Rock Solid

When architects and, builders and construction people design and choose a spot to erect a home, commercial building, and especially a tall skyscraper, they look for place that is solid, a place that has the capacity to support all of the weight. Whether the edifice is a bridge or a land based structure, the foundation has to bear the tonnage of the structure above and if the foundation isn’t placed on something solid, the entire building will shift and crumble.

As children, most of us has sung the song in church about the house built upon the sand and the one built upon the rock. The house built on the sand collapsed when the storms came and the house on the rock stood firm. I’ve said this to share Sunday’s message of grounding everyday life on Jesus Christ, the Cornerstone of salvation. In Matthew 16:18, Jesus reveals that He is the fulfillment of the prophecy in Isaiah 28:16-17. Christ’s reply was to Peter who understood that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of the living God. Christ was to be the Rock upon which the church was to be established.

The confluence of the message and the construction of Mt. Zion Community Church at the top of Kreinbrook Hill made me think of the several additions to the original building. Each time a project was planned, we had to consider whether to go up or down. Not because of the surface landscape, but because of the bedrock. The entire top of the mountain was rock. Huge slabs of tough, thick rock that was difficult to break apart to create the area needed for construction. Many long and arduous hours were spent in preparing each site for the expansion. Hours of back breaking work to reshape the land and to haul away the rubble for each project. The sanctuary, offices, social hall and the gymnasium are all on different levels because of the bedrock, not that we had to dig to find it, but to create level areas on which to build.

In My Drawers

Being wakened by cramps in the calves of my legs is not the usual way I awaken each morning and I am thankful for that. But while I’m awake, I will put together my blog for today. Wednesday I spent 4 hours doing volunteer work at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society in Stahlstown, Pennsylvania. Over the last month I’ve finished all of the heavy moving, sorting, and storing of the accumulated artifacts. One of the remaining tasks is the straightening of the 9 drawer filing cabinets. In an earlier post, I mentioned the weight of the cabinet, even with the drawers removed and the struggle to move it to its new position. I’ve barely scratched the surface of that daunting task.

In the first drawer, I found logs from local school districts. Just by studying the names and locations, it was simple to reorganize them and thought this isn’t too bad, then I opened the second drawer. A plethora of hanging files and manila folders greeted me. I had to look through each to be sure they were in the proper order. Files of cemeteries and churches were the first to come into view. Each sheet of paper was evaluated and replaced or moved into a denomination and to certain locations. Lutheran, Catholic, Presbyterian etc. had a folder.

Stored behind them were files of businesses: lumber and logging, shops and stores, coal mines and stone iron smelting furnaces, post offices, and we must not forget the government. Each photo, memento, and letter had to be identified and placed in the proper place. This is necessary to allow the articles to be found more easily.

Now, to the third drawer, it was even more tightly packed than the others. Inside were files of each local town, township, or locality. Those files were subdivided into photos, records, and even some memorabilia. I was tiring by this time and after wading through 1/3 of the collection, I called it quits for the day. It wasn’t going away and I was fearful that I would overlook something or misfile it. Only 6 & 2/3 more drawers to go.

 

Which Came First

At least today it will be the chicken and not the egg for my posting today. I can remember in the late autumn many of the aunts and uncles with their broods of kids gathering for the annual culling of old hens at my grandfather Raymond Miner’s farm. Because he had a large family, the first coop was a big building with a fenced in dirt area to scratch and peck looking for insects and bits of grass and grain. Weathered clapboard covered the sides and tarpaper covered the roof. Light filtered through the panes of several dust covered windows. The second was much smaller with a raised, fenced floor and sides.

Granddad used a thick wire with a V folded at one end and a loop at the other. The loop prevented the wire from slipping through his hands as he would hook a hen by the leg with the V. The captured hen would flap her wings sending up clouds of dust and bits of straw. Her cackling would stir the other chickens to begin their own cacophony of clucks.

The chicken was grasped by Granddad’s strong hands and passed to an uncle who would stretch the hen’s neck on a stump and lop off it’s head. When several chickens were decapitated, they were carried to the farmhouse to be dunked into buckets of boiling hot water, before the aunts would begin to pluck the feathers. There was a pecking order to this too. The younger aunts started the process and the carcasses were passed to older ones who used tweezers to pluck the “pin feathers” then on to my grandmother Rebecca. She would set afire a piece of newspaper and singe the hairs from the hen.

