Peter and John

 

Since the first of June, I’ve been sharing verses here on Sundays from the book of Acts. And just now, it dawned on me that I should back up that train.

The full name of this book of the Bible is the Book of the Acts of the Disciples. I’ve been writing mostly about what Paul did during this time, but there were others preaching with him and in other places without him.

You’ve heard of the disciples Peter and John? Here’s one of their stories, from Acts chapter 3, verses 1 through 16, from the Good News Translation.

One day Peter and John went to the Temple, and there at the Beautiful Gate, was a man who had been lame all his life. Every day he was carried to the gate to beg for money from the people who were going into the Temple. When he saw Peter and John going in, he begged them to give him something.

They looked straight at him, and Peter said, “Look at us!” So he looked at them, expecting to get something from them. But Peter said to him, “I have no money at all, but I give you what I have: in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth I order you to get up and walk!”

Then he took him by his right hand and helped him up. At once the man's feet and ankles became strong; he jumped up, stood on his feet, and started walking around. Then he went into the Temple with them, walking and jumping and praising God. The people there saw him walking and praising God, and when they recognized him as the beggar who had sat at the Beautiful Gate, they were all surprised and amazed at what had happened to him.

          As the man held on to Peter and John, the people were amazed and ran to them. When Peter saw the people, he said to them, “Fellow Israelites, why are you surprised at this, and why do you stare at us? Do you think that it was by means of our own power or godliness that we made this man walk? The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of our ancestors, has given divine glory to his Servant Jesus. But you handed him over to the authorities, and you rejected him in Pilate's presence, even after Pilate had decided to set him free. He was holy and good, but you rejected him, and instead you asked Pilate to do you the favor of turning loose a murderer. You killed the one who leads to life, but God raised him from death—and we are witnesses to this. It was the power of his name that gave strength to this lame man. What you see and know was done by faith in his name; it was faith in Jesus that has made him well, as you can all see.”

 Peter had more to say, but then he and John were stopped by some Jewish leaders.

          Peter and John were still speaking to the people when some priests, the officer in charge of the Temple guards, and some Sadducees arrived. They were annoyed because the two apostles were teaching the people that Jesus had risen from death, which proved that the dead will rise to life. So they arrested them and put them in jail until the next day, since it was already late. (Acts 4, verses 1 through 3, Good News Translation)

All of the disciples were arrested at various times for sharing their faith in Jesus Christ. All of them except for John were killed for their actions.

Our world is getting more and more crazy every day. I wonder how long before Christians in this country start to be persecuted. I wonder how many of us would defend our beliefs if faced with death. God will grant us the strength; we only need to turn our lives over to Him and ask for His help.

(This picture above was taken at Green Lake Christian Conference Center when I was there for the Writers Conference in 2011. I'm sure it's nothing like the gate where John and Peter met the lame man, but it still is a beautiful gate. )

Summer Trip, Day #4 – Finally, Another Good Day

             Friday morning, two weeks ago, we left our Airbnb in Newberry, Michigan, at 7:25 am, eastern time (which is 6:25 in the morning back home). Don’t know why we got up and got moving so early, but we just looked at each other and said, “we might as well leave.” Hubby was still not in too much pain following his fall with multiple injuries two days before.

            Our big plan for the drive home was to stop at Kitch-iti-kipi (more on that later), but we had to drive through Manistique to get there. About half-way through the town, we drove past this old water tower, and I was like, “I gotta stop!” as I nearly slammed on the brakes. (One of many reasons why Hubby usually drives, but I took the wheel since his fall.)            

           The grounds included a period log cabin and museum.            

            But on to the “big show”.       

            Kitch-iti-kipi or the “Big Spring” is in Palms Book State Park. It is Michigan’s largest freshwater spring, 200-feet across and 40-foot deep.          

            Visitors ride an observation raft, powered by a rope pulled by whichever strong rider volunteers to show off their skills, across the pond. The scenery around the pool was beautiful that morning, but the scene under the water was fascinating and impossible to describe.

            Looking through the opening in the middle of our barge.

                            

            Fishes – they tell me they are trout – swimming past where the spring water bubbles up through the sand.

