Too Sore, Too Old, Too Fast, Too Cold

A combination of thoughts has fueled this morning’s post. Friday, I had dental surgery to remove a dead tooth. Because of my lack of care of a child, I have less than a perfect smile, supplemented by a partial plate. The ache from the work caused me to miss a wedding to go to Wal-mart to pick up some medication for the pain.

On Saturday, I missed a book signing and reading because I didn’t feel like dealing with the public. My mouth was still sore and my son Andrew asked that I help him move his household belongings from the storage unit to their new home. We’d unpacked the 28 feet long Penske rental truck and stored the contents two weeks earlier.

We arrived with a 26 feet long U-Haul another pick-up truck, small trailer, and several other vehicles filled with 8 adults and three children. We managed to get everything loaded under cloudy skies and feeling the sprinkling of the promises of rain later.

The drive to their home just outside of Uniontown was uneventful and after jockeying positions, we began to empty the vehicles, sorting the boxes and bins as they were uncovered. Some went into the garage and shed, some went into the house, and some went into the basement. Because the carpets had just been cleaned, the unloading was in a fire brigade style passing things from outside person to inside people. Seven and a half hours later we were finished, wet from the last 2 hours of unloading in the rain.

Yesterday, with the arrival of cold, damp weather, the soreness caught up with me. Aching knees and leg muscles are feeling the wear and tear greeted me. This morning, little has changed. I am greeted by a cold damp wind and the ache of an overused body.

Frugal McDougal

As a child, I was taught to be cautious with my spending. Money always seemed to be adequate for my family’s needs, but splurging was almost always out of the question. It was a special treat for us every Sunday after church, my dad to make a run to Miller’s store in Normalville, Pennsylvania and buy a Sunday newspaper, a large silver-foil bag of Snyder’s potato chips, and one-pound wheel of “gummy” longhorn cheese. That was our weekly luxury.

As an adult, I’ve continued to watch my pennies, spending it on only things that were necessary. It was a treat for us to eat at a restaurant, even a simple meal at McDonald’s. I always said about being a nurse, I could keep food on the table, a roof over our heads, and clothing on our backs. My kids call me cheap, but I would rather be called cheap than to be a spendthrift and need to borrow money from them.

Lately, I’ve loosened the purse strings a little. I just ordered flooring for my living room and dining room. The remarkable thing is, I’m actually paying someone to install it. The company that I am using has an estimate for removing and hauling away the old carpet. Somehow, that just rubbed against my frugal nature. I decided to remove the carpet and padding myself. It meant that I had to move the furniture left in the rooms to accomplish it. I have to talk to the company today to see if that item can be removed. I’m hoping that I can reduce the cost slightly, being the “cheap” buzzard that I am.

To take breaks from carpet removal and crawling on the floor to extract staples, I took down the curtains from both rooms, washed, dried, and folded them. I’ll hang them again after the installation of the flooring, although with the windows uncovered, I won’t be raiding the fridge in my birthday suit.I needed some fresh air. I got it when I took down the outside clothes line and mowed my lawn as well as the neighbor’s. It was chilly and I was glad to come back inside to finish my tasks. One of my friends said I’ll be too sore to move today, I am, but I feel glad to know that the work is behind me.

Duds

I was thinking back to memories of the way my past relatives dressed and wondered how they would have fared in the world today where much of the person is judged by the clothing that they wear. My uncle Dale Miner would have rated right up there with the homeless street people of today. His clothing was always shabby, in need of repair, and most often grimy. His boots were always scuffed. It was rare that he was shaved. His brother Ted was rail thin and wore shirts and pants that were too large with a belt cinched tight to hold them to his body. My grandmother Rebecca always kept them washed.

She kept my grandfather Ray’s clothing clean. By the time I knew him; he’d retired from the coal mines and farmed only. When he and my grandmother were raising their 8 children, he worked in the mines at night and kept the farm during the day. He wore bib overalls most of the time and the pale blue work shirts. Often a straw hat topped his wispy white hair. His round aluminum lunch pail and his brass carbide head lamp were the reminders of his time underground.

