I love a good storm. I really do. I have been in hurricanes and tornados and really impressive thunderstorms and blizzards. The only drawback to a good storm is that sometimes there is damage. Sometimes people die. You hate to see people suffer because of a storm. Sometimes they bring it on themselves. When I was a teen, a developer bought a long stretch of land along a peaceful river. He built luxury homes all along that stretch. River front. My father scoffed at the developer. "That's a flood plain! Only an idiot would buy there!" All those homes looked fine to me, and I could never remember a flood right there. All the homes sold quickly, and it was a really nice neighborhood. And then two years later it flooded with the rain and snowmelt and several houses floated off and the rest were damaged beyond repair. Sometimes people are just foolish, but normally a storm comes and there is nothing you can do.

Last Thursday night and into Friday morning we had three tornados touch down in Northeast Ohio. Because no one was killed you didn't have calls for FEMA, no network live feeds, no aerial views shown on The Weather Channel, no crying mother standing outside a damaged home weeping that she hadn't seen Fluffy the cat since the storm. No, our storm ripped up a lot of corn and soybeans and a grape vineyard and a few outbuildings. Right around where I live there are lots and lots of trees. There are fewer trees now. Most of those trees are in residential neighborhoods, yet no one was injured. Typical of the people in this area, daylight found folks in their yards with chainsaws cutting up the fallen trees. Or they were walking over to their neighbors and helping them cut their trees and branches or helping with nailing plywood over smashed windows. Debris in the streets was pulled aside in case emergency vehicles needed to pass. Power was out over a wide area and so people were sharing what they had. Grills were preparing feasts from freezers that were not working. All the businesses were closed, but folks had supplies. Weather around here is always kind of wild, so you have extra food and water. People sharing what they have. Democrat, Republican, black Asian, white. No one was going to go hungry, no one was going to suffer. And it was all going to be done without government aid or media coverage.

And, of course, I slept through the entire stormy night. The next day people were walking around bleary eyed by four in the afternoon because they had not slept the night before. I never heard a thing.

Mankind believes we have answered all the questions. Mankind believes we have created a government that can meet the needs of the people. Mankind believes we have come to the point that we have no need of God. And then a disaster comes along and mankind realizes that there are still some questions to be answered. Mankind sees that government can become overwhelmed in a heartbeat. Mankind will finally acknowledge God, but only to damn Him and curse His name. 

We are foolish to think we have come to a point in our evolution that we are superior. We have gone backward into our sinful natures. Evolution of the species is a myth. Society has devolved. 

And then a tornado rips through a community. People start their day by reaching out to their neighbors. Pastors from the four churches in their community walk the streets, lending a hand, calming a frightened child, gathering people together in a yard to pray with them and give thanks that there were no deaths. A priest, a Baptist minister, a Lutheran minister and a Methodist minister, offering comfort and peace. Not trying to build up their churches, but answering the call of their community.

Is mankind finished. Probably. But people, on the other hand, are doing pretty well. The good folks don't make the news. The good folks are not looting. The good folks are not trying to pressure government to take care of them. No, the good folks are helping one another. The good folks are working hard. The good folks are letting messengers of God to put an arm around a shoulder and pray. The good folks have not forgotten God, the good folks do not feel they are better than their neighbor, the good folks are ready to meet the day without government help. 

I love a good storm. I really do.

My first doctor's appointment in Ohio was scheduled for Thursday, August 10. I made the appointment a couple of weeks before leaving Indiana and felt lucky to get in that soon. My son knows her and that seemed to make it easier. On Monday I felt, well, under the weather. On Tuesday I was running a low fever. On Wednesday I woke up to severe pain in my left foot. It looked no different (my feet are ugly, anyway) but the pain was pretty bad. On Thursday I got up and called and canceled my appointment, having decided to go to ER instead. When my son came to pick me up (he had been very insistent, for some reason), I told him of the change in plans. Since my foot looked no different, I figured I had broken it somehow. But at ER they did blood work, an X-ray and a MRI. Somewhere along the way the foot had become infected. Actually, the toe next to the big toe, but it had spread very quickly. Now I am thinking a round of strong anti-biotics, which I dreaded because they mess with my stomach. 

