Traveling the Rock Road

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!!!!!!

If you were asked the question, “Are you doing what you thought or hoped you would be at this point in your life” what would be your answer?  I’ll a venture a guess that a good number would have to answer no, and yes, I’m one of them!  I never had aspirations for pursuing the occupation I find myself in today. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy my job, I do; but it’s a far cry from what I aimed for.  This once upon a starry-eyed dreamer had visions of producing million selling records and playing to arenas filled to the rafters with fans that had come to see and hear him perform his music.  Yes sir, dreams are good and even better when you’re able to live them out, and yes, there are some who do get that chance and to them I offer congratulations.  However, for the majority of us, well, life seldom leads down the road we hoped.  That happened to be the case also for the person who influenced my life the most during my youth.

Young Pearly Mae would sit quietly in the night, close to the big tube radio, turning it up just loud enough so as not to disturb her sleeping family.  Closing her eyes, she would be whisked away to cities like New York, Boston, Chicago, Saint Louis, and Miami where the nightlife and the party never ended.  With the gala came the music; oh, that mystifying beautiful music!  Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Artie Shaw, Glen Miller, Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee, Doris Day, Count Basie and Duke Ellington.  She would envision in her mind the giant ballrooms where the orchestra played and singers crooned to a room full of people who had come out in their evening best, men in tuxedos and women clad in the finest dresses that were the rage of the day.  With eyes still closed and a soft smile on her face, she would envision being in the midst of the festivities, surrounded by all the fun and laughter, singing to the melody and dancing the night away with a tall dapper gent who ccouldn’t take his eyes off of her radiant beauty; so wonderful she thought.  When opportunity allowed, Pearl would go to the local movie house to take in a picture showing some of the great orchestras and singers she listened to, plus other stars of the big screen.  Clark Gable, Humphrey Bogart, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and Laurence Olivier were among some her favorites.  The world that she saw on the big screen and listened to on the radio was like viewing life on another planet in comparison to the rural ways she had grown up knowing in Southern West Virginia.  Nevertheless, Pearl felt she just had to experience that world someday; she just had to taste that life if only for just a moment.  That was not to be the case.

Meeting a man who convinced her he could take her to see the bright lights, music and stars, Pearl married; but unfortunately it wasn’t long before she realize her decision would not lead down the path to her dreams.  Stricken with sickness, her new groom was unable to work so Pearl was saddled with supporting them.  A nephew she cared for moved in until he joined the service to fight in WW2.  Then her oldest sister died of cancer and Pearl found herself raising a niece; later down the road, me.  Pearly Mae now reconciled to the fact her life was headed in a completely different direction than the one hoped and yearned for.  

 Pearl did get to travel even with the circumstances the way they were.  With the war effort going on, Civil Service jobs were available.  These positions were temporary, but they offered pay, travel, and places to live.  The labor at times was hard, but Pearl was up to the task.  Working these jobs allowed her to see and board huge ships as they came into the Chesapeake Bay and Richmond, Virginia even if it was only to clean them.  Crossing the country by rail gave her opportunity to see places she had only read and heard of.  She not only saw cities she had wanted to visit, there were wonderful sights like the mighty Mississippi River, the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains and the Great Salt Lake of Utah; simply magnificent!  Beyond that though, her favorite experience was something that Pearl had a knack for, making new friends. Seems people always enjoyed being around her because of her positive attitude and fun ways.  Whatever cares she may have held, nobody would know what they were.  She was too busy making other folks feel good rather than talking about her life.  Hard work and long hours on your feet would make the joints ache from the rigors of these government jobs.  Nevertheless, at the end of a day Pearl and some of her coworkers would muster up enough energy to go somewhere where they could unwind a bit.  In Utah, it was a little tavern where they could listen to a jukebox, drink a beer or two, or maybe a glass of Mogan David grape wine, something that Pearl enjoyed on occasion.  On of the best things about these little get-togethers was her discovery of a delicacy she had never had before, and fell completely in love with its tantalizing taste, Pizza!  Work and life took my beloved Aunt Pearl many places, but never for the reason she had dreamed of in her youth.  It was now for the care and need of others.  When we moved to Ohio, we had three elderly ladies as neighbors.  Pearl was always checking on them or you might find one or more of them sitting in our house talking to her while having some coffee, and an occasional glass of Mogan
David Wine.  We use to grow the biggest garden on the block (back in those days, the only one, too) and she was always bagging up vegetables to take to someone.  Many times, there would be a knock at our door in the night and someone would come asking to borrow money.  She seldom turned anyone away even though she knew, with some; she would never see the money again.  Then there were the yard parties; oh, those splendid yard parties!  Along with a large garden, Pearl had the biggest watermelon patch on the east side of town.  And what do you do when all those melons ripen at the same time?  Well, I suppose you could open a little stand out front of the house and sell them. On the other hand, you could invite every neighbor in a three-block area over for a good old-fashioned watermelon feast!  Everyone had a good time with the grand lady of the front yard gala the gayest.  If people were happy, then that made her happy!

