You have to look forward to something in February. Such a bleak month. There really isn’t much to anticipate in February, unless you have a birthday or maybe a wedding anniversary. And whoever actually gets married in February? I have been doing this a long time and I have only done one February wedding. No, to get through February, you have to look forward.

And I always looked forward to baseball. Spring Training is going on for the pros and high schools and colleges are letting players throw in the gym. But even Little League coaches are looking at their rosters, trying to imagine who will play where. I know that to many of you, baseball is a slow moving game, but I love it. I have played it, coached it (“Somebody tell me why William is picking daises out in right field!” “Uh, Coach, it’s better than last week when he was picking his nose.”) and umpired it. And I have watched it. Where I come from, baseball is big. Most churches had softball teams and they all played in leagues. Each denomination had league. If you were an independent church, you played in the league that most closely fit your own beliefs.

Eleven years. I played church softball for eleven years. It was huge fun. My son and I got to play together, which meant a lot more to me than it did him. If you swore you would be kicked out of the game. If you swore in the next game, or anytime the rest of the season, you were kicked out for the remainder of the year. (Except for the Catholic leagues. Swearing was just a part of it.) However, if you ran over the catcher to score, you would be congratulated. You played all out. And our league had a rule that each team was expected to enforce; Each player had to attend at least one service a week to play.

 First year at an elderly church. One of our men had played minor league ball until WWII had changed things. He had coached since 1947. Always limped from a German bullet that had torn through his leg, but Lou was awesome. He was a baseball encyclopedia. He and I went to a lot of games over many years. Didn’t matter if it was Little League or the majors, you didn’t talk to Lou about anything except what was happening on the field. Between innings you could talk about anything, so long as it was baseball related. He was an intense old guy. But that first year at the new church, he was no longer going to coach. Finally hanging it up. And in February, he was pretty bummed.

“Hey, Lou, how about we have a church softball team this year? You can coach it and make it just as you want it!” I had been called to the church the previous August and I had learned that I could joke around a little bit with Lou. But Lou didn’t find this amusing. “Pastor, we have no Youth. You are the youngest man in the church, then David (three years older than me) and then everyone else is at least over 60. How can we ever have a team?” “I don’t know, Lou. Let’s just announce it and see what happens.”

 Turned out that the older folks who were past their playing years had sons and sons-in-law and grand kids and we had a blast that first year. We went 2-20. We won one game 25-23 and we lost one game 64-2. We weren’t very big on playing defense and we really weren’t very good hitters. Lou tried his best coaching techniques, but we were one sad team. Sometimes he would just stand and stare and sometimes he would have to sit down because he was laughing so hard. At the end of the season we gave him a plaque inscribed, We Can’t Win and You can’t Make Us! He had a room in his house for trophies and all sorts of memorabilia from his coaching days, but that plaque went into the living room. He told me it was the most fun he ever had coaching.

It took us a while, but we improved every year. Eventually, I got to present to him the league championship trophy. By this time he really was an old man. He broke down and wept.

            Our last game together. We didn’t know he would pass the coming winter. We sat in the empty dugout watching the team warm up. “You know, Pastor, we done good.” “No, Lou. You done good. I am just along for the ride.” “I don’t just mean the team. Look out there. All those people come to church all the time. Not just so they can play ball, either. The team might have started it, but this church has grown. No, Pastor, we done good.”

            You have special people in your life. I had Lou and I had Dennis. Dennis loved to sing in the choir, but Dennis was blind, so I worked with him on the music every week. When he could still see I would write the music out for him by hand in very large print. We became close. And Dennis was really good. People would come just so they could hear him sing. It was his service to the Lord. Dennis died on Tuesday and Lou died the next day. It was January. Dennis had sung for Christmas and Lou was starting to get ready for coming season. Appropriately, the weather was awful. It matched my mood. I walked up to the casket at the visitation for Dennis and looked at my friend. Rolled up in his hand was one of the songs I had enlarged by hand for him. My mood began to change. He had touched so many hearts with his song, and now he touched mine. When I went to Lou’s visitation that evening, his wife walked with me to the casket. This wonderful man who had molded so many young lives over so many decades, had a plaque on his chest. We Can’t Win and You can’t Make Us! “And, he wanted you to have this.” At the end of each season we all would sign a ball and give it to Lou. The ball his wife handed me was the ball from the first season. 2-20. “I think he didn’t want to have to explain that one in heaven.” And then the dear lady hugged me.