Then the doc came in to explain the diagnosis and treatment. He told us that the infection was in the bone, at least in that toe. My son asked what that meant. "Well, we will have to amputate, at least that toe and probably the middle toe and maybe part of the foot."

At that point, everything in the world stopped moving. The word 'amputate' is a frightening word. My mind filled with images of people I have known who had basically the same issue. Until that moment my mind had blocked those memories, but now the mental gates opened. Three had lost both legs because they had let the infections go to long. Three others had lost part or all of the foot. These memories were heavy on my mind.

We were told that the surgeon would be in early in the morning to decide when the operation would take place. It was around 8 PM and no one had really eaten, so I sent everyone home. I lay there with just my thoughts. Then, around 9:30, the surgeon walked in. Really bad bedside manner. Every time I saw him at the hospital the next few days, he always had a scowl, although I did get him to laugh at the follow-up visit in his office a week after surgery. (given enough time, I can usually make anyone laugh) He examined my foot and matter of factly told me that surgery would be in the morning. With no emotion evident, he explained the possible extent of the surgery. Then he left me so I could get some sleep.

Right. That was really going to happen. I was going to sleep like a baby all night. I never fell asleep. Just stared into the darkness and prayed.

Oddly, though, what lay on my heart were people I knew who had issues as well of this church I know of in Indiana. I prayed for myself, the doctors and the surgical team, but then my heart wandered to my foster daughter, who had just lost her oldest daughter. Kim and Bryan Franks. Others who crowded into my mind. It was as though the Holy Spirit wanted me to remember that I knew many others who had serious issues, as well. It was an interesting night. 

But morning came. It was on that morning that I met Richie, a male nurse who was one of the finest young men I have ever met. I also met Rosa, a young African-American nurse, who seemed harsh and matter of fact. I saw a lot of these two over the next several days. The anesthetist came in with a smile and a sunny outlook that did not match my outlook at all. She explained her part in all of the goings on. I told her that the last time I had been put to sleep I had come awake during the procedure, and I never wanted that again. She laughed and told me that would never happen with her. Then the surgeon's assistant came in and explained that they really didn't know the extent of the surgery until they got there. And then they rolled me down to surgery. They began the meds that would put me to sleep, and then my mind shut off.

As a point of interest, I did wake up during the procedure, which made no one happy, least of all me.

In recovery I asked the nurse who was hovering near, what they had taken. She ran her hand over my head like a mother would a child and told me they had just taken the one toe. Tears came to my eyes. I was going to really be OK.

In the days that followed I was taught how to walk with a walker while putting as little weight as possible on my left foot. I learned that Richie is a great guy. I learned that the aides were tender and caring. And with a little gentle prodding, I found out Rosa's story and I was able to help her and calm her. I really believe that the Lord put Rosa there right at that moment because she needed a pastor. She cried and hugged me when I left for rehab. The aids came in and hugged me. Richie came in and I told him he was not my type, so no hugs. We shook hands. 

And then, rehab, which I warmly refer to now as prison.

For lack of beds, I wound up in the dementia section. Twice at night I was jerked awake by the sound of aides or nurses yelling in anger at each other in the hallway. Forget about using the call light. Maybe meds came on time, maybe not. I went two days without insulin. I never got to go outside just to sit. When I finally did get a shower, a lady sat in a chair and watched as I showered in the open shower. My son was there when housekeeping came in one day.  She was incoherent until she began to sing Christmas carols. My son, who rarely talks ill of anyone, announced that she was a nut case. The reason I wanted to go there was that the therapy was so highly rated. Since I am an early riser, they would get me between 6 and 6:30. I would be back in my room by 7 with nothing to do but listen to patients scream out and beg to go home. And, worse of all, the food was not optimal.

