Miss Edison. Second grade. Such a sweet, sweet lady. Had started teaching at a time when teachers rarely got married. She would retire the next year, but she gave me a tremendous gift in the understanding of language. Obviously I could speak. It was second grade, after all. But she gave me an insight as to how language worked. She was explaining the word 'vacate.' "You take a vacation when you vacate your home and go away." Nothing more than that, but I have always been on the watch for other examples of how language works.

    So, what does that have to do with anything? Well, first, it isn't always enough that we can speak the language. By knowing how it evolved we can understand it better.

    Second, there is the whole idea of 'vacation.'

    If you are reading this the day it is posted, I was going to get to spend time with my granddaughter this afternoon, because I am on vacation! Oh, how I have been looking forward to pinching her little cheeks! Except, I am here in Indiana.

    Now if you have time off and you are not going away, it has come to called a stay-cation. Kind of a warp on then language, but descriptive. Since I usually don't vacation well, stay-cation was fine. Until I became grandpa. But, I am in Indiana, so this is a stay-cation. 

    But, not an intended stay-cation. What I am enduring right now is a sick-cation. A scheduled vacation has turned into something I am not enjoying at all. 

    But, is it wasted? 

    Last week I got sick. After two days of barely being able to move, I called an ambulance. Next followed several days in the hospital. All were in agreement that I was sick, but there was never a diagnosis given, even on my discharge papers. At one point they slipped a little bacon into my potato soup (They didn't really try to kill me. They knew I had a pork allergy, they just didn't know their potato soup had bacon in it) and I got even sicker. The end result is, I am still very much under the weather.

    But, again, is it wasted?

    I feel that when something happens to one of God's servants, there is a reason. We pray for God to use us, but we really only pray for that use to be made on our schedule. However, if you are really serious about God using you, you accept you situation.

    After ER, I was taken to a room. The nurse was checking me in and she kept looking at me like there was a question. Suddenly, her face cleared. "YOU'RE THAT PREACHER FROM OVER HERE! Cool!" That was an interesting reaction. "Yes, I am a pastor. Do I know you?" "Two years ago I was a floor nurse at Huntington and you were a patient. I was going through a hard time and you held my hand and prayed with me!" To be honest, right then I so sick I was wishing I had died two years ago. But when she said that, I did remember. We talked for a bit more, and then she left for her other duties. 

    The next day I learned that the day nurse for that day was married to a pastor. They are in the struggle of him working a full time job and pastoring the small church. I have been there and done that, so we had a conversation. Later, another nurse came in (a male nurse) because they were so busy and my nurse was elsewhere. He asked about my shoulder surgery, which was only noted as a previous surgery, and I explained it was from breaking my shoulder while coaching wrestling while I was in college. Turns out, he had been a college wrestler at Missouri Baptist College. Now he is a nurse and married and a daddy and active in his church. Later, a therapist came in. Also a former wrestler, he is also a Christian and is active in his church. The next day another therapist came in who was almost over the top with his witness for Christ. Fun to talk to. Altogether, I made several new friends and prayed with three.

    Then yesterday, at the doctor's office, I had a long wait for the doctor. During that time  I prayed with three nurses. So many people, so many struggles.

    I do want to be clear; I do not advertise that I am a pastor. I just talk to people. I sometimes listen and then tell them that I will pray for them. Sometimes I will ask if I can pray for them right then. I have found that so many have something going on and rarely will anyone turn down prayer.

    So, here is the point to all of this. We engage with people all the time. AND, we are Christians. We have the greatest story ever told. If, while we are engaging with people, our language is not the best, we can't give them any Spiritual help. "Well, I know, but they understand when I get frustrated!" They may understand the human side of frustration, but they are not going to understand the Spiritual side of being able to overcome frustration. We engage with people all the time, but if we are buried in our phones, how do we share? We engage with people all the time, but how do you get around to the Lord? It is conversation, allowing yourself to be used, opening yourself to be used of the Spirit, not just feeling good in the Spirit.

