Which Commandmennt?

 Which Commandment?
I once heard a sermon on the Ten Commandments. It wasn’t which commandment was the most important or which commandment had a blessing attached to it, but on which commandment does all the other commandments hinge? The radio pastor said that all the other commandments rested on “Thou shalt not steal.”
At first I thought that it was a bit strange until he went through the Scripture and applied stealing to all of the others. “Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” When that law is broken, we steal the honor that only the LORD God deserves. The glory that is His because He is God almighty is diminished. Making a graven image, again that is stealing the reverence and veneration that belongs to God alone. When we give recognition that is due to the LORD to an inanimate object or to “Mother Nature,” one begins to replace the Creator with something in creation. Mankind devalues God and replaces Him with something less.
“Thou shalt not take the name of the lored your God in vain.” Stealing the laud, the recognition, and the elevation of the LORD’s name, we relegate it to the class of any other word in our vocabulary and steal the respect of that holy name.
“Keep the Sabbath day holy.” The Sabbath was a day the LORD set aside for mankind to rest and to worship Him. It wasn’t to be just another day of the week. When we don’t set aside the time for the day of worship, we steal fealty that we owe to God our Creator. Our God is a jealous God often taking back that time with illness to force us to slow down and to recognize Him.
“Honor your father and your mother.” When we don’t acknowledge and hold in esteem the people who gave us life, we steal something that is owed them. It is the one commandment with a blessing attached to it. When we honor our parents, God says that your days will be long upon the earth.
“Thou shalt not kill.” Killing takes a life. It takes something that doesn’t belong to you and destroys something precious to the other person.
Thou shall not commit adultery” and “Thou shalt not covet.” These two commandments are two sides of the same coin. Seeing something that doesn’t belong to you and you decide that you must have it. Stealing is the root.
“Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbor.” When we bear false witness, we steal the reputation of our neighbor. Lying is another sin that God hates.
Finally, we are back to the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” I didn’t give justice to the preacher’s sermon, but I can understand his reasoning.

Repeating Myself

 Repeating Myself
Yesterday in Sunday school another one of my stories came full circle. I shared the story by a friend of mine and his testimony with the blessing of God in His life before on my blog. In his testimony, he tells of a time when his leg was caught in a manure spreader and his rescue by emergency personnel. He has made a Gospel tract of the incident and his need to rely on God to intervene and the peace that he felt during the entire problem. The tract is one way that he can share his faith in God.
Last week he drove one of his friends to a local hospital for therapy and follow-up for a stroke. My friend excused himself to go back outside to his vehicle to retrieve a few of his tracts. He came back inside and gave one of his tracts to a hospital employee while explaining exactly what it was. A woman standing nearby asked for a tract too. She said that she remembered reading the story on a blog that I shared, either on my blogspot or on a share on Facebook. That surprised me, but it was a pleasant surprise that someone had read it and was able to tell him about his testimonial. I was wonderful that I was able to share his story and that it made an impression on others.
Another friend asked if I ever shared her story of her vehicle accident and her near death experience. I am sure that I did. She is a good friend and has also made a tract of what happened to her and God’s intervention in her life. The tract is a way that she can share her faith in God and the peace that she had during the time that the accident and her time of rescue.
I often use on or other of their tracts when I witness to others. It is easier for me to say this is a testimony of my friend and the intercession of God in their lives. People seem to be more receptive to these tracts than the regular Gospel tracts.
Repeating Myself
Yesterday in Sunday school another one of my stories came full circle. I shared the story by a friend of mine and his testimony with the blessing of God in His life before on my blog. In his testimony, he tells of a time when his leg was caught in a manure spreader and his rescue by emergency personnel. He has made a Gospel tract of the incident and his need to rely on God to intervene and the peace that he felt during the entire problem. The tract is one way that he can share his faith in God.
Last week he drove one of his friends to a local hospital for therapy and follow-up for a stroke. My friend excused himself to go back outside to his vehicle to retrieve a few of his tracts. He came back inside and gave one of his tracts to a hospital employee while explaining exactly what it was. A woman standing nearby asked for a tract too. She said that she remembered reading the story on a blog that I shared, either on my blogspot or on a share on Facebook. That surprised me, but it was a pleasant surprise that someone had read it and was able to tell him about his testimonial. I was wonderful that I was able to share his story and that it made an impression on others.
Another friend asked if I ever shared her story of her vehicle accident and her near death experience. I am sure that I did. She is a good friend and has also made a tract of what happened to her and God’s intervention in her life. The tract is a way that she can share her faith in God and the peace that she had during the time that the accident and her time of rescue.
I often use on or other of their tracts when I witness to others. It is easier for me to say this is a testimony of my friend and the intercession of God in their lives. People seem to be more receptive to these tracts than the regular Gospel tracts.

