We Gather Together Thanksgiving 2019

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. This year the people gathered at the table were less than usual. It wasn’t because of tragedy or loss but because of conflicting schedules. As our family expands, our members start to pull apart and the places they are expected to visit also grow. My son and his family were in Michigan visiting Renee’s Sister Monica. My brother Ken was at his hunting camp in West Virginia. Darcie could only stay a few minutes and ducked out with her daughter Breanne. Darcie’s two sons were in other states. My daughter Anna and her husband James were expected to celebrate at their home that they share with James’ mother and brothers.

Fewer people, but the spread of food was as large as usual. I made two pies. One pie was my usual offering of pecan pie and the other pie was a new recipe, Reese’s peanut butter and chocolate pie. Both pies turned out quite well, but when I arrived at my Sister Kathy’s home I found that she and her husband Doug made the same chocolate-peanut butter pies as well.

I made baked corn casserole, although it was as good as the corn my mother-in-law, Retha would make. I also roasted turkey breast. Others brought ham, fresh baked bread rolls, green beans, deep fried turkey, dressing balls, mashed potatoes, and lasagna. One thing that was overlooked was gravy. There was none for the mashed potatoes and none for the dressing balls, but we “made do” with what remained.

During the meal we shared family stories. These mealtime conversations were as usual good times for reminiscing and sharing of memories in an oral tradition. It was the way ancestors passed their history along throughout past generations.

One subject that unfortunately reemerged and remained alive was past recollections of passing gas. It was again introduced by one of the family member stepping out of the room to relieve abdominal cramping. A telltale aroma followed on the return to the room. After a prolonged spray of air freshener, the tales of noxious gases emerged. With Ken missing, the tales were more fleeting than the aroma of the air freshener.

Shortly after the meal, our family members went their various ways to other Thanksgiving Day feasts. I’m not sure how others fared, but late into the evening I still felt full. I did rewarm a small bowl of leftover chili, because some of my medications need taken with food or I probably wouldn’t have eaten anything at all.

Thinking of Thanksgiving at Home

As I look back, I can’t remember any special moments or memories that stand out in my mind when we celebrated the Thanksgiving holiday at my parent’s house. I am unsure why, but I imagine that it’s because there were no major events or rituals attached to it. There was no giving or receiving of cards as on Valentine’s Day. There were no displays of fireworks or picnics as on Independence Day. There weren’t any scary costumes or passing out of treats like at Halloween. Then there came the celebration of New Year’s Day, which included a meal of oyster stew, apple pie, and ice cream at my grandparent Miner’s place.

Thanksgiving is tucked between Halloween and Christmas. Retailers have now pushed the Christmas sales so close to Halloween that it almost smothers the “be thankful holiday” out. I’m sure that these other more celebrated holidays have something to do with Thanksgiving being a less appreciated holiday.

The reason for thankfulness is the belief in a divine being as the provider of all of our blessings. Without a belief in God, to whom should we be thankful? Do we thank ourselves? Or should we be thankful to agencies or to the government for a free meal and handouts? When a society isn’t thankful to God and continue to make demands, it will not last. God judges the people who push Him aside and are not grateful for all of the things that He provides, the freedoms that they have and that He continues to do for them.

I believe the reason that I don’t have outstanding memories is that they’ve all have blurred together. The warm feelings of the food, family, and friendships have melded into one pleasant memory. Those feelings of sitting around a table laden with food are now shared with the memories of my family and continue to strengthen those ties. Laughter fills the room as full as do the aromas of the turkey, dressing (Mom always called it stuffing, whether in or out of the bird.), and the spices of the pies and cookies. 

It isn’t that I’m not thankful for my blessings, but the celebration of Thanksgiving was a low-key joining of our hearts and those memories has blended into one. Those Thanksgiving celebrations have connected one with another. Each year becomes another building block in for me and my family and love is the cement that binds these years into one. Happy Thanksgiving.

