Windsor's Child

God With Us

2011-12-23T11:21:00.000-05:00

Christmas celebrates the union of the divine with humanity. Mary, a virgin, carries God's Son in her womb for nine months. Jesus, the Lord of Heaven and Earth, is born in a lowly manger. Shepherds accustomed to the gritty reality of tending sheep in the cold and hostile outdoors are visited by a heavenly choir. And over the place where the baby Jesus lay, nourished and warmed by His human mother's breast, there is cast the long, dark shadow of the cross. This is Emmanuel. God becoming a man. God with us.

Seventy-One Christmases

2011-12-20T20:15:00.000-05:00

This is number 71 for me.

The celebration of Christmas has changed since I was a small boy in Windsor, Ontario. I celebrated Christmases numbers one through ten in that small brick house I wrote about in Windsor’s Child. In those ten Christmases I saw Christmas as a time of colored lights which frequently did not work, of a tree my dad set up in the living room and decorated, and of colorfully wrapped gifts for my sisters and me under that tree. I knew the story about Santa Claus, and I also knew the other story, about the baby born in a manger. But those stories had a hard time competing with all the goodies that were revealed when we ripped away all that colorful paper on Christmas morning.

My next eighteen Christmases were spent in Lincoln Park, Michigan, a Detroit suburb to which my family moved in the summer of 1951.. I was ten years old for the first of those Lincoln Park Christmases, and 27 on the last one. Quite a lot changed in me and in my life during those eighteen Christmases. Two very significant changes took place, the first in the year of the seventh Lincoln Park Christmas, and the second three days after the final Christmas in that city.

Two Christmases in Grand Rapids, MI, and four in Flint, MI, followed in rapid succession, even though I usually was not in either of those cities on December 25 itself. Sometimes I was back in Lincoln Park. Sometimes I was in Indianapolis, IN.

A long stretch of Christmases, twenty-one of them, to be exact, took place in the small north central Illinois town of Oglesby. Here, too, some of those Christmases were spent in Lincoln Park, and some in Indianapolis, but many of them were spent there in Oglesby.

Then came sixteen Christmases in Columbus, OH. And, Lord willing, in a few days I will celebrate my seventeenth Christmas in Columbus. If you add them all up, that is 71 Christmases I have celebrated in my seventy years on this planet.

So what? Who cares? No one, really. But here is an observation from one who has been around the Christmas block more than a few times.

It was shortly before my seventeenth Christmas, in 1957. I was 17 years old, a senior at Lincoln Park High School. I came to know Jesus Christ as my personal Savior. That was the first Christmas in which I understand why it was important for me to celebrate Christmas. It helped me to focus on why Jesus saved me. He wanted me to use Christmas and every other opportunity I could to share with others why He came to this sin-pocked world and died on a cross to provide forgiveness and salvation to all who would believe. Certainly, the ultimate Christmas gift.

My second important life-changing event came three days after my twenty-eighth Christmas. On

December 28, 1968, I received one of the best Christmas presents I have ever received, when my beautiful bride, Linda, and I were married in suburban Indianapolis, IN. Now I was the one who was on the giving side of Christmas celebration. I had a wife, and soon we had three beautiful daughters to provide Christmas for. And more importantly, we had three beautiful daughters with whom to share the saving love of Jesus Christ.

Number 71 will be here in a few days. We will be with our three daughters, their husbands and the eleven grandchildren the three couples have provided us. And Jesus will very much be a part of our celebration. All three daughters know Jesus as Savior. All three sons-in-law know Jesus. And the older grandchildren know Jesus. The younger ones have not yet reached the age they can understand how to trust Jesus as Savior.

If the Lord blesses me with several more Christmases, I look forward to the time when all 19 of us, from the oldest (me) to the youngest (Juliet) have all trusted Jesus for eternal life. I know now that Christmas is not about colored lights and colorfully-wrapped Christmas gifts. It is not about where it is celebrated. It is not about gift exchanges.

It is about Jesus. It is about Jesus only.

Pictured: The home in which my family lived in the 1940s in Windsor, Ontario, Canada.

Guilty? Or Innocent?

2011-11-08T19:43:00.000-05:00

I do not know at this point in time whether Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain is innocent or guilty of charges of sexual misconduct now being leveled against him from four women, incidents which allegedly took place a decade ago. I do not think I should necessarily believe he is innocent simply because he says he is. I know he could be lying. I vividly remember someone else who said, "I did not have sex with that woman." But he did.

But I also am not ready to believe these allegations are true simply because four women come forward a decade after the fact, when Cain is a major threat to those who are now in power, with their stories. One of the women has a very troubled past with several lawsuits and two declarations of bankruptcy on her record. Although she claims she is not interested in financial reward, she certainly has already found it in her appearances on several talk shows and the possibility of selling her story, a possibility which exists even though she denies that is her desire. But how does a person who needs money refuse offers that will certainly come to her now that she is in an international spotlight?

There are two possible scenarios here, in my judgment. One scenario features Mr. Cain taking advantage of women under his authority for his own lustful pleasure. If this is what happened, if these women are telling the truth, then Mr. Cain needs to own up to his past and deal with it. He is not qualified to be president if he cannot remain faithful to his wife and show proper respect to women who might serve under his authority in the White House.

The other possible scenario is even more sinister. It involves those who strongly oppose Mr. Cain’s conservatism finding women who formerly were his employees and possibly disgruntled over some issue agreeing to stretch the truth to the breaking point in order to bring Mr. Cain down. They do not have to receive payment directly from those who set up this sham; the notoriety they obtain from bringing charges will ensure their financial futures. If this is what is happening, then Mr. Cain will be the innocent victim of a heinous political plot.

At this point in time I do not know which is the true scenario. I have to admit I wonder why these women did not bring accusations against Mr. Cain years ago, why they waited until now. That troubles me. But I also know that many men in a position of authority are willing and able to take advantage of women employees; it happens frequently in our sex-saturated society.

I know that there were paid accusers at the trial of Jesus who were rewarded for bringing false charges against Jesus. They were believed even though their statements were false. But Mr. Cain is not Jesus and the women who accuse him are not necessarily paid liars.

If Mr. Cain is guilty, then I hope he confesses to his crimes and faces whatever justice is meted out to him. That is only fair. That is only right. That is what must happen for justice to be done.

However, if Mr. Cain is innocent, then I hope this plot against him is quickly and thoroughly exposed for what it is and that those who falsely accuse him are publicly shamed. It is a shame when men take advantage of women employees under their authority; it is an even bigger shame when an innocent man is falsely accused for whatever reasons and his reputation ruined for the personal political and or financial gain of others.

Mourning and Joy

2011-10-03T15:28:00.001-04:00

At the beginning of this year, I set as one of my goals the completion of the editing process on the book a friend of mine had written. I am glad to say that goal was met this summer, in July, to be exact, when my friend, Barbara J. Forsyth, published her book “Joy Comes in the Mourning.” That book is now available on my website, The Master’s Place, and from Amazon and from Barbara.

The book is based on Barbara’s continuing ministry to women who have or who are experiencing grief over a loss. In most cases, that loss involves the death of a loved one. But it may also involve a divorce, a loss of a job, an estrangement with a child or parent, or any other of a number of real life losses people experience. Barbara’s theme is that God wants to take our mourning and turn it into His joy. This is certainly a theme consistent with Biblical truth, and I appreciate the fact that Barbara is writing from her own experience when she says God can help us find joy even in the midst of mourning and suffering.

There is what I think is an interesting back story to my involvement in the editing of the book. Barbara was my friend 45 plus years ago, when we were both young people at the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan. However, we each went our separate ways, she to Taylor University in Upland, Indiana and me to Grand Rapids Baptist Seminary in Michigan. We lost contact with each other. She found her husband at Taylor; I found my wife at Grand Rapids.

I had no further contact with Barbara. Indeed, I did not know where she was, what her married name was, or even if she was alive. In fact, in the good life the Lord gave me with my wife and children, I didn’t even think about her for four decades.

So, how did I come to edit her book? That is the interesting story I would like to encourage you to read. You can read it by going to my website: http://www.blogger.com/goog_217296303

And while you are there, check out Barb’s book, and the other Christian books we feature in our Bookstore. And praise the Lord with me that one of my goals for 2011 has been accomplished, bringing me great joy.

Why Americans Hate Their Government

2011-09-06T20:52:00.002-04:00

A recent NBC/Wall Street Journal poll indicates that only 44% of Americans think President Obama is doing a credible job. And only 13% think Congress is doing the job its members were elected to do.
This is a complicated issue, of course, and I am not an expert at political analysis. Perhaps, however, one does not have to be to see what is happening. Here is my take on why Americans hate the government they voted into office.

There are three things, in my judgment, that have turned people against their elected officials. The first has to do with the economy at the time of this writing, which, for those reading some time later, is September, 2011. People expect their elected leaders to be able to provide jobs so that they can feed their families and pay their bills. There is some debate as to just how reasonable this expectation is, of course. Many understand that presidents and Congresses have limited power to create jobs. One political philosophy says the government should get more involved and spend taxpayer money to stimulate the economy while another political philosophy says the government should get off the backs of business owners so they can hire people. The ugly truth just may be, however, that people are ultimately the creators of jobs. As people invest in the goods and services they need and want, others are hired to help produce those goods and services, which in turn creates more consumers and thus more demand and thus more jobs. At least that is the theory.

But sometimes things just don’t work, no matter what philosophy is behind the attempts to make things work. We seem to be stuck in such a time currently. Unemployment is high and that causes tax revenues to be lower than expected and governments do not have the money to do the things they promised the people they would do.

Which leads to the second phenomenon at work in this situation. It has to do with the way people interpret their relationship with their leaders.

When I was a pastor, I noticed that when things were going well in the church I pastored, the people tended to say, "Well, we must be doing something right because God is really blessing us." They tended to say that when attendance was up, and offerings were up, and people were enjoying themselves as a church family.

But when hard times hit, and attendance was down, and offerings were down, and people were discouraged, they inevitably said, "Well, if our pastor were doing the right things, this would not be happening."

The same thing seems to be true of citizens in a free society. When jobs are plentiful and prosperity is high and people are free to indulge themselves in pleasures, they hardly give their leaders a second notice. But when things are not good, and many are unemployed and the media is feeding a line day after day about how bad things are, well, then it must be Washington’s fault. It may well be the pastor’s fault in one case, and it may well be Washington’s fault in the other. But we tend to blame our leaders whether it is their fault or not, and whether they had the ability to prevent it or not, and whether they have the ability to fix it or not.

Mentioning the media brings me to the third cause, as I see it. We do have a free press in America, which is an essential element of any free society. But a free press can also become a controlled press, by its own choices. It is not the government that controls the press, but it is the ideologies of those who own, manage and work in the media.

In America we have Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh, and their kind who regularly, daily, fill the air waves with rhetoric that is often vitriolic and pointed like a sharpened, poison-filled arrow at the very hearts of anyone with whom they disagree. They call names and they lay blame at the feet of those on the other side of the political spectrum. They gain followers by the score who in turn began to believe the rhetoric they are constantly fed until they turn the hatred that produces against their leaders, especially those on the "other side." All liberals must be scoundrels. Glenn said so. Rush said so.

But there are also so-called commentators on the other side. Rachel Maddow. Chris Mathews. Bill Maher. These are popular over-the-air political entertainers who also fill the air with vitriolic and sarcastic barbs at the other side. They gain a large following and their followers began to believe the satire and sarcasm they listen to each day. All conservatives must be scoundrels. Rachel said so. Chris said so. Bill said so.

It is the conservative entertainers against the liberal entertainers. The net result of these popular but misguided entertainers is an ever deepening gulf between the two sides in the public mind.
Add to this the financially well-endowed special interest groups like the liberal moveon.org, or the conservative Eagle Forum, and the free-flowing rhetoric that is only loosely tied to facts that each produces, and the gulf dividing Americans grows wider.

We have unions against corporations, educators against family values proponents, rich against poor, Democrats against Republicans, gun owners against gun controllers. We have Jimmy Hoffa referring to Tea Party people using a derogatory phrase and calling for a war against them. We have Sarah Palin calling for conservatives to put liberals in their "crosshairs" to eliminate them.

We cannot, of course, stifle these sources because of free speech rights, nor should we want to. Perhaps what is needed is a more responsible and objective approach from the political entertainers and commentators, and a more understanding average citizen who understands these sources have a bias to promote and are not adverse to doing or saying or spending any amount of money to hold the opposition up to ridicule and ruin, irregardless of the truth.

We expect, in our two-party system, that our political leaders will have differences of opinion and philosophies. We expect them to approach problems from their differing perspectives. But we also expect them, once they are elected, to find ways to work through their differences for the good of America. We don’t expect them to dig their heels in and refuse to cooperate with each other, and call each other names and throw the blame for all the country’s ills on the other party. It is that, I believe, that Americans are most upset about today. Our elected officials, whether conservative or liberal, are simply not working together for the good of America.

In this respect, they are not much different than the political commentators who rake in huge dollars for their network owners at the expense of Americans working together for the common good.

I Appreciate Those Who Labor

2011-09-05T16:29:00.000-04:00

It is Labor Day, 2011, a holiday I did not particularly care for when I was a child because it’s passing meant I had to go back to school! Some of that feeling continued into my later adult years when I became a high school English teacher. Labor Day still was associated with going back to school after an all too short summer.

It was my native Canada that supplied the inspiration for Labor Day in the United States. Peter McGuire of the American Federation of Labor got the idea of celebrating this day while attending a labor festival in Toronto, Ontario in May of 1882. On September 5 of that same year, the first Labor Day celebration was held in New York City. In 1887, Oregon was the first state to turn the day into a state holiday. Twenty-nine other states followed Oregon’s example. In 1894, a strike witnessed the deaths of several laborers in conflicts with the military and U. S. marshals. When the strike was settled, President Grover Cleveland sought reconciliation with the labor movement. A bill was introduced in Congress, passed unanimously and signed by the President establishing the first Monday in September as Labor Day, a federal holiday in all fifty states and the District of Columbia.

Now in my eighth decade of life, I can say I have spent my whole life avoiding hard physical labor. I have always tried to use my brains instead of my brawn, even though I am not unusually endowed with either. In the jobs I chose while working my way through college and seminary, in my ministry choices of pastor, high school teacher, and now writer and editor, I exercise the muscles between my ears far more than those in my arms, legs and back. Because of this I have sometimes taken an unsympathetic view of those who do use those muscles to earn a day’s pay. I have been wrong in this.

American workers provide the muscle that makes architectural drawings turn into real brick and steal buildings and engineering specs into real automobiles. They provide the physical infrastructure needed to transmit ideas and words instantly around the world. They build and put satellites in space. They build and maintain the equipment doctors use to treat patients. It is their hard work that brings to reality the dreams and ideas of others.

I salute the workers around the world today. I appreciate your efforts, without which I could not do the things I do. It is sad that we live in a very difficult time for workers, a time when jobs are scarce and workers and their families are hurting. I do not pretend to understand all the reasons why this is happening now here in America and in other parts of the world, and I do not know what the solution is. However, it is my prayer that the dreamers, designers and thinkers of the world soon again will be hiring workers to turn those dreams, designs and thoughts into the real world products we all need and depend on. Without workers who have the skills to build and create in the physical world, all the people who have the ideas and thoughts are just idle dreamers.

When I Know Why I Believe

2011-08-31T09:34:00.001-04:00

When I was a teenager, way back in the dark ages of the 1950s, two songs rose high in the popular music charts. Both songs were sentimental. Both songs had nice, flowing, rich orchestral accompaniments, which were far more appreciated then in popular music than they are today. Both songs were recorded by artists who enjoyed a wide popularity at the time. One of the songs was called He and was recorded by a blind singer named Al Hibbler. The other was called I Believe and was recorded by many artists, but perhaps was most identified at the time with Elvis Presley.

These songs had much in common, as noted here. And besides these things, there was one more characteristic the two songs shared. They both perpetuated and popularized a false god of human invention.

He can turn the tides and calm the angry sea
He alone decides who writes a symphony
He lights ev’ry star that makes the darkness bright
He keeps watch all through each long and lonely night

He still finds the time to hear a child's first prayer
Saint or sinner calls and always finds him there
Though it makes him sad to see the way we live
He’ll always say “I forgive.”

He can touch a tree and turn the leaves to gold
He knows every lie that you and I have told
Though it makes him sad to see the way we live
He'll always say “I forgive.”

