The Joy of Grief

Surrounded by grass and stately trees, I stood one September day years ago in Victoria Memorial Gardens in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. My family and I had gathered to lay to rest my mother, Edna Marie. She had lived 96 years on this earth, and although she was a person who enjoyed life and family and especially grandchildren, there was a cloud that blocked the sun of her happiness for much of her adult life.

Mother suffered from grief. Not outwardly; she hid it well. But there were events in her life that caused her heart to ache. A devastating illness that hit her daughter, my sister, when she was five. A 1947 Plymouth sedan that crossed the center line of Highway 3 near Essex, Ontario. A lapse in family loyalty on the part of an important member of our family. The death of a granddaughter at the age of two. These events spanned four decades. There were many good years in our family life between them. But they seemed to hold a grip on Mother that could not be lifted. This grief seemed to predate these events. It was as if Mother was grieving over something from her youth that kept being reinforced with every family challenge and tragedy that entered our family history.

I was so intrigued about that grief my mother experienced that I wrote about it. I researched family history and read documents and letters from my family that I had never known existed. The resulting book I called Windsor’s Child, because I was a child when many of these things happened, and because we lived in Windsor at the time.

For the past year, I have been working on editing a book for a friend I knew in Lincoln Park, Michigan more than four decades ago. The Internet had brought her back into my life after all those years where neither of us had any idea where the other was. In July, 2010, my wife, Linda, and I met with my friend in a restaurant in Dearborn, Michigan to discuss the possibility of me helping her get her book in a publishable form. I agreed. That book is now published.

The book deals with grief, the same kind of grief my mother experienced all those years. My friend, Barbara Forsyth, calls her book Joy Comes in the Mourning. Her premise is that God wants to take our grief, our mourning, and turn it into joy.

Barb certainly has experienced her share of grief. Cancer took her father from her when she was only twelve. Later, she and her husband laid to rest their firstborn only a few days after his birth. Just six months before she met with my wife and me, Barb said her final goodbyes to her mother. And in between these events, Barb has had a continuing ministry to people she knew through her school where she taught for forty years, and in the neighborhood of the condo she and her husband share in Ontario, California.

I wish my mother could have read Barb’s book. I wish she could have read my book. Both contain the challenge my mother never seemed to understand. God wants to take our grief and turn it into joy.

However, since a couple of days before I stood by her grave, in September, 1998, I know my mother found God’s answer to her grief. I now know what caused her grief, and I now know that she has found God’s joy in His presence. There truly is joy in the mourning for Windsor’s child.

Three Score and Ten

Three score and ten.

Now, that is a lot of years to be involved in any one activity. But as of Sunday, June 5, 2011, it is the measure of the number of years I have been involved in one activity, the activity of life.

The phrase, three score and ten, comes from the King James translation of the Bible. Moses (he is the author of this particular psalm) was having one of those “talking to myself and feeling old” kind of days when he wrote it. He said, “Our days may come to seventy years (three score and ten), or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”

Moses certainly knew his share of trouble and sorrow. After all, God called him to lead a stubborn nation of people who were forever resistant to what God asked of them.

The best of those seventy years we might get on earth are trouble and sorrow. They quickly pass. Then we’re gone!

That is where I am now. The best of my seventy years are history, forever consigned to old photographs and writings. If my “strength endures” I have about ten years left, according to Moses.

So, what will I do with these next ten years, assuming, of course, that I will actually have them. The same thing I have done with the last fifty: Serve the Lord Jesus Christ. It has been a blessing to be His servant all these years.

It is not that I have been called to minister to people who were better than the ancient Hebrews Moses led. People are people. They are all sinners, every last one of them. When a sinner ministers to other sinners, you can expect trouble. And sorrow, too, just as Moses said.

Servants of Jesus Christ must remain focused on Jesus Christ; if they don’t, they will fall into depression and failure. Jesus never disappoints. Jesus never fails. Jesus never resists the will of God. Keeping my attention on Him brings joy and satisfaction. Keeping my attention on myself or on people He calls me to minister to makes me think the best of my seventy years are filled with trouble and sorrow.

Funny thing is, Moses was 120 years old when he died, and Deuteronomy 34:7 says that “his eyes were not weak nor his strength gone.” Apparently there is no Biblical mandate that we live on this earth for 70 or 80 years and then we are gone. If I follow Moses’ example, then I still have fifty years more to live in this old world!

The most important thing is not how many years we get to live on this earth. The most important thing is whether or not we are prepared through faith in Jesus Christ to live for eternity in Heaven with Him after our three score and ten, or whatever we wind up getting, conclude.

Labor Unions and My Home Town

I grew up in the town of Walter Reuther and Jimmy Hoffa, the town of the UAW, the AFLCIO, and a host of lesser-known organizations, all dedicated to the task of uniting labor in one of the most prominent of American industries. You would think that would make me a strong supporter of labor unions.