            You have special people in your life. The day after the funerals, one of our ladies, Mari, came into my office. She sat down and pulled out her knitting. “Mari, is there something I can do for you?” “Nope. Just don’t want you to be alone.” And she quietly began to knit.

            A white man, a black man and an Asian lady. Each one serving the Lord in their own way. I have been richly blessed by having His servants around me. How have you blessed the people around you?  

        Is anyone listening to me?

        When you are talking to someone, are they really listening or are they hearing what they think you are saying?

        For instance, I went into the hospital in July of 2021 with an infection I didn't know I had. The infection was causing external issues as well as internal. I was really sick. One of the doctors told me later that they thought I might die. One day in the hospital I told a doctor that my back had been hurting for a while in a different way than before. I have had chronic back pain since 1978, but this pain was different. The doctor told me the infection was likely causing the pain. I told him again that it was different than before. This young, thirty something doctor, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Well, as we get older, there are things we could shrug off when we were younger." And I got it. Young doctor who knows nothing about aging, assuring this old coot that he is fine. You just have to endure it.

        Next visit is with my nurse practitioner. Very nice young lady (maybe 40?), seems knowledgeable, very professional. I tell her about the back problem. "Well, Mr. Wade, as we get older, the things we could handle when we were younger become more pronounced.

        So, the back gets worse. I can't walk right. I hobble, I can't make visits, I miss some funerals. The walk from the office to the restrooms is agonizing. I am so unsteady that Brian Chamberlain is on the edge of his seat as lay leader in case I should start falling. Life is miserable. And when I tell a heath professional it is chalked up to aging.

        Then on December 29 of 2022, a pain hits me that I have never experienced before. I am at the church, and I yell so loud I think the neighbors will come running. Lights are exploding and there are strange sounds and I can't take a deep breath. I manage to get my phone and call 911. To Wabash ER, then to Huntington ER, then to Parview, Regional in Ft. Wayne. Even with pain injections I am trembling. Steve and Cindy Runkel come in to see me and I am feeling better, at least until I move. I get an MRI and am admitted. Being a holiday weekend, there is no one to read the MRI, but the hospitalist puts me on steroids and in a couple of days I am feeling better. 

        I am discharged and in a week I get in to see a specialist. She examines the MRI (and the CAT scan and X-ray) and she shows me the arthritis spurs on the outside of my spine and on the inside of my spine. The spurs on the outside have been causing the years of chronic pain and the spurs on the inside have irritated the spinal cord and have caused it to gradually swell until the pain is overwhelming. The specialist gives me a stern look and says, "Mr. Wade, this did not happen overnight. Why didn't you ever tell your doctor?"

        ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? I am not just an old guy who has nothing better to do than gripe!

        Many of you have been through the same thing. Trying to explain what is going on and the person you are talking to is thinking right past you and you wonder (or perhaps you yell) ARE YOU LSTENING TO ME?

        In Isaiah 30, the Lord, speaking through Moses, is talking to the people about their rebellious spirit. In verse 21 He speaks to the leading of the Lord. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right, or turn to the left. We have a choice; listen to the Lord, or don't listen to the Lord. He has set a path before us, He shows us the way, but we make the decision which path to follow. 

        We do that, don't we? Just like that doctor or our children or our spouse or whoever, we don't listen to the Lord. 

        ARE YOU LISTENING? I'll have to get back to You, Lord.

        Be aware of that still, small voice in the wilderness.

        

 

    Allow me to get somewhat personal. I would greatly appreciate it if you folks would make this situation a matter of prayer.

    My son, Adam, and his wife, Kim, are getting a divorce. Most of you know that neither wanted children to begin with. The pregnancy was completely unplanned. So, when they found out that Kim was pregnant, they planned on putting the baby up for adoption. However, when Kim got that first ultrasound, it became real. Studies have shown that when an expectant mother has that ultrasound, 80% of the women who were planning to abort or adopt out will decide they want to keep the baby. Kim was not different, and I could not blame her. Adam, however, was furious. He felt like Kim had betrayed him. He called me and was shocked that I took Kim's side on the issue. In the end, we had words, and our relationship is strained. Adam came around, to a point, and seemed to be accepting the new situation. However, it must not have been enough for Kim, and she is the one who filed.