But I progressed quickly and got out in less than a week. I can resume my blog and do my walking in my building. There is practically no pain. All is well.

And you all are still prayed for early every morning.

That is my story, and I am sticking to it.

Blessings.

    How do you build confidence?

    Well, encouragement from others helps. But a mother talking to her little girl on the night before the first day of kindergarten may not instill as much confidence as we had hoped. Practicing with your son before his first soccer game is a good thing, but when he first trots out on the field, he is likely to be convinced that he is going to blow it. As a young couple looks toward their wedding, they are going to have moments when they wonder if they are making a mistake, even though they have assurances from many others. In a church, that first time Sunday School teacher is going to be worried that they will freeze up, even though the pastor has pumped him/her up. And that first time preacher is going to be worried that he will somehow misuse the Word, even though hours have gone into the preparation.

    So, how do you build confidence?

    1973. A high school football game being played on a knife's edge. A field goal could win it, but the home team was to far out to make the kick, and the team's kicker was just a sophomore with an extremely shy demeanor and who stayed away from the upper classmen and, of course, all girls. He practiced field goals in practice and had a really strong leg, but in games he just kicked off. Now, in this critical game, it was fourth down with just seconds remaining, and victory seemed gone. But just when the home crowd should have been shouting encouragement, they grew quiet. In the huddle the players looked up and saw the kicker trotting out on the field. "It's too far! He'll never make it!" "I'd rather try a hail Mary pass." "Well, at least we played a good game" Once the kicker made the huddle, everyone was giving him encouragement, but no one believed he could make it. The opposition was already rejoicing. A college kicker, maybe. A pro kicker, probably. But a high school kicker, no way. The teams lined up, the ball was snapped and placed, and the young, frightened kicker stepped forward. The thunk of foot hitting ball was clear and both teams stopped their struggles to watch the soaring ball. Straight and true, but was it far enough? It was! Three points and the win! The young kicker was mugged and people were going nuts. But that kick did more just win the game. The kicker was a naturally humble guy, so that one success didn't go to his head. But it did start building confidence in him. He still lives in the same town he grew up in. Successful in life, raised a wonderful family and now is involved in kids' sports. And it started when he split those uprights.

    So, again, what builds confidence?

    The doing of something that works out. That little girl who was frightened that first day, graduated from college. Not because momma told her she could but because she built her confidence with each homework assignment and each test. The little boy, frightened before his first soccer game, went on to play college and then coach kids, not because dad told him he could, but because he had a steady diet of confidence builders along the way. The young couple who had some second thoughts before their wedding, looked out fifty year later over their assemble brood of kids and grands and great grands. Confidence built with every argument settled, every tear shed, every bit of success shared.

    Confidence is the result of doing and doing well.

    The Yoke. After two rough endings with pastors, the church was in no shape for making the decisions that had to be made. People had left, money was not abundant, sharp divisions remained. But folks were praying, seeking God's way. And, with everyone pulling together and depending on the Lord, a miracle happened. The pandemic came and people prayed for the congregation to stay together, and the church went back to worship before most. And only three contracted COVID! Deaths swept through the church from various illnesses and the congregation loved and cared for the families and weathered those storms. And the little church in Indiana became a prayer beacon all across the nation.

    Today the Yoke faces another bump in the road. As bumps go, it isn't too bad. The church needs to call a pastor and it would be helpful if he had some other talents. Some are concerned. They see doom and a slow death. Some looked at finances and wonder. Some see no hope. But where is that confidence? You have seen the impossible happen. You have seen fifty years of animosity dissolve before your eyes, you have seen a terrified nation, and yet your little corner of the land stepped fearlessly into the service and worship of the Lord. You have seen pillars of the church pass away, but then others were risen up. 

    The Yoke of 2023 is a lot stronger than most realize. The Lord has made it abundantly clear that He is in control. Exactly the right person is out there. and the Lord is working on that person so he will be prepared for a great ministry. The last decade has been very hard at times, but the church has been lifted up. How can that not instill confidence? 