It did not. When I was growing up in Detroit, Michigan, in the 1950s, labor unions dominated the city, which, of course, was the home of the Big Three auto manufacturers, Ford, GM and Chrysler. Most of the parents of my friends at school were laborers, and members of one of the various unions associated with the auto industry. It seemed unions were an all-pervasive presence in the town that built the cars.

My family, however, was not a union family. My father, W. L. Parsons, was a salesman in an exclusive, downtown shoe store for women. There was no union for employees in the store. Nor did Dad want there to be a union.

Unions had a bad name in my family, because any time they called a strike, usually, it seemed, for a wage increase, it cut into sales at my dad's store. Since he worked on commission, that meant money out of his pocket, and that threatened the security of his wife and children. Unions on strike also meant that there were interruptions in major services on which the rest of us were dependent. And, ultimately, successful strikes meant the cost of living would go up for everyone as manufacturers raised their prices to cover their increased labor costs.

We were not a militant anti-union family, and my father usually voted for candidates from the Democratic party. However, a union on strike did bring out some negative comments from my parents.

Now that I am retired, and my parents are in Heaven, I do recognize the role unions have played and continue to play in our society. However, as a former resident of metropolitan Detroit, I also recognize the great abuses that have characterized unions in cities like Detroit. It is true that every dime paid to union members in salaries, health care, and retirement benefits does add to the cost of living for union members and non-members alike. Every union demand that is met means greater costs of the products the union members help produce.

I strongly believe that there needs to be a counter balance to labor unions, an opposing force that keeps unions in check. Usually that force has been government and laws designed to limit what a union can and cannot do. This is essential.

A balance between labor and management is the best way to meet the needs of both sides. Adequate pay and worker safety is necessary for the success of any company. On the other side, management's ability to manage the company for its continued health and progress is of equal importance to the workers' needs.

My home town today is a broken city. There were many elements that worked together to bring down one of America's great cities. American auto manufacturers did not respond wisely to the success of foreign-built cars. The American car was designed to last only a short time, and then to be replaced. Foreign cars were designed to last longer, and be more fuel efficient. The Big Three lagged behind foreign manufacturers in vision and response to the needs of American car owners, opting for large, gas-guzzling autos instead of the types of cars being built in places such as Japan.

The government of the city of Detroit itself became more and more corrupt and unresponsive to the need for well-maintained infrastructure and other services to its citizens. The city declined. People of means fled. Drugs, gangs, violence and the social ills these things bring took over the once beautiful and well-functioning city.

But there was another element that led to the downfall of the city. That element was the labor unions. Unwilling or unable to read the handwriting on the wall, unions continued to make demands for salaries and benefits for their members, even as the manufacturers and the businesses all the citizens depended on rapidly declined. Rather than allowing management to make tough but necessary decisions about wages, benefits, layoffs, and so forth, the unions kept up their demands for larger and larger slices of the pie. Unions share blame with management, and with the city government for the fall of Detroit. Unions are not innocent victims.

Fifty years of my life has not changed my mind about the place unions have in our society. They are necessary, certainly. But they also need to be restrained by laws so as not to overstep their place. Now that the Big Three seem to be in a better position to grab a growing share of the market, and the city of Detroit is seeking to reinvent itself with a new leadership, it will be interesting to see whether the unions will help rebuild the city and its industries, or seek to play its game by the same old, tired policies that helped to ruin the city.

The Importance of Bible Teaching In The Local Church

For about two years of my life I was a member of a United Methodist church in Lincoln Park, Michigan. After I came to personal faith in Jesus Christ, something that happened outside the Methodist Church, I began to grow less and less appreciative of the church. Why? It seemed to me that no matter what the church taught, it was based more on official church positions than on what the Bible actually said. The pastor quoted the Bible in his messages, but he did not explain or proclaim the Bible texts. He simply quoted a verse here or there that seemed to support his message for the day.

This is the sole reason why I went down the street to the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan where for the next five years I sat under the ministry of one of the most godly men I have ever known. He didn't just quote the Bible, he taught it. He didn't tell us what he thought, or what the church thought. He taught us what God said in His Word.

For several weeks I attended the Methodist church in the morning, and the Baptist church in the evening. It didn't take long for me to be convinced I was getting better and more accurate Bible teaching at the Baptist Church.

Before joining the Baptist church, I went and talked with the pastor of the Methodist church and told him what I planned to do and why. His response was that I should stay in the Methodist church and "reform" it. Reformation. Didn't someone named Martin already try that?

The Baptist pastor had a much more encouraging message for me when I talked with him. He said I should go where the Lord led me, and that I should be in a church that will teach me faithfully what God says in His Word.

