The Journey

Last night I ranted on and on about the new fridge I bought Shirley for Christmas… and how it was stationed in our living room because someone forgot to measure and purchased a fridge so big it would not go through the kitchen door. Several people had been there to help get it through the door (Sears people the last ones would not even try).

Today Kenny came back to make the opening a little larger. He took out another inch or so of door space and he and his brother moved that big ‘ole fridge into the kitchen. Now the big ‘ole fridge in the kitchen looks like a walk-in fridge. But… Hey… it is in the kitchen.

We have placed our moveable food back in the fridge, run several cups of water through the water dispenser, turned on the ice maker and set the ice style to crunched… my kind of ice. I was disappointed to find that the first make of ice takes 12 to 24 hours… boooo.

One of the things I have found is that whenever you get something new there is a learning curve. Yep, you have to relearn how you have done this whatever for as long as you have been doing it. That is what Shirley sorely dislikes about cell phones, computers and automatic updates. It changes the stuff she likes from the way she is use to using that application to a new application or a new way.

Well, on this fridge, I assume we do what we have always done… put food in and take food out. Push a lever and get ice or water. However, this thing has a lot of lights and buttons that set temps for each section, checks air and water filters… but will not give you change for a dollar? I know that we will learn how to operate this monster, and that will be an accomplishment at our age.

The description of a true Marine is that they innovate, adapt and overcome. We may have to use some Marine logic on this fridge. But, you know, life has been teaching us to innovate, adapt and overcome for 70 years now. Sometimes we have done that well and other times proved that we were not up to the job. That is life for all of us.

Whatever you may be facing during this time of the year… particularly this year may very well be more difficult than any you have faced so far. But, as God walks with you everyday of your journey, He will see you through all the doors that are too small, help you get that big 800 pound gorilla out of your living space, and bring you the peace your soul longs to experience. Advent (Pay Attention to Jesus) is the time for close walking, hand holding and soul searching. May you find the Peace of God which surrounds your every moment.

I pray that you will find in my books examples and experiences of the Peace of God. My books can be found on Amazon and Barnes & Nobles.

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A few weeks ago I had this very bright and loving idea… I would buy Shirley a new refrigerator for Christmas. We have had the old one for a few years and it doesn’t make or crush ice very well. She and I are walking around Sears one evening (while these things just happen to be on sale) and I spotted one I thought was perfect. It was stainless steel, had french upper doors, one middle drawer for wine and other drinks or whatever you will like to store there. The bottom drawer is the freezer. I liked what it did. I liked the way it looked. I even liked the size. We made the deal and waited for the delivery.

The first two delivery dates were postponed because of something somewhere in some factory or warehouse. It was finally delivered on December 6. And guess what? That beautiful new refrigerator that looked so good in the store… so perfect in the store… was too big to go through our kitchen door… yes, even with the doors off.

In a panic we called friends who knew about that stuff and they told us it would take a long time… no word from them yet. We called the man the installer said was good at this sort of stuff. He came that day at 5pm and worked till after 6pm widening the opening of our kitchen door. The plan was to call him when Sears came back to complete the installation. Today – December 13 at 4pm they showed up and told Shirley that the opening was STILL TO SMALL!!! You see there are these little plastic things that stick out when you remove the drawers which will not let this fridge pass through the eye of this needle.

Tomorrow afternoon Kenny is coming back out and I GUARANTEE this time the hole will be BIG enough. I am tired of the fridge setting in my living room. We may have a great room when he is finished… but the fridge will be in the section of the house named KITCHEN.

With that as our day, this evening we headed to SEMS for Abby’s Winter Choral Concert. We get there a little late and there are no handicapped parking spaces… and with my inability to walk much this posed a problem. Well, about two rows over in an adjacent parking lot I spied an empty place (not a space but a place). A space is a marked parking space while a place is a spot on or near the pavement where you can park but it is not a parking space. It causes funny looks, even stares and sometimes a lot of people clearing their throats. I am sorry I did that… but any further away and I would not have been able to get to the auditorium. That is my story and I am sticking to it…

Luckily, Joy and Stephen saved us seats inside. We found our places and sat down. Behind us is this little boy… I would say maybe 3 years old who is making a little noise. At the beginning of the concert they make the announcements about phones off, no using electronic devices, no cameras with flash photography… do all you can to not disturb those around you or keep them from enjoying the concert.