It was a sad day for me when Pearl retired and chose to return to her roots in West Virginia, a decision she would end up regretting most of the time there.  A sister had come to live with us and Pearl promised her when she retired they would go back home to live.  She looked forward to it herself at first, going back to her roots, being close to her brother and other sister still there.  But it didn’t take long for her to realize she wasn’t a country girl anymore.  She had grown accustomed to living where everything was close enough to meet her needs and she could fend for herself.  Down in small rural village in the hills of West Virginia, she was dependant on others to her get around, something that she was not accustomed to.  But like everywhere else, Pearl picked up where she had left off, looking after the needs of others, having people in her home as often as possible and making them happy to be with her.  That was her gift; that was her life.

When her beloved sister Dot went to be with the Lord, something happened, a strange occurrence in Pearl’s world. For the first time in her life, she was completely alone.  Her brother Sam lived just up the road and would stop in most days, but still, at night, to close the doors to an empty house left her lonely and a little empty inside.  I began hearing from her more often. Where we used to talk on the phone twice a month we now spoke twice a week and sometimes up to an hour a time.

One Saturday Aunt Pearl saw where an old movie was going to be on TV that evening, one she had seen years ago; and it had all the stars and music she had fallen in love with as a young girl. The thought of it swept her back to that time of laughter and gaiety so long ago.  Pearl had become active in her church since returning to West Virginia and loved every minute of it and the people that she met there.  But right then, at that moment, there was a need in her to do something she had not done in years.  Grabbing up her purse she walked up the road to a small grocery and purchased items she would need for the evening; a six-pack of beer, a large frozen pizza; and a bottle of Mogan David Wine. Popping the pizza in the oven, she poured a glass of wine, and then another.  The movie started just as the pizza came out hot and ready!  Placing it on a tray next to her chair and the beer on an end table at the opposite side, she was ready for her evening.  Two glasses of wine, half a pizza and three beers later, the night was over!  She told me later how she woke up sometime in the early hours of Sunday looking at a TV that had turned to snow.  (This was back before TV programming ran 24/7; must be a scary thought to some of you young people.)  Laughing, she told me; “Funny, it didn’t have that affect on her some fifty years ago!”  Rising from the chair, she packed up the leftover pizza and placed it in the trash.  Then she dumped out the remaining three bottles of beer.  There was no need for them now; she had enjoyed her visit to yesteryear, now it was time to get back to today.  (She did keep the wine; just in case!)

I’m sure there are ones who would not approve of Pearl’s little binge.  Most likely, it was never a topic she discussed with many either, especially at her church.  Personally, I think God smiled down on this trusted servant of His that night the same way He always did.  Using powers of imagination, I envision God turning to one of His angels and saying, “Michael, take some extra angels and post them around Pearl’s house; doesn’t look like she’s going to able to lock up tonight.”

Most of Pearl’s life consisted of caring for the needs of others.  Often her’s was a hard world, one that others would not envy.  There were moments she had to have the strength and stamina of two, going on less sleep in a week than others would get in a night.  She threw off the dream of nightlife, song and endless gaiety for an existence that kept her in servitude the majority of her days.  And you know what?  I know, she wouldn’t have changed a thing if she could.  She came to recognize her calling–to be a comfort and aide to others.  She was the listening ear and the warm smile that let you know she was interested in your story; and in you.  Most of all, Pearl knew her Lord.  She knew a new day was coming that would be full of joy, laughter, song and praise.  That day came too soon for all of us who loved this dear woman when her life here on earth ended in tragic car accident.

