The Journey

This weekend seems to always draw my thoughts back to Vietnam, my time there, what I went through, what we all saw and did… and those who were killed in action, many in the prime of life, in that far away place.

I wasn’t over there (in Khe Sanh) long enough to know the names of many people – I was so new and so scared I am lucky to even remember my own name. I can check out some of the many web sites for our unit (Lima Co. 3 Bn 26 Marines, 3rd Marine Division) and learn the names of those killed in action in Feb – April 1968.

There were two Marines whose death caught my attention. One young Lance Corporal had thirteen days to go before heading for home. He had spent almost thirteen months in combat and he was killed in action just before heading for home… hit by shrapnel from an artillery shell. That was a mind blower and a heart breaker.

The second was a sergeant who was the team leader for a 50 Cal bunker just down the way from our M-60 bunker. He was married with a young child. One afternoon, while standing atop his bunker scouting with field glasses the terrain in front of his bunker… where the enemy spent a lot of time. Standing there, doing his duty as best he knew how, he took a direct hit from an NVA rocket. There was not enough of him left to send home. Man, that tore me up inside. I cried for his family and their loss. He was such a good man with so much of life ahead of him. During the high point of the Tet Offensive we were receiving around 1,200 rounds of incoming fire daily. We knew where they were coming from, what distant booms caused us to hit the dirt, and which one we could ignore. In early April we started getting artillery rounds from Laos… these booms sounded from far distant guns. We got down, waited, waited, got back up and then BOOM… a six-by size hole opened up not more than 50 feet from our bunker… between us and the next position.

I heard other stories of men wounded and killed in service to their country. I remember, like many others, wondering why were we there, and what were we doing? Was this legit or were the rumors about South Vietnam’s oil rights true. We still did our best to do our duty in all things… but we still wondered. Why in the world were we taking hills – losing men – leaving the hill – taking the same hill again – losing more men. Same thing with Khe Sanh… we fought to defend that piece of red dirt – lost a lot of men doing it – and then the brass leaving it and then taking it again. Folks, I am not a war planner… but this was just downright stupid. Sometimes I wonder if the brass ever wanted to win this war – they sure didn’t act like it, plan like it, or give us all the tools needed to do the job. Some say we could not have won this war…. Not one Marine in the field bought that load of “stuff.” We knew we could have won had they given us want we needed and had they really wanted to win.

While we were over there people of our own age were protesting in Washington and other places around the country… saying that we needed to end the war. I know some of the protest was simply from people who didn’t want to end up over there, while others were protesting because they had lost family members. Back then I didn’t care to much for the protesters and the affect they were having on the war. Years went by and I finally came to the point were I didn’t really blame anyone for going to jail or to Canada to escape the war.

I didn’t go to the Vietnam Wall until 2010. I had no idea what affect it would have on me, seeing all those names of people who gave their lives for some ideal over there… they were honorable even if their country was not all that truthful or faithful, or honorable to them. When I see that wall now I have such mixed emotions: Forgive me, but it represents to me honorable, courageous sacrifice on the part of all those who gave their last full measure of devotion… while representing our governments failure to support those they called upon to fight and die for the political will of this country. I am a General Colin Powell fan… a General who says: If you send them to war make damn sure to give them everything they need to win… especially the political will. Don’t be quick to send our young men and women to die on foreign soil with no plan to win or care for them when they come home. (Paraphrased)

Today… this weekend I honor all those who died due to the evils of war, thanking them for the honor, courage and valor they exhibited for all all to see.

God bless you all!!!
Steve

I offer this old post to honor to men and women who gave their lives this week while seeking to save others.

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It really is a funny thing that I exploit every chance I get; John Wayne and my son were born on the same day… the 26th of May. My son’s birthday was not in the early 1900’s like that of Wayne, but in 1968 while I was recovering from injuries received in Vietnam the prior month. I was working in the baggage facility  (where we would check the baggage of all Marines heading back to the states to make sure there was no contraband included in their belongings) and the Red Cross office in the headquarters building right across the parking lot from us couldn’t find me. Finally, on the 28th of May they called me to my company office and handed me a telegram informing me of the birth of my son – “mother and son doing well.”

