake?”  My response, “Oh thank you, Mrs. Rush that would be very nice!”  That was one of the reasons I loved visiting her home.  She was always baking delicious cakes and breads, which gave off the most tantalizing aroma that filled her entire home.  Also placed throughout the house were beautiful, delicate china and porcelain dolls she had brought with her from the “Old Country.”  On the walls were pictures that dated back to Mrs. Rush’s early days–photos of her childhood, her home, family and village, and a portrait of Mr. Rush, the love of her life.  I never knew him; he had passed away before we ever moved to the neighborhood, but I figured he had to be a wonderful man to be married to a sweet lady like his wife.

Often as I would be digging into a warm slice of German Chocolate Cake and a cold glass of milk, Mrs. Rush would tell me stories about her life before coming to America.  She had been a school teacher back in her home village, and her husband held the position of street supervisor there.  They had a happy life in their little community, a place where both had grown up and where most of their family still lived.  It was only natural to take jobs here in the hometown and live out their days like many they knew.  Times were changing though, after WW1 Germany was left in poverty and most couldn’t have left if they wanted to with little money and no place to go.  It was a long road back to the revitalization of this little hamlet, but with the entire community working as one they restored this precious birthplace and made it once again a great place to live and work.  As times improved many young people left, moving to the cities for opportunities of better jobs and education.  When someone returned for a visit, it was a celebration throughout the community.  

One personal friend of the Rush couple returned after being gone for a year with news of a better and more prosperous life for all Germans.  He persuaded the village officials and many others to travel to a political rally in Berlin.  It was there that Mrs. Rush came face to face with the most charismatic individual she had ever met, a man who would change her life forever; Adolph Hitler.  The night was electrifying and the crowd was stirred with exhilaration and Hitler’s speech was captivating.  When they returned home the Rush’s talked about all they had seen and heard.  Yes, it was very exciting, but something just didn’t sit right with them.  Several days later their friend, along with many others returned to the village to perform a recruiting drive for the National Socialist Workers’ party or “Nazi” party.  Many signed to become members; however, Mr. and Mrs. Rush chose not to participate, a decision they did not realize would cost them dearly.  It was several weeks later when many uniformed individuals converged on the village.  Mrs. Rush was met at the school house by several of these officials who informed her she was no longer a teacher.  Here were people she had never laid her eyes on before now ordering her out of the job she loved so much.  She sensed it would not be wise to argue with these people so she returned home only to meet her husband home early from work; he had been fired also.  Soon after many of the people they had grown up with would not associate with them, including family.  It was learned that any association with people outside the party could result in the loss of everything someone owned.  With saddened hearts, they had no choice but to quietly and secretly leave their beloved village and make their way to England where they then made arrangements to board a ship for America.  “Johnny, the war came and I never saw or heard from most of my family again.”  Only one sister made it to the U.S. years later.  Her home and town were completely annihilated from the face of the map.  Boy, you must really hate Hitler and the Nazis for what they did to you and you family,” I said after hearing the whole story.  With a usual smile she corrected me; “Johnny, I don’t hate anyone.  Hate is what got us into that situation.  Always remember, hate and anger never fix a problem, it only makes it worse.”

“Forgiveness is God’s invention for coming to terms with a world in which, despite their best intentions, people are unfair to each other and hurt each other deeply. He began by forgiving us.  And he invites us all to forgive each other.”

I’m not going to pretend I’m some super, incredible, groovy kind of guy (had to throw groovy in somewhere, sorry J), that no matter what has happened to me, what someone did that made my life miserable; it just doesn’t bother me and I can forgive them without a second thought.  Wish that was a descriptive of me, but alas ain’t so!  But forgiveness is something I work on constantly.  I have found it to be a total truth in saying that when you hate or stay angry with someone, the person who ends up hurting the most is you.  The release in this man’s life, when I have thrown off the shackles of hatred has been one of the most invigorating things I have ever done and man does it feel good to be happy over angry!  Now does that mean forgive and forget?  Sorry, that dog don’t hunt.  Forgiving is an emotion that if not released can truly destroy you.  Not forgetting is a safeguard so as not to allow a certain situation to happen again; amen?

That’s all on the Gray One’s mind tonight.  Forgive, boy that’s a tough one in some cases, huh?  But in all seriousness, it does beat the alternative.  Why not live happy?  Forgiveness gives that to you; it did Mrs. Rush!  And it delights the biggest Forgiver of all times.  Matter of fact, He loves to forgive, and He loves even more when someone accepts God’s forgiveness.  Ephesians 4:32 and 5:1.

Thanks, Mrs. Rush, for teaching me and being one of my heroes, a Traveler on the Rock Road!  Thank you, Father, for forgiving this ornery fart; in Jesus name!

Segnungen zu Ihnen und Ihres haben derjenig geliebt!

Blessings to you and your loved ones!! J

Autumn is really the best of the seasons; and I’m not sure that old age isn’t the best part of life.  C.S. Lewis

We received a call late this last week from an individual requesting my lady and I come and provide music for a service Sunday morning.  I generally prefer more notice when asked to perform so we can have a chance to prepare what we choose to play more efficiently.  But when Cathy told me who was on the other end of the line making the request, there was no second thought, “You bet, we’ll come right now if you need us to!” 