So, in May, 1960, at the age of19, I joined the First Baptist Church, a decision I have never regretted.

I am absolutely convinced that there are believers in many different denominations. When I taught at a Christian school, I had many students who represented a variety of denominational affiliations. They evidenced a deep and lasting love for Jesus Christ. Some of them are now my Facebook friends, and I love reading what they are doing to serve the Lord and how He is blessing them in their walk with him.

Now, don't accuse me of being a hater of Methodists; I am not. I have known Methodists who loved the Lord and tried, as I do, to serve Him. But in my judgment, after fifty plus years of studying the Bible, teaching it, and applying its principles to my personal life, I still a need a church that teaches me what God says in His Word, not one that tells me what the official positions of the church are, whether they are church law (which does not exist Biblically), or recommendations from some central committee. I really do not care what label is over the door of the local church. But I do care about how deep, how accurate, and how consistent is the Bible teaching that I receive once I am inside the door.

Retirement in the Bible

Many of us, including me, have often said boldly, "There's no such thing as retirement in the Bible!" Well, actually, there is.

I was reading in Numbers the other day, following the instructions given to Moses by the Lord for the people of Israel as they journeyed from the ancient land of Egypt to the land flowing with milk and honey that Israel lives in today. God was telling Moses how his brother, Aaron, and the Levites were to conduct the ministry of the Lord among the people. I came to Numbers 8:23-28:

The Lord said to Moses, "This applies to the Levites: Men twenty-five years old or more shall come to take part in the work at the tent of meeting, but at the age of fifty, they must retire from their regular service and work no longer. They may assist their brothers in performing their duties at the tent of meeting, but they themselves must not do the work. This, then, is how you are to assign the responsibilities of the Levites. (NIV)

So, retirement is in the Bible after all!

The Levites had a heavy responsibility. They had to offer the sacrifices every day on behalf of the people of Israel. Bloody sacrifices. They spent a good part of each day when Israel was in camp knee-deep in blood and gore. Also, they bore the responsibility of making certain every detail was as God directed it to be. Their mistake could bring the anger of God against the people. It was a very difficult ministry to say the least.

When they reached the age of 50, they were no longer allowed to carry that heavy burden on behalf of the people. They were no longer to offer the sacrifices and be the go-between for God and His people.

However, retirement did not mean they could set up a TV set in their tent and sit and watch reruns of Survival: The Sinai Peninsula all day. They could still be involved in the ministry. They could still contribute. They could still be a part of the every day struggles of the people. They were instructed to assist the Levites who were still "full-time" with their duties.

For 34 years, I was on the front line of ministry in two churches and one Christian school. I was involved in 24/7 ministry to people, ministry which sometimes got messy and heavy, putting me knee-deep in symbolic blood and gore. It was what the Lord called me to do, and I did with His help to the best of my abilities.

How good it is now to be retired from all that. But, also, how good it is to still be assisting those who are in the trenches of ministry. How good it is to continue to serve the Lord Jesus Christ, even in retirement.

Goals For a New Year

The new year of 2011 started warm and wet here in central Ohio, with temps in the 60s as the day began, and rain, then sunshine and falling temps down into the 30s. Winter will return tomorrow.

Linda and I both have colds this first day of the year; hers is getting better and mine never really took hold, at least not so far. Praise the Lord.

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions, but I have set some goals for 2011. Here they are:

[1] I want to distribute at least 12 copies of my books, whether free or in sales. I wrote them; I want to get them out there.

[2] I want to finish editing my friend Barb Forsyth’s book Joy Comes in the Morning, and help her get it ready for publication and distribution.

[3] I want to finish and publish my book The Missing Person.

[4] I want to add twelve new pages to my website.

[5] I want to teach a class on How to Write Your Story.

I may think of other goals as I go along. If I do, I will list them here, and indicate the progress made as we go along.

This is the year I turn 70, on June 5. Three score and ten. It occurs to me that I could either die this year, or that Jesus could return and take us all home. I could be absent from the body, but present with the Lord before 2011 ends.

It is all in the Lord’s hands. Whatever He does is fine with me.

But I need to get to work on these goals.

This Little Life of Mine: Chapter 1: Why Write?

Why does anyone write? Most writers have no assurance anyone really is interested in what they write, so why bother? After all, there are only a very few people who can actually make a comfortable living out of writing. There are even fewer who can become rich, famous and successful by putting words on paper. Most people, both in history and in contemporary society, who write have to do something else to pay the bills. So, why write?

Writers write because they have something to say that they must commit to some permanent form. It does not really matter if anyone wants to read what they write or not. It matters even less if anyone is willing to pay them money for what they write. What matters is that they get their thoughts, their ideas, their heart and soul and mind on paper, or, these days in some electronic media. If anyone chooses to read it, that is a bonus. If anyone appreciates what is written, that is even more of a bonus. And if someone pays them for it, that’s nice, too. But these are not the things that motivate serious writers. Serious writers write because they have no choice.

