Do you remember when they had old-fashioned Sunday School picnics? I do. As I recall, it was back in the “olden days”, as kids would say, back before there was air conditioning.
They said, “We'll all meet at Sycamore Lodge in Shelby Park at 4:30 on Saturday. You bring your supper, and we'll furnish the iced tea.”
But if you were like me, you come home at the last minute. When you got ready to pack your picnic, all you could find in the refrigerator was one dried up piece of bologna and just enough mustard in the bottom of the jar so that you got it all over your knuckles trying to get to it. And just two slices of stale bread to go with it. So you made your bologna sandwich and wrapped it in an old brown bag and went to the picnic.
When it came time to eat, you sat at the end of the table and spread out your sandwich. But the folks next you you brought a feast. The lady was a good cook, and she had worked hard all day to get ready for the picnic. And she had fried chicken and baked beans and potato salad and homemade rolls and sliced tomatoes and pickles and olives and celery. And two big homemade chocolate pies to top it off. That's what they spread out there next you while you sat with your bologna sandwich.
But they said to you, “Why don't we just put it all together?”
“No, I couldn't do that. I wouldn't even think of it.” you murmured in embarrassment, with one eye on the chicken.
“Oh, come on, there's plenty of chicken and plenty of pie and plenty of everything. And we just love bologna sandwiches. Let's just put it all together.”
And so you did and there you sat, eating like a king when you came like a pauper.
One day, it dawned on me that God had been saying just that sort of thing to me. “Why don't you take what you have and what you are, and I will take what I have and what I am, and we'll share it together.” I began to see that when I put what I had and was and am and hope to be with what He is, I had stumbled upon the bargain of a lifetime.
I get to thinking sometimes, thinking of me sharing with God. When I think of how little I bring, and how much He brings and invites me to share, I know that I should be shouting to the rooftops, but I am so filled with awe and wonder that I can hardly speak. I know that I don't have enough love or faith or grace or mercy or wisdom, but He does. He has all of those things in abundance, and He says, “Let's just put it all together.”
“Consecration,” “denial,” “sacrifice,” “commitment,” and “crosses” were all kind of hard words to me, until I saw them in the light of sharing. It isn't just a case of me kicking in what I have because God is the biggest kid in the neighborhood and He wants it all for Himself. He is saying, “Everything that I possess is available to you. Everything I am and can be to a person, I will be to you.”
When I think about it like that, it really amuses me to see somebody running along through life hanging on to that dumb bag with that stale bologna sandwich in it saying, “God's not going to get my sandwich! No, sirree, this is mine!” Did you ever see anybody like that – so needy – just about half-starved to death yet hanging on for dear life. It's not that God needs your sandwich. The fact is, you need His chicken.
Well, go ahead – eat your bologna sandwich, as long as you can. But when you can't stand its tastelessness or drabness any longer; when get so tired of running your own life by yourself and doing it your way and figuring out all the answers with no one to help; when trying to accumulate, hold, grasp, and keep everything together in your own strength gets to be too big a load; when you begin to realize that by yourself you'll never going to be able to fulfill your dreams, I hope you'll remember that it doesn't have to be that way.
You have been invited to something better, you know. You have been invited to share the very being of God.
The Journey Home: A Walk with Bob Benson
by Bob Benson and Karen Dean Fry
Beacon Hill Press (1997) pp 108-110
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Power in Love
Never underestimate the power of love. Love has been known to change lives, and take lives. When the author of 1 John was asked to describe God, he simply said, “God is love” (1 John 4:8, 16). The goodness of God is love. The power of God is love. Many believe love holds the power of healing. After an experience I had several years ago, I, too, believe that loves brings healing. It is a very personal story. If you find it to be be too personal, please forgive me. I write of it here because it powerfully illustrates what I believe love can do. If you enter enter the process of church transformation, you will need the power of love at work in the church.
It was just a few years ago. It was a Saturday night. Really it was the wee hours of Sunday morning. Five of us shared a room. We spent the night together. It was a room for one, but we all managed to squeeze in. We all knew each other. In fact, we are related...enjoy each other's company...love each other. But not one of us really wanted to be there.
It was an expensive room. My guess it went for about $2,000 a night. Good view of the city. Nothing else special about it. There was no pool available. No jacuzzi. The only meals available were in the cafeteria. The room service was nonexistent. The floors weren't carpeted. I have seen larger bathrooms on a bus. No doubt what made the room expensive was the equipment: the monitors, IV pumps, electric multi-position bed, oxygen, vacuum pumps, and cabinets of medical supplies. The room we shared was room 466 in the intensive care unit of Jewish Hospital in Louisville, Kentucky.
I had received the ominous telephone call earlier that evening: “your brother has taken a turn for the worse, and we want his family to come to the hospital.” I used to work in a hospital so I know that the “turn for the worse” line is “medicalese” for “your loved one just died, and we want you to come to the hospital so we can tell you to your face that he has died.” So I went to the hospital without much hope.
Being hospital savvy and knowing I would be arriving in the middle of the night, I wore a tie and my clergy name badge. Instead of stopping me, the security guard in the ER showed me the way to the intensive care unit. Instead of questioning me, the nurse in intensive care directed me to Mr. McConnell's room. Getting there was the easy part. Surprisingly, my brother Bob was still alive when I arrived. Just barely, but alive. My sister Kae, her daughter June, and my daughter Meg, were there staring at the monitor screen. There is not much else to look at, so every one in the room tends to stare at the monitor. And they were waiting. Waiting. I arrived, we prayed, and then I joined the waiting.
We took turns sitting in the three available chairs. We were playing a sort of musical chairs without the music. We wrapped up in blankets and complained of the cold. Individually and as a unit, we pursued the hopeless search for a comfortable position. My theory is that hospital chairs are designed to be uncomfortable to make one miserable enough to go home. Nevertheless, we sought sleep, and we resisted sleep. We talked. We talked to Bob, and we talked about Bob. We talked about better days and family and how and what our children and grandchildren are doing and whatever happened to old what's-his-name and spouses and ex-spouses and what had been and what could have been and what should have been. We stood by the the bed and held Bob's hand and looked into his tired face and listened to his labored breathing and prayed and wept and hoped against hope.
Morning came. Bob was not only still alive, but just a little bit better and rallying quickly. His doctor showed up and was amazed to find him alive.
The doctor didn't quite know to make of it. Blood pressure – up. Blood oxygen – up. Lungs – clear. Temperature – down. It was amazing. The doctor wondered aloud, “How did this happen?”
We didn't know. He held the only medical degree in the room. I have a theory. A popular Christian song says, “In this very room there is quite enough love for one like me.”
I believe in that very room in the intensive care unit of Jewish Hospital there was quite enough love for Bob. Enough love for Bob – for Bob to live through the night. For Bob to recover and be living with his children and grandchildren.
Ask me, and I will tell you that it is true. You can live on love. Love powerful enough to work miracles and bring healing. My hope is that we all find a room like that very room I was blessed to spend that Saturday night in. It was a miserably marvelous room. It was a room filled to overflowing with love.
William T. McConnell
Renew Your Congregation
Chalice Press (1997)
pp 102-104
It was just a few years ago. It was a Saturday night. Really it was the wee hours of Sunday morning. Five of us shared a room. We spent the night together. It was a room for one, but we all managed to squeeze in. We all knew each other. In fact, we are related...enjoy each other's company...love each other. But not one of us really wanted to be there.
It was an expensive room. My guess it went for about $2,000 a night. Good view of the city. Nothing else special about it. There was no pool available. No jacuzzi. The only meals available were in the cafeteria. The room service was nonexistent. The floors weren't carpeted. I have seen larger bathrooms on a bus. No doubt what made the room expensive was the equipment: the monitors, IV pumps, electric multi-position bed, oxygen, vacuum pumps, and cabinets of medical supplies. The room we shared was room 466 in the intensive care unit of Jewish Hospital in Louisville, Kentucky.
I had received the ominous telephone call earlier that evening: “your brother has taken a turn for the worse, and we want his family to come to the hospital.” I used to work in a hospital so I know that the “turn for the worse” line is “medicalese” for “your loved one just died, and we want you to come to the hospital so we can tell you to your face that he has died.” So I went to the hospital without much hope.
Being hospital savvy and knowing I would be arriving in the middle of the night, I wore a tie and my clergy name badge. Instead of stopping me, the security guard in the ER showed me the way to the intensive care unit. Instead of questioning me, the nurse in intensive care directed me to Mr. McConnell's room. Getting there was the easy part. Surprisingly, my brother Bob was still alive when I arrived. Just barely, but alive. My sister Kae, her daughter June, and my daughter Meg, were there staring at the monitor screen. There is not much else to look at, so every one in the room tends to stare at the monitor. And they were waiting. Waiting. I arrived, we prayed, and then I joined the waiting.
We took turns sitting in the three available chairs. We were playing a sort of musical chairs without the music. We wrapped up in blankets and complained of the cold. Individually and as a unit, we pursued the hopeless search for a comfortable position. My theory is that hospital chairs are designed to be uncomfortable to make one miserable enough to go home. Nevertheless, we sought sleep, and we resisted sleep. We talked. We talked to Bob, and we talked about Bob. We talked about better days and family and how and what our children and grandchildren are doing and whatever happened to old what's-his-name and spouses and ex-spouses and what had been and what could have been and what should have been. We stood by the the bed and held Bob's hand and looked into his tired face and listened to his labored breathing and prayed and wept and hoped against hope.
Morning came. Bob was not only still alive, but just a little bit better and rallying quickly. His doctor showed up and was amazed to find him alive.
The doctor didn't quite know to make of it. Blood pressure – up. Blood oxygen – up. Lungs – clear. Temperature – down. It was amazing. The doctor wondered aloud, “How did this happen?”
We didn't know. He held the only medical degree in the room. I have a theory. A popular Christian song says, “In this very room there is quite enough love for one like me.”
I believe in that very room in the intensive care unit of Jewish Hospital there was quite enough love for Bob. Enough love for Bob – for Bob to live through the night. For Bob to recover and be living with his children and grandchildren.
Ask me, and I will tell you that it is true. You can live on love. Love powerful enough to work miracles and bring healing. My hope is that we all find a room like that very room I was blessed to spend that Saturday night in. It was a miserably marvelous room. It was a room filled to overflowing with love.
William T. McConnell
Renew Your Congregation
Chalice Press (1997)
pp 102-104
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Nickel Mines
In Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania, love would have to prove stronger than death.
On the morning of October 5, 2006, twenty-five children were studying in the local one-room schoolhouse, a barn like structure with a simple bell tower and front porch supported by steel rods. The building, as plain as notebook paper, reflected the values of the Amish community that educated its children there. The Amish trace their lineage back to pacifist Swiss Christian communities, who, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, renounced the trappings of worldliness.
On that morning, in the midst of the Amish, the worst of the world's madness appeared. At 9:51 AM, Charles Cad Roberts IV, a thirty-two-year-old milkman, burst into the West Nickel Mines Amish schoolhouse and shattered the community's serenity. He had thought about the violence he was about to perpetrate long in advance, and he came prepared. He carried a 12-gauge shotgun, a 9 mm handgun, a .30-06 bolt-action rifle, about six hundred rounds of ammunition, a stun gun and two knifes. He also had tools and building supplies with him.
He ordered the young girls to line up quickly in front of the chalkboard. Then he demanded that the teacher, Emma Mae Zook, take her fifteen male students, a pregnant woman, and three mothers with infants outside. Once they were gone, Charles Roberts used the tools and the 2x6 and 2x4 boards he was carrying to barricade himself inside. Next, he used flex ties to bind the hands and legs of the young girls, who ranged from six to thirteen.
Evidently, he meant to take his time. He called his wife on a cell phone to confess, in partial explanation of the suicide notes he had left at home, that he had molested two young relatives twenty years before. This tale seems to have been a delusion. He also spoke of his grief at the death of an infant daughter. When the Amish girls asked Roberts why he meant to hurt them, he said he was angry at God.
The community responded more quickly than Roberts may have anticipated, and the schoolgirls themselves would alter his plans. Robert's plan to molest girls seemed apparent from the lubricant he was carrying, but their teacher, Emma Mae Zook, ran to a neighboring farmhouse and called police at 10:36 AM. The police arrived in force nine minutes later. From the loudspeakers on their cruisers they spoke to Roberts. He responded that if the grounds weren't cleared in seconds he'd kill everyone.
The oldest of the girls, Marian Fisher, spoke up. The Amish speak Swiss German as their mother tongue, but she used the best English she could muster. She pleaded, “Shoot me and let the others one's loose.” Marian's eleven-year-old sister, Barbie, asked to be next They demonstrated the greatest love a human possibly could.
Unnerved by the girl's courage and the police, Roberts tried to execute all ten girls, pouring bullets into them as fast as he could.
At the sound of the gunfire the police rushed the building. With one final blast, Roberts committed suicide before they could reach him.
Although Roberts shot all ten girls at point-blank range, and several of them repeatedly, he did not fully exact the revenge against God he had planned. Five children survived. Marian's sister, Barbie, was one of them, which is why we know some of the details of what happened inside the schoolhouse that horrible day.
Charles Robert's death seemed sad only in that he was no longer available to prosecute.
But that's where this story turns in an unexpected direction. The entire Amish community followed young Marian Fisher's lead of sacrifice and love of one's neighbor. While Charles Roberts chose to unleash his anger on he innocent, the Amish chose to bestow forgiveness on the guilty. Newsreel footage showed the Amish horse-and-buggy cortege rolling along the main road in Nickel Mines on their way to the funerals of the slain children. It was a poignant and picturesque scene. But the images that stayed in the imagination were of Amish men and women attending Charles Roberts funeral in the graveyard of his wife's Methodist Church. They insisted it was not their place to judge him. Amish leaders even asked their community to refrain from thinking of Roberts as evil.
The Amish also reached out to Marie Roberts and her children. They invited the family to attend the girl's funerals – for the Bible says to mourn with those who mourn, and the Roberts family was mourning their own loss. As money poured into address the medical bills of the wounded girls, Amish community leaders stipulated that a fund from these resources to take care of the killer's widow and three children.
From “The Faith:
What Christians believe,
Why they believe it, and why it matters”
by Charles Colson and Harold Fickett
Zondervan Press (2008) pp 13-15
On the morning of October 5, 2006, twenty-five children were studying in the local one-room schoolhouse, a barn like structure with a simple bell tower and front porch supported by steel rods. The building, as plain as notebook paper, reflected the values of the Amish community that educated its children there. The Amish trace their lineage back to pacifist Swiss Christian communities, who, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, renounced the trappings of worldliness.
On that morning, in the midst of the Amish, the worst of the world's madness appeared. At 9:51 AM, Charles Cad Roberts IV, a thirty-two-year-old milkman, burst into the West Nickel Mines Amish schoolhouse and shattered the community's serenity. He had thought about the violence he was about to perpetrate long in advance, and he came prepared. He carried a 12-gauge shotgun, a 9 mm handgun, a .30-06 bolt-action rifle, about six hundred rounds of ammunition, a stun gun and two knifes. He also had tools and building supplies with him.
He ordered the young girls to line up quickly in front of the chalkboard. Then he demanded that the teacher, Emma Mae Zook, take her fifteen male students, a pregnant woman, and three mothers with infants outside. Once they were gone, Charles Roberts used the tools and the 2x6 and 2x4 boards he was carrying to barricade himself inside. Next, he used flex ties to bind the hands and legs of the young girls, who ranged from six to thirteen.
Evidently, he meant to take his time. He called his wife on a cell phone to confess, in partial explanation of the suicide notes he had left at home, that he had molested two young relatives twenty years before. This tale seems to have been a delusion. He also spoke of his grief at the death of an infant daughter. When the Amish girls asked Roberts why he meant to hurt them, he said he was angry at God.
The community responded more quickly than Roberts may have anticipated, and the schoolgirls themselves would alter his plans. Robert's plan to molest girls seemed apparent from the lubricant he was carrying, but their teacher, Emma Mae Zook, ran to a neighboring farmhouse and called police at 10:36 AM. The police arrived in force nine minutes later. From the loudspeakers on their cruisers they spoke to Roberts. He responded that if the grounds weren't cleared in seconds he'd kill everyone.
The oldest of the girls, Marian Fisher, spoke up. The Amish speak Swiss German as their mother tongue, but she used the best English she could muster. She pleaded, “Shoot me and let the others one's loose.” Marian's eleven-year-old sister, Barbie, asked to be next They demonstrated the greatest love a human possibly could.
Unnerved by the girl's courage and the police, Roberts tried to execute all ten girls, pouring bullets into them as fast as he could.
At the sound of the gunfire the police rushed the building. With one final blast, Roberts committed suicide before they could reach him.
Although Roberts shot all ten girls at point-blank range, and several of them repeatedly, he did not fully exact the revenge against God he had planned. Five children survived. Marian's sister, Barbie, was one of them, which is why we know some of the details of what happened inside the schoolhouse that horrible day.
Charles Robert's death seemed sad only in that he was no longer available to prosecute.
But that's where this story turns in an unexpected direction. The entire Amish community followed young Marian Fisher's lead of sacrifice and love of one's neighbor. While Charles Roberts chose to unleash his anger on he innocent, the Amish chose to bestow forgiveness on the guilty. Newsreel footage showed the Amish horse-and-buggy cortege rolling along the main road in Nickel Mines on their way to the funerals of the slain children. It was a poignant and picturesque scene. But the images that stayed in the imagination were of Amish men and women attending Charles Roberts funeral in the graveyard of his wife's Methodist Church. They insisted it was not their place to judge him. Amish leaders even asked their community to refrain from thinking of Roberts as evil.
The Amish also reached out to Marie Roberts and her children. They invited the family to attend the girl's funerals – for the Bible says to mourn with those who mourn, and the Roberts family was mourning their own loss. As money poured into address the medical bills of the wounded girls, Amish community leaders stipulated that a fund from these resources to take care of the killer's widow and three children.
From “The Faith:
What Christians believe,
Why they believe it, and why it matters”
by Charles Colson and Harold Fickett
Zondervan Press (2008) pp 13-15
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Overcoming Temptation
In 1 Corinthians 10:13, the apostle Paul explains, “No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it.” In order to experience the victory you've been given in Christ over sin, you must know the process by which temptation takes hold. Then, you must build a defense against it.