I’ve got to tell you that being a Marine, most of us really do like John Wayne’s straight shooting, hard charging, take no prisoners approach to life and combat. I didn’t care for some his off screen beliefs, but I sure did appreciate the integrity and courage of the characters he portrayed on the screen. Most of us probably see that screen personification as the real John Wayne. Nevertheless, thank you Mr. Wayne for the portrayal of courage and integrity you and John Ford shared with the rest of the world.

My son is a John Wayne type; that is he is a man of honesty, integrity and courage. He is fair, serious when he has to be, and full of laughter when it is appropriate. He is one of those modern day dads and husbands who are involved in the running of the home and sharing the household chores with wife and kids. In my day that was just not seen – not that I saw anyway. Dads worked hard, long hours to provide for their families. That was the understood way of a man caring for his family… he was a “provider.” I look at my son and I just don’t know how he does all he does. I am so proud of him and the way he lives his life.

He, his wife (Joy) and children (Noah & Abby) are active in their church and community and in the lives of extended family. He is all the time going … going… going to a meeting at the church, planning the IT side of worship at church, helping neighbors and friends, taking kids here, there, and everywhere, being involved in the school, recreational and social life of his kids. He knows a lot of the parents and kids at the school, on the soccer field, and other places around the community. He and his family help wherever they can. I believe they are a good examples of how to be an involved community person. He is not political, so you will not find him involved in that side of life… he will vote and live out his beliefs… being a good citizen, but you will not find him standing on some street corner or in some town hall espousing why we should vote for one candidate over another… that is just not him.

He was always a good kid growing up… going to church every Sunday and helping out wherever he could. I remember back then we were concerned about a friend of his who was known for using drugs. We were afraid that this guy would have a bad influence on Stephen… but guess what… Stephen had a positive influence on him.

Happy birthday, son. You continue every single day to make us proud that we have been blessed to be your parents. Keep the faith!!!

Mom & Dad

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I have often heard that sometimes we are all wet and that sometimes we are hung out to dry. You know, I can say: “Been there, Done that!”

I have found that some say it could be based on the practice of hanging an animal that has been killed in a tree so its meat can dry, or it could mean to get someone into trouble, especially by making them take the blame for a bad situation (When the department got into difficulties, his bosses simply hung him out to dry). So it is to abandon someone to danger, as in The squadron withdrew and just let us hang out to dry. This expression alludes to hanging wet laundry on a clothesline.

“All Wet” can men completely wrong about something or you don’t have enough information to come in out of the rain. It also refers to being stupid, to be ineffective, non-athletic, socially inadequate, etc, etc. So it is someone who cannot get the job done… whatever that job may be… they do not have the “right stuff” to complete their mission.

I remember this “hung out to dry” feeling from my college days. I was serving a student appointment (that means I was a college student while serving a church). It was a church that I was sent to in order to help them build a parsonage, since I had help rebuilt one church from the ground up and renovated another not long before this. Well, the building process (committee and commitments) was moving rather slowly. On Saturday, I received a phone call from my District Superintendent (this is an Elder in the church appointed by the Bishop to supervise a group of ministers in a certain area known as a district). He said: “Steve, I want you to tell that building committee at ???? church that if they don’t get this parsonage underway quickly, I will not send them a pastor next conference year.” I replied: Ok, ????? I’ll do what you ask.” Sunday morning I relay his statement to the building committee and the chairperson asks me to call this DS and set up and appointment for him. I called the DS to inform him of the request and his reply was: “I didn’t say that. If you say I did, I will have you in the Bishop’s office by noon tomorrow and have your job.” Hung out to dry would have been an understatement of how I felt.

This setup and threatening style of leadership almost caused me to leave the ministry and the church. I never told this DS how demoralizing his behavior was, how deeply he hurt me, or how unChristian his actions were. I never trusted that man ever again.

