I met a man as I climbed the steps to ride the city transit. He happened to be the driver. He asked if I were a Christian? I answered that I was a believer. (For some reason, since giving my heart to the Lord, I have steered away from accepting such a label.) He said he noticed I had my Bible so he knew I must be a Christian.

Since he was talking, I decided to set immediately across from him. He asked if I had heard of a particular minister that conducted meetings under a tent? I answered that I had heard of him. He began  to tell me that he worked for that ministry for a while and was part of the team to set up the tents. He told me that after some time he left that job and began driving the bus. He said he picked up a bad habit of smoking and asked if I would remember to pray that he would stop this habit when I said my prayers that evening? I got off the bus and went about my daily affairs.

That night I remember showering late and praying before going to sleep. I remember having to get up approximately at 530 am. I was in the U.S. Army and despite our turn in time we were ordered out of bed by a unit sergeant on time every week day. Sometimes I was awakened as soon as his feet touched the barracks floor. He knew I had been out late. The lights were turned out by him nightly and he would see who was not in bed yet.

I spent much of my free time at the base Chapel and would catch the last bus back to the barracks at 10 pm. Many nights I walked into a quite barracks or to the sound of sleeping snoring soldiers. The only light was coming from the latrine at the other end of the barracks. I’d open my locker, slip out my towel and toiletries and a pair of shorts and the government issue olive T-shirt. I’d wash off the activities of the day before approaching my King on my knees at my bedside.

In the shower, I’d only thought of the worship service with the Lord that bought closure on every day. I was always reminding Him how much I wanted to be included in His plans and felt so insignificant in the army.

A few days later I got on the bus and the same driver was there again. He spoke up. “You must have prayed for me the other day, because I haven’t smoked since.” I did not answer except to smile at him.

As I walked out of the local post office and saw a worker from Chick-Fil-A go in, I turned and asked her how was business. She responded that she was glad to get a break due to the cars surrounding the store at the mall. She stated you could not see the store. I had planned to visit and seeing the uniform gave me a good reminder. When I approached the mall location I had to decide if I was going to join the line of cars stretching around and down the main road or to find a parking space several rows out from the store. Altho the temp  registered 110 degrees on my car dash, it looked as though many believers were not detained by the heat and had gotten the word to show their appreciation to the food chain for making its stand on the gay issues. I got in the 20 minute wait line and within a short while was offered a cup of water by one of the employees. Ahead of me was a woman who engaged in conversation with me and another woman with her youths who also told of her family trip to the St Vincent Island to work on some ministry housing and her preteen daughter was passing their water and scraping paint from the project. Well done and hats off to the Chick-Fil-A company. Where a family can yet get a full meal and good service and wholesome conversation among strangers. Well, I was also approached by someone who I hadn’t seen in years and renewed that connection. I going back later. it was worth the drive and wait  and a great cup of refilled lemonade for suck a hot day. The folks at the table across from me had their sodas refilled. Also thanks to former Governor of Arkansas, Mike Huckabee For making the suggestion.

I have not met personally any whistle blowers, however I know we have a Hornblower. I went to college on the G I Bill. After skipping a semester,  I received notice that I could be required to pay back some of the benefits. I tried to make it clear in letters written back and forth that no funds were used that were not part of my entitlements. The case was not cleared without a trip to state agency and  a person to person interview with a Mr. (And I kid you not.) Hornblower.

Another incident that a friend of mine faced was his audit of his taxes by the IRS. He had concerns due to the interview being conducted by a Mr. Domuch.

So I have been keeping an eye on the disaster that occurred last year in Japan. I have reports that the fallout is much larger than what took place at Chernobyl years ago. I wonder if there are any Watchmen out there who have reports? I need to concur some of my concerns that are being reported on you-tube. On the other hand I see possible a major change on the horizon.

I was planting  vegetables in my back yard on the other afternoon, when I remembered a minister who stayed in my home 30 years earlier less than a week. He ministered in my home church where I was associate minister and my wife served as secretary. We had some wonderful days together. He was planning a trip to Trinidad, West Indies also. Those few days were the only time we ever fellowshipped together.  I later sent him 100 Bibles in Spanish (I traveled 300 miles to a Chicago suburb for them.) to assist his work there. He later  returned to the states and settled in Florida.

I was sitting at my computer ten years ago searching the internet one day and noticed a conference he was having with a mutual friend. I thought to make contact and after some calls was finally able to connect with him.  We talked briefly, for he had forgotten.

Now he had come to mind again. I came into the house and washed my hands thinking if I called there would likely be no response. Besides if he had not remembered me before it would be useless to interrupt his day. I sat at my office desk and searched for his ministry website. I had forgotten much of the detail myself.  I was only interested in the history of his work and whether he had weathered the storms of life. I finally found a number and dialed to hear a recorded message. Than I got up and went into my kitchen to prepare something for dinner. As it was steaming I returned to my desk. As I set down a scene flashed before my mind as though this had happened before. I saw myself dialing this same brother and I saw him answering the phone. I almost ignored it until I realized this had not actually taken place. Than I was prompted to dial his number. I dialed with confidence that I would talk to him this time. When the person answered on the other end, although it was not him, I asked for him and he was called to the phone.We talked and he later asked how I got in touch with him explaining that he was not usually on site at that phone on that day of the week. We exchanged info and he offered to updated me later because he needed to get back to a meeting.