Words by Richard Mullan. Recorded by Al Hibbler and others

I believe for every drop of rain that falls
A flower grows
I believe that somewhere in the darkest night
A candle glows
I believe for everyone who goes astray, someone will come
To show the way
I believe, I believe

I believe above a storm the smallest prayer
Can still be heard
I believe that someone in the great somewhere
Hears every word
Every time I hear a new born baby cry,
Or touch a leaf or see the sky
Then I know why, I believe

Words & music by Erwin Drake - Irvin Graham - Jimmy Shirl - Al Stillman Recorded by Elvis Presley and many others.

The true God is not “someone in the great somewhere.” He is the God of Heaven and earth. The true God is not always ready to say “I forgive.” There is a price to pay for sin, and His righteousness and holiness demand that price be paid. He also, in love, sent His Son, Jesus to pay for the sin with His own blood. God forgives those who come to Him by the blood of His Son, Jesus Christ.

I Believe does not make reference to God except to say that “someone in the great somewhere” hears prayers. He says that God is “sad” by the way we live, but offers no word on what God has done about our situation. The Bible, of course, says much about what God has done to correct our sin problem.

Neither song makes any direct reference to sin, to judgment, or to the shedding of the blood of God's own Son, Jesus. These are the things the true God is concerned about.

So, why bring up songs that have long ago faded into the history of popular music in North America, and no doubt are unknown to most younger readers of this blog? The songs may be a distant memory, but the concept of the weak, powerless, sentimental god they praised still exists and has actually grown in acceptance today. Perhaps most people today think of God as he is depicted in these songs. He is a vague and distant “someone in the great somewhere.” He is sad. He spends his time turning leaves to gold and listening to a child’s first prayer, but he can’t do anything about the death both leaves and children ultimately face.

The only way to know the true God is to find Him in the pages of the Scriptures. Those who find Him there can establish a faith relationship with His Son Jesus. When I see Jesus, that is when I know why I believe.

A Memorable Conference

2011-08-17T12:13:00.003-04:00

Stepping into the shower just as the lights went out. Having a hand soap dispenser squirt its liquid on the front of my pants in a darkened men’s room. Staying alert in spite of the rising temperature and humidity in the conference rooms where the air conditioning was not working. These are some of the impressions that stay with me from the Faith Writer’s Conference I attended in Livonia, Michigan August 12 and 13, 2011.

These are negative impressions. And they do not represent the majority of the impressions I have of that brief time from Friday evening to Saturday evening. The most memorable impression I have of the conference is the people, fellow writers, each enjoying different levels of success, but all working together to improve their craft, a craft they have each dedicated to the Lord’s use and glory.

I remember the comedy of fellow Canadian Timmy Doyle, and the heartfelt sincerity of Hanne Moon’s struggle to subdue her will to that of God. I remember the delightful exchange I had with Jan Ackerson just before her workshop on conflict in literature began.

Jan commented to the people who were sitting in the front row. “You were all over achievers in school,” she said. “I taught high school for many years, so I know. And I know why guys sit in the back row.” She looked at me, the single occupant of the back row.

“I taught high school, too,” I said. “That’s why I sit in the back row.”

“What did you teach,” she asked. I know that Amy Wiley will tell me to remove some of those dialog tags.

“English.” There, Amy. See? No dialog tag.

“Then why are you here?” Jan asked. It was true, of course. I had annually taught high school students about the different kinds of conflict that authors use in their work. But I learned some new things from Jan’s presentation and enjoyed hearing again what I had taught so many times, to a less enthusiastic crowd, I might add.

I also appreciated Amy’s instructions concerning showing instead of telling the reader what is happening, something Jan had reminded us of as well.

Patty Wysong’s presentation concerning blogging was especially challenging to me. I have a blog, two blogs, in fact, and a website. But keeping them fresh and current is a bit like rolling a large rock uphill for me.

Perhaps the most memorable thing about the conference to me will always be the people, both those who presented workshops, and those I met between workshops. Not only did they share with me their passion for writing, but they also shared their even greater passion for serving Christ.

It was a great conference, even if I did have to take a shower in the dark and have an over aggressive soap dispenser squirt me.

The Joy of Grief

2011-07-27T14:47:00.003-04:00

Surrounded by grass and stately trees, I stood one September day years ago in Victoria Memorial Gardens in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. My family and I had gathered to lay to rest my mother, Edna Marie. She had lived 96 years on this earth, and although she was a person who enjoyed life and family and especially grandchildren, there was a cloud that blocked the sun of her happiness for much of her adult life.

Mother suffered from grief. Not outwardly; she hid it well. But there were events in her life that caused her heart to ache. A devastating illness that hit her daughter, my sister, when she was five. A 1947 Plymouth sedan that crossed the center line of Highway 3 near Essex, Ontario. A lapse in family loyalty on the part of an important member of our family. The death of a granddaughter at the age of two. These events spanned four decades. There were many good years in our family life between them. But they seemed to hold a grip on Mother that could not be lifted. This grief seemed to predate these events. It was as if Mother was grieving over something from her youth that kept being reinforced with every family challenge and tragedy that entered our family history.

I was so intrigued about that grief my mother experienced that I wrote about it. I researched family history and read documents and letters from my family that I had never known existed. The resulting book I called Windsor’s Child, because I was a child when many of these things happened, and because we lived in Windsor at the time.

For the past year, I have been working on editing a book for a friend I knew in Lincoln Park, Michigan more than four decades ago. The Internet had brought her back into my life after all those years where neither of us had any idea where the other was. In July, 2010, my wife, Linda, and I met with my friend in a restaurant in Dearborn, Michigan to discuss the possibility of me helping her get her book in a publishable form. I agreed. That book is now published.

The book deals with grief, the same kind of grief my mother experienced all those years. My friend, Barbara Forsyth, calls her book Joy Comes in the Mourning. Her premise is that God wants to take our grief, our mourning, and turn it into joy.

Barb certainly has experienced her share of grief. Cancer took her father from her when she was only twelve. Later, she and her husband laid to rest their firstborn only a few days after his birth. Just six months before she met with my wife and me, Barb said her final goodbyes to her mother. And in between these events, Barb has had a continuing ministry to people she knew through her school where she taught for forty years, and in the neighborhood of the condo she and her husband share in Ontario, California.

I wish my mother could have read Barb’s book. I wish she could have read my book. Both contain the challenge my mother never seemed to understand. God wants to take our grief and turn it into joy.

However, since a couple of days before I stood by her grave, in September, 1998, I know my mother found God’s answer to her grief. I now know what caused her grief, and I now know that she has found God’s joy in His presence. There truly is joy in the mourning for Windsor’s child.

Three Score and Ten

2011-06-05T15:21:00.001-04:00

Three score and ten.

Now, that is a lot of years to be involved in any one activity. But as of Sunday, June 5, 2011, it is the measure of the number of years I have been involved in one activity, the activity of life.

The phrase, three score and ten, comes from the King James translation of the Bible. Moses (he is the author of this particular psalm) was having one of those “talking to myself and feeling old” kind of days when he wrote it. He said, “Our days may come to seventy years (three score and ten), or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”

Moses certainly knew his share of trouble and sorrow. After all, God called him to lead a stubborn nation of people who were forever resistant to what God asked of them.

The best of those seventy years we might get on earth are trouble and sorrow. They quickly pass. Then we’re gone!

That is where I am now. The best of my seventy years are history, forever consigned to old photographs and writings. If my “strength endures” I have about ten years left, according to Moses.

So, what will I do with these next ten years, assuming, of course, that I will actually have them. The same thing I have done with the last fifty: Serve the Lord Jesus Christ. It has been a blessing to be His servant all these years.

It is not that I have been called to minister to people who were better than the ancient Hebrews Moses led. People are people. They are all sinners, every last one of them. When a sinner ministers to other sinners, you can expect trouble. And sorrow, too, just as Moses said.

Servants of Jesus Christ must remain focused on Jesus Christ; if they don’t, they will fall into depression and failure. Jesus never disappoints. Jesus never fails. Jesus never resists the will of God. Keeping my attention on Him brings joy and satisfaction. Keeping my attention on myself or on people He calls me to minister to makes me think the best of my seventy years are filled with trouble and sorrow.

Funny thing is, Moses was 120 years old when he died, and Deuteronomy 34:7 says that “his eyes were not weak nor his strength gone.” Apparently there is no Biblical mandate that we live on this earth for 70 or 80 years and then we are gone. If I follow Moses’ example, then I still have fifty years more to live in this old world!

The most important thing is not how many years we get to live on this earth. The most important thing is whether or not we are prepared through faith in Jesus Christ to live for eternity in Heaven with Him after our three score and ten, or whatever we wind up getting, conclude.

Labor Unions and My Home Town

2011-03-01T23:06:00.004-05:00

I grew up in the town of Walter Reuther and Jimmy Hoffa, the town of the UAW, the AFLCIO, and a host of lesser-known organizations, all dedicated to the task of uniting labor in one of the most prominent of American industries. You would think that would make me a strong supporter of labor unions.

It did not. When I was growing up in Detroit, Michigan, in the 1950s, labor unions dominated the city, which, of course, was the home of the Big Three auto manufacturers, Ford, GM and Chrysler. Most of the parents of my friends at school were laborers, and members of one of the various unions associated with the auto industry. It seemed unions were an all-pervasive presence in the town that built the cars.

My family, however, was not a union family. My father, W. L. Parsons, was a salesman in an exclusive, downtown shoe store for women. There was no union for employees in the store. Nor did Dad want there to be a union.

Unions had a bad name in my family, because any time they called a strike, usually, it seemed, for a wage increase, it cut into sales at my dad's store. Since he worked on commission, that meant money out of his pocket, and that threatened the security of his wife and children. Unions on strike also meant that there were interruptions in major services on which the rest of us were dependent. And, ultimately, successful strikes meant the cost of living would go up for everyone as manufacturers raised their prices to cover their increased labor costs.

We were not a militant anti-union family, and my father usually voted for candidates from the Democratic party. However, a union on strike did bring out some negative comments from my parents.

Now that I am retired, and my parents are in Heaven, I do recognize the role unions have played and continue to play in our society. However, as a former resident of metropolitan Detroit, I also recognize the great abuses that have characterized unions in cities like Detroit. It is true that every dime paid to union members in salaries, health care, and retirement benefits does add to the cost of living for union members and non-members alike. Every union demand that is met means greater costs of the products the union members help produce.

I strongly believe that there needs to be a counter balance to labor unions, an opposing force that keeps unions in check. Usually that force has been government and laws designed to limit what a union can and cannot do. This is essential.

A balance between labor and management is the best way to meet the needs of both sides. Adequate pay and worker safety is necessary for the success of any company. On the other side, management's ability to manage the company for its continued health and progress is of equal importance to the workers' needs.

My home town today is a broken city. There were many elements that worked together to bring down one of America's great cities. American auto manufacturers did not respond wisely to the success of foreign-built cars. The American car was designed to last only a short time, and then to be replaced. Foreign cars were designed to last longer, and be more fuel efficient. The Big Three lagged behind foreign manufacturers in vision and response to the needs of American car owners, opting for large, gas-guzzling autos instead of the types of cars being built in places such as Japan.

The government of the city of Detroit itself became more and more corrupt and unresponsive to the need for well-maintained infrastructure and other services to its citizens. The city declined. People of means fled. Drugs, gangs, violence and the social ills these things bring took over the once beautiful and well-functioning city.

But there was another element that led to the downfall of the city. That element was the labor unions. Unwilling or unable to read the handwriting on the wall, unions continued to make demands for salaries and benefits for their members, even as the manufacturers and the businesses all the citizens depended on rapidly declined. Rather than allowing management to make tough but necessary decisions about wages, benefits, layoffs, and so forth, the unions kept up their demands for larger and larger slices of the pie. Unions share blame with management, and with the city government for the fall of Detroit. Unions are not innocent victims.

Fifty years of my life has not changed my mind about the place unions have in our society. They are necessary, certainly. But they also need to be restrained by laws so as not to overstep their place. Now that the Big Three seem to be in a better position to grab a growing share of the market, and the city of Detroit is seeking to reinvent itself with a new leadership, it will be interesting to see whether the unions will help rebuild the city and its industries, or seek to play its game by the same old, tired policies that helped to ruin the city.

The Importance of Bible Teaching In The Local Church

2011-02-18T16:34:00.001-05:00

For about two years of my life I was a member of a United Methodist church in Lincoln Park, Michigan. After I came to personal faith in Jesus Christ, something that happened outside the Methodist Church, I began to grow less and less appreciative of the church. Why? It seemed to me that no matter what the church taught, it was based more on official church positions than on what the Bible actually said. The pastor quoted the Bible in his messages, but he did not explain or proclaim the Bible texts. He simply quoted a verse here or there that seemed to support his message for the day.

This is the sole reason why I went down the street to the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan where for the next five years I sat under the ministry of one of the most godly men I have ever known. He didn't just quote the Bible, he taught it. He didn't tell us what he thought, or what the church thought. He taught us what God said in His Word.

For several weeks I attended the Methodist church in the morning, and the Baptist church in the evening. It didn't take long for me to be convinced I was getting better and more accurate Bible teaching at the Baptist Church.

Before joining the Baptist church, I went and talked with the pastor of the Methodist church and told him what I planned to do and why. His response was that I should stay in the Methodist church and "reform" it. Reformation. Didn't someone named Martin already try that?

The Baptist pastor had a much more encouraging message for me when I talked with him. He said I should go where the Lord led me, and that I should be in a church that will teach me faithfully what God says in His Word.

So, in May, 1960, at the age of19, I joined the First Baptist Church, a decision I have never regretted.

I am absolutely convinced that there are believers in many different denominations. When I taught at a Christian school, I had many students who represented a variety of denominational affiliations. They evidenced a deep and lasting love for Jesus Christ. Some of them are now my Facebook friends, and I love reading what they are doing to serve the Lord and how He is blessing them in their walk with him.

Now, don't accuse me of being a hater of Methodists; I am not. I have known Methodists who loved the Lord and tried, as I do, to serve Him. But in my judgment, after fifty plus years of studying the Bible, teaching it, and applying its principles to my personal life, I still a need a church that teaches me what God says in His Word, not one that tells me what the official positions of the church are, whether they are church law (which does not exist Biblically), or recommendations from some central committee. I really do not care what label is over the door of the local church. But I do care about how deep, how accurate, and how consistent is the Bible teaching that I receive once I am inside the door.

Retirement in the Bible

2011-02-08T20:15:00.003-05:00

Many of us, including me, have often said boldly, "There's no such thing as retirement in the Bible!" Well, actually, there is.

I was reading in Numbers the other day, following the instructions given to Moses by the Lord for the people of Israel as they journeyed from the ancient land of Egypt to the land flowing with milk and honey that Israel lives in today. God was telling Moses how his brother, Aaron, and the Levites were to conduct the ministry of the Lord among the people. I came to Numbers 8:23-28:

The Lord said to Moses, "This applies to the Levites: Men twenty-five years old or more shall come to take part in the work at the tent of meeting, but at the age of fifty, they must retire from their regular service and work no longer. They may assist their brothers in performing their duties at the tent of meeting, but they themselves must not do the work. This, then, is how you are to assign the responsibilities of the Levites. (NIV)

So, retirement is in the Bible after all!

The Levites had a heavy responsibility. They had to offer the sacrifices every day on behalf of the people of Israel. Bloody sacrifices. They spent a good part of each day when Israel was in camp knee-deep in blood and gore. Also, they bore the responsibility of making certain every detail was as God directed it to be. Their mistake could bring the anger of God against the people. It was a very difficult ministry to say the least.

When they reached the age of 50, they were no longer allowed to carry that heavy burden on behalf of the people. They were no longer to offer the sacrifices and be the go-between for God and His people.

However, retirement did not mean they could set up a TV set in their tent and sit and watch reruns of Survival: The Sinai Peninsula all day. They could still be involved in the ministry. They could still contribute. They could still be a part of the every day struggles of the people. They were instructed to assist the Levites who were still "full-time" with their duties.

For 34 years, I was on the front line of ministry in two churches and one Christian school. I was involved in 24/7 ministry to people, ministry which sometimes got messy and heavy, putting me knee-deep in symbolic blood and gore. It was what the Lord called me to do, and I did with His help to the best of my abilities.

How good it is now to be retired from all that. But, also, how good it is to still be assisting those who are in the trenches of ministry. How good it is to continue to serve the Lord Jesus Christ, even in retirement.

