The Cutting Edge

 The Cutting Edge
I was assigned to the Naval Station hospital in Orlando, Florida upon my graduation from Corps School in Great Lakes, Illinois. It was my first actual assignment after boot camp and corps school. At this time Orlando was pre-Disney and the Naval Hospital and Naval Training Center was the biggest thing in town. The airport was a concrete block, L-shaped building with airline and car rental counters on both sides of the L-shaped corridors. The airport offices closed at night with metal gates that closed off each entrance. The gates were similar to those that close the shop entrances at the malls.
Other than fishing and bars, there was little that a person could do without a car. I don’t drink so the clubs were out and I fished a lot. I liked night fishing in the small lakes on base and others that I could walk to. I would wade into the reeds shoreside and cast my purple night crawler into the lake in front of me. Mostly there were bass in the lakes. The bass were measured by weight, not by inches as we do in Pennsylvania. I was blessed to fish on the ocean just off Cape Kenneby on occasion. I enjoyed being on the eighteen foot boat, even when there were six foot swells rocking the boat.
There were occasions of down time. I took some on line courses and carved. I would use the wood from old boards that we would pad and use to restrict the movement of an arm that had an IV stuck in it. I carved two elephants anout one inch high, a frog wearing a crown, and even made a trinket box about six inches long, four incher wide and four inches high. I connected the corners with interlocking dove tails. The lid for the box fit snugly. On its top was carved a bunch of grapes.
I started to collect HO gage trains and to add to my accessories, I carved two tunnel entrances. From wooden tongue blades I created a water tower with a working spout. I shaped a railroad station, complete with benches, a clock, and ticket booths with metal grills. It kept my hands busy during my down times to reduce the stresss.

Weekness How Time Hurries By

 Weekness How Time Hurries By
It amazes me how quickly time flies. The intern college student has almost finished his eleven week intern program at our church. Nearly every summer our Pastor accepts the responsibility of taking a student from Ambassador Bible College and mentoring them as they learn the skills necessary to be the pastor of a church. The amount of work that the pastor must handle increases with the size of the congregation and how active the church is serving the community. The interaction with the souls in the surrounding area and the outreach the church has helps to determine the workload for the pastor.
The workload is determined by the number of sermons the minister has to prepare for each of the services takes quite a bit of time. Our church has services Sunday morning and evening and also on Wednesday evening, so our Pastor needs the time to prepare three messages eachach week. If the pastor teaches a Sunday school class, that is another area of preparation. This work doesn’t include the time necessary to create a program for Vacation Bible School, holiday presentations, and if there are weddings or funerals that may unexpectedly turn up.
Our student intern Mr. Andrews was allowed to preach, sing, and teach to different age groups. He was able to get the feel of the work necessary to become a minister and the burden of sharing the Word of God.
It is truly amazing how speedily the eleven weeks have passed by. He’s almost finished his assignment here and will be returning to his classes to finish his senior year. It has been a pleasure to work with him for the Vacation Bible School props and decorations. Although my singing voice competes with a crow, I enjoy singing in our choir. Mr. Andrew’s voice added much to the quality of our special numbers.
It was a pleasure to have him join me for lunch Sundady at a nearby restaurant for lunch: a sort of a bon voyage meal. This Wednesday will be his last day here with us. He seems to be a dedicated young man and I pray that he will be able to finish the classes for his senior year with vigor and ease. He was sharing the classes he will be facing during the coming terms. They didn’t sound easy by any means and he will need God guidance to help him accomplish his goals.

