What I'm Thankful For

I'm thankful for many things.

I'm thankful for the country of my birth and early childhood, Canada, and for the many Canadians who carry on a battle there similar to the one here, the battle to preserve marriage and the family and the freedom to make their voice heard.

I'm thankful for the country of my citizenship, the U.S.A., and for those who fight the constant battle to preserve our concept of freedom and justice for all.

I'm thankful for my parents who allowed me to pursue a different path of faith than they had known, and who came to that faith themselves before their deaths.

I'm thankful for friends I had when I was a young man in Lincoln Park, Michigan, friends who helped me to grow and become strong in my faith.

I'm thankful for the education I received, in two countries, six schools and hundreds of classrooms, and for the teachers who encouraged me to do what I always wanted to do, which was to write.

I'm thankful for a young lady who walked into the library of one of those schools over forty years ago and captivated my attention, my heart and my love, and still has all three of those things today. I'm thankful for Linda and for our fortieth wedding anniversary on December 28, 2008.

I'm thankful for three wonderful daughters who each have chosen the faith of their parents, and have chosen husbands of like faith and values. I'm thankful for my three sons-in-laws who have each made one of my daughters a happy wife and mother.

I'm thankful for eight beautiful grandchildren my daughters have presented to their mother and me. I'm thankful they are all healthy and being raised in the faith of their fathers and grandfather.

I'm thankful for the ministries God allowed me to have in five churches, three schools and now on the Internet and the printed page.

I'm thankful for the salvation I have possessed by faith in Jesus Christ for more than fifty years.

But it is not just what I am thankful for; it is who I am thankful to. Being thankful for all these things is meaningless unless it is known to whom I am thankful. That Person is, of course, Jesus Christ. Faith convinces me that Jesus is God, and that He is the provider of every good and perfect gift that I have enjoyed while on this earth.

Thank you, Jesus, for the many things for which I give thanks today.

Hooray For McDonalds

In May, I reported my objection to a plan by the McDonalds company to donate money to an organization seeking the legalization of so-called gay marriage in the United States. One member of McDonalds' governing board, himself a homosexual, appeared to be largely responsible for the donation.

Many, including me, objected on the grounds that a corporation such as McDonalds needed to be neutral in an area as controversial as this one is. Not everyone is convinced that it is legitimate to give legal marriage status to non-traditional couples. After all, the definition of marriage for thousands of years has been a legal relationship between people of the opposite sex, one of the objectives being reproduction, something gay couples can never do.

My wife and I did choose to eat less often at McDonalds, but we chose not to be involved in a boycott of the giant restaurant chain, especially since our vacation trip (reported here on this blog) was about to begin and the thought of spending two weeks on the road without McDonalds was a little overwhelming.

But now I read that McDonalds has changed its mind and decided to remain neutral on the issue. Also, the board member who promoted the decision in the first place is no longer on the board.

I am so glad. Now, once again, I can eat a Big Mac and not feel like I am supporting something I cannot endorse. That Big Mac may or may not clog my arteries. But it will no longer clog my conscience.

Photo: The McDonalds in Wolf Point, Montana, our refuge in a rain storm in July of 2008 on our trip to the northwestern United States.

West 2008: Sunday, July 27, 2008

The final day of our trip was one of the shortest driving days. Just 175 miles back to our Columbus, Ohio home. But before leaving Indianapolis, we made one stop to visit the grave of Linda’s dad, John Hubble, in Wanamaker, Indiana. He had gone home to be with the Lord just five months earlier, on Valentine’s Day.

This trip was a reminder to us of several important things. Ending the trip in a cemetery and visiting the place where my brother trained for the Navy were both reminders of the temporary nature of this life we have on earth. We all face the same future. Where there is now life there will one day be death.

We were also reminded of how imaginative our Creator God is. The variety of rock formations and animal and plant life on this planet is truly remarkable. Everywhere we pointed our cameras, binoculars, and eyes, we saw the greatness of the creation of God.

The spirit of determination which God put into the human heart was also apparent to us on this trip. Following the paths blazed by pioneers who conquered impossible lands, we sailed along in our car on broad, smooth ribbons of concrete. But we could only do that because of them and that drive God put within them.

We were also reminded of the sin that lies within the human heart as we looked at places like Farragut and the Little Bighorn where war was once prominent. All wars come from the passions of the human heart, the Bible says, and it was those passions of self and greed that raised up a Naval training center in Idaho and a battlefield in a peaceful valley in Montana.

And although we may not have been comfortable with the doctrine of a church in Idaho, we were reminded that there were those who gave up much to take the knowledge of the claims of Jesus Christ to native Americans. Not to fight them. Not to take from them. But to minister to them in the name of Jesus.

So, this trip reminded us of who we are, sinners saved by the grace of God whose imagination flung the sights we saw across this continent, and, indeed, across the world, and whose love found a way to forgive man’s sin through the death of His own Son.

To God be the glory. Great things He has done.

Photo: The cemetery in Wanamaker, Indiana where Linda's dad is buried.

West 2008: Saturday, July 26, 2008

A short trip, compared to the long journeys of other days on this trip, took us from Peoria, Illinois to Indianapolis, Indiana where we would attend the wedding of Linda’s nephew, Evan and his fiancé Brianna. Since the wedding took place at 4:30 in the afternoon, we had plenty of time to get settled in our motel before heading for the ceremony at Grey Road Baptist Church.

Weddings are great. It is always enjoyable to witness the beginning of life together for a man and a woman who, as the song says, “have only just begun to live; white lace and promises, a kiss for luck and we’re on our way.”

This wedding reminded me of our wedding, and one of the reasons we decided to make this trip this year of 2008, which is our fortieth wedding anniversary. Our wedding was also in the Indianapolis area, at the First Baptist Church of Beech Grove. It also took place in the afternoon. Some of the old people at this wedding were young people at our wedding.

Weddings are also great photo opps. There are plenty of relatives around to point a camera at and preserve an important family memory.

Weddings bring family and friends together. On the last day of our journey, we would be reminded of the other not so happy event that brings families together.

West 2008: Friday, July 25, 2008

Sorry, eastern South Dakota. Sorry, all of Iowa. But after you have seen the likes of Montana and Idaho and western South Dakota, everything east of the Badlands is just routine. Flat. More and more cities. Less and less scenery. But we had to cover it in order to get to the final destination of our journey, and then on home. It took us half of Thursday and all of Friday to cover the 817 miles from the eastern entrance to the Badlands to Peoria, Illinois, our destination for Friday night.

South Dakota and Iowa meet along the Sioux River. We spent Thursday night in Sioux City, Iowa, a blend of smog and the odor from a paper mill.

Friday night we entered the state in which we lived for 21 years and stayed overnight in Peoria, glad to have those 817 not-so-scenic miles behind us. But to be fair, these areas are part of God’s creation, too. They have their own uniqueness and beauty. The fact that we were jaded by our western experiences and time-constrained does not mean that God didn’t put His own touch on these states as well.

But, Glacier National Park, they ain’t!

Photo: Along the highway in eastern North Dakota, a view similar to that in eastern South Dakota.

West 2008: Thursday, July 24, 2008

In South Dakota we learned about the power of dreams.

When most people looked up at the rock faces of the Black Hills of South Dakota, they saw, well, rock faces. But Gutzon Borglum looked up and saw faces in the rock. He envisioned the faces of four presidents carved into the surface of Mt. Rushmore. It was his desire to showcase democracy and the development of the United States through four distinct phases each represented by the president associated most with that phase.

George Washington would represent the birth of the nation. Thomas Jefferson would represent the growth of the colonies into a nation. Theodore Roosevelt would represent the development of the country as it expanded toward the west, and Abraham Lincoln would represent the preservation of the country through the Civil War.

The work began in 1927. It was dangerous and tedious and slow work involving 400 workers and dynamite, drilling, and carving from slings hung from the side of the mountain. Fourteen years later, in 1941, as the country entered World War II, and Borglum died, the work ceased.