This little boy made singing sounds throughout the concert… mostly between the selections sung by the choral groups. But this was one of those times when you simply could not say anything to the mom or the little boy. In a low tone… almost a whisper he was singing: “Jesus Loves Me This I Know.”

That little boy made the Winter (Christmas) Concert at Southeast Middle School. He brightened up my day. I hope this word will do the same for you. Jesus Loves You!

Grace and Peace

Steve

I hope you will find Jesus Loves You in my books…

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Every December 7th I simply must stop and remember the sacrifice, courage, and gallantry of those American service men stationed at Pearl Harbor. I remember Sunday mornings on a Naval Base. The day is slowed down and if you were on liberty or not on duty at 8:00am that morning you were probably enjoying a beautiful, sun filled day in paradise. You must admit… it just doesn’t get any better than Sunday morning in Hawaii.

Most of these men (not on duty) were probably just finishing a lazy breakfast in the galley. Heading topside to enjoy the morning breeze as you write a letter home to your wife. Others (anchored away from the dock) are waiting for the skiffs to come along side to take you into the docks for a trip into town. When I was on ship I just loved sitting on a locker box affixed to the bulkhead on the side of the starboard bow. I would just lean back, look at the ocean, feel the warm breeze. Oh my, it was breath taking.

You must imagine how peaceful and serene this picture was, and how totally unaware these sailors were to anything that might bring them harm… much less bombs being dropped on their ships… bombs so large that they sunk all the battleships before they could get underway.

One moment there is peace and the very next second bombs are dropping and ships blowing up all around you. One moment you were safe in the gentle breeze of paradise and the next you are being blown into a sea full of oil, gas, flames and black choking smoke. One moment you have it all together and the next there are body parts of your friends all over the place. You are in SHOCK! Your mind is set on liberty mode. Your dress is casual liberty dress. You are in down time mode. And all of a sudden you are at war: At war in flip-flops and a flowery shirt.

Many awards were earned that day (15 Congressional Medals of Honor, Navy Crosses, Silver and Bronze Stars, and over 3,400 Purple Hearts… 2335 men were killed… 1143 wounded…) to men who were able to adjust their minds quickly from lazy Sunday liberty to kill those bastards before they kill you. One such quick thinking young sailor was a porter in the Captain’s mess (Dorie Miller), who without any training whatsoever, runs out on deck of the USS West Virginia, mans an anti-aircraft station and begins to shoot down Japanese planes. He also rescued many sailors who would have otherwise died… even rescuing his mortally wounded Captain. He was awarded the Navy Cross.

Military men of our generation who have fought in war look back on these men, the times in which they lived, the circumstances under which they fought and we are in awe of their courage, valor and bravery. We honor them all because we have seen what their war was like… what they experienced. What they saw. It is absolutely amazing that the men who fought on those Pacific Islands were ever able to function again in civilian life… it was that horrible. It was so horrible… the viciousness and unbridled evil of the Japanese soldier these men faced in places like Iwo Jima, Tarawa, Guadalcanal, Philippians, and Okinawa. The fierce nature of  battles like these… the  Japanese determination to never surrender but sacrifice their own women and children in the battles made it necessary for President Truman to use the Nuclear bombs. Okinawa was the next to last battle of the Pacific campaign. Soon (within weeks) the United States would be sending our men to face the Japanese in Japan proper. The estimations were that 100,000 U.S soldiers would lose their lives in those battles. The bombs ended the war in just a few weeks without the loss of American lives.