Rebecca was the opposite of my granddad. She was tall and stout while he was short of stature and average build. Grandma Miner always wore a dress. Pants were a no-no then. I can never remember her wearing anything but a front-button down print dress with a tie belt cinched at the waist. She always wore thick, flesh-colored cotton stockings, rolled down to the knees and her black clunky-heeled, tie-on shoes. Little changed in Grandma’s attire. Occasionally she would don a necklace when we’d drive her for appointments with a doctor.

Blue jeans or shorts and high-top tennis shoes were reserved for the cousins. Usually striped tee shirts finished our daily wear for boys and girls, until the girls came of age at about 8 or 9, then they graduated to wearing dresses and Mary Jane shoes.

Money was scarce then. Hand-me-downs were most often the choices we had. There was the old joke, “Hand-me-downs came in 2 sizes, too big or too small” and that was often the case. Getting something new was a big thing then. It was to be treasured. I wasn’t raised during the depression, but the effects of it and World War II still lingered, coloring everything that we did.

Routine Turmoil

I know the title sounds confusing, but that is what my retired life has become. Unlike the housewives of old where she divided the chores to accomplish on certain days of the week, there seems to be little of that in my life since I’ve retired. When I worked as a nurse, having a routine wasn’t in my cards either. My schedule was created, often without regard to the stress it caused on the body. There were times I would work three shifts in a seven day period: afternoons, nights, a day off and then two, 12 hour shifts of daylight. If there was a call-off, I might work 16 hours and because of inclement weather, been called on to work longer periods.

I wrote all of that to say often my life is in constant flux from one week to another. This past Tuesday I attended the Chestnut Ridge Society to listen to Fred Saluga talk about Bigfoot. Thursday was the meeting of writers at the Mt. Pleasant Library. Friday was my catch-up on laundry and Saturday I spent helping my son Andrew and his wife Renee with other family members to clean and start minor repairs on their new home.

I’m not complaining about the cleaning and the repair work, because having them so much closer than Amarillo, Texas is a true blessing. It has been an answer to prayers. No more trying to figure out the weight of something when I have to mail a gift or books I find or write for them. I’ll still forget anniversaries and birthdays and have to send belated cards, but I’ll be able to see all my granddaughters grow and love them more often with hugs and kisses.

I guess Sundays are  one constant with church and Sunday evening services, but I have one writers meeting at the Art Center in Greensburg every second and fourth Sunday afternoon, and of course yesterday was one of the meetings. I guess my life will never grow stale.

Bedtime Buddy

As a very young child, I can remember a stuffed corduroy doll that was 12 or 13 inches tall with stubby outstretched arms having a span of nearly 9 inches. Its chalky-white, hard plastic face smiled with an almost clownish smile. The doll’s chubby cheeks caused its wide open painted eyes to have the least bit of crinkle as if he was about to laugh, and why not. His body and cap were done is a Harlequin jester manner with green and brown corduroy material on alternating sides. His name was Andy. Could this be the reason I have a penchant for that name and called my son Andrew? Not really. I had no recollection of the name until my memory opened and I sat to write this piece.

Andy was my constant companion and not just my bedtime buddy. I carried him through the house throughout the day. From my continual abuse that a child like me gave a toy, the hard plastic eventually cracked and Andy lost his engaging smile. His distorted countenance didn’t lessen my love for him and he remained my faithful companion.

My mother, Sybil Beck, decided that if I wouldn’t give Andy up, she would modify him and make him more presentable. With his distorted face cracking wider, Andy looked like the grotesque and scary clowns of today. You know the ones that lure souls into the sewers. I am not sure what Mom felt, but Andy’s broken plastic face disappeared and she replaced it by creating a soft cloth one. My mom embroidered a new and different face on a piece of white muslin and used it to fill the hole left by the mangled original jester face that she removed.