Goals For a New Year

2011-01-01T21:01:00.001-05:00

The new year of 2011 started warm and wet here in central Ohio, with temps in the 60s as the day began, and rain, then sunshine and falling temps down into the 30s. Winter will return tomorrow.

Linda and I both have colds this first day of the year; hers is getting better and mine never really took hold, at least not so far. Praise the Lord.

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions, but I have set some goals for 2011. Here they are:

[1] I want to distribute at least 12 copies of my books, whether free or in sales. I wrote them; I want to get them out there.

[2] I want to finish editing my friend Barb Forsyth’s book Joy Comes in the Morning, and help her get it ready for publication and distribution.

[3] I want to finish and publish my book The Missing Person.

[4] I want to add twelve new pages to my website.

[5] I want to teach a class on How to Write Your Story.

I may think of other goals as I go along. If I do, I will list them here, and indicate the progress made as we go along.

This is the year I turn 70, on June 5. Three score and ten. It occurs to me that I could either die this year, or that Jesus could return and take us all home. I could be absent from the body, but present with the Lord before 2011 ends.

It is all in the Lord’s hands. Whatever He does is fine with me.

But I need to get to work on these goals.

This Little Life of Mine: Chapter 1: Why Write?

2010-11-01T20:25:00.003-04:00

Why does anyone write? Most writers have no assurance anyone really is interested in what they write, so why bother? After all, there are only a very few people who can actually make a comfortable living out of writing. There are even fewer who can become rich, famous and successful by putting words on paper. Most people, both in history and in contemporary society, who write have to do something else to pay the bills. So, why write?

Writers write because they have something to say that they must commit to some permanent form. It does not really matter if anyone wants to read what they write or not. It matters even less if anyone is willing to pay them money for what they write. What matters is that they get their thoughts, their ideas, their heart and soul and mind on paper, or, these days in some electronic media. If anyone chooses to read it, that is a bonus. If anyone appreciates what is written, that is even more of a bonus. And if someone pays them for it, that’s nice, too. But these are not the things that motivate serious writers. Serious writers write because they have no choice.

I have no choice but to write these words. They are inside me screaming to get out, and I must let them out. I cannot hold them back any more than a volcano can hold back the spewing lava within it. If no one ever reads what I write, I will still have done what I set out to do, to set down words that describe this little life of mine.

I have been on this earth more than sixty years as I begin this writing, and that is a long time. But it is not really a long time; for one thing I have learned in these sixty plus years is that this life is temporary, transient, so much like a vapor, here today, but not to be found tomorrow.

It is because of the transitory nature of life, and because of my age, that I set about the task of telling the story of my life, whether anyone cares to read it or not. A few more years and my life on earth will be over, and I will no longer be able to write any story. At the very least, I hope that future generations of my family — my children, my grandchildren, my great grandchildren — all will read this and understand this life recorded here, and from whence they came.

In a very real sense, of course, it is not merely my life that is recorded here. I have necessarily recorded the lives of others as well, others whose little lives have intertwined with mine at various points along the way. There are many, too many to include all here.

Life is full of beginnings and endings, of new friends encountered and old friends left behind. Doors open; doors close. We encounter people — family, associates, friends — all too briefly, and they are gone. What did another man who could not resist the urge within to write set on paper? Something about all the world being a stage, and people merely players who strut and fret, and then are gone. That is life, and it is life that I hope to record here.

This is also a record — in fact, it is primarily the record — of what God has done to live His life through me. That is the main purpose I have in this treatise. I would like to testify to what God has done much more than to tell you what I have done. Because I did not have a faith experience with God until after my seventeenth birthday, the first part of this account will seem somewhat devoid of faith and what God might be doing. I didn’t know until I met God what God could do.

It may seem strange to some that I would want to write about God and how He is revealed in my life. After all, should I not prefer to record what I have done? Would I not want my descendants to understand what great things I did? Shouldn’t this account be about me and my life and what I did? I answer, “No!” And I answer that way simply because I have not done anything significant on my own. Nor could I. Nor can anyone. Humans do not handle life very well. It is too big, too demanding, but also way too fragile for our hands to deal with. We need God’s hands. He Who created life is the only One qualified to live it. He has chosen to live His life through His children; I am one of His children.

I begin this lengthy document, with or without readers. I begin not knowing how it or the life it reveals will end. I begin because something within me compels me to begin. I begin because I have something to say that I must commit to a permanent form. I begin.

In most cases, where a person other than an immediate family member is included in this narrative, I have changed the name to protect the privacy of that individual.

A Mosque and Ground Zero

2010-08-26T10:46:00.003-04:00

A Muslim leader who calls himself a moderate in Islamic theology wants to build a mosque in lower Manhattan a couple of blocks from Ground Zero where Islamic terrorists brought down two buildings and murdered nearly 3,000 people on September 11, 2001. The plan to build this mosque has polarized New Yorkers and people across the country.

Certainly Muslims have a right to build anything they can afford to build within the restrictions of zoning ordinances on land they own. They should be, and are, as free to build a mosque as Christians should be, and are, free to build a church. That is the legal part of this debate, and there really is no debate on this part of the issue. The law does not prohibit the construction of a mosque at the location in question. The plan has been approved by the city's building committee, so there are no legal hurdles to proceeding with the plan.

However, there is a tremendous amount of emotional opposition to building a mosque at this location. Some view it as a slap in the face to the families of the victims of 911. Some view it as a symbol of Islamic superiority and victory over the American infidels. Some view it as just plain disgusting. Others argue that it would be a symbol of acceptance of those who are different; it would celebrate diversity. It would remind us that not all Muslims endorsed the terrorism that struck deep fear into the hearts of nearly every American.

Personally, I have no concern over the building of the mosque at the desired location. I did not lose any family member or friend on 911, and I have no plans to visit the mosque when it is completed. I have no personal stake one way or the other.

However, it seems to me that the Muslim leaders overseeing this project need to listen to the outcry against their plan. It would be foolhardy to put up a building that is so controversial as to lead to violence and rioting. The building would be like a lightning rod attracting all the kooks of whatever stripe to create mayhem, causing property damage, injury, and possibly death.

The planners should either sell the property and locate elsewhere further away from Ground Zero, or delay construction indefinitely. They should then engage in a public dialog concerning their repudiation of Muslim extremists and the violence the world suffers because of them. That is one of the things that has made many Americans uneasy about Muslims in America. We have yet to hear any strong, public pronouncements of repudiation from the Muslim community. Lacking that, it is only logical that Americans would be hesitant to trust Muslim plans to further change the skyline of our largest city.

Thirty Years to Write a Novel

2010-01-16T16:36:00.004-05:00

I have been working for thirty years on a novel. I call it "The Missing Person." It is not a mystery story per se, but I have tried to fill it with suspense. It does have a mystery at its core, but it is more than just a mystery story.

It is about a young man who was abandoned as a toddler and, before he settles down to marriage and a career, he wants to find out who abandoned him and why. This is not easy to do. Twenty years have passed; clues are virutally non-existent, and his family and fiancee want him to move on with his life.

Of course, it is to be a spiritual story. God must be in the story, and He must be glorified in the story. To some extent, that is the easy part.

The difficult part has been making the elements of the story come together logically. What happens to one character often has an effect on another character. Making the interchanges in the multiple stories involved has been a challenge to say the least.

I had the story completed once. I let my wife and daughters read it. Their reactions were mixed. I wasn't pleased myself. So, I scrapped what I had written and started again.

Will this novel ever see the light of day? I do not know. If God can use it, He will. It likely will not be a commercial success.

But if some people read it, and are encouraged by it to trust Jesus Christ, then my thirty years of writing will be vindicated. All I have to do is finish it. That will take a while longer.

But at the age of 68 as I am, I don't have another thirty years to write a second novel.

Hiking Helps

2009-11-07T14:54:00.003-05:00

Twelve states and one province in the past forty years. Metro parks. State parks. National parks. Wildlife refuges. All have witnessed my wife and me on hikes. I remember a long, long hike in the Dolly Sods area of West Virginia a few years ago that stretched the limits of our endurance. And I remember one of our favorites, through the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge in Montana.

But it is not the quantity of hikes we have enjoyed that is nearly as important as the quality. We do not hike for physical exercise, although we certainly derive physical benefits from hiking. We do not hike to check another hiking location off our list. We have no schedule of hiking we attempt to maintain. We hike because it allows each of us to pursue a certain activity to which we are devoted.

My wife has identified more than 200 species of birds which appear on her life list. From common birds, like robins, woodpeckers and yellow warblers to more rare species such as bald eagles, yellow-headed blackbirds and eared grebes, she has spotted them through her binoculars and recorded them in her book. Of course, to get to where the birds are, she has to hike. Almost always when she hikes to find birds, I am right along side her.

I have a collection of approximately 15,000 photographs, in 35mm slides, color negatives, and digital formats that I have taken with a variety of cameras I own. From common attractions like Niagara Falls, Washington, DC and Cincinnati, Ohio to more remote places like Seney National Wildlife Refuge in northern Michigan, Farragut State Park in Idaho and the aforementioned Russell NWR in Montana, I have pointed my camera, adjusted my lenses and pushed the button to record the image in chemicals or in pixels. Of course, to get to where the scenes are, I have to hike. Almost always as I hike, my wife is right along side me.

Ours is a perfect marriage of hobbies. She can point her binoculars at birds and I can point my camera at scenery. Where there is scenery for me, there are birds for her. Where there are birds for her, there is usually scenery for me.

Hiking in pursuit of our different hobbies has given us many hours of pleasure. We took our first hike together when we were in our twenties. Now we are in our sixties, and still hiking.

While hiking, we have also seen the darker side of nature. Forests blackened by lightning-ignited fires, carcases of dead creatures, sometimes partially eaten by other creatures, devastation from floods and the sometimes indelible and destructive footprint of man.

Our marriage is not built on hiking, of course. We have raised three children together, served in a variety of works and ministries together, enjoyed our eight grandchildren together and walked through our share of life's peaks and valleys. But hiking has always been our way of finding ourselves again, of leaving the challenges for an hour or so to simply walk in the beautiful creation of God that is this earth.

Hiking is, I suppose, a fitting illustration of life. We see the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the pleasant and the unpleasant, that which builds and that which destroys, the highs and lows, the thick forests teaming with life and the barren deserts where little grows. While hiking we discover ourselves, and we further cement the relationship between us that has defined us for the forty plus years of our marriage. In pursuing pileated woodpeckers and pixelated pictures we have formed an indissoluble union not only of our interests, but of our lives.

Photo: My wife, Linda, resting on a hike in Maryland's Cotoctin Mountain State Park.

A Tough Decision

2009-08-03T19:28:00.002-04:00

Voters here in Central Ohio have a tough decision tomorrow (August 4) which is the date of a local election. Issue One on the ballot comes from the city of Columbus, which wants to raise the city income tax from 2% to 2.5%. The city claims the increase is necessary in order for the level of police and fire protection the citizens now enjoy to remain. If the issue fails, the city says, some police and fire personnel will be laid off. My son-in-law's brother is one of the police officers who may lose his job if the issue fails.

On the other hand, another half a percent of tax on personal incomes will definitely be a problem for some, perhaps many. A family earning $42,000, which is the average annual income in Columbus, now pays $840 per year in city income tax. If the issue passes, that family will pay $1,050 per year. That is only $210, but that could make a difference in a family's quality of life. It could especially be a problem for the elderly who live on fixed incomes.

Columbus has a higher police to citizen ratio than the average U.S. city. There are 2.5 policemen for every 1000 citizens. If the issue fails the ratio will fall to 2 policemen for every 1000 citizens, which is the national average. Also, Columbus has a fleet of helicopters each of which costs more then $3 million annually to maintain. The fleet is larger than those of Detroit or Cleveland, both of which are larger cities. Further, the average pay for a city policeman is $75,000 compared to $42,000 for the average citizen.

So, do I vote to maintain the job of my son-in-law's brother, or do I vote to protect the poor and the elderly from more taxes? It's a tough decision.

For many Columbus area residents, the issue gets more complicated because of Issue 2 on the ballot, which is an increase in property taxes for a large local school district. Most residents would pay an additional $4 to 500 per year if the issue passes. Once again voters are being told that if the issue fails, it will mean the end of busing, sports programs, and other services the district now performs. We are told the levy is necessary just to maintain a high quality of education in the area. Without sports programs voters are being told teen crime and pregnancy will rise and property values will fall. To vote against the issue is to vote against the children of the area.

But there are families that will suffer if the issue passes. An additional $400 taken from their annual income could be devastating to some, especially those who are older and have no children in the system.

So, do I vote so that some teens can continue to play football, or do I vote to protect the poor and the elderly from more taxes? It's a tough decision.

For those who are subject to both the income tax and the levy, the total cost will be at least $600 more than they are now paying in income and property taxes. And, certainly, if the federal government enters the health care insurance industry, taxes will be even higher. Much higher.

I know I will be criticized by some for my decision, and I know that if my vote is the prevailing one, some families will suffer loss. That is going to be true no matter how I vote tomorrow. But I have decided to vote against both issues. It is time we find another way to finance government and schools. I do not know what that way might be. I just know that the level of taxation for many Americans has reached the breaking point. This seems to me as good a time as any to say, "Enough already!"

We are in tough economic times. My wife and I have postponed indefinitely some purchases we had planned because of the instability of the times. Shouldn't governments and school districts tighten their belts along with the rest of us?

It is a tough decision.

Leaving God Out of His Own Story

2009-07-23T15:19:00.006-04:00

In the book of Esther, it has been often noted, the name of God does not appear in any verse. None. Yet, as it has also been pointed out, God is everywhere in that book.

As I have reread portions of This Little Life of Mine an autobiographical series of articles published on my website, I have noted that sometimes I have a tendency to leave God out of the narrative, even though I have proclaimed from the beginning that I want this to be a record of the things God has done in my life. I have stated that I do not want this to be about me, but I want it to be, as it should be, about God. Each chapter should be about what God did, not about what I did.

Chalk it up to human nature, the sinful human nature that I possess. That is why I tend to focus on me and not on God. But in this article, I want to focus on God especially. Even though I have sometimes neglected Him in this narrative, the truth is, He has been everywhere in this narrative.

There really is nothing in this narrative that I decided all by myself without the influence of God through His Word or through His Spirit or both. Nothing. Most if not all of the major decisions recorded here were beyond my ability to decide.

Take, for instance, my birth in Canada in 1941. I had no say in when or where I would be born. I had no choice as to who my parents might be. These necessary decisions were not made by me, certainly. Then, who made them? My parents? Not really. Yes, they lived in Canada when I was born, but they did not know prior to my birth that it was me they were bringing into the world. They did not choose me to be their son. They did what was necessary to bring a child into the world, but they did not choose who that child might be. Who did make this choice? The only one who could make that choice is God. And I believe it was His will that I be born in Windsor, Ontario, Canada to Whelan and Edna Parsons on June 5, 1941.

The circumstances of my childhood were also not circumstances over which I had much control. The house we lived in, the food we ate, the relative safety of my Windsor home as compared to the homes of others in, say, Germany, or England, or Japan during those war years, were all circumstances neither I nor my parents could ultimately control. Who did control these various elements? God did. I believe the things I experienced as a child in Windsor during World War II were all things it was God's will that I experience. Even the unpleasant things.

Words were fascinating to me, as I revealed in my book, Windsor's Child. Why? Other children were exposed to the same lessons I had in school, read the same books I read, and learned the same words I did. Why did I develop such a love for words? No doubt my parents, especially my mother who also loved words, and some of my teachers influenced me in this, but ultimately it is God who put me in the place I needed to be to learn what I did, and who put within me the response I had to words. I believe it was God's will that I learn to love words and what could be done with them.

In 1951, my parents decided to move from Windsor to Lincoln Park, a suburb of Detroit, Michigan. The move did not involve much distance. We crossed the Ambassador Bridge and drove about six or seven miles to our new home. Yet, in spite of that short distance, I had moved to a different country. Was that just my parents' choice? No, not entirely, because there were factors beyond their control that led them to make that decision. My brother's death at the age of 21 in Windsor, my dad's birth in Detroit as well as his work there, changes in economic factors that reduced the value of his American paycheck in Canadian stores; all of these influenced their decision. But who influenced all these circumstances? God did. I believe it was God's will for me to move to the United States at the age of ten.