Today visitors walk through the Avenue of Flags to the Grand View Terrace to view the sculpture. A trail begins at the terrace and takes visitors to the base of the mountain to view the faces up close. The trail continues from this point, but becomes very strenuous.
Of course, there is a visitor center, and there is a gift shop where many items can be purchased, proceeds of which do help in the maintenance of the monument.

Another dream, and another place for visitors to spend their money, can be found about an hour and a half down I-90 from Mt. Rushmore National Monument. It is the realization of a dream and then some.

In 1931, Nebraskan pharmacist Ted Hustead decided he wanted to open a drug store in a small town. He purchased a store in a town in South Dakota with a population of 231 souls. Business, as you might expect, was slow. That is, until Ted’s wife had an idea. Why not offer free ice water to people traveling the nearby highway? After all, they were near some natural wonders that were attracting more and more people.

It worked, and soon Wall Drug was a prospering business. It has continued to grow due to its extensive use of advertising billboards along major highways in South Dakota and neighboring states.

Today Wall Drug is a complex series of stores spreading out over several buildings. Virtually anything that appeals to tourists can be purchased here. And, yes, they do sell drugs and fill prescriptions.

Wall, South Dakota is the entrance to a land that is itself a dream, or a nightmare, depending on your perspective.

When the westward bound settlers came across the prairies on their journey to what they may have viewed as a promised land, they thought the prairie would never end. But it did. And when it did, they encountered a terrain so rugged they called it the badlands.

Mile after mile of subtle yet bold colors spread below in the Badlands National Park of South Dakota. This seemingly twisted, tortured land has actually been home to human beings for several millennia. In the 19th century, it was the Lakota Indians who called this home. They regarded these irregular formations as sacred, and they hunted buffalo to support their way of life.

But when settlers from the east arrived, conflict was inevitable. What the Lakota saw as sacred the settlers saw as a nuisance, an impediment to their progress and the establishment of their way of life. The culmination of this conflict occurred in 1876 some 370 miles west of the Badlands when Lt. Col. George Custer and Lakota chief Sitting Bull squared off over retaliations for settler invasions of Indian lands. The Lakota won the battle of the Little Bighorn River, but they lost the war.

Around every bend of the road it seems there are new versions of eroded rock. It is a constantly changing view that unfolds before the visitor. Colors can be vibrant or subdued, but the pallette used to paint these rocks was certainly a kaleidoscope of hues.

Some say these rocks are the product of millions of years of erosion, of sun and wind and water and ice remolding the rock and forming it into the fantastic shapes that we see today. But I take a different view.

I believe in a God-created universe, where every feature of landscape and every form of life is the work of a Creator of infinite wisdom and imagination and endless love for that which He created. I believe these formations began as a result of the flood reported in the book of Genesis. I believe God used the raging waters of that flood as it receded to create the beauty we see as we stand on the flat places and look out over the rugged places. I believe the Badlands are the work of God.

Although it may not be politically correct to say so, I believe the conquest of the west was also a work directed by God. The settlers brought with them the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I do not mean that every one of them were loving, faithful Christians; many were not. But the westward advance across the prairies and the badlands and the mountains did bring the Gospel to new areas and to peoples who had never heard what God did for them at the cross. I believe God wanted that to happen. A belief in sacred hills and rocks was replaced with the good news that God through Christ had offered a way for sinners to be free of the death penalty sin demands, something sacred rocks could never do.

God’s dream, if you will, is for all to come to Christ and escape the badlands that result from human sin.

Photos: Mt. Rushmore National Monument, Wall Drug and the Badlands National Park all in South Dakota.

West 2008: Tuesday, July 22, and Wednesday, July 23, 2008

After visiting Farragut State Park, we spent the night at Coeur D’Alene, and set out the next morning in a different direction. Up to this point we had been traveling more or less in a westerly direction. But from this point on we would be traveling mostly east as we began the long return trip to Ohio. But there was still much to see.

Less than an hour out of Coeur De’Alene, we stopped at Old Mission State Park where a church is preserved. It was built by Native Americans, the Coeur D’Alene tribe, and staffed by Jesuit priests who lived on the premises. Originally called the Mission of the Sacred Heart in Cataldo, Idaho, it was designated as a Registered Historical Landmark in 1962. The original building was erected in 1848 after moving the site of the church some 35 miles from the valley of the St. Joe River which was subject to flooding.

The native Americans had heard about "medicine men" who wore black robes and carried a black book, and they wanted some of these men to come and be part of their tribes. Scouts were sent to St. Louis to request that such men come west to minister to them. In response, priest Pierre-Jean De Smet moved to the area and established the church in 1842.

The building was designed by another priest, Antonio Rivalli but built by the members of the tribe using a construction method known as wattle and daub. The wattle consists of strips of wood or small branches that are used to form a lattice. The daub, usually made of mud, sand, animal dung and other natural substances, is daubed over the lattice work to form a wall. There were no nails used in the original construction.

Other buildings were added to the complex, including a parish house in which the priests lived and other buildings used to house guests and for use as a port for boats on the Coeur D’Alene River which runs along the property.

The church building was restored in 1976 and is now maintained as an Idaho state park. The parish house now serves as a temporary visitor center while the new center is being constructed. There is a small cemetery down the hill from the church. The church building itself is said to be the oldest standing building in the state of Idaho. It represents the blending of Native American and American cultures.

After visiting the mission, we drove out of Idaho and back into Montana, staying in Billings overnight. The next day we continued southeast into Wyoming. Just before we reached the Montana-Wyoming border, we stopped at another place of significance in American history, a place that was the scene of a bloody battle between Native Americans and Americans.

Lt. Colonel George A. Custer, assigned to lead the 600 men of the Seventh Cavalry stationed at Fort Abraham Lincoln in the Dakota Territory, and more than 1100 miles from his home in Monroe, Michigan, set out on May 17, 1876 on orders from President Ulysses S. Grant to put down an Indian uprising in the valley of the Little Bighorn River in the Montana Territory. The discovery of gold in the Black Hills region helped to set the stage for the battle. The United States government had given a large area of eastern Wyoming to the Lakota tribe as a permanent reservation. The area included the Black Hills of what is now South Dakota. The discovery of gold brought unruly fortune seekers to the area in violation of the treaty made with the Indians. Efforts to quell this invasion failed.

An alliance was made between the Lakota and the Cheyenne, and the Indians began conducting raids on settlements and travelers. The government ordered them to stop or they would be identified as hostile and dealt with by military force.

The indians declined, and the Seventh Cavalry was sent to settle the problem.
Custer and his men arrived at the Little Bighorn in late June of 1876 and located the Indian camp on June 25. His opponents were the Lakota leader Sitting Bull and Chief Crazy Horse and the more than 1200 warriors they commanded. It is generally conceded that Custer underestimated the numbers and determination of the Indians and divided the cavalry into three separate battalions thus weakening his ability to defeat the Indians. He apparently did not realize that the Indian forces outnumbered his nearly three-to-one.

In two days of intense and bloody battle, the Seventh Cavalry was decimated. More than a third of the 600 men under Custer’s command were killed. The Indians lost no more than 100 warriors.

It was on the hill now called Last Stand Hill where Custer and his men died. It was Custer’s Land Stand. As it turned out, it was the Indian’s last stand as well. The government demanded harsh retaliation from the Indians and redrew the boundary lines putting the Black Hills region outside the reservation. In a few years, westward advancement by white settlers intensified and the Indians had little choice but to see their lands occupied by settlers.

Today, the battlefield is the site of a national monument that recognizes the clash of two cultures that took place here. In this peaceful spot it is difficult to image the horror of the battle that took place here. Monuments to the soldiers and to the warriors are both included in the area which lies within the Crow Indian Reservation where Indian horses today may wonder onto the roadway.

Brave men on both sides of the battle gave their lives for what they believed to be the truth. But perhaps those from both sides who worked together to build a mission in nearby Idaho were closer to the truth.

