Traveling the Rock Road

“God sees us with the eyes of a Father. He sees our defects, errors and blemishes. But He also sees our value.” ― Max Lucado
Isn’t that an awesome picture?! This is Tahquamenon Falls in the U.P. of Michigan, one of the most spectacular falls in the eastern United States. My Lady and I were up there biking and hiking a few years back and had the opportunity to take it in its breathtaking view. With all the miles we have bicycled and hiked I never tire of discovering new sights across this beautiful land called America!
What? Smudge, what smudge? Hey, you’re right, smack dab right in the middle of the picture! Now what kind of dirty dog would do such a thing to a stunning image such as this? Okay, okay; Arf Arf!! Truth is I marked it up like to stress a point. (Don’t worry, this is a copy of the original; I wish to make a point but I’m not crazy; at least I hope!) This is a visual I’ve used many times over to explain my main point. Usually, I start with a clean picture of beauty such as this one, asking the individual admiring it to take it the full magnificence of what they are seeing. While their gaze is fixed intently on the vision before them I’ll pull out a marker and quickly place a mar on the picture. Of course there is startled surprise at what just happened, but something else happens, each and every time. No longer are the eyes drawn to the beauty that fills the depiction before them; their gaze is magnetically pulled to the tarnish on the illustration. No matter how large the splendor of the picture remains or how small the blemish is, the fact remains that the eye goes first to the fault, the imperfection. Okay, has everyone figured out where the Gray One is headed? If so I guess I can stop right here; Nah!!!
In every single person’s life there is a blemish, a mar, an imperfection. For some it’s a matter that they’ve dealt with for their entire existence; for others its something that’s happened to them later on in years that’s brought the proverbial dent to the side of their mental, physical, or emotional being. I remember a time I had played the largest musical gig of my life with the biggest name that I came to know personally in the industry. This man was living on Cloud 9 and had never felt such jubilation about my craft; I just knew I was on the way to living my musical dream. Two weeks later I was replaced by another drummer. The reason given was, “You’re just not good enough for what we need, kid–maybe later.” That comment was enough for me to take a knife and slash all the heads on my drum kit, then throw them in the closet and not look at them for a long time. I was not good enough (truthfully) for what they needed in that band; but that didn’t mean I wasn’t good enough for music and the beauty and happiness it brought and continues to do so.
The amount of folks I’ve encountered over the years who find so little happiness from being blinded by the “blotch” is staggering, but I could also go on forever giving examples of unpleasant situations and the people I know who overcame the “blotch” and have learned to bask in the beauty around them, to discover what Max Lucado puts this way when expressing how God see us; “Remember, you are special because I made you. And I don’t make mistakes.”
Today, if you cannot erase that blotch you live with then, at least, make the effort not to let it cover of the full picture of splendor around you and in you. You are such an awesome, special person!!
“And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than look down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow.” ― G.K. Chesterton

What an amazing year! I experienced the thrill of riding the bike trails of Wisconsin with my Lady 140 mile of some the most beautiful scenic landscape the region had to offer, all the way to and across the mighty Mississippi. We hiked an incredible gorge in southeast Kentucky, and then the back country of the Smokey Mountain National Park to one of the most breath-taking waterfalls located in the east. At the tender young age of 57, I competed in my 1^st triathlon (and didn’t drown!) with my 2 sons, something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. It had such an affect on Cathy she trained and did 2 more with me, finishing 2^nd in her category at the last one. Cathy discovered something she never realized, she was a natural runner and her times just keep getting better. It also aided in her losing nearly 50 lbs. this year. (Hubba Hubba!) She is now training for a half marathon with our Daughter-in-law Tracie; just Awesome! Oh yeah, almost forgot, I found my degree from Purdue that was lost! I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it was something I earned late in life that stands as an affirmation that a certain individual was wrong about what I could or could not accomplish; and that individual was me.

But, hands down, the greatest moment this year came Oct. 12, with the birth of little Miss Mae Nicole Miller, daughter to our youngest son and his wife Tracie. Isn’t she beautiful?!! At certain times while holding her, questions come to mind that I think I ask mentally for each of my grandchildren and children also. What will the world be like for you when you reach my age? Will you find it to be a friendly place to live? Will you find the people you share your world with special, and will they see you in the same light?  There’s no chance I’ll be around to find out the answers to little Mae’s life journey in 57 years; but as a grandfather I can only hope and pray each day I’m here for her and her future. But one of the lessons I’ve learned over the course of time is that it doesn’t truly matter what a person is surrounded by, be it happiness and love, or pain and suffering. Of course, as a rule, the 1^st option seems to yield more positive fruit in a person’s life. But the bottom line does not lie within an individual’s surroundings when it comes to happiness; it lies from with the individual themselves. People who know me best can attest that I am not a religion man, but a man of faith. That faith is based on the guidelines and principles I learn from the Bible. One of those principles teaches me I need to love my neighbor as myself, I have no problem with the main emphasis of the verse, but the question is raised, what if you don’t love yourself? I’m not talking about an egotistical self attitude; I’m referring to ones who do not see that they are special; at one time that included yours truly.

I spent 30 years working with children and young people through different organizations and some were on the wrong side of the law at a young age.  In nearly every single case where I dealt with a trouble filled individual the root problem was not the person was bad, it was they had little or no self esteem; they did not see themselves as good as people around them. Okay then, now that I’ve said all that, if you have never heard these words before let me be the 2^nd to say it to you; you are an incredible, wonderful, special person!  I said I was the 2^nd to tell you that; then who is the 1^st? Three Guesses? ;0) Here’s a hint; “What is the price of 5 sparrows – 2 copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid. .. you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.” (Luke 12:6)  “God created human beings in His own image. In the image of God, He created them. Because you are made in God’s image, you are a reflection of His glory and valuable. God loves you and made you to be like Him. (Genesis 1:27)

We’re in a new year, friends and neighbors–2012!  For the ones of us who’ve been around, just saying the date almost sounds like something from a Sci-Fi movie! I’m going to go out on a limb here and also say if you’re preparing yourself for the end of the world in the next 12 months don’t go blow your life’s saving on something you’ll regret later; because it just ain’t a gonna happen!  If I’m wrong, which I doubt, hey my bad and who’s gonna really care anyway. But if I’m right just remember where you heard it 1^st. (actually 2^nd again but that would be too long to go into ;0)

Instead, dedicate this year to you, to learning how special you are to yourself, to others, to the Lord. Get up, get out, and get moving!  Do something you’ve never done before.  It doesn’t have to be earth shattering.  It just has to be something that reaffirms all I’ve said. One young lady who discovered how special she was said it this way; “One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar, When we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.” Helen Keller.

