The Walking Bridge

On Sunday night I was preaching on 1 Timothy chapter 4 verses 12-16 about Paul’s exhortation to this young man going into the ministry. Well, the first of 5 things he mentions is about “words and that includes doctrine” and how we use them. Right off the top of my head (and this of course can get preachers in trouble) in pops this “story” of me crossing that bridge in Porto Alegre on my way to the train station.
“Walking bridges” are quite common here in the big cities, built to cross over busy highways. Some are even rather high off the ground. I was heading back to Sao Leopoldo after doing business in the big city. It is normally a 45 minute commute this way since the train stops about 8 times to drop off passengers on the way. I remember waking up the rather long ramp to get to steps that would take me up to the bridge. There were lots of people heading in the same direction. I had a black briefcase in my left hand and I was in no hurry. It would probably take a whole 3 minutes to cross this bridge. People were walking in both directions. I briefly looked down to the busy highway below and was thankful for at least a small guardrail on either side.
All of a sudden there was a young man by my side talking to me. He said, "Do you see that man up there in the red shirt? He is watching your every step and he is helping me rob you. Just don’t get any ideas of running away from me. I want your money. If you don’t give it to me I will push you over the guard rail and you will die."
I do believe that my pace slowed, however I did not immediately go for my wallet. I was angry, but “thank God” not to the point of sinning or doing something crazy. I did what I usually do in difficult situations like these. I start talking. I asked a question. “What are you needing money for?"
He said, "Never mind, just give me your wallet."
I said, "I can’t just give anybody money without knowing what they are needing it for so give me a good reason."
He told me that he needed money for him and his buddy to buy train tickets. Well, by then we were already past the highest point of the bridge and into a gradual decent. At that point I told him I would give him some money to help him and his buddy out. I felt less threatened at that moment since there were people all around and so I asked him another question.
I said, "Do you and your buddy do this on a regular basis? This is dangerous stuff. I am a pastor and I spend all my time helping young boys like you find their way though life without this kind of behavior."  I actually think that he believed me. He probably hadn’t met anyone quit like me before and I think he knew he was going to get my money. He just didn’t know how much.
Once across the bridge his buddy stopped, we stopped and I reached for my wallet. There were people all around. I said, with a smile on my face, "Let me invite you two to our service at First Baptist Church in Sao Leopoldo." I told them where the church was located. I really was sincere and they knew it. I gave them passage money and a bit extra but not by much. I think they left shaking their heads but still happy they got something.
I have often wondered what life would be like for all of us if we would on a regular basis, “live the gospel daily” by how we speak, the tone of our voice, our facial expressions, by our behavior, faith, love and purity and use words only when necessary. Joseph in the book of Genesis said very little but his example was powerful.
I plan to go on a rabbit trail from the book of 1 Timothy this Wednesday evening just to share from the Bible about a person who spoke little but carried a powerful testimony that to this day affects you and me. The power of example vs. the example of power is something Bill Clinton gave a speech on recently. It was regarded as one of his best. Not so sure too many who know the life of Joseph would be all that impressed. Love you! Dad.

Stories

Photo by Bgrace

This morning Emily hopped up on my bed while the rest of the children were still sleeping and said excitedly, "Mom! Can we have Bible time?"  "I already prayed to God a couple of times today.  I've been sitting out on the deck waiting for you. Will you come out and have Bible time with me?"  She asked me yesterday if I would read her the story of David and Goliath this morning.  It was a little earlier than I was expecting, but I somewhat reluctantly dragged myself out of bed and put soy milk and maple syrup in my coffee (it's not as bad as it sounds), grabbed a Bible and settled in next to Em on the deck. 

She was sitting there with her eyes closed and her hands held together in prayer, fingers pointed to the sky.  I looked at her with a raised eyebrow and she gave up trying to keep a straight face. "I was praying!!" she laughed.  

We read the story of David and Goliath together.  I added a bit of commentary and Em interrupted whenever a question popped into her mind of any sort.  She came up with all sorts of interesting ideas about why everything was happening and what was going to happen next.  I kept saying, "Em, let me read the rest of the story!!"  She was especially intrigued with the whole chopping off of Goliath's head saga.  We read Psalm 18 afterwards and I explained that David wasn't only a great warrior, he was a musician too.  I explained that Psalm 18 was a song David wrote after one of his victories in battle.   