Back in 2012 the National Parks Service along with the military service organizations, who help to keep the memory of Pear Harbor alive, decided to invite back to the December 7th Memorial Celebration, the Japanese pilots who were involved in the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. This gesture was NOT received well by many on both sides… others were ready for it and needed it. I remember hearing the story of a Marine aboard one of the ships in the harbor that day who suffered burns over much of his body. He went through many, many years of very painful surgeries and procedures. He said he could not and would not forgive them for what they did. Other men on both sides found common ground for forgiveness and a way forward.

I experienced a little of that feeling of confusion when we normalized relations with North Vietnam… asking what then was the purpose… all these young men dying “For Their Country” and now we are buying clothing an other goods made in the country of our enemy by the children of people who were killing us??? I can’t imagine a mother who has grieved the loss of her son for forty years… now she stands before the Wall in Washington and asks why did this have to happen? Was it all just a waste?

For me it has just added strength to my conclusion that war settles absolutely nothing… except people are dead who shouldn’t be dead. I think I have forgiven my enemy and my own country for the Vietnam War… even though I really don’t understand. I do know I have no interest whatsoever in going back. I am done with that… except for the nights it creeps into my dreams.

My experience in Vietnam is really inconsequential to the experience of the soldier, Sailor, Airman and Marine of the Pacific Theater in WWII. If the men of that era can forgive so should I. Perhaps what we all need in today’s world with all that is going on is to witness one of these old salts of WWII to forgive with a “Remember Pearl Harbor” kinda of forgiveness. Maybe then we will see a path to real forgiveness to all around us.

Examples of our need to forgive and be forgiven are found throughout my books. I hope they will help us all find the way through. You can find them on-line at

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We have some friends, Pat and Ron, from our car rider line at Southeast Middle School. At least four days a week we park next to each other (if we can) while waiting for our grandkids. Now, I’ve got to warn you about Pat and Ron… they are UNC fans, have a grandson who plays football (#60) for UNC, have UNC stickers on their car (on the outside so people can see them) and Ron wears a UNC ball cap every… I mean EVERY SINGLE DAY.

They are nice people and we love to talk with them. We sit there and talk about most everything except politics. Usually it has to do with what bad drivers all the other parents are and how they get on their cell phones before they get out of the parking lot which has 6th, 7th and 8th graders all over the place… it is just too unsafe. But that is the 2016 crazy world.

Today the conversation went something like this: Pat says to Shirley. Got your Christmas shopping done yet? Not all. Still got a few things yet to find. I just don’t want to get in all those crowds out there shopping. Pat responds; Yea, I know. I did a lot of my shopping “off line.” I heard her say that and wasn’t really sure what she meant. Then she clarified it by saying; “I got so and so’s present off the line.” I just grinned as I pictured Pat out at the clothes line “getting presents off the line.”

We all, as we get older, experience something I call word dropsy or identification confusion. Well that is the way it seems to happen to me. Sometimes I will get so hung up on one syllable in a word that it takes a while to pronounce it correctly. Other times I will misidentify something I have known for years or some new thing I have only heard about.

Here is the real fun part. Add poor hearing to the mix and the wonderful world of words becomes a hoot and a half. Shirley and I can be watching TV and we will hear something said on a program or commercial and immediately look at each other and together say; “What did he say?” There are times I know they could not have said what I thought I heard… they don’t allow that on network TV.

Have you ever got something off the line? Have you ever gotten words a little mixed up? Having problems with your hearing? If you are don’t worry, it will get worse. So what do you do? Learn how to laugh at yourself and enjoy the moment. Laugh so hard that you wet your pants. That will give you even more to laugh about.

We haven’t purchased all our son’s gifts yet. I think tomorrow afternoon we will go out to the clothes line and get something off the line. Maybe we’ll run into you there?