    They saw the lawyer and Adam called me to go over what the lawyer had told them. I asked him about how visitation was going to be set up, and my son told me he was not going to seek visitation rights. Later, Marsha called me and told me I needed to retire and come home and sit them down and talk sense into them and then be there for when I am needed to talk more sense into them. She also told me that if I had retired two years ago, then there would not be a problem now. Way too much confidence in my abilities. 

    Here is where many of you will disagree with me. If they divorce, Adam will still support the baby and Kim, as well. He would never shirk his responsibilities, but he would still pass on visitation. At some point, Kim will probably remarry. Kiri (my granddaughter) will naturally call him Daddy. Adam will be fine with that, and so will I. Every little girl needs a Daddy. If he has parents, they will become her grandparents. Every little girl needs grandparent. She already has Kim's parents, and she has Adam's parents. However, we are intermittent. Marsha, I assume, will fight to see her, but I feel it will be more of a confusion to Kiri. I told Marsha the other day that I am going to put Kiri's needs above mine. I will continue to put money away toward her education (for as long as I can) but I will not fight to see her once or twice a year.

    I have said for years that people do not disappoint me. People are people and are very prone to making mistakes. However, I am disappointed in Adam and Kim. Adam, because he really didn't work at it enough. Kim, because she didn't give it enough time. But I am grateful to both of them that abortion never came into the conversation. 

    I was thrilled to be a grandpa. I still am and will be until I die. But it is, of course, different now. I have prayed about this and have made the decision. So, you will not be able to talk to me about visitation. In time, the divide between Adam and I will go away. Marsha, well, that is another story. And for me, I put Kiri in God's hands and that will be enough.  

    Should prayer just be reserved just for big things? What position should one be in for his/her prayers to be heard? Why doesn't God answer all our prayers? 

    I don't normally eat candy. I eat plenty of other unhealthy foods so I don't really need to attack my system with Kit-Kats. But last Saturday I was working at my home computer and I got up to get an apple. Before I took a step I thought, 'I don't want an apple. I want a piece of candy! Dark Chocolate! Where is my candy?' Then I came to the sad realization that I almost never have candy in the apartment. I could run over to the store! But the craving wasn't that bad. Aw, man! I'd give a dollar for a dark chocolate candy bar! (That is how out of touch I am, thinking a buck is a lot of money for a candy bar.) So I just grumped to the Lord. 'First you give me the craving, then you keep me from satisfying the craving! At least take it away.'

    I got the apple and sat back down. Then the doorbell rang. Actually, 'rang' is not the right word. Push my doorbell and you get the sound of two spoons being rapped together in another room with the door shut. And it is just one rap. The refrigerator cycling on makes more noise and is far more musical. I have had the doorbell ring and by the time its puny little 'click' sinks into my brain, whoever was there is halfway back to Wabash. When my doorbell clacked on Saturday it didn't register until whoever was there decided to knock.

    I looked up and thought, 'Oh, yeah, my doorbell.' So I hurried to the door (all of five strides in my place) and answered the door. Two kids were on the other side and one said, "Would you like to buy a candy bar?" I am always suspicious. "What's it for?" The other kid said, "Uh, class trip." I was still suspicious. The box the bars were in was one of those boxes they sell the nasty candy from for kids' projects and the bars were just about the size of a regular Tooties Roll, but for the kids...... "Where you going on this trip?" "Uh, Chicago." Hah, suspicions confirmed! No school in their right mind would send kids to Chicago! I was ready to say no and close the door when the first kid said, "We've got milk chocolate, dark chocolate, crunchy," "WAIT! Did you say dark chocolate? How much?" I think I had scared the kid. "Uh, a dollar a bar, sir." "A dollar! Wait!" One and a half strides to my table and the two dollars that lay there. I came back and handed him two dollars. "I'll take two dark chocolates!" The deal was made and I had two fun sized candy bars. Not exactly manna from heaven (they didn't have to pay for theirs) but still tasty.

    Oh, Pastor! That really wasn't a prayer on your part and besides, that was just a coincidence. Oh, really? Well, now, let's go back to the three questions at the beginning of this blog.

    First, should prayer just be reserved just for big things? I was a daddy before I was a Dad. When my son toddled over to me and presented me with a toy and said, "Play with me?" I got down and played with him. It was a joy. If God is our Father, wouldn't He be a perfect Father? I was a daddy and a very imperfect daddy, but I still enjoyed my son. Nothing was two little! Philippians 4:6---Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. So, is prayer just for the big things? No. It is God's children in conversation with God.