    The great hymn He Lives! is a song we sing usually at Easter. But it is a wonderful song of encouragement at any time. Tight now I want to look at the second verse.

In all the world around me I see His loving care,
And tho my heart grows weary, I never will despair;
I know that He is leading thro all the stormy blast,
The day of His appearing will come at last.
He lives, He lives, Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me
A-long life's narrow way.
He lives, He lives, salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives?
He lives within my heart!

    If He is standing with the Yoke, who can stand against the Yoke?

 Pretty, isn't it?

Yes, I have always...WAIT! WHO SAID THAT?

It's Me, Larry. The Lord.

WHAT! Really, where are you? Who are you?

I am the Lord, Larry. Since you could not handle my actual self, I am in your head. But you are not crazy or anything. You are actually talking with Me.

No, no, no! This is Mary Earle's thing. You know. Mary Earle from Indiana. She is the one who talks to You.

Yes, about that. That woman's brain is racing in four or five directions at once. Sometimes I have to actually talk to her to get her to listen. You are very much the same way, but when I put things in your path, you can usually slow down and perceive Me. Mary, well Mary is a special case. I had to put Bill in her life to rein her in a bit.

So, my mind is racing so fast that You need to verbally talk with me?

HAH! Don't flatter yourself, my son. No one's mind races like Mary's. No, today I am just sitting here looking out over Lake Erie with an old friend.

Okayyyyy. But I have sat looking out over this Lake hundreds of times. You never talked to me before.

Of course I talked to you! You would come in anguish or confusion or despair. Each time I talked to you in the wind or the waves or the silence before the rising of the sun. Do you recall ever leaving the Lake disappointed?

Well, actually, no. But You have never had a verbal conversation with me before. This is different.

But still, you are here today with confusion and despair. Why are you offering care to a woman who left you for another man? Why are you so mentally preoccupied with the church in Indiana? Why isn't there a ministry just waiting for you here where you ministered for so long? Did I miss anything?

No. No, You pretty much have it all. But still, You are talking to me! This is just....weird!

Mary might not think so.

Oh, for goodness sakes! Mary has Norman the Frog that she takes advice from! 

Stormin Norman is actually a pretty good croaker. The point is, we are having this conversation because we need to clear some things up. To answer the questions that are vexing your soul, let's start with the first one. You are offering care to Marsha because you are made that way. I made you that way. You are helping your son, you are helping Marsha and you are being a witness.

Yes, I get that. But this is not how I wanted to spend retirement!

Oh, My goodness! You didn't even want to retire! How many times did you say you wanted to finish a sermon and then fall over dead? You don't know the answer to that, but I do. You have no hobbies and no real interest in anything but the ministry. Well, now you are retired anyway and you are doing exactly what you need to do. And then, there is the preoccupation the Yoke.

That is true. I don't ever remember leaving a church with so much concern on my heart.

That is because you never have left a church with so much concern on your heart. You have gone on to the next ministry and plunged right in. Here you are still praying for the congregation every day. You are concerned for Kim. You grieve for Phyllis. You are prayerfully anticipating the new pastor. Listen, this was expected by Me. I put a special love in your heart for the Yoke. You have stood by them and they have stood by you. There is a napkin from McDonalds on floor from that coffee. wipe your eyes. I have more to say. You are experiencing grief. In time you will learn to live with it, but they will always be special.

Now I want to talk with you about this last thing. Why hasn't a place of ministry opened up? The church with the poor Power Point, the church with the sound man who couldn't work the sound, the song leader who didn't know what page the songs were on. Yes, you could be of help in all those places. This is Northeast Ohio! Every church has serious problems here! However, each step brings you pain. Each day is a struggle for you. You need to rest for a while. You need to soak up some preaching other than your own. Remember when the church in Geneva forced you to take a two month sabbatical. You didn't want to, but it recharged your batteries. That is what is going on now. And NO ONE can force like I can force! I already know your next question. No, I will not give you a hint about the next ministry, but you will do it with all your heart. Now, just sit here and watch and listen to the waves. I have to go.