Elevators of My Youth

 Elevators of My Youth
In the rear lobby of the gray bank building, a glass encased marquee listed the room numbers for the professionals who had offices above. My mother Sybil Miner Beck located the floor and room number of the doctor we sought. We walked across the white and gray streaked marble floor to stand outside the elevator at one side of the lobby. The frosted globe chandeliers hanging from the plaster fluted ceiling cast puddles of light onto the door. The car wasn’t at the lobby level. I could see the metal bars of an accordion gate through the thick, diamond-shaped chicken wire impregnated glass window.
I glanced at my mom. She nodded and I pressed the black button with the ivory colored up arrow near the top of a shiny brass plate. Somewhere above in the blackened shaft a bell sounded. “Br-rin-ng.” Above us the rumble of something heavy being shut followed by the squeak and rattle of something else being closed. Elevators had an operator who controlled the car, taking riders to the requested floor. The noise continued to grow. I heard the snap of a spark, then the thrum of an electric motor starting. Soon, it was replaced with the whoosh of the car as it descended.
Through the small window I could see thick dirt and grease coated electric cables loop into view, then droop lower as a pale light in the shaft grew stronger. The humming of the motor and the clicking of the elevator car intensified as it dropped into the lobby. A soft swoosh pushed the smell of ozone out of the shaft and into the air around us.
Slowly the heavy platform of the car appeared in the glass window and slid by. The hum became louder as it neared the stop. I heard a gentle jiggle of the car leveling with the lobby floor.
A smooth mahogany colored hand reached across the lighted window to unlatch the accordion safety gate and scissor it to one side. The hand reappeared. The rasp of metal elevator door slid open with a heavy rumble.
As I stepped inside, I saw the operator. She was a middle aged black woman who smiled as we entered. Her smile revealed a set of dazzling white teeth enhanced by her dark skin. She wore a white button down blouse, white socks, a black skirt, and black tie-on shoes.
“What floor, please?” she asked.
Mom gave her the floor that we wanted. The woman smiled again as she reached for the metal handle and levered the car door closed. The operator shut the accordion gate before settling onto a polished wooden seat.
Grasping the handle of the dial on the green-painted metal wall at her side, she pushed it forward and the elevator car slowly rose in the dark shaft. There was a small bump then I felt the vibrations of the motor through the hard soles of my dress shoes. Several floors passed by the window, showing large white painted numbers on the thick concrete floors. The numbers designated the level of the building.
I saw the numbers 2, then 3, and then 4 come into view. The operator twisted the dial and the elevator slowed as the floor we needed approached. With a small adjustment that made the car jiggle, she stopped the car. With a practiced tug the accordion gate openedand she opened the outer door by tugging a long metal handle.
As we moved toward the door, she gave us a dazzling smile and said, “Have a good day.”
“Thank you,” I replied exiting the elevator.

A Parting Shot

A Parting Shot
There has been a definite drop in temperature the past few days and it will last another few days. There has been a coating of snow and the wind has caused me to pull out the winter coats and gloves again, just when I was enjoying a few temperate almost balmy days, even when there hasa been a lot of rain. It has been soggy but it has been short sleeve shirt weather.
I was getting used to seeing my saffron-colored daffodils, my periwinkle, pink, and white hued hyacinths, and my red and yellow tulips beginning to spread their bright colors from the brown leaves and slightly greening grass. The bright dots of yellow coltsfoot flowers have raised their heads in patches of sunshine. I am grateful that my forsythia bushes and my apple trees havve decided to wait for a bit yet before they open their blossoms. There is too much cold air hanging around yet. There is a freeze warning for today.
An old saying certainly has been proven to be true this year. I was once told that if we get fog in February, we will get snow in April. It must be true. We had a heavy fog in February and yesterday we had a layer of snow that was deposited my lawn and car when I woke. As I drove to Connellsville, Pennsylvania to eat lunch with a few friends, the skiff of snow on my hood disintigrated and blew onto my windshield.
I was glad that I was wearing my gloves as I gripped the cold steering wheel and was also glad that the heater of my car quickly warmed.
So many wives tales have been proven to be true.Wisdom that has been passed down from years of experience that we sometimes dismiss, but often have merit. Don’t be so eager to dismiss them, but remember them; file them away in your brain.