    Second, what position should one be in for his/her prayers to be heard? C'mon, Pastor! Where in the Bible does it say anything about sitting at the computer? It doesn't say anything about computers. However, a leper came and knelt before Jesus and begged for cleansing and therefore, healing. Jehoshaphat bowed his head before the Lord and Jesus was hanging on the cross when He spoke to the Lord. It is not the position of the body, it is the position of the heart.

    And third, why doesn't God answer all our prayers? Well, what are we talking about here? God answers all the prayers of the believer. The only prayer of a lost person He has obligated Himself to answer is the prayer seeking salvation. Romans 10:13---For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. But in His hearing the prayers of the believer, all prayers are answered, just not necessarily as we want. Jesus said in John 14:13---I will do whatever you ask in My name so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. The key here is 'in My name.' Names had meaning in the Bible other than something to identify a person. Doing something in someone's name meant doing his will. If we send an ambassador to peace talks with the intent to bring about the end of conflict, that ambassador speaks in the name of the United States, seeking to do the will of the United States. When we end a prayer, we just think of it as the way to end a prayer. But we are actually asking His will to be done. So, all our prayers are answered, but sometimes it is 'no.' Just because we want something does not mean God is going to agree.

    Young lady. Father was dying of cancer. She dragged me into a room to pray, where she prayed and asked God to not let him die. He lived for five more days in complete agony. Parts of him were already decomposing. On the fifth day I saw her standing in the hospital hallway, sobbing. As I drew closer I heard her praying. "Please, Lord, take him." And a little later he died.

    We should pray for His will in His way. 

    So what was God's will in the candy bar? I was mulling it over. I was almost ready to go to the store. There I would have probably bought a bag of candy. So instead, I got two tiny little bars and only enjoyed one. Then the craving was over. It was all good. Actually, quite good.....                                                                     

    When I went to work at the funeral home, it was owned by two brothers. They did not get along at all. They argued about everything. The principle owner (the older brother) very often did stupid things. He once had a family that came in to make arrangements and they wanted a casket of a certain design. Our regular supplier didn't carry it, but it so happened that a supplier in Cleveland had the exact casket in stock. So, the older brother decided to drive to Cleveland to get it. It was about 3 PM and the supplier closed at 5 PM, so he had to hurry. There were three vans in the garage, but he chose to take the hearse because you never see a hearse pulled over. He figured he could speed in the hearse. Which he did. Picked up the casket and came back. No problems. 

    EXCEPT, he hadn't told anyone he was going. When he got back, he did not unload the casket. (Unloading a casket by yourself is easy with the right equipment, which we had.) Instead, he just went home. And he didn't leave a note. Apparently, he assumed that the maintenance guy would get it in the morning when he got in at 8 AM. What he didn't know, because he never really paid attention, was that there was a funeral first thing in the morning at our other funeral in another town. So, the hearse driver shows up at 7 AM, washes the hearse and leaves the garage at 7:30, waving to the maintenance guy as he was coming in. 

    He gets to the other funeral home and parks in the spot reserved for the hearse. Customs vary even from town to town. Where the main funeral home was, people came out and got into their cars and waited for the procession to pull out. But in this other town, the people gathered round and made a human aisle for the casket and pall bearers that went from the steps of the building to the hearse. Then, after the casket was loaded, they would go and get in their cars and the procession would leave. The younger brother was in charge of this funeral and he proceeded the casket to the hearse. Imagine his surprise when he opened the back door of the hearse and found another casket already there. Is the casket full, is it empty, are they looking for it back at the other funeral home? That is what I mean about the older brother doing stupid things. He didn't think it through. 

    Eventually, the two brothers decided to retire. The youngest brother had a son (Trevor) who was really into the business. He was a licensed director and mortician and was the one who did most of the work. The brothers decided to sell it to him. I really liked this young man. He was a few years older than my son and had gone to the same high school. I had known him since he had been in junior high. He was serious and thoughtful and really concerned for the families we served and he taught me with both respect and patience. But sometimes he did stupid things. He had traits of both his father and uncle. All in all, though, the brothers did the right thing selling the business to him, but he had his moments.