During certain quiet moments, Pearl’s memory comes to visit me, similar in manner to when she would watch over me as a child, making sure I was okay, just as she did for so many others also.  I know I will see her again; she won’t be hard to find.  I’ll just look for the throne of God where saints will be dancing, singing and making merry around it as a praise offering to their Lord.  That’s where my Pearly Mae will be; can’t wait to join in!

We will dance on the streets that are golden
The glorious bride and the great Son of man
From every tongue and tribe and nation
We’ll join in the song of the Lamb

Let me wax a couple of stats on ya.  Stat #1:  50% of all marriages in the United States end in divorce.  Doesn’t matter what your belief system is, your political affiliation is, or whether your lifestyle is liberal or staunchly conservative, and anymore, how long you’ve been married; if you have uttered the words “I Do” sometime in your life there’s a one in two chance down the road you’re gonna you’re gonna declare “Oh No I Don’t!  And yes, I realize that some of you have already experienced that.  Ok, there’s the ugly stat, now here’s the brighter one.  Stat #2:  When surveying couples who pray together regularly, the divorce rate, (you ready for this?) falls–to less; than 1%.  Studies also tell that couples relate to having a fuller and happier marriage when they began to have a prayer life with their mate.  Pretty cool, huh?!

Now then, saying all this, and with all you good people reading the title, ‘New Year’s Resolution,’ let me now say; that’s not mine and my Lady’s.  We already do pray together regularly and have for several years now.  But, if you haven’t made a resolution yet and were looking for one, I highly recommend you give this one a whirl.  Ok, guess it’s time for Windy, the Gray Blow Hard to get his resolution, since I did say earlier that it involved all of you. ;o)

My Lady and I hold to the position that praying for someone is the best way to say, I care about you.  Be it a personal trial that a person might be going thru or maybe it’s for a loved one or anyone you want pray for that matter; or maybe it’s just to ask for a good day for that individual; we count it all joy to have the honor and privilege of binging someone or their request to the Throne Room of God.

Now I won’t make anyone promises that because we pray for you, all your troubles will go away, you’ll find a million dollars under your pillow and you’ll look like a movie star in 6 easy prayers.  Hey, take a gook look at the guy writing this!  That’s proof enough it doesn’t work that way, ok?!  But I do believe earnest prayer offered with the right attitude and intention does get answered.

Each day we will contact several of you (privately) that you are on our hearts today and we will be lifting you up in prayer; because we care for you.  Why you might ask?  Well let me assure you it’s not to build some worldwide tele-evangelistic network via FB.  I’m trying to do better not to criticize ones who have that aim, but that’s not this old boy. Maybe it’s to get everyone believing just how great, wonderful and groovy kind of guy I am; NOT!  My Lady is sent from Heaven in my book and I thank God for her every day, but me, I’m just your stereo-typical bugger-head who has stumbled thru life, made a whole lot of mistakes and finally, by the Grace of God got a few things right.  One of those that I got right was not being religious, but rather a person of faith.  And one of the best ways I’ve found to share that faith is to let someone know we’re praying for them.  Personally, I love to hear someone has been praying for this man.  I’m convinced that prayer has saved my life more than once.

We don’t have a large FB friends list, so we’ll get thru everyone rather quickly; then what?  We’ll just start all over!  Can’t have too much prayer the way I look at it.  Some of you are already a regular part of our prayer life because of friendship or family ties. We’re just making sure we really are a ‘friend’ to all who have befriended us here.  If anyone would like to send us a prayer request privately, you have our promise we will not share it with anyone but our Lord.

Thanks to all of you for what you have come to mean to us and for taking time to read this.

Blessings to you and you loved ones this coming year!

^{Philippians 4:4-7}

⁴Rejoice in the Lord always.  I will say it again: Rejoice!  ⁵Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.  ⁶Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  ⁷And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

I received a Christmas present:  I got to hold the baby Jesus.  Okay, not really; but we had a Christmas cantata and I played the part of a wise man. (Please, no wise-cracks; remember it is Christmas.)  Long haired, gray bearded guys become more in demand this time of year and at Easter for just such roles.  The baby Jesus was really a newborn little cutie named Ella Pearl with lots of dark hair.  My part was to present the gift of myrrh, (what ever that is) then hold the baby and give thanks.  I know it was just a play, but for a moment I was transported back in time to that little town named Bethlehem and while looking into the face of this calm, angelic child, I could just imagine what it must have been like for those weary wanderers who had followed a star; awesome!