Photos: Old Mission church built by Couer d'Alene tribe and staffed by Jesuit priests in Idaho in 1848. Battle of the Little Bighorn National Monument, Montana, where Lakota and Cheyenne tribes defeated Lt. Col. George A. Custer and the Seventh Cavalry in 1876.

West 2008: Monday, July 21, 2008

Sixty-five years separated the arrivals of the two brothers to the panhandle of Idaho. The older one arrived first, in 1943, brought here by the United States Navy. The younger arrived in 2008, brought here by a quest to see where his older brother had trained for service in World War II.

Today there is little evidence of what once stood here. A water tower. Crumbling spreads of concrete. A ghostly guard house.

Sixty-five years ago the field spread before me was the site of a huge complex of buildings known as Camp Bennion. Once hundreds of men called this home. It was part of the Farragut Naval Training Station, named after the first Admiral of the United States Navy who is famous for saying, “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” Admiral David G. Farragut started his navy career at the age of nine, and the remaining sixty years of his life were dedicated fully to the Navy.

The training center was built in northern Idaho on the shores of Lake Pend O’reille (Pend-or-RAY) in 1942. One of the men who came to Camp Bennion in September, 1943, was my brother, Ronald Albert Parsons.

Where he entered Farragut as a recruit not quite eighteen years of age, my wife and I entered the park and its visitor center. Here I found a book which listed all the men who trained here. My brother’s name was among them.

The Navy built the 700 or so buildings that once stood here out of wood, and when the Navy abandoned the site after World War II, and the land sat idle for nearly three decades, the buildings rotted and fell back into the soil from which the trees that had been cut to provide building materials once grew. Trees are growing here again.

The only building to survive was the brig. It was not built of wood but of concrete blocks. I doubt my brother was ever confined to the brig. He said in his letters that he had a clean record in the Navy and he intended to keep it that way. Today the brig serves as a museum to the center that existed here for only four years, from 1942 to 1946.

Ron used to write about the grinder, which was a large concrete oval in the center of the ring of buildings on the outer oval of the camp. Trees, grasses, and possibly a rattlesnake or two now occupy the spot where the recruits marched nearly every day. They called it the grinder because marching on the concrete would erode the heels of a new pair of boots in a matter of days. Now the same concrete has been conquered by seeds of grass and trees and weeds, erasing nearly all trace of what once was here. I walked on the crumbling concrete that was new when my brother walked it six and a half decades earlier.

The largest building in each camp was the drill hall. The hall could hold six side-by-side basketball courts, a boxing ring, an Olympic-size swimming pool, an area with a portable altar used for religious services, and an area where 2,000 men could watch a movie at the same time. Since each camp had a drill hall, there were six of these huge buildings at Farragut.

These buildings were constructed with an open truss design that allowed the roof to be supported without columns to interfere with movements on the floor of the building. This allowed the recruits to march and train indoors when the Idaho cold and snow had taken control outside.

Occasionally Ron was called on to help put out a fire in the camp. In the center of the square building that is the brig and museum stands a bright red fire engine marked with the initials “USN.” Perhaps Ron was part of the crew on a vehicle like it. There is also a green truck from the forties parked there. Trucks were used to carry the new recruits from the train station to the camp as well as to carry supplies.

In a room in the former brig, a wall shows a map of the station as it appeared in the forties when my brother was there. On a bench in front of the map are clipboards from the various camps that were there - Scott, Waldron, Peterson, Ward, Hill, and my brother’s camp, Bennion, each named for a heroic officer of the Navy. The clipboard was for veterans returning to visit the site to sign in. I signed for my brother, writing the word “deceased” next to his name.

To the north lies the small town of Bayview, situated on an inlet of Lake Pend O’reille. During the four years the training station stood just south of the town, the streets were often filled with officers and sailors enjoying a break from their duties. Today fishermen and boaters are the main visitors. We did see a family of geese swimming in the water near the floating buildings that service water craft.

In 2006, men who trained at Farragut returned to dedicate a monument to the nearly 300,000 men who trained here from 1942 to 1946. Facing the museum, a representation of the men who served bears the images of the variety of races and creeds who fought for America’s freedom during the war. They were all Americans. They were all fighting as one man. They were all trained to bring the war to a quick and successful end.

Ron arrived in 1943 at FarragutTraining Station a few days before his eighteenth birthday to prepare for service in a dangerous war. I arrived about a month after my sixty-seventh birthday at Farragut State Park to trace my brother’s route from boyhood to manhood. Much has changed in the sixty-five years that separate our two arrivals, but one thing remains the same.

Men still need to train in the ongoing defense of freedom. War is still very much an inevitable part of life on this sin-cursed earth.

Thank you, Ron, and others like you who faced danger and death to keep us free from tyrants and foes. Though you and the station where you trained are gone, neither of you is forgotten.


Photos: The entrance gate to Camp Bennion today. In the Farragut Naval Training Station museum at Farragut State Park in northern Idaho.

Ron's story is told in my book, Windsor's Child.

West 2008: Sunday, July 20, 2008

The top of the world! That’s where we felt we were in this day that was truly a highlight of our trip.

We began the day in Great Falls, Montana and ended it 237 miles later in Kalispell, Montana. And in between was perhaps the most spectacular of all of America’s national parks.

Before entering the park that was on our agenda for the day, we viewed some of its mountains from a valley filled with a meadow teaming with life. We also saw up close the damage done by a recent fire.

We entered Glacier National Park at its eastern entrance near St. Mary, Montana. After stopping at the Visitor Center there, we headed west on the famous Going-To-The-Sun Highway.

This highway is a monument to human invention. Considering it was laid out and built in the late 1920s and early 1930s, it is a wonder it could even be built. A two-lane wide ledge had to be blasted out of the sides of the mountains, graded and paved. Adequate drainage had to be planned and installed. And all of this in an area that is covered in eight feet of snow each year for nine or ten months of each year.

But a greater wonder from a far greater Creator than man are the mountains themselves. Sheer walls of rock plant their feet firmly in forests of pine trees and stick their snowy heads up into the sky. Only God could create scenes like these.

Two large glacier lakes lie along side Going-To-The-Sun highway. The first we encountered was St. Mary Lake. We found a quiet picnic area to enjoy our lunch, then walked a few feet down to the shore of the lake.

Tiny Wild Goose Island sits in the middle of St. Mary Lake, its smallness providing a sharp contrast to the huge backdrop of mountains.

One of the highlights of the day, and perhaps one I wish my honesty did not compel me to relate, occurred 6,646 feet above sea level, at Logan Pass. We were on the Continental Divide at this point as we parked in the Visitor Center parking lot.

A friend of Linda’s who had recently made her own trip to Glacier told Linda to be sure to take the trail at Logan Pass. She said it offered spectacular views and that we would probably see lots of wildlife from it.

Okay. I enjoy hiking and Linda and I have hiked in many places over the forty years we have been husband and wife. So I thought little of setting out on the trail, camera in hand.

Five days beyond the middle day of July, snow still managed an obvious presence in the scenes that lay before us as we set out, with many other visitors, on the trail that led straight out from the Visitor Center. The early part of the trail was easy, given that it ran first on a paved walkway and then on a wooden boardwalk past alpine meadows that seemed in sharp contrast to the white that lay ahead in our path.

I began to be a little apprehensive. Even though I was raised in Michigan where snow is not uncommon, I had never mastered the art of walking down a snow-covered slope. Walking up was a challenge to me, but walking down was more than a challenge. It was an accident waiting to happen.

We crossed two or three snow patches, then decided that at our ages, it was probably not prudent to proceed further on a snow-covered trail that was going higher and higher up the side of a mountain. In spite of the advice from Linda’s friend, we decided to turn around and return to the area at the Visitor Center.

But there was one fairly long patch of snow lying on the downward slope of our path between us and the Visitor Center. We set out across it, Linda in front and me following and many other walkers nearby. I stepped carefully, but the downward slope and the slippery snow beneath me caused me to tumble forwards, bringing Linda down with me into the snow. Unhurt, except for my pride, I held the camera high to protect it during the fall.