In his little political one-up-man-ship manner of doing things to those under his charge, I felt “All Wet.” No, I did not know what game he was playing, how to play it, or why to play it. I was stupid, inadequate, not up to the political task before me. Why can’t we just tell the truth? Why can we just be honest with one another? What I needed was not a lousy intimidating General… I needed a pastor, a mentor, who would seek to help me become a pastor – not another politician.

I believe the church fails badly at mentoring new, young pastors in training. We have inserted the term “mentor” in the process of becoming ordained, but I don’t believe we really have mentors (real mentors) who are trained, compassionate mentors who care to make sure pastors are built from the inside out. What we have, most of the time, are mentors who are politically in line for some kind of recognition – and this gets them recognized by the Conference Board of Ministry – which most clergy want to be appointed to, because it says I am on the right track to be one of the fair haired boys/girls (the ones chosen to be pu on the fast track).

We are called to be servant leaders not CEO’s of the Church. Our present day paradigm for leadership is the corporate one and not the servant one. I am sure I would have been a better pastor had I had a real mentor/pastor rather than a CEO/General.

My word for all the young pastors is don’t let the CEO leadership style drive you from the ministry or the church. Ask for… seek out a mentor you know who has a shepherd’s heart and a mindset to lift you up and help fit you for service in the kingdom.

Grace and Peace

Steve

Make sure you click on the title at the top of the email so it will take you to the WordPress page from with my blog is published.

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For many soldiers, the war didn’t end when World War II was declared over. There was still the imagery of what they had seen and what they had done to stay alive.

They had had to survive in a foreign land while their families had had to wait and pray for their return.

A date in a history book might define a time for a country’s surrender or victory, but the battles continued for some like Earl Gonzales.

The war changed Gonzales, like most young men his age. He left to fight at just 17, and when he returned, he found himself struggling to come to grips with what he had seen.

Gonzales served in the Army, assigned to the 935th Field Artillery Battalion. He spent the war pummeling the Nazis with artillery shells. That’s what he was about to do in May 1945 when the war ended suddenly. His unit had a full volley of shells ready to fire when they were interrupted by a frantic officer.

“Hold your fire! The war is over!” the officer shouted.

The unit erupted in joy. Several days later, he took a joy ride on a discarded German motorcycle.

“It was beautiful,” Gonzales said. “It had camouflage and a sidecar. I used to have a Harley, so I knew how to ride. I said to my buddy, Charlie, ‘Get in that sidecar, and let’s take a ride.’ “

The pair zoomed off on a German highway traveling up to 190 km per hour, Gonzales said. That was, until they rounded a turn to see what appeared to be an endless column of soldiers marching in their direction. The soldiers were Germans, and they were armed to the teeth.

“You couldn’t see the end of it, there were so many of them,” he said. “It scared the hell out of me. I turned that motorcycle and shot back to our company to tell the captain.”

What Gonzales didn’t know was the column of soldiers was coming to surrender. He spent the remainder of his time in Europe guarding prisoners, including a German officer who demanded Gonzales carry his suitcase like a valet.

“I kicked his suitcase and told him if he didn’t get off that truck, I was going to blow his head off,” Gonzales said.

The end of the war was perhaps the most difficult time in his life. He returned to his native Southern California, living with his parents for a time but never far away from what he saw.

“I was nervous and mean as a rattlesnake,” he said. “I didn’t trust anybody. I didn’t want to be around anybody. I carried a pistol that I took off a dead German private everywhere I went.”

Gonzales had become so paranoid he couldn’t stand to have people walking behind him on the street. When he went to a restaurant, he couldn’t sit with his back to the door. He assaulted a man who simply asked him for a cigarette and a light.

“I said, ‘You want me to give you a cigarette and you want me to light it for you? Do you want me to kick you in the chest to get your lungs going, too?’ ” Gonzales said. “Then, I just whipped up on the guy.”

He also became a drunk, consuming up to a fifth of whiskey a day. If not for the well timed words of his father, his life might have taken a different course.

