"Mileposts..........................."

Administration has taught me to hold back sixty-minutes from those twenty-four hours of training required of me on a yearly basis since, just before final testing in May, staff is held after-school for such amount in order to inform us of any changes to the rules and regulations. Other than that one yet to come, though, the “final nail in the coffin” was hammered in yesterday afternoon and the matter laid to rest. This will be my eleventh voyage as an Elementary Special-Ed assistant, much changing along the way, three different principals within that time span bringing different manners of “occupying the helm”, the facility, itself, growing greatly in the number of students, and also, it seems to me, what we, as a body, have learned in so far as understanding and reaching these kids has slowly greatly improved. Love, of course, has always been part of the journey; and maybe it’s just me and my own personal walk down the path to which I refer; but two of those classes, taken yesterday morning, just really spoke to me of “doing what we ought to be doing”. When I stepped into this a decade ago, my knowledge of autism was nil. There was no introduction given this old man other than “we need help with a behavioral problem”. Many the day during those first weeks, sitting alone with my charge in an otherwise empty room, thoughts were entertained as to what in the world was I doing there when retirement had previously been considered as finally being able to just relax and forget existing on somebody else’s schedule. Something, however, kept me there. A growing attachment with the boy? A sense of having purpose? Whatever it was, what it became was another “following God’s tug on my heart”, a continual “on the job” learning experience fed mostly by His rod and staff. Thankfully, the system provided input here and there, feedback from highly degreed individuals who would visit the room, teach some of these annual sessions; but, oh how refreshing to finally sit Wednesday and listen to some who have actually been working “in the trenches” from the beginning, who can express the job in terms of “I’ve been there”, who put themselves sincerely into the nitty-gritty of it and know the individual, not just the manual. That, it seems to me, is a truth that we within the Church need to gain as well…..

"Adrift..............................."

Monday was the first of three consecutive days of pre-school classes in an effort to amass twenty-four hours require since they are already part of my yearly paycheck. There were four scheduled yesterday, all chosen by me from a list of titles that often give you little idea of the subject matter, no real explanation otherwise shared; so, as it turned out, of the three one-hour sessions, I found myself in one which provided me with nothing applicable to my job and another which informed us of little other than the fact that “we all have our days”, everybody goes through “moods”. First out of the barrel, however, introduced me to available on-line, free-to-all, educational instruction through something called the “Kahn Academy”, growing more all the time and day, now a nation-wide phenomenon. I’m thinking my grandson could use a little help with his algebra and even this old man might take a whack at chemistry or physics… It was actually the longer two-hour session, though, that has remained with me. It was taught by the same woman who shared with us that it’s alright to have our ups and downs, but this one dealt with the under-lying reasons for any child’s behavior, a huge picture of an iceberg utilized to emphasize such truth and all of us asked to give three possible similarities between that floating mass of frozen water and that student who might be a problem in some way. Almost everyone caught the idea of our only seeing the “tip” of what actually goes much deeper. Some spoke, as well, of my own thoughts concerning both sides of the equation being cold, yet melting if warmth is applied. In such company, however, it seemed to me better to keep my third perception to myself, a suggestion that neither “object” under discussion had any anchorage. Pointing it out, of course, wouldn’t necessarily have had to be addressed in a spiritual sense, good parents being, as I see it, able to provide such need for a child. It’s just that, without being inwardly secured, themselves, to a Creator who is over all, surely there is a greater potential for shipwreck all around; and I’m not so sure the lady in front of us, a product of modern psychology, would have wanted to go sailing into those waters…..

"Serenity........................................."