Here’s My Number… Call Me Maybe

My wife and I were attending a coworker’s Christmas party and she introduced us to a woman who was her good friend. I remembered the woman.  Mona had mentioned her at work. Months earlier, Mona came to work one night and appeared bleary eyed and tired.

“Mona,” I said. “What’s wrong? You look worn out tonight.”

She explained, “I don’t know what to do. My best friend calls me every day between ten and eleven o’clock every morning. I try to tell her that I’m sleeping, but it doesn’t seem to register with her and she keeps on calling and talking to me. I’m so tired.”

I tried to explain to Mona, “She doesn’t understand. People who have never worked the night shift think you should be awake and available to talk when they are. You have to make her understand what it’s like for you. Call her some night about two a. m. and start talking to her. Let her feel what it is like when she calls you at ten o’clock.”

Several nights went by and Mona looked more and more tired. She had a day off and when she came back to work, she looked awake and refreshed.

 “You look so much better. You must have slept on your day off.” I told her.

“I did what you suggested. I called my friend at two thirty in the morning. My friend asked, ‘What’s wrong Mona?’

“I said, ‘Nothing. I just wanted to talk.’ She fairly screamed into the phone. ‘What! It’s two thirty in the morning. Are you out of your mind?’”

“I quietly explained to her that when she calls me at ten in the morning, it’s like me calling her at two in the morning. I heard a small, ‘Oh!’ on the other end of the telephone.

“Then I said, ‘Good night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow afternoon.’ and I hung up.

“My telephone rang about four thirty that evening. It was my friend. She told me that she still wanted me to be her best friend and she still wanted to talk. Finally I understand now what you were trying to tell me. From now on, after you wake up from your sleep, please call me and we can talk.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Mona said and went off to finish her work with the patients on the floor.

Sympathetic Ears

Apathy is when a person has no feelings about what’s going on around them; not caring about the world situations, other people, or brothers and sisters in Christ. About 50 years ago while in college, I wrote an essay titled, “America: the Red, White, and Blah.” That assignment shared the sentiment of 1980’s. It was an era of “drop out” and “being free” without concern for things that were happening.

I recently listened to a radio sermon based on the question of is a Christian being sympathetic to others. The speaker first gave the definition to sympathy, “Sharing similar feelings. Having an agreement of emotions. The ability to enter into another person’s mental state. Having a kinship of passion.” In the rest of the sermon, he separated feelings by delineating emotions of joy and sadness by asking whether it is easier to share another person’s joy or weeping.

He felt it was easier to weep with a brother or sister because we can easily recall times of sadness in our own lives: the loss of a parent, child, or a close friend. Grief is often a barely healed wound in our lives that can be freshly reopened. It is an emotion that we tend to cover up without allowing that wound to heal properly.

Sharing the happiness of a friend, relative, workmate, teammate, or a neighbor’s accomplishment or having them attain a physical reward of a new home, a new car, or a financial bonus at a job is more difficult than sharing their pain. When blessings appear, too often jealousness, envy, and covetousness creeps in and spoils sympathetic feelings that we may have had. Luke 12:15 admonishes us, “Take heed, and beware of covetousness for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he posesseth.”

When we cannot rejoice with another person, we are saying to God that the blessings He gives are not enough and somehow He has not met our needs. Our Father knows the beginning from the end and gives His blessings to all. Matthew 5:45, “That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.”

Keeping a Civil Tongue

Last evening at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society we had a gentleman who spoke on the weaponry of the American Civil War. He was a last minute substitute for our original speaker Ken Williams who was to have spoken on the Mason Dixon Line. The substitute was Sam Vaughn who is a Confederate Colonel for the reenactments of the Civil War as part of the Campbell Artillery Brigade. Colonel Vaughn shared the reason he was the Colonel was because he was the only person with a cannon.

His hour long presentation of weaponry covered the rifles, carbines, shotguns, and pistols of the Civil War era. He didn’t bring his cannon, because he’d stored it away for the winter. The wide selection of authentic and replica weapons ranged from the basic muzzle loading rifles to the various pistols gave us insight to the guns of the Civil War soldier. With due diligence, Col. Vaughn traced the history of each piece and the improvement and innovation in the next weapon.