 I received a Christmas gift:  I made money!  Before you get the idea I’m a miser, let me go on.  My work has really dropped off lately and finances have been tight.  We’ve been doing alright, but there hasn’t been a lot of extra for things like Christmas gifts.  Cathy and I run a small candle making business; one of those endeavors that you never know how well you’re going to do.  We had the biggest December profit ever, which gave us money to buy presents and for a secret project we do for others this time of season.  Wanna know what it is?  Hey, I just told you, it’s a secret!  But it brings us joy to be able to do it each year; awesome!

I received a Christmas gift:  My children and grandchildren were at the house this week. That’s not unordinary, but I look at this small mob that converges on our home and stop to think; Cathy and I are only children and now we go three generations deep.  My lady and our grand-daughter, Hailey, slipped off to a quiet room for some swaying back and forth in a rocking chair.  Hailey Jo snuggled up close to Grandma and I could tell Cathy was enjoying the warmth in the hugs of this precious child.  I could have stood at the door and watched them for hours; awesome!

I received a Christmas gift: Christmas Eve morn I went out to our local Wal-Mart to pick up some last minute stocking stuffers.  As I turned my cart down an aisle, I heard an excited call, “Santa Claus!!!!”  This time of year I can hold several titles and with my hair hanging down and beard, a little tyke thought she had just hit the jackpot.  Her mother and I smiled cordially at each other but girl’s brother who looked to be five or six stared with saucer size eyes.  I pulled a bag of tangerines out of my cart and said to the children, “Gonna to be busy tonight so I need to get some snacks.”  The girl squealed with delight, but the boy just continued to stare, now with his mouth hanging open.  The wonder, innocence and imagination of a child; awesome!

I received a Christmas gift:  I got a hug from a beautiful lady and no, it wasn’t Cathy.  We have known her for years, but not everything there was to know.  She had endured a lifetime of abuse from a husband who had left her recently, broken and desolate.  We got her to come to church and with the support of others that came along side, we showed her that she is someone important; and she is loved.  She thanked me for what we’ve meant to her as friends and family; awesome!

I received a Christmas gift:  Cathy and I performed at church Christmas Eve.  It’s a tune done by Randy Travis called Labor of Love.  Cathy had sung duets with me and our daughter, but she has always wanted to have one of our sons sing with her.  My lady sang incredibly last night.  I accompanied her on the twelve string guitar, a friend played bass guitar and Jeremy, our oldest son, played six-string and sang harmony with his mother.  I think every person in the auditorium was moved; but not as much as this old man as he listened to two beautiful voices blend together and watched as a wish came true; awesome!

I received a Christmas gift:  phone calls.  My cell phone went off yesterday and a young familiar voice on the other end said, “Merry Christmas, Dad.  I just wanted you and mom to know I was thinking of you; I love you.  And then there was another; and another.  These are kids who in some ways are as close as our own children who have graced our lives at different moments in time and still were reaching out and blessing us; awesome!

I received a Christmas gift; it came two thousands years ago and was foretold seven hundred years prior to that.  A child would be born, a Savoir to the world and He would be called Emanuel which mean ‘God with us.’  The Old Testament tells of His coming in prophecies throughout its pages.  There was a time I wondered how anyone could be so sure that this Jesus really fit the bill.  Award winning writer and journalist Lee Strobel quotes a renowned mathematician that equated the odds of one person filling the criteria to meet just eight of the prophecies found in the Bible was one in one hundred million billion.  He calculated that if you took this number of silver dollars, they would cover the state of Texas to a depth of two feet.  If you marked one silver dollar among them and then had a blindfolded person wander the whole state and bend down to pick up one coin, what would be the odds he’d choose the one that had been marked?  That would be the odds of filling eight prophecies; and Jesus did that, not with just eight but every prophecy written about the Messiah.  They were met through Him because of the love of a Heavenly Father who sent His own Son into a cold world to be an eternal gift for all; a gift of sacrifice; awesome!

As you celebrate Christmas this year, take a moment to reflect on all the gifts you receive that maybe you have never seen as gifts before.  You just might find that child-like excitement you once had when you received something special that is meant just for you.  Remember the greatest gift that was given to everyone who will receive.  God knows you and wants you to be happy in Him with the gift of eternal life; that came as a child; awesome!

