"Old Buck"

     I guess most children have a favorite childhood pet, one that is so memorable that even as an old person they can still see their face and feel their silky ears or something about them that is simply unforgettable.  For me those pets were dogs. I specifically remember three dogs in my childhood.  There was Buck, the English bulldog, Tootsie, the little brown, curly mutt and Charlie, the black Cocker Spaniel.  For some reason Buck is the one I think of often and remember in detail and he was my first pet.  He was my parents dog before I was born and he was with me for the first eight or nine years of my life.  I don't know why we called him "old" Buck.  Perhaps he was middle aged when I was born.
     I was five years old when we moved from the Gulf oil camp at Kilgore, Texas to a similar oil camp in Eunice, New Mexico.  I remember snatches of my life in east Texas... the tall pines and how they smelled, the warm sandy soil beneath my feet, the smell of oil and natural gas in the air, and green things growing everywhere.  I remember Mother taking me to the barn when she milked the cow, and planting me in a barrel of grain, up to my waist so I couldn't toddle underneath the cow.  I remember the taste of the sweet, crunchy grain in my mouth, when she wasn't watching.  Before she came up with this idea I'd been pinned between the horns of that cow when I was smaller.  I don't remember that, but my mother never forgot it.  I do remember the look of horror on her face as she recounted the story over and over throughout my life.
      Another memory I have of those first five years was of our next door neighbors, Roy and Edna Ethridge.  I loved them both but Roy was my favorite.  I'm not sure why,  but he, and my love for him, is one of the memories that linger in my heart to this day.  But the most prominent of my east Texas memories is that of our dog, Buck.

"Pure White English Bulldog"

      Buck was a pure white, half English, half Pit bulldog.  I've never understood all the hoopla and hullabaloo over pit bulls in this modern day.  Buck was one of the gentlest, sweetest animals you could imagine.  He was a fierce fighter and protector of our family, no doubt about that, but to us he was a "pussy cat".  I remember my dad saying Old Buck would fight a circle saw for us!"  I guess that pretty much summed up his personality to other people too, but his big soft belly was my pillow when I took a nap in front of the fire on a winter's afternoon.  He'd lay there as still as a dead dog until I woke up.
     Another vivid memory I have of him was of the morning we heard a commotion in the pasture next to our house.  We ran to the door and saw that Buck had wrestled a young steer to the ground.  He had the critter by the neck and had twisted it sideways until the little bull was lying helpless on the ground.  Buck was hanging on for dear life and wouldn't let go even when Daddy approached, yelling and kicking him. Buck stubbornly held on until Daddy, in desperation, stomped on his neck.  When he did that, Buck turned loose and the frightened steer jumped up and ran away.  Daddy held our snarling dog by the collar until his victim was out of sight, then dragged him home.  We never did figure out why Buck attacked the steer.  Daddy thought he'd just gotten too close to our house.
     Buck was not very good on a leash.  The minute the thing was snapped onto his collar, he would drag Mother and Daddy around until they got him home and released him.  But when I grabbed his collar, he'd walk meekly beside me and follow wherever I led him.  Somehow he knew I was a child and he must behave himself.  My parents soon figured out that he behaved better to their voice commands than when he was leashed, but after the calf incident and others like it, they didn't trust him.
     The day we moved from Texas to New Mexico, my parents arose at five a.m. to begin packing the car.  We owned a little Studebaker coup that didn't have a back seat.  Instead of a seat there was a small space behind the fronts seats, that we called the "cubby hole".  In that space my mother would stack quilts and pillows where I could stand between them and see the road ahead, or stretch out and have a very comfortable bed to nap on.(That was long before seat belts or infant seats.)
     Unbeknown to me, Daddy had made arrangements to leave Buck in Texas because he couldn't see how we'd have room for him in that little car.  New Mexico was hundreds of miles away and we were in east Texas, all the way across the state from there.  Daddy used to say, "I drove all the way across the state of Texas and just wore out one set of tires!"  (That's one of those "Texan" jokes they love to tell when they're bragging about the size of the state.)  But in this case it was close to true and he couldn't imagine hauling that big, smelly, slobbering animal in that little car all the way across Texas.  So he had made arrangements with the Ethridges to give Buck to the first person who would take him in after we left.
    The morning of the trip, the first thing they did was take all the bedding from the house to the cubby hole and make my bed.  I was still sound asleep at that early hour so Daddy picked me up in my pajamas and carried me to the car and tucked me into my little bed, so they could continue their packing. (They were also pulling a little two wheel trailer.)  I  continued sleeping comfortably tucked under the covers.
     Daddy had been calling Buck since he got up so he could tie him to a tree until his new owner came to fetch him.  Buck however had different plans.  He laid low somewhere until my parents put me into the car and went back to the house.  Then he climbed in with me.
     "Where could that dog be?" Daddy asked Mother when they were ready to leave.  "I'm not waiting any longer for him.  The Ethridges can find him and tie him up.  We have to get on the road!"
     So they proceeded to get into the car.  Mother saw him first and said, "Pete, I found the dog."
      "Where is he?" asked Daddy.
      She pointed behind the front seat.  Daddy stuck his head in the opposite window.  "Buck, you old rascal! Get on out of there!"
     I was awake by then and staring, uncomprehending at my daddy.  I didn't understand why he wanted Buck to get out.
     "Come on out of there, damn it!" said my frustrated father after a few attempts to extract the dog.
     "Daddy, this is a good place for Buck to sleep.  He's my pillow!" I protested.
     "Buck's staying here!  We're not taking him all the way to New Mexico!" he declared suddenly.
     Well, I got it then and immediately began to wail.  When I did it upset Buck and he started whining and licking my face.
     Daddy reached for his collar and Buck growled at him.  He was on his feet now, hair standing on end, teeth bared.  Either he felt threatened or he thought I was threatened.
     Daddy jerked his hand back and looked at Mother, dumbfounded.
     She shrugged and said, "Well I guess Buck's going to New Mexico!"
     They got into the car and I heard Daddy muttering angry threats for the next few minutes before Buck and I settled back down to finish our naps.
     Old Buck lived a good, happy life in New Mexico remaining my protector and unforgettable friend for several more years.
    
    

Taken Away

     I promised my readers more of Ted's sermons and so far I've only found one. I have a box somewhere or maybe I gave them to one of the children. (Who knows!) So I will publish the only other one I've come across.  This one seems especially appropriate for Memorial Day weekend.

 Taken Away 

Acts 1:9-11

 

      "The bible records eleven different appearances of Jesus after He was raised from the dead.  In this text we read of our Lord's eleventh appearance in which, with that little band of eleven Apostles, He walked from Jerusalem across the Kidron then up the slope to the brow of Mt. Olivet.