My prayer, in Jesus name, will be that each that reads this will realize they are special; and made to SOAR! Happy New Year!

Another great Christmas has come and gone. Wonderful time with the family and friends, sharing happiness, songs, gifts and food; oh my, the food!  I will be “rolling” into the gym for the next 6 months or so!  But last night after all the family festivities had finished I went out by myself for a while as I do every year, just for a little quiet time and reflection. I like to scour the radio stations in the car to see how many are still playing Christmas music and how many have returned to their regular venue. There’s this large convenience store that I go to where many people stop.  I just like to listen.  What are people talking about and how are they responding to each other now that we’ve put Christmas behind us?  But mostly, I think about this man and what he did or said.  You see I realize I live in a world and time that celebrates the holiday in different ways and for different reasons and I don’t look down on anyone for that.  At the same time, I do not apologize for my reason, for my faith.  To me this is a representation of one of the most important moments in history, when God in the form of a baby came to earth amongst us to love us and then to one day die so that I might have a fuller life eternal.  Not only did He die, but he broke the bonds of death and rose again for me and for you.  As I make my trek through the quiet night I reflect back to how many times that thought stayed with me over the last few weeks, but even more, how many times will it stay with me through the year.  So many thoughts, so many questions I don’t have answers to–still, never a wavering of what and in whom I place my faith.  I came across a piece by one of my favorite authors, Max Lucado, who poses an illustration of words and questions he has for someone that sets the tempo better of what I’m trying to get across.  So here are the thoughts and questions Max hopes to someday pose, over a mocha in a heavenly coffee shop to Joseph.  Me, think I’ll just say what I have been saying for weeks now, “Blessed Christmas to you all, now, and all through the year.” :o)

Did you and Jesus arm wrestle?  Did he ever let you win?

Did you ever look up from your prayers and see Jesus listening?

How do you say “Jesus” in Egyptian?

What ever happened to the wise men?

What ever happened to you?

We don’t know what happened to Joseph. His role in Act I is so crucial that we expect to see him the rest of the drama—but with the exception of a short scene with twelve-year old Jesus in Jerusalem, he never reappears.  The rest of his life is left to speculation, and we are left with our questions.  But of all my questions, my first would be about Bethlehem.  I’d like to know about the night in the stable.   I can picture Joseph there.   Moonlit pastures.   Stars twinkle above.   Bethlehem sparkles in the distance.  There he is, pacing outside the stable.  What was he thinking while Jesus was being born? What was on his mind while Mary was giving birth?

He’d done all he could do—heated the water, prepared a place for Mary to lie.  He’d made Mary as comfortable as she could be in a barn and then he stepped out.   She’d asked to be alone, and Joseph has never felt more so.   In that eternity between his wife’s dismissal and Jesus’ arrival, what was he thinking?  He walked into the night and looked into the stars.  Did he pray?  For some reason, I don’t see him silent; I see Joseph animated, pacing.  Head shaking one minute, fist shaking the next.  This isn’t what he had in mind.  I wonder what he said …This isn’t the way I planned it, God.  Not at all.  My child being born in a stable?  This isn’t the way I thought it would be.  A cave with sheep and donkeys, hay and straw?  My wife giving birth with only the stars to hear her pain?

This isn’t at all what I imagined.  No, I imagined family.  I imagined grandmothers.  I imagined neighbors clustered outside the door and friends standing at my side.  I imagined the house erupting with the first cry of the infant.  Slaps on the back.  Loud laughter.  Jubilation.  That’s how I thought it would be.  The midwife would hand me my child and all the people would applaud.  Mary would rest and we would celebrate.  All of Nazareth would celebrate.  But now.  Now look.  Nazareth is five days’ journey away.  And here we are in a … in a sheep pasture.  Who will celebrate with us?  The sheep? The shepherds?  The stars?  This doesn’t seem right.  What kind of husband am I?  I provide no midwife to aid my wife.  No bed to rest her back.  Her pillow is a blanket from my donkey.  My house for her is a shed of hay and straw.  The smell is bad, the animals are loud.  Why, I even smell like a shepherd myself.  Did I miss something?  Did I, God?  When you sent the angel and spoke of the son being born—this isn’t what I pictured.  I envisioned Jerusalem, the temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch.  A pageant perhaps.  A parade.  A banquet at least.  I mean, this is the Messiah!  Or, if not born in Jerusalem, how about Nazareth?  Wouldn’t Nazareth have been better?  At least there I have my house and my business.  Out here, what do I have?  A weary mule, a stack of firewood, and a pot of warm water.  This is not the way I wanted it to be!  This is not the way I wanted my son.  Oh my, I did it again.  I did it again didn’t I, Father?  I don’t mean to do that; it’s just that I forget.  He’s not my son … he’s yours.  The child is yours.  The plan is yours.  The idea is yours.  And forgive me for asking but … is this how God enters the world?  The coming of the angel, I’ve accepted.  The questions people asked about the pregnancy, I can tolerate.  The trip to Bethlehem, fine.  But why a birth in a stable, God?

Any minute now Mary will give birth.  Not to a child, but to the Messiah.  Not to an infant, but to God. T hat’s what the angel said.  That’s what Mary believes.  And, God, my God, that’s what I want to believe.  But surely you can understand; it’s not easy. It seems so … so … so … bizarre.  I’m unaccustomed to such strangeness, God.  I’m a carpenter.  I make things fit.  I square off the edges.  I follow the plumb line.  I measure twice before I cut once.  Surprises are not the friend of a builder.  I like to know the plan.  I like to see the plan before I begin.  But this time I’m not the builder, am I?  This time I’m a tool.  A hammer in your grip.  A nail between your fingers.  A chisel in your hands.  This project is yours, not mine.  I guess it’s foolish of me to question you.  Forgive my struggling.  Trust doesn’t come easy to me, God.  But you never said it would be easy, did you?

One final thing, Father.  The angel you sent?  Any chance you could send another?  If not an angel, maybe a person?  I don’t know anyone around here and some company would be nice.  Maybe the innkeeper or a traveler?  Even a shepherd would do.  I wonder.  Did Joseph ever pray such a prayer?  Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn’t.