You are not going to read in this item that I believe God brought me to this country because it was a land of greater opportunity, or because it was a free country and I was escaping tyranny. This is Canada we are talking about, a land every bit as freedom loving as the USA, and a country that provides more than ample opportunities for its citizens to succeed at whatever they choose to do. God did not bring me here to escape anything or to have a greater opportunity to do anything. The fact is, I do not really know all of why God brought me here at the age of ten. But I am firmly convinced it was His will to do so.

The Christian influences in my life - my mother, a little Baptist church at the end of our street in Windsor, some friends in high school, a girl I had a crush on in high school, things I read, including the Bible - all of these gradually worked on me to get me to the place where, in October of 1958, I established a faith relationship with Jesus Christ that changed my life more than any other decision I have ever made. Although each of the influences listed here played a part, there is no way any group of sinners could have worked together to orchestrate my coming to faith in Christ. If it were to happen, and it did, then God had to do it. I believe it was God's will that I come to faith in Christ at the age of 17 while a student at Lincoln Park High School.

It was my dad's choice that took me to a mainstream protestant church in Lincoln Park. I joined it with him before I came to Christ. After I established my faith relationship with Jesus, I found the church I attended did not preach the gospel or teach the Bible correctly. God led me to First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park where for five years I sat under the teaching of one of the godliest men I have ever known, Dr. Charles R. MacDonald. It was Dr. Mac who taught me the Word of God during those five years and it was Dr. Mac who encouraged me to consider the ministry for my life's work. But it was God who led Dr. Mac to Lincoln Park at that time, and it was God who led me to that church at that time. I believe it was God's will that I sit under Dr. Mac's ministry for those five years.

There were some very dear friends I made while at FBC. Some of them are still friends (via Internet) today. God used them to help shape me into the person He wanted me to be. I believe it was God's will for me to form those friendships with Gary, Jim, Dan, Dave, Anne, Dorothy, Helen, Barb and others whom God used greatly in my life then.

As a young man, I had a series of crushes on a series of young ladies. I really wanted to meet the girl I would spend my life with. God did not put that girl in Lincoln Park. But the girls I did date and enjoyed being with all were used of God to help me grow as a believer. I believe it was God's will that I experience those temporary relationships to help me be prepared for the real relationship when it finally came. I also am convinced it was God who kept me pure for the girl He did give me.

God took me to Grand Rapids, Michigan. God took Linda Hubble to Grand Rapids, Michigan. There He arranged for us to meet and to fall in love. There He helped us arrange our wedding. I believe it was God's will that Linda and I stand before Pastor Norm Hoag on December 28, 1968 in the First Baptist Church of Beech Grove, Indiana and establish a Christian home for His glory.

It was there in Grand Rapids that we met Pastor Jack Bowen and his wife who invited me to go to Flint to serve as his assistant prior to his retirement. I know it was Pastor Bowen's will that I succeed him as pastor there (he told me that was his desire). But I know it was not God's will. However, I believe God took Linda and me to Flint to learn, to grow, to serve and to enjoy his people there.

And, although I don't know all the reasons, I even believe it was God's will that Linda and I have a cat named Nikki and a dog named Laddie instead of children as we did in 1972. Children came later, according to His timing.

So, as you continue to read, if I get caught up in the narration of things that happened, and I forget to mention that God was the only one in full control of everything, please understand this one truth about my life and this narration, the same truth that I mentioned at the beginning, about the book of Esther.

In this narration, God is everywhere, even when He is not given His full and rightful place at the center of my life. The failure is never His, but always mine.

A Sad But Wonderful Sight

2009-07-21T20:38:00.003-04:00

It is always sad when an era ends, especially when there is a very strong visual symbol of that ending.

Such a situation is being experienced by those of us who were students and faculty at a small Christian school in Columbus, Ohio. Maranatha Christian School taught students from Kindergarten through twelfth grade for more than 35 years, but in 2004, it closed its doors. Falling enrollment and the move to home schooling among Christian families took their toll on the school's resources.

I had the privilege of teaching English and Bible classes in the junior high and high school for nine school years. I was there during the final year. I helped close the school.

Maranatha Baptist Church, which owned and operated the school, has sought for five years to find a way to use the building, to no avail. Recently the decision was made to demolish the building.

I took my cameras to and into the building to record its final moments. It is a bit eerie to walk the hallway I walked every school day for nine years, and to stand in the classroom where I taught, and look around and see, not my students, but shards of insulation, twisted wires and steel, broken pieces of wood, and holes where once there were windows. It brought back scores of memories and a knot of sadness that it was all over. The death of the building made it all so final.

But for four of the five years since the school closed, I served the church as a deacon and thus was part of the discussions involved in the pursuit of a use for the building. We considered several suggestions, but all would have involved very expensive alterations and updates to the old building. We considered demolition, but the lowest bid we received was $50,000, which we thought was a bit high. We offered the building for free to two different prospective users, but the costs of moving and remodeling the building were excessive. The building, cut off from heat, electricity and life, deteriorated rapidly.

Then came the recession, and a demolition company hard pressed for work offered to do the job for half the bid of five years ago. The congregation voted unanimously (not usual for a Baptist church) to have the building demolished.

Yes, it is sad to stand in the debris of what was once my classroom where I had the privilege of helping young minds to grow into adulthood. But it is also wonderful to see the burden my church has carried in the form of that now useless building finally lifted.

It is a sad, but wonderful sight.

Curse Those Side Effects

2009-07-09T14:20:00.002-04:00

I have written before on this blog about how I hate those prescription drug commercials on television; you know, the ones with the bright colors and pretty music and paid actors saying what a wonderful drug this is, oh, but it does have some unpleasant side effects, like warts, constipation, and death. Those commercials.

Well, the current Democratic Congress thinks it can wrangle $30+ billion out of those drug companies by altering the Internal Revenue Code to disallow companies deductions for advertising prescription drugs to the general public. As much as I hate those commercials, and I really do, I don't think I can agree with this proposal.

It is not that I have any love for the big drug companies. I know that for years they have been producing drugs in other countries and using creative bookkeeping to shelter the huge profits they make from the IRS. Maybe Congress should deal with that.

But every company is allowed to deduct advertising expenses. Advertising is a cost of doing business. It would not be fair to deny this deduction to one industry, even though that industry seems to be the most obnoxious in its advertising.

There are also potential free speech issues involved in this proposal. Companies do have a basic right to publicize their products. The media does have the basic right to make income from advertising products and services. This proposal may stomp on these rights.

Instead of changing the IRS code to disallow legitimate deductions, maybe Congress should start figuring out how to collect all those tax dollars drug companies have sheltered in overseas production. Some claim that about 60% of all prescription drug sales are in the United States, but the companies pay taxes on a much lower percentage.

Congress is desperate to find ways to fund President Obama's extremely expensive health care reform. But in seeking a prescription to ease their discomfort, they just might find that the side effects are worse than warts or constipation. It just might spell the death of free speech, at least to one industry.

I would rather use my channel flipper to avoid the drug commercials than to have Congress violate any one's right to free speech.

A Bad Week for Celebrities

2009-06-29T19:42:00.003-04:00

This has been a bad week for celebrities. Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays and Gale Storm all died this past week. You may or may not have known of some of them, but they all made their mark in entertainment in some way at some time. Now they are all gone.

Jackson seems to be getting the most public sympathy; even Congress had a moment of silence after the announcement of his death. I have to confess, I do not understand that. Jackson was an entertainer whose personal life followed a twisted path of self-medication, child endangerment and strange modifications done to his own body. I think the man is more to be pitied than glorified.

Nevertheless, these human beings are all dead. They entertained us, or tried to sell us products we may or may not have needed, and they entered our lives via public media, primary television. Another entertainer, a writer in England, once said that the whole world was a stage and the people on it were merely actors who came on stage to strut and fret their part, and then were gone. Come to think of it, the man who wrote that is also gone.

A friend of mine commented about this string of deaths by noting that we all should be patient because we will each get a turn as well. Dying, it would seem, is something we all face, something we all have in common.

The Bible states that it is appointed unto people to die once, and then face judgment, the judgment of God. The Bible further states that the paycheck people get for being sinners is death. It also says we are all sinners. You. Me. McMahon. Fawcett. Mays. Storm. And, yes, Jackson, too.

I am very thankful the Bible also says that "the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."

I will die some day (if the Lord delays His return). But I will not perish. I have eternal life through Jesus Christ, my Lord. I have no indication that this was true for any of the entertainers who entered eternity this past week.

Is it true for you?

False Views of Christian Teachings

2009-06-26T11:13:00.001-04:00

There are several profound errors concerning Christianity that keep getting repeated over and over in these posts, even though there is no basis for them either in contemporary or historical Christianity.

Christians display hatred when they state their belief that homosexuality is a sin. This is simply not true. Hatred is not the motivation for this belief. What the Bible teaches is the motivation. My belief that homosexuality is a perversion of the natural desire between men and women does not motivate me to hate anyone. Loving people does not demand that I endorse all the things they do.

Christianity teaches that heaven is gained by the good works you do. This is simply not true. Christianity teaches that heaven is gained only through a personal faith relationship with Jesus Christ. The motivation for doing good works is a desire to please God and to follow the example of Jesus, not a means of gaining points for heaven.

Everyone who claims to be a Christian is a Christian. This is simply not true. According to the Scriptures, the only way to become a Christian is to establish a faith relationship with Jesus Christ. Anyone can claim to be a Christian. But people are not born Christians. Having Christian parents, or growing up attending church regularly, or knowing the Bible stories does not make anyone a Christian. Coming to Christ with a recognition of one’s own sin and need, and trusting Jesus’ death on the cross to pay the penalty for one’s sin is the only way a person can become a Christian.

Christianity takes away one’s ability to think for one’s self. This is simply not true. Everyone has to have a world view which is based on presuppositions. The Christian has chosen to build his or her world view on the claims of Jesus Christ. Others might claim the presuppositions of Mohammed, or Darwin, or Freud. All world views are built on a set of presuppositions. We have all accepted our world view based on our faith in the reliability of someone else’s presuppositions. In effect, few of his think for ourselves. There are only so many possible world views available.

Finally, Catholicism is the primary manifestation of Christianity. This is simply not true. Catholicism is an aberration in the history of Christianity, an aberration I and many others totally reject. Catholicism does not reflect my beliefs or my practices. I have no allegiance to the pope, to the Catholic church or to Catholic dogma. My faith is in Christ, not in any church, including the one I am a member of.

Few seem willing even to try to understand what Christianity is really all about. It is one thing to find out what Christianity is all about and then reject it. It is another thing to accept vague notions and statements made by radical opponents of Christianity as true and reject the faith on that basis. That is a real example of not thinking for yourself.

An Unhappy Change

2009-05-26T20:10:00.002-04:00

When I was a child living on Westminster Avenue in Windsor, Ontario, Canada, my dad made an international journey to work each day, taking a bus, and later, driving his own car, either across the Ambassador Bridge or through the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel to downtown Detroit where he worked as an accountant. He did have a crossing card, and he did get to be known by the border officers on both sides as "one of the regulars." But the rest of us in his family were not regulars. We did not make the trip with Dad every day.

It was only a few times a year that Dad would take mom, my sisters and me, across the Detroit River into Michigan, especially after one of my older sisters married and she and her husband moved to a Detroit suburb. I remember how easy it was for Dad to get us across the border. Even later, when we moved to the same suburb where my sister lived, and he no longer was crossing each day, and so lost his status as "one of the regulars," it was still a simple process to cross the border.

For more nearly 200 years, the United States and Canada have maintained the world's longest friendly international border. Citizens of either country have never needed a passport to cross the border. "What country are you a citizen of?" the officer would ask, followed by "Do you have anything to declare?" And that was about it. In most cases, the procedure lasted less than thirty seconds.

All of that is soon to change. Because of what happened on September 11, 2001, Americans and Canadians, for the first time ever, will be required to have a passport to make the crossing at Detroit-Windsor, or at any other spot along the immense border that separates the two neighboring countries. In most cases, the procedure will still take only a few seconds. That won't change.

At the point where the Ambassador Bridge crosses the international boundary, a sign makes reference to the "peoples of like ideas and ideals" that inhabit the two countries. But this new requirement is a reminder that the world we live in now is a more dangerous place than the world I knew when I was a boy in Windsor.

My parents are now buried in a cemetery in Windsor. The last time I visited their graves, the answers to a couple of quick questions was all that was needed to cross the border.

However, because of the evil that resides in the hearts of people who live on the opposite side of the planet, people who do not share the like ideas and ideals of Americans and Canadians, the next time I visit their graves, I will have to carry a passport. That is not really a big deal, I suppose; passports are not that difficult to obtain. But an era is passing, an era when two peoples who share so much were granted easy access to each others nations. Now, perhaps, it will be just a little more difficult for Canadians and Americans to become "one of the regulars."

We've Added Ads

2009-04-23T10:45:00.004-04:00

You will notice that Google is now placing ads on our blog. We signed up for this because we want to establish some income for our tmpministries website.

Please remember that the ads placed are entirely under the supervision of Google, not us. That means we may or may not support the advertisers who appear here. Whether you support them or not is your decision.

We have assurances from Google that the ads will not be inappropriate, but we understand their definition of that and ours may differ.

We will not get rich from these ads, but we will realize a small amount of income which we will use to support our own ministries. If the ads do become a major distraction or become offensive to our way of thinking, we have the option of canceling ads on our blog.

Thanks for your understanding.

To Shout or Not to Shout

2009-04-22T14:07:00.004-04:00

I am neither a hand raiser or a hand clapper in worship services. That is not the background from which I came. Others may do what they feel comfortable doing, that is okay with me. But I am more subdued in my worship.

I've been reading the story of Jehoshaphat, King of Judah. He was one of the few "good" kings either Israel or Judah had; good because of his dependence on God.

The leaders of Moab and Ammon threatened Judah. They came with a vast army and made it known that their objective was to defeat Jehoshaphat and subdue the people. Because he was one of the good kings, Jehoshaphat immediately consulted with the Lord, proclaimed a fast and encouraged the people to come to Jerusalem to worship the Lord.

They had quite a time. One of the highlights was the King's eloquent prayer in which he admitted that he and the people had no power against this invading army. "We do not know what to do," he prayed, "but our eyes are on you."

The prophet Jahaziel spoke, challenging the king and the people with the words that God had given him. "Do not be afraid," he said. "This battle is not yours, but God's."

They had prayer, then preaching, and then praise. Jehoshaphat and all the people bowed down in humility and quietness before the Lord. Then a bunch of Levites leaped up and began shouting very loudly their praises to the Lord.

Could it be that God brings different people together in worship? Some quiet and reserved; others boisterous and lively? And could it be that it is okay to be quiet and reserved, and it is okay to be boisterous and lively, so long as all of us are focusing on our God and His greatness?

Just a thought from a non-clapper, non-hand raiser who loves and praises God as much as the loudest and most boisterous worshiper.

Liking the person, but not his policies

2009-04-15T16:27:00.004-04:00

They are a really likeable family. Devoted husband. Beautiful wife and mother. Two children. And a dog. A dog named "Bo."

The President and his family provide a very positive image for the White House. They obviously enjoy being together. They apparently really do like each other. In that respect they are a model for the rest of America where fractured families seem to prevail.

President Obama's sense of humor is refreshing and delightful. As the family approached reporters to show off the new family pet, the President remarked, "Now I have a friend in Washington." When a reporter asked if Bo was sleeping in someone's bed, he replied, "Not my bed!"

It makes it difficult for those of us who oppose the President's liberalism and his spending of trillions of dollars in the first days of his presidency. It is difficult to dislike this president with his charm and charisma and his strong family. But in spite of how likeable he is, and how much I might like him as a person, I must continue to express my opposition to his stands on abortion, on stem-cell research, on the bailout, and on a host of other issues where my conservative views are in striking contrast to his liberal views.

Is it possible to like someone with whom you strongly disagree? Of course it is. That is the situation I find myself in now. I enjoy watching the president romping on the White House lawn with his wife and daughters and Bo, I laugh at his humorous remarks, I smile when he charms someone who opposes him. I like the things he says. I like the person he is.

For the last eight years, I was not that strongly effected by the former president, even though I usually agreed with his positions and approved his actions. President Bush simply was not all that likeable. He seemed a bit aloof, a bit distracted, and one who did not always appear to enjoy his life and what he was doing. I agreed with him, but did not much like him.

But now it is all reversed. Now I find our President very likeable, but not standing where I would have him stand, nor doing what I would have him do. I like him and his family, but not his policies, political philosophies or decisions.

I suppose Bo will not have my problem. He will love the President no matter what, as long as food, companionship and a warm bed is provided. Even if it is not the President's bed.