     While the stood there Jesus gave instructions and encouragement, lifted His nail scarred hands and the scripture says, "While they beheld, He was lifted up... taken away!"

     He was lifted up and a  cloud received  Him out of their sight.  That does not mean that He disappeared into a cloud like a ship slips into the fog.  It means to literally  "take from underneath".  Like the chariot of God, He was lifted up from underneath and a cloud received Him out of their sight... away from their natural sight. 
      When that happened, they stood there amazed... transfixed... looking up into heaven. And as they stood there in wonder... in rapture, the bible says, "Behold two men stood by them in white apparel" who said, "Why stand ye gazing up into heaven?"

     Sometimes our hearts lead us into actions that are difficult to explain... like going to the grave to weep!  Does it do any good?  Does it change the circumstances?  No, but it is just something dictated by the heart.  Those apostles, standing there in transfixed amazement were asked "Why?" by the angels.

     We have some "whys" of our own.

     Why was our Lord taken away?  He is seen no more with our eyes in the congregation of the "called out".

     His voice is heard no more among the saints.

     His place is empty at the table.

     Why was He taken away?

     In Luke 24:29, on the road to Emmaus, the two disciples said to our Lord, "Come and abide with us."  They begged Him to stay.

     We are like that with Him.  We would constrain Him to stay with us!

     Why?

     Because if He were with us in the flesh, we could overcome a thousand frustrations... endure like a breeze, life's hurts and pain.   There would be none, in fact!

      We could dissolve a million difficulties, if the Lord were here.  Everything would be settled and better, maybe even perfect and we could throw faith out the door. 

      We are all convinced that His presence would be worth that of 10,000 apostles.

      If He were here we could bring Him all our sick.

     We could lay our dead at His feet and they'd live again.

     He would confront and defeat our enemies...if only He were here!!

     As we read the bible, we find there are dear answers to the question as to why the Lord was taken away into heaven.

      John 16:6,7 says,  "But because I have said these things unto you, sorrow hath filled your heart.  Nevertheless I tell you the truth; it is expedient for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send Him unto you."

     Why is it best for us that our Lord go away?  There are at least five reasons:

     First:  Our Lord's ascension was in the plan and purpose of God.  (We always seem to struggle with that.)

     Listen... we are His sheep here below.  We are not to suppose that a tragedy has overtaken us, that our Lord has forsaken us.  He is there in Heaven as alive, as loving, as caring and as committed to us as He ever was!

     Cynics, dispisers and Scoffers have always avowed, "Your Christianity has spun out!  There is no King nor Kingdom!  Your Lord was taken away and you know not where they have taken Him!  You will never see Him again.  There is no power and His miracle-working hands are folded in some forgotten grave!  This is the end of The Way and the defeat of His message!"

     But I tell you.... That is not so!  Our Lord has only changed His place of vision and supervision.  He has left this earth to go on high, to be seated on the right hand of the Almighty.  All authority and power in heaven and on earth has been given Him... He said so!

     From His heavenly vantage and strategic point of glory, He surveys the whole field of battle and directs His Kingdom's work on earth!

     There is not a better way.  He has not forsaken us!  He is there, for our sakes, to guide and direct us in His great battle plan and its execution.

     Someday He's coming again, in a moment, in the twinkling of and eye, at one unknown hour... the great Leader, our General of the marshaled forces of God, on earth will appear!

     Second:  Why did He leave?  In order that our hearts, prayers, vision and hope might be lifted upward... heavenward,...Godward,...

Christward!                                                        

     Colossians 3:2 says, "Set your affections on things above, not on things on the earth.  For our conversation is in heaven' from whence also we look for the Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ."  Philippians 3:20 says that that is where our real citizenship is.

     Our Lord is in heaven and the intent of God is that our hearts, affections, prayers, dreams and our every prospect might be Godward!

     To all of us who have found a Savior in Him, there is always that pull toward God... that lifting of face, heart, hand and hope toward Him.  There is an upwardness to the Christian faith.

     There was once a wild Mallard who was raised by a domestic duck.  Each year as he floated on his pond, paddling around with his family, he'd hear the call of the other wild mallards as they flew over him.  They seemed to be calling him to come with them.  He'd look at his mother, then he'd look at the formation above him.  His heart was divided.  Then finally one fateful day, he could stay no longer.  His feet began to paddle, his wings began to tremble, then flap, then spread and he began to lift... up...up... up into the air, until finally he joined in with the formation, as his heart answered the call.  He had joined the throng and flow upward, out of the sight of the earth bound. ("Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Him." St. Augustine)

     Many people, like domestic ducks, are content here. Their investments, treasures and purposes are here.  Their happiness depends on this little pond.  All they look forward to is here, for they are not the children of God.

     But I tell you, the child of God hears the call of Heaven!  His heart, hands, and hopes are all lifted upward.  All of God's people are gathered, being gathered and will be gathered to Heaven.

     If you live long enough, all your family and friends, will be gone and if they know the Lord, to Heaven.  If the Lord were here and all whom we love were there, that would be such a sadness!

    But the Lord is in heaven. He is waiting there and gradually our loved ones are crossing over to be with Him there.

     Someday our time will come... and He will be there to receive us and our parents and children will be there with Him, and isn't that a better idea?

      Third:  Why was He taken away?  So that we might learn to live by faith, not by sight.  The Christian faith economy is one of spiritual substance and content.  If the Lord were here, perpetually incarnate, there would be a moratorium on faith.  People would struggle from one side of the earth to the other, to get to were He was.

  We would come to Him to stare and hope for His attention.  We'd bring Him our problems, seek advice, bring our sick, dying, dead.  We'd watch and be amazed.... dazzled as He took care of people and fed the millions.

     God has so designed the Christian faith in a way that its substance or essence is invisible.  Things that are seen are temporal.  Unseen things are eternal.  Things that are temporal pass and fade away... "The flower fades, the grass withers..." The very heavens and earth shall pass away.

     2 Corinthians 4:18 says, "While we look not at the things which are seen but at the things which are not seen, for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal."

     The realities of God are invisible and spiritual... they are eternal, not temporal.  That's why we Christians are forever looking up!

     Our expectations are in Heaven...

                                                         our alter is in heaven...

                                                                                          our Great High Priest is in heaven!

     We have in Him an eternal faith, a spiritual faith, which is not seen with the naked eye, but is hidden away from our natural eyes that we might see with the eyes of faith!

     Hebrews 11 says of Moses, "By faith he forsook Egypt, not fearing the wrath of the king for he endured, as seeing Him who is invisible!"