After we were done I hauled the chairs up from the basement for stripping and she helped me paint it on.  I made her wear safety goggles and gloves and she did great.  We worked quietly together for a while and it gave me time to reflect.

I really enjoyed reading that story.  It's been a while since I've read I Samuel.  I remember how much that story shaped me as a child.  David was but a boy, but he was the only one who saw the situation for what it really was.  It wasn't Goliath and the Philistines against Israel.  It was Goliath and the Philistines against the Army of the Lord.  David knew he could defeat Goliath in the Lord's Name.  Everyone else thought he was crazy, and his brother challenged his motives/his heart.  But for whatever reason Saul gave him his blessing (and tried to give him his armour, but it just wasn't a good fit.)

As I thought about how much that story helped me to have courage to do what the Lord was calling me to do when I was growing up, I realized how to say what I wanted to say about your stories, Dad. 

They shaped me.  A lot.  Growing up I would always think about how much more effective and useful I would be for God's purposes if my life were pure.  (Sure, there were times when legalism creeped into that, but for the most part, I think it was a helpful tool.)  I would think about how God helped you save yourself and the company of men you were point man for--how he used the skills he had given you growing up as a boy and helped you to see the enemy in time to get to safety.  I think the story about how you wouldn't have killed an enemy soldier asking for asylum, even if you had been ordered to, no matter what the consequences because it went against who you were--that story probably shaped me more than any other than I remember.  I wanted to be that kind of person.  I wanted that part of your story to become mine. 

But I also wanted you to write out your stories because I wanted to show something important.  Those were your experiences and they shaped you profoundly.  They taught you something about God.  They taught you about warfare.  They taught you about yourself.  So when you believed that God was calling you to a foreign field you trusted that He would take care of you and your family. A step that for some might have seemed reckless.  You learned to trust Him and stay calm and look for guidance in very difficult situations.  When you were accosted on the bridge and threatened with your life, you didn't panic, and you used the situation to bring light into a very dark place.  When you were kidnapped  with a gun to you and forced to put your head between your knees, you decided somehow it was an appropriate time to talk to your captor about his spiritual journey.  Some might think that a bit presumptuous or on the verge of ridiculous, but your experiences have trained you otherwise.  Your experiences tell of your witness of how God has protected you and led you and used you in situations that would have paralyzed others or caused them to question their calling. 

Today I was thinking about the morning we climbed Mount Katahdin.  The night before I was actually started to sense fear creeping in.  The whole ledge portion you had talked about was starting to press in a bit.  The portion that was only a foot length wide--you couldn't cross your feet and you had to lean into the rock and it was about a mile straight down.  I remembered a Psalm where it talked about the Lord's protection, and something about rocks.  I found it and felt like the Lord wanted me to read it out loud to us.  I read Psalm 91.  I remember your words after I read it.  You said, "Becky, it's really interesting that you chose that Psalm 91.  That was my Vietnam Psalm."  Now Dad, that's the closest I've ever heard you come to saying that there was a divine connection in something.  My experiences have shaped me in a way that I believe there was something more going on than a coincidence in that.  Looking back, I think that the Lord was saying that once again, like He protected you before, He would protect us on our climb. 

The funny thing is, the ledge didn't really bother me.  I was half-way across it before I realized, to my surprise, that it was the place you had talked about.  The CHIMNEY was the deal breaker for me.  I had a to jump blind (backwards) onto two inch wide pointed rock with one foot.  I knew you were going to help me get there, but my legs were shorter than yours and I couldn't get the other one loose to even make the jump.  Those extra couple inches made a huge difference.  The closest ledge down was as good as a mile.  (I mean, when you're comparing fall lengths I think anything past a 1/4 mile is pretty much a kiss good-bye anyway.)  I really didn't think I was going to make it.  It was the first time on the whole trip I felt the panic stronger than the adrenaline.  That's when I remembered Psalm 91.  I needed God to keep more than my foot from striking a stone.  (Thankfully I had studied poetic language and I knew that often times the poet uses a portion or a part as symbolic of a whole.)  I knew the Lord had brought that Psalm to my attention.  I knew He had protected Your life in Vietnam and taught you through that passage, and I knew that He would be faithful to His Words to me that day. He would be faithful to His Psalm. 