But you probably have.  You’ve stood where Joseph stood.  Caught between what God says and what makes sense.  You’ve done what he told you to do only to wonder if it was him speaking in the first place. You’ve stared into a sky blackened with doubt.  And you’ve asked what Joseph asked.  You’ve asked if you’re still on the right road.  You’ve asked if you were supposed to turn left when you turned right.  And you’ve asked if there is a plan behind this scheme.  Things haven’t turned out like you thought they would.

Each of us knows what it’s like to search the night for light.  Not outside a stable, but perhaps outside an emergency room.  On the gravel of a roadside.  On the manicured grass of a cemetery.  We’ve asked our questions.  We questioned God’s plan.  And we’ve wondered why God does what he does.  The Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of a confused pilgrim.  If you are asking what Joseph asked, let me urge you to do what Joseph did.  Obey.  That’s what he did.  He obeyed.  He obeyed when the angel called. He obeyed when Mary explained.  He obeyed when God sent.  He was obedient to God.  He was obedient when the sky was bright.  He was obedient when the sky was dark.  He didn’t let his confusion disrupt his obedience.  He didn’t know everything.  But he did what he knew.  He shut down his business, packed up his family, and went to another country.  Why?  Because that’s what God said to do.

What about you?  Just like Joseph, you can’t see the whole picture.  Just like Joseph your task is to see that Jesus is brought into your part of your world.  And just like Joseph you have a choice: to obey or disobey.  Because Joseph obeyed, God used him to change the world.  Can he do the same with you?  God still looks for Josephs today.  Men and women who believe that God is not through with this world.  Common people who serve an uncommon God.  Will you be that kind of person?  Will you serve … even when you don’t understand?  No, the Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of an honest heart, nor the last.  And perhaps God didn’t answer every question for Joseph. But he answered the most important one. “Are you still with me, God?”  And through the first cries of the God-child the answer came. “Yes. Yes, Joseph. I’m with you.”

There are many questions about the Bible that we won’t be able to answer until we get home.  Many notholes and snapshots.  Many times we will muse, “I wonder …”  But in our wonderings, there is one question we never need to ask.  Does God care?  Do we matter to God?  Does he still love his children?  Through the small face of the stable-born baby, he says yes.  Yes, your sins are forgiven.  Yes, your name is written in heaven.  Yes, death has been defeated.  And yes, God has entered your world.  Immanuel. God is with us.

“No one has ever become poor by giving.”

It was about 12 years ago, I believe, that this picture was taken.  And if you grew up in the Miller home, there was no better gift to give or receive than the gift of music.  Also, part of growing up here is not just celebrating Christmas once a year; it was creating a memory, especially when there’s a wacky dad like me, with even wackier ideas, leading this clan.

All three of my kids were exposed to music at an early age and amongst them they now have proficiencies in several instruments.  But the Christmas displayed in the snapshot was the 1^st time they would receive serious instrument all at same time.  It took a little extra for their mother and me to come up with the funds that year for the gifts particularly with the country in one of it’s recessions at that time and my work was minimal. But like my opening sentence, it didn’t put us on the poverty line and we weathered the economic storm by the Grace of God.  Honestly, for this man, I never look at myself as anything special, but I’ve always felt so rich and honored whenever I’m able to give.

Like I said, giving of gifts is one thing, a moment when an object is new and shiny and beautiful for the receiver to behold.  But like any object, as time passes it wears out and often loses the luster it had in the beginning.  But give a gift in a way that creates a memory and you have something that stays with you forever.

I sent Cathy, Jamie, Jeremy, and Justin away for a while on Christmas because I had work to do and didn’t need them in the way.  When they returned it was obvious to all the something was very different throughout the house.  Ribbon was stretched everywhere, in every room.  Of course curiosity of what that was all about ruled from that point on. Ignoring all questions with the simple explanation that they would know in due time what it was about, we proceeded with our Christmas which always starts with the reading of God’s gift to us in Luke 2.  As was taught to me I never have wanted my kids to lose sight of why and what we celebrate during this time of year.  From there we passed out the gifts for all to open, which was a little tricky since I made it clear no one was to do anything to mess up the ribbons that ran across the floor. As each of the kids opened a present and enjoyed it for just a slight moment, they would pass it off to their mother who would place them out of harm’s way on the dining table and I would retrieve the paper in a large plastic bag.  Now it was ribbon time!  Reaching behind the couch I unpinned the end of three different ribbons, handed one to each of my kids, with the instruction they would have to follow the ribbon to find their last gift.  The trek was on, around, over and under furniture in every room, down to the basement, around everything there including washer, dryer, and furnace back out of the basement and into the garage, around the house and shed, back into the house and another route through every room again.  I hope you’re getting a mental picture of three young people following an endless trail of red ribbon, winding it up as they journeyed in search of the mysterious gift at the other end. At completion of the task they had ran into each other several times in their pursuit and ended up with a small sphere of ribbon the size of a softball; and three new guitars!  Now how’s that for creating a memory, huh? ;o)

I don’t have a lot more to add, that’s the story, a memory I enjoy and wanted to share with you wonderful friends and family and hope you enjoyed.  I think I’ll just close this morning with a prayer for each of you this season.

“Dear Lord, thank you for sending your Son to be the greatest gift to mankind some 2000 years ago.  Thank you for the knowledge we can never repay the gift of love You gave us, but really, that’s not what you want anyway for all you ask is that we accept the gift you give freely out of your love for us; Awesome!  Please be with all these wonderful people you have blessed me and my Lady with by placing them in our path as we travel the Rock Road.  Bring joy, laughter, blessings and happiness to each, in a way that this Christmas may be more memorable than the last; and that the memory might last all year long and that they might live the true meaning of the season in their heart and pass that joy, that gift to others all year long.  In Jesus name I pray, Amen.

“What we are is God’s gift to us.  What we become is our gift to God.”

A very Merry and Blessed Christmas to all!!

“You grow up the day you have your first real laugh—at yourself!”