Start by realizing that your desires are not necessarily wrong. In fact, they can be very good if they fit the Lord's plan and purpose for your life. But when you allow your wishes to dominate and distract you from doing God's will, troublesome situations and consequences are soon to follow.
The process of temptation begins in your mind with what you think. Eventually, your thoughts stir up your imagination, which is very powerful. You fantasize about the object of your desire – how it would feel to possess it; how unhappy you would be without it. As time goes on, the pressure builds. You reach the point where you must make a choice. Will you turn from the temptation, or will you give in to the pleasure it promises? Once you consent, sin takes hold.
Of course, as a faithful believer, you know that the Holy Spirit can help you turn away from enticements you may face during any step in the process. You also realize that it becomes increasingly difficult to turn away the further you go. This is why it it is so importation that you take “every thought captive to the obedience of Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5). Why? Where you mind wanders, your feet are sure to follow. You need a defense system to help you respond wisely, guard your thoughts, and keep you from going down the wrong path.
How do you build this defense system? First, you must take responsibility and admit, “Yes Lord, this is a temptation for me.” Confess any sin you've already committed, accept the Savior's forgiveness (1 John 1:9), and acknowledge that He can teach you to live free of it. When you're willing to accept your vulnerability and dependence on God in the areas where you are tempted, you've taken a very important step toward victory.
Second, look at the big picture. Ask yourself: “What does the Father think about this? If I yield to this enticement, what will the consequences be? How will it affect my future and the people in my life? Will it distract me from doing the Lord's will?” The great deception of sin is that it promises pleasure without penalty – instant gratification with no regret. But once you consider the negative results of your actions, the temptation will appear much less attractive.
Bearing the big picture in mind will also help you identify if there's a way to meet your desire that is in line with God's will – a way that will bring Him glory. So third, be sure to recall the Father's promises concerning your life. One of the reasons temptations are so powerful is because they play into your anxieties. Disappointments and setbacks can lead to discouragement if don't fully trust that the Lord can and will fulfill His word in you.
This is why Jesus said, “The Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I said to you. Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful” (John 14:26-27).
God has given the Holy Spirit to encourage you as you wait for His perfect timing and to enable you to do all that He has commanded. When you feel weak, rely upon the awesome power of the Spirit to comfort you, remind you of His love and presence, and strengthen you to stand firm until His promise to you is accomplished.
Finally, set your mind on things that honor the Father. Meditating on God's Word and spending time with Him in an intimate relationship empower you to remain steadfast in your struggle against sin. When temptations come, the Holy the Spirit can immediately bring Scripture to mind as a shield to protect you.
From June 2010 Prayer Letter
Charles F. Stanley
Start by realizing that your desires are not necessarily wrong. In fact, they can be very good if they fit the Lord's plan and purpose for your life. But when you allow your wishes to dominate and distract you from doing God's will, troublesome situations and consequences are soon to follow.
The process of temptation begins in your mind with what you think. Eventually, your thoughts stir up your imagination, which is very powerful. You fantasize about the object of your desire – how it would feel to possess it; how unhappy you would be without it. As time goes on, the pressure builds. You reach the point where you must make a choice. Will you turn from the temptation, or will you give in to the pleasure it promises? Once you consent, sin takes hold.
Of course, as a faithful believer, you know that the Holy Spirit can help you turn away from enticements you may face during any step in the process. You also realize that it becomes increasingly difficult to turn away the further you go. This is why it it is so importation that you take “every thought captive to the obedience of Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5). Why? Where you mind wanders, your feet are sure to follow. You need a defense system to help you respond wisely, guard your thoughts, and keep you from going down the wrong path.
How do you build this defense system? First, you must take responsibility and admit, “Yes Lord, this is a temptation for me.” Confess any sin you've already committed, accept the Savior's forgiveness (1 John 1:9), and acknowledge that He can teach you to live free of it. When you're willing to accept your vulnerability and dependence on God in the areas where you are tempted, you've taken a very important step toward victory.
Second, look at the big picture. Ask yourself: “What does the Father think about this? If I yield to this enticement, what will the consequences be? How will it affect my future and the people in my life? Will it distract me from doing the Lord's will?” The great deception of sin is that it promises pleasure without penalty – instant gratification with no regret. But once you consider the negative results of your actions, the temptation will appear much less attractive.
Bearing the big picture in mind will also help you identify if there's a way to meet your desire that is in line with God's will – a way that will bring Him glory. So third, be sure to recall the Father's promises concerning your life. One of the reasons temptations are so powerful is because they play into your anxieties. Disappointments and setbacks can lead to discouragement if don't fully trust that the Lord can and will fulfill His word in you.
This is why Jesus said, “The Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I said to you. Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful” (John 14:26-27).
God has given the Holy Spirit to encourage you as you wait for His perfect timing and to enable you to do all that He has commanded. When you feel weak, rely upon the awesome power of the Spirit to comfort you, remind you of His love and presence, and strengthen you to stand firm until His promise to you is accomplished.
Finally, set your mind on things that honor the Father. Meditating on God's Word and spending time with Him in an intimate relationship empower you to remain steadfast in your struggle against sin. When temptations come, the Holy the Spirit can immediately bring Scripture to mind as a shield to protect you.
From June 2010 Prayer Letter
Charles F. Stanley
Thursday, October 14, 2010
When Life Looks Hopeless
When life looks hopeless, hold on to God. No mater what happens or how discouraging your situation may become, never stop clinging to the Lord. He is faithful, and He will most certainly help you. Keep trusting Him - regardless of how your circumstances appear.
I write this to you today because all of us have walked through valleys at one time or another in life. Each of us has wept over difficulties and struggles we thought we couldn't survive. We lay awake at night, wondering, “God, what am I going to do? I don't know how to go on.” We're not sure how to face the decisions and consequences that will come. The pain and emptiness overwhelm us.
I imagine that is how James Cash Penney felt when he lost $40 million in the stock market crash of 1929, becoming deathly ill from the stress of his circumstances. Seven million dollars in debt, false accusations of his fiscal impropriety lodged against him, emotionally and physically spent, Penney wrote, “I was convinced I would never see another dawn. I wrote farewell letters to my family. Then I waited for the end – a failure at the age of 56.”
Although Penney felt as if he has no future, God had other plans. At the Battle Creek Sanitarium in Michigan where he was being treated for his illness, Penney one day heard the hymn, “God Will Take Care of You,” and he decided to trust the Lord Jesus as his Savior, Not only did he survive, he also lived into his nineties, founding a financial empire through the JCPenney's stores.
Perhaps you are experiencing devastating difficulties today or see disturbing troubles on the horizon. Maybe you lack a sense of direction or real purpose. You might even wonder if you need to give up on your goals and dreams because you feel like you don't measure up and will never deserve the good things you desire.
As such times, you may be tempted to seek refuge in earthly comforts such as wealth, possessions, food, or activities. Perhaps you throw yourself more deeply into ministry, trying to hide your hurt, but becoming more wounded in the process. You may even attempt to isolate yourself from the world, pushing everyone away. Don't. These things promise to comfort your hurting soul, but will eventually cause you more pain.
Instead, cling to the only One who can truly help you overcome all of your difficulties – Jesus Christ. As 1 Peter 5:7 admonishes, cast “all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.” How do you do so? Here are some principles that will help you through the most difficult times.
First, whenever you are tempted to think about your circumstances – and the empty feeling of hopelessness wells within you – realize it is an important indication that you should be in prayer. The emotions you're experiencing are a warning sign to your spirit, revealing your utter need for the Father. He is calling you...drawing you into a relationship with Him. Go to Him with an open heart, and invite Him to teach you.
Second, commit yourself to God and whatever He has planned for your future. Did you know that one of the biggest gold deposits ever excavated in this nation was discovered just two inches beneath the spot where a previous miner had given up? There are many wonderful blesses that you will forfeit if you quit now. Don't miss out on the good things the Father has for you because you are discouraged. Devote yourself to the Lord, and He will strengthen you to go on.
Third, claim God's promises to always love and never forsake us. Often, when we experience loss, rejection, or we fail at something important, we attribute our painful feelings to our own sense of worth. We begin to we don't deserve acceptance or anything good. But the Father promises to love us unconditionally, and our job is simply to accept His everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3; 1 John 4:9-11). Deuteronomy 31:8 assures, “The LORD is the one who goes ahead of you; He will be with you. He will not fail you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.”
Fourth, cling to God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, regardless of what happens, with the knowledge that He ultimately provides what is absolutely best for you. Understanding this principle will help you get through the most difficult times in your life, because when you turn to Him for help, He will comfort your hurting soul and fill the emptiness with hope.
No matter what happens in your lives, don't let go of the Savior. Respond to your feeling of discouragement with prayer. Commit yourself to trusting His plan, regardless of the circumstances. Claim His unfailing promises and cling to His loving presence. He can and will help you through this. So hold on to God. He knows the pathway to victory in your situation and is simply waiting for you to trust Him to lead the way.
Charles Stanley
October 2010
Prayer Letter
I write this to you today because all of us have walked through valleys at one time or another in life. Each of us has wept over difficulties and struggles we thought we couldn't survive. We lay awake at night, wondering, “God, what am I going to do? I don't know how to go on.” We're not sure how to face the decisions and consequences that will come. The pain and emptiness overwhelm us.
I imagine that is how James Cash Penney felt when he lost $40 million in the stock market crash of 1929, becoming deathly ill from the stress of his circumstances. Seven million dollars in debt, false accusations of his fiscal impropriety lodged against him, emotionally and physically spent, Penney wrote, “I was convinced I would never see another dawn. I wrote farewell letters to my family. Then I waited for the end – a failure at the age of 56.”
Although Penney felt as if he has no future, God had other plans. At the Battle Creek Sanitarium in Michigan where he was being treated for his illness, Penney one day heard the hymn, “God Will Take Care of You,” and he decided to trust the Lord Jesus as his Savior, Not only did he survive, he also lived into his nineties, founding a financial empire through the JCPenney's stores.
Perhaps you are experiencing devastating difficulties today or see disturbing troubles on the horizon. Maybe you lack a sense of direction or real purpose. You might even wonder if you need to give up on your goals and dreams because you feel like you don't measure up and will never deserve the good things you desire.
As such times, you may be tempted to seek refuge in earthly comforts such as wealth, possessions, food, or activities. Perhaps you throw yourself more deeply into ministry, trying to hide your hurt, but becoming more wounded in the process. You may even attempt to isolate yourself from the world, pushing everyone away. Don't. These things promise to comfort your hurting soul, but will eventually cause you more pain.
Instead, cling to the only One who can truly help you overcome all of your difficulties – Jesus Christ. As 1 Peter 5:7 admonishes, cast “all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.” How do you do so? Here are some principles that will help you through the most difficult times.
First, whenever you are tempted to think about your circumstances – and the empty feeling of hopelessness wells within you – realize it is an important indication that you should be in prayer. The emotions you're experiencing are a warning sign to your spirit, revealing your utter need for the Father. He is calling you...drawing you into a relationship with Him. Go to Him with an open heart, and invite Him to teach you.
Second, commit yourself to God and whatever He has planned for your future. Did you know that one of the biggest gold deposits ever excavated in this nation was discovered just two inches beneath the spot where a previous miner had given up? There are many wonderful blesses that you will forfeit if you quit now. Don't miss out on the good things the Father has for you because you are discouraged. Devote yourself to the Lord, and He will strengthen you to go on.
Third, claim God's promises to always love and never forsake us. Often, when we experience loss, rejection, or we fail at something important, we attribute our painful feelings to our own sense of worth. We begin to we don't deserve acceptance or anything good. But the Father promises to love us unconditionally, and our job is simply to accept His everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3; 1 John 4:9-11). Deuteronomy 31:8 assures, “The LORD is the one who goes ahead of you; He will be with you. He will not fail you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.”
Fourth, cling to God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, regardless of what happens, with the knowledge that He ultimately provides what is absolutely best for you. Understanding this principle will help you get through the most difficult times in your life, because when you turn to Him for help, He will comfort your hurting soul and fill the emptiness with hope.
No matter what happens in your lives, don't let go of the Savior. Respond to your feeling of discouragement with prayer. Commit yourself to trusting His plan, regardless of the circumstances. Claim His unfailing promises and cling to His loving presence. He can and will help you through this. So hold on to God. He knows the pathway to victory in your situation and is simply waiting for you to trust Him to lead the way.
Charles Stanley
October 2010
Prayer Letter
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Skipping a Stone
Skipping a Stone across Ages and Cultures -
A Time-traveler Visits Christian Communities
The core beliefs that have united Christians for two thousand years certainly built Western civilization, but it is a mistake to think that Christianity belongs to Western culture. Christianity did not originate in the West and has never been confined to it. The core elements of the faith have brought about a tremendous unity in a diversity of cultures, as renowned writer on Christian missions Andrew Walls demonstrates, imagining what a time-traveler would see if he dropped in on five Christian communities living in different cultures over the centuries.
First, the time-traveler visits the founding church in Jerusalem in AD 37. He notes that these new Christians are hard to distinguish from a branch of Judaism. They simply identify the Jewish teaching about the Messiah, the Son of Man, with Jesus of Nazareth. These Christians are mostly drawn from the ranks of tradesmen and laborers. They have large families, and their faith is marked by celebrations and by helping one another to face material challenges.
Next, our time-traveler visits Christians about the time of the Council of Nicea in AD 325. These Christians are no longer Jewish but drawn from all over the Mediterranean world. Many of the leaders now practice celibacy. They are familiar with the ancient Jewish Scriptures but give equal value to writings that have been generated by their own community – the “New Testament”. The subject of their discussions in centers, in the first community's, on the death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Culturally, these two Christian communities are already worlds apart.
Our time-traveler then visits Irish monks of the sixth century. They practice such spiritual disciplines as fasting and praying for long hours with their arms outstretched in the form of a cross. They are otherworldly in a way in a way the first two communities were not, but they have the same evangelical zeal; they want those near and far to understand Jesus' significance as the messiah. Some of their members are about to depart for the Scottish coast in tubby leather and wood boats, where they will call the Scottish clans to exchange their nature worship and bloody practices for the joys of heaven.
The time-traveler drops in one of the great English missionary societies of the 1840s. Unlike the Irish monks, these Christians seek a spirituality marked by social activism instead of severe spiritual disciplines. While the monks lived on virtually nothing, these people are almost too well fed. But they fell exactly the same burden to spread the message. They are funding missions to the Far East, Oceania, and Africa. They are also working to improve conditions within their own society brought on by the Industrial Revolution.
Finally, the time-traveler comes to Lagos, Nigeria, in the 1980s. He sees white-robed Christians dancing and chanting their way through the streets. They call themselves Cherubim and Seraphim, and they invite their neighbors to experience the power of God. They are not social activists, like the English. They fast like the Irish monks but more for specific benefits. They talk more about the Holy Spirit and His power to inspire preaching, bring healing, and provide personal guidance.
The time-traveler notes that, culturally, these five Christian groups could hardly be more different. Yet they think of themselves as connected, and indeed, their thinking is remarkably similar. They believe that in Christ the world has been rescued from the power of evil and death; they believe in God' sovereignty over history; they make the same use of the Scriptures and of bread and wine and water.
Surprisingly historical connections among the groups come mind as well – those activist English missionaries first brought the faith to the dancing Nigerians, for example. (Today, in fitting reversal, these Nigerians and other people of the Global South are bringing faith back to the West.) The Jews evangelized the Mediterranean Gentiles, from whom both Ireland and England received the faith. All five groups, despite cultural appearances, are part of the same legacy: the one Lord, one faith, one baptism they profess holds true for all.
From “The Faith:
What Christians believe,
Why they believe it, and why it matters”
by Charles Colson and Harold Fickett
Zondervan Press (2008) pp 23-25
A Time-traveler Visits Christian Communities
The core beliefs that have united Christians for two thousand years certainly built Western civilization, but it is a mistake to think that Christianity belongs to Western culture. Christianity did not originate in the West and has never been confined to it. The core elements of the faith have brought about a tremendous unity in a diversity of cultures, as renowned writer on Christian missions Andrew Walls demonstrates, imagining what a time-traveler would see if he dropped in on five Christian communities living in different cultures over the centuries.
First, the time-traveler visits the founding church in Jerusalem in AD 37. He notes that these new Christians are hard to distinguish from a branch of Judaism. They simply identify the Jewish teaching about the Messiah, the Son of Man, with Jesus of Nazareth. These Christians are mostly drawn from the ranks of tradesmen and laborers. They have large families, and their faith is marked by celebrations and by helping one another to face material challenges.
Next, our time-traveler visits Christians about the time of the Council of Nicea in AD 325. These Christians are no longer Jewish but drawn from all over the Mediterranean world. Many of the leaders now practice celibacy. They are familiar with the ancient Jewish Scriptures but give equal value to writings that have been generated by their own community – the “New Testament”. The subject of their discussions in centers, in the first community's, on the death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Culturally, these two Christian communities are already worlds apart.
Our time-traveler then visits Irish monks of the sixth century. They practice such spiritual disciplines as fasting and praying for long hours with their arms outstretched in the form of a cross. They are otherworldly in a way in a way the first two communities were not, but they have the same evangelical zeal; they want those near and far to understand Jesus' significance as the messiah. Some of their members are about to depart for the Scottish coast in tubby leather and wood boats, where they will call the Scottish clans to exchange their nature worship and bloody practices for the joys of heaven.
The time-traveler drops in one of the great English missionary societies of the 1840s. Unlike the Irish monks, these Christians seek a spirituality marked by social activism instead of severe spiritual disciplines. While the monks lived on virtually nothing, these people are almost too well fed. But they fell exactly the same burden to spread the message. They are funding missions to the Far East, Oceania, and Africa. They are also working to improve conditions within their own society brought on by the Industrial Revolution.
Finally, the time-traveler comes to Lagos, Nigeria, in the 1980s. He sees white-robed Christians dancing and chanting their way through the streets. They call themselves Cherubim and Seraphim, and they invite their neighbors to experience the power of God. They are not social activists, like the English. They fast like the Irish monks but more for specific benefits. They talk more about the Holy Spirit and His power to inspire preaching, bring healing, and provide personal guidance.
