Thirty Years to Write a Novel

I have been working for thirty years on a novel. I call it "The Missing Person." It is not a mystery story per se, but I have tried to fill it with suspense. It does have a mystery at its core, but it is more than just a mystery story.

It is about a young man who was abandoned as a toddler and, before he settles down to marriage and a career, he wants to find out who abandoned him and why. This is not easy to do. Twenty years have passed; clues are virutally non-existent, and his family and fiancee want him to move on with his life.

Of course, it is to be a spiritual story. God must be in the story, and He must be glorified in the story. To some extent, that is the easy part.

The difficult part has been making the elements of the story come together logically. What happens to one character often has an effect on another character. Making the interchanges in the multiple stories involved has been a challenge to say the least.

I had the story completed once. I let my wife and daughters read it. Their reactions were mixed. I wasn't pleased myself. So, I scrapped what I had written and started again.

Will this novel ever see the light of day? I do not know. If God can use it, He will. It likely will not be a commercial success.

But if some people read it, and are encouraged by it to trust Jesus Christ, then my thirty years of writing will be vindicated. All I have to do is finish it. That will take a while longer.

But at the age of 68 as I am, I don't have another thirty years to write a second novel.

Hiking Helps

Twelve states and one province in the past forty years. Metro parks. State parks. National parks. Wildlife refuges. All have witnessed my wife and me on hikes. I remember a long, long hike in the Dolly Sods area of West Virginia a few years ago that stretched the limits of our endurance. And I remember one of our favorites, through the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge in Montana.

But it is not the quantity of hikes we have enjoyed that is nearly as important as the quality. We do not hike for physical exercise, although we certainly derive physical benefits from hiking. We do not hike to check another hiking location off our list. We have no schedule of hiking we attempt to maintain. We hike because it allows each of us to pursue a certain activity to which we are devoted.

My wife has identified more than 200 species of birds which appear on her life list. From common birds, like robins, woodpeckers and yellow warblers to more rare species such as bald eagles, yellow-headed blackbirds and eared grebes, she has spotted them through her binoculars and recorded them in her book. Of course, to get to where the birds are, she has to hike. Almost always when she hikes to find birds, I am right along side her.

I have a collection of approximately 15,000 photographs, in 35mm slides, color negatives, and digital formats that I have taken with a variety of cameras I own. From common attractions like Niagara Falls, Washington, DC and Cincinnati, Ohio to more remote places like Seney National Wildlife Refuge in northern Michigan, Farragut State Park in Idaho and the aforementioned Russell NWR in Montana, I have pointed my camera, adjusted my lenses and pushed the button to record the image in chemicals or in pixels. Of course, to get to where the scenes are, I have to hike. Almost always as I hike, my wife is right along side me.

Ours is a perfect marriage of hobbies. She can point her binoculars at birds and I can point my camera at scenery. Where there is scenery for me, there are birds for her. Where there are birds for her, there is usually scenery for me.

Hiking in pursuit of our different hobbies has given us many hours of pleasure. We took our first hike together when we were in our twenties. Now we are in our sixties, and still hiking.

While hiking, we have also seen the darker side of nature. Forests blackened by lightning-ignited fires, carcases of dead creatures, sometimes partially eaten by other creatures, devastation from floods and the sometimes indelible and destructive footprint of man.

Our marriage is not built on hiking, of course. We have raised three children together, served in a variety of works and ministries together, enjoyed our eight grandchildren together and walked through our share of life's peaks and valleys. But hiking has always been our way of finding ourselves again, of leaving the challenges for an hour or so to simply walk in the beautiful creation of God that is this earth.

Hiking is, I suppose, a fitting illustration of life. We see the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the pleasant and the unpleasant, that which builds and that which destroys, the highs and lows, the thick forests teaming with life and the barren deserts where little grows. While hiking we discover ourselves, and we further cement the relationship between us that has defined us for the forty plus years of our marriage. In pursuing pileated woodpeckers and pixelated pictures we have formed an indissoluble union not only of our interests, but of our lives.