The flash pan flintlock was the first weapon he detailed. The nearly 10 pound weapon was passed to the audience. Col. Vaughn also shared the progression of the cartridges that were developed for each weapon. They ranged from the muzzle loading lead ball to a rubber jacketed cartridge. The descriptions lead to bullets wearing brass casings.

Through his presentation he described the difference between a rifle and a carbine, also pointing out the changes in loading each weapon, the cartridges, and percussion caps to detonate the powder. The approximate time for a Civil War soldier to load and fire his rifle was about 20 seconds. The shotguns of the era often used buck and ball muzzle loads. If the larger ball missed its target, most likely the smaller scattering buck shot would injure the enemy. Sam shared that Stonewall Jackson was injured by friendly fire. He was wearing a dark uniform and mistaken for a Yankee soldier. The ball was removed from his arm, but cloth debris from his jacket remained in the wound. It festered and his arm had to be amputated. Later Stonewall succumbed to pneumonia.

Col. Vaughn’s original and most expensive firearm was his Burnside carbine. The carbine was a gun shorter than a rifle and often men from the cavalry or the artillery would carry one. As it was passed through the audience the wear patterns of the weapon were easily noticed.

He also shared the progressive improvement of handguns from that time period, starting with the derringer to the pepperbox and through the invention of the revolver. Thank you Colonel Vaughn, it was a remarkable collection and an extremely informative event.

Goodhearted Men Still Exist

My daughter shared this story with me Saturday evening while she was working on craft projects in my basement. Although she and her husband James own a home, they live in their basement to allow his mother and two brothers to live in the main part of the house. This arrangement has been going on for nearly four years. With no room for her to create and finish her art projects, she came to my house to get ready for an upcoming craft vendor sale.

Now, I’ll share the story she told me about her husband James.

“I'm going to brag about how amazing my husband is! He went to Wal-Mart yesterday and saw a police cruiser parked near the front of the store. He did his shopping and when he came out he saw that the cruiser was still there. He went back inside to grab a drink and a Starbucks gift card. When he came out the cruiser wasn't there. He went to his truck, put the grocery bags in and started getting in himself. He then spotted the police cruiser coming down the parking lot. He jumps out of the truck and motions for the police officer to stop. The officer asked my husband if he could help him. My husband told the officer he wanted to thank him for his service and to give him something. He handed the officer the gift card. The officer was in tears and said that no one has done anything like that to him.

I don't know this officer's name, but I do know that this officer puts his life on the line to keep us safe! I'm so thankful to have a husband that wants to give back to those that have done so much for us!”

She shared a similar story Sunday evening. She and James were entering a store and saw an unmarked empty police cruiser at the front. They bought another gift card and waited. Then the trooper emerged, they handed the card to her. At first she refused, but after some persuading, she accepted.

Yes, there are still caring and giving people in the United States. People that are still wanting to make things better for others; especially those soldiers, firemen, emergency responders, and yes, even the police officers who go about their daily tasks to protect fellow Americans from the evils that exist in this world today. Thank you to those men and women. Take the time to recognize and honor them.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

I was working the daylight shift in the emergency department at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania and as I entered the emergency department, I couldn’t help but notice that the place was already hopping. Back then the night shift was staffed with one doctor, one nurse, and one nursing assistant and that morning their hands were full.

It had been a very busy night and as I arrived, another two patients were brought in by ambulance. I tossed my jacket and lunch into the break room, rolled up my sleeves, and joined the melee. Those patients were no sooner stabilized when an overdose was delivered to the E.R.

By then the rest of daylight crew had filtered in to work, but the tempo never slowed. If anything, it seemed to increase. Patients seemed to flood in. Some of them were routine visits mixed with actual emergencies, but they kept coming. As soon as a bed was emptied it was almost immediately filled with another person seeking help for an illness or injury.

As I rushed past the nurses’ station, I saw the Directress of Nursing standing there, leaning against the ledge. She peered over the top, looking disdainfully down at my shoes.