            I’ve been wanting to visit for several years. Hubby had just heard about it from some friends just the week before we went. Definitely worth the side trip there. 

Summer Trip Day #3 – A Mediocre Day

            You may recall that two weeks ago, while on vacation in the UP, Hubby took a tumble and ended up in the ER. I thought we should end our vacation then, but we decided that we could sit around the Airbnb as well as we could sit around at home.

            So, Thursday morning, after I made pancakes for breakfast, Hubby convinced me to take a ride with the dog for a couple hours while he relaxed alone.

            I drove up to Grand Marais, a cute little town along Lake Superior. On a sunny day it would have been an intriguing place to explore, but alas, the clouds, which were in the sky when I left the house, opened up and set down the showers.

Hannah and I still walked around a little bit. Had to get a picture in front of the Pickle Barrell House Museum, which was unfortunately closed that day.

Next we headed over to Sable Falls. Had the weather been better, I might have tried the hike down and back up, but I just wasn’t feeling it.

On the way back to the Airbnb, I ran across this little rest area. Not sure if they plan on fixing up this place or not, but I thought it was cool.

We got back to the house and had something to eat for lunch. Then I convinced Hubby to take a short ride with me. He was feeling pretty good, and I told him we would take it easy. Also, the weather had become more acceptable.

In the tiny tourist town of Germfask is Northland Outfitters and Campground along the Manistique River. A walk past the campsites and cabins takes you to Benny the Beard Fischer, who is a wooden troll created by artist Thomas Dambo in 2023.

Very unique.

We drove back to the house about half an hour later and settled in for the night. Not quite the day I had planned, but it was an okay day anyway.   

Imprisoned

 

I’ve been sharing stories of the Apostle Paul here, and I only have a couple episodes left, so bear with me.

Paul, as well as many of those sharing the faith, was arrested and imprisoned multiple times. It was for the same reason that Jesus was arrested – the Jewish leaders saw him as a threat and the Roman leaders just didn’t want to deal with the disorder they blamed on him.  

So, here we have Paul and his partner Silas in jail in Philippi, in the book of Acts, chapter 16, verses 24-34, from the Good News Translation.

24 Upon receiving this order, the jailer threw them into the inner cell and fastened their feet between heavy blocks of wood.

25 About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the other prisoners were listening to them. 26 Suddenly there was a violent earthquake, which shook the prison to its foundations. At once all the doors opened, and the chains fell off all the prisoners. 27 The jailer woke up, and when he saw the prison doors open, he thought that the prisoners had escaped; so he pulled out his sword and was about to kill himself. 28 But Paul shouted at the top of his voice, “Don't harm yourself. We are all here!”

Paul knew that the earthquake was an act of God, and he knew that God had a bigger plan. The jailer didn’t know that. All he knew was that if the prisoners escaped on his watch, he rather kill himself, before his bosses would do it in a much less humane way.

29 The jailer called for a light, rushed in, and fell trembling at the feet of Paul and Silas. 30 Then he led them out and asked, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?”

         31 They answered, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved—you and your family.” 32 Then they preached the word of the Lord to him and to all the others in the house. 33 At that very hour of the night the jailer took them and washed their wounds; and he and all his family were baptized at once. 34 Then he took Paul and Silas up into his house and gave them some food to eat. He and his family were filled with joy, because they now believed in God.

The jailor was so relieved to see Paul and the other inmates still in their cells, that he knew he had witnessed a miracle and was ready to turn his life over to Christ.  

I think we witness acts of God every day. Just because these miracles aren’t as dramatic, doesn’t mean that God’s hand was not there.

(The picture above is at the old Florence County Jail in Florence Wisconsin. Even though it was built in 1889 and does not look very friendly, it was still a much nicer place than the prisons during Biblical times.)

Summer Trip - Day #2 – A Good Day Gone Horribly Wrong

            Wednesday morning, our first full day in the UP, our plan was to visit Tahquamenon Falls State Park, followed by Whitefish Point.

            We arrived at the Upper Falls and walked the paved path to several overlooks. It was quiet and peaceful, with not too many people out and about yet. The falls were beautiful.         