Photo: My wife, Linda, resting on a hike in Maryland's Cotoctin Mountain State Park.

A Tough Decision

Voters here in Central Ohio have a tough decision tomorrow (August 4) which is the date of a local election. Issue One on the ballot comes from the city of Columbus, which wants to raise the city income tax from 2% to 2.5%. The city claims the increase is necessary in order for the level of police and fire protection the citizens now enjoy to remain. If the issue fails, the city says, some police and fire personnel will be laid off. My son-in-law's brother is one of the police officers who may lose his job if the issue fails.

On the other hand, another half a percent of tax on personal incomes will definitely be a problem for some, perhaps many. A family earning $42,000, which is the average annual income in Columbus, now pays $840 per year in city income tax. If the issue passes, that family will pay $1,050 per year. That is only $210, but that could make a difference in a family's quality of life. It could especially be a problem for the elderly who live on fixed incomes.

Columbus has a higher police to citizen ratio than the average U.S. city. There are 2.5 policemen for every 1000 citizens. If the issue fails the ratio will fall to 2 policemen for every 1000 citizens, which is the national average. Also, Columbus has a fleet of helicopters each of which costs more then $3 million annually to maintain. The fleet is larger than those of Detroit or Cleveland, both of which are larger cities. Further, the average pay for a city policeman is $75,000 compared to $42,000 for the average citizen.

So, do I vote to maintain the job of my son-in-law's brother, or do I vote to protect the poor and the elderly from more taxes? It's a tough decision.

For many Columbus area residents, the issue gets more complicated because of Issue 2 on the ballot, which is an increase in property taxes for a large local school district. Most residents would pay an additional $4 to 500 per year if the issue passes. Once again voters are being told that if the issue fails, it will mean the end of busing, sports programs, and other services the district now performs. We are told the levy is necessary just to maintain a high quality of education in the area. Without sports programs voters are being told teen crime and pregnancy will rise and property values will fall. To vote against the issue is to vote against the children of the area.

But there are families that will suffer if the issue passes. An additional $400 taken from their annual income could be devastating to some, especially those who are older and have no children in the system.

So, do I vote so that some teens can continue to play football, or do I vote to protect the poor and the elderly from more taxes? It's a tough decision.

For those who are subject to both the income tax and the levy, the total cost will be at least $600 more than they are now paying in income and property taxes. And, certainly, if the federal government enters the health care insurance industry, taxes will be even higher. Much higher.

I know I will be criticized by some for my decision, and I know that if my vote is the prevailing one, some families will suffer loss. That is going to be true no matter how I vote tomorrow. But I have decided to vote against both issues. It is time we find another way to finance government and schools. I do not know what that way might be. I just know that the level of taxation for many Americans has reached the breaking point. This seems to me as good a time as any to say, "Enough already!"

We are in tough economic times. My wife and I have postponed indefinitely some purchases we had planned because of the instability of the times. Shouldn't governments and school districts tighten their belts along with the rest of us?

It is a tough decision.

Leaving God Out of His Own Story

In the book of Esther, it has been often noted, the name of God does not appear in any verse. None. Yet, as it has also been pointed out, God is everywhere in that book.

As I have reread portions of This Little Life of Mine an autobiographical series of articles published on my website, I have noted that sometimes I have a tendency to leave God out of the narrative, even though I have proclaimed from the beginning that I want this to be a record of the things God has done in my life. I have stated that I do not want this to be about me, but I want it to be, as it should be, about God. Each chapter should be about what God did, not about what I did.

Chalk it up to human nature, the sinful human nature that I possess. That is why I tend to focus on me and not on God. But in this article, I want to focus on God especially. Even though I have sometimes neglected Him in this narrative, the truth is, He has been everywhere in this narrative.