Back then all nurses male and female were required to wear all white shoes. I had white shoes, but I hadn’t taken the time to change into them. They were still in my locker of the nursing lounge. What I was wearing was a pair of bright electric blue running shoes with white lightning type stripes on the sides.

It looked as though she was going to comment on my shoes. I stopped long enough to say, “If you’re not here to help us; don’t say anything.” And I hustled off.

“Oh, crap!” I thought after I blurted it out. “Me and my big mouth, I’ll be in her office tomorrow.”

Later when I passed the desk again, she’d already left the area, but it was still very busy and I had no time to worry about what I’d said to her. The emergencies kept coming.

After lunch the emergency department finally settled and I was able to change shoes. I was still worried about what I’d said, but the dreaded phone call to visit the D.O.N. never came

Mummified Sky Raisins

Mystified? I didn’t know what a sky raisin was until my daughter Anna Prinkey stopped by my house with her dog Rocky. One hundred sixty pounds of muscle and teeth, Rocky is a German Shepherd Husky mix and highly protective of my daughter. God help the person that would dare try to harm her while he’s around. Even though he tolerates me, he still will snarl and snap if I make any untoward fast movements towards her.

Let me backtrack to say that this autumn, I have had a lighter than usual incursion of stink bugs, only three, about five of the fake lady bugs, two yellow jackets, and one wasp seeking their winter vacation home inside of my house. Where they come from I have no idea, but every fall they seem to make the annual pilgrimage.

The anomaly to the invading insects was the unprecedented number of house flies that have sought a sanctuary from the cold. Their presence has been just short of the biblical plague that God inflicted on Egypt. I soon got tired of chasing and swatting them, so I hung two of the sticky fly traps from the ceiling near the window where they seemed to congregate. So far, there must be sixty or so of the winged creatures stuck to those dangling amber curls. I’ve still been busy using the flyswatter to lessen their numbers and I have “downed pilots” in many places on the floor and furniture tops. They’re dead, dried, and have mummified waiting for me to sweep, vacuum, and dust them away into the trash. I find their dehydrated bodies are randomly scattered throughout my living room.

Back to Anna’s dog Rocky. He likes to catch and eat the flies that are still alive. As he ate one that had fallen to the floor and was crawling across the carpet, Anna said that Rocky likes to catch “sky raisins” and eat them. I thought, “What is a sky raisin?” Then she explained when Rocky catches a fly out of the air, she calls them “sky raisins.”

My cat Willow also likes to eat living flies that she’s able to catch as an occasional one falls to the floor. She will bat them with her paws and play with her food before she finally decides to consume them. She won’t touch the dried ones, mummified sky raisins are not on her menu.

Blessings from Being Busy

I recently posted that my lightly scheduled week quickly turned into a week with something happening on each day. A phone call on Monday to schedule my semi-annual dental exam and cleaning was the start. I never expected the receptionist to say, “Can you come in today?” I was free and agreed, going in for the opening in their schedule and for me opening of my mouth. The blessing of the routine checkup was that I had no cavities.

Tuesday was my appointment to have the manifold replaced on my car. I dropped it off at the mechanic’s garage after going to the polling place to vote. My daughter picked me up and we spent some time together. One place we stopped was at her polling place, so I was able to teasingly say that I went to two voting places. If the Liberals can do it, so can I.

My car wasn’t quite finished when I returned to the garage. As I sat in the waiting area, I met a lady. I asked if she liked to read. When she said yes, I gave her my business card. Then she said “Wait. Let me see if I have my card in the car.” When she returned, she gave me a postcard sized advertisement for her husband’s business. He is one of the crew of the television program the “Barnwood Builders,” Meeting that lady was another blessing for me.

Wednesday was my usual time at Chestnut Ridge Historical Society and then Wednesday evening prayer meeting at my church. Time with friends at the Society and in prayer, hearing God’s word is always a blessing.