Then you showed me how to put my elbow into the cleft in the rock and slide it all the way in so I could support almost the entire weight of my body with my arm while I loosened my leg above enough to lower my other foot below to make the jump to the rock.  I think it was the only time during the entire climb I didn't mind your hand on my butt.  (That's another story...)  Though I was pretty sure if I didn't make it we both were in for a long fall.  But then--it was a Psalm He had given to us both--so I had to trust Him for both of us. 

When I decided to write this post today, I remembered that I have your Bible because you forgot it last time you were here.  (Also not something I chalk up to coincidence.)  I looked up Psalm 91.  You wrote over top of it..."My Vietnam Psalm" and to the side "My Kidnap Psalm".  And then over verses 11-12 you wrote this, "Every time I take off on a plane I take confidence in this."  Over verse 15 you wrote, '"Airports, assaults, difficult situations."   

Dad your experiences have taught you that the Lord speaks to you through Scripture, and that you can trust His Words.  You have taught me that too.

My experiences have taught me that the Lord speaks to me through Scripture (Logos) and also through His spoken Word, (Rhema) and that I can trust His Words. 

I hope that He will continue to teach us through our stories, and I hope that we'll have many more stories of our adventures together.

Now, will you please write out the stories of your kidnapping and of the bridge for me?

Love you,

B 

Happy Father's Day

Photo by Daren Mark Richner

I was thinking about you this morning, Dad.  I'm looking forward to having you and Mom around in the fall--it's always when I miss you most.  The Richner thanksgiving was always fun...and Grandma's Turkey Rice soup the day after was always the best ever.  I tried for years to make it like she did but couldn't figure out what she put in it to give it that flavor.  I finally figured out she put some of the turkey gravy in it.
Of course your being here means we'll celebrate Emily's and my Birthday together.  (And maybe Matt and I will have babysitters for an Anniversary weekend away!)  I'm also thinking you will need to get your return tickets for after Grace's Nutcracker performance.  Oh--and did I mention we are repainting the whole house?  I'm so looking forward to being with family.
But that got me looking ahead to your retirement.  I know you keep putting it off.  Now you're saying maybe a year, maybe two.  All I know is that I can't even really imagine what it would be like to have family living near me.  I've haven't had that since I was 18.  I keep thinking how great it will be to have you guys over for churrascos and get together for Sunday dinners.  I'm thinking it's about time you disciple Grace (Lord help us!) and Emily will ask you questions that will throw you for a loop for sure.  Sarah will only want one thing--for you to swing her.  Though she may let you pull her on the bike too.  Matt will love having a golfing partner I can't say no to (there's a place across the street from Roots that's only $10.00) and I will love having a shopping buddy (I mean Mom).  And Sam...I think it would be a good idea if he spent every other weekend with you.  ;-)
Ok, so this ended up being a post about ME instead of you.  But maybe it will make you smile to know how much I'm looking forward to being with you.
Love you Dad,
Becky

PS I will write a response to your other posts.  Just haven't quite put it all together in my head yet.

Promoted

We were a recon unit with the 1st Air Cav and were made up of approximately 28 men. We normally had three squads of 8. I was the first squad's point man. I would remain so as long as I remained healthy (alive), would be on R & R for a 7 day leave, or injured. I never held another position during all my time in the field. The eight men had titles. They walked in the following order: Point man, who concentrated on his front and cleared a path well enough to allow the machine gunner get through the bush unimpeded. Next was a rifleman who carried extra machine gun ammo and had the title of machine gun assistant. He would normally carry a tri pod for the machine gunner who was one spot back. The machine gunner was normally a stronger then usual athletic type because he had to carry the M60. He was the MVP of the unit when we were in trouble. Next, another rifleman, then the commanding officer, his radio-telephone operator, a rifleman with a grenade launcher instead of an M16, and then another rifleman or possibly two. Most often the lone medic would walk up front with the squad leading. He usually was one who never even carried a weapon for most of them were “conscientious objectors”. I had the utmost respect for all of them. Squad #2 and squad #3 followed with pretty much the same order.