Uncovering Wisdom of the Past

Uncovering Wisdom of the Past
I have been reading a book that is giving me more insight into the outrageous treatment that the government of the United States dispensed to the Native Americans. The book is titled, “The Dull Knives of Pine Ridge A Lakota Odessey.” In the annals, the facts and stories of the history of the original people of our country were fed a multitude of lies. The lies did little to feed their stomachs and the stomachs of their families. Treaties were broken one after another. The Native chiefs signed negotiated treaties in good faith. Promises for no further expansion into Indian deeded lands were disregarded almost as soon as the ink was dry. The indigenous people were herded onto reservattions that had soil so poor that little could be grown there. Cattle barely had anything to graze on. The promised herd numders of cattle were slashed with no thoghts at all on how it would affect these untrained people. They were used to hunting and gathering and had little insight on how to plant crops and how to manage animals. For the most part, the hunter wariors cared for their horses and ponies.
Slowly the government wrested the weapons from them. Bows, arrows, lances, and even their knives were seen as weapons, not as items of necesity. The young braves secreted their rifles away from the prying eyes of the Indian Agents.
I am almost half way through the reading of this book and discovered two insightful quotes that I thought that I needed to share. The ability of the Indian chiefs to see though the horror of the situation and view the crux of these matters in just these two quotes is quite remarkable.
On February 10, 1890 after much haggling with the Lakota men, General George Crook took their signatures to cede their land on the Pine Ridge to Washington D.C. The government slashed their issue of beef by one million pounds and President Benjamin Harrison opened the ceded territory to white settlers. The aged chief Red Cloud said, “They made many promises, more than I can remember, but they mever kept but one; they promised to take our land and they took it.”
The other was made by Crazy Horse of the Ogalala Sioux. He sdaid, “A people without a history is like wind on the buffalo grass.”
What is happening in our schools today? History is being erased, covered with social idealism. Facts are being deleted and lies are being inserted. It is an attempt to destroy America from within. We see attacks daily on our borders, language, our culture, and our history. Return our schools to our local communities.
 

When It’s Time

 When It’s Time
My grandfather Raymond Miner sometimes shared stories of things that happened in the coal mines of Southwestern Pennsylvania. One story was stirred when we saw on television a news story of 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 still close to the surface. Normally we worked underground, but were always willing to leave the darkness, go outdoors, and eat our food in the fresh air when we could.
“This day we gathered outside 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’d 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, often sleeping during the night and my grandfather did 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 day, 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.

Whoville

With the recent anniversary of my wife Cindy Morrison Beck’s death, I thought of this previous post and thought I would share this story.
Whoville
An advertisement on the television shared the information that this year, The Grinch That Stole Christmas special would be celebrating its fiftieth anniversary of airing on the television. It is so hard for me to believe that this wonderful Dr. Seuss Christmas classic has been around as a part of the holiday season for that long. I can remember my kids spellbound and growing up to the message of the Grinch’s attempt to steal the joy of Christmas. He, of course failed, and finally joined the residents of Whoville, realizing the true spirit of Christmas. When the Grinch saw that Christmas was a celebration separate from the gifts, food, and decorations, he returned all the outward trappings that he had stolen, mistakenly thinking that they were the essence of the season.
One central character was named Cindy Lou Who. She was the major reason for the changing of the Grinch’s mind about the holiday. Her innocence did much to change the Grinch’s undersized heart and misguided view of Christmas. It caused him to return the roast beast, the wreaths, and the assorted toys and gifts.
My wife’s name was Cynthia Louise Morrison Beck, but preferred to be called Cindy. So each Christmas she would get the additional moniker of Cindy Lou Who and it lasted until the last Jing Tingler, Flu Flooper, Who Hoover, Gar Ginker, and Trum Trumpet were unwrapped and enjoyed by our children.
The title of Cindy Lou Who was put away after each Christmas and was resurrected as soon as The Grinch That Stole Christmas would march across the television set. Happy fiftieth anniversary to the Grinch, to Max his dog, and to Cindy Lou Who.