It had been 10 years and behind this brief visual I dialed the number available and he is summoned to take the call. Could this be an operation of the spiritual gift, “Discernment’?

After leaving a men’s Saturday morning Breakfast and Prayer gathering, I was reflecting on the discussion that surfaced after eating. A question was asked to initiate some activity. The question was did anyone have any scripture or thoughts that they wanted to share. a brother in his sixties told if reading the book of a young boys trip to heaven. he said one particular part of the account was that his dad waited some time afterwards and finally asked his son. Why did he think Jesus died on the Cross. Altho this boy had experienced his trip to Heaven at a younger age. He did have an answer for his dad. His answer may surprise you.

Before I tell you how he answered his dad, I want to share with you where we are as a people or nation in the earth. It has been noted that everyone is trying to get answers to three questions about their life. The questions are, “Who am I? Where did I come from? And where am I going?

My phone rang as I was sitting at the computer. I glanced at the time. It was 8:14 in the evening. The call came from one of the medical agencies that I do shift work for in the area hospitals or behavior residential units.Since my military days as a medic, I have had the privilege work in dozens of medical environments. What amazes me the most is how I had asked the Lord as a child to be able to work in this type of environment when I grew up.

I remember visiting my mother, as a child, in the hospital  with an older sister. I looked at the attendants in their uniforms and imagined that these people were very skilled and privileged to assist the sick and dying. Mom died when I was 14 years old.

My training came as  advanced intentive medical training for combat medics and on the job placement in the Ireland Army Hospital at Fort Knox, Kentucky. I had no idea that I would fall back on these skills time and time again after the service. I have been privileged to work in pediatric, adolescent, adult, rehab and geriatric civilian units. My experiences have included service in emergency rooms and hospital morgues.

I answered the phone. (For several years now, I have chosen to work evenings and nights in this field.) I heard a voice on the other end  askingme to report ASAP (as soon as possible)  to the staffing office of a local hospital, if I were available. They would redirect me to the particular unit till 7:15 am. Unless I am away from home, it usually takes me an hour to show up.

That night, I would be directed to a regular unit to sit in a room with two female patients. One was confused and scheduled for tests. The other one had overdosedon pills and was suicidal . This represented the specturm of behavior health issues that are attended daily in the hospitals.  One of these women wanted to live and the other one wanted to die. The confused senior patient in her eighties wanted to go home and thought I was a relative answering her request. The younger woman in her mid twenties had just gone through a divorce and was also grieving the loss of her mother to cancer. She had dropped out of high school to take care of her mother and was an only child whosefather’s where abouts was unknown.

I relieved an attendant by getting a report of the situation. I greeted each of these women. (Although it was almost 10pm both were awake and watching as we exchanged information. My responsibility would be to monitor their vital signs, to encourage their resting and to answer other specific needs through the night.

In retrospect, I realized that those work environments have given me a wealth of interactions. There have been times when life or death stood in the balance of an encounter. Inspite of the field, if one is a clerk,  a teacher, a sanitation worker, a librarian, a plumber, a nurse, or etc. all of us have stories that have affected our lives.

These stories shape our identityof life. They move us to decisions of our own course of action. These stories are the practical messages in our daily lives that shape our attitudes about the culture. We develop an optimistic or pessimistic  view of life through these experiences. We all have volumes of books to write.

Do you journal? So many times we elevate people because we become aware of their story. We laugh and cry with them through their stories. You have a story, also. The people, events and ideas that touch your daily life make you what you become. This is your story. This is worth sharing. Do you journal? Sometimes you are helped and at other times you are hurt by these practical emotional circumstances.

I started writing a journal during my military experience. Afterwards, I slacked up and felt the pressure was off.

Now, I know all of life has pressure as a part of it. I have written from time to time since that journal. For several years I kept a calendar. The journal entry can discribe an observation of the writer. I have cried reading some of my early journal entries. The calendar reminded me of events but the journal reminded my of feelings..

We all have events. We all have emotions. Through these emotions we make decisions to shape our experience. Jesus commanded us to be Perfect. A journal can give you a counter to reveal how you respond to that charge.  I ask you, Why not? If you don’t do it.  Why not keep a journal? Your journey is a story that needs to be journaled. 

He is Risen. Who has believed our report? Where is the pure and the lowly in heart? 

 This is a time when the image of God is being underminded by a generation of modern thought. As smart as man is to have developed communication systems that connect each of us to anyplace in the modern world, we have yet to answer the question of creation and sovernity. It is as interesting that their is no research to discredit any of the religious leaders associated with the many false teachings on earth. However when you bring up the name of Christ their is emotional and political backlash. You can’t hear anyone curse Budah or Mohammed when in trouble, but Jesus is swarn at in many films and venues in the land.