Don had been professor of music at the first college I attended back in the 70s.  This was at the small Christian college I had chosen to attend and what brought us to Indiana to begin with.  It would be too long a saga to go into at this time, but it seemed I had a number of misconceptions of what going to a Christian school was going to be like. There was a lot good there for sure and I came away with a number of views I hold strongly to, to this day.  But there were a few matters, shall we say, that I just didn’t understand and I felt were wrong.  I’m also sure my maturity level back then was not where it should have been either, which added to any negativity I found in my situation. (Just being honest folks.)  I had decided to leave school after the first year, and I would have; had it not been for Don.  Here was a man who was head of the school’s music department, taught a full load of classes himself, conducted several choirs and led singing at a large church.  To say his life was busy would be an understatement, and I had no business bothering this man with my personal problems; but I didn’t have to, he took them upon himself.  Over the next 2 years I would find myself in Don’s office having lengthy conversations, and he gave me something I wasn’t finding anywhere else, he listened to me.  Not only did he listen, but he respected my concerns and what I had to say.  In return he taught me a new chapter in my life of growing in maturity, Christian maturity, plus who I was and who other people were, and how God loves each and every one of us.

I did finally leave the school and finished my degree at another university, but I came away with a better respect of what I received from that 1^st institution and a deep admiration for a man who listened and guided me through a rough time in my life, with a kind heart and prayer; I never forgot Don.

Over the years our paths would cross with regularity and the friendship that began way back still stayed intact.  There were times Don would call on me to help with a task not so much for himself, but more often someone else he knew that had a need.  On a few occasions he would ask Cathy and I to do music for something.  In everything I’ve ever been called on by this wonderful man to carry out, it has been for the purpose of meeting a need for others.  That, my friend, is what I define as a Leader with a Servant’s Heart; what I call a hero.

A few years back Don saw a need at a local retirement village here in our region.  This facility is quite large in size and is the final earthly home to many folks that have served in missions all over the world as well as retired pastors and anyone else.  They have a large chapel there for the residents to take in Sunday service, but there are ones who have moved to a point in life where they physically can’t make it to the place where services are held, so a smaller room in an area for “assisted living residents” was established for these precious saints.  Nearly everyone who attends needs the use of a walker, wheelchair or staff member to escort them there.  The gentleman who presides as pastor is in a wheelchair himself. Each Sunday Don’s wife plays the piano, Don leads the singing and the pastor preaches from his wheelchair some of the most powerful sermons I am blessed to be able to hear.  All three have worked and served all their lives and all three continue to do so; even in their mid 80s.  When the service starts and the music begins the room is filled with singing that echoes down the corridor, maybe not the most melodic choir you’ll ever hear, but one that definitely brings forth a “Joyful Noise!”  When the preaching begins every eye and ear is focused in on what the message is.  And whenever Cathy and I perform there they are, without a doubt, the most pleasing and appreciative audience we’ve ever had; what an awesome time!

“The measure of life, after all, is not its duration, but its donation.” Corrie Ten Boom

When I sat down this evening I had planned to write a different story than the one you’ve just read. Perhaps it was because I had just come from being with these wonderful people and my good friend Don that I changed directions; or perhaps, as sometimes happens, God nudges me to go this way instead of that.  All I know is that it has weighed heavy on my heart today.  One writer once wrote, “Your manner of life now is already determining your life in those years of old age and retirement, without your realizing it even, and perhaps without your giving enough thought to it.  One must therefore prepare oneself for retirement.”  One person said it to me this way, “It doesn’t matter to me what I achieved, the important question is what can I still contribute?”

My friend Don has influenced and blessed thousands over the years with his gifts and talents, often in large settings.  Today, along with his Lady and the pastor on wheels, they influence, bless, and serve with gladness a couple of dozen who wouldn’t have a Sunday service if it wasn’t for them.  It makes me think about how I use my life now and how, good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, how I can stay productive, to help, to serve till then end.  Lot to think about, yes?  In my belief it’s worth thinking and doing, and yes, I fully believe serving has its own rewards.  On earth, there’s joy for helping and bringing others happiness.  After this life, well for ones like my man Don, it’s hearing those six little words that make it all worthwhile: “Well done, Good and Faithful Servant.”

Thanks for reading about one of my Heroes. 🙂

How many can remember the 1^st house they ever owned? What a feeling, huh?  This is yours, no one else’s, to do with and create a home to your specifications and liking; just no feeling like it!  For my Lady and me that 1^st house is the same one we’re in today.  We built our little abode 30 some years ago and we love it just as much today as we did the day we moved in.  For one of my heroes, that dream came true with the purchase of an old, almost dilapidated apartment house back in Ohio.

My Great Aunt Pearl and her husband had moved around several places looking for steady work for her, since he suffered a disability and a place to call home. Answering an ad that was running in a Kentucky newspaper, they moved to Fremont, Ohio with my mother and yours truly in tow.  The jobs that Pearl and my mom found were menial labor that paid little, but at least it was steady income.  Finding a place to live that was affordable was a difficult task.  We ended up in a one bedroom cottage style house that also had a kitchen, bath and living room, located on the east side of town near the Sandusky River.  Everyday Pearl would walk to work since we didn’t own a car, and everyday her path would take her past this old house that I spoke about earlier. Part of the roof was damaged, the porch was falling on one side and it had several broken windows, not to mention it was in need of a real good painting.  The place had sat empty for several years and from the looks of it, I and others could see why.  But Pearl saw something different.  She saw a palace in the rough, a stately manor just waiting for the right person to come along and restore this old pile of dirty boards and glass to its original beauty.  “Oh, if only I could buy this house,” Pearl would think as she walked past.  

One day she saw some people there at the house and learned the elderly woman with them was the owner so she stopped and asked if she would consider selling the house and for how much. This was quite a step for Pearl, asking such a question, knowing all the money she had in the world was $1800 that was kept in an account in Kentucky; there was no way she could afford the place, but she had to ask anyway.  A gentleman spoke up saying they had to get $2500 for the place; but the kind, older woman spoke, “Now you know we haven’t had one offer in 3 years at that price.”  Looking at Pearl now, “If you are interested in the house, would you consider $1800?”  It took my Aunt Pearl an all night bus trip to Kentucky to get there when the bank opened, withdraw her money and back on a north bound bus.  Two weeks later we were packed up and living in a small portion of the house; and so the work began.  