I think anyone who really knows me, knows that I enjoy making people laugh, hence some of the pics I’ve posted.  But if someone had said those words to me some 40 plus years ago, there’s a chance I might have countered with, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’ve had to go through all my life.”  Now I’m not saying I had a bad attitude and couldn’t get along with others.  To the contrary, I’ve enjoyed being with people and having friends. But if someone teased or laughed at me in a way I didn’t like, or said something about me that was derogatory, they instantly became people that were nothing more than purely mean natured on my list.  That all stemmed from early years of lack of self confidence.  As stated in previous stories, I did not learn to read until later in life.  To be called on as a child to answer a question or read out loud was pure torture.  On more than one occasion, my response (or lack of) in class to the teacher’s inquiry would bring thunderous roars of laughter that caused me great embarrassment.  Most often it continued when I went out for recess or after school, and yes, quite regularly that would lead to a fight.  But also I have related to you good people that with the help of a Saint of a woman I overcame illiteracy which was an incredible boost toward self-belief.  But still when it came to teasing, laughing at me and such, the damage was done.  It was hard for me to take even “no harm intended, just kidding with you” remarks.  I may not say anything or even kid back some, but inside I was deeply hurt.  It truly bothered me and I wondered at times if I could ever get past this dark spot in my life and then along came Everett.

Back in the 70s I ventured down to Southern Florida to check out a college that had caught mine and my Lady’s eye.  For a reasonable price you could come there in the summer for a week and look around, talk to teachers, see the school, and sit in class type discussions to get a feel for the school.  It also came with room and meals which made for a nice sunny vacation by the ocean.  Everyday we would head into the cafeteria for our three meals that were prepared at designated times.  On the first day as we walked down the hall with everyone else, I could hear someone farther up standing by the entrance to the dining hall.  As each person entered, he would stand there and say, “Hi!” or “Hello!”  But it wouldn’t be just a nice greeting; this man would make different faces and use several voices as he addressed each and every person.  Many would laugh and even greet him back in the same way.  There were a few that had comments about whether he was playing with a full deck.  No matter what was the reaction this chap, Everett, would not be deterred from delivering his light-hearted salutation every day and at every meal.

One evening I was invited my a fellow who was a student there at the college to come up to his room and listen to a special speaker along with about 6 others.  “John, this guy has made quite a difference in my outlook on people and myself, I think you’ll enjoy him.”  Wanna guess who the speaker was?  You got it!  Imagine the look on all our faces when Everett, the lunchroom greeter came in the room.  I thought to myself, “This should be interesting.”  It wasn’t, it was awesome! Everett had been born without a pallet, or roof of the mouth.  He could not form words like other people and had to have many operations to correct the problem.  Multiple layers of skin were grafted from different areas of his body into the top of his mouth.  Over time this corrected the problem, but brought on a new one.  Where they had taken the skin layers from his body and placed in his mouth where regions that grew hair, like his arms and legs. Until that problem was alleviated he constantly had to pull this unwanted fur from his mouth.  To cut to the chase, the teasing and being laughed at that I met up with as a child was nothing compared to what Everett had to endure every day of his life.  He told a story of how he came to the point that he didn’t want to be around anyone.  If he could spend his life in solitude, Everett was sure that would take care of all the hurt and pain.  There was one person Everett didn’t feel this way about, an old retired priest who lived just a few doors down from him in New Jersey.  Often his mother would send him to check on this elderly man to make sure he was okay or to see if he needed anything.  Everett got to the point where he would stay a while and talk.  He felt he could be himself around the priest and they enjoyed many hours of conversation together.  One of Everett’s favorite things to do was to try and make his friend laugh by his actions and words.  And laugh he did, sometimes uncontrollably.  It was during one of the visit that Everett confided in him his desire to be alone because of all the things he had gone through.  “Everett, do you really believe God has brought you this far and gifted you so highly just for you to hide it away for the rest of your life?”  “Gift?  What Gift?”  Everett demanded.  “Why you have the gift of making people happy, of making them smile, making them laugh, and that in itself is more valuable than gold.”  That moment changed Everett forever.  He became known for his outgoing ways and making people feel good by his very presence.  Even ones who had been mean to him in the past, he went out of his way to try and bring a smile to their faces.  Everett told us that night, “The doctors healed his physical afflictions.  God healed his emotional ones with laughter and forgiveness.”

Someone said, “When we begin to take our failures and shortcoming non-seriously, it means we are ceasing to be afraid of them.  It is of immense importance to learn to laugh at ourselves!”

A lunchroom greeter taught me that a healthy heart is a forgiving heart filled with joy and laughter.  May the heart God gave you grow stronger in those aspects today.  By the way, that’s what the picture is for–just to give you a little jump start!  ;o)

The item you’re seeing is one of my most prized possessions. I keep it in a spot where I look at it often and remember a time, and a man, without him in my life I wouldn’t be here to tell you his story, one of my heroes.  This is a toolbox that is over 100 years old and it was given to me by a neighbor when I was a child.  Ward was his name and he owned the house next to the one we bought back in Fremont when we moved there from West Virginia.  He and his wife, Florence had no children and I used to go over and visit them often.Florence would sit and talk to me, but often Ward would make himself scarce; which was okay because I could usually track him down.  I knew he liked me from the gentle way he’d speak to me and all the wonderful gifts he bestowed on me (such as the tool box), but it was usually given with the words, “Now Johnny, why don’t you take this home and play with it!”  I guess I wore ole Ward down some with my visits for you see, back then, I could be quite the pest. (For any of you who knew me back then and just yelled “Amen,” I heard that!)

Now the house we lived in was an old rundown 3-unit apartment house that my Aunt Pearl was able to buy for a good price, but it needed a lot of work.  It didn’t have a furnace like most houses.  Many of the rooms were equipped with open flame gas stoves. The stoves were fed by a gas line that started outside and ran into and through the house inside pipes that were connected along the floorboard.  Most of the gas pipes were rotted and had to be replaced, which was done by my Aunt Pearl and her husband Price.  The cold weather set in and it was time to light the stoves.  I remember sitting by the one in our dining room, just watching the flickering of the flames; it was almost hypnotic gazing at the fiery dance before me.  But then, I remember feeling very sleepy.  I wanted to stand up, but for some reason I couldn’t so I laid my head down on the floor.  Pearl was resting on a couch nearby.  I tried to call to her, but the words wouldn’t come.  Suddenly, there was a loud crash!  I maneuvered my head around to see Price lying on the floor.  Being a man of about 300 pounds; when he passed out, he hit the floor with a bang.  As most of you have already figured out when the lines were open and the stoves lit there was a leak allowing the house to fill quickly with gas.  I can’t tell you much more 1^st hand of what happened after that.  All I was aware of was floating through the house and then lying under a tree in our front yard until being placed on a gurney and into the back of an ambulance.  As I’m told,Pearl was able to gather enough strength and wits about her to get out of the house, falling several times, until she got up the steps and onto the porch of Ward and Florence’s house.  When Ward realized what was happening he told Florence to call for help and then it was “Jim Dandy to the rescue, Jack!”  Years after Ward had passed away, Florence told me she had never seen him move so fast.  He then ran into the house, scooped me up, took me outside and placed me under the tree.  He went back in and was doing everything he could to drag Price out, which was quite a task seeing he was twice as big as Ward.  Luckily some other neighbor men showed up and were able to get him outside.