Remind me not to walk downslope in snow again.

But there were pleasant things to compensate for my slip in the snow, things like bighorn sheep walking sure-footed on the very snow that was my downfall. And extraordinary views of giant slabs of rock sporting mantles of snow.

From Logan Pass we continued west on the Going-To- The-Sun-Road toward Big Bend where the road sweeps through a gentle curve alongside a spectacular valley which falls away from the road along the rock face known as the Garden Wall. Here we drove under cascading meltwater that tumbled onto the concrete and splashed over our car.

The Going-to-The-Sun road was undergoing some needed repairs and reconstruction, so we ran into orange barrels at several thousand feet above sea level on a narrow ledge that was blasted out of solid rock nearly eighty years ago. Even in the construction areas, however, there were spectacular views of the glaciers, the mountains that sported them and the valleys that lay peacefully at their feet.

Lake McDonald, the second of the two huge glacier lakes along the highway, provided a late afternoon end to our journey. Before leaving the park, we stopped at Apgar Village on the west end, and then on to our night’s lodging in Kalispell. Tomorrow we would face another milestone on our trip, but one with more impact on our emotions than on our senses.

Photo: Glacier National Park, Montana. Bighorn sheep at Logan Pass.

West 2008: Saturday, July 19, 2008

An area so remote you can hear birds singing a mile away. You can hear the air moving, not the wind, the air. You can look in all directions and not see another human being.

This describes the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge in northeastern Montana, the place where we spent the better part of this day.

Russell was a painter who is well known for his paintings of rural life in early Montana. The refuge that bears his name stretches for more than 100 miles along the Missouri River from Fort Peck on the east to US 191 on the west.

From US 191, we entered the refuge via the gravel park road which winds for about 19 miles through the grandeur and remoteness of the western end of the refuge. Mile after mile of deeply eroded canyons displaying colorful bands rolled out beneath our feet. Sagebrush grows low and gray all around.

When the pioneers came to this type of land formation after crossing the seemingly endless prairie, they were frustrated because driving their wagon trains through this terrain without roads was nearly impossible. This gravel road we enjoyed certainly would have been appreciated by those western-bound Americans seeking a better life beyond these badlands.

Perhaps the highlight of the trip occurred when Linda walked down a recently bulldozed trail and disturbed a red-winged blackbird when she approached too close to the nest. The bird went into attack mode, but retreated when Linda got past the nest.

The trail ended at the Missouri River. The trail was wide enough to accommodate our car, so I risked the wrath of the bird once again to get our Rav 4 and drive it down to the river where we enjoyed our lunch under the shade of a large tree.

After lunch we continued on our way along the Auto Tour Drive. Linda enjoyed walking along the gravel road looking for birds and enjoying the quiet afternoon.

That evening we were in Great Falls, Montana. We traveled 319 miles that day, but the best of those miles were the 19 miles we drove through the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge.


Photo: Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge, Montana.

West 2008: Friday, July 18, 2008

There are 284 scenic miles that separate Dickinson, North Dakota and Glasgow, Montana, and we drove those miles this day in one of the shorter driving days at four and a half hours.

Our first stop shortly after leaving Dickinson was at the Painted Valley exit on I-94 east of Medora, ND. Here the prairie suddenly becomes the badlands. From the parking lot of the visitor center here one looks into the twisted and colorful valleys lying in the south unit of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

A few miles down the Interstate, at Medora, ND, is the entrance to the south unit of the park. Here the National Parkway Road takes one on a breath-taking tour of the Badlands that inspired the nation’s twenty-sixth president to urge Congress to set aside wilderness areas as national parks to preserve them and the wildlife that thrived within them. Along the way, Linda was delighted to spot a herd of wild horses along the road.

On the Parkway Road, we first came to the site of a prairie dog town where the little creatures sound warnings when danger comes near.

We also saw wild horses and a buffalo or two as we drove along the road. But the most impressive sight was the scenery of rock and stone and scrawny plants that consume whatever moisture they can find and cling for their very lives to the buttes and canyons that run everywhere in the park.

In the afternoon, we drove the rest of the way to Glasgow, Montana. On our way we could clearly see that a storm was approaching. Fortunately when it arrived, we were in Wolf Point, a small town on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. We took refuge in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and holed up until the rain let up.

After settling in to our motel in Glasgow, we drove about twenty minutes to Fort Peck, Montana, a small town located in one of the windiest spots in the state. The town is located at the eastern end of the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge. It is where the prairie ends and the rugged hills begin.

When the pioneers crossed the prairie, it seemed endless to them. Miles and miles of an ocean of grass blowing in the incessant wind produced in part by the fact there are few trees to break it up. They thought they would never get out of the prairie.

But what they did not know is that just ahead of them, when they finally left the prairie, something much worse awaited them.

Photo: Buffalo relaxing at the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, North Dakota.

West 2008: Thursday, July 17, 2008

We left the motel in St. Cloud early and again headed west on I-94. We had about 654 miles to cover by evening. Our destination was Dickinson, North Dakota.

I-94 shoots straight as an arrow across the wide expanses of North Dakota at a speed limit of 75 miles per hour. We could see for miles in all directions, with wide expanses of blue sky above us and miles of concrete ribbon speeding by beneath us.

We made a couple of stops that day for birdwatching and photography. First we stopped at the Dawson Wildlife Management Area near Dawson, North Dakota. A sign with a binocular pictured on it caught Linda’s attention, and so we pulled in to this small clearing along a rural road.

I busied myself taking pictures of the area while Linda explored the perimeter of the clearing with her binoculars for signs of bird life. Her records indicate she saw a cliff swallow, western kingbird, marsh harrier, yellow-headed blackbird, white pelican, eastern wood pewee, eastern bluebird, yellow warbler, forsters tern, and a tree swallow.

Later, across the river from Bismarck, North Dakota, we stopped at the Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park. Here she saw a red-eyed vireo, cedar waxwing, and catbird.

Fort Abraham Lincoln played a role in the history of another site we would visit several days later. This military post opposite the Missouri River was home base for the Seventh Cavalry whose commander was General George Armstrong Custer. It was the Seventh’s assignment to defend those who would open the west for both the railroad and the settlers that would follow.
In the summer of 1876, General Custer and the Seventh Cavalry left Fort Abraham Lincoln on a 500 mile-long journey into history. A problem had developed in what eventually would become southwestern Montana. Indian tribes who had not made treaties with the United States government were refusing to stay on their lands and threatened the westward expansion efforts. Under orders from President Ulysses Grant, General Custer and his men rode into the valley of the Little Big Horn River and one of the fiercest battles in the history of winning the west. None of General Custer’s men or himself returned to Fort Abraham Lincoln. Even their horses were killed in the intense fighting that lasted for two days.

We left the Fort as well, probably never to return, as we headed west to the town of Dickinson, a town of about 16,000 people situated on the eastern edge of some of the most spectacular scenery in America.

Photo: Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park across the Missouri River from Bismarck, North Dakota.

West 2008: Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Again we rose early and said our goodbyes and thank yous to the Rossis and set out from Oglesby heading north on I-39. This, too, was a route we had taken before, when we lived in Oglesby. We took our children to Wisconsin to visit the House on the Rock, the home of architect Frank Lloyd Wright. But Mr. Wright’s home was not on our agenda this day.

We had many miles to cover before our day would end. Our destination for the night was St. Cloud, Minnesota, 472 miles north and west of Oglesby. We made no stops this day except for necessities, passing through Wisconsin, across the St. Croix River and into Minnesota, bypassing the twin cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis, and on up I-94 to St. Cloud.

St. Cloud is a city of about 66,000 plus people, the home of St. Cloud State University. And it was to be our home for the evening of the second day of our adventure.

After checking into our motel, we drove into the city and explored Riverside Park along the Mississippi River. Several well-kept gardens are included in the park. We explored the Clemons-Munsinger Gardens where flowers, trees, grass, fountains, walkways and the Mississippi all come together in a kaleidoscope of color and texture.