An older aunt would gut the chicken and lop off its feet before cutting it apart for a trip to the freezer. The first of the flock would end up in a large pot to cook. It was to be our lunch. The meat from them was ground for sandwich spread of the chicken, dill pickles, salt, pepper, and just enough broth to facilitate spreading onto thick slices of home baked bread.

I still hate the smell of wet feathers and singed hair, but try as I might; I haven’t been unable to recreate the flavor of my grandmother’s chicken salad.

Gimme a Break

I believe this week will be lighter than the past two weeks, at least I certainly hope so. It has been “finish one project or appointment, then on to the next.” I think I’ve given a new meaning to hurry and scurry. The first week of April, I attended the Pittsburgh Pirates opening day game, drove a friend to the doctors and for her groceries, had lunch with retired nurses from Frick Hospital, kept a doctor’s appointment for myself, worked with others assembling the Scripture of John and Romans for the Seedline ministry, attended my daughter’s birthday party, and acted as docent for the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. I attended revival services all week, except for the teen rally last Friday.

This past week, I attended the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society’s regular meeting on Tuesday, put in a workday on Wednesday, and was their docent on Saturday. Friday was my senior driving refresher course. I checked several times to be sure that AARP wasn’t in any way connected with the program. I am of the opinion this company cares less about seniors than they care for our money.

I had an invitation to do my usual “fry sausage” at the Ohiopyle Volunteer Fire Department’s spring buckwheat dinner for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, but I already had plans for the driving course and acting as a docent, so I had to decline. Sunday I had church, Sunday school, and evening services.

Saturday at the Historical society, I continued to clean up, clean out, and rearrange things to make more room. Oh. By the way, I was appointed corresponding secretary and wrote my first thank you card while I was there. I cleaned three cupboards and several desk supply drawers. I moved things into storage to open more room, then put away the newspapers, maps, and photographs into their containers. All that is left for me is to sort through the heavy filing cabinets. Their drawers need straightened, but I want to wait until someone else is there to direct me.

Done? Not quite, my daughter-in-law Renee posted a photo of my son Andrew mowing his lawn. Shamed, I mowed mine.

 

For What Will You Stand

Wednesday evening Evangelist Brubaker spoke on the Spirit of the Godhead applying pressure on the saved and unsaved. Guilt arises and freedom can only be found in humbling oneself before a holy God and asking for forgiveness. Salvation comes to those who accept Christ as Savior and who was innocent and yet the paid the debt that our sins created. In the saved person, the pressure builds until they humble themselves, turn back to God, and ask for forgiveness.

Too often, the weight of those sins and guilt builds in unsaved person’s world. Depression and suicide may be the result. In the saved person, there’s a break in the fellowship with God the Father and a loss of joy. Sin holds both captive. The sermon shares where we stand in the eyes of God.

Thursday night’s sermon was about Elijah and the stand he took on mount Carmel to ask Israel who they would serve, Baal or LORD God. Wicked King Ahab and his wife Jezebel drew Israel into worshipping Baal. Elijah took a stand to rectify the situation, inviting 850 priests to come to mount Carmel to show all of Israel who was real, Baal or the LORD God.

An altar was built by the priests of Baal, the wood and sacrificial bullock was laid on the altar. Elijah asked the priests to have Baal send fire and consume the sacrifice. The priests chanted and called on Baal, with no results. Elijah provoked them saying, perhaps Baal was sleeping or on a journey. The priests worked themselves into a frenzied state, leaping on the altar, crying louder, and cutting themselves with knives, but here was neither voice nor any answer, nor any regarded.

Then Elijah built his altar, dug trenches around it, arranged the wood, dressed the bullock, and placed it on the altar. He called for water, 12 barrelfuls, pouring it over the altar until the trenches ran full. Elijah prayed to the LORD God. God heard him and sent fire from heaven. The flames consumed the wood, bullock, stones of the altar, the dust, and licked up the water in the trenches.