I, however, need more. I need protection for the unborn, spending restraints, and a strong country that continues to protect my freedom and take only a reasonable amount of my income in taxes. I would very much like to have a President whom I could agree with as well as like.

Maybe next time.

Write Your Story

2009-01-07T16:29:00.003-05:00

Cemeteries can be sad places, and one of the reasons I sometimes find them sad is that so many good stories are buried beneath the green grass and white stones that dot the landscape. People are born, they live, they die and their stories die with them.

I would like to help change that. I am convinced there is real value in people writing down their own stories and preserving them for future generations, especially for their grandchildren and great grand children.

As one gets older, he or she begins to think more about the people who preceded, the ancestors, the grandparents, the great grandparents, the aunts and uncles. What were they like? Where did they live? What particular experiences did they have? What were their lives like? How great it would be if we had documents written by these predecessors to reveal to us the answers to these questions.

At my website, I am encouraging people to write their stories to leave for future generations of readers to know them. I am even offering to help people write their stories. It really is not that hard, but it is extremely rewarding.

If you are interested in knowing more, visit my site (link in the left column) to read how to "Write Your Story."

What I'm Thankful For

2008-11-27T19:04:00.003-05:00

I'm thankful for many things.

I'm thankful for the country of my birth and early childhood, Canada, and for the many Canadians who carry on a battle there similar to the one here, the battle to preserve marriage and the family and the freedom to make their voice heard.

I'm thankful for the country of my citizenship, the U.S.A., and for those who fight the constant battle to preserve our concept of freedom and justice for all.

I'm thankful for my parents who allowed me to pursue a different path of faith than they had known, and who came to that faith themselves before their deaths.

I'm thankful for friends I had when I was a young man in Lincoln Park, Michigan, friends who helped me to grow and become strong in my faith.

I'm thankful for the education I received, in two countries, six schools and hundreds of classrooms, and for the teachers who encouraged me to do what I always wanted to do, which was to write.

I'm thankful for a young lady who walked into the library of one of those schools over forty years ago and captivated my attention, my heart and my love, and still has all three of those things today. I'm thankful for Linda and for our fortieth wedding anniversary on December 28, 2008.

I'm thankful for three wonderful daughters who each have chosen the faith of their parents, and have chosen husbands of like faith and values. I'm thankful for my three sons-in-laws who have each made one of my daughters a happy wife and mother.

I'm thankful for eight beautiful grandchildren my daughters have presented to their mother and me. I'm thankful they are all healthy and being raised in the faith of their fathers and grandfather.

I'm thankful for the ministries God allowed me to have in five churches, three schools and now on the Internet and the printed page.

I'm thankful for the salvation I have possessed by faith in Jesus Christ for more than fifty years.

But it is not just what I am thankful for; it is who I am thankful to. Being thankful for all these things is meaningless unless it is known to whom I am thankful. That Person is, of course, Jesus Christ. Faith convinces me that Jesus is God, and that He is the provider of every good and perfect gift that I have enjoyed while on this earth.

Thank you, Jesus, for the many things for which I give thanks today.

Hooray For McDonalds

2008-10-11T17:05:00.010-04:00

In May, I reported my objection to a plan by the McDonalds company to donate money to an organization seeking the legalization of so-called gay marriage in the United States. One member of McDonalds' governing board, himself a homosexual, appeared to be largely responsible for the donation.

Many, including me, objected on the grounds that a corporation such as McDonalds needed to be neutral in an area as controversial as this one is. Not everyone is convinced that it is legitimate to give legal marriage status to non-traditional couples. After all, the definition of marriage for thousands of years has been a legal relationship between people of the opposite sex, one of the objectives being reproduction, something gay couples can never do.

My wife and I did choose to eat less often at McDonalds, but we chose not to be involved in a boycott of the giant restaurant chain, especially since our vacation trip (reported here on this blog) was about to begin and the thought of spending two weeks on the road without McDonalds was a little overwhelming.

But now I read that McDonalds has changed its mind and decided to remain neutral on the issue. Also, the board member who promoted the decision in the first place is no longer on the board.

I am so glad. Now, once again, I can eat a Big Mac and not feel like I am supporting something I cannot endorse. That Big Mac may or may not clog my arteries. But it will no longer clog my conscience.

Photo: The McDonalds in Wolf Point, Montana, our refuge in a rain storm in July of 2008 on our trip to the northwestern United States.

West 2008: Sunday, July 27, 2008

2008-08-20T12:00:00.003-04:00

The final day of our trip was one of the shortest driving days. Just 175 miles back to our Columbus, Ohio home. But before leaving Indianapolis, we made one stop to visit the grave of Linda’s dad, John Hubble, in Wanamaker, Indiana. He had gone home to be with the Lord just five months earlier, on Valentine’s Day.

This trip was a reminder to us of several important things. Ending the trip in a cemetery and visiting the place where my brother trained for the Navy were both reminders of the temporary nature of this life we have on earth. We all face the same future. Where there is now life there will one day be death.

We were also reminded of how imaginative our Creator God is. The variety of rock formations and animal and plant life on this planet is truly remarkable. Everywhere we pointed our cameras, binoculars, and eyes, we saw the greatness of the creation of God.

The spirit of determination which God put into the human heart was also apparent to us on this trip. Following the paths blazed by pioneers who conquered impossible lands, we sailed along in our car on broad, smooth ribbons of concrete. But we could only do that because of them and that drive God put within them.

We were also reminded of the sin that lies within the human heart as we looked at places like Farragut and the Little Bighorn where war was once prominent. All wars come from the passions of the human heart, the Bible says, and it was those passions of self and greed that raised up a Naval training center in Idaho and a battlefield in a peaceful valley in Montana.

And although we may not have been comfortable with the doctrine of a church in Idaho, we were reminded that there were those who gave up much to take the knowledge of the claims of Jesus Christ to native Americans. Not to fight them. Not to take from them. But to minister to them in the name of Jesus.

So, this trip reminded us of who we are, sinners saved by the grace of God whose imagination flung the sights we saw across this continent, and, indeed, across the world, and whose love found a way to forgive man’s sin through the death of His own Son.

To God be the glory. Great things He has done.

Photo: The cemetery in Wanamaker, Indiana where Linda's dad is buried.

West 2008: Saturday, July 26, 2008

2008-08-18T23:18:00.003-04:00

A short trip, compared to the long journeys of other days on this trip, took us from Peoria, Illinois to Indianapolis, Indiana where we would attend the wedding of Linda’s nephew, Evan and his fiancé Brianna. Since the wedding took place at 4:30 in the afternoon, we had plenty of time to get settled in our motel before heading for the ceremony at Grey Road Baptist Church.

Weddings are great. It is always enjoyable to witness the beginning of life together for a man and a woman who, as the song says, “have only just begun to live; white lace and promises, a kiss for luck and we’re on our way.”

This wedding reminded me of our wedding, and one of the reasons we decided to make this trip this year of 2008, which is our fortieth wedding anniversary. Our wedding was also in the Indianapolis area, at the First Baptist Church of Beech Grove. It also took place in the afternoon. Some of the old people at this wedding were young people at our wedding.

Weddings are also great photo opps. There are plenty of relatives around to point a camera at and preserve an important family memory.

Weddings bring family and friends together. On the last day of our journey, we would be reminded of the other not so happy event that brings families together.

West 2008: Friday, July 25, 2008

2008-08-15T16:34:00.007-04:00

Sorry, eastern South Dakota. Sorry, all of Iowa. But after you have seen the likes of Montana and Idaho and western South Dakota, everything east of the Badlands is just routine. Flat. More and more cities. Less and less scenery. But we had to cover it in order to get to the final destination of our journey, and then on home. It took us half of Thursday and all of Friday to cover the 817 miles from the eastern entrance to the Badlands to Peoria, Illinois, our destination for Friday night.

South Dakota and Iowa meet along the Sioux River. We spent Thursday night in Sioux City, Iowa, a blend of smog and the odor from a paper mill.

Friday night we entered the state in which we lived for 21 years and stayed overnight in Peoria, glad to have those 817 not-so-scenic miles behind us. But to be fair, these areas are part of God’s creation, too. They have their own uniqueness and beauty. The fact that we were jaded by our western experiences and time-constrained does not mean that God didn’t put His own touch on these states as well.

But, Glacier National Park, they ain’t!

Photo: Along the highway in eastern North Dakota, a view similar to that in eastern South Dakota.

West 2008: Thursday, July 24, 2008

2008-08-15T11:28:00.006-04:00

In South Dakota we learned about the power of dreams.

When most people looked up at the rock faces of the Black Hills of South Dakota, they saw, well, rock faces. But Gutzon Borglum looked up and saw faces in the rock. He envisioned the faces of four presidents carved into the surface of Mt. Rushmore. It was his desire to showcase democracy and the development of the United States through four distinct phases each represented by the president associated most with that phase.

George Washington would represent the birth of the nation. Thomas Jefferson would represent the growth of the colonies into a nation. Theodore Roosevelt would represent the development of the country as it expanded toward the west, and Abraham Lincoln would represent the preservation of the country through the Civil War.

The work began in 1927. It was dangerous and tedious and slow work involving 400 workers and dynamite, drilling, and carving from slings hung from the side of the mountain. Fourteen years later, in 1941, as the country entered World War II, and Borglum died, the work ceased.

Today visitors walk through the Avenue of Flags to the Grand View Terrace to view the sculpture. A trail begins at the terrace and takes visitors to the base of the mountain to view the faces up close. The trail continues from this point, but becomes very strenuous.
Of course, there is a visitor center, and there is a gift shop where many items can be purchased, proceeds of which do help in the maintenance of the monument.

Another dream, and another place for visitors to spend their money, can be found about an hour and a half down I-90 from Mt. Rushmore National Monument. It is the realization of a dream and then some.

In 1931, Nebraskan pharmacist Ted Hustead decided he wanted to open a drug store in a small town. He purchased a store in a town in South Dakota with a population of 231 souls. Business, as you might expect, was slow. That is, until Ted’s wife had an idea. Why not offer free ice water to people traveling the nearby highway? After all, they were near some natural wonders that were attracting more and more people.

It worked, and soon Wall Drug was a prospering business. It has continued to grow due to its extensive use of advertising billboards along major highways in South Dakota and neighboring states.

Today Wall Drug is a complex series of stores spreading out over several buildings. Virtually anything that appeals to tourists can be purchased here. And, yes, they do sell drugs and fill prescriptions.

Wall, South Dakota is the entrance to a land that is itself a dream, or a nightmare, depending on your perspective.

When the westward bound settlers came across the prairies on their journey to what they may have viewed as a promised land, they thought the prairie would never end. But it did. And when it did, they encountered a terrain so rugged they called it the badlands.

Mile after mile of subtle yet bold colors spread below in the Badlands National Park of South Dakota. This seemingly twisted, tortured land has actually been home to human beings for several millennia. In the 19th century, it was the Lakota Indians who called this home. They regarded these irregular formations as sacred, and they hunted buffalo to support their way of life.

But when settlers from the east arrived, conflict was inevitable. What the Lakota saw as sacred the settlers saw as a nuisance, an impediment to their progress and the establishment of their way of life. The culmination of this conflict occurred in 1876 some 370 miles west of the Badlands when Lt. Col. George Custer and Lakota chief Sitting Bull squared off over retaliations for settler invasions of Indian lands. The Lakota won the battle of the Little Bighorn River, but they lost the war.

Around every bend of the road it seems there are new versions of eroded rock. It is a constantly changing view that unfolds before the visitor. Colors can be vibrant or subdued, but the pallette used to paint these rocks was certainly a kaleidoscope of hues.

Some say these rocks are the product of millions of years of erosion, of sun and wind and water and ice remolding the rock and forming it into the fantastic shapes that we see today. But I take a different view.

I believe in a God-created universe, where every feature of landscape and every form of life is the work of a Creator of infinite wisdom and imagination and endless love for that which He created. I believe these formations began as a result of the flood reported in the book of Genesis. I believe God used the raging waters of that flood as it receded to create the beauty we see as we stand on the flat places and look out over the rugged places. I believe the Badlands are the work of God.

Although it may not be politically correct to say so, I believe the conquest of the west was also a work directed by God. The settlers brought with them the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I do not mean that every one of them were loving, faithful Christians; many were not. But the westward advance across the prairies and the badlands and the mountains did bring the Gospel to new areas and to peoples who had never heard what God did for them at the cross. I believe God wanted that to happen. A belief in sacred hills and rocks was replaced with the good news that God through Christ had offered a way for sinners to be free of the death penalty sin demands, something sacred rocks could never do.

God’s dream, if you will, is for all to come to Christ and escape the badlands that result from human sin.

Photos: Mt. Rushmore National Monument, Wall Drug and the Badlands National Park all in South Dakota.

West 2008: Tuesday, July 22, and Wednesday, July 23, 2008

2008-08-11T20:01:00.007-04:00

After visiting Farragut State Park, we spent the night at Coeur D’Alene, and set out the next morning in a different direction. Up to this point we had been traveling more or less in a westerly direction. But from this point on we would be traveling mostly east as we began the long return trip to Ohio. But there was still much to see.

Less than an hour out of Coeur De’Alene, we stopped at Old Mission State Park where a church is preserved. It was built by Native Americans, the Coeur D’Alene tribe, and staffed by Jesuit priests who lived on the premises. Originally called the Mission of the Sacred Heart in Cataldo, Idaho, it was designated as a Registered Historical Landmark in 1962. The original building was erected in 1848 after moving the site of the church some 35 miles from the valley of the St. Joe River which was subject to flooding.

The native Americans had heard about "medicine men" who wore black robes and carried a black book, and they wanted some of these men to come and be part of their tribes. Scouts were sent to St. Louis to request that such men come west to minister to them. In response, priest Pierre-Jean De Smet moved to the area and established the church in 1842.

The building was designed by another priest, Antonio Rivalli but built by the members of the tribe using a construction method known as wattle and daub. The wattle consists of strips of wood or small branches that are used to form a lattice. The daub, usually made of mud, sand, animal dung and other natural substances, is daubed over the lattice work to form a wall. There were no nails used in the original construction.

Other buildings were added to the complex, including a parish house in which the priests lived and other buildings used to house guests and for use as a port for boats on the Coeur D’Alene River which runs along the property.

The church building was restored in 1976 and is now maintained as an Idaho state park. The parish house now serves as a temporary visitor center while the new center is being constructed. There is a small cemetery down the hill from the church. The church building itself is said to be the oldest standing building in the state of Idaho. It represents the blending of Native American and American cultures.

After visiting the mission, we drove out of Idaho and back into Montana, staying in Billings overnight. The next day we continued southeast into Wyoming. Just before we reached the Montana-Wyoming border, we stopped at another place of significance in American history, a place that was the scene of a bloody battle between Native Americans and Americans.

Lt. Colonel George A. Custer, assigned to lead the 600 men of the Seventh Cavalry stationed at Fort Abraham Lincoln in the Dakota Territory, and more than 1100 miles from his home in Monroe, Michigan, set out on May 17, 1876 on orders from President Ulysses S. Grant to put down an Indian uprising in the valley of the Little Bighorn River in the Montana Territory. The discovery of gold in the Black Hills region helped to set the stage for the battle. The United States government had given a large area of eastern Wyoming to the Lakota tribe as a permanent reservation. The area included the Black Hills of what is now South Dakota. The discovery of gold brought unruly fortune seekers to the area in violation of the treaty made with the Indians. Efforts to quell this invasion failed.

An alliance was made between the Lakota and the Cheyenne, and the Indians began conducting raids on settlements and travelers. The government ordered them to stop or they would be identified as hostile and dealt with by military force.

The indians declined, and the Seventh Cavalry was sent to settle the problem.
Custer and his men arrived at the Little Bighorn in late June of 1876 and located the Indian camp on June 25. His opponents were the Lakota leader Sitting Bull and Chief Crazy Horse and the more than 1200 warriors they commanded. It is generally conceded that Custer underestimated the numbers and determination of the Indians and divided the cavalry into three separate battalions thus weakening his ability to defeat the Indians. He apparently did not realize that the Indian forces outnumbered his nearly three-to-one.

In two days of intense and bloody battle, the Seventh Cavalry was decimated. More than a third of the 600 men under Custer’s command were killed. The Indians lost no more than 100 warriors.