It was a nice gesture, but I can’t remember exactly what the replacement visage looked like. I know it had a mouth, a nose, and eyes but the image blurs when I try to recall the new features. It saddens me that I can’t remember them. Out of love, my mom took the time to repair my beloved Andy and I have no recollection of it.

I suppose there are some who will ask, “Do I still have Andy?” or “What happened to Andy?” I don’t know. I have no recollection of its disappearance. I can only remember that some of the cotton filling eventually poked out through the seams of his overstuffed body and I suppose that I outgrew the need to carry him around. Obviously he was tossed. Looking back, I can still see him as a sweet memory of childhood and not the tattered and worn entity that he became. Perhaps that’s better for me.

Bigfoot

At the monthly meeting of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society, the speaker was Frank Saluga, an investigator for Bigfoot sightings from West Virginia. He shared information from the annals of Bigfoot sightings and the suggested explanations for the phenomenon. He shared the history of sightings from Native Americans, early explorers, and those interested with more recent sightings.

Bigfoots are found in every state in the United States and every continent has their version of this hairy, elusive creature. Some cultures believe it to be an actual flesh and blood animal, some believe it is a spirit, others believe it an inter-dimensional traveler or even an alien that is transported by flying saucers. There are theories that Bigfoot is the descendants of Cain or Neanderthal people that are the link between ape and man.

Frank showed a map of the being’s sightings and the highest concentration was on the east coast of the United States, from Maine through Florida. He went on to explain that quite a few Bigfoot reports are from Westmoreland and Fayette County. He also shared that many of the Bigfoot sightings corresponded with UFO sightings, giving credence to those who hold to the theory that they are alien beings.

He had several photographs on crude structures that were supposedly Bigfoot homes or nests. He also shared pictures of teepees of large logs or log X’s that were too heavy for several men to lift.

He shared times when he and fellow explores had rocks thrown at them, noises, and had found tracks. He had two plaster castings of Bigfoot prints.

Driving home, I was being cautious, not that I was afraid of seeing a Bigfoot, but the deer are often active at that time of night and at this time of year. It was a good thing that I was, because a beautiful 8 point buck was standing in the field beside the road and I was blessed to see it without having to hit my brakes to keep from hitting it.

Feeding Thousands

That is exactly what I helped to do, this past Friday and Saturday. It wasn’t like Jesus did on the shore of Galilee by blessing the two fish and five loaves where He performed the miracle of feeding five thousand plus women and children. It was nothing as dramatic as that. I worked at the Ohiopyle Volunteer Fire Department for their Buckwheat, pancake, and sausage festival.

I’ve been volunteering since 1966 when I started to date my wife Cynthia Morrison. Her dad Bud, her mother Retha, and Cindy worked there, so it was only natural for me to start. I began washing dishes and slowly moved up the ranks, frying the pancakes, buckwheat cakes, and hash brown potatoes until I was commandeered to fry sausage.

I imagine I have been marching the seasoned piggies across those grills for almost forty years. Each grill is 20 inches by 30 inches. There are 12 grills, 6 in a row almost touching each other. Fryers are often responsible to watch the sausage on two of the griddles. The finished product is place into roasters to stay warm until they are carried to the serving areas.

We began to fry continuously from 830 am until 530 pm, stopping only to eat and to grab some fresh air. But we weren’t finished. We had to scrape and clean the grills so they were ready for the next day. I was blessed to have my family come out and join me for the evening meal.

Saturday, our church helped the Seedline Ministry located in Ohio. They print Bibles and books of the Gospel in foreign languages that are then sent to missionaries in the countries where they serve. The copies we assembled, stapled, and cut to size were in the Korean language. By the time we finished, we had completed 8,386 copies of John and Romans to be shipped to a missionary in South Korea. Our copies will be joining others designed with a special cover just for the Korean winter Olympics. We were told that 7 people will read each copy and 1 of them will receive Christ as their Savior. Hopefully, some will find their way into North Korea to feed lost souls there as well.