Evangelist Brubaker shared, it is time for people to take a stand against sin in our lives and against the press of the things of the world. Things that do not bring glory to a holy God should be shunned and we should be walking closer to God.

Complaining, Murmuring, and Slander

Monday evening sermon was on complaining and murmuring. He shared that it caused God to be angry when he heard it in the camp as the Jews wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. Finally, God acted, sending fire to consume those who were creating discord among the people.

That got the remainder of the camp’s attention and had Moses intercede with prayers to stop the death and destruction. It behooves us to replace our murmurings with praise and to be more in tune with His will in our lives.

Tuesday evening Evangelist Dan Brubaker shared the story of Nehemiah asking to return to Jerusalem. The city’s walls were torn down and lay in ruins. Jerusalem, his hometown, was a heap of rubble.

Nehemiah was downcast when he heard the news. King Artaxerxes saw the sadness in his servant and sent him back to rebuild the wall. As Nehemiah and the other Jews returned and began to reconstruct the walls, the enemies of the Jews saw the wall rising from the ruins and were worried. They tried to lure Nehemiah away that they might do him harm, but he refused to meet with them, staying with the task at hand. Although no longer in the King’s court, Nehemiah remained a loyal servant in all he did.

As the enemies saw the wall was being constructed and knowing that they couldn’t draw Nehemiah from the task, they murmured among themselves and started a campaign to slander Nehemiah, sending an open letter to King Artaxerxes saying Nehemiah and the Jews were planning to rebel. The lie they were spreading was to damage Nehemiah’s character and to stop the wall from being built.

Nehemiah’s enemies despised him, then conspired against him, seeking to do great mischief and cause injury. This was because they could not get their way.

We can understand that murmuring and slandering another is unacceptable to God. God showed Nehemiah that he and his fellow laborers could still work with tools in one hand and weapons in the other to deter the enemies. Nehemiah persisted. The walls were built and the gates were set in place. Jerusalem was rebuilt.

Renewal

It has started. The semi-annual revival services at Mt. Zion Community Church. Twice a year we invite speakers to address our congregation and to challenge us about our walk with God, our outreach to friends and neighbors, and to renew our spirits. Renew, revive, refresh, resuscitate, rejuvenate, rekindle, regenerate, and to put back into order our lives and our reconnection with God.

Our speaker is Dan Brubaker, an evangelist. He and his wife Elizabeth have a quiver full of beautiful children and do much of their ministry at Servant’s Heart Camp in Ramey, Pennsylvania. I’ve written about this Bible ministry camp with its 215 acre wooded appeal and a huge multi acre lake. I’ve spoken about this camp before in glowing terms. The cabins rival the KOA campgrounds, the food is plenteous, tasty, and prepared by great cooks, and the ability to relax, refresh, renew, and reset is only part of the camp’s appeal.

Evangelist Dan laid out exactly what revival means in our lives. It isn’t the number of souls saved or even the impact on the community around us, it has to do with each individual and his or her relationship with God, a reconnection to the power source in our lives, a renewal of that intimacy and closeness to the Creator. He shared the need for that closeness in our daily walk. He challenged us to seek God and to reaffirm our need to be in a close relationship with the LORD. We become weary and weak without daily prayer, without reading God’s word, and without seeking God’s will. He reiterated that God is always nigh, always close, always wanting a closer relationship. All we have to do is to turn to God and ask Him to be closer, to seek what He would have us do, and to fall in step with His precepts.

In all three services, morning sermon, Sunday school teaching, and evening service, Evangelist Dan presented what it means to be revived. Revival isn’t just a twice a year week of meetings, but it is a personal renewal and reattachment to God the Father.

Small Things

Sometimes it’s the small things stored in our brains that have created memories that time has not erased that make us the interesting and unique individuals that we now are; small things that have passed us by without a second thought. One of my memories was of a wiener roast at a friend of my family’s farm and a skinny, freckle-faced red-haired girl chased me away from the bonfire to a dark spot behind the milk house and kissed me on the lips. Perhaps that is why many of the women in my books have red or auburn hair. I am often teased about that from fellow writers.