     It's a poor faith that insists on thrusting it's fingers into the nail scars!

     Fourth:  Why did our Lord ascend into glory?  Because there, He is our faithful High Priest, our Mighty Mediator, our Omnipotent Intercessor and Savior.

     He is our Representative in heaven, there to secure for us an eternal salvation and everlasting inheritance...we who have been and are being saved!
     In 1 Timothy 3:16 Paul tells Timothy that Christ was, "Seen of angels".  They had watched Him in eternity present when He was born.  They continued their vigil throughout His ministry.  They saw Him crucified; they saw Him dead, they saw Him buried.  They rolled away the stone when He rose from the dead.  They watched as He ascended into heaven and they welcomed Him back to glory.
     Would you like to read about His reception?  Read Revelation 5.  If you want to know how it was when He entered into Heaven read Ephesians 4:8.  "It is Jesus now who entered into Heaven and is there on the Father's right hand."
    Our Brother who lived our lives, walked our earth, saw our failings, loves us through them, suffered our sorrows, died our death, wept our tears... this Brother is in Heaven at the right hand of God!
     Hebrews 7:25 says, "Touched with the feelings of our infirmities, wherefore He is able to save to the uttermost, them that come unto God by Him... seeing He liveth to make intercession for them."
     All others would be unqualified... unable, but Jesus will not fail!
     Our life here is hid in Him.  Our life hear after is hid in Him.  If a garden tomb and winding sheet shall be our lot, the same Holy Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead shall raise me!  1 Thessalonians 4:16 says, "For the Lord Himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. 
First, the believers who have died will rise from their graves!"
     Fifth:  Why was He taken away?...so the Comforter could come.  Look at John 16:7.  "Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient (good for you) that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send Him unto you."
     He is our "one along side".  Do you have a question? Ask Him!  Do you need strength! Ask Him!  Do you need grace, peace, assurance?  Ask Him!  He is our friend,  The Holy Spirit is listening, ready to respond to every Godly desire we will ever have... and all the while Jesus is in Heaven preparing for you and me a mansion!
     Oh wait!...That's reason number six!

"How Precious Did That Grace Appear..."

     I have been shocked to learn in the last few years, of the many misconceptions and questions from people close to us, about Ted's spiritual journey.  He talked so much about it that I just assumed that everyone knew and understood his testimony.  Apparently not...from the statements I've heard and the questions I've received, I've come to realize that people in his own family knew very little about the circumstances surrounding the biggest decision he ever made in his life, the one that changed everything about his life.  For that reason, I decided to write it all down, from my perspective.  Since I was there for most of his spiritual journey, (we were married 40 years) I can at least tell my point of view and fill in a lot of the gaps from before I came on the scene.
     Ted was raised in a Lutheran home by a mother who came from a Polish Catholic background.  She told stories of her Grandfather, Yon Maris.  He was a devout man and the "scripture reader" for his little village in Poland.  He had one daughter who became a Nun.  Mom was very proud of her Catholic family and their Christian service and her mother was faithful to the Lord and her church until the day she died.  When Ted took me to meet his grandmother after we married, she took us by the hand, led us over to her little "shrine" on the buffet, lit a candle and pushed us to our knees while she prayed blessings on our new home.  I, of course, didn't understand anything she prayed because it was all in Polish, but I figured that God understood Polish and I loved her for it.  Ted's grandfather, having suffered through the first world war and being poisoned by mustard gas, came back bitter and disillusioned, gave up his faith and as far as we know, died an agnostic.

Confirmation

     When Ted's mother married Ernest Gehrke she became a Lutheran and they were active in Zion Lutheran Church throughout their marriage.  Ted was baptized and confirmed there.  His best friend in school was the son of their pastor and Ted was very close to the family.  The Beuhler family always topped our "visitor's list" when we went home to Ohio.
     In spite of all of this, Ted told me that he never really gave God a second thought until about 4th grade when his school was visited by the Gideons.  They gave each child a small New Testament and Ted started reading it, a little every day.  Although he had been in Sunday  School and church service almost every Sunday of his life, there seemed to be something "magic" in that little bible.  One day, walking home from school alone, he began thinking about Jesus and the things he'd been reading.  He walked a ways off the path and into the trees, knelt and scoped up a little "alter" of leaves and put his bible on top of it.  Then he prayed.  I'm not sure what he prayed but in his child heart, he said he "connected" with God for the first time in his life.
     Years later when we were dating, I, the "good" Baptist girl, felt compelled to ask him if he was a Christian.  To answer me he quoted The Apostle's Creed.  I was impressed!  I thought, Wow, that's certainly more than I know about it.!  So we married and I went through Catechism and like my mother-in-law before me, became a Lutheran.  The church where I was confirmed was a large congregation in Victoria, Texas.  It was a great church.  Ted and I joined the choir, the young marrieds class and everything else they'd let us into.  We loved it and made some great friends there. 
     When we moved from Victoria to Arizona we had a hard time getting back into church.  The nearest Lutheran church to us was in Phoenix, (we lived in Glendale, Arizona) and we didn't always have the gasoline to make the trip. From there Ted went to Spain and Joel and I traveled between grandparents.  When we were with my parents, we went to the Baptist church. When we were with Ted's parents, we went to Zion Lutheran.  When we joined him in Spain, there was no church.  At Christmas and Easter we attended the midnight mass at the Cathedral up the street.