Squads daily rotated walking the point because the lead squad was always under extreme pressure..
On this particular day in August of 1969 I was the number 17th man. I had walked the point on the previous day and it was a “no brainer” that we were moving through dangerous territory. There were “signs” and we were all a bit edgy. We did everything to stay off the trails mostly choosing to make our own for safety sake.
For the past two weeks we had been adjusting to a new lieutenant as our company commander. He was a West Point trained leader and a bit more aggressive than the previous commander who had served his 365 days and rotated back to the USA. He was getting used to us and we him. We called him “sir” even though he didn’t wear his stripes out there in “the boonies” as we called it. Snipers were known to try to take out the people they thought to be the key players.
We were all known by our last names. We were never encouraged to develop close relationships. We were never on a first name basis. You can imagine the reason why. I have forgotten the last name of the young man walking point that day. I just knew that he was every bit as good as I thought myself to be and maybe more. Yet, on that day his life no doubt changed. He walked our company into a bunker complex which is usually “death written all over it” but this day was different. The bunkers were empty except for one. From that bunker the enemy exploded a rocket towards our unit. I could hear the metal pellets smashing the bamboo trees all around me even though I was 17th from the front . We were always very careful to observe the rule of having adequate space between each other. We were all well trained. We always seemed to be at the top of our game when “edgy”. It was so, on this day. Everyone hit the ground and those in front immediately responded with fire power. The M60 was on automatic with the assistant by his side. Squads 3 and 1 were too far back to contribute to this fight. We were all at the ready from all sides. The company commander and telephone operator were super busy at this point relaying information back to headquarters and almost immediately there were “Cobra” helicopters diving toward the bunker with “mini guns” and rockets launched for effect. I could see very little from my position as to what all was going on. I was curious though and wanted to know the whole story. The “Cobras” left. There was silence for a time and then all of a sudden there was another “laud burst” of firepower. It sounded like our weapons.. We learned to tell the difference. Then “the silence."  The “fire fight” was over. It was getting dark and we bedded down for the night.
I wanted to know what took place up front and if our point people were ok. I was relieved to see him sitting near his gear, quiet and pensive. He told me what happened. I quietly went back to my position for the evening, reflecting on the information I had received.
I was convinced that I needed to have a talk with the commanding officer. He wasn’t much older than I and I did respect him and I knew he respected me. He invited me to sit down and asked me what was on my mind. It was a quiet conversation of course, but one we might categorize as “a divine conversation”. It lasted but just minutes.
I said, “Sir, had you given me the order you gave the point man today, I would not have been able to obey you. I understand that the three injured men in the bunker were waving a white flag to surrender and you chose to have them finished off by the point man and machine gunner. They obeyed, I would not have.”
"Why not, Richner?" was his question. I told him that my conscience would not have permitted me to do so, since they were asking to be taken as prisoners. He gave me his reasoning behind the order and I respected his decision. I gave him mine. We knew where each other stood and the next day we were all out searching for the enemy. He was my commanding officer and I walked the point when my turn came up for the next 30 days.
Then, on a day I will never forget, my commander came up to me and said: “Richner, today a helicopter will be coming to drop off supplies and you are to return with the chopper for your next “very important assignment”. Congratulations, You have been selected as the 1 Cav. Brigade Commander's radio, telephone operator and driver. You will receive training for your new responsibilities as soon as you arrive. Your replacement will be arriving here today with the supplies.” He shook my hand and wished me well. Later, my fellow E company comrades shook my hand before climbing onto the supply helicopter and off we headed for Tay Ninh.
The rest of my time in Vietnam I would be working for Brigade commander Colonel Collins. I would be taking him coffee at 5 am in the morning to his command trailer, serving his meals, taking his clothes to be cleaned and picked up, shinning his shoes, handling his jeep radio and picking him up from the helicopter pad and running him to the hospital. He was the kind of leader not everyone was blessed to serve under. He taught me a ton.
I was especially impressed with how he handled injured soldiers and even those who lost their lives. Echo company lost their share including a number of “point men”. I was one of the more fortunate ones and I attribute that to Providence and that conversation with the West Point Lieutenant. Yes, we are to obey those in authority over us, and especially in the military. Opportunities do present themselves every once in a while when someone needs to step up and have a quiet conversation with their leader when he is convinced he “just must”. And leave the rest with the Lord.