“I got up one morning and reached under the bed and pulled out a bottle of Wild Turkey,” Gonzales said. “Just about then, my dad peeked into my room and saw me getting ready to take a swig from that bottle.”

His father’s words were simple and cut him deep.

“He said: ‘Son, you see what you’re doing there. That’s the first steps to becoming an alcoholic.’ He walked out and shut the door. I went over to the sink and poured that bottle out and didn’t take another drink.”

Gonzales, now 89, eventually settled down and opened several businesses in Southern California. He married and had two children.

When Gonzales’ wife, Christine, was diagnosed with breast cancer, the family moved to Oklahoma to be closer to her family. She died at 39, and Earl never remarried.

He ran an upholstery business in Oklahoma City and still lives in the same home he moved into with his wife more than 40 years ago.

“I don’t think anyone ever got over what they saw over there,” he said. “But, I eventually settled down and made a life for myself.”

I realize that we are all wounded in some way by the happenings of war. I really don’t think human beings were ever meant to participate in the horrors of war… what we experience… what we see, smell, and feel… what we do and have done to us… well, it just has a way of getting into out psyche and I am not sure it ever gets out. It may get better. We may learn how to cope… but it is always there… the wounds of war continue to bleed.

On this Memorial Day weekend, I salute all my brothers and sisters who served… those who are still fighting the battles from over there – every day over here. I pay special honor to those buddies who gave their all in the battles of war. Your courage and sacrifice will always be remembered.

Semper Fi

Steve

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Three years after the Civil War ended, on May 5, 1868, the head of an organization of Union veterans — the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR) — established Decoration Day as a time for the nation to decorate the graves of the war dead with flowers. Maj. Gen. John A. Logan declared that Decoration Day should be observed on May 30. It is believed that date was chosen because flowers would be in bloom all over the country.

Local Observances Claim To Be First
Local springtime tributes to the Civil War dead already had been held in various places. One of the first occurred in Columbus, Miss., April 25, 1866, when a group of women visited a cemetery to decorate the graves of Confederate soldiers who had fallen in battle at Shiloh. Nearby were the graves of Union soldiers, neglected because they were the enemy. Disturbed at the sight of the bare graves, the women placed some of their flowers on those graves, as well.

Today, cities in the North and the South claim to be the birthplace of Memorial Day in 1866. Both Macon and Columbus, Ga., claim the title, as well as Richmond, Va. The village of Boalsburg, Pa., claims it began there two years earlier. A stone in a Carbondale, Ill., cemetery carries the statement that the first Decoration Day ceremony took place there on April 29, 1866. Carbondale was the wartime home of Gen. Logan. Approximately 25 places have been named in connection with the origin of Memorial Day, many of them in the South where most of the war dead were buried.

By the end of the 19th century, Memorial Day ceremonies were being held on May 30 throughout the nation. State legislatures passed proclamations designating the day, and the Army and Navy adopted regulations for proper observance at their facilities.

It was not until after World War I, however, that the day was expanded to honor those who have died in all American wars. In 1971, Memorial Day was declared a national holiday by an act of Congress, though it is still often called Decoration Day. It was then also placed on the last Monday in May, as were some other federal holidays.

Some States Have Confederate Observances
Many Southern states also have their own days for honoring the Confederate dead. Mississippi celebrates Confederate Memorial Day on the last Monday of April, Alabama on the fourth Monday of April, and Georgia on April 26. North and South Carolina observe it on May 10, Louisiana on June 3 and Tennessee calls that date Confederate Decoration Day. Texas celebrates Confederate Heroes Day January 19 and Virginia calls the last Monday in May Confederate Memorial Day.

National Moment of Remembrance
To ensure the sacrifices of America ’s fallen heroes are never forgotten, in December 2000, the U.S. Congress passed and the president signed into law “The National Moment of Remembrance Act,” P.L. 106-579, creating the White House Commission on the National Moment of Remembrance. The commission’s charter is to “encourage the people of the United States to give something back to their country, which provides them so much freedom and opportunity” by encouraging and coordinating commemorations in the United States of Memorial Day and the National Moment of Remembrance.