Photo: Clemons-Munsinger Gardens, St. Cloud, Minnesota

West 2008: Tuesday, July 15, 2008

We got up early on this first day of our incredible journey and did the final packing of the Rav 4 for the trip. We had decided to pack our clothing into a footlocker which I purchased in 1965 when I left home to go to seminary in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The plan was to take a small suitcase into which we could place the clothes needed for the next day. This way we would not have to carry giant suitcases into motels each night and out again in the morning. The footlocker would stay in the car for the whole trip. This worked very nicely for us, although it was sometimes a struggle to get to the footlocker with all the other stuff that tended to get placed on top of it during our travels.

We also purchased a 12 volt cooler prior to the trip. Our Rav 4 had a conveniently located 12 volt receptacle in the back luggage area. We also purchased an AC to DC converter so we could plug the cooler into an AC outlet at a motel each night. The cooler would carry water, soft drinks and milk and other supplies so we would not have to purchase meals all the time on the trip. This also worked out nicely, although after several days of being churned by the vibrations of driving, the milk began to turn to cottage cheese!

Our goal for this first day was Oglesby, Illinois, the small town in which we lived for twenty-one years when I served as the pastor of the First Baptist Church there. Our accommodations for the first night were to be in the home of friends from the church. Joe and Roseann Rossi had welcomed our request for spending the night with them.

This first day took us across familiar territory. Ohio. Indiana. Illinois, via I-70 and 74. How many times had we driven from Oglesby to Indianapolis as our kids were growing up to visit Linda’s parents who lived there? And how many times after we moved to Ohio had we made the trip from Columbus to Indianapolis for the same purpose?

On the way to Oglesby, we visited a place we had visited before when our children were still living at home. The Lake of the Woods park, located along I-70 in eastern Illinois, was our first picture stop. Green grass on gentle slopes against a clear blue sky provided fodder for my ever present cameras as I photographed scenes I am certain I photographed before.
We drove nearly 400 miles on this first day, experiencing our first time change and arriving in Oglesby at about 3:00 in the afternoon, Central Time.

The Rossis were involved with Vacation Bible School at the church, so we joined them for the evening’s activities. After, we returned to their home and were joined by other old friends Ron and Jan Unzicker. Old friends are a blessing from God. They remind us of earlier times when we encouraged each other and taught each other and grew together in the Lord.

The evening’s visiting ended all too soon. The Unzickers had to go home as Ron had to get up early to get to work the next morning. Roseann faced the same prospect for the next day. Joe, like me, was retired. Once again, as we had done so many times before, we slept in the little town in north central Illinois named after an early governor of the state. And once again we felt the quietness and simplicity of small town life.

The covered bridge is in Lake of the Woods Park near Mahomet, Illinois

West 2008: The Trip of a Lifetime

It was a trip planned over the course of five or six years. It was a trip of a lifetime.

Several years ago, while working on my book, Windsor’s Child, I thought it would be rewarding to go to Farragut State Park in Idaho, which in the early 1940's was the Farragut Naval Training Station. Readers of the book will remember that this is the place where my brother, Ron, was sent for training when he enlisted in the Navy in 1943.

As I discussed the possibility of this trip with my wife, she added that she would like to visit Montana, which is right next door to Idaho. She was especially interested in the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge in northeastern Montana.

These two sites became the focus of a dream trip, one that would take much time and money to bring to life. I planned this trip several ways with different itinerary and costs, and finally early in 2008, the year of the fortieth anniversary of our wedding, we decided to make the trip. We leased a new 2008 Toyota Rav 4, made the final plans, and set out on the trip on Tuesday, July 15, 2008. The trip would take us over 4500 miles, consume thirteen days, take us into eleven states and four time zones, and past one million (more or less) orange barrels. It was budgeted at about $2500. The price of gas was hovering around $4.00 per gallon as we made the final plans for the trip. We decided we were not going to get younger (I was 67 and my wife was 60 at the time), and gas was not going to get cheaper, although it did get cheaper during our trip.

It became apparent to me early in the planning that this trip would follow two historical routes. First, it would follow the trails blazed by the hardy pioneers who decided in the early 19th century to pull up stakes in the east and head west, not knowing how arduous the journey would be or what they would find once they arrived at the end of their journey. Across endless prairies on ox-pulled wagons that, at the end of the prairie, hit ground so tortuously twisted as to be impassable, they followed their dreams to the new promised land of the west.

But we were following another trail. In 1943 when my brother was sent to Farragut for training, the Navy shipped him from Detroit to Idaho on a train that followed roughly the present-day route of Interstate 94 across the northern tier of states. In his letters home, he mentioned passing through the twin cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis in Minnesota, through Bismarck, North Dakota and through the state of Montana, all of which we would pass through on our journey west.

The story of how those early pioneers won their west is a well-known segment of American history. The story of how my brother won his west is a well-known segment of my family history.

Linda and I now add our own story of how we won our west in this journey.

This is a daily journal of the trip of a lifetime, a trip we called West 2008.

The picture shows our Rav 4 in the Lake of the Woods Park near Mahomet, Illinois.

I Don't Hate Anyone

McDonalds has made its response to the Christian community quite clear. In a statement issued very recently, McDonalds claims that those of us who are opposed to their support of homosexual causes are "motivated by hate."

Come on, McDonalds, give me a break! That is the same tired old line the gay community has been using for years.

Let me make this perfectly clear so even Ronald McDonald can understand. My opposition to the homosexual agenda is not rooted in hatred of those who have adopted this lifestyle. My opposition is rooted in love for God, love for the family, and love for people. To say that I hate someone because I do not agree with them is foolish and unfounded and quite frankly shows a lack of logic on the part of those who make such a statement.

I could make the same silly argument against McDonalds. I could say that they are motivated by a hatred for the Christian faith and for those loyal customers who are believers in and followers of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Since McDonalds assumes I hate homosexual people, I guess I will have to assume they hate me and the dollars I spend at their restaurants here on the west side of Columbus, Ohio and wherever I travel. So, why should I go to a restaurant that is motivated by hatred of me and all I believe in?

The answer is simple. I won't.

No More Big Macs For Me?

I first discovered the joys of eating at McDonalds when I was in my twenties. That's when a McDonalds opened in Lincoln Park, Michigan where I lived at the time. The time was the early 1960s. Later when my wife and I were dating, we spent a lot of time, and a lot of money, at McDonalds, and I consumed many of their Big Macs. Later still, each of our three daughters learned to appreciate the golden arches early in their lives.

Our consistency as McDonalds customers has not wavered over the years. We still visit them regularly, especially when travelling.

How disappointing, then, to discover that McDonalds is now an endorser of homosexual causes. Their famous golden arches are now featured on the website of the National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce where McDonalds is identified as a corporate partner. McDonalds admits it has given a large, but undisclosed, sum of money to the NGLCC. Further, Richard Ellis, Vice-President of Communications for McDonalds, also serves on the NGLCC board with McDonalds' blessings.

The purpose of the NGLCC is to "promote gay business," according to press reports. McDonalds claims it regularly supports a variety of organizations that promote diversity, and that the fact that "one McDonalds employee" serves on the board of a homosexual cause does not indicate McDonalds is promoting homosexuality. Critics have pointed out, however, that Ellis is not a "teenager flipping hamburgers" at McDonalds, so he is not "one employee." He is a vice-president, an officer.

So, am I going to have to end my love affair with the Big Mac? Well, I certainly am going to have to think twice about supporting a business that is so open about its support of something I consider to be a grave denial of God's wisdom in creating human beings male and female. I probably will give the giant corporation a little time to reconsider, now that the Christian community is letting them know we are not pleased with their decision. But if it becomes necessary I am prepared to give up the pleasures of McDonalds' food for the sake of what is right. I cannot in good conscience support homosexuality in any way. Not even for a Big Mac.

I can survive without McDonalds, and McDonalds will probably survive without me. But, as Wal-Mart learned a few years ago, supporting homosexuality and losing the support of the Christian community is costly. After all, homosexual "couples" do not have an easy time creating families with children who will become future customers. Christian couples do.