Well, it’s obvious I survived as well as Pearl and Price also, but that’s kind of trivial, in a manner of speaking, as compared to my hero Ward. You see I forgot to mention he was well up in years at the time of this accident and could only get around with the aid of a cane.  “Ward, what on earth were you thinking when you ran over there like that,” his Florence would ask him the next day.  These are the words I’m told he said. “You know how Johnny gets on my nerves so easily especially with that singing he’s always doing” (it was very loud and off key!); “The thought came that I was never going to hear that singing again; and that was more than I could bear.  I wasn’t about to let that happen.”  I didn’t find out until years later of Ward’s heroic act that rescued me that day, performing a feat that could have easily brought him harm, or worse.

There’s an old saying that goes “God places the heaviest burden on those who can carry its weight.”  A small framed, weak, elderly man for an instance, became a man of strength and valor, out of concern, caring, and love that I didn’t know existed.

I wonder at times how often God puts earthy angels, heroes, in our path that we don’t realize how much we mean to them and how they would be willing to sacrifice it all for us.  I met someone else like that years ago who cares for me and you to even a higher sacrifice of love.  His story goes like this: “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”

I’m told my tool box might be worth a considerable amount of money, but the memory that it brings of someone who was willing to sacrifice it all for me, no matter how crazy I made them with my singing; well, I think you know the word I’m thinking of; starts with a P! ;0)

The year was 1968, Viet Nam was in full swing, Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King were both assassinated, and riots were taking place in many major cities here in the US. The USSR had invaded and taken over Czechoslovakia and the summer Olympics were getting under way in Mexico City.  Even this great event was not without turmoil as just weeks before the games were to get under way, Mexican military surrounded student protesters and opened fire, killing nearly 300.  

The Olympics though were a welcome distraction, if only temporarily, to world problems as the spotlight now shined on world athletics who had come together to compete for medals of  bronze, silver, and the coveted gold.  The United States team has more that their shares of superstars as they would go on to win the most metals of the games. We would come to know new names for outstanding performances on this prolific sports stage like Bob Beamon for his world record long jump and Dick Fosbury with his unique approach to winning the high jump, which the world came to know as the “Fosbury Flop.”  Then there was, of course, one of the most controversial moments of any Olympics of which generations hence have seen pictures.  Tommie Smith and John Carlos while standing on the victory platform after winning medals in the 200-meter race raised clenched fists (a sign that was prominent during that era) in a black power salute during the playing of the Star Spangled Banner.

Yes, folks, many new stars and celebrities were introduced to the world via the Olympics, which brings us to my hero of the games, and the effect he had on me and probably many others who saw his performance that hot afternoon in Mexico City.  I had been watching the running of the marathon, one of my favorite events.  I find it thrilling to watch the fortitude of these athletics as they give all they have in the most enduring race of them all. Mile after mile they relentlessly run fighting off the pain and fatigue that comes from competing in this grueling event.  I love watching them enter the arena for one lap as the indicator of the last leg of the race.  Screaming and adoring fans have waited here to watch and to wave their country’s flag for their conqueror of this mighty contest as they finally reach the finish line; thrilling indeed!  After many contestants had finished the race, the network carrying the television coverage cut away to another event and I turned the TV off and left to go and do something else.  

When I returned some hours later, I switched the set back on to see what might be taking place.  I can’t tell you anymore what event was being aired at that instant; only that a commentator was talking about it when he was interrupted by a voice belonging to someone I couldn’t see telling him they were going to switch back to the arena for a very dramatic episode being played out.  There, a young, tall, slender black man was coming down the street toward the arena. It was evident there were abrasions and bruises on his arms, legs and face. You could also see a mixture of blood and dirt that stained his running clothes. He had come toMexico Cityas a competitor from a small African nation that was ruled, at that time, by a monarchy.  The TV commentator told a story of how this man was the only one to make the trip from his country. At the opening day ceremonies, most countries marched with a complete team. But this young soul and proud figure of a man marched into the arena alone carrying his country’s flag; he had come to represent his country and people and do that he would, in a way he never imagined. The day of the race had come and early in the competition our young warrior took a hard fall on the hot asphalt that baked under the Mexican sun.  This left some deep gashes in several places over his body.  Picking himself up, he continued on only to fall again and roll down a small embankment.  Many runners on this day did not finish the race out of pure exhaustion brought on my the  grueling heat of the Mexican Sun; but our gallant soul continued on. Bruised and battered, physically spent and dehydrated, he would finish the race for himself, his people, and his king! 

Now, here he was close to the end of his challenge, battered and scared from the conflict, the only runner left from a race that had ended hours before.  Yet he pushed on sometimes walking and sometimes gently running until he finally entered the arena.  Other competitions were going on now, but the track quickly was cleared to allow for his entry. There was a notable soft murmur from the crowd, not understanding exactly what was happening—until they saw him; my newest hero enter to make his final lap.  At first, the applause was no more than cordial.  But as people saw the clear determination of this wounded warrior to finish, the accolades rose too a fever pitch with most fans now standing to their feet to encourage him on. At that moment there was no division of team or countries, everyone was a true champion, and they honored him! As the cheering increased, so did his pace until he was into a steady and strong stride in this last leg.  And as he crossed a quickly put together finish line, the whole place exploded as though cheering a gold medalist or one who had set a new world record!  Even though the runner had finished dead last, the resounding ovation was for one who had, amidst the worst of obstacles, refused to give up the race. 

I Corinthians 9:24-26 (The Message Bible):  “You’ve all been to the stadium and seen the athletes race.  Everyone runs; one wins.  Run to win.  All good athletes train hard.  They do it for a gold medal that tarnishes and fades.  You’re after one that’s gold eternally.  I don’t know about you, but I’m running hard for the finish line.  I’m giving it everything I’ve got.”