There really is nothing in this narrative that I decided all by myself without the influence of God through His Word or through His Spirit or both. Nothing. Most if not all of the major decisions recorded here were beyond my ability to decide.

Take, for instance, my birth in Canada in 1941. I had no say in when or where I would be born. I had no choice as to who my parents might be. These necessary decisions were not made by me, certainly. Then, who made them? My parents? Not really. Yes, they lived in Canada when I was born, but they did not know prior to my birth that it was me they were bringing into the world. They did not choose me to be their son. They did what was necessary to bring a child into the world, but they did not choose who that child might be. Who did make this choice? The only one who could make that choice is God. And I believe it was His will that I be born in Windsor, Ontario, Canada to Whelan and Edna Parsons on June 5, 1941.

The circumstances of my childhood were also not circumstances over which I had much control. The house we lived in, the food we ate, the relative safety of my Windsor home as compared to the homes of others in, say, Germany, or England, or Japan during those war years, were all circumstances neither I nor my parents could ultimately control. Who did control these various elements? God did. I believe the things I experienced as a child in Windsor during World War II were all things it was God's will that I experience. Even the unpleasant things.

Words were fascinating to me, as I revealed in my book, Windsor's Child. Why? Other children were exposed to the same lessons I had in school, read the same books I read, and learned the same words I did. Why did I develop such a love for words? No doubt my parents, especially my mother who also loved words, and some of my teachers influenced me in this, but ultimately it is God who put me in the place I needed to be to learn what I did, and who put within me the response I had to words. I believe it was God's will that I learn to love words and what could be done with them.

In 1951, my parents decided to move from Windsor to Lincoln Park, a suburb of Detroit, Michigan. The move did not involve much distance. We crossed the Ambassador Bridge and drove about six or seven miles to our new home. Yet, in spite of that short distance, I had moved to a different country. Was that just my parents' choice? No, not entirely, because there were factors beyond their control that led them to make that decision. My brother's death at the age of 21 in Windsor, my dad's birth in Detroit as well as his work there, changes in economic factors that reduced the value of his American paycheck in Canadian stores; all of these influenced their decision. But who influenced all these circumstances? God did. I believe it was God's will for me to move to the United States at the age of ten.

You are not going to read in this item that I believe God brought me to this country because it was a land of greater opportunity, or because it was a free country and I was escaping tyranny. This is Canada we are talking about, a land every bit as freedom loving as the USA, and a country that provides more than ample opportunities for its citizens to succeed at whatever they choose to do. God did not bring me here to escape anything or to have a greater opportunity to do anything. The fact is, I do not really know all of why God brought me here at the age of ten. But I am firmly convinced it was His will to do so.

The Christian influences in my life - my mother, a little Baptist church at the end of our street in Windsor, some friends in high school, a girl I had a crush on in high school, things I read, including the Bible - all of these gradually worked on me to get me to the place where, in October of 1958, I established a faith relationship with Jesus Christ that changed my life more than any other decision I have ever made. Although each of the influences listed here played a part, there is no way any group of sinners could have worked together to orchestrate my coming to faith in Christ. If it were to happen, and it did, then God had to do it. I believe it was God's will that I come to faith in Christ at the age of 17 while a student at Lincoln Park High School.

It was my dad's choice that took me to a mainstream protestant church in Lincoln Park. I joined it with him before I came to Christ. After I established my faith relationship with Jesus, I found the church I attended did not preach the gospel or teach the Bible correctly. God led me to First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park where for five years I sat under the teaching of one of the godliest men I have ever known, Dr. Charles R. MacDonald. It was Dr. Mac who taught me the Word of God during those five years and it was Dr. Mac who encouraged me to consider the ministry for my life's work. But it was God who led Dr. Mac to Lincoln Park at that time, and it was God who led me to that church at that time. I believe it was God's will that I sit under Dr. Mac's ministry for those five years.