First was cleaning and ridding the house and property of trash.  Then came fixing the roof and the porches, front and back.  There were several out buildings that had to be torn down and the refuse carted away.  Next came repairing walls and the attic with new studs, wall board and insulation.  There was plumbing and electrical work that had to be run or replaced through much of the house. Finally came Pearl’s pride and joy of her dream estate, sanding and varnishing the oak floors and wall trim.  That was a forever job, but when finished they were simply beautiful.  Now remember, there was no hired construction firm that came in and did all this.  Mom, Pearl, Pearl’s husband, Price as we called him, and me doing little odd jobs mostly to keep me busy and out of the way.  Some things, sure, had to be hired out, but the majority of the work was done by these three, but particularly Pearl.  She worked an afternoon job so she was always up early to do as much as she could around the house before she left for her shift.  All the remodeling and transformation work took several years to accomplish since all materials needed were bought as money was available. (How’s that for and interesting concept in this day and age?)  Backbreaking and painstaking for quite some time, but in the end, a most beautiful home complete with flower trellises and a garden that helped to set it off its attractiveness even more.  For the first time in her life, Pearl had the home she wanted.  Paid for and well kept, nothing could ruin this dream; except maybe a flood.

I mentioned we lived near the river, just one block from the banks, and in the early spring the Sandusky would rise above normal levels; this one certain year it overflowed and was running down the streets nearest to it, ours included.  We were forced to evacuate and take shelter at a church on the west side of town, up the hill away from the rising flood. This was only a temporary move and we were able to go home after only a few days; but the damage was done.  The water had risen high enough to reach the 1^st floor of our home leaving standing puddles and dirty silt sand everywhere.  The reek of sewage permeated the entire structure, but the worst, Pearl’s oak floors and wall boards were ruined. I remember her walking all through the house and then stopping in the dining room, sitting down in a chair and crying.  All the work, money, toil and love that had gone into making her dream a reality, and now only to see it ruined was just more than she take; for about five minutes. Then it was buckets, mops, and shovels, airing everything out, followed by tearing off the baseboards and replacing the bottoms of the walls that were ruined.  Finally, once again, came the slow process of bringing back to life those beautiful oak floors.  The whole process took easily another year.  When completed a 2^nd time, Pearl’s dream home was re-mended and more beautiful than the 1^st.  It could have been easy to throw up her hands after the flood, seeing that much of her work had gone to spoil, possibly even given consideration of selling and getting out of there.  But that wasn’t the spirit of this mountain woman.  The vision of what she saw, of what could be and would be was tarnished for only a moment; then it was roll up the sleeves and get back to it.  I have many fond memories of that house and all the visitors and yard parties Pearl had.  When visiting back in the old neighborhood, it breaks my heart a little to see that it has wore down from the home my precious Aunt created.  

Pearl is now gone, thus goes the dream with her.  But if I close my eyes, I can see it all once again, from bunking on cots in two usable rooms, to a five bedroom, two bath, beautiful manor all transformed with determination, a no quit or give up attitude, and most of all love and a vision that no one else possessed.

God sees us the same way.  Many lives are run down for many reasons and to the world, there are a number of us that just don’t seem to have much to offer, much that’s appealing.  God looks at each and every one of us and says, “My, what a beautiful creation I have here!”  “And with love, determination and a no quit attitude, (His, not Yours), I know there’s something very special here just waiting to emerge.”

Psalm 145:9, 17 – “Never give up on yourself, for in God’s eyes, you’re a keeper! 🙂

“Trust is faith that becomes absolute, approved, and accomplished. When all is said and done, there is a sort of risk in faith and its exercise. But trust is firm belief; it is faith in full bloom. Trust is a conscious act, a fact of which we are aware.” E.M. Bounds

When you’re a small child the world can be a very confusing place, not always understanding what’s going on around you or why.  I suppose the same is true, at different moments when you reach adulthood.  As I see it, the largest difference is how we react.  In the adult world there is worry about the unknown and what might or might not happen.  But the mind of a child, they do not see these situations lurking around the corner.  They rely and trust in the wisdom and guidance of someone else older, wiser and bigger to care for their needs, namely a parent or parents.  In my case it was one parent, my mother that I looked to for security and answers.  Single parenting can certainly be called a norm (unfortunately) in this day and age, but back in the 50s it was much more of a rarity.  But that’s the scenario that my mother found herself in and joyfully accepted as her place in life no matter what came; and sometimes what did come wasn’t always pleasant.

Mom and I had just arrived on the bus to the bustling city of Baltimore, Maryland where there was the promise of a job and home for the two of us.  “We’re going to have a place of our own, Johnny, a home for the two of us,” she would tell me often as we journeyed to this new land so foreign to the rural, small town life to which I was accustomed.  Quietly I would ponder her words, trying to imagine what our new home would look like with never a worry of what lay ahead; I was with the person I trusted and loved more than anyone else in the world.  But as I mentioned, life isn’t always that easy when you’re an adult when faced with unexpected and unseen misfortunes.  For reasons not worth going into,  the hope and dream of a new home was suddenly gone and getting back on the bus was out of the question also with the little money Mom had.  So panic time, right?  You don’t know my mama!!  The little woman with the hearing disability and an 8^th grade education had grown up being a survivor and that wasn’t about to change, especially since she now had a young, wide-eyed son who hung on her every word and action.  Leaving the bus terminal mom hailed a cab and had them take us to an area of the city that she was familiar with from other times she had been to Baltimore.  Exiting the taxi and with suitcase in one of mom’s hands and my hand in the other, we started walking down a residential street that was lined with tall, house like buildings, all resembling each other and all with porches and double doors.  “Are we almost home, Mama?” I asked, very tired and not waning to do this march. “Just come along, you’ll see soon,” mom answered.  And then, “There!” mom blurted out as she pointed to one of the row houses that had a sign out front, “There’s home!”  Retrieving the sign from the rail, we walked up on the porch and mom knocked on the door.  A very nice looking, almost elegant, elderly woman answered.  Inviting us in, she took us to the kitchen where she served mom a cup of hot tea and me a glass of chocolate milk. She spoke funny, I remember thinking.  That was because she was the 1^st person I ever met with a pure English accent.  She and her husband had immigrated to America before WW2 and settled in Baltimore.  The conversation between mom and this lovely lady didn’t concern me; I was too busy with my chocolate milk.  But later I learned mom told her we didn’t have any money, but if she would let us rent the furnished apartment she had available, mom would get a job and pay her as quickly as possible.  There was a period of time that passed after that with more tea, chocolate milk and sandwiches; then we were shown to our new apartment.

