I was thinking about D-day and the invasion of Normandy Beach. I pulled this poem from my files to honor the fallen soldiers and sailors that sacrificed so much to keep the despots in check and to keep the torch of freedom burning brightly. This is my salute to those fallen heroes who never returned. This is my post for Memorial Day.

Alone Now

She weeps

Tears fall

Folded flag

Held tightly

Remembering him.

Tall and strong

Young and alive

But no more.

 

She weeps

Broken hearted

Inconsolable, empty

Ribbons and medals

Clutched in hand

Remembering him.

Gentle lover

Protector

Helpmate

But no more.

 

She weeps

No comfort

Grief stricken

Unbearable pain

Remembering him.

Tender hero

Valiant knight

Blessed hope

To return no more.

 

Check Please

When the register totals more than twenty dollars, I usually pay for my purchases with a check. It is easier for me to say, “Self checkout. Not me.” Self checkout can’t weigh products not prepackaged and priced. They want a shopper to do the work for them without having to pay a checker. They want the shopper to wave a thin plastic wand with a tracking chip inside to pay for the purchases. With the chip, the store can track what you buy, how often you buy, how much you spend, your location, and are given direct access to your bank account. If you think that the federal and state government can’t gain access to the same information, you are unbelievably naïve.

Back to the story; I did something that I have never done before. You’d think I managed to do everything imaginable in my 73 years of life, but no. I’ve always used checks since I was 20 years old or so, but this time…I ran out of checks. I went to the spot where I store my new check books. Move over Mother Hubbard. My cupboard was bare, not even a cobweb inside. It was a Friday when I went to the bank for a reorder. (Free checks and you already know how frugal I am.) Usually the checks arrive in about 7 days, but of course this time it will be at least their 10 day window. I’m hoping for today. We shall see.

What makes it more difficult is that I don’t own a credit card. After my wife Cindy Morrison Beck passed away and my kids left home, I have a few dollars in the bank. Why would I create debt and pay interest if I don’t have the need. I have no idea what my credit rating is. I haven’t gone in debt for anything that they can rate me. The bank gave me several “bank issue” blank checks, but that can be a hassle, having to show my ID and giving out my telephone number. (P.S. if I need to show an ID to purchase certain items or to use a check, others must show a valid photo ID or they don’t get to vote, PERIOD.)

So I’ve been praying all week that Mr. Mailman, bring me my checks. Make them available. I feel naked without them, and me naked is a frightening thought.

 

 

When It’s Time

My grandfather Raymond Miner would share stories of things that happened when he worked in the coal mines of Southwestern Pennsylvania. One of the stories he shared was while we were watching television. The news story was about an airliner that had a door pop open during a flight over Hawaii and a stewardess was sucked out and killed. She was the only person that was harmed during the incident.

He said, “When it’s your time, it’s your time. We started to dig a new mine shaft and were still close to the surface. Normally we worked underground, but were always willing to leave the darkness and go outdoors to eat our food in the fresh air when we could.

“This day we gathered outside of the mine entrance picking spots to sit and eat. I‘d just opened my lunch bucket when one of the other miners cocked his head to the side as if someone had called his name. He laid aside his sandwich and walked back into the mine. He barely stepped inside when the ceiling of the mine collapsed. The debris and rubble buried him. It was as though God had called his name, told him to come into the mine, and then drew him home.”

Most of the veins of bituminous coal in Southwestern Pennsylvania are not very thick and even though my granddad was a short statured man, he either had to stoop or crawl through the mine to swing his pick and loosen the coal. Once the coal was freed, he would shovel it out, loading it into the mine carts that would haul to coal to the surface.

He worked the night shift with my uncle Dale. What I didn’t know until after my granddad and my uncle both had died was that my uncle was lazy. He often slept during the night and my grandfather had to do the work of picking, shoveling, and loading the coal for two people.

Granddad’s labors didn’t end at the end of his shift at the mine. He worked on his farm during the daytime hours, catching sleep whenever he could between chores. He worked to provide for his wife Rebecca and his eight children: Rachel, Violet, Cora, Ina, Sybil, Cosey, Dale, and Theodore. He had little time to rest, but loved my grandmother and his children so much, I don’t think he minded. I imagine my uncle didn’t take the time to help Granddad on the farm either.