I have some funny, down to earth happenings in all my books. Hope you will take a look. They are actually ON-LINE at:

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He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the LORD! Isaiah 2:4-5

We begin our devotional time together early in Advent… that time of heightened anticipated waiting for the fulfillment of the promise of the prophet. One of the criteria of the fulfillment of that prophecy of the coming of the Lord would be that God would arbitrate between the nations. Wow! This could be the headlines of this morning’s newspaper: “World’s people call for the United States, South and North Korea to call on the Lord to arbitrate their differences before war breaks out again.” Yesterday on the national news I noticed some persons peacefully protesting (I think here in the U.S.) what they believed could escalate into another Korean War. This one man fought in Korea and didn’t want any more young men and women to die in a war there. The United Nations garden contains several sculptures and statues that have been donated by different countries. This one is called “Let Us Beat Swords into Plowshares” and was a gift from the then Soviet Union presented in 1959. The bronze statue represents the figure of a man holding a hammer in one hand and, in the other, a sword which he is making into a plowshare, symbolizing humanities’ desire to put an end to war and convert the means of destruction into creative tools for the benefit of all people.

Isn’t that our prayer in the anticipation of what tomorrow might bring? Don’t we gather on God’s mountain and pray that ALL WAR SHALL END? O how we long for the Prince of Peace, the Savior, the Redeemer, the King of Kings to cover this earth with grace and peace.

It matters not your political persuasion. What matters is that we rise above our small mindedness and bullying to embrace the world – God’s world – God’s people – in the arms of peace. Come, Lord Jesus, and bring peace to a world filled with hate Amen.

I hope you will find peace in my writings. You can find them on:

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Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Matthew 19:14

Several years ago as we were preparing for missions Sunday I was introduced to The Prayer for the Children, which is a contemporary ballad written by Kurt Bestor and arranged for choir by Andrea S. Klouse. It is a God thing how this song came about.

Bestor described how he came to write the song: “Having lived in this war-torn country back in the late 1970’s, I grew to love the people with whom I lived. It didn’t matter to me their ethnic origin – Serbian, Croatian, Bosnian – they were all just happy fun people to me and I counted as friends people from each region. Of course, I was always aware of the bigotry and ethnic differences that bubbled just below the surface, but I always hoped that the peace this rich country enjoyed would continue indefinitely. Obviously that didn’t happen. When Yugoslavian President Josip Broz Tito died, different political factions jockeyed for position and the inevitable happened – civil war. Suddenly my friends were pitted against each other. Serbian brother wouldn’t talk to Croatian sister-in-law. Bosnian mother disowned Serbian son-in-law and so it went. Meanwhile, all I could do was stay glued to the TV back in the US and sink deeper in a sense of hopelessness. Finally, one night I began channeling these deep feelings into a wordless melody. Then little by little I added words….Can you hear….? Can you feel……? I started with these feelings – sensations that the children struggling to live in this difficult time might be feeling. Serbian, Croatian, and Bosnian children all felt the same feelings of confusion and sadness and it was for them that I was writing this song.”

“Those children didn’t hate anybody,” he said. “They didn’t care about who owned the land, or who had the power or the money. These are adult neuroses. They just wanted to have a mom and dad and a place to play.”

That is so true of every child in every place in the world. We take these words for granted but for some this prayer for the children is so real that it breaks your heart to hear these words. You may replace these names with Syria, or any other place in the world – even the U.S. – where children are afraid.

The Prayer of The Children

Can you hear the prayer of the children on bended knee,

in the shadow of an unknown room?

Empty eyes with no more tears to cry,

turning heavenward toward the light.

Crying, “Who will help me to see

the morning light of one more day?

But if I should die before I wake,

I pray my soul to take?”

Can you feel the hearts of the children aching for home,

for something of their very own?

Reaching hands with nothing to hold on to,

but hope for a better day.

Crying, “Who will help me to

feel the love again in my own land?

But if unknown roads lead away from home,

give me loving arms, away from harm.”

Can you hear the voice of the children

softly pleading for silence in their shattered world?

Angry guns preach a gospel full of hate,

blood of the innocent on their hands.

Crying, “Jesus, help me to feel

the sun again upon my face.

For when darkness clears I know

you’re near, bringing peace again.”

Dali cuje te sve djecje molitve?

Can you hear the prayer of the children?

Grace and Peace

Steve

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Recently Will Smith introduced us to a new way of thinking with the title of his new movie… I have put a lot of words with “Collateral” all leading to and describing destruction. Will scrambles up our thinking by joining collateral with “Beauty.”