    It was a joy to work for Trevor. A good Christian man, very active in his church and concerned for the Spiritual and physical welfare of his workers. One of the fellows who worked there (Mark) had a sister in Pennsylvania who got very sick. She wound up in a hospital in Pittsburgh. Mark had been there for a week with his aged parents to be with her as she struggled for life. After our morning meeting one day, Trevor took me aside. We didn't have any funerals for three days. He asked me to take the lead car, the car the funeral directors drove to the cemetery, and get my wife and go to Pittsburgh and be with the family as a pastor. We could spend the night in Pittsburgh and come home the next day. Pittsburgh was quite a drive, motel accommodations were not cheap and I was to feed everyone while I was there using the funeral home credit card. All so a family could have some Spiritual comfort. 

    On the other hand, Trevor occasionally did things that were not too bright. A gentleman had died from cancer. Trevor met with the family and at the morning meeting the next day he informed the staff of the plans. I was writing everything down in my notebook because I always wound up involved in some way and I wanted the whole story in my head. Everything was fine until Trevor said that the family wanted the man's motorcycle next to the casket. Trevor sat at the head of the conference table, I sat at the other end and the staff sat in the side chairs. When he said that the family wanted motorcycle next to the casket, we all looked up. It was his tone. I just knew something was coming. So did everyone else. 

    "Trevor, a motorcycle is a lot heavier and awkward than a casket." I was trying to reason with him because I could see the same gleam in his eye his uncle would produce just before he told us his nutty plan. "We're going to have to put down plastic sheets for oil drips. And if some little kid tips it over on himself, we would be liable."  "Lar, (He called me Lar when it was really going to be stupid. My head began to ache.) sometimes you are worse than an old woman. It can go in through the crematory and up the elevator. No problem." We all waited for the other shoe to drop. "But we aren't going to do that! We will go right up the casket ramp." And I knew we were going to have a problem. The casket ramp was a rather steep ramp in the back of the funeral home that had been used in the past when the casket was too heavy to be carried down the steps or when there were no pallbearers. The casket would be placed on a special cart, called a truck, and then with someone on the rear of the casket and someone on the front of the casket, it would be rolled down the ramp to the waiting hearse. The elevator had been in place for twenty years and, as far as I knew, the ramp hadn't been used in all that time. It was old and warped and looked rotted. 

    "Lar, I want you with me." And he got up from the table and headed for the door. I knew what was coming. 

    The bike was already at the foot of the ramp and the double doors, which I had never seen opened, were standing open. This was no motor scooter. It was a larger Harley. It would be a hard push, but I knew he wasn't going to push it. He was smiling from ear to ear.

    "Trevor, you are not riding that thing into the funeral home." He looked at me. "Why not, Lar? I don't have to clear it with you. I don't have to clear it with anyone!"

    I looked into the funeral home. All the chairs were neatly arranged. "As soon as you cross that threshold you will have to make a really hard right." "That's why its got handlebars." "Trevor, lets at least move the chairs." 

    He leaped onto the Harley and settled down on the seat. "Lar, how do I start this thing?" Oh, boy.

    "You've never ridden a motorcycle, have you?" "Well, no, but how hard can it be? It sure looks fun!" It was his uncle coming out. "Why am I here, Trevor? Do you want me to pick up the broken chairs you are going to plow through, check your pulse when you blow through the far wall? Why am I here?" 

    The rest of the staff had gathered a ways away to watch. He whispered, "Just show me how to start it and how to shift." "Are you kidding? Trevor, I've never ridden a bike. If it was a tractor, I'm your guy. But I have never ridden a bike." 

    The staff was waiting. Trevor looked at me like I might be lying. "You grew up on a farm. Now show me how to start this thing." "Trevor, I don't a single farmer who rides a motorcycle." (This was before I knew Orville Chamberlain.) "I really don't know how to start it."

    Trevor took a deep breath and got off the bike. Our conversation had been in low voice so the staff couldn't hear us. Now Trevor turned to the waiting staff and said, "Mother Larry doesn't think I should ride it in. Whatever..... Joe, come help us push it in." We got it in and it was all fine. 

    I hadn't thought about this in years, but the other day I was talking to someone from the funeral home and the subject came up in conversation. As I thought about it later, I thought about us Christians doing things without praying. To not pray before acting is akin to riding a Harley into a funeral home. Something bad is going to happen. If we pray and if we read the Word, God will open things up for us. The sky is the limit, but if we forge ahead without being Spiritually prepared, we are going to crash and burn.           