If Only I Was Younger

 If Only I Was Younger
Can you remember the times when you were young and could run all day, finding things to do? Too often now I only walk looking for ways to avoid doing something. When you’re flying solo, cooking, washing, and cleaning for yourself, I can make my own schedule and sometimes postpone a task for an hour or a day. It depends whether my get up and go is still there or whether it has already got up and left.
Putting off the laundry by one day; no big deal, as long as I have clean underwear and socks to wear, who’s going to complain? Am I going to write a letter to management? Management only ignores those complaints. Clutter in my car. No problem as long as I can get in and see over the top to drive.
It’s not that bad, but I do need to remove the ice scrapers and the windshield snow cover and put them in the basement or trunk of the car. A tip for those people who haul food in the trunk of the car to outings, have you ever spilled chili, oup, or sauce in transport? Buy an inexpensive flannel-backed tablecloth and spread it in the trunk of your car. Spills…just remove it and wash the tablecloth or if it’s cheap enough, toss it, just replacec with another. There’s no reason to spend hours cleaning the carpet’s nooks and crannies and still finding some that you missed.
I think about my younger days walking to several swimming holes. One was over a mile away, but I was able to walk with friends most of the way and the trip didn’t seem so long. The swimming hole that was much closer was much colder. The stream flowed most of the way from hillside springs and small stream under the shade of huge pplar, oak, and evergreen trees. The water had lttle chance of warming at all. If I swam there, it was a necessity to build a fire to thaw out frequently. Swimmers’ lips were blue and coming out of the icy stream, we had to check to be sure we were still male.
A few saltines brought from home roasted over the fire and then spread thick with margerine was a welcome snack. It gave us a reason to linger in the warmth of the fire.

A Feather in My Cap

A Feather in My Cap
Early in my training at Penn State for my nursing degree I was assigned some “practical, hands-on learning” classes in a nearby nursing home. The training was to correctly change bed linens, give patient care, pass medications, and how to chart.
My question is why does the practical part of nursing education start out with the elderly? Do they think that if a student nurse makes a mistake… well they were old, right?
We were there for several weeks and as the routine became more comfortable for us, one of the nurses had allowed her mind to wander and asked me, “Where is your nursing cap?’
This was a time when the female nurses were required to wear caps. You could tell from which institution a nurse graduated by the cap she wore. Men weren’t required to wear the cumbersome caps. Not fair? I didn’t make the rules.
I replied, “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the dean of nursing.”
She didn’t say a word, but disappeared only to return a few minutes later. She went into the kitchen and returned with an institutional sized Melita coffee filter in her hands. She walked over to me and using white bobby pins, she attached it to my hair and yes… I had hair then.
It was near the end of the shift and the other students and nursing home’s residents thought it was funny, so I kept the “cap” in place until the end of the day. It was a “no big deal.” If it brightened the residents’ day and kept the female students from fussing, it was well worth it.
I knew that if I made a big deal about the “nursing cap,” I would have been the target of harassment from female students from then on. From my several years in the Navy, I learned it was always easier to laugh and go along with the joke, than to make a big deal out of it and complain. Fussing puts a person in the crosshairs making you a target for more harassment.
At our next session at the nursing home, I was bare headed and immediately I was confronted by the female students, “Where is your nursing cap?”
Thinking quickly, I replied, “You know, it was dirty. I washed it last night and it fell apart.”
They laughed and shook their heads at my wise crack, then walked away.
I had managed to dodge the bullet. By using a bit of humor, I’d escaped being harangued about wearing a coffee filter for the second time.

A Brain Overload

 Sometimes a Brain Overload
There are times when I sit and stare at the computer trying to think of things to write, but not so today. When I woke at 3:30 am, I was hit with a deluge of ideas. It was a stampede. So many thoughts tumbled out one after another. There was no order to them. They were just a jumble of thoughts, some notheing more than a fleeting image then they were gone, like the riccochet of a bullet in the old-time westerns. PING.
The first stray notion was about neck ties which led me to contemplate which tie I would wear when they decide to plant me. I don’t want to be boring and sober for those who peer at my lifeless form. From that I remembered that my Wife Cindy Morrison Beck didn’t want anything in her casket but her. I remember chosing a long sleve dress because her arms were abused with needle pricks from the hospital and buying daisies to camouflage the casket.
Morbid thoughts soon turned to comical ideations where I could continue the joke I created with the inception of the Tie-of-the-Month Club. I’ve already used it to spoof others three times and a variation to torture the fourth. I had the inkling of how to styretch it to a fifth person, leading back to the fourth character. I’ve decided not to wear out my welcome and have dropped it for now.
There were other flickers of mental pictures that shone brightly for a second, but they were so fleeting they didn’t register long enough to create a memorable image, then…
Thoughts of things I needed to do today sauntered in drawing me back to reality. Chores somehoow have a way of grounding a person. The plans for working somehow take the fizz out of my dreams. When I finally rose form my bed, I began to write this post. I am not sure whether it’s easier to stare at a blank screen and strain to write something or to be overwhelmed with ideas to be remembered.