The second phone call I made Monday was for an eye exam and for me to order new glasses. Thursday was my appointment. I knew the doctor was going to place drops in my eyes to dilate the pupils, so I did all of my grocery shopping before and even perused frames for my new spectacles before my vision became blurred. With eye exam done, I cruised the aisles of Walmart for the last few items that weren’t available in the other stores. The sky was overcast when I left the store. The medicine had nearly worn off and made it home safely.

Friday was the Veteran’s program at Mt. Carmel Christian School where the students and faculty presented an emotional tribute to veterans from all branches of the military. The students gave personal recognition and thank you to each veteran present. It was a real blessing to see that young people still remember those who have served to keep America free. Thank you all.

The Week's Almost Over

When the week began, I had only three days with something scheduled. By the time it's over, I will have an event happening each day. Two phone calls I made Monday sealed my fate. The first call was to schedule my semi-annual dental cleaning. I’m retired, but had no inkling that the dentist would have an opening for Monday. In the past, I have had to wait at least a week. I did chores at home before going to my dental appointment, doing three loads of laundry and cleaning my kitchen.

Tuesday, I took my car to my mechanic’s garage. Last week I began to smell some exhaust fumes and hear a rattling sound. I stopped at his shop last Friday and he said that the manifold needed to be replaced. The appointment was made for Tuesday. I dropped my car off and got a ride home, then later in the day to pick my car back up once it was finished with my younger daughter Anna Prinkey. The second telephone call was for my eye exam. I wasn’t having problems with my vision, but the lenses were scratched from summer yard work. While mowing on my riding mower, some of my shrubs and trees brushed against the lenses, leaving telltale furrows on the surface. The examination was for Thursday afternoon.

Wednesday was my usual workday at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. Sorting, storing, and trying to maximize the space we have for photographs, maps, records, and artifacts. There seems to be a constant stream of sorting things into alphabetical order or storing into categories. Wednesday evening is always prayer meeting at our church which finished filling the day.

Thursday was an eye appointment, which was my second call Monday. I don’t mind the series of tests, but when the optometrist places dilating drops into my eyes, I don’t particularly enjoy that feeling. While I waited for my slit lamp exam, the tech measured me for the on new frames I decided on earlier. I always go early to choose frames before my vision is distorted by those drops. I purposely postponed grocery shopping until after the exam. Driving can be hazardous with dilated pupils.

I‘m attending a veteran’s ceremony this afternoon, the event is done by the Mt. Carmel School to honor and to thank the United States military men and women for service to the country. This display has in the past been a tremendously emotional presentation with the students singing and reciting patriotic salutes to each flag, each military branch, and recognition of each veteran who attends. Thank you for remembering.

What Can Be Found in a Dash?

When we look back at our lives, what do we see? A sermon I recently heard gave the illustration about one of the etchings on a tombstone or a headstone found in a cemetery. Those engravings on the surface usually list the deceased’s name and possibly a small design and the age, but it always includes the date of the person’s birth and the date of the death. Those two dates are separated by a hyphen or a dash and all of that individual’s life is represented by that small chip in the rock. All the history of that person is condensed into that tiny glyph. Each breath that is taken from the cradle to the grave, from the first to the last is represented by that tiny etched line. Each deed that a person does, each act whether good or bad, each second of that individual’s life on earth, and each accomplishment is portrayed in that small scratch in the granite.

Once that person expires, nothing more can be added or changed to that earthly record. Nothing more can be added to that record our lives. All the things that we meant to do will never be accomplished and will never be realized. What we’ve put off until tomorrow will never happen. Making amends with someone with whom we’ve quarreled, taking a special vacation to a special place, or how about asking for salvation? Once that dash is chipped into place prior our death, accepting Christ as Savior will never happen. There will be no excuse that God will accept once that dash is carved separating the date of our birth and our death. Either our name will be entered into the Book of Life or not. Nothing will be able to alter that fact. The choice must be made before the stone carver completes his work.

Jesus, God’s only begotten Son, was sent to earth in the form of a man to reconcile sinful people to the Father be reunited with God. Jesus was the ultimate payment for our sin debt. He died that we might live eternally as the Father’s adopted heirs to the riches of heaven.