Quickly getting everything unpacked I was ready just to stay put, but mom said we had to go somewhere else.  Two blocks from the apartment house sat a small grocery store owned and operated by an eastern European couple.  Walking in, mom asked to speak privately to the owner.  Expressing to him our plight, she made him the same promise as she did the landlord.  A short time later we were heading back to the apartment, mom with two bags of groceries and me working on a generous sack of candy! The next day she did find work and shortly thereafter made good on her promises and paid all that she owed.  Now, try to get people in this day and age to work together in an atmosphere where the only binding contract there is, is your word and trust and see how far you get.  Yes, I’m sure some extra compassion was shown to a young woman with a small child in tow, who possessed the boldness to ask total strangers for help.  And yes, things were a whole lot different in the world some fifty plus years ago.  If I have a question, it’s not “when” did the practice of showing grace, mercy, trust and living up to one’s word go out the window, but, why?  Please take note; I pose the question to each position, the giver and the receiver.  I’m no expert on world affairs and economics, but I strongly believe that if all would practice diligently the four attributes that I just listed, the world and our country would be a much better place to live for all.

That is what drew me to the Christian belief and where I take my stand today. (Remember, I’m not a religious man, but a man of faith, of trust.)  I had a problem, many problems just like everyone (Romans 3:23) and I went to who had what I needed (Romans 6:23) and I made a promise (Romans 10:9) and the Store Owner, the Landlord, the Proprietor of the Universe said, “Okay, we’ve got a deal, and just to seal it forever between you and me, I’m turning your debt over to my Son (John 3:16).  Grace, Mercy, Trust and Love all came from the Giver to this indebted man.  The price on my end, well, that’s found in Ephesians 2:8-9.  The whole deal is based on nothing more than pure trust, on faith.  Personally, I think I got the best deal, but from what I’ve read, God feels the same way!

“Don’t trust to hold God’s hand, let Him hold yours. Let Him do the holding, and you do the trusting,” Hammer William Webb-Peploe

Looking for help? Go to Him boldly and ask!  Has He got a deal for you!!!  🙂

“Alas!  How we forget that we are but strangers and pilgrims on the earth; that we are journeying to our eternal home, and will soon be there.”  Octavius Winslow

The exquisite manor you’re seeing in the picture is the oldest structure still standing that is attributed to one branch of my family. This was the home of John Wesley and Emazetta Marshall, my great-grandfather and grandmother.  It’s located near Hillsville, Virginia and sits near the top of a mountain named after all my ancestors that settled there, hence, Marshall Mountain.  The house is approximately 400 square feet in size with one main room taking up the entire downstairs.  It was used as kitchen, (in the winter when it was too cold to cook outside) family room, sewing room and parents bedroom.  It had a fireplace used for heating and cooking.  The upstairs was where the children slept except for the youngest who slept with mom and dad.  They numbered 7; 2 boys and 5 girls; with one more girl who would be added to the family after they moved to West Virginia. The only heat was what rose from the fireplace on the main floor so Emazetta would make quilts for added warmth.  (This art has been practiced and handed to each generation since.)  A stream ran next to the house for fresh drinking water and washing. A root cellar was built right on the stream where food would be stored and kept fresh due to the cold temperature supplied by the ground and the running water.  It also had an outdoor kiln for baking, woodshed and smokehouse used for preserving wild game that had been hunted for food.  Oh yes, and of course the small facility that made every modern home of its era, complete, the outhouse. The entire “estate” sat on several acres of land, mostly used for growing vegetables.  Just up the road and a good walk farther up the mountain is the Marshall Family Cemetery.  When visiting there, we have discovered grave markers that date prior to the Civil War.  John and Emazetta’s daughter, Coral, passed away at a young age from eating tainted green apples and is buried there.

I’ve enjoyed my visits back to the original homestead, exploring and doing research of my ancestors that has been aided by “shirt-tail” relation who still live on Marshall Mountain and have been generous in sharing historic family information.  Upon returning to the area I’m always surprised to see the old place still standing, seeing that it is well over 100 years old and has stayed abandoned for more than 70 of those years.  No, there’s just not a lot to behold anymore, the old house rickety and barren, several old foundations where other structures once stood, the creek and a large field of weeds and wild flowers.  Not much to see with the eyes, until you use your other senses, like listening quietly to all that’s around you.  Your vision becomes filled with people and activity.  I can see John working the fields or preparing fresh game with seasonings. The boys and girls are busy with chores; Emazetta is preparing dinner over the fireplace or sitting in her favorite rocking chair sewing quilts or clothes. Toward evening John and Emazetta take up seats on the front porch, drinking coffee and talking about the day’s activities and what still needed to be done.  The children are upstairs supposedly going to sleep; but whispers and giggles are being exchanged until weariness sets in on sleepy eyes and the only sound left is the stillness of a quiet Virginia mountain night.