A Stirring of Memories

A Stirring of Memories
One evening I was watching one of the nature channels. The television program was of an explorer that goes about trying to find animals that are thought to be extinct. His quest took him to Newfoundland looking for a white wolf that was thought to be extinct for over thirty years. He first met an 80 year old man who lives in Newfoundland and kept two wolves, but not ones indigenous to the Island and was familiar with wolves.
The two set out exploring one arm of the eastern coast, but when they were unsuccessful there, they moved their operation to the northern part of the island. After several more days of searching, they found tracks, scat and several thermal images that prove there are still wolves in some isolated areas of Newfoundland.
I have said all of this to say much of the scenery was familiar to me. Quite a few years ago, Tim a young man wanted to see what Newfoundland and Labrador were like. He was thinking of establishing himself as a missionary to this area of the globe. My good friend Norman Lee Johnston was our Pastor at the time and very keen on supporting missionaries and decided to take the young man to scope out that part of the world. My son Andrew, daughter Amanda, and I were fortunate enough to make the trip with them driving from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania through the northeastern states into Canada. We camped in Maine before crossing into New Brunswick and Nova Scotia and taking the ferry to Newfoundland.
Back on dry land, we motored the length of Newfoundland from the southern coast to its northern tip. All of this was to say that much of the scenery that was shown on the television program brought back those memories of a dear friend that has recently passed away and of friends that we met on the trip. I miss my dear friend Pastor Norman Johnston. I also miss a missionary couple that we met on our trip, Buzz and Judy Ferguson. Just to let my missionary friends and families know that they are thought of and that they remain in my prayers. Buzz has also passed, but here's a shout out to Judy.

Fear or Victory

Fear or Victory
Whether the fear and induced panic over the corona virus was real or a hyped media and political concern; there is one who is greater than it all, God the Father. God created the earth and all that is in it. Nothing happens that He has not foreseen. Mankind has the freedom of choice and often wanders away for the wonderful plans He has for their lives. I try to share my thoughts of mankind’s attempts to overthrow God and replace something in His place, I’m ridiculed.
I am concerned to see how quickly freedom loving Americans have allowed the governmental agencies to tell us where we can go, when we can go, and what we can do. It is disheartening to see how readily we pass the reins for our freedom to others. Can this be a trial run for a Communist inroad, for a take-over, or a path for the one word government predicted in the Bible for the last days?
Once a nation built on the foundation of Biblical tenets and God given rights has now become Christian in name only. With our nation promoting and praising the sins that God destroyed other nations for committing, how long will God withhold His punishment? How close to the end times have we moved?”
When I point out that each and every media outlet commentator shares the exact words and phrases as they foist what they have been told that “truth” is and try to convince you that what they’ve said is true. What I ask is, “Who is writing the script that each commentator spews out, an echo of each other? Who is the voice behind them that wants to lead the public?
Recently, these commentators have used Wuhan and China to describe the outbreak of the corona virus. Over and over in their reports day and night those names were used, but as soon as our President Donald Trump says China or Wuhan, they turned on him calling him racist or a xenophobe for using the very same words. They berate him for doing nothing and when he closes immigration from some foreign countries, again he’s racist or xenophobic.
His attempts to prevent undocumented, non-inoculated immigrants to enter the United States by creating a barrier, he was again chastised with the same names. It’s easy for them to change their attacks because the American public is gullible and easily distracted from one day to the next. The leading of the commentators cause waves of support for their often false representation of world views and world happenings.
We as a nation need a revival and a return to God while He still withholds His judgment.