This hero, this champion, this conqueror had come toMexico Cityto give his best effort to win the prize.  When the gold medal was obviously forever out of reach, this did not deter him from the gallant campaign of finishing the race with pride and dignity for he came and gave his all for his king.  Each of us runs a race in life every day.  The determining factor on how you compete, train and accomplish the task before you is shaped by the goal you reach for.  For the Christian, there is no guarantee that life will be painless with smooth roads and easy travel in obtaining that goal.  The secret lies in keeping your focus on why and who you are running for. The ultimate reward at the finish line will be when we hear our King say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” 

May your goals be attainable, your training be diligent and your focus be on the eternal prize.

About six years ago while my mother was still living, she, my Lady and I flew out to Las Vegas.  I’m sure just the mention of Las Vegas brought visions to the mind of many of casinos and shows which is the main reason people go there. But for us the trip held a different motive; my mother’s older brother, Carl lives there. Here was a man who worked his entire life for the government starting in the 40s as young Marine recruit who fought in WW2, to many different civilian service positions that took him all around the world until he finally finished his years of working at the Nevada Test Site. And anyone who knows the area knows the about the only place you have to live out there is Vegas.  As Carl moved on in years he became comfortable living there for the two reasons as he told me; “Johnny, I enjoy the climate here and where else am I gonna go and find incredible buffets like what they have in these casinos for only $5.00?!?! I took in a few of those meals; man has a good argument.    

 But this was more than a social visit to see a relative, this was a chance for my mother see her big brother one last time. Mom was in early to mid stages of dementia, I’m not sure how much she understood her condition, but one day she had an anxiousness to see Carl again to talk to him.  I know it was important to her and I agreed to take her since going by herself would have been impossible, and besides, this would give me opportunity to see not only my uncle, but also the most prominent hero in my childhood.  Never having a father, I had to have others as role models that I looked up to and respected. Carl who was a marine that fought at the Battle Iwo Jimo, who was part of the 1^st troops to land on mainland Japan after they surrendered at the end of the war, and who had visited places that most only had read or heard about in his life fit the bill of hero to a wide eyed dreamer of a boy to a tee.  All that aside, it was good to just to sit and talk to Carl about times, old and new like we had done often in the past. To talk about outlooks, philosophies and any and all subjects no matter how trivial for hours on end was pure delight.  This was one of the main reasons we had come and I was delighted with the time spent with Uncle Carl.  We shared many topics that brought smiles and laughter through the four days there, with the exception of one story he related to me.  I believe Carl, at the age of 81 then, could out walk many men his junior and it took every bit that Cathy and I had at times to keep up with him.  I commented on this and asked him if he still worked out as he had in his younger days.  He showed me exercise equipment there at the house that he used and then proceeded to tell how he used to go out for long walks, but had to stop.  It seems over the years, his neighborhood had changed from the time he moved there and recently when he went out, some youngsters who had never been taught to respect their elders would use him for target practice, pelting him with raw eggs.  Now, I’m the type of person who can put up with a lot; I can truthfully say it takes a lot to get me ruffled.  But when faced with the revelation that this was happening to someone I cared about, a rather ugly side of me begins to rise.  I felt my temper swelling up.  I wanted so much for him to show me where these delinquents lived so I could talk to their fathers in a manner of negotiations commonly referred to in certain small elite circles as “hillbilly diplomacy!”  (I’ll let your own minds consider what this entails.) Carl didn’t hold to the same mind set on this topic as I did.  “It’s no big deal” he said.  “You just pick a different direction and go with it.”  I admired his point of view on the whole matter, but still, I have to admit, it tugged at my crawl something fierce.

One evening Carl took Cathy and I down toFremont Street.  This was the old strip there in Vegas where the Frontier Hotel with the famous cowboy out front and the Golden Nugget are located.  This area is no longer a driving thoroughfare as they have made it into somewhat of a mall-type atmosphere with four blocks now under a large mesh arched roof.  Once per hour in the evening, they would turn down all the lights and put on the most spectacular laser show I had ever witnessed.  Vivid images of mountains, oceans and prairies spanned the entire length of the enclosed area.  This would be accompanied by magnificent music in a surround sound setting, the combination of which made you actually feel like you were there witnessing these magnificent sights.  At the end of each presentation was a large laser image of an American eagle flying across the expanse followed by a crescendo of fire works.  My lady and I were completely enthralled in the whole experience so much that when the lights came back up, I looked around and realized Carl was not with us. 

When I spotted him, several people had cornered him and were shaking his hand.  When I approached, I could hear them saying, “We just want you to know how much it is an honor to shake your hand, one who gave so much for our country.”  After about 30 seconds of continued adulation, these people walked on leaving the three of us standing there for a moment with Carl shaking his head chuckling and then pointing to the hat that he had on that these people saw,  that distinguished him as one of the Marines who fought at the battle of Iwo Jimo.  With a smile, he said, “I’ve got to remember to throw this hat away some day.”  I said, “But Carl, it says something about you.”  TheBattlefor Iwo Jimo was the bloodiest confrontation in the South Pacific during WWII with 26,000 casualties on the American side and 7,000 of them losing their lives.  It is considered by many historians as one of the most strategic victories of the war while at the same time being one of the most hard fought.  I went on to say, “You went through one of the most incredible assaults ever launched and are here today as a proud reminder of the sacrifice that you and all the other men made for the rest of us.”  Uncle Carl shoved his hands in his pockets, gave a slight shrug and then just quietly said, “It’s no big deal.” 

I Peter 5:5-7 – “. . . All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because ‘God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.’  Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time.  Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”

Carl did not realize it and most likely would argue a little with me, but in those four little words, he emulated a Christ like attitude.  Where one group or generation recognized him as an American icon for his service, another treated him with complete contempt and disrespect.  To sum up both episodes with the same words, “It’s no big deal.” 

Many people like Carl who were veterans of that war never saw they did something great or something for which they expected to be praised. They did what they had to do not for the glory, but because they saw it as the right thing to do. 