Isaiah 9:6 – “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.  And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

Happy birthday, Jesus!

The year was 1998. Christmas had come and we at Miller Manor had finished stuffing ourselves with the tantalizing delicacies that filled the table this time of year. All the presents had been opened and pictures snapped of each person holding or wearing their new prized possession. Only thing left was clean up the mess and then kick back, relax, and breathe a sigh of relief that Cathy and I had made it through another season without breaking the stress meter before the holiday got here. Many can relate to what I’m saying. Much as we adore this time of year, the preparation leading up to it can sometimes bring a person close to the edge. Sometimes I feel a little silly when it’s all over on how worked up I get worrying things will not go well. I try to think of a Christmas that went bad, only to come up with memories of laughter, joy and smiles at each and every one of them. Sitting now in my favorite chair, drinking a cup of coffee while the kids were busying themselves with their treasures, a warm feeling of satisfaction permeates my inner being letting me know all is right with the world. Then, “Hey dad, did you get batteries for this thing? It won’t work without them!” Well phooey! So much for the warm satisfaction of the inner being because now I have to drag my outer being out into the cold to find somewhere open that has batteries! Twenty years prior, you would have been hard pressed to find anyplace open, but in today’s world of the convenience stores, you’ll have half a dozen in a small radius running 24/7/365. The first one I went to was just a mile from the house, but it was so packed I couldn’t get in the parking lot. Guess there’s lot of us who forgot batteries. Driving on I went to the next store a few blocks up, but they were sold out. Ok, up through town to the next. “Sorry sir, we sold out of batteries early.” What’s wrong with these places!? Don’t they know that for Christmas ya gotta stock a lot of batteries for pete sake!? Back out into the cold and onward to the next destination. There I saw it the moment I walked through the door, the tree of AC life! Batteries galore, halleluiah! My jubilation was short lived because I then learned buying at an establishment such as a convenience store; you end up paying twice as much as you would at a regular store. Peering down at the price tag steamed me thinking how dumb I was to forget them in the first place and now the gall of this place to take advantage of my circumstance. ‘Come on Miller, bite your lip, swallow your pride and buy the dumb things so you can get back home to the family.’ Begrudgingly, I headed to the check-out to find myself waiting twenty minutes before I was taken care of. The first person in line was taking their good old sweet time buying a variety of lotto tickets; and my inner being was going burn, burn, burn. With the next customer, the girl at the cash register messed up their purchase and had to start over, and my inner being was going burn, burn, BURN. Then something happened to the register as she waited on the person in front of me and we had to move over to another register, but first she had to feed receipt paper into it and get her cash drawer in order, and my inner being went burn, BURN, BURN! The grumbling from customers was starting to fill the air, and with good reason, right? When the customer in front of me was finally taken care of, he let this gal know just how dumb and incompetent he thought she was. He left and now I was standing before this girl, this child; and her face was red and tears were starting to stream down her cheeks, and my inner being whispered, ‘Lord, have mercy on me a sinner.’ “Hey cutie, that face is too pretty to have it all messed up like that,” I said with a smile (1st one I found since leaving the house). “The manager never told me it was gonna be like this today, this madhouse, and I only started two weeks ago. I don’t want to be here either. My kids are at my parents because I need to work, I need to make money so we can live.” Reaching in my coat pocket I pulled out a small present, something Cathy and I make and handed it to her; “just concentrate on taking care one person one at a time and if you start to get overwhelmed again, use the gift, it’ll make you feel better. Then remind yourself, soon you’re gonna be back with those kids that think you’re the greatest.” That’s all it took. The natural beauty came back to that girl’s face and with a smile and a ‘Merry Christmas,’ I headed for home with the satisfaction I felt inwardly earlier, but now, also humbled. I thought about the girl the rest of that evening and her situation, her dilemma of having to work a minimum wage job to support her and her children. I thought about what it must feel like to work Christmas, separated from the ones you loves and having to deal with people with attitudes, yours truly amongst them. That became the catalyst for a Christmas tradition that my Lady and I have been doing ever since; and now, I share it with you. Each Christmas morn we are up early, armed with boxes of small gifts we’ve made and we head into the community to hand them out to all that we find working. You would not believe the reaction you get when you walk into a place and hand one of those to someone with a smile and “Merry Christmas!” We thought we did pretty well that 1st year handing out 50. Then we realized there were a lot more folks working this day than we first imagined. Besides convenience stores there were hotel staffers, guards at factories, and drug stores. Then you have the police, the sheriffs’ office, the fire department, the EMTs and the hospital staff. Recent years we’ve been adding retirement homes where there’s even more people working. And then there’s the occasional person you just happen to run into that looks like they could use a little cheer. I see no reason to tell you how many we give out, but just say it has grown substantially and probably will continue that way. Yes, the cost can get a little salty, but if you spread it out over a year it’s not too bad. There have been a couple of years I didn’t think we were going to be able to do it when funds were low, but God must see some good out of it because we’ve haven’t missed a Christmas since the first. Now let me make this straight, I don’t tell you folks this to blow my own horn and have you think “isn’t that just wonderful what they do.” I’ve actually never looked at that way. What I’m doing is showing off my Christmas present; to me! Musician and writer John Fischer made this comment recently in his devotionals that sums it up best. “Everyone always asks what did you get for Christmas? But how often has it ever been asked, what did you give for Christmas? And isn’t that what it’s really about anyway?’ Christmas will be festive at the Miller home again this season. I’ll be with my Lady, kids, grandkids and friends. We’ll go bowling (a Miller tradition), come back to the house, read the true Christmas story, let the little ones open presents 1st, then the big kids and finish with food and laughter. That’s one gift to me. But that morning my lady and I will be making our rounds and even adding several places to leave our little presents. That’s another gift to me. On each of the presents there’s a little sticker that says ‘Unto to us a child is born.’ That, my dear friends, is truly the greatest gift. May your Christmas be filled with laughter, joy and love. And as you enter into a new year perhaps you will think of a way to make someone else’s next Christmas just a little brighter. Trust me, it will be one of the greatest gifts you’ll receive, not under the tree, but in your heart.