It was on the hill now called Last Stand Hill where Custer and his men died. It was Custer’s Land Stand. As it turned out, it was the Indian’s last stand as well. The government demanded harsh retaliation from the Indians and redrew the boundary lines putting the Black Hills region outside the reservation. In a few years, westward advancement by white settlers intensified and the Indians had little choice but to see their lands occupied by settlers.

Today, the battlefield is the site of a national monument that recognizes the clash of two cultures that took place here. In this peaceful spot it is difficult to image the horror of the battle that took place here. Monuments to the soldiers and to the warriors are both included in the area which lies within the Crow Indian Reservation where Indian horses today may wonder onto the roadway.

Brave men on both sides of the battle gave their lives for what they believed to be the truth. But perhaps those from both sides who worked together to build a mission in nearby Idaho were closer to the truth.

Photos: Old Mission church built by Couer d'Alene tribe and staffed by Jesuit priests in Idaho in 1848. Battle of the Little Bighorn National Monument, Montana, where Lakota and Cheyenne tribes defeated Lt. Col. George A. Custer and the Seventh Cavalry in 1876.

West 2008: Monday, July 21, 2008

2008-08-08T15:52:00.008-04:00

Sixty-five years separated the arrivals of the two brothers to the panhandle of Idaho. The older one arrived first, in 1943, brought here by the United States Navy. The younger arrived in 2008, brought here by a quest to see where his older brother had trained for service in World War II.

Today there is little evidence of what once stood here. A water tower. Crumbling spreads of concrete. A ghostly guard house.

Sixty-five years ago the field spread before me was the site of a huge complex of buildings known as Camp Bennion. Once hundreds of men called this home. It was part of the Farragut Naval Training Station, named after the first Admiral of the United States Navy who is famous for saying, “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” Admiral David G. Farragut started his navy career at the age of nine, and the remaining sixty years of his life were dedicated fully to the Navy.

The training center was built in northern Idaho on the shores of Lake Pend O’reille (Pend-or-RAY) in 1942. One of the men who came to Camp Bennion in September, 1943, was my brother, Ronald Albert Parsons.

Where he entered Farragut as a recruit not quite eighteen years of age, my wife and I entered the park and its visitor center. Here I found a book which listed all the men who trained here. My brother’s name was among them.

The Navy built the 700 or so buildings that once stood here out of wood, and when the Navy abandoned the site after World War II, and the land sat idle for nearly three decades, the buildings rotted and fell back into the soil from which the trees that had been cut to provide building materials once grew. Trees are growing here again.

The only building to survive was the brig. It was not built of wood but of concrete blocks. I doubt my brother was ever confined to the brig. He said in his letters that he had a clean record in the Navy and he intended to keep it that way. Today the brig serves as a museum to the center that existed here for only four years, from 1942 to 1946.

Ron used to write about the grinder, which was a large concrete oval in the center of the ring of buildings on the outer oval of the camp. Trees, grasses, and possibly a rattlesnake or two now occupy the spot where the recruits marched nearly every day. They called it the grinder because marching on the concrete would erode the heels of a new pair of boots in a matter of days. Now the same concrete has been conquered by seeds of grass and trees and weeds, erasing nearly all trace of what once was here. I walked on the crumbling concrete that was new when my brother walked it six and a half decades earlier.

The largest building in each camp was the drill hall. The hall could hold six side-by-side basketball courts, a boxing ring, an Olympic-size swimming pool, an area with a portable altar used for religious services, and an area where 2,000 men could watch a movie at the same time. Since each camp had a drill hall, there were six of these huge buildings at Farragut.

These buildings were constructed with an open truss design that allowed the roof to be supported without columns to interfere with movements on the floor of the building. This allowed the recruits to march and train indoors when the Idaho cold and snow had taken control outside.

Occasionally Ron was called on to help put out a fire in the camp. In the center of the square building that is the brig and museum stands a bright red fire engine marked with the initials “USN.” Perhaps Ron was part of the crew on a vehicle like it. There is also a green truck from the forties parked there. Trucks were used to carry the new recruits from the train station to the camp as well as to carry supplies.

In a room in the former brig, a wall shows a map of the station as it appeared in the forties when my brother was there. On a bench in front of the map are clipboards from the various camps that were there - Scott, Waldron, Peterson, Ward, Hill, and my brother’s camp, Bennion, each named for a heroic officer of the Navy. The clipboard was for veterans returning to visit the site to sign in. I signed for my brother, writing the word “deceased” next to his name.

To the north lies the small town of Bayview, situated on an inlet of Lake Pend O’reille. During the four years the training station stood just south of the town, the streets were often filled with officers and sailors enjoying a break from their duties. Today fishermen and boaters are the main visitors. We did see a family of geese swimming in the water near the floating buildings that service water craft.

In 2006, men who trained at Farragut returned to dedicate a monument to the nearly 300,000 men who trained here from 1942 to 1946. Facing the museum, a representation of the men who served bears the images of the variety of races and creeds who fought for America’s freedom during the war. They were all Americans. They were all fighting as one man. They were all trained to bring the war to a quick and successful end.

Ron arrived in 1943 at FarragutTraining Station a few days before his eighteenth birthday to prepare for service in a dangerous war. I arrived about a month after my sixty-seventh birthday at Farragut State Park to trace my brother’s route from boyhood to manhood. Much has changed in the sixty-five years that separate our two arrivals, but one thing remains the same.

Men still need to train in the ongoing defense of freedom. War is still very much an inevitable part of life on this sin-cursed earth.

Thank you, Ron, and others like you who faced danger and death to keep us free from tyrants and foes. Though you and the station where you trained are gone, neither of you is forgotten.

Photos: The entrance gate to Camp Bennion today. In the Farragut Naval Training Station museum at Farragut State Park in northern Idaho.

Ron's story is told in my book, Windsor's Child.

West 2008: Sunday, July 20, 2008

2008-08-07T11:29:00.009-04:00

The top of the world! That’s where we felt we were in this day that was truly a highlight of our trip.

We began the day in Great Falls, Montana and ended it 237 miles later in Kalispell, Montana. And in between was perhaps the most spectacular of all of America’s national parks.

Before entering the park that was on our agenda for the day, we viewed some of its mountains from a valley filled with a meadow teaming with life. We also saw up close the damage done by a recent fire.

We entered Glacier National Park at its eastern entrance near St. Mary, Montana. After stopping at the Visitor Center there, we headed west on the famous Going-To-The-Sun Highway.

This highway is a monument to human invention. Considering it was laid out and built in the late 1920s and early 1930s, it is a wonder it could even be built. A two-lane wide ledge had to be blasted out of the sides of the mountains, graded and paved. Adequate drainage had to be planned and installed. And all of this in an area that is covered in eight feet of snow each year for nine or ten months of each year.

But a greater wonder from a far greater Creator than man are the mountains themselves. Sheer walls of rock plant their feet firmly in forests of pine trees and stick their snowy heads up into the sky. Only God could create scenes like these.

Two large glacier lakes lie along side Going-To-The-Sun highway. The first we encountered was St. Mary Lake. We found a quiet picnic area to enjoy our lunch, then walked a few feet down to the shore of the lake.

Tiny Wild Goose Island sits in the middle of St. Mary Lake, its smallness providing a sharp contrast to the huge backdrop of mountains.

One of the highlights of the day, and perhaps one I wish my honesty did not compel me to relate, occurred 6,646 feet above sea level, at Logan Pass. We were on the Continental Divide at this point as we parked in the Visitor Center parking lot.

A friend of Linda’s who had recently made her own trip to Glacier told Linda to be sure to take the trail at Logan Pass. She said it offered spectacular views and that we would probably see lots of wildlife from it.

Okay. I enjoy hiking and Linda and I have hiked in many places over the forty years we have been husband and wife. So I thought little of setting out on the trail, camera in hand.

Five days beyond the middle day of July, snow still managed an obvious presence in the scenes that lay before us as we set out, with many other visitors, on the trail that led straight out from the Visitor Center. The early part of the trail was easy, given that it ran first on a paved walkway and then on a wooden boardwalk past alpine meadows that seemed in sharp contrast to the white that lay ahead in our path.

I began to be a little apprehensive. Even though I was raised in Michigan where snow is not uncommon, I had never mastered the art of walking down a snow-covered slope. Walking up was a challenge to me, but walking down was more than a challenge. It was an accident waiting to happen.

We crossed two or three snow patches, then decided that at our ages, it was probably not prudent to proceed further on a snow-covered trail that was going higher and higher up the side of a mountain. In spite of the advice from Linda’s friend, we decided to turn around and return to the area at the Visitor Center.

But there was one fairly long patch of snow lying on the downward slope of our path between us and the Visitor Center. We set out across it, Linda in front and me following and many other walkers nearby. I stepped carefully, but the downward slope and the slippery snow beneath me caused me to tumble forwards, bringing Linda down with me into the snow. Unhurt, except for my pride, I held the camera high to protect it during the fall.

Remind me not to walk downslope in snow again.

But there were pleasant things to compensate for my slip in the snow, things like bighorn sheep walking sure-footed on the very snow that was my downfall. And extraordinary views of giant slabs of rock sporting mantles of snow.

From Logan Pass we continued west on the Going-To- The-Sun-Road toward Big Bend where the road sweeps through a gentle curve alongside a spectacular valley which falls away from the road along the rock face known as the Garden Wall. Here we drove under cascading meltwater that tumbled onto the concrete and splashed over our car.

The Going-to-The-Sun road was undergoing some needed repairs and reconstruction, so we ran into orange barrels at several thousand feet above sea level on a narrow ledge that was blasted out of solid rock nearly eighty years ago. Even in the construction areas, however, there were spectacular views of the glaciers, the mountains that sported them and the valleys that lay peacefully at their feet.

Lake McDonald, the second of the two huge glacier lakes along the highway, provided a late afternoon end to our journey. Before leaving the park, we stopped at Apgar Village on the west end, and then on to our night’s lodging in Kalispell. Tomorrow we would face another milestone on our trip, but one with more impact on our emotions than on our senses.

Photo: Glacier National Park, Montana. Bighorn sheep at Logan Pass.

West 2008: Saturday, July 19, 2008

2008-08-06T23:37:00.007-04:00

An area so remote you can hear birds singing a mile away. You can hear the air moving, not the wind, the air. You can look in all directions and not see another human being.

This describes the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge in northeastern Montana, the place where we spent the better part of this day.

Russell was a painter who is well known for his paintings of rural life in early Montana. The refuge that bears his name stretches for more than 100 miles along the Missouri River from Fort Peck on the east to US 191 on the west.

From US 191, we entered the refuge via the gravel park road which winds for about 19 miles through the grandeur and remoteness of the western end of the refuge. Mile after mile of deeply eroded canyons displaying colorful bands rolled out beneath our feet. Sagebrush grows low and gray all around.

When the pioneers came to this type of land formation after crossing the seemingly endless prairie, they were frustrated because driving their wagon trains through this terrain without roads was nearly impossible. This gravel road we enjoyed certainly would have been appreciated by those western-bound Americans seeking a better life beyond these badlands.

Perhaps the highlight of the trip occurred when Linda walked down a recently bulldozed trail and disturbed a red-winged blackbird when she approached too close to the nest. The bird went into attack mode, but retreated when Linda got past the nest.

The trail ended at the Missouri River. The trail was wide enough to accommodate our car, so I risked the wrath of the bird once again to get our Rav 4 and drive it down to the river where we enjoyed our lunch under the shade of a large tree.

After lunch we continued on our way along the Auto Tour Drive. Linda enjoyed walking along the gravel road looking for birds and enjoying the quiet afternoon.

That evening we were in Great Falls, Montana. We traveled 319 miles that day, but the best of those miles were the 19 miles we drove through the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge.

Photo: Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge, Montana.

West 2008: Friday, July 18, 2008

2008-08-05T17:11:00.003-04:00

There are 284 scenic miles that separate Dickinson, North Dakota and Glasgow, Montana, and we drove those miles this day in one of the shorter driving days at four and a half hours.

Our first stop shortly after leaving Dickinson was at the Painted Valley exit on I-94 east of Medora, ND. Here the prairie suddenly becomes the badlands. From the parking lot of the visitor center here one looks into the twisted and colorful valleys lying in the south unit of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

A few miles down the Interstate, at Medora, ND, is the entrance to the south unit of the park. Here the National Parkway Road takes one on a breath-taking tour of the Badlands that inspired the nation’s twenty-sixth president to urge Congress to set aside wilderness areas as national parks to preserve them and the wildlife that thrived within them. Along the way, Linda was delighted to spot a herd of wild horses along the road.

On the Parkway Road, we first came to the site of a prairie dog town where the little creatures sound warnings when danger comes near.

We also saw wild horses and a buffalo or two as we drove along the road. But the most impressive sight was the scenery of rock and stone and scrawny plants that consume whatever moisture they can find and cling for their very lives to the buttes and canyons that run everywhere in the park.

In the afternoon, we drove the rest of the way to Glasgow, Montana. On our way we could clearly see that a storm was approaching. Fortunately when it arrived, we were in Wolf Point, a small town on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. We took refuge in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and holed up until the rain let up.

After settling in to our motel in Glasgow, we drove about twenty minutes to Fort Peck, Montana, a small town located in one of the windiest spots in the state. The town is located at the eastern end of the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge. It is where the prairie ends and the rugged hills begin.

When the pioneers crossed the prairie, it seemed endless to them. Miles and miles of an ocean of grass blowing in the incessant wind produced in part by the fact there are few trees to break it up. They thought they would never get out of the prairie.

But what they did not know is that just ahead of them, when they finally left the prairie, something much worse awaited them.

Photo: Buffalo relaxing at the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, North Dakota.

West 2008: Thursday, July 17, 2008

2008-08-04T11:56:00.004-04:00

We left the motel in St. Cloud early and again headed west on I-94. We had about 654 miles to cover by evening. Our destination was Dickinson, North Dakota.

I-94 shoots straight as an arrow across the wide expanses of North Dakota at a speed limit of 75 miles per hour. We could see for miles in all directions, with wide expanses of blue sky above us and miles of concrete ribbon speeding by beneath us.

We made a couple of stops that day for birdwatching and photography. First we stopped at the Dawson Wildlife Management Area near Dawson, North Dakota. A sign with a binocular pictured on it caught Linda’s attention, and so we pulled in to this small clearing along a rural road.

I busied myself taking pictures of the area while Linda explored the perimeter of the clearing with her binoculars for signs of bird life. Her records indicate she saw a cliff swallow, western kingbird, marsh harrier, yellow-headed blackbird, white pelican, eastern wood pewee, eastern bluebird, yellow warbler, forsters tern, and a tree swallow.

Later, across the river from Bismarck, North Dakota, we stopped at the Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park. Here she saw a red-eyed vireo, cedar waxwing, and catbird.

Fort Abraham Lincoln played a role in the history of another site we would visit several days later. This military post opposite the Missouri River was home base for the Seventh Cavalry whose commander was General George Armstrong Custer. It was the Seventh’s assignment to defend those who would open the west for both the railroad and the settlers that would follow.
In the summer of 1876, General Custer and the Seventh Cavalry left Fort Abraham Lincoln on a 500 mile-long journey into history. A problem had developed in what eventually would become southwestern Montana. Indian tribes who had not made treaties with the United States government were refusing to stay on their lands and threatened the westward expansion efforts. Under orders from President Ulysses Grant, General Custer and his men rode into the valley of the Little Big Horn River and one of the fiercest battles in the history of winning the west. None of General Custer’s men or himself returned to Fort Abraham Lincoln. Even their horses were killed in the intense fighting that lasted for two days.

We left the Fort as well, probably never to return, as we headed west to the town of Dickinson, a town of about 16,000 people situated on the eastern edge of some of the most spectacular scenery in America.

Photo: Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park across the Missouri River from Bismarck, North Dakota.

West 2008: Wednesday, July 16, 2008

2008-08-03T19:31:00.003-04:00

Again we rose early and said our goodbyes and thank yous to the Rossis and set out from Oglesby heading north on I-39. This, too, was a route we had taken before, when we lived in Oglesby. We took our children to Wisconsin to visit the House on the Rock, the home of architect Frank Lloyd Wright. But Mr. Wright’s home was not on our agenda this day.

We had many miles to cover before our day would end. Our destination for the night was St. Cloud, Minnesota, 472 miles north and west of Oglesby. We made no stops this day except for necessities, passing through Wisconsin, across the St. Croix River and into Minnesota, bypassing the twin cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis, and on up I-94 to St. Cloud.

St. Cloud is a city of about 66,000 plus people, the home of St. Cloud State University. And it was to be our home for the evening of the second day of our adventure.