A Travesty in California

Tuesday, June 17 is the day the state of California takes a drastic step backward as it makes same-sex unions legal in the state. This is the result of a tragically immoral decision by the state's supreme court sanctioning such unions.

There are many residents of the state of California, I am sure, who find this decision by their state's supreme court to be reprehensible. Their position in this matter was completely ignored by the members of the court.

Same-sex couples are already lined up to secure "licenses" and to have ceremonies performed. But the fact is that even the supreme court of California cannot change one simple truth.

Marriage, by definition, involves a man and a woman. It is that simple. To define it any other way is to destroy its significance and importance in society.

God created marriage. He presented Eve to Adam in the Garden of Eden, and that forever established marriage as the union of a man and a woman. It matters not what politicians, lawyers, activists judges, ministers, or any others decide.

California has taken a step down a slippery slope by attempting to change the legal and moral definition of marriage in order to appease a vocal but immoral minority.

Speed and Distractions

For ten years, I had the privilege of teaching a driver education course for teens seeking to get their license here in Ohio. My guess is that I helped put about 3000 new drivers on Ohio's roads during those ten years.

From time to time I would ask my young drivers-to-be what things bothered them the most about other drivers. One answer came up time and time again. They complained that too many drivers don't drive fast enough.

They were wrong, of course. It is not drivers who "don't drive fast enough" who are the problem. The problem is drivers who drive too fast.

Statistically, an extremely high percentage of all accidents, and almost 100% of accidents involving teen drivers have excessive speed as a factor. Excessive speed is defined as driving five or more miles over the posted speed limit, or driving too fast for conditions such as rain, snow, fog or heavy traffic.

The second most common factor that contributes to accidents across the board, young and old drivers alike, is distraction. Cell phones. Misbehaving children in the back seat. Eating. Even reading. All of these activities have been reported as contributing factors to accidents.

Drivers of all ages need to understand that driving faster than conditions allow and driving while distracted are factors involved in the vast majority of all auto accidents that take place. These accidents raise the costs of insurance for all of us, and, worse, injure and kill people.

My advice is slow down, and pay attention. Put the cell phone away, have someone else deal with the unruly kids in the back seat, save the snack for later, and put the maps, newspapers and books away until you are through driving. Everything rides on you and I driving safely.

Creation Museum Tells it Like It Was

Children playing alonside dinosaurs. A dirty graffiti scarred alley. A preacher denyng the Scriptures while a bored teen fusses in a pew. Six days of creation exploding on a wide screen in four minutes. And more. So much more.

It was the first visit my wife and I made to the controversial Creation Museum in Petersburg, Kentucky, just outside Cincinatti. The museum experience was definitely worth the two-hour drive from our Columbus, Ohio home, even with gas prices hovering at $3.50 per gallon.

On our limited budget, the day cost the two of us about $95.00 including gas, seniors admissions and food. But our $95.00 purchased the opportunity to see up close what the Bible says happened from creation through to the present.

The museum interprets history in the scope of a literal understanding of the book of Genesis. Creation happened in six days. Adam and Eve disobeyed God. Chaos and confusion followed. The human race, rejecting God and His authority over them, had nowhere else to turn but to themselves and their own imaginations and inventions. The result was not good.

Evolution and creation are shown in side-by-side comparisons, something never seen in a museum that depicts the evolutionary viewpoint. Billions of years of evolution are contrasted with 6000 years of Biblical history. The tediously slow process of evolution is contrasted with the six-day creation by God of everything in the universe and of the universe itself.

The museum makes no apologies for its Biblical view of natural history, nor should it. The museum's purpose is to help the average person understand what God did in bringing the universe into existence and his plan to deal with the disobedience of its principle residents. This it does extremely well.
Much criticism has been leveled against the museum, principally from two sources. The elitist scientific community stuck with the views of Charles Darwin because any other view would lead to the necessity of God have been outspoken and continuous in their criticisms, claiming that creation is "no science" and that children exposed to creation as depicted in the museum will have a real struggle with true science classes. Some have even claimed the museum's existence will take the human race back to the dark ages.

The other critical group is found in liberal churches and Roman Catholic churches, both of which have embraced evolution even though it does not fit the Biblical model of creation.

It's a free country, of course, and those who oppose the museum have a right to state their opinions. But so do those who are behind the Creation Museum. So do those of us who accept the Genesis account as true. Some critics claim the museum should not exist; but it does, and it loudly proclaims the Bible as the Word of God, telling history like it was. To which I say, "Amen!"

Of course, I recommend the museum to every Christian family who can get to Petersburg, KY. Take your children so they can see history from a Biblical viewpoint. I also recommend the museum to those who take a different viewpoint on natural history. Come with an open mind to see how others interpret the same facts from a different worldview.

I Felt The Earth Move

On Friday mornings I attend a Men's Bible Study at my church which begins at 6:30, so I have to get up about 5:30, which is the time my wife usually gets up anyway.

This morning, April 18, 2008, I was lying in bed awake waiting for my turn in the shower when I felt my body quiver slightly for five or six seconds. I thought, "that's a new one. I know I'm getting old (66), but I've never felt my body do that before."

When I came home from the Bible study, my wife said, "Did you feel it?"

"Feel what?" I said.

"The earthquake. There was a 5 point earthquake in southern Illinois this morning shortly after 5:30. I heard it on the news."

That made me feel better. I mean, there are enough bodily changes at my age; I wasn't looking forward to the prospect of my body quivering whenever it felt like it for the rest of my life. It was an earthquake that shook my bed, not my body.

Earthquakes represent a mighty force that God built into our world. And Jesus said earthquakes would continue throughout the church age. He did not say, as some have claimed, that earthquakes would be a sign of the end of the world. What He did say, in Matthew 24, was that earthquakes, wars and famines would be common during the age of the church, and that the world would grow more and more arrogant in its opposition to God and God's people.

But the end, Jesus said, will not come until the Gospel is preached to the whole world. Natural disasters are part of the world God created then cursed because of sin. Each earthquake, however, each tornado, each flood, each famine, should remind us that we are here as believers to tell others about Christ and to live for Him.

Occasionally God has to literally shake me up to remind me of that.

Who Wants to Live to Be 150?

Recently I wrote about the future of my six grandchildren, wondering how their lives would be different than mine has been. Well, ABC-TV gave me a glimpse into their future last night as reporter Barbara Walters interviewed a scientist who believes that today's children will live to be 150 or more years old.

He based this claim on current research that suggests that stem cells will someday be used to grow replacement parts for diseased bodies. A patient with a bad heart, for example, could receive a new heart grown in the lab from stem cells. The same could be done for a patient with a bad liver, or kidneys. This scientist was very excited about the prospects of longevity based on growing spare parts from stem cells.

But wait a minute! Have these geniuses really thought this through? Would a lot of 150 year old people around really be a good thing? Even if they were healthy, active and productive?

Many "experts" are already concerned about what they view as limitations on the number of people this planet can actually support. Earth's population is already in the billions; what would it be like to significantly increase population by having people live twice as long as they now do? What strains would this put on food production and health care, not to mention the additional clogging of our highways with more drivers and more vehicles?

The scientist said to Ms. Walters (who herself is 78 years old), "It sounds like science fiction!" He got that right. And probably it really is science fiction.

I must be careful, of course. Somewhere in my personal library I have a statement written by a preacher who claimed that man would never be able to go to the moon. Well, some men did. Unless you believe that fairy tale that says it was all a fake! I do not want to publish on the Internet a statement that someday I might have to take back (if I live to be a 150, that is). Scientists just may be able to grow body parts someday.

But here is what I do know. We already have parts for our automobiles, but, they still wear out eventually. I can pay someone to replace the transmission, or the engine, or to restore the body of the car, but eventually the expense becomes greater than the value. Could this same situation be true of our own bodies? Could replacement parts be "installed" only to find that the results are not worth the time, pain, and expense of the installation?