There were some very dear friends I made while at FBC. Some of them are still friends (via Internet) today. God used them to help shape me into the person He wanted me to be. I believe it was God's will for me to form those friendships with Gary, Jim, Dan, Dave, Anne, Dorothy, Helen, Barb and others whom God used greatly in my life then.

As a young man, I had a series of crushes on a series of young ladies. I really wanted to meet the girl I would spend my life with. God did not put that girl in Lincoln Park. But the girls I did date and enjoyed being with all were used of God to help me grow as a believer. I believe it was God's will that I experience those temporary relationships to help me be prepared for the real relationship when it finally came. I also am convinced it was God who kept me pure for the girl He did give me.

God took me to Grand Rapids, Michigan. God took Linda Hubble to Grand Rapids, Michigan. There He arranged for us to meet and to fall in love. There He helped us arrange our wedding. I believe it was God's will that Linda and I stand before Pastor Norm Hoag on December 28, 1968 in the First Baptist Church of Beech Grove, Indiana and establish a Christian home for His glory.

It was there in Grand Rapids that we met Pastor Jack Bowen and his wife who invited me to go to Flint to serve as his assistant prior to his retirement. I know it was Pastor Bowen's will that I succeed him as pastor there (he told me that was his desire). But I know it was not God's will. However, I believe God took Linda and me to Flint to learn, to grow, to serve and to enjoy his people there.

And, although I don't know all the reasons, I even believe it was God's will that Linda and I have a cat named Nikki and a dog named Laddie instead of children as we did in 1972. Children came later, according to His timing.

So, as you continue to read, if I get caught up in the narration of things that happened, and I forget to mention that God was the only one in full control of everything, please understand this one truth about my life and this narration, the same truth that I mentioned at the beginning, about the book of Esther.

In this narration, God is everywhere, even when He is not given His full and rightful place at the center of my life. The failure is never His, but always mine.

A Sad But Wonderful Sight

It is always sad when an era ends, especially when there is a very strong visual symbol of that ending.

Such a situation is being experienced by those of us who were students and faculty at a small Christian school in Columbus, Ohio. Maranatha Christian School taught students from Kindergarten through twelfth grade for more than 35 years, but in 2004, it closed its doors. Falling enrollment and the move to home schooling among Christian families took their toll on the school's resources.

I had the privilege of teaching English and Bible classes in the junior high and high school for nine school years. I was there during the final year. I helped close the school.

Maranatha Baptist Church, which owned and operated the school, has sought for five years to find a way to use the building, to no avail. Recently the decision was made to demolish the building.

I took my cameras to and into the building to record its final moments. It is a bit eerie to walk the hallway I walked every school day for nine years, and to stand in the classroom where I taught, and look around and see, not my students, but shards of insulation, twisted wires and steel, broken pieces of wood, and holes where once there were windows. It brought back scores of memories and a knot of sadness that it was all over. The death of the building made it all so final.

But for four of the five years since the school closed, I served the church as a deacon and thus was part of the discussions involved in the pursuit of a use for the building. We considered several suggestions, but all would have involved very expensive alterations and updates to the old building. We considered demolition, but the lowest bid we received was $50,000, which we thought was a bit high. We offered the building for free to two different prospective users, but the costs of moving and remodeling the building were excessive. The building, cut off from heat, electricity and life, deteriorated rapidly.

Then came the recession, and a demolition company hard pressed for work offered to do the job for half the bid of five years ago. The congregation voted unanimously (not usual for a Baptist church) to have the building demolished.

Yes, it is sad to stand in the debris of what was once my classroom where I had the privilege of helping young minds to grow into adulthood. But it is also wonderful to see the burden my church has carried in the form of that now useless building finally lifted.

It is a sad, but wonderful sight.

Curse Those Side Effects

I have written before on this blog about how I hate those prescription drug commercials on television; you know, the ones with the bright colors and pretty music and paid actors saying what a wonderful drug this is, oh, but it does have some unpleasant side effects, like warts, constipation, and death. Those commercials.