I was told many stories from those days from my great-aunts and great-uncle that were old enough to remember living only a generation from early pioneers.  From my young perspective back in the days of hearing the tales, I gathered the idea that life was hard and lacked any form of fun whatsoever.  My one aunt was quick to expel that idea.  She spoke of that time as if it was beyond special, perhaps magical.  “If we were poor, we never knew it,” she would say.  “It was just the way things were, everyone working together for the good of the family and loving being together.”  That, I realized later, was the catalyst for the love generated amongst them all that lasted all of their lives.

I’m reminded of two saying when writing this; “Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave and grow old wanting to get back to.”  The second; “There is nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.”  The elder generation of my family shared many things:  food, shelter, clothes, home, love, each other and most of all a Savior.  Each held to a strong conviction in Christ Jesus and through Him, one day, they would all be together again in a new Home–forever giggling and telling stories with joy and jubilation. Looking forward to joining that family circle some day!  🙂

John 14:2 – In my Father’s house are many rooms.  If it were not so, I have told you.  I go to prepare a place for you.

“Many a man would rather you heard his story than granted his request.” Phillip Stanhope

He wasn’t anyone of extraordinary features that would draw attention to himself.  His look was one that I’ve seen a thousand times over.  To categorize or label this individual in certain, shall we say, demographic terms such as “good ole boy” or at the risk of sounding crass, “redneck” come to mind.  Add in a pair of farmer’s jeans, lace up work boots, button up flannel shirt, light tan Carhart jacket and a ProBass baseball style cap and you start to get a fuller picture of, my soon to be, newest friend.

Cathy, the kids and I were down south visiting friends and family. We had been hiking on and around a rock formation that from its highest point spectators were treated to a beautiful panoramic view of the breathtaking scenery the region had to offer.  After several hours of exploring, we headed down the path toward the car, tired and ready to get something to eat.  Near the trail head is where we met him (I’ll call him Jack), hands stuffed deep in his pockets he had a look that he wanted to head up the direction we just came, but wasn’t quite sure if he should give it a go or not.  With a smile I greeted Jack as we came up on him and he returned my greeting in a quiet voice.  “Those your kids?  Good looking group there.”  I thanked him and was about to move on when he said, “I used to bring my little girl here too, but that was a long time ago.  Now I come here and walk around by myself.”  I sensed immediately there was a lot more Jack wanted, or rather, needed to say.  I had Cathy take the kids to the car and told her I would follow soon.  That’s all it took, and Jack’s story began to unfold there on the pathway.

Jack was a Vietnam veteran having served two tours of duty there.  Upon returning home he married his childhood sweetheart and it wasn’t long until she blessed him with a baby daughter.  As he spoke, it was obvious this was his entire world, seemingly the only thing, in his mind he ever did right.  Life, it seemed, wasn’t a friend to Jack after he returned from the war.  Suffering from what we now call “Post Traumatic War Syndrome,” this soul found simple life, such as holding a job, or talking about what was inside him a difficult, if not impossible task.  As time went on, it cost him his marriage and also watching his little girl grow up except on visitation days.  As she grew older even those visits became less.  Staring up the trail at the rock formation Jack continued on, “Once she got into her teenage years I don’t suppose I saw her more than a few days a year.”  Finally turning to look at me for only a slight moment he said in an even softer voice, “Then one day, she was gone.” He then went back to looking up the path, perhaps picturing her once again bounding down the trail, all laughs and smiles.  He never said exactly what he meant with his statement, but I was sure I understood what he was saying and I also understood that no matter how long it took I had to stand there with Jack and let him talk it all out, he needed that more than I needed a meal.

When he came to the end of what was on his heart he said, “I’m sorry mister, I never throw off my problems of folks, especially ones I don’t know, but for some reason I really needed talk today and something told me to speak to you.”  I assured my new friend Jack that no apology was necessary and that God meant for us to meet that day.  He allowed me to pray with him and before I left I kindly admonished him to seek help from a veteran’s affairs organization and with a pastor friend of mine that lived near there.  As we parted ways, Jack thanked me for listening to him and with the 1st smile I saw come to his face he said, “Take care of those babies now!”

None of us know when we will suddenly be placed in an emergency situation where we have to act quickly on the behalf of another individual who desperately needs someone to be there for them, maybe even to save their life. I’m not saying that was the case the day I met Jack, but I have wondered what would have happened if I chose to ignore this man at a moment that he needed someone, at a moment that he needed a caring ear.  Sometimes that’s all God has called upon us to be, a kind, caring, sensitive ear for someone to talk to.  In my world I see it as not just the least I can do but also a privileged way to serve.  If the Creator of the universe can love me enough to send His Son for my sake, for my survival; what reason do I have not to extend a hand or an ear to another?

Here’s a few other reasons I’ve found to help others:

Hebrews 13:16 Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.

Philippians 2:4 Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.

Galatians 6:2 Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.

John 15:12 “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.

All I can do is speak for myself, but I find this works well in producing happiness in others, as well at the Gray One here!

Keep those eyes and ears open, boys and girls; you just never know when God might call upon them to be senses for someone else.  🙂

My Lady and I made our way back to our hometown of Fremont, Ohio yesterday.  The occasion was an open house at the old junior high which is slated to be torn down later this year.  This was not something that will go down in the annals of time as a “Must Be There Event!”  The forty plus years since I walked the halls of this old learning institution have passed with few memories of my days spent there.  But when I heard about this particular “goodbye festivity,” well, something inside told me this was going to be special; and, oh my, special it was.

The school is a large structure, quite grand in appearance from the outside, taking up an entire city block.  But the interior tells the true story of how worn out the building actually is; lets just say it’s not pretty.  The classrooms, gymnasiums and auditorium were smaller than I remembered.  Everywhere were cracks and peeling paint.  The floors and walls were well worn and past prime with an old style, institutional look about them. Truthfully, it was nice to see the old place again but it wasn’t as magical a moment as I thought it would be as we explored room by room and floor by floor.  But I was looking in the wrong place for the magic; it wasn’t the school at all, it was people that made it special, just like always.