I have no choice but to write these words. They are inside me screaming to get out, and I must let them out. I cannot hold them back any more than a volcano can hold back the spewing lava within it. If no one ever reads what I write, I will still have done what I set out to do, to set down words that describe this little life of mine.

I have been on this earth more than sixty years as I begin this writing, and that is a long time. But it is not really a long time; for one thing I have learned in these sixty plus years is that this life is temporary, transient, so much like a vapor, here today, but not to be found tomorrow.

It is because of the transitory nature of life, and because of my age, that I set about the task of telling the story of my life, whether anyone cares to read it or not. A few more years and my life on earth will be over, and I will no longer be able to write any story. At the very least, I hope that future generations of my family — my children, my grandchildren, my great grandchildren — all will read this and understand this life recorded here, and from whence they came.

In a very real sense, of course, it is not merely my life that is recorded here. I have necessarily recorded the lives of others as well, others whose little lives have intertwined with mine at various points along the way. There are many, too many to include all here.

Life is full of beginnings and endings, of new friends encountered and old friends left behind. Doors open; doors close. We encounter people — family, associates, friends — all too briefly, and they are gone. What did another man who could not resist the urge within to write set on paper? Something about all the world being a stage, and people merely players who strut and fret, and then are gone. That is life, and it is life that I hope to record here.

This is also a record — in fact, it is primarily the record — of what God has done to live His life through me. That is the main purpose I have in this treatise. I would like to testify to what God has done much more than to tell you what I have done. Because I did not have a faith experience with God until after my seventeenth birthday, the first part of this account will seem somewhat devoid of faith and what God might be doing. I didn’t know until I met God what God could do.

It may seem strange to some that I would want to write about God and how He is revealed in my life. After all, should I not prefer to record what I have done? Would I not want my descendants to understand what great things I did? Shouldn’t this account be about me and my life and what I did? I answer, “No!” And I answer that way simply because I have not done anything significant on my own. Nor could I. Nor can anyone. Humans do not handle life very well. It is too big, too demanding, but also way too fragile for our hands to deal with. We need God’s hands. He Who created life is the only One qualified to live it. He has chosen to live His life through His children; I am one of His children.

I begin this lengthy document, with or without readers. I begin not knowing how it or the life it reveals will end. I begin because something within me compels me to begin. I begin because I have something to say that I must commit to a permanent form. I begin.

In most cases, where a person other than an immediate family member is included in this narrative, I have changed the name to protect the privacy of that individual.

A Mosque and Ground Zero

A Muslim leader who calls himself a moderate in Islamic theology wants to build a mosque in lower Manhattan a couple of blocks from Ground Zero where Islamic terrorists brought down two buildings and murdered nearly 3,000 people on September 11, 2001. The plan to build this mosque has polarized New Yorkers and people across the country.

Certainly Muslims have a right to build anything they can afford to build within the restrictions of zoning ordinances on land they own. They should be, and are, as free to build a mosque as Christians should be, and are, free to build a church. That is the legal part of this debate, and there really is no debate on this part of the issue. The law does not prohibit the construction of a mosque at the location in question. The plan has been approved by the city's building committee, so there are no legal hurdles to proceeding with the plan.

However, there is a tremendous amount of emotional opposition to building a mosque at this location. Some view it as a slap in the face to the families of the victims of 911. Some view it as a symbol of Islamic superiority and victory over the American infidels. Some view it as just plain disgusting. Others argue that it would be a symbol of acceptance of those who are different; it would celebrate diversity. It would remind us that not all Muslims endorsed the terrorism that struck deep fear into the hearts of nearly every American.

Personally, I have no concern over the building of the mosque at the desired location. I did not lose any family member or friend on 911, and I have no plans to visit the mosque when it is completed. I have no personal stake one way or the other.

However, it seems to me that the Muslim leaders overseeing this project need to listen to the outcry against their plan. It would be foolhardy to put up a building that is so controversial as to lead to violence and rioting. The building would be like a lightning rod attracting all the kooks of whatever stripe to create mayhem, causing property damage, injury, and possibly death.

The planners should either sell the property and locate elsewhere further away from Ground Zero, or delay construction indefinitely. They should then engage in a public dialog concerning their repudiation of Muslim extremists and the violence the world suffers because of them. That is one of the things that has made many Americans uneasy about Muslims in America. We have yet to hear any strong, public pronouncements of repudiation from the Muslim community. Lacking that, it is only logical that Americans would be hesitant to trust Muslim plans to further change the skyline of our largest city.

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."

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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.