And how is this going to be paid for? Certainly the medical profession does not plan to grow these parts and install them for free, or even for a reasonable price. The words "reasonable price" do not compute in the medical world. So how are my grandchildren going to come up with the multiples of thousands of dollars, probably millions of dollars, it is going to cost to replace their worn out parts?

This raises another ominous issue. Will these replacement parts be rationed out to those who "deserve" them? Since they will be so expensive, will they only be available to the rich? Will we have only wealthy centenarians while the rest of us die in our 70's or 80's like always? Will those who are deemed to have value be candidates for replacement parts while those who are deemed to have little or no value be denied replacements? Who will decide who has value, and what criteria will be used? Could it be possible that those who have a strong faith in God will be viewed as having little value while those who promote science and reason to the exclusion of God be the ones considered to have value?

My suspicions are, however, it will not come about the way the scientist interviewed last night expects it will. I believe there are limits on what man is able to do. We live in a world and in bodies cursed by God because of sin. Sickness and death are the results of this disobedience to God. The Bible says our lifespans are usually "threescore and ten" or maybe fourscore. In all the world's history, there has only been one time life spans exceeded these limitations. It was before the Genesis flood. The Scriptures indicate people then lived routinely to be 800, 900 even 1000 years of age before they died. Since the flood the life span not generally been higher than it is today, and often was much lower. There have always been and probably always will be individuals who exceed the average span. But the rule of thumb is most people do not make it to their nineties.

I wonder if ABC had its tongue in its cheek when it chose to broadcast this report on April 1. Maybe it was just a big April fool's joke. And besides, who wants to live to be 150, especially when, as a believer in Jesus Christ, Heaven and all its glories wait?

What Will Their Future Be?

There are six of them, the oldest 4 and the youngest 4 months. Three girls. Three boys. All of them my grandchildren.

They were all together for Easter, at our house in Columbus, Ohio. And I, grandpa, took their pictures all dressed up for Easter services at Maranatha Baptist Church. And when I looked at the picture later when they had all returned to their respective homes, I began to think about them, and specifically about their futures.

What kind of world will they live in? What will they have to pay for a gallon of gas, or a loaf of bread, or a house to live in? What will it cost them to go to college? What will each of them do with the life that has been given to them?

But these are not the real issues that concern me. The world changes, that is a certainty. But I am more interested in what faith they will have. I wonder about their relationships with God and their faith in Jesus Christ.

They are all being raised in Christian homes by parents who have personally trusted Jesus Christ and are actively ministering to their children in the Christian faith. All six of them are in church regularly, four of them at Maranatha where my wife and I are members, and two of them at a Baptist church in Michigan. They all have strong Christian influences in their lives.

But I wonder if any of them will stray when they get older. I wonder if any of them will meet someone who does not share their faith in Christ and be adversely influenced by that person. I wonder if the world they grow up in will cause them to doubt the goodness of God. I wonder if any of them will simply not have faith in Christ when they reach adulthood.

I am convinced my daughters and their husbands are all working hard to influence my grandchildren for the Lord Jesus. But each of my grandchildren have little minds of their own, which they often express in opposition to a parental command. "Eat your vegetables" is sometimes followed by a stubborn "No" even now. What will they say "No" to when they are no longer under their parents' influence?

I can only do for my grandchildren what I did for my children. I can be an example of the believer to them. And I can pray for them.

Praise the Lord, and with His help, I am doing both.

What is True and What is Faith

There is a popular understanding of the Christian faith in today's culture which goes something like this: God is a kind old gentleman who never bothers anyone and who accepts everyone warts and all, just as they are, and does not expect them to change. Jesus said we should not judge one another, and since all of us are God's children, we should be tolerant of one another's different lifestyles. If you think this is what Christianity is all about, if you think this is what Jesus taught, then please read on. I want to share something important with you.

What I described in the first paragraph is not Christianity. It is not what Jesus taught.

The theology described above does have a name. It is a religion and it has been around for a long time. It is called humanism.

Humanism teaches that humans are the focal point of the universe. Humanism puts people in the place of God. People determine their own truth, their own moral system, their own lifestyle, their own destiny. Even God is subject to human control, since humanism says God is a creation of man. Humanism is universal in its acceptance of people as they are; it makes no demands on them to change unless, of course, they are evangelical Christians who put God first instead of mankind. Then change is demanded, and those who cling to their faith are held up to ridicule and abuse.

Christianity is as different from humanism as day is from night. Christianity is God-centered, not man-centered. Christianity says God created man, not the other way around. Christianity says God determines fate, destiny, morals and truth. And Christianity not only presents a God Who demands change, but Who also provides everything that is needed for change to occur.

Here is what is true and what is faith according to Biblical Christianity. God created everything, the universe, the sun and stars, the earth, and man and woman. He gave them a perfect world to live in. And He imposed His will on them when He gave them a simple command and warned them that disobedience would bring destruction. Of course, they chose to test God to see if He meant business. He did.

The world God created was placed under a curse by God because of the disobedience of the man and the woman. Sickness, sorrow and death entered the otherwise perfect world of God. Just surviving became a major struggle and source of disappointment and discouragement. Nothing was easy anymore. And death was the common end of every human life.

But God was not content just to punish human beings. His righteousness demanded payment for sin, and He certainly has the power and the right to inflict the ultimate punishment of Hell on every human being who sinned, which would be all human beings. He is, after all, a God of wrath because He is a God of righteousness and must judge disobedience. But He is also a God of love. He truly loved these humans He created with the freedom of choice, and He wanted them to choose Him of their own free will.

So, in His love, He decided He would suffer, too, along with His beloved but erring humans. He would suffer for them and take the curse of their sin upon Himself.

He was born of a virgin in the obscure town of Bethlehem, in a cave where animals were kept. On the night of His birth, God became a human being. His purpose was to live a perfect life in obedience to God, something the first man, Adam, failed to do. And then He would suffer and die.

And that is what He did. His arch enemies, the Pharisees, constantly tried to find fault in Him but were unable to do so because there was no fault in Him. But they were able to convince the officials of the Roman Empire that He was guilty and as a result He was sentenced to die in the most cruel of Roman executions.

Body twisted with pain. Sweat poring profusely. Every breath a struggle. Muscles shaking with pain and exhaustion. Iron nails driven through the wrists and the feet and into the wood of the cross. Perhaps the most excruciating characteristic about crucifixion was the slowness with which death came.

They crucified Jesus, the Son of God, the only perfect human being Who ever lived. They thought they had defeated God. They thought they had put human beings in charge once again.

They were wrong.

On the third day, they found His tomb empty. They thought His followers had stolen the body. But they had not. The truth was that Jesus had conquered sin and death and had risen from the death of that tomb and was alive, really and fully alive.

Christianity teaches that God then offered forgiveness and restoration to each human being who would bow in faith to His Son, Jesus Christ. The eternal curse would be lifted for such, and when they were finally through with life on this earth, they would go to live with Jesus in a place not unlike the original garden in which the first man and woman failed. But there would never be sin, nor sickness, nor sorrow, nor death again. Ever.

Because Christianity teaches that God is a God of Righteousness and of Love, I, a sinner condemned by my own stubborn rebellion and sin, can be pure now and live forever in Heaven.

That certainly beats what humanism has to offer me, which is a life of struggle followed by death and nothingness. I am so glad I know what is true and what is faith because God chose to tell me about it in His Word, the Bible.

These Ads May Not Be For Everyone

After watching one hour of television just now, thirty minutes each of local and national news, I was reminded once again that the only industries that can afford to advertise on TV any more are the auto makers, hospitals, and drug companies.

During my hour of news I saw incessantly pervasive ads for surgery to bind the entrance to my stomach so I can loose weight (no, thanks, I think I'll just eat less and exercise more), for drugs that will take care of just about any medical problem I might have from high cholesterol to urinary incontinence. And expose me to some possible side effects like increased risk for heart attack and stroke, nausea and vomiting, diarrhea, and even death. Thanks, but I think I'll take my chances with the condition since the drug only seems to compound the problem.