     As a result of living the "Air Force adventure", faith took a back seat in our lives and we became "nominal" Christians.  It really no longer seemed important to us. We were happy.  We traveled the world, had three healthy babies and other than money always being tight, we had few worries.  As a couple we "liked" each other and most of the time, had fun together.
     Sometime during those years we lost a friend in a tragic auto accident and I made the statement that "he is in a better place".  I was shocked when Ted, in his depression, responded by saying, "I don't know if I believe that."
     "What do you mean?" I asked. "Where is your faith?"
     "Faith to believe is a gift from God and I don't think he has given me that gift yet." he said.
     I didn't argue with him but that night I called my Daddy and told him about it, then asked him if what Ted had said was true.
     "Yep, he's right." replied Daddy.
     "Then why doesn't God just give everyone faith and be done with it?" I asked.
     "Well," he drawled, Faith comes by hearing and hearing by the Word of God!  Have you been going to church?"
     "No." I admitted.
     "Well, there you go!" he said.
      By the time we got to South Carolina the pressures of poverty caught up with us and neither of us responded well to pressure.  At one time we owed money on five broken down cars.  Plus we had to pay our normal living expenses, rent, utilities, groceries and various appliances we'd gone in debt to acquire.  Ted was on his first stint as an Air Traffic Controller, a very stressful job, and to make ends meet, he worked an extra job as a delivery man.  I too had a full time job outside the home and left the kids in the care of a baby sitter until I got home in the evening.  Ted came in much later, tired and stressed and we saw each other briefly before crashing into bed and starting over early the next morning.  The kids hardly saw him at all and when they did they annoyed him because he just wanted rest.  Sunday was our only day to "sleep in" and the thought of giving that up for church was impossible.
     Life was no longer fun.  We argued continually and began to avoid each other.  We couldn't afford a vacation to relax and reconnect.  Our kids were pushed away as we began to spin around ourselves in search of relief.
     During that time Ted started working with a Sargent named Quincy Kirby.  Quincy could see the stress in Ted, so he started writing down little scripture verses on sticky notes and leaving them on the desks and consoles for Ted to find.  Ted began looking forward to them.  He said they were like cool drinks of water to his parched soul.  They gave him peace and answers and helped him employ some self control.
     During that time, for the kid's sake, we periodically attended a small Presbyterian  Church in the country close to our home.  It was a beautiful old Southern church, surrounded by mossy trees.  The people were warm and welcoming and it comforted us when we went there.  Then Quincy invited us to attend his Baptist church in Sumter  on Sunday evenings.  So one Sunday night we decided to go.
     We didn't intend to make this a habit but the preaching was interesting, the people were friendly and they had a gospel pianist that fairly made the instrument "dance".  It was hard to come up with the extra gasoline every week but we found ourselves sacrificing so we could do it because it became such a bright spot in our otherwise bleak lives.
     Several weeks after we started these Sunday night excursions, our relationship came to a boiling point.  After one particularly terrible Saturday morning, I made the decision to take the kids and leave.  I called my parents and asked if they would send bus tickets to me and the kids and they said they would.  I gathered my courage and confronted Ted later that morning and told him of my plan.  I said it would be a "temporary separation".  We could give up the house, sell the car and he could move on base and save some money so we could get ahead financially.  I told him that neither of us could take the pressure anymore and this just seemed like the reasonable and intelligent thing to do.
     Ted didn't interrupt me.  He just stood in the kitchen crying.  As I watched him I began crying too, so I stopped talking.  Finally he said, "Please don't take my kids away from me."
     "Why?" I asked.  "They just annoy you anyway."
     "Yes, they do." he admitted, "and so do you, but you are all I have that will keep me going.  If you leave me I'll have no reason to keep trying."
     Well, that did it for me.  I knew I couldn't take his kids away from him, not now...not ever!  I don't know what it would have taken for me to do that, maybe physical abuse, and other than yelling, stomping out and slamming doors, he;d never gotten close to that.  I just stood there crying, helpless and confused. It was one of those, "I can't live with him and I can't live without him!" moments.
     Finally he spoke again, "Just give me a week."
     "What's going to change in a week?" I asked.
     "I don't know, but if something doesn't change you can leave." he answered.
     That night I had a dream.  I'm not sure of it's importance but I've never been able to forget it and when I looked back on it, I saw the significance of it.  I dreamed that we were walking along the beach (It was Myrtle Beach South Carolina to be specific.)  I looked ahead of us and was surprised to see empty graves dug in a row up and down the shore.  I felt cold with fear when I saw them, then suddenly Ted ran to the nearest grave and jumped in!  I started crying and yelling for him to stop.  Then someone close behind me said, "It's okay.  He had to do this."
      The next day was Sunday and we did our Sunday "thing"... morning with the Presbyterians and evening with the Baptist.  Only that night something happened at the Baptist church.  Ted went forward at the end of the church service and "joined" the church.  I felt like an earthquake had just hit our lives.  I thought he'd finally snapped.
     On the way home the car was quiet... even the kids.  I think they could sense the tension, all except Tim.  He was asleep two minutes after he got into the car.
     Finally I said, "Do you want to explain what you just did?"
     He sat there a few minutes before he answered me.  Finally he said, "I gave my life to Christ."
     Then it was my turn.  I felt betrayed and confused.  I had followed him into the Lutheran Church.  I had been happy there when we actually had a church.  I would have been happy to stay there the rest of my life if we actually attended a Lutheran church... and now he was becoming a Baptist!   It was outrageous!  So I responded in the most reasonable way I could think of to respond.  I said, "Well you can be a Baptist if you want to.  The kids and I will stay Lutheran!"
     The next day after he left for work I called my parents and spilled out all my anger to my mom.  She listened patiently then said, "We have been praying for you and Ted." 
     "I don't know what to do!" I whined.
     Mother said, "Well, if you keep following him around long enough, maybe he'll end up going in the right direction."  I wasn't sure what that meant, so I ended the conversation and said good-by. 
     Needless to say, for the next week I watched him closely, not knowing what to expect.  I was surprised that he was uncharacteristically quiet that week.  We didn't talk much and when we did he was calmer than usual.  He told me later that he was trying to process the turn his life had taken.
     I'd like to tell you that he sprouted a halo and never again had another temper fit, but that wouldn't be true.  However there were some profound changes in him right away.  I saw him get up every morning and read his bible!   Of course I thought he was just doing that to impress me, but like everything else in his life, he couldn't be quiet about it. When Ted learned something he always had to share it with someone else so, he preached to me and the kids all week.  I also noted after a couple days that he was sleeping better.  Previously he had gotten up two or three times a night, crashing around the semi dark house, waking up me and the kids.  Another change I observed was his "deliverance" from Tums!  Now before you laugh at that, let me assure you that it had been a serious problem for a couple years.  He couldn't eat a meal without a handful of Tums.  Sometimes he'd stop in the middle of dinner and chew two or three so he could finish eating.  He had been to the Doctor about it and they assured him that he didn't have an ulcer and gave him Maalox.  He could never take anything "chalky" so Tums were the next best thing.  But the week after he "gave his life to Christ" he stopped taking Tums.  I don't think he even noticed it himself, then one day I said, "Ted, why aren't you taking Tums anymore?"
     He looked a little surprised then said, "I guess I don't need them anymore.  I feel fine."
     And...he started praying!  We had always prayed for our meals... mostly for the kids sake, but Ted started praying privately, then telling me when God answered his prayers.  Once again I thought he had become one of those weird religious fanatics.
     All these things encouraged me not to buck him about going back to the Baptist church.  I had to admit I liked the changes, even if I didn't understand them and after a while I decided I liked the "religious fanatic" better than the guy with whom I'd been living.  Over time I saw him began to exercise some discipline over his temper.  Instead of freaking out about everything, he would put on some Christian music or just walk away for a while.  In short, Ted began to live a life of faith.
     He told me later that that first week he "slept somewhere between the sheets and heaven".  He said that the most profound change he saw in himself was that anxiety was replaced by peace.  He said also that for the first time in a long time he really believed that there was "Somebody bigger than himself" in charge, and it was a great relief.
     After some time had passed and we were able to talk about it he told me, "I always knew that if I really believed all that the Bible said, I'd have to give my whole life to it.  I finally got to the place where I was so miserable and so desperate that I said to God, "Okay, I'll accept it even if I don't believe it intellectually and just trust You with all of the questions." When I did that, I found the faith to believe."  He said that it was a real "surrender" on his part because growing up he had admired people like, James Dean (the actor) and had been obsessed with being "cool" and being "religious" just wasn't "cool".  "I had to give up on "cool", he said.