    I told my son I would make it out later. For now, on my sick-cation, I will be content.

                                                          

          I loved to fish. Looking outside on this unusually warm April day, it begins to stir that old feeling. There is a reason I do not fish anymore, but that is another story. The fish story that comes to mind today, however, is probably more interesting.

         I always had my stuff in the trunk. If I was driving along and saw a likely spot, I would stop and get into my trunk for one rod and reel and a couple of lures and I would make my way to the water’s edge. Back then, and in that part of the country, a minister’s ‘uniform’ was dress clothes and a tie. When you got to where you were going, you put on the suit jacket. Because of this, I couldn’t get too crazy. No climbing down steep embankments to get to a river, no wading out into a stream. But, if you could get to the water’s edge without trouble, you were good to go. I had a few places I would just be driving by on pretty days and find I had a few minutes. Catch and release. Just for the fun of it.

         It was one of the very few things I shared with my father. We could go fishing and spend the day and just exchange a few words. Really, my best memories of my father were wading through a fast moving river and fishing for bass.

         I tried to get Marsha interested and she was, to a degree. So long as she didn’t have to bait a hook, take a fish off the hook, clean them back home or fry them up. Fishing was fun so long as she could talk. And talk. And talk. “Would you believe that daddy quit taking me fishing because he said I talk too much? Can you believe that? He can be so stupid sometimes!” She particularly like going out on a boat. My father and I were once making plans to go fishing. “Now, boy, don’t be telling that woman of yours that we’re going out on a boat. She’ll want to come and I can’t stand that mouth.” She had a bit of a reputation.

         I tried to get my son interested, but sitting still for more than a couple of minutes was more than he could do. He would fidget, he would pull out a comic book, he would complain. He once ran a hook deep into his finger, and that required a trip to ER. No point making him suffer for something he didn’t enjoy.

         One Christmas my father-in-law gave me a brand new rod. Not just a new rod, but a rod that was being marketed heavily. It was featured on all the fishing shows I watched during the winter when everything was frozen over. All the bells and whistles. Able to bend and flex, the eyelets were mounted in a secure way and were made for the easy passage of the line. And the price was definitely big league. Not something I ever thought about getting for myself. But there, on Christmas afternoon, was this wonderful beauty.

         As I said, everything was frozen over. Not the kind of rig you would take ice fishing, and I didn’t ice fish anyway.  But I went out and bought some new line, a couple of really nice lures and transferred my really good reel to the really good rod and then waited until it thawed out enough to have some really good fishing.

         April, 1988. One of our people was in a hospital in Greenville, Pennsylvania. I was going to go see him and decided the way to go was over the causeway at Pymatuning Lake. A man made lake, it was around 20 miles long, north to south, and around 2 miles wide, east to west. On the east side of the lake was Pennsylvania and on the west side was Ohio. A causeway crossed the lake running east to west, connecting the two states. There were pull-offs along the causeway for people to pull over and fish. I decided that since I was going to Greenville anyway, I would go the causeway and see if the ice was melting. (Actually, the lake was quite a bit out of my way. I was just indulging myself.)

         I started crossing the causeway and was surprised to see the lake was mostly ice free. Also, the pull-offs were empty. It was pretty cold with a northerly wind blowing. I pulled off, just to watch the white caps. I wasn’t going to try out my fabulous new rod. To cold and the only coat I had was my suit coat. Otherwise, just shirt sleeves.

         But it would just be a few casts. I had grown up in the land of snow and ice. Fifteen minutes in just shirt sleeves would be easy. Rod and reel were in the trunk. One of my new lures attached. New line begging to get in the water. Before I knew what was happening, I had pulled the keys and had gotten out of the car. I walked around to the trunk and opened it. There lay the rig, begging to get out and play. “15 minutes, my friend. That’s all the time we have.”