Speaking of fellow writers, I’ll mention one who is also a retired nurse. Much of her career was spent as a hospice nurse in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. She writes beautifully in vignettes, short poignant descriptions of her clients that have impacted her. Small almost inconsequential slices of their interactions with her but have impacted her life. She preserves them in the written word and often will share them with us. Those worried about HIPPA, don’t. They are all deceased and because of her, their memories live on.

I have another friend who writes and has taken on the colossal task of writing in alphabetical order, an educational series of the different small insects teaching small children and their parents about these little creatures and the role they play in the ecosystems. Amusing and teaching at the same time, these sets of 2 books, a reading book and a coloring book, present the child and adult with the facts of that insect.

I have wandered from the small idea that caused me to start down this path of writing. The initial thought was of a small drawstring sack that held colored, candy covered bubble gum. It was sold at many grocery stores when I was a kid. Most of us carried them around as an easy way to keep the bubble gum at hand and the small pull string pouch made it easy to store marbles, toys, and money. I used mine to keep the coins that I managed to collect, maybe all of $2.50 cents or so. The memory of this tiny bag has haunted me over the many years. I hid it so well, that it has never reappeared. My siblings say they know nothing of its disappearance and it still remains a small mystery.

Addictions

Addictions appear in many shapes and sizes. They may come in a variety of guises. Some are disguised as hobbies or minor distractions. But anything that creeps into a life and eats up the precious time a person has left on earth can be labeled an addiction. Television, the internet, Facebook, on line games, pornography, drugs, alcohol, even food can supplant the necessary temperance in a person’s life.

Many people were wondering why I stayed away from Facebook without responding in my usual warped sense of humor to Facebook postings. It was because another friend issued a challenge to me. He suggested that I avoid the venue of Facebook for a day. It was for an entirely different reason than an addiction, but none-the-less, I accepted.

Because I uncoupled myself from the computer, I was able to go to the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society and put in 4 hours of sorting and storing maps, photos, and newspaper articles. I wasn’t able to actually review the many interesting things that passed before my eyes, but I was surprised at the variety and depth of the small number of things that I processed.

War photos by Jack Pletcher, deeds, proclamations, interesting articles on local crimes, local heroes, school pictures, and a steady progression of maps showing the expanding towns and the dividing of the land into townships over the centuries, all passed through my hands.

As a child, I loved to snoop into the drawers of the old, dark oak bureau in my grandmother Miner’s dining room. The drawers were filled with hair swatches, pencils, fountain pens, hair pins, small and amusing things that were nearly worthless, but seemed remarkable in my small fingers. I was also intrigued with the crystal prisms hanging from a pair of lamps sitting on the bureau.

A similar feeling of nostalgia poured over me as I delved into the boxes of unknown treasures. My curiosity returned seeing these reminders of the history of yesteryear. It was a wonderful reemergence of youthful feelings.

All of this was said to share that I felt much freer from the addicting quality of Facebook. It was a cleansing of sort; a purging of the soul. Perhaps I can now limit the time I spend on line and avail myself to the task of writing more. I need to allow my creativeness to be freed. My next challenge is to limit the wasting of time watching the boob-tub and its continual attempt to dumb down the American public.

The Stripping Away of Another Right
I try to avoid political rhetoric. This is about the stripping away of a basic right of lawyer/client privilege afforded to even the most common American.
The INVASION of President Donald Trump’s personal lawyer’s office goes against the basic right of the lawyer/client privilege that is afforded to all American citizens. This breach of justice has stripped this right from the man who is facing a world of foreign and domestic problems and threats to all Americans. He has so far exhibited extreme leadership qualities, by backing down North Korea instead of kowtowing to Kim. He’s caused China to reposition itself on trade sanctions. He’s added millions to the employment roles and has caused many to be removed from welfare. His decision to protect our southern border has inched closer to completion with the deployment of National Guard to supplement our overworked Border Guards. This act coupled with increased penalties for drug dealers may be the deterrent to stop the scourge of opiod addiction in America.
He’s being called a racist, rapist, and many other derogatory names. It is mudslinging from the Left at its very best. He wasn’t given such epithets until he whipped Hillary in the Presidential election. (I almost said whipped the pants off Hillary, but that is a scene I wouldn’t want to see.)
His accomplishments are being down-played by the media that proudly predicted and hailed Hillary as winning over Donald Trump. They are still licking their wounds and trying to salvage some of their credibility. The same maligning of character is true of the entertainment lackeys from Hollywood. The worst of the bunch are the cronies from The View. What a bunch of harpies they are. If hate speech was truly enforced, they would all be wearing orange in some jail already and that foul program would be banned from the air waves.
Please give President Trump credit. Don’t let these Socialistic individuals dampen your spirit Mr. President. There are still millions of supporters out here in America. Please to continue to keep us from the grasp of the Communist leanings of these ill intentioned people.
I rewrote and am sharing tonight in place of tomorrow's FB posting.