Well, the current Democratic Congress thinks it can wrangle $30+ billion out of those drug companies by altering the Internal Revenue Code to disallow companies deductions for advertising prescription drugs to the general public. As much as I hate those commercials, and I really do, I don't think I can agree with this proposal.

It is not that I have any love for the big drug companies. I know that for years they have been producing drugs in other countries and using creative bookkeeping to shelter the huge profits they make from the IRS. Maybe Congress should deal with that.

But every company is allowed to deduct advertising expenses. Advertising is a cost of doing business. It would not be fair to deny this deduction to one industry, even though that industry seems to be the most obnoxious in its advertising.

There are also potential free speech issues involved in this proposal. Companies do have a basic right to publicize their products. The media does have the basic right to make income from advertising products and services. This proposal may stomp on these rights.

Instead of changing the IRS code to disallow legitimate deductions, maybe Congress should start figuring out how to collect all those tax dollars drug companies have sheltered in overseas production. Some claim that about 60% of all prescription drug sales are in the United States, but the companies pay taxes on a much lower percentage.

Congress is desperate to find ways to fund President Obama's extremely expensive health care reform. But in seeking a prescription to ease their discomfort, they just might find that the side effects are worse than warts or constipation. It just might spell the death of free speech, at least to one industry.

I would rather use my channel flipper to avoid the drug commercials than to have Congress violate any one's right to free speech.

A Bad Week for Celebrities

This has been a bad week for celebrities. Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays and Gale Storm all died this past week. You may or may not have known of some of them, but they all made their mark in entertainment in some way at some time. Now they are all gone.

Jackson seems to be getting the most public sympathy; even Congress had a moment of silence after the announcement of his death. I have to confess, I do not understand that. Jackson was an entertainer whose personal life followed a twisted path of self-medication, child endangerment and strange modifications done to his own body. I think the man is more to be pitied than glorified.

Nevertheless, these human beings are all dead. They entertained us, or tried to sell us products we may or may not have needed, and they entered our lives via public media, primary television. Another entertainer, a writer in England, once said that the whole world was a stage and the people on it were merely actors who came on stage to strut and fret their part, and then were gone. Come to think of it, the man who wrote that is also gone.

A friend of mine commented about this string of deaths by noting that we all should be patient because we will each get a turn as well. Dying, it would seem, is something we all face, something we all have in common.

The Bible states that it is appointed unto people to die once, and then face judgment, the judgment of God. The Bible further states that the paycheck people get for being sinners is death. It also says we are all sinners. You. Me. McMahon. Fawcett. Mays. Storm. And, yes, Jackson, too.

I am very thankful the Bible also says that "the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."

I will die some day (if the Lord delays His return). But I will not perish. I have eternal life through Jesus Christ, my Lord. I have no indication that this was true for any of the entertainers who entered eternity this past week.

Is it true for you?

False Views of Christian Teachings

There are several profound errors concerning Christianity that keep getting repeated over and over in these posts, even though there is no basis for them either in contemporary or historical Christianity.

Christians display hatred when they state their belief that homosexuality is a sin. This is simply not true. Hatred is not the motivation for this belief. What the Bible teaches is the motivation. My belief that homosexuality is a perversion of the natural desire between men and women does not motivate me to hate anyone. Loving people does not demand that I endorse all the things they do.

Christianity teaches that heaven is gained by the good works you do. This is simply not true. Christianity teaches that heaven is gained only through a personal faith relationship with Jesus Christ. The motivation for doing good works is a desire to please God and to follow the example of Jesus, not a means of gaining points for heaven.

Everyone who claims to be a Christian is a Christian. This is simply not true. According to the Scriptures, the only way to become a Christian is to establish a faith relationship with Jesus Christ. Anyone can claim to be a Christian. But people are not born Christians. Having Christian parents, or growing up attending church regularly, or knowing the Bible stories does not make anyone a Christian. Coming to Christ with a recognition of one’s own sin and need, and trusting Jesus’ death on the cross to pay the penalty for one’s sin is the only way a person can become a Christian.