         Oh, it felt good in my hands. It was ready for the water. I got to the water’s edge. Assuming the correct stance, I set the reel and let fly with my first cast. Oh, wow! It was perfect! I started to reel in, playing the lure, but what I really wanted was to cast again. I didn’t actually want to catch anything. Just feel the cast.

         In Pymatuning there are blue gill, crappie, bass, perch, walleye and a few other species, like carp. There are also muskie, or muskellunge. The muskie is the largest of the pike family of fish. Commonly, an adult grows to four feet in length and forty pounds, although they can grow to six feet long and seventy pounds. And they are mean with serious teeth. Fortunately, there are very few in Pymatuning.

I had reeled in my lure about 2/3s of the way when I hit a snag of some sort. Submerged log, large rock, whatever. I was snagged. I was probably going to lose my lure. I started to whip the rod from side to side to loosen the lure when the snag started to move. OK, submerged log. But then it changed direction, and then again, and again. There was nothing in the lake that could move like that. And then it did that little move that lets any fisherman anywhere know that it is a living fish.

Had to be a muskie. One hadn’t been caught in the lake in almost ten years, but some had been sighted. Still, a muskie is more lively than this critter. So, maybe a big snapping turtle. But it was yet too cold for them. And the cold would affect the fish, too. Makes them slower. But this fellow was waking up. He was starting to move. I was trying to play him, but he was a strong dude. (For you feminists, I am not saying the fish was powerful and therefore a male. It just saves time. Chill.) My pole began to bend and then….

Snap. The new, fabulous pole snapped right in two pieces right at the halfway point. (I failed to mention that this pole came all in one piece and was not able to be disassembled. Although it disassembled pretty quick.) A second or two later the line snapped. Without the flexing action of the pole the line is not going to last long. I fell over backwards and landed on my rear. There was a disturbance in the surface of the water as my fish took off.

I was angry. I still had the back part of the pole in my hand. When it snapped it dropped the front part right at the water’s edge. I snatched it up and looked at where it had broken. The pole was hollow, but right at the breaking point the inside of the pole had been extruded wrong and was very thin. A manufacturer’s defect. The pole was great except for that one place, where it was weak.

I can laugh about it now, but at the time I couldn’t see any humor. However, there is a great truth here. Anything is only as strong as its weakest point.

Our church is moving forward. Doing things we haven’t done before. Everything is going to require a strong congregation. Don’t be the weak point. Now is the time to strengthen your resolve. To follow God’s will requires real Spiritual readiness.

And, if you care to hear it, I have an amazing story about a muskie. Later.        

          Geneva, Ohio. Township Park. Standing on a cliff overlooking Lake Erie. If you looked toward the east, you were looking down the coastline. There was a jut of land down a few miles, on which stood a lighthouse. Not the tower lighthouse that we think of when we think of lighthouses, but rather it looked like a regular house at the end of the land with a light at the top. If you actually went to the lighthouse, you would see that it was huge, four stories with that huge light. Originally a base for the United States Lifesaving Service, it went out of use when the Lifesaving Service and the United States Revenue Cutter Service were merged into the Coast Guard. But the Coast Guard still maintained the house and the light. I at Township Park nearly every morning for eleven years, visiting with the Lord in every kind of weather. Lots of prayers and lots of coffee. Usually home before anyone else was awake.

         Every year we had a Sonrise Service. In a cemetery, in a field, at the church. Every year. And I would be the only one who came. Sonrise was different there than here. Always cold, always snow on the ground, a church full of sissies.

         I announced one year that we would be having Sonrise at Township Park and I would buy breakfast at a local greasy spoon for whoever came. “Can I just come to breakfast?” No. “Will it be cloudy?” Maybe. “You do realize that there will be ice on the Lake and it will be freezing?” Yes. “Do you want us to freeze?” No one is going to freeze because I will be the only one out there. “YOU ARE CRAZY!” I didn’t take that one personally. It was my wife.