Resurrection Sunday has lost its appeal in the market places and in the political platforms.  Many churches turn the simple truth of the work on the Cross into hollywood productions. Where is the holy and righteous follower of pure religion in our times? Where is the hunger and thirst for truth?  Oh God, what has happened to us in the house of God? Give us light, Father.  He is Risen. His work is completed. We rend our hearts. He is risen.

I had driven 600 miles to my hometown attending a furneral  of one favorite uncle. The car had broken down the day after my arrival and I was scheduled to fly to Chicago on Saturday, the following weekend. It was Thursday evening before the car was ready and it would take me fourteen hours to get back to Tulsa. I attended a church service that evening with the congregation that had seen me pack up my family 25 years earlier and move to Oklahoma.  I had planned to leave between 12 and 2 but slept till 5 Am.  The first leg of my trip was a stop in Louis. At a friend’s auto body shop and at 8 o clock in the morning he was glad to see me. One and a half hours later, I was lost in the city. I had forgotten the roads that led to the main highway. When I found my way to a White Castle on the edge of town, I made a rest stop and purchased a couple of fish sandwiches. Also I reflected on the stops made there with my family travelling back and forth from Tulsa years past. 

 I had planned to be home on Wednesday and here it was Friday. I stopped again for a second lunch and I was exhausted, being alone. I pulled into a Mosuri rest stop for and shut eye nap since I had not slept well the night before. My last stop was in Springfield, Mo. where we had always gassed up. Gas prices were 20 cents a gallon lower than back home or anywhere I had gone. It was nearly 7PM when I pulled up into my driveway. After unpacking the car, I made calls to get a friend the next morning to drive me to the airport. I got a call from dad. He wanted to know if I had returned safely. He gave the reciever to my sister, who was visiting him from Wisconsin. I responded to my emails. It had been a full week without a computer. Someone  wanted me to provide help moving furniture into a garage for a garage sale. It was scheduled for the day I was to return.

At 230  the next afternoon, I was standing in downtown Chicago on State Street waiting for my  father. At age 84,  he was driving to meet me in the heart of the city so he could take me to dinner. We had talked several times to coordinate  our ranundevu.  My plane had goten in shortly after one and I rode the subway to the Loop.  I hadbeen watching and waiting about half an hour. suddenly, I heard a voice calling my name from the opposite side of that busy street. My dad had pulled out of traffic on the side street and hurried around the corner to attract my attention so we could connect. I had expected him immediately in front of me, on State Street. I grabbed my bags that I bought alone and hurried to catch up to him.  I knew that he had stopped some where close probably holding up traffic.. When I caught up to him and got in the car he had to crowd his way back into traffic. It was explained that He was in heavy traffic and changed he direction so missed me by a block. That was dad. When something did not fit he always had another course of action to make it fit. He had recently been fitted with a pacemaker some of the family had visited ,while going throuhg that surgery.. Only after a month of slowing down he is back to his old pace. It was 6 Pm when we finished dinner and retreated to the house.  And tomorrow was Fathers Day.

Dad began to show and tell me of the gifts he had recieved from my sisters and his grandchildren as I seatled in his brick southside home . My oldest sister, who lived in Wisconsin, had visited the day before with her family and left her blessings. He read cards and pulled out money gifts and shared his excitement for each. This was dad. He had always rewarded us on Christmas and at our birthdays.  So it was our turn to show him honor on Fathers Day. And he is dad and the king of his castle.

Dad is also family man. As we grew from adolescent to adulthood he took us to visit the members of his family and of moms family. Not regarding the distance dad saw to it that we knew our relatives. His immediate family was a brother  two sisters and mother.  Moms family was 9 brothers and 10sisters. There was granddad, the Pastor of the family church and grandmother his second ife because moms mother had died before we were born. Her closes kin were 100 miles from us in Wiscinson. Dad bought his mom to live with us from E. St. Louis. Granddad lived in our hometown 300 miles away in Indiana. We saw him during the summer. I remember Dad taking the train to Jackson, Mississippi to go and bury his dad the year grandma came to live with us. When he returned I also remember him telling me that he really didnt know his dad. He had seen him brief periods travelling into and out of town.

Now Fathers Day is a day to honor dad. So we do and our children do  also. We let dad know that we appreicate how he turned his life to the Lord as we were children and made our home a place to live and grow in faith. Dad is a family man and somewhere in his makeup we have benefitted because he did not lose face and abandon his family. We have gleened from his example to bring up our children that thay can turn to the Lord in their journey. It is never to late to focus on family and the Lord. We would get up and go to church and Sunday School. He would show me off to as many as he could after services. (Since I am his only son) Than he would drive us somewhere to dinner. I listened as I heard him picking a place and than told him to choose where ever he wanted. I was paying. He brightened up. This is what he had always wanted. 

 I had also prepared by bringing a set of communion elements. After returning to the house I asked dad if  we could take communion together. For this was the word of the Lord that we remember. So this we did, father and son.  I had packed a bag of working clothes. And planned to say by service, Happy Fathers Day and thanks for being Dad. I asked for a list of things that needed to be done after communion. That was my gift.