When the time came for my grandfather to end his time on Earth, he was seventy-six years old, diagnosed with hardening of the arteries, but I think that he died because he was worn out from burning the candle at both ends, working in the mines, and on the farm. Although my grandfather was a man short with a quiet nature, he stood tall in my eyes.

Go West Young Men…and Women

The theme for this year’s vacation Bible school at Mt. Zion Community Church is western. Each year there’s a theme to keep children excited to come back to hear the skits and the Word of God. Past theme we’ve had a jungle, mining, undersea, and construction themes. Each time we’ve had an event we try to decorate accordingly. I’m a part of the prop department. Often my daughter Anna Prinkey gets the ideas and since I have a large stash of cardboard, I’ve been the designer and creator of back drops and other odds and ends.

This year’s not been an exception. My basement’s become the center of sketching, painting, cutting, and assembling multiple pieces for the stage and classrooms. The hardest part is cutting the cardboard into necessary shapes, even with a sharp box cutter. I try to keep the outline smooth without a lot of intricate angles or curves. It makes things much easier. Stage props are to be seen from a distance off. They don’t have to be masterpieces like Rembrandt, just more realistic than the works of Picasso.

This year so far, I’ve created a butte or mesa. It sort of resembles a top hat with varying earth tones cand rivulets running down its side. I made two types of cacti, saguaro and pear. Because they are plain and green, I made them bloom with yellow or pink blossoms. They needed to catch each kid’s eye and keep the kid’s attention. I was made a brown longhorn steer. Its horns were limited by the width of my cardboard. Another scene often seen out West are waterfalls tumbling from a high mountain peak. That was the second backdrop I painted. The rushing water against the dark tree-lined mountainside looks almost real. I couldn’t quite get the spray at the bottom to shimmer, so people will have to use their own imagination.

Many times our Pastor asks the congregation to borrow other props to set the stage. He’s smart. When the church borrows something, he doesn’t have to store for them from one year to the next and the church family gets more closely involved in the event. This year, I’m sharing a coat rack, a broom, a small table, and a wooden keg to make the dais look more authentic. He’s been looking for a small desk to look like the old-time sheriff’s desk and hasn’t been able to find one, so I made a cardboard replica, in case he can’t find one. I’ve also been working on a surprise for my daughter. Shhhh.

The best thing for me, I’m running out of cardboard.

 

Beetlejuice

It was an odd weekend starting Friday evening. It was another outreach where our church works with the Bearing Precious Seed program. It is a printing consortium where another church in Milford, Ohio reproduces entire Bibles or smaller versions of the Gospels of John and Romans. They print the Word of God in many languages for distribution worldwide. There are teams who travel to churches that volunteer to assemble and staple these interpreted pages into books that can be distributed by missionaries to people who need to have a copy of God’s Word in a language they can understand.

It began Friday evening when we unloaded the supplies from their trailer. Boxes of the covers printed in German, bundles of texts, electric staplers, and the nearly one ton trimming machine; all rolled down a ramp and into out gymnasium. The supplies were placed at assigned tables and the assembly process started. The first tables folded the covers. People at the second set of tables sandwiched the Gospel text inside the covers. We stapled the two parts together, then the booklets went to the trimmer, to remove the excess material. The finished books were boxed up ready to be shipped.

After we stopped for the night, I drove home. The weather was so beautiful; I jumped onto my mower to cut grass until darkness fell. I finished making the salad to take for lunch the next day, then went to bed.

Eight AM back to the assembly line, this time I chose to staple the booklets. Seedline is hoping to add ours to the 2 million copies to Germany for a special set of meetings in August. Our 11,000 Gospel books will be a portion of the Gospel shipped. We finished assembling just before noon, ate lunch, then disassembled each part of the manufacturing process and reloaded the truck with machinery and the boxes of finished John and Romans.

Back home, I finished mowing then did odd jobs around my house before my nap. After my evening shower, I went to bed with my hair still damp, not a good idea. As I stared in the bathroom mirror Sunday morning to shave, I saw and older Beetlejuice with bad hair staring back at me. After wrestling my coiffure back into place and shaving, I went to church. I think it’s time for another haircut.