     They came running across the park to me looking scared. I was in seminary in Northwest Florida and I was a music and Youth pastor at a medium sized country church. We had a Youth group of around twenty kids. It was summer and school was out and we had arranged to take the kids to Miracle Strip Amusement Park on Panama City Beach. Apparently, if you are growing up in the Florida Panhandle, the overwhelming heat doesn't faze you and you like to do outside activities under the blistering sun. I had convinced two of the Moms to go with us as chaperones and off we had gone.

    We got to the park and got the kids inside and then I grouped them together to give them the rules. Not the park rules. Those were posted. No, I gave them my rules. Check in occasionally with Mrs. Bittner and Mrs. Carter, stay away from the Gulf of Mexico and, most importantly, do not bother me unless it is a grave emergency. I showed them the picnic table under the oak tree where I would be reading. Go have fun.

    Mrs. Bittner and Mrs. Carter vanished. They didn't show up until it was time to leave. The kids never did find them. Even so, I wasn't worried about the kids. They were really very smart and by just looking up I could see and hear them.

    So, when the whole crew of kids came running across the hot sand to me looking like they were being chased by something bad, I was concerned. Even put my book down.

    "Pastor, you have to help us!" Think about that for a moment. Twenty kids, all looking alarmed, and they need help. Wonderful. What could this be about? 

    They were all talking at once. The five boys were hanging back from the girls and not saying anything, but they were shifting back and forth from foot to foot. The girls were doing the talking. The problem was, they were all doing the talking all at once. I finally got them to get quiet and picked one girl (the natural leader) to explain.

    Well, they all had a problem. They were all cowards. Miracle Strip Amusement Park finally shut down for good in 2004, but back in the mid-1980s it was a big deal in the panhandle. The big draw was, I believe, the Starliner roller coaster. It was OK, but if you had ever been to Cedar Point it looked more like a kiddie coaster. There were other rides, of course, and food and games of skill. There were a few side attractions. There was a really nice Ferris wheel. There was the beach and the Gulf of Mexico. And that year there was a new fun house. Supposedly the fun house was changed every other week. Sometimes terrifying, sometimes just fun. We got there on a scary week. The kids had grouped together and were going to go into the scary fun house. However, just as they got there another group of kids emerged looking frightened. Our kids asked those kids if it really was scary. Those kids, a couple of whom had tears in their eyes, told our kids not to go in. And then they walked away, not even talking to each other.   

    A couple of the girls tried to inspire the rest. Didn't work. They tried to shame the boys into leading the way. Didn't work. While they stood and argued another group of girls entered. Our kids opted to wait and see if they came out. They did, a few minutes later, all crying. That is when they came to me.

    OK, just go and do something else. No! If we don't do it, we will always hate ourselves! Well, kids, if I leave this shade, I will always hate myself. Pleeeasse Pastor! Actually, I had been watching the whole thing through my sunglasses. What they said was true. I just couldn't believe it was that scary.

    Finally, I got up and we all headed over to the fun house. we paid our entry and I led the group in. Before we got in I felt a hand grip my belt. One girl had my belt in her hand and she had extended her hand back to the next girl, who in turn took the hand of the next. In that way all the kids were hand in hand with the others. In we went.

    I was expecting flashing light and screams and growls and creatures appearing, but the first little way was just black. Good thinking, actually. Get the kids really scared in the dark, and then scare them. But it was just completely dark. My girls were starting to cry and even the boys were sniffling. Soon, any moment, the terror would begin.

    We were three quarters through (although we didn't know that) when I bumped into something with my knees that was soft. Ah, I thought, here it comes. The big scare. But, nothing. Just this little, soft thing. Then I heard a little voice that didn't belong to my group. "Please don't kill me!" It was a little girl, on her knees, crouched down, almost in a fetal position. She was terrified. I crouched down next to her. "Hey, it's OK. We aren't monsters. We are going to get you out." Word went back quickly through the dark. "It's a little girl!" "She's scared to death!" "We have to get her out!" The teen who had been holding my belt and reached down to the child. "Come on, sweetie, we're getting out of here!" She picked the little girl up and held her and we proceeded. It wasn't far and we were at the door. A blast of air hit us from above and there was a pre-recorded scream and we were out. A lady about thirty feet away screamed, "There's my baby!" and came running. Mother and daughter were reunited. As far as my kids, they were mad at themselves for being frightened before they even went in. They walked away grumping about how they really hadn't been scared at all. I bought a Coke and went back to reading.