Christianity takes away one’s ability to think for one’s self. This is simply not true. Everyone has to have a world view which is based on presuppositions. The Christian has chosen to build his or her world view on the claims of Jesus Christ. Others might claim the presuppositions of Mohammed, or Darwin, or Freud. All world views are built on a set of presuppositions. We have all accepted our world view based on our faith in the reliability of someone else’s presuppositions. In effect, few of his think for ourselves. There are only so many possible world views available.

Finally, Catholicism is the primary manifestation of Christianity. This is simply not true. Catholicism is an aberration in the history of Christianity, an aberration I and many others totally reject. Catholicism does not reflect my beliefs or my practices. I have no allegiance to the pope, to the Catholic church or to Catholic dogma. My faith is in Christ, not in any church, including the one I am a member of.

Few seem willing even to try to understand what Christianity is really all about. It is one thing to find out what Christianity is all about and then reject it. It is another thing to accept vague notions and statements made by radical opponents of Christianity as true and reject the faith on that basis. That is a real example of not thinking for yourself.

An Unhappy Change

When I was a child living on Westminster Avenue in Windsor, Ontario, Canada, my dad made an international journey to work each day, taking a bus, and later, driving his own car, either across the Ambassador Bridge or through the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel to downtown Detroit where he worked as an accountant. He did have a crossing card, and he did get to be known by the border officers on both sides as "one of the regulars." But the rest of us in his family were not regulars. We did not make the trip with Dad every day.

It was only a few times a year that Dad would take mom, my sisters and me, across the Detroit River into Michigan, especially after one of my older sisters married and she and her husband moved to a Detroit suburb. I remember how easy it was for Dad to get us across the border. Even later, when we moved to the same suburb where my sister lived, and he no longer was crossing each day, and so lost his status as "one of the regulars," it was still a simple process to cross the border.

For more nearly 200 years, the United States and Canada have maintained the world's longest friendly international border. Citizens of either country have never needed a passport to cross the border. "What country are you a citizen of?" the officer would ask, followed by "Do you have anything to declare?" And that was about it. In most cases, the procedure lasted less than thirty seconds.

All of that is soon to change. Because of what happened on September 11, 2001, Americans and Canadians, for the first time ever, will be required to have a passport to make the crossing at Detroit-Windsor, or at any other spot along the immense border that separates the two neighboring countries. In most cases, the procedure will still take only a few seconds. That won't change.

At the point where the Ambassador Bridge crosses the international boundary, a sign makes reference to the "peoples of like ideas and ideals" that inhabit the two countries. But this new requirement is a reminder that the world we live in now is a more dangerous place than the world I knew when I was a boy in Windsor.

My parents are now buried in a cemetery in Windsor. The last time I visited their graves, the answers to a couple of quick questions was all that was needed to cross the border.

However, because of the evil that resides in the hearts of people who live on the opposite side of the planet, people who do not share the like ideas and ideals of Americans and Canadians, the next time I visit their graves, I will have to carry a passport. That is not really a big deal, I suppose; passports are not that difficult to obtain. But an era is passing, an era when two peoples who share so much were granted easy access to each others nations. Now, perhaps, it will be just a little more difficult for Canadians and Americans to become "one of the regulars."

We've Added Ads

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Thanks for your understanding.

To Shout or Not to Shout

I am neither a hand raiser or a hand clapper in worship services. That is not the background from which I came. Others may do what they feel comfortable doing, that is okay with me. But I am more subdued in my worship.

I've been reading the story of Jehoshaphat, King of Judah. He was one of the few "good" kings either Israel or Judah had; good because of his dependence on God.