The time-traveler notes that, culturally, these five Christian groups could hardly be more different. Yet they think of themselves as connected, and indeed, their thinking is remarkably similar. They believe that in Christ the world has been rescued from the power of evil and death; they believe in God' sovereignty over history; they make the same use of the Scriptures and of bread and wine and water.
Surprisingly historical connections among the groups come mind as well – those activist English missionaries first brought the faith to the dancing Nigerians, for example. (Today, in fitting reversal, these Nigerians and other people of the Global South are bringing faith back to the West.) The Jews evangelized the Mediterranean Gentiles, from whom both Ireland and England received the faith. All five groups, despite cultural appearances, are part of the same legacy: the one Lord, one faith, one baptism they profess holds true for all.
From “The Faith:
What Christians believe,
Why they believe it, and why it matters”
by Charles Colson and Harold Fickett
Zondervan Press (2008) pp 23-25
Saturday, October 2, 2010
James
I met James yesterday (Friday 10/1) while taking my bus to dialysis. He said he was from Lillington, NC and had been homeless for less than a month. Last night he slept on a park bench (and this morning a man gave him $5). James had just gotten back from Social Services where he got a Food Stamp card for $200. He said he had less than $10 in his pocket, but had all that he possessed carefully packed in his pack-bag. He took off the NC State sweatshirt he had been wearing that cool morning and put it in there.
James is a born-again Christian and is depending on God to lead him through each day. Being homeless is a new and humbling experience for him. He never thought or wanted to go on welfare. He is from a Presbyterian background, but was going to “Crossroads Church” near Lillington. He liked it because all kinds of people went there (including bikers and ex-drug addicts). He said people came dressed in whatever they had: Suits, shorts (even bathing suits). All were welcome. The mainline churches around them looked down on Crossroads, but he knew it was the place for him.
James was new to Raleigh and didn't know where he would sleep tonight, so, I suggested that he go downtown to Raleigh Rescue Mission. When I was almost homeless several years ago, I had worked in the kitchen there, and served lunch. I found it to be a wonderful place. I only got to talk to James a few minutes before he had to catch his next bus. I gave him a paper flower my granddaughter, Chloe, had made for me (so he could remember that I was praying for him). We shook hands and he took off.
It is exciting to see how God has special people and moments planned for us as we trust him. You can be sure I will never forget James.
James is a born-again Christian and is depending on God to lead him through each day. Being homeless is a new and humbling experience for him. He never thought or wanted to go on welfare. He is from a Presbyterian background, but was going to “Crossroads Church” near Lillington. He liked it because all kinds of people went there (including bikers and ex-drug addicts). He said people came dressed in whatever they had: Suits, shorts (even bathing suits). All were welcome. The mainline churches around them looked down on Crossroads, but he knew it was the place for him.
James was new to Raleigh and didn't know where he would sleep tonight, so, I suggested that he go downtown to Raleigh Rescue Mission. When I was almost homeless several years ago, I had worked in the kitchen there, and served lunch. I found it to be a wonderful place. I only got to talk to James a few minutes before he had to catch his next bus. I gave him a paper flower my granddaughter, Chloe, had made for me (so he could remember that I was praying for him). We shook hands and he took off.
It is exciting to see how God has special people and moments planned for us as we trust him. You can be sure I will never forget James.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Lessons Pa Taught Me
My Dad (Pa) taught me many lessons as I was growing up:
o Hard work
o Leadership
o Honesty
o Integrity
And many others
He taught his lessons with authority and by example.
When he said, “Jump!” we all jumped and asked, “How high?” On the way up.
The one lesson that stands out most vividly is the value of hard work.
He taught me this in many ways:
o His example at work (It took four men to replace him when he retired). At his company (Lincoln Income Life Insurance Company) he did the following jobs.
....Treasurer
....Wrote the insurance policies that Lincoln Income sold
....Director of personnel
....Company attorney
(Pa was the classic example of a “workaholic”. Also, he had chores planned for all five of us kids during the week and especially on Saturdays.)
From early on we all had daily chores of making our beds and keeping our rooms straight. He taught us to use ”Hospital Corners" to keep the bed neat.
Pa worked with my brother Bill and me on Saturdays
o Cutting up trees with a cross-cut saw. (He took on one end and Bill and I took turns trying to keep up with him)
o Cleaning out horse barns and spreading the manure on our front yard (1.5 acre) and sowing grass-seed to grow our lawn. (Later it was my job to cut the grass each week with a walk-behind Gravely tractor)
o Planting and taking care of a garden
o Planting the living Christmas trees in the front yard each year by the drive that came into our home (thankfully my brother-in-law, Vernon O'Dell, did most of that work)
o Chopping down weeds on the steep jungle-like hill (with many trees and limestone outcroppings) in the back yard (1.5 acre). It was swarming with mosquitoes and other insects.
Pa arranged for me to get my first manual labor jobs while I was in High School
o First as a house carpenter working for the man that built our home in Ten Broeck (Mr. MacMillan, or “Mr. Mac”). I remember a few tasks I had:
....Move a huge stack of lumber from one place to another about 30 feet away.
....Scrub the excess mortal off brick walls with acid and a wire brush
....Clean out a basement that was filled with maggots
....Finally, after the tough old carpenters were done harassing me, they let me help fame a house.
o I next worked unloading freight cars that had huge bags of powdered chemicals that came into a place called Chemicals and Catalysts, Inc. (I'd come home a different color every night). You couldn't see across the plant floor where the chemicals were being mixed. (This was before days of OSHA).
o The Summer of my Senior year I worked as the Civil Engineer's helper on the thirteen story Lincoln Income office building (designed by Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture firm). It was designed with an elevator core going up to the thirteenth floor where steel trusses were installed. Then each floor underneath was framed out (one floor at a time). When it came time to pour a floor, I would push the concrete buggy (with 1.5 yards of concrete) time after time to fill in and smooth out the floor. It was always an exciting day when the concrete arrived. The men on that job-site were even rougher than the house carpenters. I especially remember a really big black workman named Robert (He always talked about drinking Thunderbird whiskey when he came back to work on Mondays).
I really enjoyed working with all those groups of men. Looking back, I can see how Pa progressively developed me into wanting to work hard at every thing I do. I think he instilled that in all of his children and we will forever be grateful to him.
o Hard work
o Leadership
o Honesty
o Integrity
And many others
He taught his lessons with authority and by example.
When he said, “Jump!” we all jumped and asked, “How high?” On the way up.
The one lesson that stands out most vividly is the value of hard work.
He taught me this in many ways:
o His example at work (It took four men to replace him when he retired). At his company (Lincoln Income Life Insurance Company) he did the following jobs.
....Treasurer
....Wrote the insurance policies that Lincoln Income sold
....Director of personnel
....Company attorney
(Pa was the classic example of a “workaholic”. Also, he had chores planned for all five of us kids during the week and especially on Saturdays.)
From early on we all had daily chores of making our beds and keeping our rooms straight. He taught us to use ”Hospital Corners" to keep the bed neat.
Pa worked with my brother Bill and me on Saturdays
o Cutting up trees with a cross-cut saw. (He took on one end and Bill and I took turns trying to keep up with him)
o Cleaning out horse barns and spreading the manure on our front yard (1.5 acre) and sowing grass-seed to grow our lawn. (Later it was my job to cut the grass each week with a walk-behind Gravely tractor)
o Planting and taking care of a garden
o Planting the living Christmas trees in the front yard each year by the drive that came into our home (thankfully my brother-in-law, Vernon O'Dell, did most of that work)
o Chopping down weeds on the steep jungle-like hill (with many trees and limestone outcroppings) in the back yard (1.5 acre). It was swarming with mosquitoes and other insects.
Pa arranged for me to get my first manual labor jobs while I was in High School
o First as a house carpenter working for the man that built our home in Ten Broeck (Mr. MacMillan, or “Mr. Mac”). I remember a few tasks I had:
....Move a huge stack of lumber from one place to another about 30 feet away.
....Scrub the excess mortal off brick walls with acid and a wire brush
....Clean out a basement that was filled with maggots
....Finally, after the tough old carpenters were done harassing me, they let me help fame a house.
o I next worked unloading freight cars that had huge bags of powdered chemicals that came into a place called Chemicals and Catalysts, Inc. (I'd come home a different color every night). You couldn't see across the plant floor where the chemicals were being mixed. (This was before days of OSHA).
o The Summer of my Senior year I worked as the Civil Engineer's helper on the thirteen story Lincoln Income office building (designed by Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture firm). It was designed with an elevator core going up to the thirteenth floor where steel trusses were installed. Then each floor underneath was framed out (one floor at a time). When it came time to pour a floor, I would push the concrete buggy (with 1.5 yards of concrete) time after time to fill in and smooth out the floor. It was always an exciting day when the concrete arrived. The men on that job-site were even rougher than the house carpenters. I especially remember a really big black workman named Robert (He always talked about drinking Thunderbird whiskey when he came back to work on Mondays).
I really enjoyed working with all those groups of men. Looking back, I can see how Pa progressively developed me into wanting to work hard at every thing I do. I think he instilled that in all of his children and we will forever be grateful to him.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
"Cruise Control" versus "Race Car" Living
In Matthew 22:37 and Deuteronomy 6:5 (And He said to him, " 'You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.' ) what I saw was the intensity and wholeheartedness which I should obey God. If we are to love God with all our heart and soul and mind, and if obedience is a major part of such love, then it follows that we are to obey Him with all our heart, soul, and mind. We are to put everything we have into obedience to Him.
My observation is that most of us who are believers practice what I call a "cruise-control” approach to to obedience. Many cars today have a convenient feature called cruise-control. When you are driving on the highway you can accelerate to your desired speed push the cruise-control button, and take your foot from the accelerator pedal. Some mechanism attached to the engine will then maintain your desired speed and you can ease back and relax a little. You don't have to watch your speedometer to make sure you're not going to get a ticket for speeding, and you no longer have to experience the fatigue that comes with constant foot pressure on the accelerator. It's a very convenient and relatively relaxing. It's a great feature on cars.
However, we tend to obey God in the same way. To continue the driving analogy, we press the accelerator pedal of obedience until we have brought our behavior up to a certain level or “speed”. The level of obedience is most often determined by the behavior standard of other Christians around us. We don't want to lag behind them because we want to be as spiritual as they are. At the same time, we're not eager to forge ahead of them because we wouldn't want to be different. We want to just comfortably blend in with level of obedience of those around us.
Once we have arrived at this comfortable level of obedience we push the “cruise-control” button in our hearts, ease back, and relax. Our particular Christian culture then takes over and keeps us going at the accepted level of conduct. We don't have to experience the fatigue that comes with seeking to obey Him with all our heart, soul, and mind. This then is what I call “cruise-control” obedience, and I fear it is descriptive of many of us much, if not all, of the time.
By contrast consider race-car drivers. They wouldn't think of using cruise control. They are not interested in blending in with speed of those around them. They are not out for a Sunday afternoon drive. They want to win the race.
Race-car drivers are totally focused on their driving. There is always on the accelerator as they try to push their car to the outer limits of its mechanical ability and endurance. Their eye is always on the track as they press to its limit their own skill in negotiating the turns on the track and its hazards of other cars around them. They are driving with all their heart, soul, and mind.
This is what it means to love God with all our heart and soul and mind. It means, in the words of Hebrews 12:14, to “make every effort...to be holy”, and in the words of the apostle Peter, to “make every effort” to add to our faith the various facets of Christian character (2 Peter 1:5-7).
The apostle Paul didn't have auto races and cruise controls to use as illustrations, so he used the metaphor of a foot race. Here is how is how he put it in 1 Corinthians 9:24-27:
"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it for a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like the man running aimlessly: I do not fight like a man beating the air. No I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize."
Do you see the similarity to our contemporary illustration? The foot racer running aimlessly or the boxer beating the air is the same person out for a Sunday drive with his or her cruise control on. The runner striving for the prize who goes into strict training and beats his or her body – that is, subdues its desires – is like the race-car driver who drives with all his or her heart and soul and mind. And Moses and Jesus and Paul all said this is the way we should live the Christian life.
God is not impressed with our worship on Sunday morning at church if we are practicing “cruise-control” obedience the rest of the week. You may sing with reverent zest or great emotional fervor but your worship is only as pleasing to God as the obedience that accompanies it.
This is why the Holy Spirit was creating this sense of uneasiness in my mind over my professed love for God. I wasn't living with some flagrant sin in my life, I was simply living a "cruise-control” mode of obedience. I had lost the commitment and intensity that is implied in the “pursuit” of holiness. I wasn't seeking to obey God's law with all my heart and soul and mind. Instead I had settled into a comfortable routine, in which there were no major vices, but neither was there an all-out effort to obey God in every area of life, especially in interpersonal relationships.
We should delight in God. We should eagerly anticipate fellowship with Him during the quiet time and even throughout the entire day. It is healthy to want to gaze upon His beauty and to seek Him in His temple. The Westminster Shorter Catechism answers the question “What is the chief end of man?” by saying, “Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever” We are not not only to glorify God, we are to enjoy Him forever, both in this life and in eternity.
So the enjoyment of God and the desire to fellowship with Him and to worship Him are certainly important dimensions of our love to God. But the most important dimension is our wholehearted obedience: our desire to obey Him with all our heart, soul, and mind.
From “The Disciple of Grace”
by Jerry Bridges
Navpress 2006 (pp 118-121)
My observation is that most of us who are believers practice what I call a "cruise-control” approach to to obedience. Many cars today have a convenient feature called cruise-control. When you are driving on the highway you can accelerate to your desired speed push the cruise-control button, and take your foot from the accelerator pedal. Some mechanism attached to the engine will then maintain your desired speed and you can ease back and relax a little. You don't have to watch your speedometer to make sure you're not going to get a ticket for speeding, and you no longer have to experience the fatigue that comes with constant foot pressure on the accelerator. It's a very convenient and relatively relaxing. It's a great feature on cars.
However, we tend to obey God in the same way. To continue the driving analogy, we press the accelerator pedal of obedience until we have brought our behavior up to a certain level or “speed”. The level of obedience is most often determined by the behavior standard of other Christians around us. We don't want to lag behind them because we want to be as spiritual as they are. At the same time, we're not eager to forge ahead of them because we wouldn't want to be different. We want to just comfortably blend in with level of obedience of those around us.
Once we have arrived at this comfortable level of obedience we push the “cruise-control” button in our hearts, ease back, and relax. Our particular Christian culture then takes over and keeps us going at the accepted level of conduct. We don't have to experience the fatigue that comes with seeking to obey Him with all our heart, soul, and mind. This then is what I call “cruise-control” obedience, and I fear it is descriptive of many of us much, if not all, of the time.
By contrast consider race-car drivers. They wouldn't think of using cruise control. They are not interested in blending in with speed of those around them. They are not out for a Sunday afternoon drive. They want to win the race.
Race-car drivers are totally focused on their driving. There is always on the accelerator as they try to push their car to the outer limits of its mechanical ability and endurance. Their eye is always on the track as they press to its limit their own skill in negotiating the turns on the track and its hazards of other cars around them. They are driving with all their heart, soul, and mind.
This is what it means to love God with all our heart and soul and mind. It means, in the words of Hebrews 12:14, to “make every effort...to be holy”, and in the words of the apostle Peter, to “make every effort” to add to our faith the various facets of Christian character (2 Peter 1:5-7).
The apostle Paul didn't have auto races and cruise controls to use as illustrations, so he used the metaphor of a foot race. Here is how is how he put it in 1 Corinthians 9:24-27:
"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it for a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like the man running aimlessly: I do not fight like a man beating the air. No I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize."
Do you see the similarity to our contemporary illustration? The foot racer running aimlessly or the boxer beating the air is the same person out for a Sunday drive with his or her cruise control on. The runner striving for the prize who goes into strict training and beats his or her body – that is, subdues its desires – is like the race-car driver who drives with all his or her heart and soul and mind. And Moses and Jesus and Paul all said this is the way we should live the Christian life.
God is not impressed with our worship on Sunday morning at church if we are practicing “cruise-control” obedience the rest of the week. You may sing with reverent zest or great emotional fervor but your worship is only as pleasing to God as the obedience that accompanies it.
This is why the Holy Spirit was creating this sense of uneasiness in my mind over my professed love for God. I wasn't living with some flagrant sin in my life, I was simply living a "cruise-control” mode of obedience. I had lost the commitment and intensity that is implied in the “pursuit” of holiness. I wasn't seeking to obey God's law with all my heart and soul and mind. Instead I had settled into a comfortable routine, in which there were no major vices, but neither was there an all-out effort to obey God in every area of life, especially in interpersonal relationships.
We should delight in God. We should eagerly anticipate fellowship with Him during the quiet time and even throughout the entire day. It is healthy to want to gaze upon His beauty and to seek Him in His temple. The Westminster Shorter Catechism answers the question “What is the chief end of man?” by saying, “Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever” We are not not only to glorify God, we are to enjoy Him forever, both in this life and in eternity.
So the enjoyment of God and the desire to fellowship with Him and to worship Him are certainly important dimensions of our love to God. But the most important dimension is our wholehearted obedience: our desire to obey Him with all our heart, soul, and mind.
From “The Disciple of Grace”
by Jerry Bridges
Navpress 2006 (pp 118-121)
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Bill and Me
My brother Bill is eighteen months younger than I am, and we are extremely close.
My family tells the story of us going out together one day and sometime later he returns alone. When they ask, “Where is Bob?” he replies “He's down the street. ”What is he doing?” “He's fighting.” Bill replies. They later find out that Bill had started the fight, and I was taking up for him.
Another time Bill took Mom's white Pontiac Bonneville convertible and had cutouts installed right before the muffler (with caps on them). Take off the caps and that car had a beautiful roar. That went fine until one day Dad took it to Friebert's Garage and they found the cutouts. I thinks we all had a good laugh over that.
When I was a freshman at Ohio State I sent Bill the money to buy a Honda motorcycle. He bought it, but before I got home he took it out for a test drive. The first time out he drove off a bridge and the engine filled up with mud. When I got home I saw it in pieces in his friend's garage. I never got to ride it.
Life was always exciting with Bill around..
My family tells the story of us going out together one day and sometime later he returns alone. When they ask, “Where is Bob?” he replies “He's down the street. ”What is he doing?” “He's fighting.” Bill replies. They later find out that Bill had started the fight, and I was taking up for him.