November 1994

     Now I'm not sure how to define what happened to Ted or even when it happened for sure.  Was it when he was baptized and confirmed, or when as a child he knelt in those Ohio woods and prayed and "connected" with God or when as an adult he prayed in that Baptist church and "gave his life to Christ"?  So, don't ask me if Ted "became a Christian" when he was a Lutheran, or when he was being "comforted" by the Presbyterians, or when he "joined" the Baptist church.  He was on a spiritual journey all the way through his life.  Like any good story, it had a beginning, a climax and an end.  Ted  loved all three churches and gave them honor throughout his life.     But one other eye opening thing he told me years later, was that the theme song of his life should be the second verse of Amazing Grace, "Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear and Grace my fears relieved. How precious did that Grace appear, the hour I first believed." 
      How fitting that when this Christian soldier was laid to rest, his pall bearers marched to his grave-side singing that hymn.  No one had requested it.  They just did it on their own.  I was probably the only one there that really understood the significance of it.  It was a wink from God to me saying, "I've got this, Laura.".
    
        

"Read it and Weep", then "Shout it to The Rooftops"!

     I told my readers previously that from time to time I'd be sharing with them, what I am currently reading, and thus am interested in, and this is one of those times.
     As you may imagine, as an adopted child, with several adopted grandchildren (who have escaped the executioners, axe), I am passionate about the subject of abortion. So when I came across this discussion in the book, As It Was In The Days of Noah, I knew I had to share it, so here goes...
     Jeff Kinley, the author in declaring how "violence seems to run in the human bloodstream" ... began his explanation of why this is so with the following.

     Cheap Life

     "One of the many side effects of ignoring God is that human life is, unquestionably, devalued.  If there is no God, then there is no Supreme Maker who gives human life intrinsic value.  There remains only relative value.  In other words, apart from God, a human being's real worth is determined by an adjustable standard based on the laws and morals of a particular society or civilization.  For example, just 150 years ago, African Americans were bought and sold like property in the United States.  And throughout history, human slavery has existed in nearly every culture or people group in some form.  Through the domination of one race or class over another, certain ethnic groups or nationalities have been deemed less valuable than others.  They're relegated to second-class status, considered inferior or subordinate in worth.  The fluctuating value systems held by different cultures or groups is what supposedly justifies the domination and mistreatment of others, or at the very least, is what promotes extreme prejudice and discrimination.
     But unless there is an absolute authority setting a universal standard of value for all mankind, this attitude and cheapening of life will continue.  In our generation, we selectively value or devalue certain persons based on their usefulness or perceived worth.  Some people are simply viewed as being more valuable.  And without God in the picture, our understanding of human dignity is naturally skewed.  In such cases, the rule of law and practice in society is determined either by popular opinion or whichever political party has the best lawyer. 

How could anyone kill her?

     This practice ultimately leads to an inversion of common sense and a cauterizing of human conscience.  How else can we explain a civilization that vigorously defends prolonging the lives of heinous serial murderers while simultaneously fighting for the right to end the lives of innocent children?  We march to keep an evil man from dying while giving the unborn a death sentence simply for existing.  Before the baby is even given a chance to take their first breath, we angrily defend a woman's "right" to take the life of her unwanted child.  Sadly, the one advocate designed to protect and care for that life (the mother) becomes complicit in the death sentence, interrupting God's work.  Pro-choice advocates typically cite rape and incest as extreme examples justifying abortion.  Now rape is morally wrong. Always. No exceptions. And the Bible explicitly condemns it. And incest is morally deplorable.  Always. No exceptions.  But even the rapist is given rights, a trial, a lawyer, and a voice.  However, who speaks for the one who cannot yet speak?  Who pleads their case and defends their right to live?  Abortion is controversial, and it's not going away.  And neither is the devaluation of people and violence against humanity.  As we saw in chapter 4 (of his book, As It Was In The Days of Noah,)  the day is coming when Christians themselves will be deemed unworthy to live.
     But though politicians, activists, and the media have politicized abortion as a women's rights issue, at its core, it has less to do with a woman's choice and more to do with the issue of life itself.  With God out of the picture, people become expendable because there is no divine standard to declare their worth. History teaches us that government and the prevailing spirit of the age usually decide how valuable people are.  When in doubt, consider the Jews in Nazi Germany, or ask those who witnessed the slaughter of one million Tutsis in the Rwandan Genocide of 1994.  Both were unwanted people groups.  They were considered subhuman or undeserving of life.  Again, without God's standard, we are left with a sliding scale of  human morality.  This is why God had to tell us not to murder each other, and especially not to shed the blood of the innocent. (Prov. 6:17 & Prov.31:8-10) Without Him, we could eventually annihilate one another.
     Over 43 million unborn children were destroyed worldwide in 2008, with over one million of those murders taking place in the United States. (see guttmacher.org) China even practices forced abortion..."
     Why is our nation so sharply divided over this subject and why is a simple answer not obvious? Kinley goes on to say...
     "Since 1980, more than one billion innocent lives have been taken, having been judged unworthy to live.  Are their souls in heaven, crying out to God for justice?  How many unborn will die before God avenges their blood and inaugurates the day of His judgment?  Have we not in just 34 years killed more unborn children than Noah's generation killed of all ages over hundreds of years?"
     And...
     "Isaiah warned his own country of "inverted morality" when he said, "Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil." (Is. 5:20)
     Then Kinley continues..."It's naïve to think we won't eventually extend this devaluation to other's lives as well---targeting people by age, race, religion, physical or mental handicap---any whose "quality of life" or value to society is below our wise judgment.  If it happened in the past, why couldn't it happen again? And it will.  When humans of any age, race, religion, or physical condition become "undesirable," we become like those who justify genocide.  Are we better than an evil dictator who kills seven million or one race when we slaughter one billion of many races?  Are we now any less deserving of judgment than those whom God destroyed in the Flood?"
     Finally he concludes, "In the absence of wise, godly leadership and a just government honoring the Creator, morality is auctioned off to the highest bidder and the majority opinion."
     God help us!!!  I read this and wept, then I decided to post it as my little bit of "salt and light" for the day.