These last week or so, thanks to cable’s giving me the ability to record and watch later, I’ve been able to take in several episodes of the educational channel’s presentation of “The War”, about three hours worth thus far and not necessarily chronologically coming at me. Some of the events took place in North Africa; others focused on our entrance into the Pacific arena. The landing at the southern end of Italy became not much more than a beachhead until we got behind the enemy lines at Anzio in an attempt to initiate a push toward Rome. It is actual footage of our soldiers in battle, today’s portion also including what it was like for Air Force bomber crews to battle both flak and German fighter pilots. A narrator walks you through all the history, but the story is continually punctuated with both survivors who were there and those who lived through it here at home telling of their experiences. The attraction, for me, has nothing at all to do with combat and carnage. This is that generation I knew as father and mother, aunts and uncles, the era into which I was introduced just fifty four days prior to Pearl Harbor. My dad served, leaving behind a wife and three small children. It was a world only familiar to me afterwards, my first vivid memory of such time being his return, my mom carrying my younger brother and walking me and my sister down the street when he walked out of an alley-way, surprising us, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. It was a time yet steeped in segregation, the film, in all truthfulness, showing just how hypocritical we were in demanding those we still held in a form of slavery to give their lives in a fight for freedom; but, nonetheless, to this old man it remains framed and treasured, happiness in my neck of the words, no television, no computer technology, just family and friends facing each morning as it came to us, life not so full of global threat, the enemy having been defeated… Will my grandkids likewise look back and recall their own past? I’m not so sure anymore of this mess that we are passing on to them. My only confidence is in an anchorage that wasn’t known until my adult years, an assurance each of us must find for ourself, but a river in which they have been swimming almost since birth. In Him I trust and to Him I continually commit those who hold my heart. Peace, as it always has, is an internal gift of God…….

"Medicine..........................."

”Unto you it is given to know the mystery of the kingdom of God; but unto them that are without, all these things are done in parables; that seeing, they may see and not perceive; and hearing, they may hear and not understand; lest at any time they should be converted and their sins should be forgiven them”…..Mark 4:11-12

Still chewing on Tony’s thoughts concerning what Jesus meant in the above portion of Scripture, I circled the soccer field Friday afternoon silently talking to the men at the mission. The last time we were there, one fellow came to Dave afterwards confessing his conversion to Christ as a child, but also acknowledging a twenty-year addiction to drugs, his understanding of him being “saved” requiring some instantaneous victory over the latter. My view of the Gospel message, however, is a bit different, allowing for a walk with the Holy Ghost, a journey wherein an inner work is ever in progress, His patience willing to take us just as we are if we are but willing to give ourselves in a surrender of who and what we are, committing our stumble unto His grace. What’s more, I believe that the kingdom is won more so out of individual struggles than it is out of religious institutions that tend to get all wrapped up in organization and ego, losing sight of the personal pieces of the puzzle. I see it in the Church. I see it in government. The world around us right now is in a mess, people looking for answers, economically, socially, the nature of the beast revealed in widespread riots and war. Here at home, we are divided right down the middle. The solution, though, it seems to me, is not a matter of “who” occupies the office (and I’m talking about the whole can of worms up in D.C.), but “who” occupies the man (or woman) we have elected to sit in the seat. Never will we all think alike. We can, however, all know the same inner anchor-line and pray for each other as we go. The problem will not be cured merely with a ballot booth since the real root of the matter comes back to believers who think their faith no more than a doctrinal dogma held in their head rather than a Reality in their “belly” restored unto them via Jesus nailed to a Cross. If God IS "in" us, then it begins with “me”, leaven in the loaf, seed sown in the deepest part of who and what we are. It is a process, not an instantaneous transformation, yet it is contagious if that internal stream is allowed to come forth……

"Reminders........................"

My mechanic operates out of an old barn converted into a garage, located about a half hour drive south of me, out a windy, two-lane road, up and down a few Kentucky hills, then back a ridge a mile or so over an undivided, even “crookeder” route. In terminology my family used when I was a child, it’s “out in the country”. With merely a few open days yet left on my calendar before school starts, though, I drove the old blue Toyota Corolla out for an oil change yesterday, taking along one of my Ravi Zacharias books to thumb through while there. This isn’t Jiffy Lube or the waiting area at your local auto dealer’s place of business. Henry’s “office” is to one side of four racks, no doors, not much in the way of walls, for that matter, several decades of grease, dust, tools, farm equipment, pin-up pictures of old cars as well as women, an ancient desk covered with paperwork that seems to overflow to other parts of the place, and a coffee pot sitting at an angle atop some books on a bench near the entrance. There’s a metal kitchen table with a couple of chairs positioned near a refrigerator whose outside surface appears to have never known a wipe-down with any sort of cleanser. Seated there on this occasion was an old man, a bit thinner than me, but about the same height, and his grey hair, though shaggy in back, merely an extension of his full beard, trimmed and not “Santa Claus”, yet a good handful around that lower part of his face. When he spoke, I sat down beside him; and, from there it was forty-five minutes of his life history. Born in Perry County, quitting school at the age of thirteen when his father died in the mines, he came north looking for a job, only by chance, while working at a sheet-metal factory in Cincinnati, did he pick up knowledge of automobiles from a friend and it led to nearly sixty years within such trade. My own contributions to the conversation were minimal, believing myself to be in the company of an “elder”. When, at one point just before leaving, I inquired as to his age, it was all I could do to keep from visibly showing my shock, his answer revealing him to be but seventy-four. While my own antiquity certainly doesn’t reflect youth and good looks, the journey, seemingly, hasn’t quite yet brought me to such stage as this fellow. It could be, of course, that others view me differently, my vanity interfering with what my vision sees in the mirror; but, of a truth, I’m glad for the changes that coming to Christ in ’72 brought to me in so many ways. An immediate break from an addiction to more than two packs of cigarettes a day, if nothing else, had to account for at least part of this longevity gained……

"Gratitude..............................."