Another time Bill took Mom's white Pontiac Bonneville convertible and had cutouts installed right before the muffler (with caps on them). Take off the caps and that car had a beautiful roar. That went fine until one day Dad took it to Friebert's Garage and they found the cutouts. I thinks we all had a good laugh over that.
When I was a freshman at Ohio State I sent Bill the money to buy a Honda motorcycle. He bought it, but before I got home he took it out for a test drive. The first time out he drove off a bridge and the engine filled up with mud. When I got home I saw it in pieces in his friend's garage. I never got to ride it.
Life was always exciting with Bill around..
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Ten Broeck
In the mid-50s my parents bought property in what was then considered The Boonies of eastern Jefferson County, Kentucky, outside Louisville. The subdivision was named Ten Broeck (pronounced “brook”) Acres, after a famous racehorse of the 19th century.
In Ten Broeck, each property owner was required to purchase a minimum of three acres, so no houses were built close together. Unlike most subdivisions, where streets were laid out in a grid, there were only four streets that branched off the main drag in Ten Broeck, which was named Ten Broeck Way. Those four streets went off on only the east side of Ten Broeck Way, and each street was wide enough for only one vehicle. Our street was Lexington Lane, and while we were growing up, there were only six houses on that street. Ours was built at the dead end.
We moved there in 1956, when I was five years old. By then my two sisters were mostly grown, and it wasn’t long before they went off to college and then married and moved away. But my two brothers and I grew up in Ten Broeck, and it was a marvelous place for children. Things were different back then: parents didn’t worry much about their kids running around unsupervised. In the summer, we used to leave the house after breakfast and not come home until suppertime. No one walked with us to the bus stop at the bottom of Lexington Lane--except for our dog, Susie, who faithfully took us to the bus stop and then met us there at the end of the school day to walk us home.
The back of our house sat on a cliff overlooking a tree-covered hill at the bottom of which was Little Goose Creek. We spent many hours catching crawdads in that creek. In the winter, if the temperature got low enough, the creek would freeze completely over and we could walk on it. One summer day, when I was about ten or so, two little girls (who lived on the other side of the creek and up another hill, on Brookwood Path) and I went swimming in the creek. Adele dove into the deepest part, and when she came up she shot out of the water and onto the bank, followed closely by several water moccasins whose nest she had disturbed. It was the fastest I ever moved, either before or since. Miraculously, none of us--including Adele--was bitten. It was the last time we swam in the creek.
Ten Broeck was, like most of Kentucky, very hilly. In the winter, there was one particular street--Spokane Way-- we loved to use as a sled run after a good snow. We would start at the top of the hill and shoot down, maneuvering a series of curves, to the bottom, and then across the main drag and under a fence. We were generally too stupid to worry about cars driving down Ten Broeck Way and running over us. Thankfully, there wasn’t much traffic in Ten Broeck. I remember a couple of times our dad tied our sleds to the back of his pickup truck and took us for rides in the snow. It was great fun.
Ten Broeck was developed by a man named Wolpert. He and his wife lived on Brookwood Path, which faced--from about a half mile away-- the back of our house. The Wolperts owned quite a bit of property in the subdivision. I don’t remember how old I was, maybe seven or eight, when I discovered what seemed like an endless meadow of the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen. I often took “bouquets” of chicory and Queen Anne’s lace to my mother, and I was beside myself with excitement at the thought of how thrilled she would be when I presented her with an armload of these gorgeous blooms. I carefully picked every flower on that hill and lugged them all home to Mom. By the time I got there, Mrs. Wolpert had already called and reamed Mom out for giving birth to the horrible criminal who, with malice and vicious aforethought, had stripped her property of all her expensive, prized flowers. Apparently on that fine spring morning Mrs. Wolpert had gone out onto her deck to admire and enjoy all the tulips she had worked so hard to plant on the hill across from their house. She was (quite understandably) furious to see the hill completely denuded. But Mom never uttered a word of reproof to me. She acted as delighted to receive the flowers as I was to bring them to her. She did, however, suggest that I stick to bouquets of chicory and Queen Anne’s lace from then on.
One summer my brothers, Bob and Bill, hung two hammocks between trees down in the woods close to our house. The hammocks were made of canvas and had screening, so you could zip yourself in and be protected from bugs. I thought those hammocks were wonderful, and long after Bob and Bill abandoned them, I would go down and zip myself into one and pretend I was on a safari, or exploring new lands.
There weren’t many children in Ten Broeck, so I spent a great deal of time by myself. I wandered the woods and fields that surrounded our home, mentally writing The Great American Novel which would of course be a colossal hit on the Best Seller List. I would be hailed as a genius for having written such a fabulous book by the age of ten. Sometimes I would sing show tunes and pretend I was on the Broadway stage or in a musical movie. Besides being a famous novelist, I also wanted to be Doris Day.
Sometimes I visited our neighbors. A couple named D’Alessio owned a home at the bottom of Lexington Lane, and I became great friends with the wife, Betty. The D’Alessios were childless, and Betty found me highly entertaining. One winter, after she had had surgery and was recuperating at home, I stopped at her house every day on my way home from school and read the funnies to her from the newspaper. A highly imaginative child, I adopted different voices for each character and infused each character with powerful drama. Betty thought I was a hoot. When I reached my teens, my visits with Betty slowed and eventually stopped. Before I could go back and thank her for being such a great friend to me, she died.
I blame being raised in Ten Broeck for the fact that I never learned to roller skate. I asked for and received a pair of skates when I was seven or eight for my birthday. I went out into the carport, strapped on the skates, stood up and proceeded to skate straight off the cliff. I was airborne for perhaps five seconds before I plummeted to the earth at the bottom of the hill. As soon as I crawled back up, I threw the skates into the garbage can and decided I could get through life without being able to skate. I’m nearly sixty now, and so far it has worked out just fine.
I remember my dad and brothers skeet shooting in our front yard on Saturdays and Sunday afternoons after church. People out for a Sunday drive frequently came up Lexington Lane to our house, even though Dad had posted a Dead End No Turn Around sign at the bottom of the street. And because we lived at the dead end, the drivers had no choice but to turn around in our driveway. One Sunday afternoon some poor unfortunate soul was terrorized by my brothers, who decided it would be great fun to frighten the poor people to death by racing up the front lawn with rifles in hand, yelling at the top of their lungs. It was the only time I saw a car actually back all the way down Lexington Lane. And at a high rate of speed, at that.
Because our home was so secluded, we didn’t think twice about going outside in our pajamas, or skeet shooting in the front yard, or yelling just for the pleasure of yelling. One time when my mother decided to sunbathe, the only swimsuit she could find was one her sister had left behind. My aunt was considerably smaller than Mom, but Mama somehow poured herself into the swimsuit and went outside. While she was lying on the chaise lounge in our front yard, a man in a delivery truck pulled into our driveway and got out to ask directions. Our dog, Susie, who was large and threatening-looking, posted herself in front of Mom and growled menacingly. The driver backed up and received the directions from the safety of his truck. Mama said she was exceedingly grateful for Susie’s presence that day.
One time Mom saw a man with a rifle in the woods behind our house. Without a second thought, she flung open the door and yelled, “What do you think you’re doing?” He replied, “Mr. McConnell said I could hunt back here, ma’am.” She yelled, “Get away from the house!” It wasn’t until later that she realized she could have been shot--or worse. We all felt very safe in Ten Broeck.
I used to bemoan the fact that Ten Broeck was considered Way Out in the Middle of Nowhere. As a child, I hated that no ice cream trucks ever came through our neighborhood, and it was miles away from the country club where we had a membership at the swimming pool--too far for me to walk or even ride my bike; I had to depend on my mother or my brothers to drive me there. As a teen, I had to give my dates turn-by-turn directions to our house. But really, Ten Broeck was a marvelous place to grow up. I feel blessed for having spent my childhood there.
In Ten Broeck, each property owner was required to purchase a minimum of three acres, so no houses were built close together. Unlike most subdivisions, where streets were laid out in a grid, there were only four streets that branched off the main drag in Ten Broeck, which was named Ten Broeck Way. Those four streets went off on only the east side of Ten Broeck Way, and each street was wide enough for only one vehicle. Our street was Lexington Lane, and while we were growing up, there were only six houses on that street. Ours was built at the dead end.
We moved there in 1956, when I was five years old. By then my two sisters were mostly grown, and it wasn’t long before they went off to college and then married and moved away. But my two brothers and I grew up in Ten Broeck, and it was a marvelous place for children. Things were different back then: parents didn’t worry much about their kids running around unsupervised. In the summer, we used to leave the house after breakfast and not come home until suppertime. No one walked with us to the bus stop at the bottom of Lexington Lane--except for our dog, Susie, who faithfully took us to the bus stop and then met us there at the end of the school day to walk us home.
The back of our house sat on a cliff overlooking a tree-covered hill at the bottom of which was Little Goose Creek. We spent many hours catching crawdads in that creek. In the winter, if the temperature got low enough, the creek would freeze completely over and we could walk on it. One summer day, when I was about ten or so, two little girls (who lived on the other side of the creek and up another hill, on Brookwood Path) and I went swimming in the creek. Adele dove into the deepest part, and when she came up she shot out of the water and onto the bank, followed closely by several water moccasins whose nest she had disturbed. It was the fastest I ever moved, either before or since. Miraculously, none of us--including Adele--was bitten. It was the last time we swam in the creek.
Ten Broeck was, like most of Kentucky, very hilly. In the winter, there was one particular street--Spokane Way-- we loved to use as a sled run after a good snow. We would start at the top of the hill and shoot down, maneuvering a series of curves, to the bottom, and then across the main drag and under a fence. We were generally too stupid to worry about cars driving down Ten Broeck Way and running over us. Thankfully, there wasn’t much traffic in Ten Broeck. I remember a couple of times our dad tied our sleds to the back of his pickup truck and took us for rides in the snow. It was great fun.
Ten Broeck was developed by a man named Wolpert. He and his wife lived on Brookwood Path, which faced--from about a half mile away-- the back of our house. The Wolperts owned quite a bit of property in the subdivision. I don’t remember how old I was, maybe seven or eight, when I discovered what seemed like an endless meadow of the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen. I often took “bouquets” of chicory and Queen Anne’s lace to my mother, and I was beside myself with excitement at the thought of how thrilled she would be when I presented her with an armload of these gorgeous blooms. I carefully picked every flower on that hill and lugged them all home to Mom. By the time I got there, Mrs. Wolpert had already called and reamed Mom out for giving birth to the horrible criminal who, with malice and vicious aforethought, had stripped her property of all her expensive, prized flowers. Apparently on that fine spring morning Mrs. Wolpert had gone out onto her deck to admire and enjoy all the tulips she had worked so hard to plant on the hill across from their house. She was (quite understandably) furious to see the hill completely denuded. But Mom never uttered a word of reproof to me. She acted as delighted to receive the flowers as I was to bring them to her. She did, however, suggest that I stick to bouquets of chicory and Queen Anne’s lace from then on.
One summer my brothers, Bob and Bill, hung two hammocks between trees down in the woods close to our house. The hammocks were made of canvas and had screening, so you could zip yourself in and be protected from bugs. I thought those hammocks were wonderful, and long after Bob and Bill abandoned them, I would go down and zip myself into one and pretend I was on a safari, or exploring new lands.
There weren’t many children in Ten Broeck, so I spent a great deal of time by myself. I wandered the woods and fields that surrounded our home, mentally writing The Great American Novel which would of course be a colossal hit on the Best Seller List. I would be hailed as a genius for having written such a fabulous book by the age of ten. Sometimes I would sing show tunes and pretend I was on the Broadway stage or in a musical movie. Besides being a famous novelist, I also wanted to be Doris Day.
Sometimes I visited our neighbors. A couple named D’Alessio owned a home at the bottom of Lexington Lane, and I became great friends with the wife, Betty. The D’Alessios were childless, and Betty found me highly entertaining. One winter, after she had had surgery and was recuperating at home, I stopped at her house every day on my way home from school and read the funnies to her from the newspaper. A highly imaginative child, I adopted different voices for each character and infused each character with powerful drama. Betty thought I was a hoot. When I reached my teens, my visits with Betty slowed and eventually stopped. Before I could go back and thank her for being such a great friend to me, she died.
I blame being raised in Ten Broeck for the fact that I never learned to roller skate. I asked for and received a pair of skates when I was seven or eight for my birthday. I went out into the carport, strapped on the skates, stood up and proceeded to skate straight off the cliff. I was airborne for perhaps five seconds before I plummeted to the earth at the bottom of the hill. As soon as I crawled back up, I threw the skates into the garbage can and decided I could get through life without being able to skate. I’m nearly sixty now, and so far it has worked out just fine.
I remember my dad and brothers skeet shooting in our front yard on Saturdays and Sunday afternoons after church. People out for a Sunday drive frequently came up Lexington Lane to our house, even though Dad had posted a Dead End No Turn Around sign at the bottom of the street. And because we lived at the dead end, the drivers had no choice but to turn around in our driveway. One Sunday afternoon some poor unfortunate soul was terrorized by my brothers, who decided it would be great fun to frighten the poor people to death by racing up the front lawn with rifles in hand, yelling at the top of their lungs. It was the only time I saw a car actually back all the way down Lexington Lane. And at a high rate of speed, at that.
Because our home was so secluded, we didn’t think twice about going outside in our pajamas, or skeet shooting in the front yard, or yelling just for the pleasure of yelling. One time when my mother decided to sunbathe, the only swimsuit she could find was one her sister had left behind. My aunt was considerably smaller than Mom, but Mama somehow poured herself into the swimsuit and went outside. While she was lying on the chaise lounge in our front yard, a man in a delivery truck pulled into our driveway and got out to ask directions. Our dog, Susie, who was large and threatening-looking, posted herself in front of Mom and growled menacingly. The driver backed up and received the directions from the safety of his truck. Mama said she was exceedingly grateful for Susie’s presence that day.
One time Mom saw a man with a rifle in the woods behind our house. Without a second thought, she flung open the door and yelled, “What do you think you’re doing?” He replied, “Mr. McConnell said I could hunt back here, ma’am.” She yelled, “Get away from the house!” It wasn’t until later that she realized she could have been shot--or worse. We all felt very safe in Ten Broeck.
I used to bemoan the fact that Ten Broeck was considered Way Out in the Middle of Nowhere. As a child, I hated that no ice cream trucks ever came through our neighborhood, and it was miles away from the country club where we had a membership at the swimming pool--too far for me to walk or even ride my bike; I had to depend on my mother or my brothers to drive me there. As a teen, I had to give my dates turn-by-turn directions to our house. But really, Ten Broeck was a marvelous place to grow up. I feel blessed for having spent my childhood there.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Power in Love
Never underestimate the power of love. Love has been known to change lives, and take lives. When the author of 1 John was asked to describe God, he simply said, “God is love” (1 John 4:8, 16). The goodness of God is love. The power of God is love. Many believe love holds the power of healing. After an experience I had several years ago, I, too, believe that loves brings healing. It is a very personal story. If you find it to be be too personal, please forgive me. I write of it here because it powerfully illustrates what I believe love can do.
It was just a few years ago. It was a Saturday night. Really it was the wee hours of Sunday morning. Five of us shared a room. We spent the night together. It was a room for one, but we all managed to squeeze in. We all knew each other. In fact, we are related...enjoy each other's company...love each other. But not one of us really wanted to be there.
It was an expensive room. My guess it went for about $2,000 a night. Good view of the city. Nothing else special about it. There was no pool available. No jacuzzi. The only meals available were in the cafeteria. The room service was nonexistent. The floors weren't carpeted. I have seen larger bathrooms on a bus. No doubt what made the room expensive was the equipment: the monitors, IV pumps, electric multi-position bed, oxygen, vacuum pumps, and cabinets of medical supplies. The room we shared was room 466 in the intensive care unit of Jewish Hospital in Louisville, Kentucky.
I had received the ominous telephone call earlier that evening: “your brother has taken a turn for the worse, and we want his family to come to the hospital.” I used to work in a hospital so I know that the “turn for the worse” line is “medicalese” for “your loved one just died, and we want you to come to the hospital so we can tell you to your face that he has died.” So I went to the hospital without much hope.
Being hospital savvy and knowing I would be arriving in the middle of the night, I wore a tie and my clergy name badge. Instead of stopping me, the security guard in the ER showed me the way to the intensive care unit. Instead of questioning me, the nurse in intensive care directed me to Mr. McConnell's room. Getting there was the easy part. Surprisingly, my brother Bob was still alive when I arrived. Just barely, but alive. My sister Kae, her daughter June, and my daughter Meg, were there staring at the monitor screen. There is not much else to look at, so every one in the room tends to stare at the monitor. And they were waiting. Waiting. I arrived, we prayed, and then I joined the waiting.
We took turns sitting in the three available chairs. We were playing a sort of musical chairs without the music. We wrapped up in blankets and complained of the cold. Individually and as a unit, we pursued the hopeless search for a comfortable position. My theory is that hospital chairs are designed to be uncomfortable to make one miserable enough to go home. Nevertheless, we sought sleep, and we resisted sleep. We talked. We talked to Bob, and we talked about Bob. We talked about better days and family and how and what our children and grandchildren are doing and whatever happened to old what's-his-name and spouses and ex-spouses and what had been and what could have been and what should have been. We stood by the the bed and held Bob's hand and looked into his tired face and listened to his labored breathing and prayed and wept and hoped against hope.
Morning came. Bob was not only still alive, but just a little bit better and rallying quickly. His doctor showed up and was amazed to find him alive.
The doctor didn't quite know to make of it. Blood pressure – up. Blood oxygen – up. Lungs – clear. Temperature – down. It was amazing. The doctor wondered aloud, “How did this happen?”
We didn't know. He held the only medical degree in the room. I have a theory. A popular Christian song says, “In this very room there is quite enough love for one like me.”
I believe in that very room in the intensive care unit of Jewish Hospital there was quite enough love for Bob. Enough love for Bob – for Bob to live through the night. For Bob to recover and be living with his children and grandchildren.
Ask me, and I will tell you that it is true. You can live on love. Love powerful enough to work miracles and bring healing. My hope is that we all find a room like that very room I was blessed to spend that Saturday night in. It was a miserably marvelous room. It was a room filled to overflowing with love.