The National Moment of Remembrance encourages all Americans to pause wherever they are at 3 p.m. local time on Memorial Day for a minute of silence to remember and honor those who have died in service to the nation. As Moment of Remembrance founder Carmella LaSpada states: “It’s a way we can all help put the memorial back in Memorial Day.”

Take the time to stop remember and be thankful the the last full measure of devotion these people gave for America.

Semper Fi

Steve

PS: Shirley is having cataract surgery this morning. Say a little word for her.

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On the way to pick up the kids today the windshield wipers were making the sound of a slow drum cadence. It was haunting and thought provoking. My mind turned to the slow, respectful march of Marines carrying the coffin of a brother fallen in combat.

This weekend is Memorial Day weekend… a time when we remember all the men and women who have given their last full measure of devotion in defense of their country. In my thoughts on this I found this article in The Washington Post by T. Rees Shapiro. Please take the time to salute these Marines who are, indeed, ‘the last to let you down.’

In the dim light of a subterranean parking garage, the Marines gather before dawn to train beside the flag-draped casket and a black coffin lid on the wall bearing the inscription: “The Last to Let You Down.” They are the Body Bearers, an elite unit that carries Marines to their final resting place.

To ready for the arduous work – they perform three to five funerals each day at Arlington National Cemetery and the caskets they lift can weigh up to 800 pounds – the Marines come together every morning for pulse-thrumming drills. But they cannot prepare for all aspects of their graveside ritual, as the most difficult moments come when they least anticipate: the sight of a boy at his father’s funeral dressed in the fallen Marine’s oversized uniform, or the sound of a K-9 service dog whimpering as the Body Bearers interred its handler.

The Last Full Measure of Devotion with Donny Osmond

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I got to tell you that I just love the new Geico commercial with the pigeons on the wire talking about “Firing at Will.” Some think there is a person or pigeon down there named Will who will soon be shot at, while another said; “It is just an expression of speech.” This commercial got me to thinking about what are some of the expressions we use regularly and where did they come from. So, let’s see if we can find some of these. Tim Lambert helps me to discover the meanings below.

“Bite the Bullet:” Means to grin and bear a painful situation. It comes from the days before anesthetics. A soldier about to undergo an operation was given a bullet to bite. (Count me out of that one).

“Bee Line:” In the past people believed that bees flew in a straight line to their hives. So, if you made a bee line for something you went straight for it. Been there, done that.

“Baker’s Dozen:” Usually means thirteen. It is said to come from the days when bakers were severely punished for baking underweight loaves of bread. Some added a loaf to a batch of a dozen to be above suspicion. Don’t you just love the thirteenth doughnut?

“Beyond the Pale:” Originally a pale was an area under the authority of a certain official. In the 14^th and 15^th centuries the English king ruled Dublin and the surrounding area known as the pale. Anyone beyond the pale was seen as savage and dangerous.

“The Bitter End:” Anchor cable was wrapped around posts called bitts. The last piece of cable was called the bitter end. If you let out the cable to the bitter end there was nothing else you could do, you had reached the end of your resources.

“Born With a Silver Spoon in Your Mouth:” Once when a child was christened it was traditional for the godparents to give a silver spoon as a gift (if they could afford it!). However, a child born in a rich family did not have to wait. He or she had it all from the start. They were ‘born with a silver spoon in their mouth’.

“Cold Enough to Freeze the Balls off a Brass Monkey:” A brass monkey was a brass rack on which cannonballs were stacked. If it were very cold the brass rack would contract faster than the iron balls. Therefore, the balls would fall off.

“Don’t Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth:” Means don’t examine a gift too closely! You can tell a horse’s age by looking at its teeth, which is why people ‘look a horse in the mouth.’

“Dyed in the Wool:” I just used this yesterday – Wool that was dyed before it was woven kept its color better than wool dyed after weaving of ‘dyed in the piece.’