The leaders of Moab and Ammon threatened Judah. They came with a vast army and made it known that their objective was to defeat Jehoshaphat and subdue the people. Because he was one of the good kings, Jehoshaphat immediately consulted with the Lord, proclaimed a fast and encouraged the people to come to Jerusalem to worship the Lord.

They had quite a time. One of the highlights was the King's eloquent prayer in which he admitted that he and the people had no power against this invading army. "We do not know what to do," he prayed, "but our eyes are on you."

The prophet Jahaziel spoke, challenging the king and the people with the words that God had given him. "Do not be afraid," he said. "This battle is not yours, but God's."

They had prayer, then preaching, and then praise. Jehoshaphat and all the people bowed down in humility and quietness before the Lord. Then a bunch of Levites leaped up and began shouting very loudly their praises to the Lord.

Could it be that God brings different people together in worship? Some quiet and reserved; others boisterous and lively? And could it be that it is okay to be quiet and reserved, and it is okay to be boisterous and lively, so long as all of us are focusing on our God and His greatness?

Just a thought from a non-clapper, non-hand raiser who loves and praises God as much as the loudest and most boisterous worshiper.

Liking the person, but not his policies

They are a really likeable family. Devoted husband. Beautiful wife and mother. Two children. And a dog. A dog named "Bo."

The President and his family provide a very positive image for the White House. They obviously enjoy being together. They apparently really do like each other. In that respect they are a model for the rest of America where fractured families seem to prevail.

President Obama's sense of humor is refreshing and delightful. As the family approached reporters to show off the new family pet, the President remarked, "Now I have a friend in Washington." When a reporter asked if Bo was sleeping in someone's bed, he replied, "Not my bed!"

It makes it difficult for those of us who oppose the President's liberalism and his spending of trillions of dollars in the first days of his presidency. It is difficult to dislike this president with his charm and charisma and his strong family. But in spite of how likeable he is, and how much I might like him as a person, I must continue to express my opposition to his stands on abortion, on stem-cell research, on the bailout, and on a host of other issues where my conservative views are in striking contrast to his liberal views.

Is it possible to like someone with whom you strongly disagree? Of course it is. That is the situation I find myself in now. I enjoy watching the president romping on the White House lawn with his wife and daughters and Bo, I laugh at his humorous remarks, I smile when he charms someone who opposes him. I like the things he says. I like the person he is.

For the last eight years, I was not that strongly effected by the former president, even though I usually agreed with his positions and approved his actions. President Bush simply was not all that likeable. He seemed a bit aloof, a bit distracted, and one who did not always appear to enjoy his life and what he was doing. I agreed with him, but did not much like him.

But now it is all reversed. Now I find our President very likeable, but not standing where I would have him stand, nor doing what I would have him do. I like him and his family, but not his policies, political philosophies or decisions.

I suppose Bo will not have my problem. He will love the President no matter what, as long as food, companionship and a warm bed is provided. Even if it is not the President's bed.

I, however, need more. I need protection for the unborn, spending restraints, and a strong country that continues to protect my freedom and take only a reasonable amount of my income in taxes. I would very much like to have a President whom I could agree with as well as like.

Maybe next time.

Write Your Story

Cemeteries can be sad places, and one of the reasons I sometimes find them sad is that so many good stories are buried beneath the green grass and white stones that dot the landscape. People are born, they live, they die and their stories die with them.

I would like to help change that. I am convinced there is real value in people writing down their own stories and preserving them for future generations, especially for their grandchildren and great grand children.

As one gets older, he or she begins to think more about the people who preceded, the ancestors, the grandparents, the great grandparents, the aunts and uncles. What were they like? Where did they live? What particular experiences did they have? What were their lives like? How great it would be if we had documents written by these predecessors to reveal to us the answers to these questions.

At my website, I am encouraging people to write their stories to leave for future generations of readers to know them. I am even offering to help people write their stories. It really is not that hard, but it is extremely rewarding.

If you are interested in knowing more, visit my site (link in the left column) to read how to "Write Your Story."

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.