It was just a few years ago. It was a Saturday night. Really it was the wee hours of Sunday morning. Five of us shared a room. We spent the night together. It was a room for one, but we all managed to squeeze in. We all knew each other. In fact, we are related...enjoy each other's company...love each other. But not one of us really wanted to be there.
It was an expensive room. My guess it went for about $2,000 a night. Good view of the city. Nothing else special about it. There was no pool available. No jacuzzi. The only meals available were in the cafeteria. The room service was nonexistent. The floors weren't carpeted. I have seen larger bathrooms on a bus. No doubt what made the room expensive was the equipment: the monitors, IV pumps, electric multi-position bed, oxygen, vacuum pumps, and cabinets of medical supplies. The room we shared was room 466 in the intensive care unit of Jewish Hospital in Louisville, Kentucky.
I had received the ominous telephone call earlier that evening: “your brother has taken a turn for the worse, and we want his family to come to the hospital.” I used to work in a hospital so I know that the “turn for the worse” line is “medicalese” for “your loved one just died, and we want you to come to the hospital so we can tell you to your face that he has died.” So I went to the hospital without much hope.
Being hospital savvy and knowing I would be arriving in the middle of the night, I wore a tie and my clergy name badge. Instead of stopping me, the security guard in the ER showed me the way to the intensive care unit. Instead of questioning me, the nurse in intensive care directed me to Mr. McConnell's room. Getting there was the easy part. Surprisingly, my brother Bob was still alive when I arrived. Just barely, but alive. My sister Kae, her daughter June, and my daughter Meg, were there staring at the monitor screen. There is not much else to look at, so every one in the room tends to stare at the monitor. And they were waiting. Waiting. I arrived, we prayed, and then I joined the waiting.
We took turns sitting in the three available chairs. We were playing a sort of musical chairs without the music. We wrapped up in blankets and complained of the cold. Individually and as a unit, we pursued the hopeless search for a comfortable position. My theory is that hospital chairs are designed to be uncomfortable to make one miserable enough to go home. Nevertheless, we sought sleep, and we resisted sleep. We talked. We talked to Bob, and we talked about Bob. We talked about better days and family and how and what our children and grandchildren are doing and whatever happened to old what's-his-name and spouses and ex-spouses and what had been and what could have been and what should have been. We stood by the the bed and held Bob's hand and looked into his tired face and listened to his labored breathing and prayed and wept and hoped against hope.
Morning came. Bob was not only still alive, but just a little bit better and rallying quickly. His doctor showed up and was amazed to find him alive.
The doctor didn't quite know to make of it. Blood pressure – up. Blood oxygen – up. Lungs – clear. Temperature – down. It was amazing. The doctor wondered aloud, “How did this happen?”
We didn't know. He held the only medical degree in the room. I have a theory. A popular Christian song says, “In this very room there is quite enough love for one like me.”
I believe in that very room in the intensive care unit of Jewish Hospital there was quite enough love for Bob. Enough love for Bob – for Bob to live through the night. For Bob to recover and be living with his children and grandchildren.
Ask me, and I will tell you that it is true. You can live on love. Love powerful enough to work miracles and bring healing. My hope is that we all find a room like that very room I was blessed to spend that Saturday night in. It was a miserably marvelous room. It was a room filled to overflowing with love.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I Love a Parade
The following is a newspaper article my brother Bill (William Thomas McConnell III) wrote in 1991 several years after my Dad (Pa) died in 1986.
As a pastor, it is not uncommon for me to be around and able to observe a family lose a loved one to a progressive disease like cancer. Always painful, it is also wonderfully touching and life enriching to see love shared, life made more meaningful because of its brevity, every drop squeezed from each moment because they are suddenly of very short supply. I am touched and I am reminded of going through that process with my father.
My father died over 20 years ago and rarely does a week pass that I don’t wish I had a chance to talk to him. A few years after his death, I was motivated to write the first piece I ever had published. Allow me to share those thoughts with you at the beginning of this year.
I love a good parade. I even like bad parades. I have seen both kinds. Some really stick in my memory. The 1970 Memorial Day Parade in Waddy, Kentucky (yes, that is the town's real name) immediately springs to mind. The town folks had been talking about the Memorial Day Parade for weeks before the event and I was getting rather excited about it. One couldn’t spend any time in the local grocery store without the conversation turning to the parade. Plans and preparations were being made. It seemed that most of the people in the little town were going to be participating.
My family and I passed up several offers so we could be sure to be there for the "big" parade. I will admit that the offers we received were not all that tempting. But we did make a conscious decision to be around for the big parade. At the appointed time we took our places on the sidewalk of the main drag. I must be fair and tell you that Waddy in 1970 was a community of about 255 people and the main drag was the only drag. And there were not very many feet of sidewalk to get on. Since most of the residents were in the parade, finding a place to watch it wasn’t difficult. We didn’t have to come down the night before and stake out our space. Showing up ten minutes before parade time worked out fine.
We didn’t have to wait long before the action started. Here came the parade. It was absolutely wonderful. Strung out for several feet behind the town's antique and only fire truck were two shiny, brand spanking new pick up trucks. The owners had obviously spent a lot of time washing and waxing their pride and joy. One of the trucks was pulling the only float in the parade which was carrying some of the local veterans riding on a tobacco wagon. The other truck was hauling a young girl – perhaps she was Miss Waddy or Miss Shelby County. The entire local Cub Scout Pack, all six of them, were the color guard. There were bicycles and wagons and baby strollers and balloons and crept paper and sparklers and dogs, some horses and a couple of ponies. My, it was grand. One the finest parades I have ever seen. My heart was touched. I wouldn't have missed it.
There have been several other parades in my life. All of them were larger and longer. Many were more exciting and colorful and entertaining. Some were so long they became boring. A couple of them have been just plain stupid. No offense is intended (Really) but have you ever attended a gay rights parade? There is a bad idea. But none of them grander... except one.
That is the parade that wandered through my parents’ kitchen in the fall of 1986.
My father was very busy that fall dying of cancer of the Godknowswhat. The doctors couldn't tell where the cancer had originated but it wasn't difficult to see where it had gone. It was everywhere and Dad was so skinny by then that much of it stuck out on various parts of his body. It was horrible to watch a strong, robust, commanding man reduced to a skeleton struggling to live through each day seeking to find ways to have as little pain as possible. It was horrible, but riveting – like those slasher horror films young teens flock to watch. It was also a wonderful time of quiet conversations and opportunities to do for my father; a man who had always done for others, especially his children. Though the role reversal was a bit challenging for both of us, it was a wonderful God gift to be able to serve my father during a very difficult time.
As cancer took more and more from him and more of him from us, we were completely centered on his well being. Though not unusually tall, my dad was very strong. As a high school kid he had a job picking up milk cans from the local dairy farmers. He could hang on the back of the truck with one hand, lean out and grab a milk can in the other and swing it up into the back of the truck. That is about 140 pounds per can. Whoa, strong guy. Dad played baseball and basketball well and taught his boys how to play.
Because the degeneration of his physical body and our all consuming struggle to make him as comfortable as possible had so captured my attention, the parade that had begun had been passing before my eyes long before I noticed it. But one those beautiful cloudless, bright blue sky, breezy autumn afternoons it burst upon my sight. For a parade, it was difficult to spot. There were no fire trucks or Cub Scouts or floats or marching bands or riders on horseback. There were no pretty young beauty queens seeking our attention or politicians seeking our votes. Most of the faces in this parade were familiar to me, although some were strangers. But they all knew my father. He was the "theme" that held this parade together. This was a parade of people, passing through my parent's spacious, warm, welcoming kitchen, in front of the reclining chair that had become Dad's chief place of
residence.
They came from near and far. As close as the next door neighbor and as far as several states away. They all came to say the same thing in many different ways. They came to say, "Thank you, Mr. McConnell. You have made a difference in my life." What a wonderful thing to say! "Thanks for living and letting me be a part of your life. Your life counted for something in my life." “You have lived a life that was significant because your life powerfully impacted my life.”
And what a strange mix of people it was that carried this message to my father. There were the preachers and church leaders from all over the state that Dad had prayed with and for and taught so much about how to be sensitive to the needs of others and the leading of the Lord. He helped them have more than a theoretical Christianity. There was the alcoholic who lived next door who was snubbed by the community but was proud to be called "friend" by "Mr. Mack". There were the young men of the community that had looked to my father for advice and counsel on subjects ranging from family budgeting to how to win an argument without losing a friend. There was the single mother and her children who were helped through some hard times by a man they hardly knew. There were the old people that came to thank the man who brought them meals when they were too sick to cook for themselves. There were the business associates that had worked with him for over a quarter of a century – folks who really knew him and thus knew him to be a man of integrity, courage, compassion, wisdom and humor. There were his law clients who received much more than just good advice from their attorney. There were the students from more than 30 years of Sunday School classes that came to thank the man who helped make God real and understandable to them. There were the Little League ball players who had become middle-aged men, wanting to thank him for being a fine baseball coach and an even better example.
They came from all over. They loved and appreciated my father and came to tell him. Dad was sick, but he was having a wonderful time. He had invested his life well. And though it was coming to, what many of us considered, a premature end, it had been a great, meaningful, full life. My dad had been successful. He grew up on a little hill farm in Robertson County, Kentucky. He had served his country in World War II. He was the first in his family to graduate from college. He worked his way through law school and was the Vice President and Treasurer of a very successful life insurance company. He had provided very well for his wife and children. He was successful. But more importantly, his life had been significant.
Fortunately, I recognized what was happening in time to join this wonderful parade. I grasped the opportunity at hand and thanked my Dad for being a fine father, good friend, wonderful teacher and excellent example. What a parade! My, it was grand. One the finest parades I have ever seen. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
As a pastor, it is not uncommon for me to be around and able to observe a family lose a loved one to a progressive disease like cancer. Always painful, it is also wonderfully touching and life enriching to see love shared, life made more meaningful because of its brevity, every drop squeezed from each moment because they are suddenly of very short supply. I am touched and I am reminded of going through that process with my father.
My father died over 20 years ago and rarely does a week pass that I don’t wish I had a chance to talk to him. A few years after his death, I was motivated to write the first piece I ever had published. Allow me to share those thoughts with you at the beginning of this year.
I love a good parade. I even like bad parades. I have seen both kinds. Some really stick in my memory. The 1970 Memorial Day Parade in Waddy, Kentucky (yes, that is the town's real name) immediately springs to mind. The town folks had been talking about the Memorial Day Parade for weeks before the event and I was getting rather excited about it. One couldn’t spend any time in the local grocery store without the conversation turning to the parade. Plans and preparations were being made. It seemed that most of the people in the little town were going to be participating.
My family and I passed up several offers so we could be sure to be there for the "big" parade. I will admit that the offers we received were not all that tempting. But we did make a conscious decision to be around for the big parade. At the appointed time we took our places on the sidewalk of the main drag. I must be fair and tell you that Waddy in 1970 was a community of about 255 people and the main drag was the only drag. And there were not very many feet of sidewalk to get on. Since most of the residents were in the parade, finding a place to watch it wasn’t difficult. We didn’t have to come down the night before and stake out our space. Showing up ten minutes before parade time worked out fine.
We didn’t have to wait long before the action started. Here came the parade. It was absolutely wonderful. Strung out for several feet behind the town's antique and only fire truck were two shiny, brand spanking new pick up trucks. The owners had obviously spent a lot of time washing and waxing their pride and joy. One of the trucks was pulling the only float in the parade which was carrying some of the local veterans riding on a tobacco wagon. The other truck was hauling a young girl – perhaps she was Miss Waddy or Miss Shelby County. The entire local Cub Scout Pack, all six of them, were the color guard. There were bicycles and wagons and baby strollers and balloons and crept paper and sparklers and dogs, some horses and a couple of ponies. My, it was grand. One the finest parades I have ever seen. My heart was touched. I wouldn't have missed it.
There have been several other parades in my life. All of them were larger and longer. Many were more exciting and colorful and entertaining. Some were so long they became boring. A couple of them have been just plain stupid. No offense is intended (Really) but have you ever attended a gay rights parade? There is a bad idea. But none of them grander... except one.
That is the parade that wandered through my parents’ kitchen in the fall of 1986.
My father was very busy that fall dying of cancer of the Godknowswhat. The doctors couldn't tell where the cancer had originated but it wasn't difficult to see where it had gone. It was everywhere and Dad was so skinny by then that much of it stuck out on various parts of his body. It was horrible to watch a strong, robust, commanding man reduced to a skeleton struggling to live through each day seeking to find ways to have as little pain as possible. It was horrible, but riveting – like those slasher horror films young teens flock to watch. It was also a wonderful time of quiet conversations and opportunities to do for my father; a man who had always done for others, especially his children. Though the role reversal was a bit challenging for both of us, it was a wonderful God gift to be able to serve my father during a very difficult time.
As cancer took more and more from him and more of him from us, we were completely centered on his well being. Though not unusually tall, my dad was very strong. As a high school kid he had a job picking up milk cans from the local dairy farmers. He could hang on the back of the truck with one hand, lean out and grab a milk can in the other and swing it up into the back of the truck. That is about 140 pounds per can. Whoa, strong guy. Dad played baseball and basketball well and taught his boys how to play.
Because the degeneration of his physical body and our all consuming struggle to make him as comfortable as possible had so captured my attention, the parade that had begun had been passing before my eyes long before I noticed it. But one those beautiful cloudless, bright blue sky, breezy autumn afternoons it burst upon my sight. For a parade, it was difficult to spot. There were no fire trucks or Cub Scouts or floats or marching bands or riders on horseback. There were no pretty young beauty queens seeking our attention or politicians seeking our votes. Most of the faces in this parade were familiar to me, although some were strangers. But they all knew my father. He was the "theme" that held this parade together. This was a parade of people, passing through my parent's spacious, warm, welcoming kitchen, in front of the reclining chair that had become Dad's chief place of
residence.
They came from near and far. As close as the next door neighbor and as far as several states away. They all came to say the same thing in many different ways. They came to say, "Thank you, Mr. McConnell. You have made a difference in my life." What a wonderful thing to say! "Thanks for living and letting me be a part of your life. Your life counted for something in my life." “You have lived a life that was significant because your life powerfully impacted my life.”
And what a strange mix of people it was that carried this message to my father. There were the preachers and church leaders from all over the state that Dad had prayed with and for and taught so much about how to be sensitive to the needs of others and the leading of the Lord. He helped them have more than a theoretical Christianity. There was the alcoholic who lived next door who was snubbed by the community but was proud to be called "friend" by "Mr. Mack". There were the young men of the community that had looked to my father for advice and counsel on subjects ranging from family budgeting to how to win an argument without losing a friend. There was the single mother and her children who were helped through some hard times by a man they hardly knew. There were the old people that came to thank the man who brought them meals when they were too sick to cook for themselves. There were the business associates that had worked with him for over a quarter of a century – folks who really knew him and thus knew him to be a man of integrity, courage, compassion, wisdom and humor. There were his law clients who received much more than just good advice from their attorney. There were the students from more than 30 years of Sunday School classes that came to thank the man who helped make God real and understandable to them. There were the Little League ball players who had become middle-aged men, wanting to thank him for being a fine baseball coach and an even better example.
They came from all over. They loved and appreciated my father and came to tell him. Dad was sick, but he was having a wonderful time. He had invested his life well. And though it was coming to, what many of us considered, a premature end, it had been a great, meaningful, full life. My dad had been successful. He grew up on a little hill farm in Robertson County, Kentucky. He had served his country in World War II. He was the first in his family to graduate from college. He worked his way through law school and was the Vice President and Treasurer of a very successful life insurance company. He had provided very well for his wife and children. He was successful. But more importantly, his life had been significant.
Fortunately, I recognized what was happening in time to join this wonderful parade. I grasped the opportunity at hand and thanked my Dad for being a fine father, good friend, wonderful teacher and excellent example. What a parade! My, it was grand. One the finest parades I have ever seen. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Pa's Last Days
This story is based on a letter my sister Sherfy sent me describing my Dad's (Pa's) last days:
“It has been almost 24 years since Dad passed, so my memories are getting a bit hazy. I remember he got sick around Christmas of 1985. He was severely depressed and couldn't eat, and he slowly starved to death. He was still having those wretched headaches he used to get, because I remember him using an oxygen tank for the last year or two of his life. Oxygen was the only thing that helped those headaches.
For a long time no one could find anything wrong with Dad, beyond the depression. When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer in either the summer or fall of 1986, Dad called me absolutely giddy with delight that someone had finally diagnosed a physical problem. He was told he didn't have more than a few months to live, and he seemed okay with that. He never ever talked about it, though. Mama said that one day he called her to come up to his office above the garage, where he showed her insurance forms and the phone number of his personal lawyer. But he didn't say a word about dying.
We used to go to Atlantic Beach, N.C. for two weeks every summer--Kayce, me, Mom, Dad, and oftentimes friends from New Castle, like Corky and Karen, and John and Mary Roberts. By July of 1986 Dad was horribly thin and ill, and apparently the cancer had gone into his vocal chords, because he couldn't speak; he could only whisper. But he insisted on going to the beach. I drove Mom in her car, and Kae drove Dad in his car. The AC went out in his car by the time we got to Atlantic Beach, so Dad had me take him to a mechanic to have it looked at. The problem was quickly repaired, and on the way back to our condo, Dad whispered, "Tell Kae it was the way it was driven." Now, keep in mind that Dad wasn't really Dad anymore. He didn't make jokes or even talk much by that time. He was, as Bill so succinctly put it, "busy dying of cancer." So when Dad told me to tell Kae the car problem was her fault, I was floored. I questioned him about it, and in typical Dad fashion he scowled at me and said, "Just tell her." Well, I couldn't keep a straight face when I told Kae. Dad sat there passively, not saying a word, and it took Kae a minute to figure out Dad was actually pulling her leg. He LOVED to torment Kae because she's such a drama queen and made such a Big Deal out of everything, so as soon as she figured out what was going on, she gave Dad a real show. It was the last time I saw his eyes twinkle. He didn't have the strength to laugh, but he smiled.
Dad made a huge effort to make it through his and Mom's 50th wedding celebration in July of 1986. He was really touched that so many people came to celebrate with them; especially his eldest sister, Frog Pants (aka Aunt Mildred Stemler.) Dad gave a speech where he announced to everyone that Kae was always his favorite child. Kae seemed embarrassed, but I remember thinking, Well, DUH. Kind of like when Mom revealed that you were her favorite. Well, DUH!