When I first saw that title it blew my mind… what kind of heart, mind and spirit came up with joining these two words? We all know that at some time we are going to blow up and create all kinds of affects around us. Will we damage others as the world does or will we be of a different spirit and when we blow create rather than destroy??? Collateral Peace… Collateral Love… Collateral Forgiveness… Collateral Grace… Collateral JESUS!!!

In today’s world there is a lot of collateral damage all around and the potential for a great deal more… even catastrophic damage. There has been no better time than right now for all of us… each of us to find a way to make sure that the affect we have on those around us (when we blow) will be that which uplifts and not pushes down, brings together and not blows apart, heals and not wounds.

WHAT AFFECT ARE YOU HAVING ON YOUR WORLD?

Thanks Will.

Steve

A special thank you to all of you who have expressed your concern with my health problems. It has been an interesting year in which I may (MAY) be coming close to the edge of the woods… able to see some light in the clearing ahead. As you know I have been diagnosed with heart failure, stage III kidney disease, type II diabetes, and most recently (since I have been retaining fluid, stomach pain, bloating) they are looking into liver disease. (No fair piling on!!!) I will be going to Duke for a Fiber Scan in January and will be taking iron shots to replenish a loss of iron.

Soon I hope to get some strength back and feel more like a human being again. Continue to keep us in your prayers as we do you every day.

Hope my books will have a good effect on you…

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Tomorrow Mother Teresa will be canonized as Saint Teresa of Calcutta. We all need to take the time to tune in as Pope Francis elevates her to Sainthood in a Mass in Rome. Contemplating this event I took a little time to look into her life a little more.

Mother Teresa was a force of nature and wholly unique. She was always her own person, startlingly independent, obedient, yet challenging some preconceived notions and expectations. Her own life story includes many illustrations of her willingness to listen to and follow her own conscience, even when it seemed to contradict what was expected.

This strong and independent woman was born Gonxha (Agnes) Bojaxhiu in Skopje, Yugoslavia, on August 27, 1910. Five children were born to Nikola and Dronda Bojaxhiu, yet only three survived. Gonxha was the youngest, with an older sister, Aga, and brother, Lazar. This brother describes the family’s early years as “well-off,” not the life of peasants reported inaccurately by some. “We lacked for nothing.” In fact, the family lived in one of the two houses they owned.

Nikola was a contractor, working with a partner in a successful construction business. He was also heavily involved in the politics of the day. Lazar tells of his father’s rather sudden and shocking death, which may have been due to poisoning because of his political involvement. With this event, life changed overnight as their mother assumed total responsibility for the family, Aga, only 14, Lazar, 9, and Gonxha, 7.

Though so much of her young life was centered in the Church, Mother Teresa later revealed that until she reached 18, she had never thought of being a nun. During her early years, however, she was fascinated with stories of missionary life and service. She could locate any number of missions on the map, and tell others of the service being given in each place.

At 18, Gonxha decided to follow the path that seems to have been unconsciously unfolding throughout her life. She chose the Loreto Sisters of Dublin, missionaries and educators founded in the 17th century to educate young girls.

In 1928, the future Mother Teresa began her religious life in Ireland, far from her family and the life she’d known, never seeing her mother again in this life, speaking a language few understood. During this period a sister novice remembered her as “very small, quiet and shy,” and another member of the congregation described her as “ordinary.” Mother Teresa herself, even with the later decision to begin her own community of religious, continued to value her beginnings with the Loreto sisters and to maintain close ties. Unwavering commitment and self-discipline, always a part of her life and reinforced in her association with the Loreto sisters, seemed to stay with her throughout her life.

One year later, in 1929, Gonxha was sent to Darjeeling to the novitiate of the Sisters of Loreto. In 1931, she made her first vows there, choosing the name of Teresa, honoring both saints of the same name, Teresa of Avila and Therese of Lisieux. In keeping with the usual procedures of the congregation and her deepest desires, it was time for the new Sister Teresa to begin her years of service to God’s people. She was sent to St. Mary’s, a high school for girls in a district of Calcutta.