“Flash in the Pan:” Muskets had a priming pan, which was filled with gunpowder. When flint hit steel, it ignited the powder in the pan, which in turn ignited the main charge of gunpowder and fired the musket ball. However, sometimes the powder in the pan failed to light the main charge. In that case, you had a flash in the pan… but no musket ball fired.

“Hobson’s Choice:” Means to have no choice at all. In the 16th century and the early 17th century if you went on a journey you could hire a horse to take you from one town to another and travel using a relay of horses. (That was better than wearing out your own horse on a long journey over very poor roads). In the early 1600s Thomas Hobson was a man in Cambridge who hired out horses. However, he would not let customers choose which horse they wanted to ride. Instead they had to ride whichever horse was nearest the stable entrance. So, if you hired a horse from him you were given ‘Hobson’s choice’.

“Humble Pie:” The expression to eat humble pie was once to eat umble pie. The umbles were the intestines or less appetizing parts of an animal and servants and other lower class people ate them. So, if a deer was killed the rich ate venison and those of low status ate umble pie. In time, it became corrupted to eat humble pie and came to mean to debase yourself or act with humility.

My dad use to have a couple of phrases I believed he used as cruse words. One was: “I’ll be John Brown” and the other is “What in the Sam Hill?”

Sam Hill: Sam Hill is an American English slang phrase, a euphemism or minced oath for “the devil” or “hell” personified (as in, “What in the Sam Hill is that?”). Etymologist Michael Quinion and others date the expression back to the late 1830s Also Sam Hill was a mercantile store owner who offered a vast and diverse inventory of goods. People began using the term “what in the Sam Hill is that?” to describe something they found odd or unusual, just like the inventory found in Sam Hill’s store. The original Sam Hill Mercantile building still stands on Montezuma Street in Prescott, Arizona, and is listed on the register of Historic Place.

 John Brown was an American abolitionist who believed armed insurrection was the only way to overthrow the institution of slavery in the United States. During 1856 in Kansas, Brown commanded forces at the Battle of Black Jack and the Battle of Osawatomie. Brown’s followers also killed five pro-slavery supporters at Pottawatomie. In 1859, Brown led an unsuccessful raid on the federal armory at Harpers Ferry that ended with his capture. Brown’s trial resulted in his conviction and a sentence of death by hanging. Brown’s attempt in 1859 to start a liberation movement among enslaved African Americans in Harpers Ferry, Virginia electrified the nation. He was tried for treason against the Commonwealth of Virginia, the murder of five men and inciting a slave insurrection. He was found guilty on all counts and was hanged. My dad saying: “I’ll be John Brown” simply meant: “I’ll be hanged!”

What kind of sayings are you using? What do you believe them to mean? Or do you even know or care what they mean… they just seem to flow well and sound cool. What would be cool would be that once said those who heard it will not be brought down, insulted or embarrassed. Perhaps we could all turn our cherished sayings into words that uplift and encourage.

Grace and Peace
Steve

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There is a question on my mind today that I can’t quite figure out. Perhaps you can help me. I don’t understand why people ignore other people. I’m not talking about hiding two isles over in the grocery store making sure you go a way to avoid that person of interest. I am talking about a person who sits near you for a half hour or so, walks right by you up and down the hallway several times while not looking your way, smiling at you, or acknowledging you in any way. It would be understandable if it were done only once but it has become a regular behavior. My wife talked to this person and the only comment returned was a terse, matter-of-fact, no feeling of concern statement. It could have been computer generated… no personality included. And the point is we can’t remember anything we might have done to insult this person or get them all up in the air.

Now, all of you know that I put some rather frank comments on Facebook awhile back about my political leanings and my love for Donald Trump. Some people didn’t take to kindly to that, including my brother. Some de-friended me on Facebook while others asked me to leave their group. It was a hot time. Some of my friends in the church we attend once in a while (a church we use to serve), are dyed in the wool republicans, with whom we have simply agreed that we are not going to talk politics and let it ruin a good and lasting friendship. We have too much invested in each other to care so little for each other. I do know this person responded to me rather negatively about this matter back then… but now, after all these months… as Disney says (if that is it) “Let It Go!” Holding on to this stuff will eat you alive… but you already know that.