The last couple months of Dad's life were emotionally wrenching. I got into a cycle where I would go down to help Mom take care of Dad for two weeks, then I would go back to Coal City for a week; then back to New Castle. When I was in New Castle, it was my job to take Dad to Louisville for radiation treatments. Several times Bill met me at the hospital and helped me get Dad out of the car and into the treatment center. I remember how small Dad was by that time. He was so shrunken that he was shorter than me, and he didn't weigh more than 80 or 90 pounds. Everyone in New Castle did everything they could to entice Dad to eat. They made cookies and pies and cakes and custards and everything else imaginable. Once he ate a bit of melon, so EVERYBODY started hauling in melons, but Dad didn't eat any after that one time. For a long time he TRIED to eat, but he inevitably vomited back up whatever he just ate. I remember Dad once saying he wanted to go to Frisch's, and Bill said, "Yeah. We'll have two Big Boys and a vomit cup, please." Going out to eat with Dad during those last months wasn't exactly appetizing, if you get my drift here.
Once, after one of his radiation treatments, Dad indicated that he wanted to stop at his secretary, Millie O'Nan's, house on Cannons Lane. So I drove over there, and Millie fussed over Dad as only Millie could. "Oh, now, Mr. Mac, can I get you something to drink? Do you want something to eat? You really should try to eat something, Mr. Mac. I could make you a sandwich, now how would that be? No? Well, how about..." and on and on. Dad looked at me and rolled his eyes and shook his head. I wanted to laugh, but it also made me want to cry. I grieved over Dad the whole time he was dying. Sometimes Mom and I would go out on the back porch and have a good cry, then go back inside to take care of Dad.
He was always freezing cold while he was dying, so he had the furnace jacked up to Auto Fry and the fire roaring in the kitchen fireplace at all times. It was like some cruel kind of sauna torture, but of course we all tolerated it because it was for Dad. He spent all his time in the kitchen, because after awhile he didn't have the strength to climb the stairs. He died in the kitchen. Do you still have a copy of the newspaper article Bill wrote about "I Love A Parade"? In it Bill told of all the people who came into that kitchen during the fall of 1986 to tell Dad what he had meant to them. It was an incredibly long line of folks, and I found out just what a generous man our father was. People came to thank Dad for giving them money when the heads of their households were out of work; or for bringing them meals when they were recuperating from illness; or for helping their child through college--and the list goes on. That was one of the best lessons Dad ever taught me, and he didn't even have to give me a four-hour-long lecture for me to get the message (giggle giggle.)
He was far from perfect, but there's no doubt in my mind that when Dad arrived in Heaven, God said, "Well done, good and faithful servant." I want to be as generous in my Christian walk as he was. Dad was a fine man, and I'm glad he was my father.”
“It has been almost 24 years since Dad passed, so my memories are getting a bit hazy. I remember he got sick around Christmas of 1985. He was severely depressed and couldn't eat, and he slowly starved to death. He was still having those wretched headaches he used to get, because I remember him using an oxygen tank for the last year or two of his life. Oxygen was the only thing that helped those headaches.
For a long time no one could find anything wrong with Dad, beyond the depression. When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer in either the summer or fall of 1986, Dad called me absolutely giddy with delight that someone had finally diagnosed a physical problem. He was told he didn't have more than a few months to live, and he seemed okay with that. He never ever talked about it, though. Mama said that one day he called her to come up to his office above the garage, where he showed her insurance forms and the phone number of his personal lawyer. But he didn't say a word about dying.
We used to go to Atlantic Beach, N.C. for two weeks every summer--Kayce, me, Mom, Dad, and oftentimes friends from New Castle, like Corky and Karen, and John and Mary Roberts. By July of 1986 Dad was horribly thin and ill, and apparently the cancer had gone into his vocal chords, because he couldn't speak; he could only whisper. But he insisted on going to the beach. I drove Mom in her car, and Kae drove Dad in his car. The AC went out in his car by the time we got to Atlantic Beach, so Dad had me take him to a mechanic to have it looked at. The problem was quickly repaired, and on the way back to our condo, Dad whispered, "Tell Kae it was the way it was driven." Now, keep in mind that Dad wasn't really Dad anymore. He didn't make jokes or even talk much by that time. He was, as Bill so succinctly put it, "busy dying of cancer." So when Dad told me to tell Kae the car problem was her fault, I was floored. I questioned him about it, and in typical Dad fashion he scowled at me and said, "Just tell her." Well, I couldn't keep a straight face when I told Kae. Dad sat there passively, not saying a word, and it took Kae a minute to figure out Dad was actually pulling her leg. He LOVED to torment Kae because she's such a drama queen and made such a Big Deal out of everything, so as soon as she figured out what was going on, she gave Dad a real show. It was the last time I saw his eyes twinkle. He didn't have the strength to laugh, but he smiled.
Dad made a huge effort to make it through his and Mom's 50th wedding celebration in July of 1986. He was really touched that so many people came to celebrate with them; especially his eldest sister, Frog Pants (aka Aunt Mildred Stemler.) Dad gave a speech where he announced to everyone that Kae was always his favorite child. Kae seemed embarrassed, but I remember thinking, Well, DUH. Kind of like when Mom revealed that you were her favorite. Well, DUH!
The last couple months of Dad's life were emotionally wrenching. I got into a cycle where I would go down to help Mom take care of Dad for two weeks, then I would go back to Coal City for a week; then back to New Castle. When I was in New Castle, it was my job to take Dad to Louisville for radiation treatments. Several times Bill met me at the hospital and helped me get Dad out of the car and into the treatment center. I remember how small Dad was by that time. He was so shrunken that he was shorter than me, and he didn't weigh more than 80 or 90 pounds. Everyone in New Castle did everything they could to entice Dad to eat. They made cookies and pies and cakes and custards and everything else imaginable. Once he ate a bit of melon, so EVERYBODY started hauling in melons, but Dad didn't eat any after that one time. For a long time he TRIED to eat, but he inevitably vomited back up whatever he just ate. I remember Dad once saying he wanted to go to Frisch's, and Bill said, "Yeah. We'll have two Big Boys and a vomit cup, please." Going out to eat with Dad during those last months wasn't exactly appetizing, if you get my drift here.
Once, after one of his radiation treatments, Dad indicated that he wanted to stop at his secretary, Millie O'Nan's, house on Cannons Lane. So I drove over there, and Millie fussed over Dad as only Millie could. "Oh, now, Mr. Mac, can I get you something to drink? Do you want something to eat? You really should try to eat something, Mr. Mac. I could make you a sandwich, now how would that be? No? Well, how about..." and on and on. Dad looked at me and rolled his eyes and shook his head. I wanted to laugh, but it also made me want to cry. I grieved over Dad the whole time he was dying. Sometimes Mom and I would go out on the back porch and have a good cry, then go back inside to take care of Dad.
He was always freezing cold while he was dying, so he had the furnace jacked up to Auto Fry and the fire roaring in the kitchen fireplace at all times. It was like some cruel kind of sauna torture, but of course we all tolerated it because it was for Dad. He spent all his time in the kitchen, because after awhile he didn't have the strength to climb the stairs. He died in the kitchen. Do you still have a copy of the newspaper article Bill wrote about "I Love A Parade"? In it Bill told of all the people who came into that kitchen during the fall of 1986 to tell Dad what he had meant to them. It was an incredibly long line of folks, and I found out just what a generous man our father was. People came to thank Dad for giving them money when the heads of their households were out of work; or for bringing them meals when they were recuperating from illness; or for helping their child through college--and the list goes on. That was one of the best lessons Dad ever taught me, and he didn't even have to give me a four-hour-long lecture for me to get the message (giggle giggle.)
He was far from perfect, but there's no doubt in my mind that when Dad arrived in Heaven, God said, "Well done, good and faithful servant." I want to be as generous in my Christian walk as he was. Dad was a fine man, and I'm glad he was my father.”
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Growing Up McConnell
This story is based on a letter my sister Sherfy sent me. Before I turn you over to Sherfy, let me introduce her. She was the baby and was always fun to be around. She was one of three really great storytellers of us kids Here are her memories (as only she can tell them) of our childhood:
"I have so many memories of Growing Up McConnell, it's difficult to know where to start. I think my earliest memories are of living on Macon Ave. and visiting people. I was big into visiting people when I was a child. I remember My Friend Helen, who for a long time Mom thought was a little girl, but Helen was actually in her 60s or 70s. She lived on another street, and I don't remember how I got to know Helen, but I do remember visiting her.
I remember growing up at Beargrass Christian Church. I remember when we were in the old sanctuary and how Lawrenson would drone on and on and on. And I remember Mr. Cassiday's deep, booming voice belting out "Amen" at the end of Lawrenson's prayers.
I remember when we moved into the new sanctuary, and we always sat in the front row of the balcony. I remember one time when Mom forgot to take off her slippers, and she went to church dressed to the nines--with fuzzy slippers on. Remember her hats? Mom loved her hats. My particular favorite was a black one with a big red rose on the front of it. You and Bill called it the Coal Miner's Hat. I also remember Mom's stomach growling really loud during a church service, and you leaned over and whispered, "Next time, kill it before you eat it." Mom laughed out loud.
I remember a church function in the old Fellowship Hall down in the basement when I was five or six. Jack Acree asked me to dance, and I stood on his feet while he twirled me around. I felt like a princess. I thought Jack and Mary Jo were very glamorous.
When I was in second grade, our Sunday School teacher (I don't remember who it was) made the terrible mistake of saying to us, "Of course you children know there is no such thing as Santa Claus." We were devastated. I remember getting into the car that day and announcing that I now knew the truth, and Bill hissed, "Way to go, stupid! Now NOBODY gets a stocking!" And he was right. That was the end of the Christmas stockings, and all my siblings groused at me about letting the cat out of the bag.
I remember when Mom and Dad built the house in Ten Broeck and we moved out there. The first day of school that year, I remember when you and Bill left to catch the bus to Worthington School. I was only five and still too young for school, and I was really bummed that morning. I loved De Brudders and missed you both something fierce when you went anywhere without me. Mom felt sorry for me that day; she picked me up, set me on her lap and fed me her breakfast of egg on toast and bacon. I don't think a meal ever tasted so good as that breakfast.
That was the year Fannie McCroskey brought Susie to us. I so loved Susie!
She was a wonderful dog. I remember the year when we were all on different shifts at school. Susie faithfully came down the hill to meet each one of us at our respective buses. She never missed a bus, I don't think. When I was going through all the angst involved with being a teenager, I would go outside, hug Susie, and cry and cry.
She was a great listener.
I remember her completely unreasonable hatred of the nice little man Dad knew--
I think his name was Mr. Morrison. He was a kindly old man, but for some unknown reason Susie hated him, so I always got sent out to hold Susie so poor Mr. Morrison could get into the house without being attacked. Susie also hated Billy Joe Freibert from Freibert's Garage, and she despised black people. I remember Mom sending me outside--I was six years old--to hold Susie so the garbage men could get the garbage. It makes me laugh now, because if Susie had really wanted to light into those guys, I'm pretty sure my six-year-old self wouldn't have been able to hold her back. At the time, though, I wondered why the men kept their eyes on us and gave us such a wide berth.
One time when I was coming home from a date, the guy had said something to me that ticked me off when he pulled into the driveway. So I didn't bother to call Susie off when my date got out of the car and Susie jumped up on him. The guy was terrified and said, "Does your dog bite?" I said something like, "I hope so."
Susie died the summer John [Browning: her husband] and I started dating.
I still miss her.
Remember Mr. Weikel? He was apparently quite wealthy, but I didn't know that as a child. I just knew that he showed up at our house on Saturday mornings, and Dad would always put him to work on some project around the house. Then Dad would invite him to stay for lunch, and we three--you and Bill and I--would be absolutely mesmerized watching Weikel eat the soup Mom invariably served. Weikel evidently had Parkinson's, because his hands shook so much that there was never any soup left on his spoon by the time he got it to his mouth. It was fascinating watching the poor man try to get something to eat. I often wondered why Mom continued to serve him soup, but I never thought to ask her.
I remember waking up on Saturday mornings to the sound of you thwacking baseballs against the backboard Dad put up for you in the front yard. My memories of summers are centered on two things: visiting Mother Mae in Georgetown for a week that seemed to last two or three months;and going to the Little League Park in St. Matthews just about every day.
I remember Uncle Hartsough being an ump for yours and Bill's games, and I remember Lula--the girl who used to live with us--hanging on the fence behind the catcher and screaming for justice for our team. My first airplane trip was when you were pitching in the World Series in Ohio. Mom and Dad had gone with you, but Kae stayed home with me--I was only five or six, I think. Then Dad called and told us to come on, that you had advanced to the final game. That was exciting! I was very proud to know my Brudder was such a great pitcher. I remember going to your games throughout your high school days.
The only vacation I remember us taking as a family was when we went to
Aunt Cordelia's cabin in Robertson County. I thought it was great fun, as I got to have Da Brudders nearby for a whole WEEK, and you couldn't go anywhere to hide from me. :-) We ate oatmeal with real cream for breakfast, and we swam in the river, and we played cards at night.
My perspective of our family is probably different from everybody else's. I always had a good relationship with Mama. She wanted to (rightly) kill me about 80% of the time, but we got along really well and were very close. Kae sees Mom as the distant parent, but I thought she was very affectionate and loving. She tucked me into bed until I was 17 years old! I remember standing at the top of the steps and yelling, "Mama! Come tuck me in!" when I was 16.
I received my parental affirmation from Mom. She often told me that she hadn't wanted me when she was pregnant with me, but she was happy to have me once I was born, and she was so glad God gave me to her. Mom said I was her "joy."
Kae thinks Dad was second only to God, but I thought of him as a very distant tyrant when I was growing up. We didn't have a decent relationship until I matured enough to realize that Dad was a flawed human who did his best with willful little me. When I was a kid, I only related to Dad when he gave me orders, asked me questions at dinner, and lectured me ad nauseum. In his defense, let me say here that I was a JERK to raise. My head was jammed WAY up my behind; I was a selfish little snot.
I felt tremendous security as a kid; I never worried about Mom and Dad divorcing, and I never had to worry about Dad not having a job. But my relationship with Dad pretty much stink, stank, stunk until I was grown. I was very proud of Dad, though. I was proud of his position at Lincoln Income, and I was proud that he was a church leader and a leader in the community. I was proud that he was so well-respected in Louisville, and I took great pride in the fact that he and Mom had such a good marriage. It was a real blow to me when I grew up and moved away, because saying "W.T. McConnell is my father!" just didn't carry much clout anywhere but Louisville.
I was also very proud of Mama. I very much admired her tremendous intelligence and her artistic talents. I thought she was a fabulous cook and a brilliant seamstress. I was terrified of her angry zingers; Mom could cut a person so far down they had to look up to see the floor. But she was also one of the funniest people I ever met.
And after I was grown I considered Mom to be my own personal concordance to the Bible. I miss being able to call her and say, "Mama, where is that Scripture that says such and such?" and she always knew.
And I was--and am--quite proud of my siblings, also. Kayce was so much FUN! When I was a child, being with Kayce usually meant a good time was to be had.
Of course she also worked me half to death, but she sure was fun. I appreciated Linda's kindness and intelligence. I loved your intelligence, your sense of humor, your athletic abilities, and--best of all--you were very patient with me. I know I drove Bill straight up a wall, but I loved him to pieces. I admire his writing abilities and his sense of humor. I think God was very gracious in passing on our parents' sense of humor to their children."
"I have so many memories of Growing Up McConnell, it's difficult to know where to start. I think my earliest memories are of living on Macon Ave. and visiting people. I was big into visiting people when I was a child. I remember My Friend Helen, who for a long time Mom thought was a little girl, but Helen was actually in her 60s or 70s. She lived on another street, and I don't remember how I got to know Helen, but I do remember visiting her.
I remember growing up at Beargrass Christian Church. I remember when we were in the old sanctuary and how Lawrenson would drone on and on and on. And I remember Mr. Cassiday's deep, booming voice belting out "Amen" at the end of Lawrenson's prayers.
I remember when we moved into the new sanctuary, and we always sat in the front row of the balcony. I remember one time when Mom forgot to take off her slippers, and she went to church dressed to the nines--with fuzzy slippers on. Remember her hats? Mom loved her hats. My particular favorite was a black one with a big red rose on the front of it. You and Bill called it the Coal Miner's Hat. I also remember Mom's stomach growling really loud during a church service, and you leaned over and whispered, "Next time, kill it before you eat it." Mom laughed out loud.
I remember a church function in the old Fellowship Hall down in the basement when I was five or six. Jack Acree asked me to dance, and I stood on his feet while he twirled me around. I felt like a princess. I thought Jack and Mary Jo were very glamorous.
When I was in second grade, our Sunday School teacher (I don't remember who it was) made the terrible mistake of saying to us, "Of course you children know there is no such thing as Santa Claus." We were devastated. I remember getting into the car that day and announcing that I now knew the truth, and Bill hissed, "Way to go, stupid! Now NOBODY gets a stocking!" And he was right. That was the end of the Christmas stockings, and all my siblings groused at me about letting the cat out of the bag.
I remember when Mom and Dad built the house in Ten Broeck and we moved out there. The first day of school that year, I remember when you and Bill left to catch the bus to Worthington School. I was only five and still too young for school, and I was really bummed that morning. I loved De Brudders and missed you both something fierce when you went anywhere without me. Mom felt sorry for me that day; she picked me up, set me on her lap and fed me her breakfast of egg on toast and bacon. I don't think a meal ever tasted so good as that breakfast.
That was the year Fannie McCroskey brought Susie to us. I so loved Susie!
She was a wonderful dog. I remember the year when we were all on different shifts at school. Susie faithfully came down the hill to meet each one of us at our respective buses. She never missed a bus, I don't think. When I was going through all the angst involved with being a teenager, I would go outside, hug Susie, and cry and cry.
She was a great listener.