A Decent Docent

The whirlwind week and my nightmare from overbooking is finally at an end. It was a challenge, but this old man managed to get through it all with minimal damage. After a few minor adjustments I was able to get everything to work out. The changes came to a head on Saturday.

The Seedline project is an organization that prints the Scripture of John and Romans or the entire Bible I different languages to be sent and distributed by missionaries or teams that are sent to those countries to share the Word of God. The Gospel our church helped to assemble was written in Korean and the literature was distributed at the Winter Olympics in South Korea. One hundred thousand copies were shipped over and were distributed to those attending. Some may actually find their way north of the DMZ, but North Korean athletes were too heavily watched for the teams to share.

The John and Romans we assembled Saturday will be going to a missionary in the Bahamas. Our church assembled 8,900 copies in four hours. I was only able to stay for 2 hours before I had to hurry away for my duty as a docent at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. I was the only person available to open the museum. After tossing out a dead mouse, I began to straighten and rearrange the displays, sort through cupboards, and make a general nuisance of myself. There may be some complaints, but that is what happens when they let me alone in the building unsupervised. I’d heard the museum use the word docent. I had to look up the meaning later. A docent is a teacher or lecturer and I was trying to fill some large shoes.

Finished with my 4 hour tour of duty, I hustled to my daughter’s house. After my daughter Amanda Yoder’s surprise birthday on Friday evening, I was to host the delayed Easter meal of create-your-own tacos, but a slow running commode caused me to shift the meal to her home again. All of my children and grandchildren were able to enjoy the meal and time together. Amanda got to use her birthday camera to record the event.

That left only Sunday and the usual church services and Sunday school. The day passed slowly, sort of a decompression after the long and busy week.

Just Like the Airlines

Just like the airlines, I’ve overbooked. Since Sunday, I’ve been busy and won’t have a break until next week. Sunday past, I drove to Uniontown to my son’s house for Easter to attend his church and stay for the afternoon meal. I had a great time visiting, but had to hustle back home for evening services at my own church.

Monday, I attended the opening home game of the Pittsburgh Pirates at PNC Park in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The temperature was a bit chilly, but I was able to attend wearing my infamous Col. Sanders outfit, get on television, and be stopped by other fans for photos without freezing to death.

Tuesday, I became taxi driver for a friend and fellow writer. She needed a ride to Aestique clinic in Greensburg for treatments. It was necessary for someone to drive her and to stay there while she was having the procedure and to drive her home.

Wednesday, I attended the famous monthly meal for the Grande Dames of Frick hospital where the retired nurses gathered to break bread with an “eat and greet.” As soon as I’d eaten, I hustled away to the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society to learn “ins and outs” of the museum. Later that evening, I drove to church for Wednesday evening prayer services.

Thursday, I needed groceries and had an appointment to have my knee evaluated. The x-rays revealed little change from the ones taken 2 years ago, but because of increasing pain, the doctor injected my knee. An injection 2 years ago caused the pain to diminish. Hurrying back to Mount Pleasant to the library, for be leader for the writers meeting.

Friday, there’s a meal I must attend with friends.

Saturday, my morning starts by helping to assemble portions of the Gospel, stapling them in booklets, then cutting them to size for a ministry called Seedline. They’re usually printed in a foreign language and prepared for missionaries to use. The last 8,000 plus copies were printed in Korean.