And I saw a few commercials for automobiles that were out of my budget range, and with gas prices what they are, perhaps these auto ads should carry a disclaimer like, "This automobile may not be for everyone. If you have trouble paying your mortgage, cannot afford to put food on the table, or are getting frequent calls from credit card companies about your overdue payments, this car may not be right for you."

My concern and the focus of this article are the hospital and drug commercials. They really are annoying. Worse than that, they are misleading. They suggest that whatever problems we mere mortals may encounter in this journey of life can be solved by taking a pill or going under the knife. This just is not true.

As one who favors free speech, I cannot bring myself to say that laws should be passed prohibiting medical institutions and drug companies from advertising on television, but part of me thinks that might not be a bad idea. However, rather than laws being passed which would simply further restrict free speech (we already have enough restrictions on that!), I would like to appeal to the general public to help put an end to these annoying ads. How?

Simply make it a point never to ask your doctor if this drug or this surgery is right for you. Would you run the risk of not benefiting from some drug or surgery that really could help you? Of course not. I am simply suggesting you let your doctor recommend medications and procedures. Let your doctor mention these things first. Then ask for the details, and remember, you always have the right to make the final choice on what medications you take and what surgery you might risk for your own benefit. But leave it to your doctor to recommend these choices. That is, after all, what you pay him to do.

These ads are really wasted on the general public, after all. We cannot go out and buy the products being advertised; they are only available by prescription. We cannot walk into a hospital and say "I'd like one of them stomach surgeries I saw in your ad!" We have to have a doctor recommend the surgery.

So, what is the point of spending thousands of dollars on advertising products we, the general public, cannot purchase on our own? Why are these advertisers not targeting the only people who can prescribe drugs and recommend surgery? What do they hope to gain from telling us about these things that we cannot buy on our own?

It seems to me drug companies could save all that money wasted on TV ads to the general public and really help people by using the money saved to lower the expensive price tags on their drugs. The monthly payments on the Lexus I saw advertised tonight was no doubt cheaper than what some people have to pay for prescriptions each month.

Now lowering the prices, that's something that would be for everyone. And there are no unpleasant or fatal side effects either.

Longevity

Since I am now about three years and three months away from the biblical threescore and ten, longevity is a subject I have more interest in now than I did ten or twenty years ago. Also, I have been doing genealogical research on the ancestors of my wife and myself, and have been pleased to note that many of them lived long lives.

The picture that appears with this article is of Joseph and Georgianna McGregor, who were my father's maternal grandparents. He lived 73 years and she lived only 62 years because she died of accidental poisoning. They are not necessarily typical of my ancestors, however. I just happen to have a photograph of them.

As I have studied my ancestors, I have found that longevity decreases as I go back generations. Ancestors who lived in the 19th and 20th centuries lived longer than ancestors before that time. This may lead some to conclude that modern medical science has created conditions that have improved longevity. I am not certain that is the whole story, however.

One of the common reasons for short lives before the 20th century was childbirth. I have numerous ancestral families which experienced the loss of a wife and mother in childbirth. Certainly modern birthing techniques and equipment have lowered the incidence of women dying giving birth.

A common cause of early death in men was farm accidents. Farming was, and probably still is, a business fraught with dangers. Working with equipment that is designed to plow and till the earth and thrash grain can be dangerous, as can working with large animals such as horses and cattle. Accidents were a common cause of the reduction longevity in my ancestors.

But I don't think medicine alone can take the credit for increased longevity in my more recent ancestors over my more distant ones. Safety devices, changes in the way people live, and knowledge play a role, too. The important thing to remember is that our life expectancy today is normal; 200 years ago it was abnormal.

As one who believes that the Bible is God's Word, I trust its statements. In Psalm 90, which is ascribed to Moses, he writes, "All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan. Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away."

I do not believe Moses was being pessimistic when he wrote these words; he was being honest. Even though he was 120 years old at the time, he knew from observation and from revelation from God that the normal life span is 70 to 80 years. Although it had been much higher in the antediluvean era (Methuselah lived 969 years), after the flood longevity decreased over several generations to what is recorded here.

Although some periods of history have caused a great reduction in longevity, down to 40 some years at some points, no generation has managed to exceed the threescore and ten that Moses wrote about.

Sometimes we hear statements from some in the field of medical research that someday modern science will be able to break the 100 year mark in longevity. Will it happen? I don't know. I tend to doubt it, but I do not know the future.

But I do know this. My own longevity is not a matter of my health, or the health care that is available to me, or even the genes I inherited from my long-living ancestors. It is entirely in the hands of God. I have lived to the age of 66 so far because God enabled me to do so. If I reach threescore and ten, or threescore and twenty, it will be by God's grace and God's grace alone. As a child of God I am invincible until God calls me home.

This does not mean I can live recklessly or ignore my body's needs. I should take care of my body, but that is not the most important thing in my life. The most important thing is pleasing God and living for Him and trusting Him that He knows best when my time on earth has quickly passed and it is time for me to fly away.

Global Warming?

As I work in my study here in central Ohio just after the Blizzard of '08 finished dumping 20" of snow (according to the Columbus International Airport) on us, it is hard to think about global warming, except that we sure could use some if it here tonight!

But I have been reading Unstoppable Global Warming - Every 1500 Years by S. Fred Singer and Dennis T. Avery, published by Rowman & Littlefield. This book argues that the current trend to higher temperatures worldwide is not the result of human activity, but rather of increased radiation from the sun. The authors claim this increase in radiation occurs approximately every 1500 years. Since the industrial revolution has only been around about 150 years, it would not be likely that it could cause the warming trend we now experience.

The authors make the point that warming and cooling cycles have prevailed on the earth all through its history as evidenced by ice core samples that have been studied. They claim the earth had a warming period during which the Roman Empire flourished, and that this was followed by a cooling period during which the Empire declined because of limitations on food production caused by lower temperatures and shorter growing seasons.

According to the authors, the most recent cooling period ended in the middle nineteenth century, before the industrial revolution began, and that this warming period continues today. But it is due to increased radiation from the sun, not, as some have speculated, perhaps for political purposes, from CO2 produced by human activity.

I do not have a scientist's mind, so much of the detail escapes me. But this I know. Not all scientists are sold on the idea that global warming is harmful and unnatural, or that it is the negative result of industrialization. In fact, this book points out that nations have tended to flourish during the warming periods because of longer growing seasons and the increase of suitable growing areas.

I do not know who is right, but looking out my window today, I find it difficult to see the effects of global warming in my neighborhood. Check back with me in a month or two when it is warmer here!

61 Years Ago Today

He would be 82 years old, an old man with a full life behind him, a husband, a father, a grandfather, and perhaps a great grandfather, and a survivor of World War II. But he was not given the opportunity to do any of those things except the last one.

He was my brother, Ron, 16 years my senior, and a veteran of combat in the U. S. Navy in the South Pacific. During his two years on board the U.S.S.Dunlap, he faced a relentless enemy every day without that enemy inflicting any harm on him. He was discharged in April of 1946, having done his part to fight and to bring to an end the terrible war.

Less than a year later he was dead. Looking forward to married life with his fiancee, and a good job and a bright future, he died at the age of 21.

The survivor of World War II who spent three years thousands of miles from his home in combat situations daily, died as the result of injuries sustained in a car accident just 25 miles from his home. His fiancee was devastated. His mother, my mother, never fully recovered from the shock. His father, my father, carried the burden of loss to the day of his own death 31 years later. I was only six years old. I did not know my brother very well. He was only home that one year between his discharge and his death.

Years later, when I was an adult with grown children, my family discovered hundreds of letters Ron wrote home from the war. It was through those letters I got to know my brother. He was a gentle and optimistic man who did a terrible job in an incredibly difficult time of history. But that was behind him, and before him stretched the promise of a good life, a good life he would never know.

March 7, 1947, Ronald Albert Parsons left this earth for the experiences of eternity. I remember him, and continue to tell his story, a story which covers a significant portion of my book Windsor's Child.