Wait! So soon? I have so many questions!

No. Mary is talking to Norman again and is expecting him to answer. Oh my!

Ok, I guess. I'll just sit here a spell.......

I have a foster daughter, Stephanie. I have mentioned her before. We had her a while and we were very happy. Then, one day the police showed up with a social worker and a court order demanding we surrender the child. Her mother had been trying to get her back and finally found the court's soft spot. We were making her go to church. Well, you place a child with a pastor and his family, you kind of expect that the child would be going to church. But in the enlightened times in 1987, this was a form of child abuse. In the home of her mother and stepfather she had been sexually molested by her stepfather and his brothers starting at age eight. But taking her to church was so much worse.

Sorry. It still gets me.

Anyway, Steph was just about to turn sixteen. The court decreed that we could not communicate until she turned eighteen. We completely lost track of her. But, on her eighteenth birthday she walked into my office. A huge smile on that radiantly beautiful face. Truly a very welcome sight. And she was truly very pregnant.

We talked. At seventeen she had run away from the situation at home. She hitched rides to Florida. On the way she got a ride with a trucker who raped her. Once in Florida she went to a shelter to seek refuge. She was put into counseling and there she was told that she needed to get back with us because we had been the rock in her life. It was also at the refuge that she met John, who was there because of drug abuse. He was from her hometown, so he offered to take her home since he was being released. And that was how she was able to walk into my office, pregnant, on her eighteenth birthday. 

John's parents put her up. In a short while she delivered Anastasia. Like all babies, she was not very attractive until some time went by. Stephanie and John soon married, which did not make me very happy. John had issues. However, I will give him this; he took a child conceived in violence by another man and raised her as his own. They later had two more children and John turned out to be a great Dad.

In time, John's parents moved to Pennsylvania, from whence they had come. John and Steph followed with the two older girls. Number three was born in PA. Steph went to nursing school and earned her RN. The kids were healthy and happy. And we saw each other often. Anastasi (commonly called Anna) particularly liked me. She would crawl into my lap as a toddler. Later, as a young teen of around thirteen, the three girls and Adam and I were walking across a fast-flowing stream, just playing. But Anna was nervous, and without hesitation, she took my hand. Whenever we were all together, she would take a seat next to me. At a restaurant she would tell me what to order. Precious times.

Until she was sixteen. We had gone to Pennsylvania for John's father's funeral. Anna avoided us completely. I thought, well, she is sixteen. This is the way of it. But Marsha suspected that our beautiful Anna was using drugs. Sadly, Marsha was right. The other girls were always excited to see us, but Anna never talked to either of us again. In fact, we never actually saw her again. She wouldn't come to Ohio with her parents, she bolted when we went there. She was, I believe, ashamed. 

The drugs increased. Her manner of getting the money for the drugs was not very nice. She stole, she begged, she sold her body. She couldn't even go to John's funeral because she was in jail. Steph tried, but Anna was on a bad, bad slide.

Here a while back she was diagnosed with Krohn's. She finally let Steph help her and moved in with her Mom. But friends were bringing her drugs and she continued to use. The medicine for the Krohns and the drugs did not mix well. Anna died on July 22, 2023 early in the morning. She was 33. Stephanie called while I was enroute to Ohio on my move. Given my circumstance, I was unable to go. Steph was disappointed, but we cannot do everything, and she understands.  

Grief is always with us. But Anna was one who brought grief to her family for years. She always thought she was invincible. But, no. 

I had witnessed to Anna but based on her life choices she had rejected the Gospel. But I would like to think that at the end, as life slipped away, she made a decision for Christ. The human part of me doubts it. But still....

Keep an eye on your loved ones. Look for the signs. Anyone using thinks they can handle it. But ruin will come. So sad.