 Safe at Home

On Tuesday, we were expecting my son Andrew, his wife Renee, and their two children Celine and Moriah to be transferring their home from Amarillo, Texas to a location in southwest Pennsylvania. He with the help of Renee decided to accept an employment position closer to me and his two sisters.

We knew they planned to leave Sunday. I was sure that they would go to church services first to say goodbye to their friends and fellow church goers. They got a late start and didn’t cover as much ground as they expected. The 16 foot box truck lumbered along, bringing them closer, but we became anxious, wanting them back home and safe. They didn’t call to share their progress until they hit Indiana and probably wouldn’t have said anything without the constant prodding of his sisters.

It was the last leg of their journey to the new beginning of their life. We knew that they would be home sometime Tuesday, but we weren’t sure just when. By reckoning the miles that remained between us and them, we imagined that it would be later in the evening when they arrived. We gathered at my older daughter Amanda’s to wait. Amanda and Eric graciously allowed them to stay with them until they could finish the inspection and sign the contract on their home.

The evening grew darker and a text said they were in West Virginia. Tension grew. They were much closer now. Every sound drew someone to the window or door, thinking maybe they were nearer and planned to surprise us, but no and the time dragged. Eight, nine, ten, the hands on the clock never seemed to move so slowly.

Finally, I could not stand the confines of the room and walked out onto the back porch for the fresh air. We’d been talking in whispers to allow my granddaughter Hannah to sleep. My daughters joined me. We could talk and not fear waking Hannah.

Each traffic sound called to us, but it wasn’t the answer that we sought. Finally the roar of a large truck called to us. It was them. The caravan had finally arrived, my son in the box truck, towing the family car. Following close behind was Renee driving their Suburban with another trailer behind. Anna, saw what was on the second trailer and began to cry. It was the Chevy pick-up truck that belonged to my father-in-law, Bud Morrison. It had been taken to Texas on their first move and now, it now returned with the family, reunited.

Life in an Uproar

Last week was out of kilter because of the revival meetings. The confusion of an altered schedule continues into this week. Last week I visited a local flooring and carpeting company for an estimate to do my living room and dining room. At the store, I looked at samples and selected the colors and styles that I wanted. After giving an approximate size and things I would need, the owner’s partner and I went over approximate costs. I left her with my card and phone number.

The owner came out and measured both rooms. As he was measuring with an electronic laser, I was talking and said, “I did an approximation of the size of the rooms by counting the ceiling tile.” I gave him my measurements in feet. I expected a telephone call and after several days had passed and hadn’t heard anything, I was scrolling through my email accounts, where I found their proposal. I’d overlooked it before, thinking it was a bleed-through from my spam emails. After I reviewed it, I sent an email back saying it looked good.

The co-owner had forgotten to keep the styles and colors of the carpet and floor covering. I took the information that she’d given me back to the store on my way to a doctor’s appointment. It was early and the man who’d measured was still in the store. I gave them the information that I had, but when I mentioned that he could bring the carpeting in through the window instead of trying to wrangle it around several sharp turns, he looked as though I’d hit him between the eyes with a pole ax.

He had measured the rooms and estimated both rooms for the numbers of boxes of flooring needed. He hadn’t done the square yards of carpeting, but figured on both rooms having the boxes of tile. Now, we have been hit and miss on getting the measurements done. I guess prayers needed for last week’s revivals are continued into this week for my son and his family’s return from Texas and for the installation of my carpeting.

 

The Last Night

The last night of the revival services was Friday evening. I was able to finally convince two of my friends to attend one of the meetings to hear Brother Samuel Mills speak. One of which is a Facebook friend who brought her husband. The other is a fellow writer and friend. Her car is in the shop, so I picked her up and taxied her to the church. It was a two-for night. Not only did they get to hear a great message, but there was a dessert social afterwards.

Brother Mills was his normal animated self as he delivered his message, moving out from behind the pulpit and bouncing from place to place on the dais. My friend leaned over and asked, “I wonder what his blood pressure is?”

I said, “He’s a youth pastor and I’m sure that he keeps up with the kids.”