The reason I say we need to let it go is that if we let things like this push us off into our own little philosophical corners to put up barricades and keep the enemy at bay… then Lord help us if something really seriously happens. Who will we have left to lean on.

As far as I know I have sought to support this family ever since the first day we met. I haven’t said anything bad about them. Haven’t always agreed with everything they have done… but my support is there. I would never do anything to hurt them. And yet to be almost demonstratively ignored… like I am carrying this huge sign saying “I am walking by you and ignoring you.” Or I am sitting near you but I am not going to acknowledge you, speak to you, just look over and around you. I am not going to even share the peace of Christ with you. That simply baffles me.

Here is the deal: after I write this piece I will be over this and you can ignore me all you want. It will not bother me again. I will be sad that you have chosen this very awkward path of expression (being educated and all that). All you will be doing is hurting yourself and the influence of your family. People will notice and do notice how you treat others and the little games you play. Because what you do to me, I bet you are already doing to others… unless it cost you some political points. When they ask me did you notice how they ignore you, I will answer: “You know, I haven’t noticed. Perhaps they have something on their mind?”

Good luck to you my friend. If you are reading this and know it is about you, let’s talk and work this out. We don’t need this.

Grace and Peace
Steve

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I have just got to share with you this bragging word: “I am the luckiest guy in the world.” The reason I say this is I had the best vocation in the world… I was a United Methodist Pastor. I got to spend forty years serving churches all over Western North Carolina – from Murphy in the west to Greensboro in the east – Eden in the north and Midland and Asheboro in the south. I have served a church that had seven (Yep 7 members) and some having six hundred members. I have had some mighty good times and some horribly bad experiences. I have witnessed great joy and unbelievable sadness. But that is the life of a pastor. You win some, lose some, and some get rained out. Do you know that as lovable as I am, not everybody agreed with my own personal opinion of my gifts and graces. Through it all I found that not taking myself so seriously was a grace that all pastors need to understand and develop.

What brought all this to my pea brain tonight was today I was honored to be asked to return to a former church and celebrate the wedding of a young lady who was just one of the precious children we enjoyed at that church. She was funny. She was her own person. We all just loved those kids. I made it a habit in those days of having a children’s message. I loved doing that… felt like Art Linkletter at times – because I loved these kids and I loved the wonder in their eyes and the honesty of their thoughts. Many a Sunday I have had my sides hurting from laughter from something one of the children said. It not only happened in that church but in every church I served where I did a children’s time. I know some pastor’s do not do that and that is fine… but we lose a lot when we do not spend time with the children. Take the time to laugh with them, visit with them, talk with them about stuff they enjoy. I know you will be amazed by what they know and what they say.

Today, as I said, I returned to a church I served over twenty years ago to celebrate the wedding of one of those children who sat at my feet during five years of children’s messages. And believe me she was a hoot… on top of her game… ready for me every Sunday. Today she is all grown up and marrying this very nice young man she met in college. You can see in their eyes and in the way they speak with each other that they are really in love and really respect one another. Boy was I ever honored to be able to participate in her life in this special way.

All of this got me to thinking about the good times we had in that church. What a great spirit of love, family and cooperation in that place all those years. We were a growing congregation – not by great numbers – but a steady growth each year. There were a few people that were real characters who got my goat all the time. One was and man named Buren. At the parsonage on moving day… Shirley and I were moving in. Buren was there along with some other men from the church to help us move in. I noticed burden was gathering up some boxes. He looked at me and said: “Preacher, we are going to keep these boxes in a safe, dry place. Just in case we don’t like you there will be plenty of boxes for you to use moving out.” I almost fell on the floor laughing. The second thing he did (which I can share) happened during Sunday school assembly one Sunday morning. Carl, the superintendent, was leading us through some thoughts on stewardship saying: “I’ve always heard that if you are experiencing a drought it is because you aren’t paying the preacher enough.” Buren chimed in saying: “We are paying him he just ain’t sending it in.” Again, rolling in the pews. Another man in the church was a big time fisherman. Thurmond would always brag that he once caught a fish who’s shadow weighed two pounds. He took me fishing one day at the city lake in Asheboro. We were in his little John boat. I was fishing with a cork, sinker and hook. He was fly fishing. That meant that in this little six foot boat with us sitting opposite ends, I had this fly (a feather weight lure with a hook hidden in it), swinging back and forth over my head. All of a sudden he caught me in the ear with that lure. That kinda finished the day. The next Sunday I made the announcement that “Thurmond was indeed the greatest fisherman I had ever seen. Just the other day, out at city lake, he hooked a two-hundred pound big mouth bass.” Everybody got a kick out of that.