After checking into our motel, we drove into the city and explored Riverside Park along the Mississippi River. Several well-kept gardens are included in the park. We explored the Clemons-Munsinger Gardens where flowers, trees, grass, fountains, walkways and the Mississippi all come together in a kaleidoscope of color and texture.

Photo: Clemons-Munsinger Gardens, St. Cloud, Minnesota

West 2008: Tuesday, July 15, 2008

2008-08-01T19:49:00.007-04:00

We got up early on this first day of our incredible journey and did the final packing of the Rav 4 for the trip. We had decided to pack our clothing into a footlocker which I purchased in 1965 when I left home to go to seminary in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The plan was to take a small suitcase into which we could place the clothes needed for the next day. This way we would not have to carry giant suitcases into motels each night and out again in the morning. The footlocker would stay in the car for the whole trip. This worked very nicely for us, although it was sometimes a struggle to get to the footlocker with all the other stuff that tended to get placed on top of it during our travels.

We also purchased a 12 volt cooler prior to the trip. Our Rav 4 had a conveniently located 12 volt receptacle in the back luggage area. We also purchased an AC to DC converter so we could plug the cooler into an AC outlet at a motel each night. The cooler would carry water, soft drinks and milk and other supplies so we would not have to purchase meals all the time on the trip. This also worked out nicely, although after several days of being churned by the vibrations of driving, the milk began to turn to cottage cheese!

Our goal for this first day was Oglesby, Illinois, the small town in which we lived for twenty-one years when I served as the pastor of the First Baptist Church there. Our accommodations for the first night were to be in the home of friends from the church. Joe and Roseann Rossi had welcomed our request for spending the night with them.

This first day took us across familiar territory. Ohio. Indiana. Illinois, via I-70 and 74. How many times had we driven from Oglesby to Indianapolis as our kids were growing up to visit Linda’s parents who lived there? And how many times after we moved to Ohio had we made the trip from Columbus to Indianapolis for the same purpose?

On the way to Oglesby, we visited a place we had visited before when our children were still living at home. The Lake of the Woods park, located along I-70 in eastern Illinois, was our first picture stop. Green grass on gentle slopes against a clear blue sky provided fodder for my ever present cameras as I photographed scenes I am certain I photographed before.
We drove nearly 400 miles on this first day, experiencing our first time change and arriving in Oglesby at about 3:00 in the afternoon, Central Time.

The Rossis were involved with Vacation Bible School at the church, so we joined them for the evening’s activities. After, we returned to their home and were joined by other old friends Ron and Jan Unzicker. Old friends are a blessing from God. They remind us of earlier times when we encouraged each other and taught each other and grew together in the Lord.

The evening’s visiting ended all too soon. The Unzickers had to go home as Ron had to get up early to get to work the next morning. Roseann faced the same prospect for the next day. Joe, like me, was retired. Once again, as we had done so many times before, we slept in the little town in north central Illinois named after an early governor of the state. And once again we felt the quietness and simplicity of small town life.

The covered bridge is in Lake of the Woods Park near Mahomet, Illinois

West 2008: The Trip of a Lifetime

2008-08-01T09:31:00.005-04:00

It was a trip planned over the course of five or six years. It was a trip of a lifetime.

Several years ago, while working on my book, Windsor’s Child, I thought it would be rewarding to go to Farragut State Park in Idaho, which in the early 1940's was the Farragut Naval Training Station. Readers of the book will remember that this is the place where my brother, Ron, was sent for training when he enlisted in the Navy in 1943.

As I discussed the possibility of this trip with my wife, she added that she would like to visit Montana, which is right next door to Idaho. She was especially interested in the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge in northeastern Montana.

These two sites became the focus of a dream trip, one that would take much time and money to bring to life. I planned this trip several ways with different itinerary and costs, and finally early in 2008, the year of the fortieth anniversary of our wedding, we decided to make the trip. We leased a new 2008 Toyota Rav 4, made the final plans, and set out on the trip on Tuesday, July 15, 2008. The trip would take us over 4500 miles, consume thirteen days, take us into eleven states and four time zones, and past one million (more or less) orange barrels. It was budgeted at about $2500. The price of gas was hovering around $4.00 per gallon as we made the final plans for the trip. We decided we were not going to get younger (I was 67 and my wife was 60 at the time), and gas was not going to get cheaper, although it did get cheaper during our trip.

It became apparent to me early in the planning that this trip would follow two historical routes. First, it would follow the trails blazed by the hardy pioneers who decided in the early 19th century to pull up stakes in the east and head west, not knowing how arduous the journey would be or what they would find once they arrived at the end of their journey. Across endless prairies on ox-pulled wagons that, at the end of the prairie, hit ground so tortuously twisted as to be impassable, they followed their dreams to the new promised land of the west.

But we were following another trail. In 1943 when my brother was sent to Farragut for training, the Navy shipped him from Detroit to Idaho on a train that followed roughly the present-day route of Interstate 94 across the northern tier of states. In his letters home, he mentioned passing through the twin cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis in Minnesota, through Bismarck, North Dakota and through the state of Montana, all of which we would pass through on our journey west.

The story of how those early pioneers won their west is a well-known segment of American history. The story of how my brother won his west is a well-known segment of my family history.

Linda and I now add our own story of how we won our west in this journey.

This is a daily journal of the trip of a lifetime, a trip we called West 2008.

The picture shows our Rav 4 in the Lake of the Woods Park near Mahomet, Illinois.

I Don't Hate Anyone

2008-07-11T12:33:00.003-04:00

McDonalds has made its response to the Christian community quite clear. In a statement issued very recently, McDonalds claims that those of us who are opposed to their support of homosexual causes are "motivated by hate."

Come on, McDonalds, give me a break! That is the same tired old line the gay community has been using for years.

Let me make this perfectly clear so even Ronald McDonald can understand. My opposition to the homosexual agenda is not rooted in hatred of those who have adopted this lifestyle. My opposition is rooted in love for God, love for the family, and love for people. To say that I hate someone because I do not agree with them is foolish and unfounded and quite frankly shows a lack of logic on the part of those who make such a statement.

I could make the same silly argument against McDonalds. I could say that they are motivated by a hatred for the Christian faith and for those loyal customers who are believers in and followers of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Since McDonalds assumes I hate homosexual people, I guess I will have to assume they hate me and the dollars I spend at their restaurants here on the west side of Columbus, Ohio and wherever I travel. So, why should I go to a restaurant that is motivated by hatred of me and all I believe in?

The answer is simple. I won't.

No More Big Macs For Me?

2008-07-04T09:11:00.005-04:00

I first discovered the joys of eating at McDonalds when I was in my twenties. That's when a McDonalds opened in Lincoln Park, Michigan where I lived at the time. The time was the early 1960s. Later when my wife and I were dating, we spent a lot of time, and a lot of money, at McDonalds, and I consumed many of their Big Macs. Later still, each of our three daughters learned to appreciate the golden arches early in their lives.

Our consistency as McDonalds customers has not wavered over the years. We still visit them regularly, especially when travelling.

How disappointing, then, to discover that McDonalds is now an endorser of homosexual causes. Their famous golden arches are now featured on the website of the National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce where McDonalds is identified as a corporate partner. McDonalds admits it has given a large, but undisclosed, sum of money to the NGLCC. Further, Richard Ellis, Vice-President of Communications for McDonalds, also serves on the NGLCC board with McDonalds' blessings.

The purpose of the NGLCC is to "promote gay business," according to press reports. McDonalds claims it regularly supports a variety of organizations that promote diversity, and that the fact that "one McDonalds employee" serves on the board of a homosexual cause does not indicate McDonalds is promoting homosexuality. Critics have pointed out, however, that Ellis is not a "teenager flipping hamburgers" at McDonalds, so he is not "one employee." He is a vice-president, an officer.

So, am I going to have to end my love affair with the Big Mac? Well, I certainly am going to have to think twice about supporting a business that is so open about its support of something I consider to be a grave denial of God's wisdom in creating human beings male and female. I probably will give the giant corporation a little time to reconsider, now that the Christian community is letting them know we are not pleased with their decision. But if it becomes necessary I am prepared to give up the pleasures of McDonalds' food for the sake of what is right. I cannot in good conscience support homosexuality in any way. Not even for a Big Mac.

I can survive without McDonalds, and McDonalds will probably survive without me. But, as Wal-Mart learned a few years ago, supporting homosexuality and losing the support of the Christian community is costly. After all, homosexual "couples" do not have an easy time creating families with children who will become future customers. Christian couples do.

A Travesty in California

2008-06-13T15:17:00.002-04:00

Tuesday, June 17 is the day the state of California takes a drastic step backward as it makes same-sex unions legal in the state. This is the result of a tragically immoral decision by the state's supreme court sanctioning such unions.

There are many residents of the state of California, I am sure, who find this decision by their state's supreme court to be reprehensible. Their position in this matter was completely ignored by the members of the court.

Same-sex couples are already lined up to secure "licenses" and to have ceremonies performed. But the fact is that even the supreme court of California cannot change one simple truth.

Marriage, by definition, involves a man and a woman. It is that simple. To define it any other way is to destroy its significance and importance in society.

God created marriage. He presented Eve to Adam in the Garden of Eden, and that forever established marriage as the union of a man and a woman. It matters not what politicians, lawyers, activists judges, ministers, or any others decide.

California has taken a step down a slippery slope by attempting to change the legal and moral definition of marriage in order to appease a vocal but immoral minority.

Speed and Distractions

2008-05-15T19:58:00.003-04:00

For ten years, I had the privilege of teaching a driver education course for teens seeking to get their license here in Ohio. My guess is that I helped put about 3000 new drivers on Ohio's roads during those ten years.

From time to time I would ask my young drivers-to-be what things bothered them the most about other drivers. One answer came up time and time again. They complained that too many drivers don't drive fast enough.

They were wrong, of course. It is not drivers who "don't drive fast enough" who are the problem. The problem is drivers who drive too fast.

Statistically, an extremely high percentage of all accidents, and almost 100% of accidents involving teen drivers have excessive speed as a factor. Excessive speed is defined as driving five or more miles over the posted speed limit, or driving too fast for conditions such as rain, snow, fog or heavy traffic.

The second most common factor that contributes to accidents across the board, young and old drivers alike, is distraction. Cell phones. Misbehaving children in the back seat. Eating. Even reading. All of these activities have been reported as contributing factors to accidents.

Drivers of all ages need to understand that driving faster than conditions allow and driving while distracted are factors involved in the vast majority of all auto accidents that take place. These accidents raise the costs of insurance for all of us, and, worse, injure and kill people.

My advice is slow down, and pay attention. Put the cell phone away, have someone else deal with the unruly kids in the back seat, save the snack for later, and put the maps, newspapers and books away until you are through driving. Everything rides on you and I driving safely.

Creation Museum Tells it Like It Was

2008-05-01T10:23:00.002-04:00

Children playing alonside dinosaurs. A dirty graffiti scarred alley. A preacher denyng the Scriptures while a bored teen fusses in a pew. Six days of creation exploding on a wide screen in four minutes. And more. So much more.

It was the first visit my wife and I made to the controversial Creation Museum in Petersburg, Kentucky, just outside Cincinatti. The museum experience was definitely worth the two-hour drive from our Columbus, Ohio home, even with gas prices hovering at $3.50 per gallon.

On our limited budget, the day cost the two of us about $95.00 including gas, seniors admissions and food. But our $95.00 purchased the opportunity to see up close what the Bible says happened from creation through to the present.

The museum interprets history in the scope of a literal understanding of the book of Genesis. Creation happened in six days. Adam and Eve disobeyed God. Chaos and confusion followed. The human race, rejecting God and His authority over them, had nowhere else to turn but to themselves and their own imaginations and inventions. The result was not good.

Evolution and creation are shown in side-by-side comparisons, something never seen in a museum that depicts the evolutionary viewpoint. Billions of years of evolution are contrasted with 6000 years of Biblical history. The tediously slow process of evolution is contrasted with the six-day creation by God of everything in the universe and of the universe itself.

The museum makes no apologies for its Biblical view of natural history, nor should it. The museum's purpose is to help the average person understand what God did in bringing the universe into existence and his plan to deal with the disobedience of its principle residents. This it does extremely well.
Much criticism has been leveled against the museum, principally from two sources. The elitist scientific community stuck with the views of Charles Darwin because any other view would lead to the necessity of God have been outspoken and continuous in their criticisms, claiming that creation is "no science" and that children exposed to creation as depicted in the museum will have a real struggle with true science classes. Some have even claimed the museum's existence will take the human race back to the dark ages.

The other critical group is found in liberal churches and Roman Catholic churches, both of which have embraced evolution even though it does not fit the Biblical model of creation.

It's a free country, of course, and those who oppose the museum have a right to state their opinions. But so do those who are behind the Creation Museum. So do those of us who accept the Genesis account as true. Some critics claim the museum should not exist; but it does, and it loudly proclaims the Bible as the Word of God, telling history like it was. To which I say, "Amen!"

Of course, I recommend the museum to every Christian family who can get to Petersburg, KY. Take your children so they can see history from a Biblical viewpoint. I also recommend the museum to those who take a different viewpoint on natural history. Come with an open mind to see how others interpret the same facts from a different worldview.

I Felt The Earth Move

2008-04-18T08:28:00.003-04:00

On Friday mornings I attend a Men's Bible Study at my church which begins at 6:30, so I have to get up about 5:30, which is the time my wife usually gets up anyway.

This morning, April 18, 2008, I was lying in bed awake waiting for my turn in the shower when I felt my body quiver slightly for five or six seconds. I thought, "that's a new one. I know I'm getting old (66), but I've never felt my body do that before."

When I came home from the Bible study, my wife said, "Did you feel it?"

"Feel what?" I said.

"The earthquake. There was a 5 point earthquake in southern Illinois this morning shortly after 5:30. I heard it on the news."

That made me feel better. I mean, there are enough bodily changes at my age; I wasn't looking forward to the prospect of my body quivering whenever it felt like it for the rest of my life. It was an earthquake that shook my bed, not my body.

Earthquakes represent a mighty force that God built into our world. And Jesus said earthquakes would continue throughout the church age. He did not say, as some have claimed, that earthquakes would be a sign of the end of the world. What He did say, in Matthew 24, was that earthquakes, wars and famines would be common during the age of the church, and that the world would grow more and more arrogant in its opposition to God and God's people.

But the end, Jesus said, will not come until the Gospel is preached to the whole world. Natural disasters are part of the world God created then cursed because of sin. Each earthquake, however, each tornado, each flood, each famine, should remind us that we are here as believers to tell others about Christ and to live for Him.

Occasionally God has to literally shake me up to remind me of that.

Who Wants to Live to Be 150?

2008-04-02T09:58:00.002-04:00

Recently I wrote about the future of my six grandchildren, wondering how their lives would be different than mine has been. Well, ABC-TV gave me a glimpse into their future last night as reporter Barbara Walters interviewed a scientist who believes that today's children will live to be 150 or more years old.

He based this claim on current research that suggests that stem cells will someday be used to grow replacement parts for diseased bodies. A patient with a bad heart, for example, could receive a new heart grown in the lab from stem cells. The same could be done for a patient with a bad liver, or kidneys. This scientist was very excited about the prospects of longevity based on growing spare parts from stem cells.

But wait a minute! Have these geniuses really thought this through? Would a lot of 150 year old people around really be a good thing? Even if they were healthy, active and productive?

Many "experts" are already concerned about what they view as limitations on the number of people this planet can actually support. Earth's population is already in the billions; what would it be like to significantly increase population by having people live twice as long as they now do? What strains would this put on food production and health care, not to mention the additional clogging of our highways with more drivers and more vehicles?

The scientist said to Ms. Walters (who herself is 78 years old), "It sounds like science fiction!" He got that right. And probably it really is science fiction.

I must be careful, of course. Somewhere in my personal library I have a statement written by a preacher who claimed that man would never be able to go to the moon. Well, some men did. Unless you believe that fairy tale that says it was all a fake! I do not want to publish on the Internet a statement that someday I might have to take back (if I live to be a 150, that is). Scientists just may be able to grow body parts someday.

But here is what I do know. We already have parts for our automobiles, but, they still wear out eventually. I can pay someone to replace the transmission, or the engine, or to restore the body of the car, but eventually the expense becomes greater than the value. Could this same situation be true of our own bodies? Could replacement parts be "installed" only to find that the results are not worth the time, pain, and expense of the installation?