    Over the last seven years, I have seen Urbana Yoke Parish take several steps forward into the unknown and do things that the Yoke had never done. It is scary. But the Lord has prepared, protected and prevailed. We face another such step. Fear not! Have faith in the Lord. 

    Hebrew 11:1---Now faith is the substance of things hope for, the evidence of things not seen.

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     A hot summer day in July, 1978. A day when it almost hurt to breathe. I was going to school at night and working with a landscaping crew during the day. Married, still three years away from becoming a Dad. There was no limit as to what I could do. Or so I thought. Turns out I was wrong about that notion. Pulling a hundred pound bag of seed off the back of a truck, I flipped it up to my right shoulder and started to turn to walk it where it was needed. I had done this countless times, but this time was just a little bit different. Something popped in my back. I went to my knees and dropped the bag. The pain was intense. However, I was young and strong and could do anything. This pain would pass. I got to my feet, got the bag to my shoulder again and walked it to where it was needed.

    But the pain didn't pass. It stayed with me. Not as bad as that moment, but it was there. Finally, a year later, I let a guy at church talk me into going to his chiropractor. "All you need is an adjustment!" The chiropractor introduced me to real pain. It wasn't a chiropractic problem and the chiropractor made it all worse. After that I would get to be in such pain that I couldn't straighten up. But, again, I was still young and strong and could do anything, so I pushed on. Never missed a day of work, never missed a class and never missed a Sunday with my Youth.

    In 1984 it got so bad that I went to an orthopedic doctor just east of Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. They ran me through all the tests they had at the time, and he told me I needed surgery. But, he cautioned, there was only a 50/50 chance I would ever walk again. I thought about that and decided I needed to think and pray some more. On the way home we were driving along a stretch of white beach that was completely empty. Our son wanted to go swimming, so I stopped. He and I walked down to the water and stepped in. He was in shorts, so it was OK for him to get wet, but I had pants on. I was just going to wade out to keep an eye on him. But the water felt really good and I went out a little further. And a little bit more. And a little bit more. Finally, I was out about my shoulders, playing with my son. The water was warm, the day was breezy, the son was having fun. My spirit and God's Spirit were in communion. No matter the circumstance, God would give me rest because God had a plan. 

    After a while we left the water. Marsha scolded us all the way back to the car because we were going to get the car wet, but mothers and wives are like that. I had peace in my spirit.

    Over the years the pain has come and gone. I can't begin to know the number of X-rays I have had. I have had ten CAT scans and now a half dozen MRIs. (I hate MRIs. So loud in that tube! You would think they could quiet that some.) I have managed to stay ahead of the pain. All sorts of little exercises and stuff. For years it never kept me from shoveling snow or laying under my car to change the oil or crouching next to it to put on new brakes. But finally, I broke down and separated with some money and bought a new car that wasn't a fix or repair daily. In time my son bought me a snow blower. I would take our Youth out to work in the yards of our older members and they would refuse to let me do any real work. I played softball into my 50s, but finally stopped that when swinging a bat got to be too painful. I have adapted to the pain. 

    Ah, but now it is different. For many years I have had arthritis on the outside of my spine, which has irritated the muscles and nerves there. Pain that can be ignored to a degree. Now, though, arthritis has moved into my spine, irritating my spinal cord and causing it to swell, which is causing the pain to radiate outward. My left leg will suddenly go weak, and I will stumble a little. I don't like this at all. But I have always lived my life knowing that God has a purpose and a reason for what happens. And I have to face a cold, hard fact: I am a senior citizen! 

    I debated writing this blog, but I decided that we are a praying church. We are all prayer partners. I go to the specialist on January 11. I will know more then. Meanwhile, I wait. Since I have been at this church, I have had one thing after another, Things I have never had to face before. But you all have prayed for me and lifted me up. The Elders have stepped in when I couldn't do that part of my job. We have people in the church who are good preachers. I am not happy with my performance here, but, again, God has a purpose. 

    And now it is a new year! We do not yet know what 2023 holds. The one thing we are certain of, though, is that God does indeed have a purpose!