There were plenty of other people and many experiences that continued to bring us together as a family and attract people to our congregation. We were all the time doing fun and exciting things. We were also involved in greater and greater outreach and ministry. It was a good church with great people. We hated to move but we knew it was time.

I will always remember this place with great appreciation that they allowed Shirley and me to spend five short years in their midst as they accepted us into their hearts and homes. Thank you, Guys… for all the great times.

God’s blessings on Colby and Ginny as they begin their new home and new life together.

Grace and Peace
Steve

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Today we arrived late picking up the kids from the Middle School parking lot. It has never happened before so we were kinda unprepared for what we really needed to do. The tradition is that there are about six handicapped parking spaces along the street side of the gym… close to where the kids exit the school. We pull up and back into these spots. If you park there you MUST get there a half hour before the bell rings… and you MUST have a handicapped placard hanging from your mirror or a handicapped license plate on the rear of your car.

Getting there late meant we lost our cherished spot and had to park almost at the end of the parking lot on the street side. Our mission (if we chose to accept it) was to wait for one of the handicapped spaces to come empty and move our car into that spot. That way the kids will know where we are. They are accustom to us being in one of those six spaces.

On the other side of the drive way or parking lot regress the school has placed several big orange traffic cones with signs on them which read: “NO PARKING.” You see if someone parks there some cars and buses cannot get through and it becomes unsafe for everyone, especially the kids. They had to put up the signs because people would park right next to the big orange cone as if it were saving them a special spot.

A teacher has to come out every afternoon to check to see if anyone is illegally parked. Sometimes people will argue with him and he just refers them to the deputy sheriff on duty over near the gym. Most move, some still try to get away with something they know is absolutely wrong.

Right after the Charlie Brown outside the gym speaker system showered us with static, noise and other unintelligible sounds out comes our teacher on patrol. He spots a red SUV parked behind a big orange traffic cone. Not sure what she told him, but he walked away looking at this phone and she just sat there. Shirley was in the process of making her way toward our old space and the friends we had shared those spots with for several years now (Tarheel Fans). On her way she stops and speaks to the lady in the red van. My wife says something she would probably only say to me… she said: “How do you get to park there and no one else can?” WOW Babe!!! The lady made some excuses that sounded like “I have things I have to do.” Shirley walks on and joins our friends as she waits for Noah to come from the High School and Abby to Come from the Middle School.

The lady in the red SUV slowly pull off and enters a parking space less that twenty-five feet from her illegal spot. She gets out of her van and walks back to talk with a lady in another vehicle. In sync they look toward Shirley as if to point that she was THE one who had the gall to question her parking choice.

When the kids got in the car they informed us that she was the leader of Campus Life at Southeast Middle School. Here is the point I want to make: Being a Christian leader does not mean that we are better than anyone or that we are privileged in some way. She knows better… or should. She has to know that kids are always watching her… and she is setting a very poor example of how a Christian leader behaves even in the smallest of matters. Christian leadership is about servanthood not special treatment. I couldn’t help but remember Reverend Adam Hamilton emphasizing that on his large campus his parking space is the one far away from the door he enters. It is clear that people know that he sees himself as a servant and not a person of privilege.

I think our Campus Life Leader will do well to take a clue!!!

Little eyes are watching you.
They see what you say and know what you do.
One day they will grow up to be just like you

Grace and Peace
Steve

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