Weddings

Weddings
The first wedding that I can recall attending was the wedding of my Cousin Alan Bottomly and his wife Gloria. The reason that it was so memorable was I was best man. It was at this wedding ceremony that I first met my future wife Cynthia Morrison. She was an attendant and usherette. In my own joking nature I teased her annd many of the guests thought that Cindy and I were already dating. It wasn’t so. We just met each other for the ceremony.
The next wedding I’ll mention is my own with Cindy Morrison Beck. After several years of dating the inevital happened. We married. The ceremony took place in the same church where we met and the reception was at the Old Millhouse at Camp Christian. Cindy’s dad was groundkeeper there. Because we were both college students, the costs for the wedding were kept to a minimum. Cindy’s mom sewed all of the gowns for the bridesmaids and Cindy’s wedding gown. The colors were a pale yellow and mint green. I bought a new suit for the wedding and the men wore trhe suits that they had.
About a month later, her best friend and the reason Cindy and I dated, Deborah Firestone married William Detar. Debbie’s wedding was more extravagant with the female bridal party wearing blue gowns, wide brimmed hats, and carrying parasols. Attached to each umbrella was a carnation of different colors and the men in their tuxedos wore cumberbunds of colors that matched their escorts’ flowers. The ceremony was lengthy because Debbie incorporated many ideas for other weddings into hers.
One of my friends is an older lady who didn’t like to drive in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her grandson was getting married at a church with the reception across town, so she asked me to be her chauffer. I accepted and had a great time. This lady bought new shoes for the wedding. They were too large and she had to shuffle her feet to keep from stepping out of them, I teased her about being Cinderella. The one thing I can remamber is the food at the reception was excellent and in a great quantity.
Several years later the same woman again asked me to be a chauffer when another grandson got married. I accepted, but this wedding wasn’’t like the other. The church was on a hillside with limited parking and my friend was older who walked with some difficulty. Finding no other place to park close, I parked in the priest’s driveway. Well, he wasn’t going anywhere until after the ceremony. The bride wore white, but the attendants wore black Later at the reception, guests were asked to wear masks like it was a masquerade ball. It was altogether too strange.

Naturally Beautiful

 Naturally Beautiful
Over the past few weeks my attention has been drawn to the beauty that is around me. Too often I keep myself inside and miss the miracles of this Earth that I can see if I take the time to look. Even in the gloomy days, when rain and fog swirl hiding the sun. As I drove through the mists, I saw a winter bared tree wrapped in the soft veil of fog. Its silhouette was blurred as it darkly stood against a silver misted cloak. Nothing else was visible in the gray cotton haze but this silent sentinel.
Today as I returned from a luncheon with fellow classmates, I decided to stop to photograph a gnarled tree that I’d often seen before. In the past I’d been in too much of a hurry refusing to pause long enough to capture its twisted beauty. The bet tree stood apart from the other taller much straighter trees that formed a backdrop for its dramatic shape. I did on occasion stop to photograph a blue heron as it searches the shallow water of the nearby lake.
I’ve been able on a regular basis to witness some truly amazing sunrises to the east from my front porch and brilliant sunsets to the west. These intricate patterns of the sun and clouds in abstract design fill the canvass of the sky. Bob Ross with his talented paintings of wet-on-wet technique could never fully capture the exquisite details that routinely appear before my eyes. His renditions of nature were merely pale reproductions, a simple snapshot of nature’s beauty; while I am blessed to be able to view an ever-changing panorama each morning and evening.
At night the stars and moon in all of its phases fill the inky velvet sky. Sometimes the light of the moon is so bright I can almost read a book, then at other times I have to fumble to find the keyhole to open my front door. The planets share a steady glow while the stars continue their sparkling journey.
Is it any wonder that mankind studies the stars. Men in the past imagined their stars were alive with familiar shapes: Cancer the Crab, Orion the Hunter, or Leo the Lion. Men recorded the stars’ march through the heavens. It embarrasses me to know that our ancestors knew more about the workings of God’s Creation than I do. Many of our forefathers knew several languages and today too many of us can barely understand or speak American English properly.