Here’s where the fun begins. I confused my days and also promised to be docent for Chestnut Ridge. I’ll have to cut Seedline short for the other. That’s what happens when I get my schedule overbooked, even with a pocket planner. Later I can relax and have a post-Easter meal with my family.

Sunday I have morning and evening church services with Sunday school wedged in. Monday will be a stay-at-home-day, doing laundry, dusting and vacuuming. Oh joy.

Not Nearly as Cold

A diehard friend of mine persuaded me to go to the home opener game of the Pittsburgh Pirates again this year. I was worried because last year, 2017, it was really cold. As usual, when I go to PNC Park, I try to stand out with some type of unusual garb. Last year, because it was so windy and frigid, I piled on the layers and even bought hand warmer packets to avoid frostbitten fingers. I wore several layers of socks, pants, and besides my fluff parka I had a red hooded sweatshirt and wore a Santa hat.

I don’t know if I made it on television with the almost Santa garb, but I didn’t develop frostbite. Our seats were out of the wind, but when we went to the restroom or concession stands, the whipping, frigid wind chilled us and it took quite awhile after we returned to our seats to feel relatively warm again.

Opening day 2018 was greeted with some worry and concern. The meteorologists warned of 4 to 6 inches of snow until 10:00 am and 10 was the time my friend wanted to leave. “It’s supposed to be 40 degrees by the time the game starts,” she shared.

It may have made it to 40 degrees, but the fitful breeze was blowing in off the Allegheny River made the temperature seem much colder. The breeze in the levels by the restrooms chilled as well. I think the concrete keeps the chill and shares it during the game. The restrooms were warm, but I haven’t stood in lines that long with so many men since I was in the Navy over 40 years ago.

I donned my familiar Col. Harlan Sanders attire wearing several layers to keep warm. My travel companion made large signs for most of the Pirate players. She was holding up the sign when Colin Moran hit the grand slam home run and I was on television when the cameraman shot photos of my friend’s sign.

Each time I left my seat and on my exiting the park, I was hailed as “Colonel.” In the seats directly behind us were several gentlemen from West Virginia. They caught on and asked where their chicken was. Coincidentally, just before they asked, I found a KFC receipt in my jacket pocket. I held it up for them to read and said, “It hasn’t arrived yet.” They laughed and we chatted off and on throughout the game. I told them that two of my Tommy Two Shoes Mysteries happened in West Virginia. Pirates won against Twins 5 to 4.

Pirate’s Home Opener

This morning as I cleared the snow from my walk and driveway for the umpteenth time, I heard two robins somewhere in the bushes at the side of my property. I’m sure it was the female robin saying, “See, I told you it was too early to return to Pennsylvania. But no-o-o-o, you had to be here for the opening home game for the Pittsburgh Pirates. The same thing last year, you didn’t listen then and I almost got frostbite. Just once I wish you’d listen to me. I could still be on the beaches in Florida working on my suntan.”

Just a bit of a tease, but I am weary of the snow. We were blessed to have great weather for Easter. I spent the morning at my son’s church, Brownsville Baptist and met fellow worshippers there. Our pastor emeritus, Skip Kessler covered that church while they were searching for a new pastor. I knew many of the names, but I was glad to connect faces and names. Their Pastor, Tom Dallas with his wife Sophia and his four sons, I’d met before. They attended one evening of Mt. Zion’s revival services. It was great to meet him and his brood again.

Pastor Tom gave a stirring sermon on one of the women the Bible mentions, Mary Magdalene. She was the woman Jesus cast out 7 devils and freed her from their grasp. She became a faithful follower of Jesus and was one of the first people to visit the empty tomb. The message was on Mary’s initial feeling of disbelief.

While I am on the subject, the Bible and Christianity give women a special place in its texts. Not always subservient as some would lead you to believe, but special, no matter their past: Rahab, Ruth, Mary, Martha, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of Jesus and Lydia. Many women are discussed, some good and some bad. The Bible also shares the virtues of a good mother and wife.

After church, I had lunch with my son Andrew, his wife Renee, and the grandchildren, Celine, and Moriah. We had a great time talking and eating. Too quickly the time passed and I wanted to get home for the evening services. Our Pastor had a message on Mary Magdalene too, but his approach was centered on Mary’s weeping.