And how is this going to be paid for? Certainly the medical profession does not plan to grow these parts and install them for free, or even for a reasonable price. The words "reasonable price" do not compute in the medical world. So how are my grandchildren going to come up with the multiples of thousands of dollars, probably millions of dollars, it is going to cost to replace their worn out parts?

This raises another ominous issue. Will these replacement parts be rationed out to those who "deserve" them? Since they will be so expensive, will they only be available to the rich? Will we have only wealthy centenarians while the rest of us die in our 70's or 80's like always? Will those who are deemed to have value be candidates for replacement parts while those who are deemed to have little or no value be denied replacements? Who will decide who has value, and what criteria will be used? Could it be possible that those who have a strong faith in God will be viewed as having little value while those who promote science and reason to the exclusion of God be the ones considered to have value?

My suspicions are, however, it will not come about the way the scientist interviewed last night expects it will. I believe there are limits on what man is able to do. We live in a world and in bodies cursed by God because of sin. Sickness and death are the results of this disobedience to God. The Bible says our lifespans are usually "threescore and ten" or maybe fourscore. In all the world's history, there has only been one time life spans exceeded these limitations. It was before the Genesis flood. The Scriptures indicate people then lived routinely to be 800, 900 even 1000 years of age before they died. Since the flood the life span not generally been higher than it is today, and often was much lower. There have always been and probably always will be individuals who exceed the average span. But the rule of thumb is most people do not make it to their nineties.

I wonder if ABC had its tongue in its cheek when it chose to broadcast this report on April 1. Maybe it was just a big April fool's joke. And besides, who wants to live to be 150, especially when, as a believer in Jesus Christ, Heaven and all its glories wait?

What Will Their Future Be?

2008-03-24T17:10:00.003-04:00

There are six of them, the oldest 4 and the youngest 4 months. Three girls. Three boys. All of them my grandchildren.

They were all together for Easter, at our house in Columbus, Ohio. And I, grandpa, took their pictures all dressed up for Easter services at Maranatha Baptist Church. And when I looked at the picture later when they had all returned to their respective homes, I began to think about them, and specifically about their futures.

What kind of world will they live in? What will they have to pay for a gallon of gas, or a loaf of bread, or a house to live in? What will it cost them to go to college? What will each of them do with the life that has been given to them?

But these are not the real issues that concern me. The world changes, that is a certainty. But I am more interested in what faith they will have. I wonder about their relationships with God and their faith in Jesus Christ.

They are all being raised in Christian homes by parents who have personally trusted Jesus Christ and are actively ministering to their children in the Christian faith. All six of them are in church regularly, four of them at Maranatha where my wife and I are members, and two of them at a Baptist church in Michigan. They all have strong Christian influences in their lives.

But I wonder if any of them will stray when they get older. I wonder if any of them will meet someone who does not share their faith in Christ and be adversely influenced by that person. I wonder if the world they grow up in will cause them to doubt the goodness of God. I wonder if any of them will simply not have faith in Christ when they reach adulthood.

I am convinced my daughters and their husbands are all working hard to influence my grandchildren for the Lord Jesus. But each of my grandchildren have little minds of their own, which they often express in opposition to a parental command. "Eat your vegetables" is sometimes followed by a stubborn "No" even now. What will they say "No" to when they are no longer under their parents' influence?

I can only do for my grandchildren what I did for my children. I can be an example of the believer to them. And I can pray for them.

Praise the Lord, and with His help, I am doing both.

What is True and What is Faith

2008-03-22T10:45:00.002-04:00

There is a popular understanding of the Christian faith in today's culture which goes something like this: God is a kind old gentleman who never bothers anyone and who accepts everyone warts and all, just as they are, and does not expect them to change. Jesus said we should not judge one another, and since all of us are God's children, we should be tolerant of one another's different lifestyles. If you think this is what Christianity is all about, if you think this is what Jesus taught, then please read on. I want to share something important with you.

What I described in the first paragraph is not Christianity. It is not what Jesus taught.

The theology described above does have a name. It is a religion and it has been around for a long time. It is called humanism.

Humanism teaches that humans are the focal point of the universe. Humanism puts people in the place of God. People determine their own truth, their own moral system, their own lifestyle, their own destiny. Even God is subject to human control, since humanism says God is a creation of man. Humanism is universal in its acceptance of people as they are; it makes no demands on them to change unless, of course, they are evangelical Christians who put God first instead of mankind. Then change is demanded, and those who cling to their faith are held up to ridicule and abuse.

Christianity is as different from humanism as day is from night. Christianity is God-centered, not man-centered. Christianity says God created man, not the other way around. Christianity says God determines fate, destiny, morals and truth. And Christianity not only presents a God Who demands change, but Who also provides everything that is needed for change to occur.

Here is what is true and what is faith according to Biblical Christianity. God created everything, the universe, the sun and stars, the earth, and man and woman. He gave them a perfect world to live in. And He imposed His will on them when He gave them a simple command and warned them that disobedience would bring destruction. Of course, they chose to test God to see if He meant business. He did.

The world God created was placed under a curse by God because of the disobedience of the man and the woman. Sickness, sorrow and death entered the otherwise perfect world of God. Just surviving became a major struggle and source of disappointment and discouragement. Nothing was easy anymore. And death was the common end of every human life.

But God was not content just to punish human beings. His righteousness demanded payment for sin, and He certainly has the power and the right to inflict the ultimate punishment of Hell on every human being who sinned, which would be all human beings. He is, after all, a God of wrath because He is a God of righteousness and must judge disobedience. But He is also a God of love. He truly loved these humans He created with the freedom of choice, and He wanted them to choose Him of their own free will.

So, in His love, He decided He would suffer, too, along with His beloved but erring humans. He would suffer for them and take the curse of their sin upon Himself.

He was born of a virgin in the obscure town of Bethlehem, in a cave where animals were kept. On the night of His birth, God became a human being. His purpose was to live a perfect life in obedience to God, something the first man, Adam, failed to do. And then He would suffer and die.

And that is what He did. His arch enemies, the Pharisees, constantly tried to find fault in Him but were unable to do so because there was no fault in Him. But they were able to convince the officials of the Roman Empire that He was guilty and as a result He was sentenced to die in the most cruel of Roman executions.

Body twisted with pain. Sweat poring profusely. Every breath a struggle. Muscles shaking with pain and exhaustion. Iron nails driven through the wrists and the feet and into the wood of the cross. Perhaps the most excruciating characteristic about crucifixion was the slowness with which death came.

They crucified Jesus, the Son of God, the only perfect human being Who ever lived. They thought they had defeated God. They thought they had put human beings in charge once again.

They were wrong.

On the third day, they found His tomb empty. They thought His followers had stolen the body. But they had not. The truth was that Jesus had conquered sin and death and had risen from the death of that tomb and was alive, really and fully alive.

Christianity teaches that God then offered forgiveness and restoration to each human being who would bow in faith to His Son, Jesus Christ. The eternal curse would be lifted for such, and when they were finally through with life on this earth, they would go to live with Jesus in a place not unlike the original garden in which the first man and woman failed. But there would never be sin, nor sickness, nor sorrow, nor death again. Ever.

Because Christianity teaches that God is a God of Righteousness and of Love, I, a sinner condemned by my own stubborn rebellion and sin, can be pure now and live forever in Heaven.

That certainly beats what humanism has to offer me, which is a life of struggle followed by death and nothingness. I am so glad I know what is true and what is faith because God chose to tell me about it in His Word, the Bible.

These Ads May Not Be For Everyone

2008-03-15T19:26:00.004-04:00

After watching one hour of television just now, thirty minutes each of local and national news, I was reminded once again that the only industries that can afford to advertise on TV any more are the auto makers, hospitals, and drug companies.

During my hour of news I saw incessantly pervasive ads for surgery to bind the entrance to my stomach so I can loose weight (no, thanks, I think I'll just eat less and exercise more), for drugs that will take care of just about any medical problem I might have from high cholesterol to urinary incontinence. And expose me to some possible side effects like increased risk for heart attack and stroke, nausea and vomiting, diarrhea, and even death. Thanks, but I think I'll take my chances with the condition since the drug only seems to compound the problem.

And I saw a few commercials for automobiles that were out of my budget range, and with gas prices what they are, perhaps these auto ads should carry a disclaimer like, "This automobile may not be for everyone. If you have trouble paying your mortgage, cannot afford to put food on the table, or are getting frequent calls from credit card companies about your overdue payments, this car may not be right for you."

My concern and the focus of this article are the hospital and drug commercials. They really are annoying. Worse than that, they are misleading. They suggest that whatever problems we mere mortals may encounter in this journey of life can be solved by taking a pill or going under the knife. This just is not true.

As one who favors free speech, I cannot bring myself to say that laws should be passed prohibiting medical institutions and drug companies from advertising on television, but part of me thinks that might not be a bad idea. However, rather than laws being passed which would simply further restrict free speech (we already have enough restrictions on that!), I would like to appeal to the general public to help put an end to these annoying ads. How?

Simply make it a point never to ask your doctor if this drug or this surgery is right for you. Would you run the risk of not benefiting from some drug or surgery that really could help you? Of course not. I am simply suggesting you let your doctor recommend medications and procedures. Let your doctor mention these things first. Then ask for the details, and remember, you always have the right to make the final choice on what medications you take and what surgery you might risk for your own benefit. But leave it to your doctor to recommend these choices. That is, after all, what you pay him to do.

These ads are really wasted on the general public, after all. We cannot go out and buy the products being advertised; they are only available by prescription. We cannot walk into a hospital and say "I'd like one of them stomach surgeries I saw in your ad!" We have to have a doctor recommend the surgery.

So, what is the point of spending thousands of dollars on advertising products we, the general public, cannot purchase on our own? Why are these advertisers not targeting the only people who can prescribe drugs and recommend surgery? What do they hope to gain from telling us about these things that we cannot buy on our own?

It seems to me drug companies could save all that money wasted on TV ads to the general public and really help people by using the money saved to lower the expensive price tags on their drugs. The monthly payments on the Lexus I saw advertised tonight was no doubt cheaper than what some people have to pay for prescriptions each month.

Now lowering the prices, that's something that would be for everyone. And there are no unpleasant or fatal side effects either.

Longevity

2008-03-13T10:21:00.005-04:00

Since I am now about three years and three months away from the biblical threescore and ten, longevity is a subject I have more interest in now than I did ten or twenty years ago. Also, I have been doing genealogical research on the ancestors of my wife and myself, and have been pleased to note that many of them lived long lives.

The picture that appears with this article is of Joseph and Georgianna McGregor, who were my father's maternal grandparents. He lived 73 years and she lived only 62 years because she died of accidental poisoning. They are not necessarily typical of my ancestors, however. I just happen to have a photograph of them.

As I have studied my ancestors, I have found that longevity decreases as I go back generations. Ancestors who lived in the 19th and 20th centuries lived longer than ancestors before that time. This may lead some to conclude that modern medical science has created conditions that have improved longevity. I am not certain that is the whole story, however.

One of the common reasons for short lives before the 20th century was childbirth. I have numerous ancestral families which experienced the loss of a wife and mother in childbirth. Certainly modern birthing techniques and equipment have lowered the incidence of women dying giving birth.

A common cause of early death in men was farm accidents. Farming was, and probably still is, a business fraught with dangers. Working with equipment that is designed to plow and till the earth and thrash grain can be dangerous, as can working with large animals such as horses and cattle. Accidents were a common cause of the reduction longevity in my ancestors.

But I don't think medicine alone can take the credit for increased longevity in my more recent ancestors over my more distant ones. Safety devices, changes in the way people live, and knowledge play a role, too. The important thing to remember is that our life expectancy today is normal; 200 years ago it was abnormal.

As one who believes that the Bible is God's Word, I trust its statements. In Psalm 90, which is ascribed to Moses, he writes, "All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan. Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away."

I do not believe Moses was being pessimistic when he wrote these words; he was being honest. Even though he was 120 years old at the time, he knew from observation and from revelation from God that the normal life span is 70 to 80 years. Although it had been much higher in the antediluvean era (Methuselah lived 969 years), after the flood longevity decreased over several generations to what is recorded here.

Although some periods of history have caused a great reduction in longevity, down to 40 some years at some points, no generation has managed to exceed the threescore and ten that Moses wrote about.

Sometimes we hear statements from some in the field of medical research that someday modern science will be able to break the 100 year mark in longevity. Will it happen? I don't know. I tend to doubt it, but I do not know the future.

But I do know this. My own longevity is not a matter of my health, or the health care that is available to me, or even the genes I inherited from my long-living ancestors. It is entirely in the hands of God. I have lived to the age of 66 so far because God enabled me to do so. If I reach threescore and ten, or threescore and twenty, it will be by God's grace and God's grace alone. As a child of God I am invincible until God calls me home.

This does not mean I can live recklessly or ignore my body's needs. I should take care of my body, but that is not the most important thing in my life. The most important thing is pleasing God and living for Him and trusting Him that He knows best when my time on earth has quickly passed and it is time for me to fly away.

Global Warming?

2008-03-08T19:27:00.007-05:00

As I work in my study here in central Ohio just after the Blizzard of '08 finished dumping 20" of snow (according to the Columbus International Airport) on us, it is hard to think about global warming, except that we sure could use some if it here tonight!

But I have been reading Unstoppable Global Warming - Every 1500 Years by S. Fred Singer and Dennis T. Avery, published by Rowman & Littlefield. This book argues that the current trend to higher temperatures worldwide is not the result of human activity, but rather of increased radiation from the sun. The authors claim this increase in radiation occurs approximately every 1500 years. Since the industrial revolution has only been around about 150 years, it would not be likely that it could cause the warming trend we now experience.

The authors make the point that warming and cooling cycles have prevailed on the earth all through its history as evidenced by ice core samples that have been studied. They claim the earth had a warming period during which the Roman Empire flourished, and that this was followed by a cooling period during which the Empire declined because of limitations on food production caused by lower temperatures and shorter growing seasons.

According to the authors, the most recent cooling period ended in the middle nineteenth century, before the industrial revolution began, and that this warming period continues today. But it is due to increased radiation from the sun, not, as some have speculated, perhaps for political purposes, from CO2 produced by human activity.

I do not have a scientist's mind, so much of the detail escapes me. But this I know. Not all scientists are sold on the idea that global warming is harmful and unnatural, or that it is the negative result of industrialization. In fact, this book points out that nations have tended to flourish during the warming periods because of longer growing seasons and the increase of suitable growing areas.

I do not know who is right, but looking out my window today, I find it difficult to see the effects of global warming in my neighborhood. Check back with me in a month or two when it is warmer here!

61 Years Ago Today

2008-03-07T09:00:00.002-05:00

He would be 82 years old, an old man with a full life behind him, a husband, a father, a grandfather, and perhaps a great grandfather, and a survivor of World War II. But he was not given the opportunity to do any of those things except the last one.

He was my brother, Ron, 16 years my senior, and a veteran of combat in the U. S. Navy in the South Pacific. During his two years on board the U.S.S.Dunlap, he faced a relentless enemy every day without that enemy inflicting any harm on him. He was discharged in April of 1946, having done his part to fight and to bring to an end the terrible war.

Less than a year later he was dead. Looking forward to married life with his fiancee, and a good job and a bright future, he died at the age of 21.

The survivor of World War II who spent three years thousands of miles from his home in combat situations daily, died as the result of injuries sustained in a car accident just 25 miles from his home. His fiancee was devastated. His mother, my mother, never fully recovered from the shock. His father, my father, carried the burden of loss to the day of his own death 31 years later. I was only six years old. I did not know my brother very well. He was only home that one year between his discharge and his death.

Years later, when I was an adult with grown children, my family discovered hundreds of letters Ron wrote home from the war. It was through those letters I got to know my brother. He was a gentle and optimistic man who did a terrible job in an incredibly difficult time of history. But that was behind him, and before him stretched the promise of a good life, a good life he would never know.

March 7, 1947, Ronald Albert Parsons left this earth for the experiences of eternity. I remember him, and continue to tell his story, a story which covers a significant portion of my book Windsor's Child.

Now I'm a Blogger!

2008-03-06T16:24:00.001-05:00

You must understand. Writing is a compulsion to me. I have to do it. I don't care if anyone reads what I write or not. Well, actually, I do like to have readers. But even if I didn't, I would still write.

I write on my website. I write on other people's websites. And now I am writing here. Please check back often if you like, to read what I have written.

But if you choose not to, that's okay. I will still be writing here.