Walking Trees

“Saddle up! In ten minutes we meet at the chopper pad”! Just the words we never relished hearing. This meant just one thing. We were off on another assignment. They were called Charlie Alfa’s. In laymen’s terms “Combat Assaults.” At that time I had no idea that 25 of these special assignments would win all of us an “air medal”. I have no idea who was keeping the books on these things nor did I ever care. I suspect that every “grunt” assigned to the First Air Cavalry qualified after just two months of combat service. Our “gear” was always ready. We were on “red alert” every time we were on “stand down” resting in a secure place until called. We always wanted to know what we were heading to and for what purpose but rarely did we get much if any information. We were just told that an enemy unit was spotted from the air and we were to go out and investigate. It was to be a “quiet” investigation. We were “echo company” and our specialty was recon. That means we were specialists at gathering information behind enemy lines with the intent of not coming into contact with the enemy if at all possible. We were to find the enemy and since we were only about 28 in number we tried to avoid fighting at all costs. That was for the bigger combat companies, namely companies A, B, C, and D all of which had about 100 soldiers. We were however all from the 1st Air Cav. and proud to be known as such. There were five or six helicopters waiting for us and we piled in and in no time we were off. The only one who could give us information was the helicopter machine gunner. He said that we were hoping it would be a quiet landing. We went with an escort of two “cobras” and a small Loach helicopter so we knew this was serious stuff. Helicopters need open space to land in and once we got to the dropping zone about 20 minutes later we jumped off and hurried to a clump of trees and hit the ground and waited. The tree line was about two hundred yards in front of us from all sides. Our company commander was waiting for his next orders that would be given by telephone. About 30 minutes later I heard my company commander whisper “Richner prepare to move out”. He gave me the compass numbers and being the point man that day I did a quick check. While that was taking place everyone was also getting prepared to move towards the tree line. So as to not need to constantly check one’s compass reading while on the move I learned to pick out as large of a target as possible and head to that target. It was usually a large tree. By doing this we could pay special attention to what might be ahead of us.
The army gave me very little training as a point man. It was more a matter of instincts and vision and attention to detail. No one volunteered for this job. I only found out later that point men were basically replacing other dead point men. That is why I was there. I was there however because God assigned me to this task. This I was assured of. He gave me training back in the woods of Pennsylvania as a squirrel hunter. What more did I need? As my eyes were finding a large target, preferably a large tree at the compass reading my company commander gave me I was immediately alarmed. It was squirrel hunting 101 right before my eyes. I learned a long time ago as a boy that trees don’t move but squirrels do. About 200 yards ahead of me I saw small trees moving and stopping, moving and stopping and I had never seen this happen in all my life. I alerted my company commander and he asked if I was sure. I said, absolutely certain. He then got on the telephone and called for immediate help. We remained still in that little clump of trees. The 28 of us and we had no idea how many enemy soldiers were out there. One promise stood out in my mind. In our combat infantry training we were told that once the alert was given for help, we would just have to keep the enemy occupied with our M16’s for ten minutes. Help would then be at our sides. I personally don’t think they kept that promise. It seemed like light years. All of a sudden to my left a number of enemy soldiers not knowing we were in the clump of trees started heading in our direction. We did what our instincts and training taught us. We engaged “the heavily armed walking trees”. Artillery shells began pummeling the ground and tree line all around us. “Cobra helicopters with mini guns firing and a host of “flying angels (helicopters filled with 1st Cav. Grunts)” combat comrades were brought to our side by unites on “red alert”. Not one of those soldiers in that little clump of trees were injured that day. A miracle! I don’t think so. I call it Providence.
What an ending. Abrupt because I have a pastor’s prayer breakfast to attend in 15 minutes. Love you!
Dad

