Traveling the Rock Road

“All the world is full of suffering. It is also full of overcoming.” Helen Keller

We were down in Indy last weekend visiting our youngest son Justin, his lovely wife Tracie, and the apple of their eye (Grandpa and Grandma’s too) Mae Nicole.  Always great to visit the kids, but the main reason for this trip was a triathlon that Justin and I competed in that Sunday.  We trained hard for this 1^st of several tri-events we’ll do this summer and it paid off as each of us bettered our last performance.  I particularly showed improvement in the swim while my baby boy did great in all three events.  Without a doubt there’s something to be said about the age factor.  I was sore from nose to toes for several days after the competition.  Justin Michael on the other hand, well he was a little sore but not enough to miss a flag football game, and then a doubleheader softball game that night before ever going to bed.  Had I attempted to do all that in a single day I wouldn’t be in a slumber that evening, I’d have been in a coma! But that’s great, I’m proud of him as I am all my kids.  The following day I checked on line what my placing in the event had been and was happy to see I finished in front of a good number of racers.  That’s the good news; the other side of the coin is there was a “whole” lot more that placed above the Gray One. With over 700 competitors the race is ran in waves, with the fastest starting 1^st and then everyone else ranked by age or past qualifying times going next.  Because of these factors I’m usually close to the end of the pack.  Some of these great competitors will actually swim, bike and run before I ever get out of the water.  Now I don’t know how you view this scenario, but I thing it’s pretty cool.  To think, an old ex-smoker like myself, who couldn’t beat his 8 year old grandson in the foot race, battling in a contest with some of the best tri-athletes in the country, well personally; I find that pretty awesome, not just on my account but for the millions of others out there doing their very best, knowing they won’t win, but still giving it all they have!  There was a time in my life I wouldn’t have given a thought to trying something like this, especially when individuals of high capability are involved also; much more intimidation than I was able to handle.

You see, as a boy I had been classified as a “slow learner.”  Personally, I believe the label that was pinned on me was incorrect, one more suited would be “not taught yet.”   I was raised without a father figure, and my mother and great-aunt who were there for me, and who I loved dearly, held little formal education or knowledge of activities a young lad would involve himself in.  Teachers back then, did the best they could, but there were few special programs to help struggling students and the majority of the time a child was passed on to the next grade whether they deserved to or not.  Individuals like me would be at a disadvantage not because we couldn’t perform and comprehend, but rather due to lack of proper knowledge and understanding on how or what to do.  Now, please, don’t take the idea I’m singing that old refrain “poor, poor pitiful me.”  I’m not into what I refer to as “crutch support.”  In other words, we an all agree that it is a true statement to say each and every one of us has had situations or moments where we have felt inferior to a task or other people around us. I don’t like to criticize, but truth of the matter is some use those experiences as a “crutch” for the reason they won’t try some thing ever again.  Truly, I understand their pain and fear, but I also know they have more ability than they give themselves credit for possessing.  Had I believed the words of a few, shall we say “narrow minded people,” or the studies done by psychologists, on folks such as myself, who’s formative years were below what society brands as the norm, I might have been a high-school dropout working a dead-end job whose only social activity would be watching television and eating junk food.  AGAIN! Please, let me emphasize, I’m not looking down on others or blowing my horn.  I’m making the point that if I, a person who is not really anything special, (from a worldly standpoint) can overcome the odds anyone, everyone, YOU, can also!

One writer says it this way; “Any fact facing us is not as important as our attitude toward it, for that determines our success or failure.  The way you think about a fact may defeat you before you ever do anything about it.  You are overcome by the fact because you think you are.”

When I became a Christian, I was overjoyed with all the promises that the Creator of the universe bestowed on me.  But there was something more to it than what I was receiving, there was a reality that became present of exactly who I was and how special I was to God.  I may not become some great leader, teacher, athlete, or whatever, but my Lord has a purpose for my life that means I am worth something to Him, to others, to me.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11.  And “If God is for us, who can be against us?” Romans8:31

It doesn’t matter what others think or what some study may surmise; what matters is how God sees me and you, special, winners! 

I plan on doing at least 4 more triathlons this season and next year, good Lord’s will and the creek don’t rise, an Ironman event.  That’s a 2 ¼ mile swim, 110 mile bike, and 26 mile run.  If the moment comes where I get the opportunity to challenge this next endeavor, make or break, my prize will be the same as always; give God the praise for His grace and mercy in my life and making me, in His eyes, a winner! Philippines 4:13. 🙂

“My home is in Heaven. I’m just traveling through this world.”