His message could have had three titles: Living in Perilous Times, God is Still Able, but he chose, What’s in a Name. In biblical times, a name was chosen that carries a meaning as to the characteristics or the meaning of the name for the child. Later, names were chosen for their memories, naming children after loved ones or friends.

Then he went on to describe the name of Jesus Christ, a name to be exalted above all others. Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name: Philippians 2:9. At that name every knee should bow. Philippians 2:10. Every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. Philippians 2: 11. That name still has the power to save. Romans 10:13.

Christ is our refuge and strength our protection Proverbs 18:10. The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth to it, and is safe. This was the main course of the message and he talked about a city’s defense was the walls that encircled it. Those walls were the protection of those within from the enemy, but the towers were the safest most fortified part of the citadel. Here the wealth of the city and the people who were more heavily guarded were kept during an attack. The tower was set high above the walls so the enemy would not be able to reach it.

Brother Mills shared a series of names that Jesus had, speaking so fast that I couldn’t take notes. My recollection of his Scripture is faulty and I couldn’t share all that he said, but please accept my flawed sharing of his message.

There is a Place

There is a literal place where we will spend eternity. One place is Heaven and the other is Hell. We can’t be in both places, but decisions that we make while still alive and on earth will cause us to reside in one place or the other. Last evening Brother Samuel Mills explained that the Bible tells us of Heaven and Hell, spending twice as much time warning us of the dire consequences of an eternity in the pits of Hell and the lake of fire. It is a place of torment, of pain, of a burning darkness. It a place void of any comfort, void of God, and void of light. It is a place where Satan himself shall writhe in pain, calling on God to deliver him from the intense suffering.

Satan will call on the Creator that he rebelled against to give him relief and he will find none. It will be too late for those that the Devil has seduced to follow him. There in the utter darkness of Hell, the lost souls will have remembrance. They will recall each evil deed or thought that they ever had, and each chance they had to accept Christ as Savior and Deliverer will taunt them in the darkness.

God doesn’t want that any should perish and go to this place of punishment. 2 Peter 3:19. “The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.”

God looked down on this sinful world and still felt love. He sent His only begotten Son to take on a body of flesh, live here for 30 years, and be tempted like we are. He allowed Jesus to bear the pain of the crown of thorns, the scourging like no other person, to hang on a cross in agony to atone for our sins. Christ carried the sins of the entire world in His body and shed his blood that He might cleanse us and provide a way to avoid the punishment for our sins.

Hell is forever. There is no second chance. How many times will you reject God’s precious gift of eternal life? God says in Isaiah 1:18 “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”

There may be no tomorrow. There may be no other call to accept Christ. The time is now. Will you accept Him as your Savior to have life in Heaven or as your holy judge and be cast into the fires of Hell for eternity?

I usually only post every other day, but I can not wait to share last night's revival message. There are too many of my friends that may need this message.Too many may be facing temptation of one sort or another. There may be some that temptation has almost worn them down,soI will post today and not wait.
So Tempting
We all face temptations in life, sometimes daily and sometimes it arrives unexpectedly, but they do come. It can be described as enticements, troubles, or trials. That was what Brother Mills talked about at last evening’s revival service. Satan doesn’t walk up to you, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you to the sin, he entices, woos you, a little at a time. Just like the fisherman with a lure. It isn’t the real thing, but a copy of something tasty, something good, something pleasant, but hidden there is the hook: the thing that is the trap, the thing that bites, the thing that has consequences.
Temptation is the thing that is often a testing to see if we will keep our integrity. “Who will it hurt? Who will see?” Satan asks as he whispers in our ears. “No one is looking.” It could be the lust of the flesh, greed for something that isn’t ours, or to try the taste of drugs or alcohol. Sometimes it causes us to move one step closer to sin’s trap.
Temptation is sometimes constant. It becomes an always present trial, hovering like a lion, waiting for an opening, waiting for the smallest weakening in our resolve. It can become persistent, seemingly growing stronger the more we resist it. Sin’s allure often seems pleasant with nothing to fear, but Satan doesn’t play fair. He plays for keeps.
But we have a companion that is faithfully at our side. We will never have to fight the battle on our own. God will give us everything that we need. He will enable us to have the victory. 1 Corinthians 15:57, “But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
God gives us an example of how to handle temptation when Potiphar’s wife attempted Joseph to sin. First he refused. She still persisted. Joseph recalled all that he had been taught about a holy, righteous God and ran from the temptation. He was falsely jailed for his resisting sin, but God restored Joseph and rewarded him by raising him up to a higher position.