I talked to several of my old teachers, one I remembered not for being such a great teacher but for being, well, a bully!  This certain individual had a habit of making a point to a student who was caught doing wrong by banging them hard against wall.  I was on the receiving end of his wrath one time and still have the chipped tooth to prove it.  (Yes young people, those stories you heard that school was tougher way back then are all true.)

I remember the disdain I had for this individual and how I swore someday I would be in a position to let him know just how rotten of a person I found him to me.  Well a certain moment in this teacher’s life seemed to change that angry disposition he carried and actually became a nice guy, or so I’m told.  When I saw him yesterday a young teacher was talking to him, telling this man how he inspired her so much with his love of teaching and his students that it spurred her to become a teacher also.  Upon hearing all this, it occurred to me that the man I knew, that I wished to rip to shreds verbally no longer existed; and when I shook this elderly gentleman’s hand, all I could say was thank you.  It wasn’t for what he did to me, but what he grew into and became; awesome.

I met another individual who struck up a conversation about our principle back then.  Now here was a man that I was convinced had a poster of General George Patton in his office.  Here was a man that when he walked the halls of the school people moved well out of his way or cowered in the corner (teachers included); a straight laced administrator who held to the proposition that there were only one or two reasons to be in his building, to educate or to be educated, nothing more, nothing less.  I never saw him smile and the only time I ever heard his voice was during one of his stern speeches in an assembly or when we was yelling at someone (and you could have been on the other side of the building and heard him).  But this man I was talking to now, who was in his mid 60s described someone totally different than the person I remembered.  He spoke about a man who shaped his life, who patiently never gave up on him even when he was going through tough times.  He told the story of someone who was loving, caring and always there for him and the people who were the closest; and he told all this through tears as he related to me this man he loved, this man, he knew as dad.  When he finished I thanked him for sharing his dad with the rest of us.  I thanked him for revealing someone I didn’t really know, someone who was true man of honor.

I ran into another old schoolmate who like me married his high school sweetheart and they have had many wonderful years together.  A very pleasant individual, we spoke on several topics from our youthful days, one of which was on the subject of a certain individual we both knew back in school. This person was, what you might say, different.  He was born with an appearance that brought taunts and teases most of his younger days.  My friend, this day, was telling me that he never ridiculed the person in question, but like many of us, he didn’t go out of his way to show friendship either.  An event brought them together years later where my friend found himself at this man’s home; praying with him and for him.  When the end came too soon, in the human understanding of life, for the one, my friend was there as a pallbearer at his funeral.  From classmates, to friends, to family; a tear comes to my eyes and a smile to my face as I write, “That is just awesome!”

“In ordinary life we hardly realize that we receive a great deal more than we give, and that it is only with gratitude that life becomes rich.”

I could go about other “treasures” I found walking through an old building, but I think I’ll save them for another day.  A building was erected many years ago for the purpose of educating the masses.  It has run its course and will soon be only a memory.  You were brought into this world for a purpose also; God designs all of us that way no matter what level of talent we possess.  What you choose to do with that God given talent becomes the deciding factor of whether you are someday looked at as a memory or a hero with a legacy.  Thank you to the Heroes who give of themselves for others, for me, for you. 😮

Time to introduce you to another of my “Hero Travelers of the Rock Road.” Meet Great Aunt Lilly, youngest daughter to John Wesley and Emazetta Marshall. She was one of the five eldest members of my relation who were the pillars that seemed to hold us all together as a family. Sweet Lilly was the last of the “Old Guard” (as I lovingly refer to them) to pass away. If she were with us today, she’d be a young 96 years old. Outside of my kinfolk, I would doubt if there were 50 to 100 other people that even knew of her existence. Lilly never married and the times she left her mountain home to visit other regions could be count on both hands with fingers left over. She once held a civil service job, along with her sister Pearl, which took her to the Chesapeake Bay region for a short time. Her mother, Emazetta, was living with another sister, Virgie (Don’t you just love those names?!!) and was in poor health, so Lilly returned to West Virginia to help care for her and then for Virgie’s husband when he became ill. Except for a few short trips with family she never ventured away again and spent the majority of her life caring for others. I would call it a safe guess that if you accumulated all of Lilly’s wages over her lifetime, it probably would not amount to one year’s earned capital for the average middleclass family. Not what you call a fascinating life, huh? Sounds like a pretty boring existence, right? Sit back with your coffee friend and keep reading.

As a boy visiting the booming metropolis of Rock, West Virginia, I was always excited to see family again. I knew when we got the house the first one out the door to greet us with a big smile and loving hug would be Aunt Lilly. She had the most natural beam of delight to her face that I have known with only a few others. Hers was a laugh that filled a room and echoed pleasantly above others. Whenever company came, you would find her busy looking after whatever needed to be done, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. Tending to the needs of others brought her sheer delight. She was a sweet soul, so gentle she wouldn’t have known how to be mean or say a cross word. That was proven in a small way the time she captured a mouse in the kitchen. Gently picking the tiny rodent up by the tail, she took it to the backdoor and carefully sat it outside with no thought that it probably would find its way back in the house again!