The Intruder!

      The year was 1960. I was a young mother of an eighteen month old boy and wife of my Air Force husband, Ted.  He had been in Spain for sixteen months before we had enough saved up for Joel and I to join him.  We departed Love Field in Dallas, biding Grandma and Grandpa Stanley a tearful farewell, then flew to New York City where we spent the night before we boarded an Iberian airliner for Madrid, Spain.  I was exhausted by the time I got on that plane, but help was awaiting me there.  The Spanish, in general are completely delighted by babies, so a Spanish steward took Joel from me within the first half hour of the flight and I saw him only as he ran past me down the aisle, being chased by the steward or a stewardess or a pilot!  It gave me a chance to eat, read and relax for a while.  By the time my tired little boy settled down for the night, my apprehension had completely subsided and I was able to sleep with him bedded down on the floor at my feet, while I stretched out on two seats.  It was a great flight.  However the next morning I awoke with a case of full blown homesickness.
     I'd never been so far from home, and the only thing I could see from the window of that airliner was a glimpse of the ocean between the clouds.  It was desolate and scary looking.  I ate breakfast and fed Joel then handed him back to the steward for another romp.  I was too depressed to read, so I just stared out the window and thought about how I'd soon be seeing my husband in a new land. I must admit, that thought made me tingle with excitement, but for the most part, I felt depressed.  Then suddenly I saw the jagged coastline of Portugal and Spain and two American Air Force jets that appeared out of the blue.  They flew along side us for a couple minutes, then made a sharp right turn and disappeared from sight.  When I saw "Old Glory" on their fan tails as they flew away, I laughed out loud. I felt "welcomed" as pride made my eyes fill with tears.  Even so, when I glanced back down at the countryside of this strange new land, I felt a little lost and alone, thinking that this would be my home for the next three years.
     After we landed in Madrid we spent a couple hours in the airport, trying to communicate enough to order a sandwich and a coke and buy a souvenir.  I found myself wishing I could share this experience with my mom and dad and friends I'd left behind.
     Soon we boarded the small airliner that took us  on  to Sevilla where me were met by Ted and there had the joyful reunion we'd been dreaming about for over a year.  He kept hugging and kissing us, then he'd hold us at arms length and look at us to make sure he was really seeing us, then smother us with hugs and kisses again.  Joel was a little shy because of course, he didn't know this exuberant man, but he slowly warmed up to him.  I couldn't take my eyes or hands off him.  With the help of a Spanish man at the airport, Ted loaded our luggage into the trunk of the car.  I was so impressed with his Spanish, as he communicated with the man.  When we arrived at our hotel in Sevilla I was glad that Joel had finally warmed up to his dad because he was a chunky little guy and my arms were numb from carrying him for so long.  At the hotel we ate supper in our bedroom (my first taste of calamaris) and tried to get Joel to go to sleep.  We fought with him until 2:00 a.m. because of jet lag, so when we started "up the mountain" the next morning to go to our base, Ted and I were bleary eyed from lack of sleep and Joel was bright eyed and bushy tailed.
     Our "base" was a small radar site on top of a mountain, outside a small village called Constantina.  It was beautiful, quaint and picturesque but the trip up was exciting too.  I probably took three rolls of pictures.
     The Spanish countryside was fascinating.  The highway was lined on both sides with Spanish pines.  They weren't your East Texas pines but tall bare trunks that were topped with a round bush of evergreen.  They looked like the trees one would see in a Dr. Seuss book.  Along the road we encountered overladen burros, stubborn beasts who would stop in the middle of the road when they got tired.  Their masters would beat them with a stick and curse at them to get them to move.  I, of course, was shocked, not by the curses because I couldn't understand them, but by the beatings.  I wanted to get out and defend the burros.  Ted said, "What would you have them do... let them stand in the road the rest of the day?" 
     "No, but maybe they could coax them across with food or something.  They don't have to beat them!" I argued.
     "Yes, as a matter of fact they do.  The burros are tired and stubborn,... not hungry.  Those men have been dealing with these animals for century's.  Beating and cursing is the best they've come up with!"
     Ted tried to be my tour guide, but I was so focused on the scenes before me that I missed half of what he said.  One of the statements I did catch was... "One of the G.I.'s from the site came down to Lora Del Rio, (the little village through which we were driving) and took pictures to send home, of these mud huts and all the poverty they display.  He wanted to show his family how destitute these people are.  But when he got the pictures developed, he was shocked.  Their white washed walls with baskets of red geraniums hanging on them made them look like tourist brochures. So unless you focus in on the naked little kids running around in the muddy yards, the truth won't be told."
     After traveling a while in the heat we became thirsty, so Ted stopped at a little stucco bar for drinks.  On one side of the door was a large Coca Cola sign and on the other side, a Cervesa sign.  Coca Cola, I knew, Cervesa I had to guess, was beer because underneath the word was a large picture of a beer bottle.  Thus I learned my first Spanish word... Cervesa!
      In a few minutes Ted came out with three small, ice cold cokes.  When he got in the car I said, "Ted, Joel is a baby. We can't give him Coca Cola. He needs water!"
     He said "Well, he either has to drink coke or beer... that's our choice.  We can't drink the water here."
     I was astonished.  I thought What have we gotten in to?
     So began our life in Spain, which would hold for us many adventures.  One of my most memorable  adventures occurred just two weeks after we arrived.
     Ted had rented an apartment in Constantina... a house really, but since most of the houses in town were connected, it seemed like an apartment to me. It was the strangest place I'd ever seen.  The front door opened directly onto a narrow brick street.  Then when you entered you were faced with a long flight of stairs.  At the top of the stairs was the door to the house.  Beyond that door was a long hallway with rooms that branched off, on both sides, like the hallway of a hotel.  First came our kitchen, on the left, across from a spare room on the right.  Then next to the kitchen on the left was a small bedroom for Joel, and across from his room on the right was a small dinning room. Next to Joel's room was a small bathroom.  Then at the end of the hallway two large rooms were divided by a wall.  The one on the right was the living room and the one on the left was our bedroom.  Not only was it the strangest place I'd ever lived in, but I felt strange in it.  The rooms were totally disconnected.  I felt like we lived in a hotel.  But it was within our budget and Ted had come every day during the building of it, to supervise the colors and other details.  He was very proud of it and the gracious old man who built it, Don Jesus, lived next door and was proud of it too.  We became close friends with his family and I still remember them fondly.
Ted was so excited as he showed off our home to Joel and I.  He had saved enough money to buy furniture for most of the rooms and had furnished it sparsely but nicely.  It just lacked one thing,... appliances.  We lived without a stove for over a year (I cooked on a three burner kerosene stove.) and without a refrigerator for eighteen months.  But we were together and I was grateful.  Ted never knew, till the day he died, how much I hated the layout of that house.
     The thing I disliked most about the place was the distance I felt from my baby at night.  In reality we weren't that far apart, but at night, if the doors were closed, I could barely hear Joel.  It was like being in separate hotel rooms.