Rejuvenating the Heart and Soul

Three nights of good Gospel preaching behind and three more nights ahead; what a blessing it has been to hear Brother Samuel Mills sharing his insights on the Bible and challenging our church members to come alive and really pray for revival and to pray for loved ones and friends specifically and specifically pray that our own hearts be cleansed and readied to carry the fire of true worship.

Monday evening he shared that the power of God is undiminished, and it hasn’t lessened from the time God created the universe until today. God is still in control. He can change hearts, change lives, and He is able to save the vilest of sinners, make them whole, and clean.

Last evening he took his text from Ezekiel 16:1-14, comparing this abandoned baby girl to the sinner. Just like the man who saw this cast off, uncared for child, God saw us and came to our side.  The infant was nearly dead and the man said to the child, live. He gathered the baby into his cloak, then claimed the abandoned infant as His own.

The man carried the infant to his home, washed it clean, then covered it with oil. Just as God does with those He saves. God, through the blood of Jesus Christ thoroughly cleanses us from our sins and claims us as one of His own children.

Brother Mills said is there anything that smells better than a fresh washed infant, slathered in baby oil. I would imagine that God has the same feeling when a sinner is saved and cleansed, fresh and new.

Once the infant was clean, the man clothed the child in the finest raiment, then bedecked in bracelets, chain, ear rings, and jewels. I imagine that is what we are clothed in righteousness.

The change in this infant was so great, that the world noticed and the change in the baby made the heathen take notice of the beauty which the man put upon her. When we are saved, the world around us should notice the change and see the goodness of God in us.

The Challenge

The challenge started Saturday, when my cousin Robin Beck challenged me to post Scripture on my Facebook page for seven days. I knew that I would accept almost immediately, but because I am often an odd duck, I wanted to put a twist on it. As I sat trying to decide how to do it, thoughts of my usual daily sharing of my vast array of postcards popped into my head. I knew that several of them had Scripture as part of their appeal, so I started Sunday morning with my first card.

Sunday morning church service was the first message in a week long revival meetings. Evangelist Samuel Mills was the speaker and began to challenge our hearts with a stirring message about the sufficiency of God. He shared that the LORD is supreme, the Lord of lords and God of gods. There is none above Him.

The word LORD is the personal name of God. Jehovah and it was so holy that the scribes would wash before they would transcribe His name, only us the consonants, and would throw away the pen after writing the name of God. He is that holy. Today, society and even Christians use His name all too casually, cheapening this Creator of the universe.

Mr. Mills spoke at the Sunday school hour about the revival services at his home church. The services were to last 3 days and continued for 14 weeks. He shared how the church prepared for the revival and how the power of a mighty and wonderful God took over and more than 300 men, women, and children walked the aisle and accepted Jesus Christ as Savior.

Sunday evening service he shared how Abraham was asked by God to sacrifice his son, Isaac. Abraham followed God’s directions and did all that was asked of him when he was called to worship. He shared the meaning of preparation and the fire that Abraham carried in his hand. Mr. Mills compared the carrying of fire to the church carrying the fire in our hearts to the church, ready to worship. He challenged the adults to be rejuvenated by that fire of revival and to be examples that the youth want to follow, to be lights in their own schools and in the community.

The challenge isn’t finished. Evangelist Mills is speaking all week. Seven pm, Mt. Zion church, 159 Kreinbrook Hill Road, Acme PA 15610. If you’re able to attend, please visit and listen to this man of God share God’s word.