Here she began a career teaching history and geography, which she reportedly did with dedication and enjoyment for the next 15 years. It was in the protected environment of this school for the daughters of the wealthy that Teresa’s new “vocation” developed and grew. This was the clear message, the invitation to her “second calling,” that Teresa heard on that fateful day in 1946 when she traveled to Darjeeling for retreat.

An ordinary girl touched by the hand of God became a miracle for the world.

During the next two years, Teresa pursued every avenue to follow what she “never doubted” was the direction God was pointing her. She was “to give up even Loreto where I was very happy and to go out in the streets. I heard the call to give up all and follow Christ into the slums to serve him among the poorest of the poor.”

Technicalities and practicalities abounded. She had to be released formally, not from her perpetual vows, but from living within the convents of the Sisters of Loreto. She had to confront the Church’s resistance to forming new religious communities, and receive permission from the Archbishop of Calcutta to serve the poor openly on the streets. She had to figure out how to live and work on the streets, without the safety and comfort of the convent. As for clothing, Teresa decided she would set aside the habit she had worn during her years as a Loreto sister and wear the ordinary dress of an Indian woman: a plain white sari and sandals.

Teresa first went to Patna for a few months to prepare for her future work by taking a nursing course. In 1948 she received permission from Pius XII to leave her community and live as an independent nun. So back to Calcutta she went and found a small hovel to rent to begin her new undertaking.

Wisely, she thought to start by teaching the children of the slums, an endeavor she knew well. Though she had no proper equipment, she made use of what was available—writing in the dirt. She strove to make the children of the poor literate, to teach them basic hygiene. As they grew to know her, she gradually began visiting the poor and ill in their families and others all crowded together in the surrounding squalid shacks, inquiring about their needs.

Teresa found a never-ending stream of human needs in the poor she met, and frequently was exhausted. Despite the weariness of her days she never omitted her prayer, finding it the source of support, strength and blessing for all her ministry.

Teresa was not alone for long. Within a year, she found more help than she anticipated. Many seemed to have been waiting for her example to open their own floodgates of charity and compassion. Young women came to volunteer their services and later became the core of her Missionaries of Charity. Others offered food, clothing, the use of buildings, medical supplies and money. As support and assistance mushroomed, more and more services became possible to huge numbers of suffering people.

From their birth in Calcutta, nourished by the faith, compassion and commitment of Mother Teresa, the Missionaries of Charity have grown like the mustard seed of the Scriptures. New vocations continue to come from all parts of the world, serving those in great need wherever they are found. Homes for the dying, refuges for the care and teaching of orphans and abandoned children, treatment centers and hospitals for those suffering from leprosy, centers and refuges for alcoholics, the aged and street people—the list is endless.

Until her death in 1997, Mother Teresa continued her work among the poorest of the poor, depending on God for all of her needs. Honors too numerous to mention had come her way throughout the years, as the world stood astounded by her care for those usually deemed of little value. In her own eyes she was “God’s pencil—a tiny bit of pencil with which he writes what he likes.”

Despite years of strenuous physical, emotional and spiritual work, Mother Teresa seemed unstoppable. Though frail and bent, with numerous ailments, she always returned to her work, to those who received her compassionate care for more than 50 years. Only months before her death, when she became too weak to manage the administrative work, she relinquished the position of head of her Missionaries of Charity. She knew the work would go on.

Finally, on September 5, 1997, after finishing her dinner and prayers, her weakened heart gave her back to the God who was the very center of her life.

They say she had to have performed two miracles where doctors could not explain the healing in any other way. But her life itself, her devotion to God and the sacrifice of her living was a miracle all the way through. Beyond what she did everyday in the gutters of Calcutta her message went out to the world that caring for the poor was her suffering with the Lord. Every time we heard her name we could not help but think of charity and caring for the poor and marginalized of society… our thoughts of her made us ask “Why would someone give up all she had twice in life to touch and heal the leapers, poor, sick and dying of Calcutta?” And the answer that always returned to us was that it was God’s calling upon her life.” She made us all think about God!