The M16

I was one of 6 boys growing up in a small rural town in Pennsylvania. “Guns,”as we called them were very important items. I had experience shooting a BB gun first, a 22 Remmington, an 18 and 20 and 12 gadge shotgun, a 4-10 and a few high powered rifles we shared during deer season between brothers. The 30 odd 6 was my favorite but rarely would my older brothers let me get my hands on that one.
When my number came up in the military draft I received a telephone call telling me that within the next few days I would be drafted into the United States Army and shortly afterwords would no doubt be sent to serve in Vietnam as a combat soldier. I had just graduated from college, was recently married and I already thought I was getting old at age 23. I figured I had one of three choices to make. I could either choose the Air Force, the Navy or the US army. I chose the Army since they had a two year enlistment option. I wanted nothing of any three year programs with a choice of assignments. God certainly wouldn’t let me go to Vietnam where I might have to kill someone. He would certainly keep me out of “combat”, so I thought.
Well, I joined the US army’s two year program which meant that I would have absolutely no options. I was at the mercy of the Army as far as what I would be assigned to do and where I would serve. I was first assigned to Fort Bragg North Carolina for basic training and then to Fort McClellan , Alabama for “advanced infantry” training before being assigned to Vietnam.
It was at Fort Bragg that I was first introduced to the M16 rifle. Before any of us new recruits would be permitted to handle this weapon we were all marched out to a target range for a first hand display of the power of the M16. Our company was about 100 in number from what I recall and we were instructed to sit “at ease” in these bleachers and were told to wait for the demonstration to begin in just a few minutes. We noticed out in front of the bleachers a number of targets at varying distances. Breaking the silence we heard the drill sergeant bark out “Attention”. We all stood up and waited for the next command. Into the demonstration area walked a number of soldiers, “vets,” with their M16’s. They had not loaded them as of yet but we could see their “clips” that in no time could be loaded and unloaded. We were then instructed to be “at ease” and seated. This was my very first experience at seeing anything so amazing in all my life in terms of firepower on display by a very small group of experienced soldiers with the M16. It was awesome. I had never seen tracers being used before. Real bullets with every 4th one a tracer heading out towards targets all over the field. Each magazine had 15 to 20 bullets. As soon as one magazine was emptied, the soldiers would eject the empty magazine and immediately reloaded the already filled other magazine. Each soldier had about 12 magazines. It was a demonstration that lasted but just minutes but the effect was exhilarating to say the least. We were impressed. I was amazed at what just a few guys could do in just a few minutes of time with that weapon. I sort of had the idea that we soldiers would be almost invincible against the enemy with a weapon like this.
Almost immediately after this display of fire power marched back to a conference room. We were then given the order to sit and pay attention. In walks this soldier, dressed in combat uniform holding the M16. He asked us if we were impressed with the weapon. We all said “yes drill sergeant”. In unison, of course. He then explained to us that as powerful as this weapon was, it had one major defect. There was only one remedy for the defect and only we (each individual) were responsible to make sure that this defect would be treated in such a way so as never to fail in combat. NEVER! Our lives and those of our fellow soldiers needed to count on it. He then went on to explain that in Vietnam as in many other war zones soldiers would need to fight on sandy soil. One grain of sand entering the firing chamber could and would shut down the weapon. In Vietnam we would be moving around the war zone in helicopters most of the time on combat assault missions (Charlie Alphas) they called them and soldiers would find them selves in the midst of a sand storm when being picked up and let off into the danger zones. We would have to always be absolutely certain that our weapon would fire. We would have to have this confidence without ever taking a practice shot. Why? We would never be allowed to give our position away to the enemy by making noise just to see if our weapon would fire.
We then watched the drill sergeant “disassemble” the weapon and then blindfolded put it back together in a matter of seconds. We were spell bound. Then he said that from now until we were assigned to a combat unit in Vietnam we would be given an M16 and train to take the weapon apart and keep it clean and put it back together again with full confidence that it would deliver the power it was designed to deliver. We were never allowed to call the M16 a “gun”. It was a lethal weapon, light, easy to handle, easily loaded, with semi automatic and automatic options at our disposal and designed to kill. But with one potential flaw. A dirty weapon was to invite disaster. We would need to be highly disciplined to keep this from ever happening. Our lives depended upon it.

Homework

Hey Dad,
I have some homework for you.  Am I allowed to assign you homework?  I want you to write 3 Vietnam posts.  The first about how you are supposed to keep your gun clean.  The second, the story about how you were on the ground and saw the "trees" moving.  The third story about how you became the general's driver.  In fact, why don't you just tell the stories to Mom how you would if you were talking to a group of young people and then have her type it as you talk?  She's pretty fast, I bet she could keep up.  I'd love to read the stories to the girls for Father's Day. 
Love you,
B   

Leaving...for good.