If we don’t choose Christ, for he is the one and only way to obtain redemption, we choose to remain in our sins and to reject the free gift of salvation. We will have chosen to accept the punishment that our stubborn and sinful life has earned. The payment has been made, but we must decide to accept it.  Christ is our personal Savior and to reject him is to suffer punishment in Hell. Decide before that dash into eternity is complete.

Bowling Lanes 

In Connellsville, Pennsylvania across from the old Troutman building, there used to be a hotel called the St. James. As a youth, I never noticed it and would have never known it was there, but several people bowled there as a group and invited me. When I thought of a hotel, I always thought of a place to use while on vacation or to sleep overnight, but a bowling alley?

I think the most unusual thing about the alley was its location. The lanes were located on the second floor. Its position in the building truly fascinated me. Who would have thought bowling alleys on the second floor? Plus it was a rare treat for me to bowl. Money was tight. My brother and sister were too young to go bowling as a family, but my parents allowed me to occasionally tag along with the church bowler friends.

The bowling lanes were old alleys without pin setting machines. It was necessary for them to employ pin boys to gather and reset the pins at the end of the lanes. They would retrieve your ball and place it in the return trough. The ball would rumble back to you.

I can’t remember which night of the week we would bowl, but there was a man there who scared the pin boys and sent them scurrying. He had huge bulging muscles in his arms. When he would bowl, he would hurl the ball down the lanes. The ball was air born until about halfway down the lane and would hit with a thunderous crash to begin its trip and spin on the polished boards. The torque was tremendous. As the black bowling ball hit the pins with a crack, the pins would scatter in all direction. It was a dangerous situation for the pin boys. They would scatter as well, heading to opposite sides of the room to escape possible injury from flying pins. The ball would hit the backstop with a dull, solid thump.

It was almost like a dance with the pin setter boys waltzing out of the way at the crescendo of the rumbling music and then dance back to the stage to reset the pins. I was amazed at the power of the young bowler and the finesse of the youthful pin setters as they scurried to avoid injury at the opposite sides of the lanes.

 

In the Days of Ezra

After seventy years of captivity, the Jews were allowed to return to Judah by a decree from King Cyrus of Persia. Cyrus wrote the proclamation to allow some of them to return to Jerusalem and rebuild the house of the “LORD God of Israel.” The King also sent thirty chargers of gold, a thousand chargers of silver, and twenty knives to help finance the trip and the building of a new temple. Nine hundred miles later, Ezra and the returning Jews found the temple was little more than piles of rubble. The daunting task of clearing the Temple mound was a hard sight for them to accept, but they began their labor with zeal.

Jews who had been left behind when Nebuchadnezzar razed the city and Temple had done nothing to clean away the debris or to begin rebuilding the house of the LORD. When Ezra and the returning Jews arrived and began to remove the piles of rubble and set the foundation of the Temple, adversaries volunteered to help. Ezra refused. It is much like the infusion of ecumenism today and the one church ideology. So often, the weakening of the Gospel is compared to the leavening of bread.

When Ezra refused their help, they hired counselors and scribes to frustrate the workers’ purpose of clearing the site and attempting to delay the building of the walls. They tried every means at their disposal to weaken the hands of the builders, causing as much trouble as possible for the laborers as they rebuilt the Temple.

Can we see the same tactics of adversaries trying to trouble those who try to retain, restore, and reclaim the rights and freedom guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States? Can we see the same attempts at an end run for Americans who wish to build a wall for the safety of its people?

When all that failed, the adversaries appealed to Cyrus the King by sending a letter filled with lies about the workers saying, “When the walls are set up again, then they will not pay toll, tribute, and custom, and so shall endamage the revenue of the kings.” By then, Cyrus was dead and the new king, Artaxerxes was reigning and ordered a stop to the temple’s construction.

Does this also sound familiar? It is almost as if history repeating itself in America today. Ezra followed the King’s decree for fifteen years until he decided that following God’s will was more important than manmade laws and began in civil disobedience to rebuild the Temple.