Where Lilly lived with her sister, Virgie was just up the hill from their brother, Sam. Between the 2 houses was a huge yard where all we kids would play. The adults would visit on the front porch and shout out warnings about not getting too rambunctious, but not dear old Lilly. I noticed whenever she took a moment to sit and watch, it was done with a smile across her face and softness in her eyes that left me to wonder if maybe she was remembering a time of youthful revelry with her own siblings. One of the most interesting traits about Great Aunt Lilly is what I refer to as HHIS (High Hidden Intellectual Syndrome). Like many from her era, she did not finish a formal education, but her understanding and comprehensive abilities were uncanny. She had the ability to read a book, newspaper or article, watch something on television or listen to a radio program, and then relate all she had learned back, verbatim. A friend of mine came along for a visit once and I found him into a rather deep conversation on a subject they had both read about in the media. When we left I jokingly rebuked my friend accusing him of trying to bulldoze my Lilly with his knowledge. “Are you kidding,” he said, “She stayed step for step with me knowing all the same issues I had read, she missed her calling for higher education in my opinion.” Dr. Great Aunt Lilly, I like the sound of that. :o) All kidding aside, it is my belief that Lilly would have passed up full-ride scholarships to the most prestigious universities in the country had they been offered if it meant giving up what she did best, what she love best, caring for others.

When I was quite young, I was playing in the gulley just below the house there in Rock. Something scared me and I turned to run only to fall hard into some thorny bushes. It was Aunt Lilly to rescue! She parted the bush with her bare hands, snatched me up and carried me back to the house where she treated my wounds with medicine and my fears with long loving hugs. Moving forward some 25 years, I was back in West Virginia for the funeral of her sister and my Great Aunt Pearl, the closest person to me in the world at that time. Here I was, almost 30 years old, and all I wanted to do was cry. The only person that could bring comfort to the man-child was Lilly. There were no great words of encouragement like so many offered that helped my sadness. It was the warm, comforting embrace of love and caring that only she could offer that consoled and began the healing process in me. It was there that God knew I needed to be, in the arms of the Marshall Family Angel.

When Lilly passed away, I remember a story Pearl told me. They had been together up in Maryland when the call came for Lilly to go home. As much as Pearl did not want to see her go, she knew she had to; she was needed, so she boarded the train for home. I am of the opinion that a time came when Lilly’s work was finally done here; she had served others, and she had served her Lord with a smile on her face and a laugh that still echo through the halls of my memory as well as others I’m sure. We wanted to keep her here, but it was time for her to board the train, it was time for Lilly to go Home!

How many of you have a Lilly, or an angel in your life, aren’t they awesome?!! How many of you have been called to serve? You’re a hero to someone you know? :o) In my world and belief, its looked at as pure joy and the highest of callings; Romans 12:10-13.

They wear so many faces

Show up in so many strange places

Grace us with their mercy

In our time of need

Oh, yes I believe there was an angel among us,

Sent down to us from heaven up above.

She came to you and me in our darkest hours

She showed us how to live

She taught us how to give

And she guided us with her love.

          Wow, what a weekend! It was the type memories are made of.  Along with some friends, I participated in what’s called in these parts the Polar Bear Plunge event.  I’m sure you know what I’m talking about; take a cold winter day, a frozen lake, punch a hole in the ice big enough for about a hundred people to go running into 35 degree water and you’ve got the makings of the craziest party you’ll ever see! Now I’ve had many friends and family members who have been questioning my mental stability of late for doing such a stunt. My 1^st thought is if it’s taken them this long to wonder whether I’m a little nutty or not then I’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it all these years. ;o)  All kidding aside it was an incredible experience and I’m glad I was able to do it, kinda one of those scratch another item off the bucket list moments. One thing though, that wasn’t the 1^st time I found myself in icy water.

            It was sometime back during my grade school days and I was part of a Cub Scout troop.  My “Den Mothe,r” as the leaders were called, would pick up me and several boys after school once a week for meetings.  These meetings would be at her house for an hour or so where we would do crafts, play some games and have a snack before heading home. All the other boys in my troop would have their parents pick them up after the meeting, but my family didn’t have a car so I’d have to walk the mile or so home.  It wasn’t bad and I enjoyed the free time to myself taking an easy stroll home.  On this one winter day I left my den mother’s place and headed directly across the street from her house where a small creek ran.  The creek was frozen hard so I got out on the ice deciding to walk this frozen path out of the addition.  The addition opened up onto State Street, the main thoroughfare in Fremont, my home town.  I should have come up off the creek bed when I reached the street but I noticed this stream continued on under the road with traffic flowing above on a bridge.  The roar of the cars passing over echoed inside the opening and I decided to I would continue to walk on the ice till I reached the other side of the road.  Okay, here’s a little lesson maybe some of you already know but if not, trust me, its worth knowing.  Out in the open space the ice on a creek will freeze firm and solid, but place it under a bridge and you have a weak surface.  I was about ½ ways across the road when I heard sounds under my feet that told me I was in trouble.  Before I could think about what to do the ice gave way underneath me and I fell through up to my neck. Instinctively my arms shot straight out from my body keeping me from going all the way under.  I could touch the bottom with my feet, but there was a current that kept pulling at me.  I tried desperately to pull myself up on the ice to no avail; it would just give way under the weigh of my body.  But that also allowed me to break a path back the way I came till I was finally at ice firm enough to hold me and belly crawl to ground.  Finally able to walk, I made my way up out of the creek bed and on to the side walk on State Street.  I know I looked a mess, soaking wet, plain dirty and smelly like I’d been playing in a sewer.  Making my way home now, I noticed a lot of people staring at me as they drove by as if to say “now what in the world do you think that boy has been into?”  It put visions in my head of me jumping up and down, waving and yelling, “Hi, I just fell through the ice back there and nearly died and no one else on the face of the earth knows about it; have a nice day!”