We just returned yesterday from a short trip to one of my favorite places,Chicago, where we visited with our oldest son, Jeremy, and his beautiful wife Bekah. Even though I’d spent the majority of my life residing in different regions of ‘Small TownAmerica,” I have a certain affection for major cities.  I love seeing the different architectural designs that define each building and its history.  You can eat in a different restaurant every week for years and never repeat the same cuisine twice.  Museums, parks, music, sports all characterize the urban experience and lifestyle.  But I believe my favorite thing about the city is the people.  If you’ve ever had a desire to travel abroad and meet different nations of people but could not, all is not lost.  Take an excursion to Chicago, New York, Boston, Washington D.C., Atlanta, Los Angeles, Seattle and or any number of other metropolitan hubs and you will be overwhelmed by allthe diverse cultures you’ll find living there. Take a walk through the downtown district and on an average day you’ll hear scores of varied dialects being carried on.  No wonderAmericawas nicknamed “The Melting Pot,” such an awesome experience!  Now that I’ve told you all that, here’s a story of a man I met who did not speak with a foreign inflection to his voice, but I still found him to be a rare species to his surroundings.

Sometime back in the 1990s, I was inChicagowith a friend going to see his brother who lived on the north side of the city.  We stopped at a gas station just off the interstate and I went in the store to buy a pack of cigarettes (Heavy smoker back then, smoke free 7½ years now)!  When I came out, there was an elderly man sitting in a lawn chair in front of the station.  “Excuse me friend,” he started, “but could I get a smoke from you?  The station folk know my doctor don’t want me a smokin so they won’t sell me any, could you spare me one, please?”  I gave him a cigarette, lit it and began studying this man carefully; something very familiar in his voice, in his accent.  “Where’s home friend?” I asked him.  “Oh I live just down the block in an apartment there,” he explained motioning with his arm in the direction he spoke of. “No friend,” I said with a slight smile; “I’m meanin’, where’s, Home?”  Now I had his full attention with him looking up at me for the first time.  “Eastern Kentucky.”  I knew it!  Being born inWest Virginia, I can tune in an Appalachian accent in a crowded room.  Sitting down in the chair next to him, I struck up a fuller conversation.  “Now what in the world is aKentuckyboy doing here inChicago?”  Now he was smiling back at me; “I’ll tell ya, but it’ll cost ya another smoke.”  I pulled out a cig, lit it and took the rest of the pack and stuffed it in his shirt pocket; “You have my attention.”  “Well, I came up here in 19 and 46, after the war, looking for work cause there weren’t any work down home and got a job here in a steel mill.”  Fell in love with area and decided to stay, huh?”  “Hell No!” he shot back at my question.  I never been any place like here and didn’t like it one bit!” My plan was to work a year or two, save some money and start some kind of business of my own back home.”  I’d go back every chance I could, had a girl and we wanted to get married, but I didn’t want to bring her back here, was sure she wouldn’t like it in this place.”  A small grin returned to his face; “I showed up at her home one day, she had 2 suitcases packed and sitting in the front room.”  “She looked me square in the eye and said now we can go see the justice of the peace on our way out of town or if you want to save time we’ll just get on the road now, but ya ain’t going back without me, hear?!!  Still smiling he said, “I thought I had a pretty good argument up till then.  Well I made her and myself a promise we would someday go back to the hills, but she passed ‘fore I could keep it. Still, we had a good life together here; raised two children that meant the world to her.”  Again I questioned, “So you never did make it back toKentuckythen?”  “Oh no” he exclaimed, I moved back shortly after I retired a number of years back, bought a small house there in my hometown and made plans to finish out my days there.”  Okay, now I’m a bit baffled.  “But you told me you lived just down the street here.” “Yep, it took me a few short months to realize I made the biggest mistake of my life!  Anywhere I needed to go I had to rely on someone else to get me there, nothing was nearby like here.  Gave my old landlord a call and he said I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you, I still got your apartment, it’s ready for you to move back into.  Here, I’m walking distance to the store, the pharmacy, my doctor, restaurants and most of my friends are here, not back there.  I have good memories ofKentuckyand maybe if I never left it would be different, but that’s not home anymore, this is.  I think the Good Lord put me exactly where He wants me to be and that’s just fine and dandy.”  Looking at me again now, “I suppose you want your smokes back after hearing all the hubbub?”  Laughing out loud I said, “No friend, your story was a worth a carton, but I don’t want to get you or me in trouble, you keep them, and thank you for sharing.”

My Lady and I had every intention of moving back toOhioafter I finished my education inIndiana, we just didn’t realize it was going to take 25 years to accomplish!  But like my friend, as time moved on so did our priorities, what we considered important, and where we were called home.  God had a better plan, a special plan totally contrary to what we thought we would be doing and where we would be doing it; and we thank God for that plan we allowed Him to carry out in us everyday of our lives!  Did our hometown change?  Yes, all places do as time marches on.  But the bigger change, I believe, came in us learning to be happy where we were planted so to speak; home did change but so did we.