Unfortunately, a few of us who call ourselves Christians seem to think we should receive some type of recognition  for what we are doing in the name of the Lord and end up missing the point  of what Jesus wants us to reflect to others.  He was brought into this world as a common man, and lived most of His life with little fanfare.  It was only in His last three years that He set about doing the duty He was called to by the Father; spreading the Word that salvation comes to all who believe and accept His gift of grace and mercy.  When hard times came and many people turned on Him, He accepted this fate knowing that it was not the easiest thing to do but the right thing so that we might have life eternal.  And that, my friend, is not only the big deal but it is the real deal.

Thank you Uncle Carl and all the men and women who placed and are still placing themselves on the front line for others because they know it is the right thing to do for our freedom. May none of us ever forget.

“Take me back to Hobo Jungle, that’s where I wanna be.

Sittin’ round listenin’ to the old men talk about their dreams and their fantasies.

Listenin’ to them talk about the places they’ve been and the places they’re gonna go.

Through the shadows of my past to the valley of my memories, to Hobo Jungle once more.”

 That’s the chorus to a song I wrote a number of years ago and, to you younger readers yes, this was an actual place or should I say places.  Tracing their early development to before the Civil War, Hobo Jungles have etched out a place in American culture. Located generally near railroad tracks where the trains slow down or came to a stop, these little wooded areas were a temporary oasis to the infamous boxcar riders who knew of their existence.  It was a place where well-traveled vagabonds could go, get information about the town from others there; perhaps a little food and a little rest in make shift bungalows. Mostly it was some place to stay away from the general population of the local community since these travelers were not looked on very highly.  

 The Hobo Jungle I knew back inFremont,Ohiowas hidden along the west side of town with theSanduskyRiverbordering one side and the rail line on the other.  It laid about a quarter mile south ofStateStreetBridge, which was the dividing line for the town.  It was in approximately one acre of very thick woods and brush. The only entry into this secret sanctuary was a small well-worn path leading into its heart, but no outsiders dared to go in from fear of the stories that circulated over the ages.  Dreaded consequences awaited any outsider who dared to enter the realm call Hobo Jungle.   I had been warned, maybe even terrified into believing that this was no place that I should ever venture and I strongly believed it; well maybe for a while in my preteen days.  Truth was I had a knack for doing things that I was told not to, mostly out of curiosity.  Somewhere around fifteen, I acquired a taste for beer; and a couple of my buddies and I would indulge in drinking our new favorite beverage every chance we could.  One major problem, as I said, I was only fifteen, which doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that it was illegal for me, too, but usually we could get an older teen to buy it for us, at a price, since you could get what was called 3.2 beer at age eighteen back then.  When none of our older devotees to the fruit of the barley were available, we knew there was one place to go to find a willing recruit to make the purchase, Hobo Jungle.  

 After the sun went down, we would walk down the tracks to where the path led into the jungle and just stand there.  Even though we no longer believed many of the heinous tales that had been told, we still would not risk entering this domain, and we would never go alone. The hobos knew the routine well from years of catering to the wants of teens looking for a buyer.  They also knew to never approach us with more than one.  If we saw a couple coming, we would be out of there in a flash.  It generally didn’t take more than a few minutes before one of these raggedy travelers would appear.  We would give him a five and he would head to the store and get a $1.99 six-pack of beer.  The rest of the five would be spent on the best .99 cent bottle of wine money could buy.  These were the kinds of wine that still had the grape skins floating around in the bottle, but these old boys loved it.  Upon the return of our ragged courier, we would make our way back up river near the bridge, and sit there with our provider for an evening of drinking, talking and even laughing.  

 These men would have colorful names like Curly Bob and Split Eye.   They would have even more colorful stories of accomplishments and adventures they experienced over a lifetime.  The stories that unfolded of riding the rail and how it was the best way to observe this grand country were sometimes riveting.  They would talk about seeing splendid scenery such as mountains, lakes, rivers, oceans and picturesque terrains of wild flowers and natural vegetation.  They would tell of major cities likeNew YorkandChicago, knowing what festivals were going on at the time or where the best places were for the finest handouts of good food and drink. They would talk about having to be in certain regions of the country at different times of the year for employment such as helping farmers bring in the crops; but then it was back on the rail.  These Rembrandts of the “canvas of the mind” would paint such wonderful and vivid pictures of their lives in our brains that we wished we could go with them to see and witness all these unique places and be free spirits like them.  But as so often happens, the effects of the wine would start to take hold of our story teller and a somberness would come over them. I believe it was at those points the true reality of their situation would bear down on them.  Then the narrative would turn to telling how they didn’t have anything to show for their lives, or anyone to care for, or who cared for them. What was once  a moment of laughter and glee now evolved into anger for the condition in which they found themselves and the anger would turn to us with rebuking words for what we were doing, throwing our lives away drinking with a bum when we should be at home with the ones who loved and cared for us and wanted to see our lives turn out better than theirs had.  On this one occasion, we were told to leave with a strong warning never to come near the jungle again.  We left knowing that would all change the next time we showed up with another five.  

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”  2 Corinthians 4:18  

My vagabond friends of yesterday made an attempt to make their life seem glamorous and more than what it was.  But in truth, they really had not gained anything from the direction they had taken in life.  As easy as it was to impress our young minds with thoughts of an existence that seemed fascinating, the true fact of the matter was that their direction was a dead end street with no gains to show.  No offense meant here, but through the years, I have seen others follow a same type of path, so to speak, but on higher planes–those who dedicated to a life of pleasure, money and personal gain.  But when all is said and done, they never achieved the happiness they had hoped and expected. Some have mirrored the sadness of the jungle dwellers; no one to care for or who care for them.  Again, as I always try to reiterate, I speak of myself.  I have found a truer picture of what lies in store not by what I have gained or done here on earth, which does have an importance when put into proper perspective, but what I am promised with Heaven by the sacrifice and love of my Savior, Jesus Christ.  When my focus is upon Him, the matters of what I have or have not accomplished seem so insignificant to what He has given and accomplished by His love for me.  No complaints, no disappointments, only a clear focus for where I’m going and what waits for me.

May your journey through life be a pleasant experience; may your failures and set backs be few.  May God implant in your heart that the best still lies ahead for all eternity.

A voice from a lovely face calls out, “Hi John, how are you today?”  Caught off guard a mite, I return the smile with my own greeting, “Hi Sharon, fine thank you.”  As I continue my trek down the corridor one thought comes to mind, “What’s up with that?!”