         Oddly enough, we had ten sign up. Church folk will do anything for food. There was a lady in town who played taps at all the veteran funerals. She went to the Methodist church but she came to our Bible study. She asked if she could go. Of course I said yes. We were going to have people! Strangely, all of these people were women. They went from 17 to 70. They weren’t real enthusiastic, but they signed up and all intended to come.

         And they did. And all regretted their decisions. To say it was cold wasn’t really right. It was more than cold. It was hurt your bones cold. We had a melt the week before, so the roads were clear. No snow falling. The sky had no clouds. The fading stars were beautiful. The air was still. The Lake was partially thawed. A perfect morning. The lady from the Methodist church got out of her car and walked with me to the edge of the cliff, where there was a fence. We just soaked it in. The 17 year old got out of her car (she wasn’t real happy) and walked over to join us. For a moment it was perfect.

         Then the ladies from our church started to get out of the cars. You never heard such griping. “What on earth was he thinking?” “This guy is NUTS!” “I could be home in a warm bed!” If you were just listening to them, you would think I was the most horrible man on earth. They didn’t sound so much like a church group than as a flock of angry hens. Anyone listening would assume I was hated by one and all. And right then, I suppose I was.

         One of the ladies, who had ridden with the Methodist lady, emerged carrying a small case, which she brought over to the Methodist. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I would play my trumpet!” William Congreve said music soothes the savage beast, and at that moment it looked like there were 9 savage beasts that wished to do me harm. (The 17 year old was one of my Youth and she really did like me, so she would not have joined in pitching me over the cliff and into the Lake. However, at that moment she didn’t look like she would have protected me, either.) I would welcome the music.

         The trumpet player was constantly working the valves on her trumpet to keep them from freezing up. The other ladies were in a tight ball by the fence. I stood apart because it did not look safe to be near them. As they kind of looked toward the East, I read some Scripture. I had been there the morning before, so I knew exactly when the sun would begin to peek over the water. I had timed everything for dramatic effect. And I had this knot of cold, resentful women who couldn’t wait to leave.

         “Now, watch ladies! Any second.” “It’s about stinkin’ time.” “A free breakfast isn’t worth this!”

         And then the sun began to come up. Air that cold has no moisture in it, so it was as clear as you were likely to ever see. Ice floated on the Lake and it almost seemed as though the sunlight passed from one chunk of ice to the next. There were no clouds, but the sun seemed to light the air all around us. The ladies had gotten silent, as though someone had flipped a switch. It was quiet for a few seconds, and then some quiet gasps, a few muttered ‘wows’ and then it was as though everyone was holding their breath. At that moment, the trumpet began with “Christ Arose.” On a freezing cold morning next to a quiet Lake Erie, the notes seemed to ring out. The verse played out and when she got to the chorus, it was like we had rehearsed it. Everyone lifted up their voices. Up from the grave He arose! With a mighty triumph o’er His foes! He arose a Victor from the dark domain, and He lives forever with His saint s to reign. He arose! He arose! Alleluia! Christ Arose!” We moved right to “Amazing Grace” and, when the trumpet’s valves froze shut on the third verse, we sang the rest of it without music.

         By that time the sun was up so high you couldn’t look at it, so we all got into the cars and headed to the restaurant. The food wasn’t great but the coffee kept coming. The ladies kept asking, hopefully, if we could do it again next year. Later, at church, they got on everyone else for not coming out. It was kind of funny.

         I have always wondered what that all sounded like inside the homes right there close to the park, or maybe someone out walking their dog.

         He Arose!

         Sunday morning, at St. Peter’s Cemetery, it will be in the mid-30s right at sunrise. The breeze will be around 5 mph out of the east. Sunrise at 7:13, so be there by 7. It will be great! You will love it! And then coffee and breakfast back at the church. Always a great time.               

         He Arose!