I remember her completely unreasonable hatred of the nice little man Dad knew--
I think his name was Mr. Morrison. He was a kindly old man, but for some unknown reason Susie hated him, so I always got sent out to hold Susie so poor Mr. Morrison could get into the house without being attacked. Susie also hated Billy Joe Freibert from Freibert's Garage, and she despised black people. I remember Mom sending me outside--I was six years old--to hold Susie so the garbage men could get the garbage. It makes me laugh now, because if Susie had really wanted to light into those guys, I'm pretty sure my six-year-old self wouldn't have been able to hold her back. At the time, though, I wondered why the men kept their eyes on us and gave us such a wide berth.
One time when I was coming home from a date, the guy had said something to me that ticked me off when he pulled into the driveway. So I didn't bother to call Susie off when my date got out of the car and Susie jumped up on him. The guy was terrified and said, "Does your dog bite?" I said something like, "I hope so."
Susie died the summer John [Browning: her husband] and I started dating.
I still miss her.
Remember Mr. Weikel? He was apparently quite wealthy, but I didn't know that as a child. I just knew that he showed up at our house on Saturday mornings, and Dad would always put him to work on some project around the house. Then Dad would invite him to stay for lunch, and we three--you and Bill and I--would be absolutely mesmerized watching Weikel eat the soup Mom invariably served. Weikel evidently had Parkinson's, because his hands shook so much that there was never any soup left on his spoon by the time he got it to his mouth. It was fascinating watching the poor man try to get something to eat. I often wondered why Mom continued to serve him soup, but I never thought to ask her.
I remember waking up on Saturday mornings to the sound of you thwacking baseballs against the backboard Dad put up for you in the front yard. My memories of summers are centered on two things: visiting Mother Mae in Georgetown for a week that seemed to last two or three months;and going to the Little League Park in St. Matthews just about every day.
I remember Uncle Hartsough being an ump for yours and Bill's games, and I remember Lula--the girl who used to live with us--hanging on the fence behind the catcher and screaming for justice for our team. My first airplane trip was when you were pitching in the World Series in Ohio. Mom and Dad had gone with you, but Kae stayed home with me--I was only five or six, I think. Then Dad called and told us to come on, that you had advanced to the final game. That was exciting! I was very proud to know my Brudder was such a great pitcher. I remember going to your games throughout your high school days.
The only vacation I remember us taking as a family was when we went to
Aunt Cordelia's cabin in Robertson County. I thought it was great fun, as I got to have Da Brudders nearby for a whole WEEK, and you couldn't go anywhere to hide from me. :-) We ate oatmeal with real cream for breakfast, and we swam in the river, and we played cards at night.
My perspective of our family is probably different from everybody else's. I always had a good relationship with Mama. She wanted to (rightly) kill me about 80% of the time, but we got along really well and were very close. Kae sees Mom as the distant parent, but I thought she was very affectionate and loving. She tucked me into bed until I was 17 years old! I remember standing at the top of the steps and yelling, "Mama! Come tuck me in!" when I was 16.
I received my parental affirmation from Mom. She often told me that she hadn't wanted me when she was pregnant with me, but she was happy to have me once I was born, and she was so glad God gave me to her. Mom said I was her "joy."
Kae thinks Dad was second only to God, but I thought of him as a very distant tyrant when I was growing up. We didn't have a decent relationship until I matured enough to realize that Dad was a flawed human who did his best with willful little me. When I was a kid, I only related to Dad when he gave me orders, asked me questions at dinner, and lectured me ad nauseum. In his defense, let me say here that I was a JERK to raise. My head was jammed WAY up my behind; I was a selfish little snot.
I felt tremendous security as a kid; I never worried about Mom and Dad divorcing, and I never had to worry about Dad not having a job. But my relationship with Dad pretty much stink, stank, stunk until I was grown. I was very proud of Dad, though. I was proud of his position at Lincoln Income, and I was proud that he was a church leader and a leader in the community. I was proud that he was so well-respected in Louisville, and I took great pride in the fact that he and Mom had such a good marriage. It was a real blow to me when I grew up and moved away, because saying "W.T. McConnell is my father!" just didn't carry much clout anywhere but Louisville.
I was also very proud of Mama. I very much admired her tremendous intelligence and her artistic talents. I thought she was a fabulous cook and a brilliant seamstress. I was terrified of her angry zingers; Mom could cut a person so far down they had to look up to see the floor. But she was also one of the funniest people I ever met.
And after I was grown I considered Mom to be my own personal concordance to the Bible. I miss being able to call her and say, "Mama, where is that Scripture that says such and such?" and she always knew.
And I was--and am--quite proud of my siblings, also. Kayce was so much FUN! When I was a child, being with Kayce usually meant a good time was to be had.
Of course she also worked me half to death, but she sure was fun. I appreciated Linda's kindness and intelligence. I loved your intelligence, your sense of humor, your athletic abilities, and--best of all--you were very patient with me. I know I drove Bill straight up a wall, but I loved him to pieces. I admire his writing abilities and his sense of humor. I think God was very gracious in passing on our parents' sense of humor to their children."
Friday, June 18, 2010
Pa and Me
Growing up I idolized my Dad (Pa). He was like superman in my eyes and I felt I could never be good enough to be called his eldest son.
Let me give you a picture of my family:
(Pa) Bill McConnell (Dominate, handsome, charming, workaholic, leader)
(Lady) June Redding (Compliant, striking, brilliant, low self-esteem, lazy)
o Kayce (Dominant, efficient, charming, caring, leader)
o Linda (Compliant, beautiful, brilliant, nurturing, lazy)
o Bob (Compliant, smart, driven, charming, leader, low self-esteem)
o Bill Tom (Dominant, charming, leader, head-strong, maverick)
o Sherfy (Dominant, brilliant, witty, talented, head-strong)
We were a happy, church-going, close-knit family. No one in the family was a Christian but Lady (she received Christ when she was 9 years old and was raised Baptist). She married Pa because he was the “best looking man I'd ever seen” and she just assumed that he was a Christian, because he was a faithful church person,
Pa was the center of the family, He loved us, but was an absentee father while I was growing up, he held down a full-time job with the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) in Louisville, KY while going to night school to first get an accounting degree and then a law degree. During this time he would leave our home in St. Matthews early in the morning and work a full day at the IRS. Then he would take night classes at the University of Louisville and not get home until after we were in bed. He did this first for an accounting degree and then a law degree. After getting his accounting degree he studied and got his CPA and after getting his law degree he studied and passed the bar exam. Some nights he would not even come home at all, but study all night, then freshen up at the office and work another full day. So, I don't remember seeing much of Pa during the week for years. On Saturdays he assigned chores for all us kids to do and worked with us to do them (no one could keep up with Pa). Then we all went to church on Sunday (Pa taught the High School Sunday School class and Lady taught the Ladies Bible class).
Pa became a very successful lawyer and head of the Kentucky/Indiana/Ohio IRS office, He was offered a top job in Washington during the Eisenhower administration, but turned it down (because he didn't want his family to have to leave our home in Louisville). He then became Vice President/Treasurer of Lincoln Income Life Insurance Co. in Louisville. He built the company and trained the four executives who took his place when he retired (so it took four men to do the work that he had been doing). He had the Frank Lloyd Wright based architectural firm design and build a 13 story tower for the company (it was an outstanding architectural feat for its day).
He was focused totally on his career until I was ten years old. I came home from a sandlot baseball game at a park down the street one afternoon. The rain was pouring down and I had my glove tucked up under my T-shirt. Lady was so moved by the sad sight of her precious soaking-wet son that she confronted Pa. She told him, “You are missing the opportunity to be a father to your children,” Soon the whole family was caught up in Little League Baseball, I was groomed to be a star baseball pitcher, and Pa became President of the St. Matthews Little League. He oversaw a major improvement of the three baseball parks in the complex.
He closely followed my baseball career through several phases: Little League (9-12 years old), Connie Mack (13-18 years old), and High School (Freshman-Senior years). He was there at almost every game and was my strongest supporter.
Lady told everyone in the family that the day I was born “was the happiest day of her life”. Pa was the one that filled out my birth certificate. He named me Robert Redding McConnell (after my Mom – June Redding McConnell). I have always been thankful that I wasn't named for him (it would have been too great a burden for me to bear).
Lady and I were extremely close, ever since birth. We had thee things in common: a high intelligence (we call it the “Redding brain”), a sarcastic sense of humor (all five of us kids inherited Lady's sharp sense of humor), and a low self-esteem. Pa had movie-star good looks and was extremely charming. Lady was as smart as a whip (much smarter than Pa) and was an outstanding helpmeet and homemaker (cook, candy-maker, seamstress, etc.). She was a striking woman herself, but never felt that she could hold on to Pa. She also worked hard to keep our home clean (up to Pa's high standards). Her natural tendency was to put off housework and read all day She felt that the main reason that she was kept around was to cook and clean house.
I was Pa's favorite son and he often told me how proud he was of me. (He and Bill Tom were at odds from the beginning because both were strong-willed and neither would back down in their many arguments). In High School he said that I was a “Ten-talent person” (meaning that I was destined for great things). However, that put me under even greater pressure (and a feeling of hopelessness) in my attempts to measure up to him. In short, when growing up my idol was Pa and my goal was to be like him. Even though I was Pa's favorite son I never felt like I could ever measure up to him (He was my Superman). My not measuring up to Pa was the first of a long list of “failures” in my life.
Pa and I did have several things in common. (We were both leaders, driven, charming, organized, outgoing and popular)
Much later (in 1965) my excitement about my new faith in Jesus led Pa to commit his life to Him (I didn't realize that until much later) .
Let me give you a picture of my family:
(Pa) Bill McConnell (Dominate, handsome, charming, workaholic, leader)
(Lady) June Redding (Compliant, striking, brilliant, low self-esteem, lazy)
o Kayce (Dominant, efficient, charming, caring, leader)
o Linda (Compliant, beautiful, brilliant, nurturing, lazy)
o Bob (Compliant, smart, driven, charming, leader, low self-esteem)
o Bill Tom (Dominant, charming, leader, head-strong, maverick)
o Sherfy (Dominant, brilliant, witty, talented, head-strong)
We were a happy, church-going, close-knit family. No one in the family was a Christian but Lady (she received Christ when she was 9 years old and was raised Baptist). She married Pa because he was the “best looking man I'd ever seen” and she just assumed that he was a Christian, because he was a faithful church person,
Pa was the center of the family, He loved us, but was an absentee father while I was growing up, he held down a full-time job with the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) in Louisville, KY while going to night school to first get an accounting degree and then a law degree. During this time he would leave our home in St. Matthews early in the morning and work a full day at the IRS. Then he would take night classes at the University of Louisville and not get home until after we were in bed. He did this first for an accounting degree and then a law degree. After getting his accounting degree he studied and got his CPA and after getting his law degree he studied and passed the bar exam. Some nights he would not even come home at all, but study all night, then freshen up at the office and work another full day. So, I don't remember seeing much of Pa during the week for years. On Saturdays he assigned chores for all us kids to do and worked with us to do them (no one could keep up with Pa). Then we all went to church on Sunday (Pa taught the High School Sunday School class and Lady taught the Ladies Bible class).
Pa became a very successful lawyer and head of the Kentucky/Indiana/Ohio IRS office, He was offered a top job in Washington during the Eisenhower administration, but turned it down (because he didn't want his family to have to leave our home in Louisville). He then became Vice President/Treasurer of Lincoln Income Life Insurance Co. in Louisville. He built the company and trained the four executives who took his place when he retired (so it took four men to do the work that he had been doing). He had the Frank Lloyd Wright based architectural firm design and build a 13 story tower for the company (it was an outstanding architectural feat for its day).
He was focused totally on his career until I was ten years old. I came home from a sandlot baseball game at a park down the street one afternoon. The rain was pouring down and I had my glove tucked up under my T-shirt. Lady was so moved by the sad sight of her precious soaking-wet son that she confronted Pa. She told him, “You are missing the opportunity to be a father to your children,” Soon the whole family was caught up in Little League Baseball, I was groomed to be a star baseball pitcher, and Pa became President of the St. Matthews Little League. He oversaw a major improvement of the three baseball parks in the complex.
He closely followed my baseball career through several phases: Little League (9-12 years old), Connie Mack (13-18 years old), and High School (Freshman-Senior years). He was there at almost every game and was my strongest supporter.
Lady told everyone in the family that the day I was born “was the happiest day of her life”. Pa was the one that filled out my birth certificate. He named me Robert Redding McConnell (after my Mom – June Redding McConnell). I have always been thankful that I wasn't named for him (it would have been too great a burden for me to bear).
Lady and I were extremely close, ever since birth. We had thee things in common: a high intelligence (we call it the “Redding brain”), a sarcastic sense of humor (all five of us kids inherited Lady's sharp sense of humor), and a low self-esteem. Pa had movie-star good looks and was extremely charming. Lady was as smart as a whip (much smarter than Pa) and was an outstanding helpmeet and homemaker (cook, candy-maker, seamstress, etc.). She was a striking woman herself, but never felt that she could hold on to Pa. She also worked hard to keep our home clean (up to Pa's high standards). Her natural tendency was to put off housework and read all day She felt that the main reason that she was kept around was to cook and clean house.
I was Pa's favorite son and he often told me how proud he was of me. (He and Bill Tom were at odds from the beginning because both were strong-willed and neither would back down in their many arguments). In High School he said that I was a “Ten-talent person” (meaning that I was destined for great things). However, that put me under even greater pressure (and a feeling of hopelessness) in my attempts to measure up to him. In short, when growing up my idol was Pa and my goal was to be like him. Even though I was Pa's favorite son I never felt like I could ever measure up to him (He was my Superman). My not measuring up to Pa was the first of a long list of “failures” in my life.
Pa and I did have several things in common. (We were both leaders, driven, charming, organized, outgoing and popular)
Much later (in 1965) my excitement about my new faith in Jesus led Pa to commit his life to Him (I didn't realize that until much later) .
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Trip West with Bill
Pa paid for my brother Bill and me to take a trip out west during the Summer of 1965.
Dad rented a station wagon for us to travel in. We slept in the back (side by side in sleeping bags) and cooked meals off the tailgate using a Coleman stove (mainly pork and beans).
I had finished my second year at Ohio State University (Columbus, OH) and Bill had finished his first year at Eastern Kentucky University (Richmond, KY).
We traveled first from our home in Ten Broeck (outside of Louisville, KY) to my sister Kayce’s home in Tennessee. Her daughter (June Lynn) was a baby then (and I remember holding her in a rocking chair for hours). That was when we bonded (and why she named her first son, Rob Daugherty, after me).
Since I had become a Christian in May before our trip, I wanted to share the “Four Spirituals Laws” with Bill, so that we could become not only close McConnell brothers, but close brothers in Christ (see "The Most Important Day in My Life"). The Four Spiritual Laws are discussed at the linked website.
http://www.campuscrusade.com/fourlawseng.htm
After a few days with Kayce, we headed out west from Kayce’s home and crossed the Mississippi River. After a while I started to share the Four Laws with Bill. Law 1 went fine, but when I shared Law 2 (about sin) we disagreed. When he said he was doing OK., I said “Oh really? What kind of a job have you done with your life so far?”
He said, “If you don’t stop trying to shove this stuff down my throat, I’’ll never accept it!” We had a heated argument (and went about 75 miles out of our way). After that, I dropped the subject and we enjoyed the rest of the trip as brothers. Years later I learned that he prayed to receive Christ that night.
We took the southern route out west (including visits to the Carsbad Caverns and the Grand Canyon). Then we went north with visits to Mesa Verde, Yellowstone Park, and Glacier Park. Then we headed back to Kentucky.
We would stay at the parks, but many times we would just pull off to the side of the road, eat dinner, and sleep in the back of the station wagon. I especially remember one night when we stayed by a rushing stream (it was beautiful).
Dad rented a station wagon for us to travel in. We slept in the back (side by side in sleeping bags) and cooked meals off the tailgate using a Coleman stove (mainly pork and beans).
I had finished my second year at Ohio State University (Columbus, OH) and Bill had finished his first year at Eastern Kentucky University (Richmond, KY).
We traveled first from our home in Ten Broeck (outside of Louisville, KY) to my sister Kayce’s home in Tennessee. Her daughter (June Lynn) was a baby then (and I remember holding her in a rocking chair for hours). That was when we bonded (and why she named her first son, Rob Daugherty, after me).
Since I had become a Christian in May before our trip, I wanted to share the “Four Spirituals Laws” with Bill, so that we could become not only close McConnell brothers, but close brothers in Christ (see "The Most Important Day in My Life"). The Four Spiritual Laws are discussed at the linked website.
http://www.campuscrusade.com/fourlawseng.htm
After a few days with Kayce, we headed out west from Kayce’s home and crossed the Mississippi River. After a while I started to share the Four Laws with Bill. Law 1 went fine, but when I shared Law 2 (about sin) we disagreed. When he said he was doing OK., I said “Oh really? What kind of a job have you done with your life so far?”
He said, “If you don’t stop trying to shove this stuff down my throat, I’’ll never accept it!” We had a heated argument (and went about 75 miles out of our way). After that, I dropped the subject and we enjoyed the rest of the trip as brothers. Years later I learned that he prayed to receive Christ that night.
We took the southern route out west (including visits to the Carsbad Caverns and the Grand Canyon). Then we went north with visits to Mesa Verde, Yellowstone Park, and Glacier Park. Then we headed back to Kentucky.
We would stay at the parks, but many times we would just pull off to the side of the road, eat dinner, and sleep in the back of the station wagon. I especially remember one night when we stayed by a rushing stream (it was beautiful).
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Girls
This is a story about the girls I knew in High School.
The first girl I fell in love with was Carolyn Roles (I was attracted to her because thought she was pretty). We dated from our Sophomore through Junior years of High School. The Summer between our Junior and Senior years she dropped me for another boy. I was devastated and didn't recover for several years.
When I was Senior in High School, I was in a car pool with three girls from Eastern High School (Susan Masters, Barbara Marks, and Mary Ann Fetner). I knew Susan Masters the longest (she had gone to Beargrass Christian Church with me and we had been in the Cherub Choir together). She moved out from St. Matthews to Ten Broeck in her Junior or Senior year. I remember to welcome her I took her to a jazz concert at a large hall in Louisville. The group was the Dave Brubbeck Four, and their big hit was “Take Five”.
All four of us had a great time car-pooling that year. Mary Ann and I used to enjoy getting under a coat in the floor of the back seat and singing songs.