Hey Grandpa

 Hey Grandpa
In mmany ways my grandfathers were complete opposites. One was tall and thin while the other was short and stocky. One was a farmer while the other was basically a cleric. I can’t remember hearing either one speak too much about their parents, but I can remember a few stories of their childhood and both were raised on a farm where frugalness and hard work were a part of their early lives.
My grandfather Raymond Miner was the shorter man, stocky in build who remained a farmer all of his life. He was a quiet man who smiled a lot and rarely spoke. He loved his wife, his kids and his farm animals. Even after dementia wrestled with his brain, caring for his animals that no longer existed would frequently every day move to the front of his to-do list of chores.
His big farm house welcomed his grandchildren; open to all, especially during the olidays and those unexpected visits. Grandfather Miner was a hard worker; working the coal mines at night and the farm during the day, yet still managed to raise eight children with my grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner and during those hard times, it was no easy task.
My Grandfather Edson Thomas Beck was raised on a farm too. I only know that because my father Carl Beck shared a few stories. E. T. Beck cut post for the mines, did farrm chores, and slowly began to do legal work, becoming a squire, Justice of the Peace, and accountant. He “kept books” for two multi-million dollar companies and helped the locals with their yearly income taxes. He wrote last wills and testaments, deeds, and other legal papers with beautiful penmanship that I still envy. He was a layspeaker for local churches and even founded a church. It was called Mt. Hope along Rt. 31 crossing the Summit into Somerset. The red insulbrick building is no longer a church, bu I can remember attending a few services there.
Grandfather Miner had a bald spot on the back of his head and I have claimed those genes as my own, while Grandfather Beck had a full head of hair that only thinned later in life. Granddad Miner died in his 70s with his brain wandering through a fog from dementia while Grandpa Beck kept his sharp mind into his 90’s. They were opposites in many ways, but the love of God was strong in both.

Have You Herd

 Have You Herd
Vacation Bible School is over for the 2024 year. It’s time to rest, recuperate, and reflect on what went over well. I was in the kitchen with two friends. It was our responsibility to choose which snacks we should serve, when to prepare them, and to be there to serve the snacks as the chldren and adults came to the felllowship hall expecting food to eat.
The ideas for food had to be easy to prepare (fewer ingredients), tasty, and had to appeal to the students and teachers. With only had fifteen minutes to grab the snacks, eat them, and be ready for the skits in the main sanctuary, everything had to be ready. Clean up for the kitchen staff followed. Next year we’ll keep some of the favorites, eliminate some that either took too much time or were duds, and we’ll research some new ideas before the next VBS season.
We weren’t responsible for decorating the church for the “farm” theme, but I assisted my daughter Anna Prinkey with her grandiose ideas. Everything from the “County Fair” kitchen to duck ponds, and barns with silos filled each cleassroom with a different theme. No classroom went undecorated, but the kids loved it.
While Anna decorated the side rooms, the converting the main sanctuary into a country barn scene fell to our Pastor Haasz and our summer intern Stephen. Other parishioners brought in articles from their homes to use as decorative props. Fake chickens, pigs, cats, a saddle, lanterns, a scoop shovel, and a pitchfork added authenticity to the dais, but no one had lifesized cows. Real animals were out of the question and that leads to the crux of this post.
I helped the Pastor and Stephen construct a herd of two cows (if two cows can be called a herd). Eventually the two “cows” claimed stalls in the baptistry with their heads peering out over the edge into the sanctuary.
The lives of these two cows began in the garage/shop of the church. Each head was fashioned from four clear plastic gallon water containers. The shape of one container was similar to the muzzle of a cow. When four were cut and taped together, it made the rough cow head-shape. Each shape was covered with papier machet to form each cow head with ping pong eyes and water container screw-on caps for nostrils. Each “head” was fastened to a cardboard neck and then painted. The result was impressive enough to “wow” the kids who came to VBS.