Constantina, Spain

     Ted worked shifts... sometimes eight to five, (days), sometimes five to midnight, (swings) and sometimes midnight to eight a.m. (mids).  I didn't mind the day shift and I didn't mind swings, because I could wait up for him, but when he worked mids, I hardly slept a wink.  I'd stay up until he left at 11:30 then go to bed and try to  fall asleep.  For the remainder of the night I'd fall asleep and wake up, go back to sleep and wake up again.  The cycle repeated itself all night long until Ted came in about 8:30 in the morning when I'd meet him at the door, exhausted and bleary eyed.  Joel would be wide awake and within fifteen minutes
Ted would be sound asleep. I hated mids!
     One day, about two weeks after we arrived in Constantina, we made a grocery run to the commissary in Seville.  We arrived back at our house just in time to unload our groceries into the kitchen.  Ted changed into his uniform and left for his mid shift at the radar site and I put Joel to bed.  I was tired from the shopping trip and thought to myself, I'll leave the groceries in the bags and put them away in the morning.  I think I may actually sleep tonight!
I put on my nightgown, excited by the thought.
     Behind our kitchen was a washroom where we washed our clothes in a large double sink.  It had a stairway that led up to the flat roof of our house known as the sotea.  The sotea was like a patio on the roof.  It had a low wall built around it for safety and most people had clothes lines on them, where they hung their laundry.  We also had lawn chairs on ours where I sat and read while Joel played.  Some of the American families had bar-b-ques and tables where they cooked out in the summer.  They reminded me of the biblical pictures from the holy land.  They were very practical and pleasant.  We also sat there in the cool of the evening and visited with friends.  We loved our convenient soteas.
     The only time we closed the door from the kitchen to the sotea, was when we wanted to keep Joel from climbing the stairs without us.  Otherwise it was always open.  It allowed the cool air to come in.  After all, only Spiderman or some other mythical creature could come in from the sotea.
     About midnight, with my counters full of groceries and my baby asleep in his little room, between me and the kitchen, I closed the kitchen door, so I didn't have to look at the mess and went to bed.
     I'd been asleep about an hour, when a noise woke me.  I wasn't sure at first if I'd heard something or just dreamed it, so I lay quietly, listening in the dark.  Then I heard another sound.  Something crashed onto the tile floor of the kitchen.  I immediately thought of the open door to the sotea.
     My body went weak with fear and I couldn't move my arms or legs.  I was paralyzed.  My breath came in shallow gasps.  I realized that I was on the verge of passing out and that scared me even more.
     I really couldn't understand how anyone could come through the sotea.... but what else could it be?  I remembered locking the door when Ted left and he always locked the door to the street, so we had two locked doors between us and the outside world.
     I listened for Joel and couldn't hear a sound coming from his room.  I'd made sure that both doors were opened to our bedrooms so I'd hear him if he woke up.  Then I pictured the layout of the house and realized that whoever was in the kitchen would have to pass Joel's room before they got to mine.  Lying in the dark, crying and praying, I was suddenly desperate to get to his room.
     Across the hall from Joel's room was the dining room and on the wall above the buffet were a pair of Spanish swords.  Ted had purchased them with the dining room suite just because he thought they were "cool".  Now I was thinking of them as weapons!  If only I can get to one of those swords, I thought, then I'll go into Joel's room and lock the door.  I think I can protect us there.  But first I had to get my legs to work.
     The decision was made so I started trying to sit up in bed.  I managed to push myself part way into a sitting position but I was shaking so badly that I couldn't sit up, so I just slid off the bed onto the floor.  I began to crawl into the hallway and realized that I could see a little down the hallway, because the street lights gave it a soft glow.  I saw that all the doors were open, except the kitchen and that made me feel a little better.  I knew I'd have to be extremely quiet to get into the dinning room, retrieve the sword, then get back to Joel's room.
     I continued my crawl into the dinning room, finally made to through the door and to the buffet.  I pulled myself up beside it and slid one of the swords smoothly and silently from it's sheath.  My heart, pounding so hard that it seemed to me to be audible.  I still couldn't breath well but I realized that I now had some strength in my legs.  I cradled the sword in my arms and tiptoed back across the hall to Joel's room, slipped in, closed the door and locked it.  I checked on him and found him still sound asleep so I sat down on the floor, by his little bed with the sword in my lap.
     The sounds continued coming from the kitchen... sounds of things being moved around on the floor,... thumps when something else fell.  I was petrified with fear.  I sat there alternately dozing and being startled, until the sun came up.  Soon after sunrise I heard Ted's key turn in the entrance door, then I heard him walking down the hall and into our bedroom, calling my name... "Laura, where are you?" he asked.
     As soon as I heard his voice, I sprang for the door and unlocked it.  Ted came in and I dropped the sword and began crying.
     The story spilled out of me in incoherent babbles and when I was done he said, "Stay here while I check everything out."
     After a few minutes he called from the kitchen.  I went in cautiously and saw him standing by the counter smiling.
     "What?" I asked.
     "Well, the intruder left tracks but they aren't man tracks... look!" he said, pointing to the floor.
     I looked at the floor where a bag of flour had fallen and burst open.  There were tracks there, alright.  Leading from the little hill of flour toward the sotea stairs were paw prints!
     "I think you had a neighborhood cat pay you a visit." said Ted.
     The kitchen was a mess with groceries and flour strewn all over the place.  We laughed and started cleaning it up.
     Before we went to bed that night we moved Joel's little crib into a corner of our bedroom then hung the swords on the wall above our bed.  I never again slept with the door open to the sotea.

 copyright by lauragehrke 20014 (c)  

Paying it Forward

"Blessed are the merciful for they shall receive mercy." Matt. 5:7

     Several years ago there was a popular movie entitled, Pay It Forward.  It was a good movie but not a new concept.  "Paying it forward" is a biblical principle.  It is given to us in scriptures like the one above and in many others.  The bible says in Proverbs 28:27, "Whoever gives to the poor will not want,...", and "Give and it will be given to you.  Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap.  For with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you." Luke 6:38. Then there's the instruction in Ecclesiastes to, "Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days." Eccl. 11:1

     Of course this takes faith.  If you have one piece of bread in your hand, it takes faith to believe that if you throw it in the water you'll get it back.  Or if you have something that is valuable to you, it takes faith to give part of it away, believing that you'll get more back.  Yet that is what we are asked to do.  We're asked to give it up and believe that God will give it or something more valuable back to us.