I dated several girls during my Senior year (Randy Ross, Ellen Tatum, Shirley Green, and others). But one girl was special: Joanne Lynch. Joanne was shy and bashful, and was voted the most artistic in our Senior class. We liked to have quiet dates, like sitting on a couch with Mom and Dad having popcorn in front of a roaring fire.
However one date was special. I picked Joanne up and we drove to Louisville in Mom's Pontiac convertible with the top down. We parked under the Clark Memorial bridge and then walked across (about one mile) and back. When we came back the Belle of Louisville (a paddle-wheel boat) passed underneath the bridge (it was beautiful).
When we got back to the car there were two policeman standing there. They were holding Joanne's purse and asked, “Are you Joanne Lynch?” They said that there had been several mugging in that area, and they had called Joanne's parents. We drove back to her house in silence. I waved goodbye to her from the car and we never had another date.
The first girl I fell in love with was Carolyn Roles (I was attracted to her because thought she was pretty). We dated from our Sophomore through Junior years of High School. The Summer between our Junior and Senior years she dropped me for another boy. I was devastated and didn't recover for several years.
When I was Senior in High School, I was in a car pool with three girls from Eastern High School (Susan Masters, Barbara Marks, and Mary Ann Fetner). I knew Susan Masters the longest (she had gone to Beargrass Christian Church with me and we had been in the Cherub Choir together). She moved out from St. Matthews to Ten Broeck in her Junior or Senior year. I remember to welcome her I took her to a jazz concert at a large hall in Louisville. The group was the Dave Brubbeck Four, and their big hit was “Take Five”.
All four of us had a great time car-pooling that year. Mary Ann and I used to enjoy getting under a coat in the floor of the back seat and singing songs.
I dated several girls during my Senior year (Randy Ross, Ellen Tatum, Shirley Green, and others). But one girl was special: Joanne Lynch. Joanne was shy and bashful, and was voted the most artistic in our Senior class. We liked to have quiet dates, like sitting on a couch with Mom and Dad having popcorn in front of a roaring fire.
However one date was special. I picked Joanne up and we drove to Louisville in Mom's Pontiac convertible with the top down. We parked under the Clark Memorial bridge and then walked across (about one mile) and back. When we came back the Belle of Louisville (a paddle-wheel boat) passed underneath the bridge (it was beautiful).
When we got back to the car there were two policeman standing there. They were holding Joanne's purse and asked, “Are you Joanne Lynch?” They said that there had been several mugging in that area, and they had called Joanne's parents. We drove back to her house in silence. I waved goodbye to her from the car and we never had another date.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Lady
My Mom (Lady) was June Mallory Redding McConnell.
She was born in Owenton in Owen County, KY, the next to youngest daughter of Benny Walker (Big Daddy) Redding and Lucy (Lute) Sherfy. After graduating High School in Georgetown, KY she went on to Georgetown College and then to Eastern Kentucky Teacher's College in Richmond. There she met and married Bill McConnell (Pa).
Their early history is given in Pa's biography. Lady was an excellent cook, seamstress, artist and homemaker. She is one of the smartest people I have ever known (she had “the Redding Brain”). When she was as Junior in High School, she took a test with all the Seniors in Kentucky, and scored the highest in all the state.
Lady loved to work crossword puzzles, and filled out book after book in ink. She became a Christian when she was nine years old, and taught the Women's Bible class at our church (Beargrass Christian). Her brother George taught her how to do word studies in Greek. She was also active in the Christian Woman's Club in Louisville.
Lady had many talents. She loved to cook, knit, sew, and also painted. She was famous for making Christmas candies (including caramels – plain, with pecans,and chocolate covered, cream fondant – which she turned into chocolate covered creams and vanilla, peppermint and chocolate rolls, toffee, Aunt Bill's Candy, peanut brittle, taffy – also called pull candy and meringue shells. One year she knitted sweaters for all her granddaughters with their initials on them. She also sewed bride and bridesmaids' dresses for at least seven weddings. Often the bride just gave Lady a picture of the dress she wanted and Lady made up the patten.
She had a delightful (and sarcastic) sense of humor. She could really cut you down with one of her zingers. She was a quiet woman who spent most of her time knitting or crocheting.
I always thought Lady and Pa were an ideal couple.
She was born in Owenton in Owen County, KY, the next to youngest daughter of Benny Walker (Big Daddy) Redding and Lucy (Lute) Sherfy. After graduating High School in Georgetown, KY she went on to Georgetown College and then to Eastern Kentucky Teacher's College in Richmond. There she met and married Bill McConnell (Pa).
Their early history is given in Pa's biography. Lady was an excellent cook, seamstress, artist and homemaker. She is one of the smartest people I have ever known (she had “the Redding Brain”). When she was as Junior in High School, she took a test with all the Seniors in Kentucky, and scored the highest in all the state.
Lady loved to work crossword puzzles, and filled out book after book in ink. She became a Christian when she was nine years old, and taught the Women's Bible class at our church (Beargrass Christian). Her brother George taught her how to do word studies in Greek. She was also active in the Christian Woman's Club in Louisville.
Lady had many talents. She loved to cook, knit, sew, and also painted. She was famous for making Christmas candies (including caramels – plain, with pecans,and chocolate covered, cream fondant – which she turned into chocolate covered creams and vanilla, peppermint and chocolate rolls, toffee, Aunt Bill's Candy, peanut brittle, taffy – also called pull candy and meringue shells. One year she knitted sweaters for all her granddaughters with their initials on them. She also sewed bride and bridesmaids' dresses for at least seven weddings. Often the bride just gave Lady a picture of the dress she wanted and Lady made up the patten.
She had a delightful (and sarcastic) sense of humor. She could really cut you down with one of her zingers. She was a quiet woman who spent most of her time knitting or crocheting.
I always thought Lady and Pa were an ideal couple.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Pa
My Dad (Pa) was William Thomas McConnell, Jr.
He was born near Mt. Olivet, in Robertson County, KY, the youngest son of WT and Willie Kate Wells McConnell. After graduating High School in Cincinnati, OH he went to Eastern Kentucky Teacher's College in Richmond. There he met and married June Mallory Redding (Lady).
After graduation they moved to the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa , where he enrolled in Med School (he had dreams of being a doctor). During his first year, he had appendicitis and had to drop out. He worked for a short time in Atlanta, and then he and Lady went to live with his parents in Mt. Olivet. There Lady had their first child (Mae Kathrine - Kae, Kayce). WT got Pa a job with the Internal Revenue Service in Louisville, KY. While in Louisville Lady gave birth to four more children: Linda Lee (Linda), Robert Redding (Bob), William Thomas, III (Bill) and Elizabeth Sherfy (Sherfy).
I remember living in three homes around Louisville: the first on Hycliffe Ave.,the second on Macon Ave, (both in St. Matthews), and the third in Ten Broeck Subdivision (out in the Eastern edge of Jefferson County). This was a home that Lady designed, and Pa had built for us. This was the home that all five children lived in until we graduated High School, and from which we were married.
Pa worked for the IRS and became the Head of the Tri-state Region. He was offered a job in Washington, DC, but turned it down (he didn't want to raise his children in that city). Instead, he took a job as Vice President, Treasurer of Lincoln Income Life Insurance Company (a job he kept until he retired). The last years at Lincoln Income, Pa and Lady moved to New Castle in Henry County, KY and bought their last home (the two story brick home with white pillars in front) on Cross Main Street. There Pa and Lady adopted their sixth child, William Holmes McConnell (Willie, Bill)., while he was in High School.
Pa was an outstanding businessman, husband, father, church leader, and community leader.
> When he retired from Lincoln Income Insurance Co, it took four men to replace him
> He was a loving husband to Lady and leader of our home.
> He was a loving father
> He was the Chairman of the Board of Elders at church
> He was was active in the community (and usually President of the group)
Most of the people in Louisville and then Henry County loved and respected Dad.
He met everyone who came into our home with the same greeting: “Is there anything you need to tell me?” Most people sought out his council, and he was known as a “Pastor to Pastors”.
Pa was faithful in supporting me in my baseball career. He came to almost every game, and saw that the rest of the family came also. He was president of the St. Matthews Little League and helped see that the facilities were greatly expanded.
Pa was a wonderful father to me and a man that I greatly admired.
He was born near Mt. Olivet, in Robertson County, KY, the youngest son of WT and Willie Kate Wells McConnell. After graduating High School in Cincinnati, OH he went to Eastern Kentucky Teacher's College in Richmond. There he met and married June Mallory Redding (Lady).
After graduation they moved to the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa , where he enrolled in Med School (he had dreams of being a doctor). During his first year, he had appendicitis and had to drop out. He worked for a short time in Atlanta, and then he and Lady went to live with his parents in Mt. Olivet. There Lady had their first child (Mae Kathrine - Kae, Kayce). WT got Pa a job with the Internal Revenue Service in Louisville, KY. While in Louisville Lady gave birth to four more children: Linda Lee (Linda), Robert Redding (Bob), William Thomas, III (Bill) and Elizabeth Sherfy (Sherfy).
I remember living in three homes around Louisville: the first on Hycliffe Ave.,the second on Macon Ave, (both in St. Matthews), and the third in Ten Broeck Subdivision (out in the Eastern edge of Jefferson County). This was a home that Lady designed, and Pa had built for us. This was the home that all five children lived in until we graduated High School, and from which we were married.
Pa worked for the IRS and became the Head of the Tri-state Region. He was offered a job in Washington, DC, but turned it down (he didn't want to raise his children in that city). Instead, he took a job as Vice President, Treasurer of Lincoln Income Life Insurance Company (a job he kept until he retired). The last years at Lincoln Income, Pa and Lady moved to New Castle in Henry County, KY and bought their last home (the two story brick home with white pillars in front) on Cross Main Street. There Pa and Lady adopted their sixth child, William Holmes McConnell (Willie, Bill)., while he was in High School.
Pa was an outstanding businessman, husband, father, church leader, and community leader.
> When he retired from Lincoln Income Insurance Co, it took four men to replace him
> He was a loving husband to Lady and leader of our home.
> He was a loving father
> He was the Chairman of the Board of Elders at church
> He was was active in the community (and usually President of the group)
Most of the people in Louisville and then Henry County loved and respected Dad.
He met everyone who came into our home with the same greeting: “Is there anything you need to tell me?” Most people sought out his council, and he was known as a “Pastor to Pastors”.
Pa was faithful in supporting me in my baseball career. He came to almost every game, and saw that the rest of the family came also. He was president of the St. Matthews Little League and helped see that the facilities were greatly expanded.
Pa was a wonderful father to me and a man that I greatly admired.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Suzie
Suzie is the name of the special dog we grew up with in Ten Broeck (our subdivision on the far east part of Jefferson County outside of Louisville, KY).
Our friends , the McCroskies, found Suzie abandoned in a street in St. Matthews, KY. My youngest sister, Sherfy gave Suzie her name. Suzie was part Boxer and part German Shepherd and was a very faithful dog. She was always on time to meet all three of our buses to take us to and from school.
One of the favorite games that my brother Bill and I played with Suzie was to throw huge rocks (about 3” by 8”) into Little Goose Creek. She would feel around with her paw until she would find it and then pick it up in her mouth. We would do that over and over again and she never grew tired of that game.
My Mom (Lady) used to sunbathe in the front yard and Suzie would bring her a present (a dead rabbit). She would drag it and put it under Lady's chair. Every time we would throw in the ravine beside our house, Suzie would find and bring it back.
Suzie especially loved to help us hunt rabbits. Once when we had a heavy snow, it was fun watching her track them down. She always had a good nose for game.
Suzie was so easy to get along with. She would lay down and we would take a nap with our head on her. Other times we would pick her up by her tail. When Suzie got tired of being harassed she would just walk away.
When Suzie was old, sick and ready to die, she went off by her self. We never found her. I have had many dogs since Suzie but none can compare to her.
Our friends , the McCroskies, found Suzie abandoned in a street in St. Matthews, KY. My youngest sister, Sherfy gave Suzie her name. Suzie was part Boxer and part German Shepherd and was a very faithful dog. She was always on time to meet all three of our buses to take us to and from school.
One of the favorite games that my brother Bill and I played with Suzie was to throw huge rocks (about 3” by 8”) into Little Goose Creek. She would feel around with her paw until she would find it and then pick it up in her mouth. We would do that over and over again and she never grew tired of that game.
My Mom (Lady) used to sunbathe in the front yard and Suzie would bring her a present (a dead rabbit). She would drag it and put it under Lady's chair. Every time we would throw in the ravine beside our house, Suzie would find and bring it back.
Suzie especially loved to help us hunt rabbits. Once when we had a heavy snow, it was fun watching her track them down. She always had a good nose for game.
Suzie was so easy to get along with. She would lay down and we would take a nap with our head on her. Other times we would pick her up by her tail. When Suzie got tired of being harassed she would just walk away.
When Suzie was old, sick and ready to die, she went off by her self. We never found her. I have had many dogs since Suzie but none can compare to her.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
The Most Important Day in My Life
May 22, 1965 was the most important day of my life.
It was the end of my Sophomore year at Ohio State University. The night before Gordon Walker (Director of Campus Crusade for Christ at Ohio State) and some students had told how knowing Jesus had given them a love they had never known. I made an appointment with Gordon to see him the next day.
After classes were over I went to Gordon's home. As we sat in his living room he shared with me the Four Spiritual Laws (see http://www.godlovestheworld.com/). After he was finished sharing I admitted that I was sinful (selfish) and asked Christ to come into my life as my personal Savior and Lord.
I didn't feel anything different at first, but soon realized something had changed in my life. As I was going to class the next day, I crossed the mall and saw the thousands of students that passed around me (there were 60,000 students on campus then). Instead of thinking of them as “brainless jellyfish floating by”, as I had before, I really loved them, and wanted them to know Jesus.
Later other changes occurred in my life. I really enjoyed reading and studying the Bible. Also, I loved and wanted to share with others. I loved going to a church where the Bible was taught.
No decision I had made before or since comes close to the one I made when I asked Jesus to forgive my sins and be my Savior and Lord. There have been many ups and downs in my life but Jesus continues to be my closest Companion and Friend.
It was the end of my Sophomore year at Ohio State University. The night before Gordon Walker (Director of Campus Crusade for Christ at Ohio State) and some students had told how knowing Jesus had given them a love they had never known. I made an appointment with Gordon to see him the next day.
After classes were over I went to Gordon's home. As we sat in his living room he shared with me the Four Spiritual Laws (see http://www.godlovestheworld.com/). After he was finished sharing I admitted that I was sinful (selfish) and asked Christ to come into my life as my personal Savior and Lord.
I didn't feel anything different at first, but soon realized something had changed in my life. As I was going to class the next day, I crossed the mall and saw the thousands of students that passed around me (there were 60,000 students on campus then). Instead of thinking of them as “brainless jellyfish floating by”, as I had before, I really loved them, and wanted them to know Jesus.
Later other changes occurred in my life. I really enjoyed reading and studying the Bible. Also, I loved and wanted to share with others. I loved going to a church where the Bible was taught.
No decision I had made before or since comes close to the one I made when I asked Jesus to forgive my sins and be my Savior and Lord. There have been many ups and downs in my life but Jesus continues to be my closest Companion and Friend.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Willie Kate
The mother of my Dad (Pa) was Willie Kate Wells and was married to WT McConnell.
She was short (4'-11”), energetic, quiet, and a strong Christian. Pa was her darling baby boy but she graciously shared him with Lady. She was loved by all and Lady considered her the Mom she never had. Lady said that the only thing she learned in getting a degree in Home Economics was “to serve the hot things hot and the cold things cold”. She really learned to cook at the side of Willie Kate (Granny).
Willie Kate was unique in that she had one blue eye and one brown eye. Granny loved her wood burning stove, and could work wonders on it. Our Aunt Mildred Stemler bought her an electric stove but, Granny liked her wood burning stove better. Even though the cake she baked was heavy and the icing went to sugar, Lady loved it. Most people didn't like her coffee, but Lady enjoyed it.
Willie Kate also had a good sense of humor. Once Pa and his brother Theodore let a possum into the kitchen and it chased their cat round and round the table, and finally out the window. After a few days the cat came back, but the possum never did. Willie Kate enjoyed the boys' adventuresome spirit.
Another time Pa was up in the hayloft and Willie Kate asked him to give her some eggs so she would have something for the huckster who was coming. Pa threw them down, one by one, breaking each of them. After the huckster was gone Willie Kate said, “Will Junior” (the name on Pa's birth certificate) come down, I have something for you. Pa came down thinking that she had bought him something from the huckster. What he got was the switching of his life.
Life was never boring around Willie Kate and she never complained. Even though WT was an imposing figure, she was never intimidated by him. She lived a long and full life and died in 1950 and was buried in Mt. Olivet, KY.
The best words to describe Willie Kate are “Little, but tough”.
She was short (4'-11”), energetic, quiet, and a strong Christian. Pa was her darling baby boy but she graciously shared him with Lady. She was loved by all and Lady considered her the Mom she never had. Lady said that the only thing she learned in getting a degree in Home Economics was “to serve the hot things hot and the cold things cold”. She really learned to cook at the side of Willie Kate (Granny).
Willie Kate was unique in that she had one blue eye and one brown eye. Granny loved her wood burning stove, and could work wonders on it. Our Aunt Mildred Stemler bought her an electric stove but, Granny liked her wood burning stove better. Even though the cake she baked was heavy and the icing went to sugar, Lady loved it. Most people didn't like her coffee, but Lady enjoyed it.
Willie Kate also had a good sense of humor. Once Pa and his brother Theodore let a possum into the kitchen and it chased their cat round and round the table, and finally out the window. After a few days the cat came back, but the possum never did. Willie Kate enjoyed the boys' adventuresome spirit.
Another time Pa was up in the hayloft and Willie Kate asked him to give her some eggs so she would have something for the huckster who was coming. Pa threw them down, one by one, breaking each of them. After the huckster was gone Willie Kate said, “Will Junior” (the name on Pa's birth certificate) come down, I have something for you. Pa came down thinking that she had bought him something from the huckster. What he got was the switching of his life.
Life was never boring around Willie Kate and she never complained. Even though WT was an imposing figure, she was never intimidated by him. She lived a long and full life and died in 1950 and was buried in Mt. Olivet, KY.
The best words to describe Willie Kate are “Little, but tough”.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)