When I Look Back

 When I Look Back
Looking back over the years, thoughts come rushing back like a river. Sometimes they drift by in a comforting stream, while at other times they swirl by like a flooding river. I do know that the years of my life have rushed by and all that now remain is a small trickle. I think that is why I write down thoughts as they occur. Stupidly as I lived at home, I didn’t listen to the stories my parents, Carl and Sybil Miner Beck would tell me of their lives and the lives of my ancestors and relatives. Like most people, I believed my parents would live forever. Not so, and now I regret that thought. I’ve seen other people’s posts where someone would ask, “If you could tell your younger self anything, what would you tell him?”
I’m not sure that I would tell myself anything. I didn’t listen to others. What makes me think I would listen to an older me? The saying I now believes fits is this, “The difference in doing dumb things as a kid and now in that I have to do them more slowly.” I still do dumb things and the ones I can remember of them, I regret. Honestly, can anyone think that telling your youtnger self would change anything?
As it sometimes happens, my blog wanders off down a rabbit trail and I never get to write about the original thought. I was going to share the most vivid memories of the tenting trip our church group and family made out West about forty plus years ago, but was sidetracked into rambling about what might have been in my life. The floodwaters of recollection have again changed the channel of the river and given it a new course as it flows into the ocean of eternity. I guess the major bumps in my life would be waterfalls in the map of my history. Few things can cause a river to flow backwards, even for a few minutes, so life flows on. Grab a paddle and move on. Try to avoid the rapids and toss out a lifeline to others we see struggling. Use Christ as your anchor and His Word, the Bible as your chart.

Made to Fade

 Made to Fade
Springtime pries green from winter’s frigid grip.
Snowy winter’s memories grow old.
White blankets fade, expose brown patches,
Create crystal freshets and lush carpets.
Blossoms scent the path to summer seasons:
Picnics, fireworks, and pools entice.
The last day of summer
Teases with a sunny smile,
The gentle touch of warming breeze,
And the lingering fragrance of new-mown grass
Still linger as pleasantries of passing days.
Daylight grows shorter
The nighttime becomes cooler.
Morning’s dew changes to light hoary frost
Hints of seasons to come.
Foliage dulls and changes hues:
Green to reds, yellows and oranges.
Trees blaze in autumn garments.
Frost thickens, leaves stop holding hands
Then brown and brittle, they fall to earth.

Snow returns. Summer memories fade and grow cold.

It’s in the Blood

 It’s in the Blood
I’ve been reading the book of Second Chronicles from the Bible in my morning devotions and it suddenly hit me with the amount of blood that was actually spilt to cover the sins of Israel and Judah especially at Passover time. At the first Passover there were approximately 600,000 Jews in Egypt and if one lamb or kid goat were to be sacrificed per family, a rough estimate would be about 50,000 animals were slaughtered. The blood was sprinkled on the header and the side posts of the door.The lamb or kid was to be roasted and eaten entirely by the family. If the family members were too small to eat the entire lamb, they were to share the sacrifice with another family.
The reason for the Passover was to avoid having the first born males of the Jewish families from being visited by the death angel. The killing of the firstborn male was the final plague imposed on Egypt because the Pharaoh hardened his heart and refused to let the Jews leave Egypt. At all homes from the slave’s hovel to the palace of the Pharaoh when the death angel did not see blood on the doorposts, he would slay the first born males.
In Chronicles chapter 29 king Hezekiah brought seven bullocks, seven rams, seven, lambs, and seven goats for a sin offering and the congregation brought seventy bullocks, one hundred rams, and two hundred lambs for a burnt offering as well as six hundred oxen and three thoousand sheep. The numbers were so large that the priests were too few and the Levites had to help with the sin sacrifices.
In chapter 35 of Chronicles, king Josiah gave flocks of lambs and goat kids and gave thirty-three thousand bullocks. His princes gave seven thousasnd small cattle and eight hundred oxen. It is hard for me to imagine the amount of blood that was shed just to cover their sins.
The Passover and the Passover Lamb pointed ahead to the death and ressurection of Jesus God’s one and only Begotten Son. The atonement for sin was found in the blood of Christ shed on the cross at Calvary. Jesus suffered and died to free mankind from torment in the eternal fires of Hell. Jesus bore the punishment for the world’s sins and left it hanging on the cross.
The gallons of animal blood only covered sins. The coverage was only temporary, but the blood shed by Jesus cleanses and washes away each man and woman’s sins for an eternity. Once for all for those who believe in Jesus and will accept God’s free gift of salvation.