With Vacation Bible School occupying the sanctuary and many people working to see that take place, not only was the usual mid-week service cancelled, but our Wednesday evening’s class was down to but four of us plus a substitute teacher found at the last minute. The lesson was reduced to discussion concerning those initial verses of Christ’s Parable of seed being sown and the idea that evangelizing was an on-going work of Divinity on either side of the equation. Indeed, we were agreed that the real “identity” of that which believers are to somehow invest in others is not the Bible, but the reality of Jesus, alive in us via the Holy Spirit, a matter which, in truth, only He can accomplish and only in so much as we surrender ourselves to it happening. That said, however, it makes me consider the reason for my having maintained this sort of on-line journal for more than a decade. From the very start the theme herein has, for the most part, consistently expressed my Christianity in one way or another, not in any attempt to convert whomsoever might drop by to visit, merely a matter of it being where this old man’s thoughts are almost continually. Never has it really been successful in gaining conversation with others positive, negative, or otherwise, just a comment here and there along the way; and, while at one time as many as thirty people or so read me at least occasionally, nowadays “membership” is down to five that I know, all of whom profess the same religious faith as this old man, but only one deeply entrenched with me in a like-mannered perspective of the Gospel. What this particular post is trying achieve, therefore, is not an apology for my frequent tendency to preach my views about some portion of the Book, oftentimes announcing in the middle of it all, as well, my opinion as to the state of the Church at large. It has nothing to do with trying to “mug” anybody, demanding a throwing up of your hands and surrendering to my mentality. Writing is a relaxing way to sort out all that’s going on in my head and I am very thankful for friendship in this journey. God bless each of you…

"Crowin'..............."

My thoughts lately have been a jumbled mixture of life as it has come to me, all giving me pause, reason to wonder about the basic principles by which we exist as a society. Mostly, it has been a pondering of human nature, such as it is, a wondering about what we, the Church at large, really thinks separates us from everybody else out there. I sat in service last Sunday morning, listening to worship and recalling how, back in 1972 when I stepped into this, a well-known author had just published a paper-back book predicting the return of Christ in ’81. In truth, it seemed that, during that eight year interim, out of every ten Gospel songs written, seven or more dealt with the rapture taking place and believers being caught up to be with the Lord. Nowadays, within the Pentecostal bunch, anyhow, the bulk of our music refers to power, authority, blessings, and prosperity being ours to claim, freedom from whatsoever bondage ours to possess if we’ll simply stand and speak faith unto it. I long ago, though, realized that “building one’s house upon sand” could apply to our interpretation of the Word as well as it did anything else. We remain people, even “in” Christ. The difference in me is no more than the Holy Spirit’s abiding tug on my reins and my willingness to follow Him as we go. He, therefore, must be my wisdom and my witness, indeed my humility as well as my boldness, the sword His to swing, not mine. Anything less may be well-meant, but prone to error….

We rode over to Chic-fil-A this afternoon to support Dan Cathy’s right to espouse his own religious point of view. The drive-thru was packed, automobiles wrapped around the building twice and then continuing maybe another thousand feet from the entrance. We parked and walked over, thinking perhaps our two-thirty arrival to avoid such a crowd would find breathing room inside. The line began about thirty feet from the door, then once inside turned to the left, circled a small alcove to return to the door only to cross to a larger alcove on the other side and circle it before finally reaching the counter. It took us forty-five minutes to get some great food, pleasant service while enjoying some pleasant conversation with all those around us as we went. It probably won’t get much coverage in the news, but this, to me, is how to do what I tried to say above. No need to replicate the other side’s action and boycott those businesses who disagree with us. I applaud my wife who responded to some woman’s vulgarity in attacking another about this issue this morning on Face Book. “The difference in us,” she said, “ is not so much our opinion, as it is the language we use in expressing it.”...