Hello Becky,

It is Monday morning and I just finished reading the poem you wrote years ago about the train leaving the station. It was probably your dad heading towards Philadelphia and then to the airport heading back to Brazil. Poems that get memorized can be a problem especially if they get cemented into one's brain and do them harm by one's ruminating on the past, the broken, the way it used to be etc. I promise you that I will not try to memorize that poem you wrote from your broken heart. It would paralyze me no doubt.
It is never easy to say goodbye to the people and things we love the most--even things we have held to be foundational. Yesterday, at age 65 plus for example, I said goodbye to baseball. It was something I needed to come to grips with but still not easy. I needed to leave baseball emotionally for my own good and for the development of others younger than I. Soon I will leave it geographically too. I will help pitchers instead of pitching. I thought I was going to have to go in there myself and “save” the game in order for us to qualify for the playoffs. Fortunately, the game was “called” due to a time element that was decided upon prior to the start of the game. No new inning could be started after 12 noon. I would have tried to fix it. I would have gone in that game to try to fix it believing in my heart that I could somehow manage with all my past experience, savvy and one more curve ball or the famous knuckle ball that could still dance and mystify the batter. Thank God for established guidelines for the good of the game. I may wear a coaching uniform but never more a players baseball uniform. It is for the good of the game, and a great game. I remember the movie. Ha Ha!!!
Leaving mom and dad is never easy. Fathers and mothers often make it hard for their children to leave home as well. (Just you wait and see.) The leaving home geographically, financially and emotionally is one big adventure. Dad’s and old coaches can’t fix everything nor can loving moms nor should they think they have to. When will we ever learn that God designed it that way for the good of the game and for us too (with our partner in life) so that we will all live in dependency upon Him? God loves us and His “gracious love” is irresistible. I am super happy about that. And I am so confident that You find Him irresistible as well. You and God however are going to have to figure out the butterflies, the dolphins, the colors, the dreams and their interpretations however because they are completely foreign to me. So, I will pray that God will lead you and protect you and use you for His glory all along the way. And He will. Love you!
Dad

Leaving the Familiar

I'm so tired, Dad.  My back hurts from carrying heavy trays, my muscles hurt from helping Matt build the shed (we did finally finish today), my feet hurt from standing all day, and my ears hurt because the band tonight was so loud.  (Eight weddings down, about 20 to go).  I must be getting old!  Is this how it feels?   The rest of the house is asleep and I am nursing a cold hard cider:-) 
I've been thinking about this poem I wrote a while back ever since I left Rev. Mary's yesterday. Then I was driving home listening to John Mayer's "Stop this Train" and I just really wanted to post it tonight.  His song is actually a bit different than my poem.  "Stop this Train" is about not wanting things to change and wanting to hold on to the way things are with his family forever.  My poem--"Runaway Train"--is about the difficulty of me changing--leaving the safe, the familiar, the comfortable, and wanting to run back to the known, to where somebody else is responsible for the framework I live in.  It's about growing and stretching my wings and flying out of the nest and realizing it's really scary. 
I remember the first time I posted "Runaway Train" a couple of years back.  I think I called you and told you not to panic that I was OK.  I'm still OK.  Actually, the truth is, I'm more OK now than when I wrote it.  But I still feel the familiar pull back to the safety of what I've always known.  And sometimes I feel the need to be saved from where I'm headed.  But not for very long, and not enough to turn back.
Rev. Mary and I spent some time on Friday afternoon praying through some monuments that I had allowed myself to erect.  Things that I have allowed to hold me back from truly moving forward into God's call on my life.  I have let my need for the approval of those I love hinder me so often.  What if they don't see things like I do? What if they reject me because it doesn't fit their plans?  That sense of insecurity and fear has brought me much pause when faced with the idea of moving forward on my own.  But I know that if you truly love me, then none of that will matter to you.  I know that what you most want is for me to be obedient to the leading of the Holy Spirit.  It is certainly what I want for you.  So this poem expresses both the desire to stay in the safety and comfort of the nest, but it also acknowledges the need to learn to fly on our own.  The truth is though, we want the support and affirmation of those we love in the process of moving out of the nest.  Sometimes encouragement is there, but other times, because they fear for us, or for what it might mean for them, those we love are hesitant to encourage us to step fully into the care and direction of God.  At times we must push ourselves out of the nest--but doing so is a painful process--often laden with indecisiveness and vacillation.  This poem is about that.

Runaway Train

He’s taking the 1:15 to Philly
And the wind is getting chilly
Won’t let the tears steal a peek
Force a smile to my cheeks

Cause inside I’m wishing
You could make it all better
With a kiss and a “go get her”
To my dreams

Daddy don’t you leave me
My doubts they are screaming
That I shouldn’t be believing what I do
I’m tired and I’m weak
Just let me sit up on your knee
And tell me that story about the doctor and the bee

Let me go
On that train, that runaway train

I wish you could fix me
Except I’m not broke
Just hoping there’s fertile ground
Under this heavy yoke

Cause inside I’m wishing

You could make it all better

By believing what’s inscribed

On my heart

Daddy don’t you leave me

My doubts they are screaming

That I shouldn’t be believing what I do

I’m bruised and I’m strained

Just let me go with you on that train

I’ll tell you that story about the one that went away

On that train, that runaway train

Let me go

On that train, that runaway train. 