C.S. Lewis explains it this way:

“Imagine yourself as a living house.  God comes in to rebuild that house.  At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing.  He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised.  But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense.  What on earth is He up to?  The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards.  You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace.  He intends to come and live in it Himself.”

For this man and many others, we have learned contentment and happiness where we have found ourselves in life, it’s home, at least for now.  I love where I am and all that’s around me, but there’s a time coming I’ll be making a another move.  Will I miss my old home that means so much to me?  I don’t think so, I’ve got a promise of a place yet to come that the LandLORD has already prepared just for me, and you, Home forever!  (John 14:2-3)

“The Holy Scriptures are our letters from home,” Augustine

Blessed week to all. 🙂

When my Lady was 3 years old, she left the only home she ever knew and became the daughter of Clyde and Bette Lenhart.  That home was an orphanage in Tiffin, Ohio where she had resided since shortly after her birth.  Very few objects came with Cathy when she was placed in the Lenhart home; a stuffed teddy bear and kitty, a baby ring and locket that given to by her birth mother (who was only 13 when became pregnant with Cathy, hence, why she was placed in an orphanage for adoption) and the dress you see in the picture. Not a lot in the way of worldly possessions, but still important all the same, especially the dress.

I’m sure Clyde and Bette probably had to make a quick stop at a store before they ever got their treasured daughter home to pick up some essentials and extra clothes seeing there were none sent with Cathy.  My guess is probably in the atmosphere of an orphanage most clothes are treated as communal and had to be left for other children.  That didn’t matter to the Lenharts, they would have taken her home in a paper sack if they had to! You can be assured that Little Cathy didn’t need any sacks, being the first, and only child of Clyde and Bette; she had more than enough outfits to fill dressers and closets.  The clothes weren’t always new items; Bette was an expert at shopping the 2^nd hand stores for the best she could get for her money.  What she couldn’t buy she would sew, making many beautiful dresses for Cathy.  These are a couple of traits I’m glad Bette passed on to Cathy, who posses the same ability to stretch a dollar, which kept our family afloat quite often.  This attribute also ensure that Cathy would own more clothes than a small department store back then, as well as now.  (Hey, show me a gal who doesn’t have a wardrobe like that and I will show you a rare species! 🙂

Like anyone, as times come and go, so do clothing attire either because you’ve grown out of them or styles and you change.  I could not begin to imagine how many dresses, skirts, pants, shoes and tops my Lady has passed on to others.  Hundreds of items, I’m sure, have circulated in and out of her life over the years, with the exception of one.  This one item, we simply refer to as, “the dress,” has been kept and preserved in such a fashion that it looks the same today as it did when a 3 year old orphan was introduced to her new mom and dad.  The blue and white pattern of this delicate dress are just as beautiful as the day it fit Cathy, but that’s not the reason it’s still with her.  It’s a representation of something special, of a moment in time that was special. When God brought together, a couple who desired to have a child so deeply, and a little girl who was much in need of someone to love her forever, in this writer’s view, this “was” a match made in Heaven!

Over the years, Cathy would pull out the dress and look at it occasionally, perhaps remembering the time her mother talked about seeing her in it, but mostly, wanting and waiting on our very own daughter to whom she could pass this heritage, this representation of love.  You see, we were over 6 years before having our first child, and wondered often if would be in the same plight as the Lenharts, not able to have our own.  We even began to look into adoption ourselves, but God had other plans that came in a 6 lb, 4 oz. package on Dec. 31, 1979; Jamie Melissa, the next wearer of the dress of love.  In the 55 years since the dress came to be seen as a symbol of something important, a symbol of family it has now made its way to the next generation, having 2 grand-daughters who have grown into it and at least one more waiting in the wings for her turn.

Our family

is a circle of

strength and love.

With every birth

and every union

the circle grows.

Every joy shared

adds more love.

Every crisis faced

together makes the

circle stronger.

Family is very important to Cathy and me like most everyone, but with both of us being only children and both with dark holes in our past to where some of our heritage connections are; having kids, and kids now having kids, has been one of the most incredible blessings God has given us.

The dress is a symbol of a starting point of God’s love and family love coming together.  Whatever generations of Millers don this delicate blue and white representation of something special that began in the 50s, may they understand they are part of a legacy that God established, for love and out of love for a couple who wanted someone to call their own, and a 3 year old who needed the same.  I’ve got some things put away for the guy counterparts of the Miller Heritage, but that’s another story! 🙂

Hey, don’t you just love the beauty of this delicate blue and white dress? Why it’s a custom design, made specifically for 5 beautiful gifts of God, and counting!  It was designed by an incredible Creator of the fashion of love bearing the designer brand; Agape!  It’s described in His famous Catalog (Bible) 1^st Corinthians 13.

Blessings to you and your loved ones!!! 😉

“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. 😮