     When Ted and I first got out of the Air Force and came to Grand Rapids, Michigan to finish college and seminary, we had an experience that illustrated this principle in our lives and stamped it on our hearts.  The kids and I left Altus, Oklahoma ahead of him, with our dogs and cat, and headed for Grand Rapids to find a home and get Ted registered in college.  He wasn't due to retire until September, so we thought we'd better get set up before then.  The trip north with a car full of kids and animals was an adventure and a story for another day.

     We were new to the north.  At least the kids and I were and although Ted had been raised in northern Ohio (the Toledo area), he had been away from there for 21 years.  So, it didn't occur to any of us that we'd need a totally different wardrobe from what we'd always worn in the south and Spain.

      Winter came early to Michigan in 1975.  By September there was already snow on the ground.  One alert Seminary wife approached me and invited me to come to the "Seminary Wives Clothing Basement" and "shop".  These women provided a wonderful service to incoming Seminarians and their families.  We went that very night and found the basement crowded with just about everything we were looking for.  There we found boots, scarfs, mittens and other items we needed for a Michigan winter.   It all had been donated by thoughtful people.   I remember thinking Wonder why these people didn't just have a huge garage sale?  I knew that most of them were as poor as we were and here they were giving all this good stuff away.

     There, we were completely outfitted.  I found a nice wool coat for myself, coats, hats, mittens and scarfs for the kids and boots for all.  Ted was able to find a heavy jacket and a few sweaters.  We were so grateful and felt well prepared for the winter.

     A couple of weeks after school started Ted was visiting our friends, the Moshers, during his break between classes.  They were preparing to go to England as missionaries and to raise support, Bill was speaking all over Michigan (and a few other states), in a different church every weekend.  On this Wednesday night he was preparing to go to a church and speak.  Ted noticed that he was wearing only a light suit coat and it was below 0 outside.

     "Bill, don't you have a warm coat?" asked Ted.

     "No, that's one of the items on our prayer list this week." replied Bill.

     "Do you know what the temperature is out there?" Ted asked.

     "No, do you?"

     "Yes, it's about 6 below!"

     Bill shrugged, "Well my car is warm and I'll run from the car straight into the church then back again... I'll be okay." 

     "What if your car breaks down?" persisted Ted.

     Bill looked a little exasperated when he answered, "Just pray for me, okay?"

     "Okay." said Ted.

     He left their house to go back to school but as he got into his car a thought began nagging him.  I'm going two miles to the school and then another two miles home.  I'm not leaving Grand Rapids.  He needs this coat more than I do.  Then he said out loud, "Surely Lord, You don't want me to give him my new coat!  I don't have another one!"  He began to back out of the driveway but the sick, sinking feeling in his stomach continued.  So he pulled the car back into the drive, got out and ran back into the house.  He took off his coat and threw it on the couch.  Bill looked up in surprise as Ted started for the door.

     "You take the coat and you can pray for me...okay?" said Ted just before he shut the door.*

     He went straight from there to the college chapel service where he took a seat in the back row just as the speaker was finishing.  As he wrapped up the sermon he asked for "prayer requests" from the students. Ted stood and said, "I'd like to request prayer that the Lord would provide me with a winter jacket."  From there he hurried on to his next class, hugging his sweater close in the bitter cold.  After his last class for the day, he ran to his car and jumped in.  Lying on the passenger's seat was a heavy winter jacket with a note pinned to it that said:

     "Dear Bother,

      My brother gave me this jacket before I left for school this morning because he had bought a new one.  He said, "See if you can find someone at school who needs a jacket this size."  I was so happy when you requested prayer in chapel today.  I tried to catch you before you left for your next class, but you were at the back of the room and I was up front, so I couldn't get to you in time.  Hope it fits."

              

              Your Christian Sister, Deb

     Ted put the jacket on over his sweater and it fit like it was custom made for him.  He came home bubbling over with the story.  Later that week he said to me, "You know, I don't want to seem ungrateful for the jacket.  It's really warm, but I'm going to start pulpit supply soon and I need a dressy overcoat.  Keep an eye out at the Clothing Basement for one... something nice so I'll look like a preacher and not a homeless person when I go to strange churches."
     I did go several times to the basement but no one was turning in overcoats or any other kind of coat in this weather.  As a matter of fact they were hauling them out of there as fast as the lady got them onto hangers.  So we just forgot about it.  We decided that we should just keep thanking the Lord for the warm jacket and not be greedy, when there were others who didn't even have that much.
     Ted started supplying pulpits all around the state by October.  The weather was terrible and some Sunday mornings he left the house wearing two pairs of pants with his suit and the jacket on top of his suit coat..  We worried that he'd break down in his old pickup truck and freeze to death before someone found him.  (We didn't have cell phones.)
     By the end of November the snow was up to our window sills.  There was a snow drift out our back door that was higher than our five year old daughter's head... and it just kept snowing!  
     Ted's brother and his family from Ohio were coming up for Thanksgiving.  Two days before they left to come to our house, Ernie called and asked, "Laura, can Ted use clothes?"
     I said, "Well, I think so, but your clothes won't fit Ted."
     "No, I don't mean mine.  A friend, where I work, died a couple weeks ago and his wife called us and asked if we knew anyone who could use his clothes.  We thought of Ted because he's about the same size as my friend."
     "Sure!  Bring them on up.  What he can't wear, we'll send back or donate to the Clothing Basement." I replied. 

     They arrived on Thanksgiving morning and came into our living room carrying two big boxes.  Draped across Ernie's box, because it wouldn't fit inside, was a beautiful wool, overcoat.  I don't remember any of the other items except that they were all good clothes that fit Ted well.
     Later that night as we went to bed we were talking about God's provision of all of our needs.  Ted said, "Know what I read in Proverbs today? When we give to the poor, we lend to the Lord."
     "Really?  Wonder if we have anything else around here that the poor might need?" I asked.

*Later that year when we got in trouble with our heating bill, Bill Mosher gave us the money to pay it.  I've often wondered who paid him back.