Originally Posted on Deep Calls

Jan. 18, 2008

Ride to the Other Side

“When Jesus heard what had happened…”

His cousin.

Once a baby who had lept in utero at Jesus’ wombed presence.
Once a prophet who spent his days preparing the way Jesus would walk.
Once a baptizer who immersed Jesus in water and witnessed his anointing by the Spirit.
Once a prisoner grappling with his call to be the greatest and the least in the Kingdom.
Now dead, murdered in a royal display of foolishness.

“Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me.”

For a moment, just stop and consider what Jesus might have felt. It occurs to me that one of the hardest things Jesus had to do might have been to let John die. What would it be like not to rescue someone from confusion, pain, and death when you have the power to save them?

“He withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.”

It's not like Jesus got to deal with this in a vacuum. He’s traveling all over the place teaching and healing. People are crowding him so much the only place he can go to get away is in the middle of a large body of water.

I think it all must have been so hard to come to terms with.
I think he must have been so sad.
I think he must have been so tired.
I think maybe he just wanted to be alone.

“When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, and healed their sick.”

The boat ride to the other side. That’s all he had…brief moments to grieve, to pray, to commune with John’s disciples. Then he stepped out of the boat and continued to do the work that gave John all the reason to leap, to preach, to baptize, to be imprisoned, and to die.

Sometimes I just wish I had more time…to rest, to process, to prepare, to pray. Sometimes all I have is the boat ride to the other side. I’m learning to cherish the boat ride. And believe that if I am doing those things which He moves me to do when He moves me to do them, the boat ride will be enough.
God grant us renewal before we step out of the boat.

Hello Becky,
For the past few days I have been rather troubled about “things” and have found myself “viajando na maionesa” or in laymen’s terms, daydreaming. I have been spending more and more time trying to understand Dallas Willard and figuring out where he is trying to take me while all the time people around me need help. Last night I went out to visit a family whose husband is back to using drugs again and part of his problem is that he is so stressed out on the job. He is a truck driver and has a daily route and the route is filled with challenges, bad roads, delays, etc. He has to be at work by 4:30 am and doesn’t get home until 8pm. He gets home hungry, tense, already thinking about tomorrow’s assignments and he comes home to an adolescent who needs his time and a crying baby and a wife who needs a loving husband. He can’t sleep well during the night and he may lose his job if he just doesn’t keep up the pace. So, I spent about 45 minutes with him and his family last night. I shared some scripture and prayed with them and we agreed to spend Monday nights for the next 6 weeks from 8:00 until 9:10 together over a cup of coffee or just a glass of water. Probably a hot cup of water would be better for him. Diet coke for me. Ha, ha!
Well, all that said to get to this point. There is so much going on these days in the world of trying to defend ourselves, our positions, our theology, side takings, and there is so much “noise” out there that create divisions, bad blood, etc. I think it has just plain “stalled” God’s program down of helping poor needy people out of serious problems and these problems may take up to 7 years to see resolution. In other words, it is keeping us from loving our neighbors as we love ourselves.
Why can’t we “quietly” go about sharing with others how God has been near and dear to us, and how he has transformed us and when the door is opened we share with them “good news”. Why do we need to “blast” it all over the internet or the news papers, or even from our pulpits? In other words, we do it without calling attention to ourselves, our beliefs, even our strong convictions that don’t sit all that well with the opposition. I believe we need to be able to spend more time just loving people all around us. We do that so we don’t have to spend so much time defending what is so dear to us and at the same time find time to love our families, our neighbors and let God defend His own program. Isn’t that why the underground church in China had and continues to have such success?
I know there is plenty inside these paragraphs that could be torn apart by even the most elementary thinkers and the “what ifer’s” however they do carry a lot of weight in my mind and my soul. When you and I find time out on the porch in October and walking up to the apple orchard in Etown, we will have plenty to talk about and without shouting. In the meantime, let’s be “heads up” with the needy all around us. Don’t interpret this as my signing off. I will be here every day in dialogue. But don’t get frustrated if I don’t answer your questions. Remember, Jesus rarely answered the questions and when He did, it created even greater dissonance. Love you just the way you are. Dad