One of the activities our family has enjoyed is trail hiking in the Great Smoky Mountains during vacation time.  We hold a distinction of being probably one of the few groups to ever visit Gatlinburg or Pigeon Forge, Tennessee and not take in the tourism features of the region.  We have never gone to one of the many country shows located there; have eaten at any of the restaurants a handful of times; never stayed at any of the fancy hotels and have never stopped at any of the side attractions such as the museums or the rides.  We generally stay in a rented cabin set on a hilltop just outside one of these communities, with our main trip into town done to buy groceries.  The kids never seemed to mind that we didn’t visit the attractions that I mentioned since cabins in recent times are not the same as they were years ago now sporting such luxuries as a Jacuzzi and satellite television.  Cathy and I have our own favorite entertainment there; a couple of rocking chairs on the porch, a flat top guitar and a panoramic view of the mountains.  The cabin itself is used sparingly on our visits.  Being an early riser, I’m always the first to get up so I take on the function of breakfast cook and for me; that’s Showtime!  Eggs, sausage, bacon, fruit, blueberry silver dollars pancakes, potatoes and of course; biscuits and gravy, I do it all.   The kids have brought friends with them before on our excursions and I would get a kick out of seeing their faces the first time they get up to come down for breakfast with enough food sitting on the table to feed a small army.  My children would tell the newcomers; “You’ll get used to it in a couple of days.”  Early morning in the Smoky Mountains is always the best time, when the sun is beginning to peak over the mountain tops and you can almost hear a voice gently command you to take in the still and serenity with the reverence that is due.

One morning my moment of meditation was interrupted by a crashing sound on the other side of the cabin.  I made my way around to see what was going on just in time to catch glimpse of a little kid; all black and furry make his getaway into the woods after raiding our trashcans.  After breakfast comes the packing of sandwiches, fruit, granola bars and water. Then it’s jump into the cars and head off to the trailhead that has been picked for the day’s adventure.  There are a number of trails in the Smoky’s that the park service maintains, but most of them are well traveled with people coming and going constantly.  These are nice trails and quite scenic, but something about paths where you see so many people seems to distract from the whole experience of being in the mountains.  We try to seek out directions that are a little more off the beaten path, where around every bend and up over each rock the surroundings seem to shout out, ‘We’ve been here waiting just for you.’