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Last night as I watched the political ranting on one of our candidates for President of the United States, tears came to my eyes as I saw this very clear vision of what was happening in the U.S. The vision was three old, unattended graves marking the death of Idealism, Compassion, and Brotherly Love… the death of America.

Fifty years from now someone is stumbling through the ruins of one of America’s greatest cities… a city called York… and they find this plaque.

New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

She cries with silent lips: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free… the homeless, tempest-tossed to me….”

I remember from my earliest of days in school learning about America the Great nation through Emma’s prayer. If that is who we are I am so proud to be part of that better, higher plain living. But last night, people with this dream in their hearts, bowed their heads in prayer.

Keep praying for God to help us see, understand and live on the higher plain… one where Idealism, compassion and brotherly love may live and flourish.

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One of our family’s favorite movies is “The Blind Side.” As you know this is the one about the rich white family takes in and adopts the homeless black young man. Seventeen year old Michael Oher, an extremely large, physically imposing black youth, grew up in the projects in Memphis. He no longer lives with his drug addicted mother, but is in foster care when he isn’t running away to sleep wherever else he can find. Out of circumstances including Coach Burt Cotton’s belief that he would be an asset to the school’s football program based solely on his size and seeing him move, Michael is accepted into Wingate Christian School – an exclusive private school – despite his abysmal 0.6 GPA. After Michael starts attending classes at Wingate, most of his teachers believe he is unteachable, except his science teacher, Mrs. Boswell, who begins to understand that he learns in a different way.

Believing he is indeed homeless, Caucasian and staunch Republican Leigh Anne Tuohy – mother of Wingate students, teen Collins Tuohy and adolescent S.J. Tuohy, and wife to Sean Tuohy, franchise owner of several Taco Bells – invites Michael to stay in the Tuohy’s upscale home for the night. But that one night slowly extends itself both in terms of time and emotion as the Tuohys begin to treat Michael like one of the family and vice versa. Part of that emotional investment for Leigh Anne is fully understanding Michael as a person so that he can fulfill his potential as a human being, which includes giving him opportunities such as what Coach Cotton initially saw in Michael as a potential left tackle. Potential problems include Michael’s poor academic standing which may prohibit him from participating in extracurricular activities at the school, his learning disability which may extend to other aspects of his life beyond his schooling, whether he actually can play football, and authorities questioning Leigh Anne and all the Tuohy’s motivations in inviting Michael into their home and family. I tend to believe that the Tuohy family did what they did because of their faith and not of their love of Ole Miss football.

There are a couple lines in the movie that make my ears perk up. One is the conversation between Sean and Leigh Anne, as they watch their Ole Miss tutor who has come to help Michael. The tutor has just confessed that she was different – she was a Democrat. Sean looks at Leigh Anne and says; “I never imagined that we would know a Democrat before we would have black son.”

The second is the thought I had for today. It is their first football game with Michael playing. Burt kept calling for plays for passing the ball. It wasn’t working. Leigh Anne took out her cell phone and called Burt (on the field) from the stands. Her words were pointed, direct and forceful: “Run the dang ball, Burt!” Apparently Burt, even though  a coach, couldn’t see what his team needed to do, where their strengths are, or how they could get the job done. He needed someone to remind him what to do.

Sometimes we are just like Burt, we don’t see the real problem or a way around the problems before us. I spent four years in the Marine Corps. We were taught that Marines adapt, innovate and overcome. So what if there is this little old hill 881 in front of us… So what if they have machine guns, mortars and rockets on top of that hill… We have the will to win. We can call in air power to even out the battlefield. We don’t just sit there on our blessed assurances, we point our troops in the right direction and take that hill. And so we did one more time on Easter Sunday 1968. Indecision and procrastination can destroy our will to win. Identify the problem, check out your resources, and move forward to win the prize – fulfill your mission.

In checking your resources don’t forget to know that our greatest resource is the Spirit of God living within us, empowering us to overcome and move forward. Walk in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. He is the way through and the power to adapt and overcome.

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