           It was years later when I read about someone else who had fallen through the ice, but not surviving, that I examined that moment in my life where it might easily have been the final chapter of my life.  But for whatever reason my Lord has preserved me from harm (and personal idiocy) on a number of occasions over the years.  Got this feeling I’ve had a guardian angel that might be up for a long vacation when my days are up, for all I’ve put him through!  It comes down to this, friends and neighbors, none of us know how many days we have and as I’ve aged the thought has come to me that’s not the important issue anyway, not how long we live but how we live.  Someone once said; “The purpose of life is not to be happy – but to matter, to be productive, to be useful, to have it make some difference that you have lived at all.”  Interesting comment, but I also see all the items that the writer quotes can bring happiness in one’s existence.  I am at a level of immense joy whenever I can be placed in positions to be a help or make a difference, especially in someone else’s life.  God gives us that chance, I believe, every day of our lives.  The determining factor comes down to what are you going to do when the opportunity arises to make a difference. 

         You are special, because you are loved!  Loved by a Creator so captivated with you that He sent his Son to make a way for your path to joy, happiness, life.

         We don’t know what tomorrow will bring so what say we fill it with joy today?  If you don’t know where to start, try Proverbs 3: 23, 24 or 18:10.  For this man it gives him strength to face each day with joy and hope and the try to pass it on to others.  In the meantime I’ll just work at living each day to the fullest (with a little common sense of course) and look for opportunities to check more items off my bucket list of accomplishments.

So, who out there knows anything about being a rodeo clown?!! :o)

The righteous man walks in his integrity; his children are blessed after him. Proverbs 20:7

Most days around the old Miller Manor are quiet. With the exception of the kids coming home, a few friends dropping by or the grandchildren staying overnight; it’s generally my Lady and me and a little furry pooch to make three.  But there was a time our little abode was teeming with life and overflowing with young people.  Granted, we only had three kids (a daughter and two sons), but many days, if you didn’t know who we were, you would have been hard pressed to figure out how many kids actually lived here.  On more occasions than I can remember we had a house full bedded down anywhere and everywhere they cold find room to lie.  The next morning would find me in the kitchen making more food for breakfast than what you’d see on an army base, especially when Justin, our youngest had all his football buddies (a group we lovingly named, the Buffalos!) stay over.  I’d keep cooking just to see how much it took to fill those guys; whoa!

Those were some interesting days, at times they drove me nuts, at times it drove me to side splitting laughter and there were even times it drove me to tears; and I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it for the world.  Now I know there are a lot of homes that opened their doors like we did to young people, but for me, who wasn’t even sure he wanted kids, well it’s saying a little I believe on how God changed my heart.  There were two stumbling blocks in my way to whether or not I wanted the responsibility of fatherhood.  The 1^st was my dream to be a full time musician and I just didn’t see that life style conducive to bringing up children.  The 2^nd was the hard, cold fact that since I never had a father I couldn’t fathom any thoughts of what I might have to offer a child.  (I thank God that fatherhood is not based on how well you’re equipped, but how willing you are to fill the position.)  Anyway, I’m thankful God had a better plan for this man that he could see.  Even during the times that, shall we say, added the most gray to my dome. 

With our daughter Jamie (Sunshine) she was always bringing strays home; not animals, but people! I lost count of all the ones she brought to us who didn’t have a place to stay.  Some of those situations worked out well where a few that spent time here still refer to us as mom and dad.  Then there’s a few others that were good to some extent that I’m sure we’ll hear from again someday (that is, when they’re sure the statue of limitations has run out on what they ripped from off us).  Still gotta love ‘em!  Then there’s our middle child, Jeremy (Scoot).  He was the one gifted with the highest level of sensitivity of the group (probably contributed to him becoming a musician and writer.)  But he was also the one who would surprise us constantly with, well, style changes like dying his hair every color of the rainbow.  (I think my favorite was the bright blue!)  Then there was the baby, Justin (Boo).  Most kids 1^st words are “mama” of “dada.”  Justin’s was “NO!” Justin Michael did not learn to walk as a toddler, he went straight to running, usually trying to get away from his latest misadventure like the time he started a fire — in his trashcan — in his room.  One of the most memorable acts that involved me in my son’s antics was the time we invested in a soda can crusher.  It was connected to a post in the garage and it had a handle.  The objective was to place the can on the crusher, then bare down on the handle with a quick force. The container was smashed to a height of about ½ an inch.  The kids loved to bring me cans and watch how quickly I could crush them.  Jamie would be 1^st placing the can in the crusher; Bang! Instant metal pancake.  Then Jeremy would take his turn; Bang! Flatten like a stone!  One day Justin took his turn with a big smile saying, “Here dad, crush this one.”  Loving to show off for the kids I pressed down with all my might; on a can that was still half full of pop!  You got it, Splash! I was instantly baptized in RC Cola!  (Took me 3 blocks to catch him that day!)  These are some of the small, insignificant moments, but I confess there were times I was tried to the point that I didn’t know if  could go on in this role I found myself in; that I questioned whether or not I was truly called to be a father, a dad;  that all changed one fateful night. 

The call came and Cathy and I found ourselves at the hospital in the middle of the night.  Justin was lying on a gurney, covered head to toe with blood, cuts and bruises.  He and four other young people were in a car accident where Justin was thrown through the windshield; one boy died instantly.  If there’s ever a moment you’re questioning whether you should be a parent, it’s not at a moment such as that.  Your only thought is “God, please take care of my child or take me instead him!”

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

We all make mistakes along the road of parenting, but there’s no mistake in whether or not you were called to be one if you look at it in the proper light.  For parenting is one of the greatest privileges God bestows on us, entrusting us with the gift of children, the opportunity to train up the next generation in the way they should go.  The decision then becomes how precious you see and treat the gift bestowed on you.  For this man and his Lady, well it has given a couple of only children a legacy two more generations deep now and growing.  That’s some of the best fruit of children I love so deeply, grandchildren!

Justin called the other day from Indy, totally frustrated. “Dad, I can’t seem to keep Mae happy!  All she wants to do is scream, about to pull my hair out!”  With a gentle smile on my face I assured him everything is going to be okay, but on the inside, I was thinking a commercial I’ve seen on TV. “Payback, this time it’s for real!” ;o)