My high school years were far from glamorous to say the least.  During my senior year I was an independent student living away from home, working a job, playing music and, oh yeah, going to school when ever it fit into my schedule.  I had to go only half days and I generally cut at least two of those a week.  School had lost priority in my life.  I made a promise I would finish, but had no plans of putting any more effort into it than I had to.  Pretty much I kept to myself at school since most of my friends were older and I felt I had nothing in common with these ‘kids.’ It amuses me to look back and see what kind of immature mindset I possessed while remembering how I viewed all my classmates.  I was in such a hurry to grow up that I lost sight of the gladness of youth and the enjoyment it brings for that short moment in our travels through time.  

Nearly 40 years later; 3 kids and 4 grandchildren, I’ve realized the mistake of not enjoying the moment more.  I missed opportunities to establish life-long relationships with some great people, many I never took time to know or even talk to till years later like at class reunions.  Call it age, call it maturity, say that it is because I am a Christian now, explain it how ever you like.  All I know is I now see these people in a less judgmental light.  I’m also sure that this change of attitude didn’t happen all at once.  It had to grow like a plant or flower that is well cared for and it had to start with good seeds.  One of those seeds was a girl named Sharon.

Sharon was one of those girls in school that everyone knew (even loners like me).  She was attractive, bright and involved in many activities including cheerleading.  Yes, she was a young lady that held what you might call “high-school celebrity status.”  At the mention of her name, everyone knew who you were talking about.   Now anyone who lives through the world of being a teenager can attest to the fact there is a certain pecking order, if you will, to who you associate with and who is out of your league.  Gals like Sharon were like stars on a stage and guys like me were the ones sitting in the back row admiring grace and beauty from a safe distance.  This pecking order as I call it, since I really don’t care for the word ‘click,’ is just part of the school experience.  Some become bitter to ones who seem to be in the upper echelon, maybe because of something said or done in a moment of dumb adolescence.  But if others are truthful, it just came down to one matter–jealousy.   For me, like I said earlier, the majority of my friends were older and I had already gone through the rites of being picked on and picking back in earlier years so I didn’t really pay a lot of heed to what my fellow school peers were about or what they were in to.  Get in the door to go to class in the morning, keep occupied till 11:40 and then out to the world I was more comfortable in.  I mean, sheesh!  Why would a guy like me want to get involved with a bunch of ‘kids?’  If anyone who’s reading this felt the same during their school years, let me break it to you as gently as I can.  You need to rank yourself as one of the biggest snobs in the place. (Gentle enough for ya?)  Looking back I must confess that’s where I was.  I carried a chip on my shoulder for having to be with this group that I felt no commonalty with.  Oh well, make the best of it I guess, keep moving and keep my mouth shut and maybe people won’t even notice I’m here.

Then one day, “Hi John, how are you today?” Say what!  Did Sharon just speak to me?  How’d she even know my name? I couldn’t recall any classes we had ever had together or ever speaking to her for that matter.  My next thought was ok, what’s the joke?  Someone trying to have a little fun at my expense?  Well, ain’t a gonna happen.  It had to be a prank or something so I never told anyone about it and just put it out of my mind.  But then, it happened again, and again.  Every time our paths crossed over the school year it was always the same, a beautiful smile and a warm greeting.   Now this was starting to bug me a little so I told a friend one evening about Sharon and her ‘niceness.’ “Well,” he started, “maybe she’s interested in you.” “Are you nuts!” I yelled.  “She’s one of the prettiest and most popular girls in school besides the fact that her boyfriend is a football player who’s big enough to put a hurt on King Kong!  I don’t think so!”  My friend leaned back in his chair brandishing a grin at the success of getting the reaction he wanted from me.  “Nah, I don’t think so either,” he finally responded between snickers.  “Well then, let me ask you this, are you interested in her?”  “Now you know better than that,” was my response less furiousness than when he had baited me.  He well knew the answer to that question.  It was no secret my heart interest was a gal who played piano at a little church we attended down the street (who I’m happy to say has been my wife of 37 years!) Going on I fessed up, “I must admit it is nice to have a girl like Sharon acknowledge my existence even if it’s just by saying hi.”  Now my friend was leaning forward in his chair.  “Maybe that’s it.”   “Maybe what’s it?” I quizzed a little dumbfounded.  “Well, you said you’ve always known who she was but never talked to her because of her status and the people she hung with.”  “True.” I said.  “I know I’m not the type who fits into her circle of friends.”  “Okay, fair enough,” he responded. “But have you ever given her the benefit of the doubt that maybe she could have fit into your circle?”  “From what you’ve told me she sounds like a real nice girl and she probably knows who you are.  You can’t go through your school years with a bunch of kids and not know who most are at some point.” Now leaning even more forward and staring me straight in the eye; “and since you were too good to ever speak to her” (now if that’s not a slap in the face to wake up to yourself I don’t know what is!)  “Maybe she just decided one day to show you how nice she is by speaking.” With friends like this old aggravating cuss who needs a conscious?

Psalm 139:23-24 – “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.  See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

When I became a Christian, I knew there was a change in me.  But truth be told, my heart wasn’t totally there, at least not yet.   I loved and still love my Lord and continue to learn more from the Bible of His love for me.  But with all I learned, I somehow kept sheltered areas of my life that I didn’t want to bother with like how I felt about some people. God’s Word teaches me to turn over everything to Him, keep nothing hidden back, including attitudes.  Why, because God is greedy?  No, because God’s love for us is so immense that He doesn’t want anything to block the joy that is found in Him, and His creation which includes everyone.  Small acts of kindness like Sharon showed me is what every person in Christ should be showing to all they meet, planting seeds of the joy and happiness of being in Christ.  How we act toward people will effect how they react to us and quite possibly Jesus.

It’s been years now, but I still remember a seed planted with a beautiful smile from a young lady that helped change an attitude of judgment in me.  

Thank you, Sharon.  Whether you know it or not you showed me Christ!

A good number of years ago while back in my hometown I was with a group of former classmates and someone brought Sharon’s name up wondering what she might be doing now.  One person responded, “Oh, she was with that uppity group, so hard telling where she’s at.”  “Did you ever speak to her?” I quizzed.  Just a “No” was the response. “Too bad.  She was one of the nicest girls I remember from school!”

A little side note here; I was able to track Sharon down and send her a copy of this story. A short time later, I heard from her and we had a nice discussion of our school days and the problems she dealt with back then; no different from the rest of us.  What’s really nice is after all these years I can call her a friend, and even better; a sister in Christ.  Too Awesome!!!!!!