We found out that one of those treks led to a large waterfall some three hours hike back in the mountains.  A hike that’s going to be three hours in and three hours back out makes for a long day so you have to keep close track of time while you’re back in the mountains.  As beautiful as the mountains are in the daylight, they are almost impossible to maneuver at nightfall. Once nightfall sets in a person finds themselves in almost complete darkness.  The climb over rock and rugged terrain was a strenuous one that day with me probably holding back the rest of the group the most.  I was still a two-pack-a-day smoker at that time and there were a few moments that I didn’t think I was going to make it.  But at the end of the three-hour hike, covered in sweat, heart pounding like it was going to explode and exhausted, all thoughts of fatigue vanished.  Before us was the waterfall, spanning 100 yards across and at least 75 yards high.  The mist from the water made natural air conditioning that cooled the atmosphere around us by at least twenty degrees. The rock wall that the water cascaded over was layered in colors of purple, red, black and white.  It was simply inspiring to behold.  We ate lunch there, then spent time frolicking in the icy cold water and exploring the area around and on top of the falls.  My sons, Jeremy and Justin, decided to continue on up the path past the waterfall to see where it led.  The rest of us were too worn out to climb any further so we stayed behind to wait for them.  Over an hour passed and they did not come back.  More time passed and we were starting to get just a little nervous, wondering where they were.  I wasn’t too worried, knowing the boys could take care of themselves and were smart enough to stay on the path.  But time was passing and it was now late afternoon.  If we didn’t start back down soon, we would be caught up there when night fell in.  Cathy and I told the rest to head back down and wait for us by the cars.  Another half hour went by and I sent Cathy back also.  I stayed there for some time and then finally had to tell God, “They’re in your hands, please bring them back safely.”  I took hold of my walking stick and  headed down the mountain.  Walking alone with shadows appearing from the late day sun made the return trip a little apprehensive.  I was about half way back, my ears were keying in on every sound. Suddenly, I heard loud rustling of something through the trees and brush at a dead run.  My mind told me it was a bear.  I looked around to see if maybe I had gotten between a cub and its mother, but I couldn’t see a thing.  The noise was getting louder as it drew closer; my heart began beating harder!  I heard a woman let out an earth shattering scream down below me.  The trail was winding and I could not see a young couple that was about fifty yards ahead of me.  I heard a man say, “Its okay, it kept going!” It must have crossed right in front of them and now was heading right at me!  I was sure it was a bear now and I knew running wasn’t going to do any good. I griped my walking stick in both hands and braced myself for the attack.  Maybe I wasn’t going to get passed the first round with this bad boy I heard coming for me, but I was going to at least do all I could to put a knot on his head!  The noise was almost on top of me now; I raised my stick over my head thinking “this is it!”  An explosion of fur, antlers, and hooves came crashing out of the brush, on to the trail and then back into the growth on the other side as I stood there frozen like a statue, inches away from where it passed; the stick still over my head–it was a deer!

Isaiah 41:13 – “For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.”

In that brief moment of self-induced anxiety, I thought for sure my life was about to end.  Just a few miles back I had told the Lord that I trusted Him to watch over my boys, but when it came to my own life I completely forgot His love, concern and promise to watch over me and that He would never forsake me.  In the verse that I chose tonight, the point I wished to get across refers to taking hold of our right hand.  What the literal interpretation of this means is to strengthen you and keep you from stumbling.  Whether it was a bear, deer, rabbit or hippo, God was there with me saying, “I’m here; I will help you,” if I would have just listened.  When I reached the bottom, Cathy and the others were there waiting.  Fifteen minutes later the boys came bouncing down the path, laughing and joking all the way.  We had gotten out of the mountains about a half hour before sundown and returned to the cabin where the conversation turned to what we did and saw that day.  I chose not to say anything about my near deadly encounter with a wild eyed, rip snorting; deer.  Only now as I write this is my family discovering what went on that day.  What can I say; macho still reigns a little in this old man.  After dinner the kids went into town and my lady and I took up positions on the porch relaxing and watching the mountains silhouette in the distance until they finally disappeared in the twilight.  My mind went back to my fear on the trail and I silently thanked God for watching over me.  Then it hit me; the worst thing that could have happened today was that I ended up going home to my Heavenly Father be it from bear attack or heart attack.  With a smile I thought, if that’s the worst I’ve got to look forward to, I’ve got no complaints.  Cathy looked over at me and said, “What are you grinning about?”  I took hold of her right hand and said, “I just realized I couldn’t be happier.”