            We pulled into the Lower Falls parking lot about an hour and a half later.    

            We hiked the boardwalk, taking plenty of pictures. 

     

           And then headed across the bridge over the river to the island. There, we followed the dirt path that looped around the island and back to the bridge.

           We got to the far point in the trail, where the optimal photo op was a downed tree near the water's edge. I walked out that far and took a picture, but thought we should do the tourist thing and take a selfie of me, Hubby, and the dog. I picked my way across the rocks back to Hubby, just as the Brady Bunch Family showed up, so we had to wait for them to get all their pictures in.

Then we went out and perched on the log, trying to figure out how to get a selfie that included the unphotogenic dog. A sweet lady saw us and offered to snap some shots.

The last ones before tragedy struck.

            As I was walking back to the trail, holding Hannah's leash, out of the corner of my left eye, I saw Hubby flying across the ground, his arms over his head like he was Superman without a cape. Until he landed with all his weight on his face and chest. He had tripped on a tree root. 

I don't know. For a moment, time stood still. What had I just seen? Was that my husband laid out on the ground? Was he alive? How badly was he hurt? Or was he hurt at all? Surely, he'll bounce right up and be fine, as if my husband has ever bounced up, even on his best days, since I have known him.

By the time I was kneeling at his side, a woman had taken Hannah's leash from me, and two men were kneeling on each side of him, ready to hoist him up. As I watched him start to push himself up with his arms, I saw the blood dripping off his face.

"Stop, don't get up," I commanded. I don't know what the men who were there willing to help thought of this bossy wife. "Let me get your handkerchief out of your pocket. You're bleeding all over."

            Or did I really say those words? I thought I said them, but I don't remember saying anything. I just remember trying to get to all of his pockets in search of that hanky.

            Once I had it stuffed up against his nose, he pushed himself up and turned around to sit on the ground, the two men each holding a shoulder. And there Hubby sat with a face that looked like – well – looked like it had been smooshed into the pebble-strewn ground. His shirt did too, covered in sand and drops of blood.

I asked if anyone had a container of water, and a bottle of water appeared in my hand, along with a purse-size packet of Kleenex. I washed him off as best I could, while he held his hanky against his bleeding nose.

            When he said he wanted to get up, those two guys lifted him to his feet and guided him to a bench, which was right next to us. All these things – those kind people, whoever it was who took care of Hannah, the bench being right there. A person could look back on this and say, "Oh, your vacation was totally ruined", but I said, "Thank You, God, for having everything we needed to take care of him."      

            When he seemed okay, I walked cautiously to the river's edge to wash my bloodied hands and rinse out his handkerchief. Hannah was sitting next to the bench, concern on her gentle face, and the woman handed me back her leash.

Someone asked if we wanted them to get a cart to take him out – it was more than a half-mile walk through the woods to get back to the car. He said he'd be fine. At the time, since faces always bleed so much that it makes it look like things are worse than they are, I thought he was just banged up and nothing was broken or needed stitching.

            The crowd slowly dissolved. When he was ready, we started the slow walk back. I told him to keep his hat down over his face and not to look up, so as not to scare the crowds of people we met as we plodded along.

At one point, I told him I thought we should go to the ER just to get checked out. When he instantly agreed, I thought, "Shoot, he really is hurt worse than I thought." He hadn't told me yet about the pain in his chest. 

So we made it to the parking lot and he washed himself up a little bit more in the restroom, before we headed to the car.

            The half-hour drive to the hospital in Newberry seemed to take much longer than that. But we finally arrived at Helen Newberry Joy Hospital. The staff there were all wonderful, and even though it's a small hospital in a small town, the ER was busy, but our wait wasn't too long.

The ER doc ordered a CT of his neck, head, and chest, and regular X-rays on his left hand – all places that were hurting.

            The doctor finally came in with the verdict – a fracture on each side of his nose, a fracture on that hand, two fractured ribs on one side, and three fractured ribs on the other side. So a total of eight broken bones, which meant insurance would pay for an overnight stay, the doctor said, to which we said, we're sure we can handle this back at the house.

            And off to our Airbnb we drove, stopping at the pharmacy for a prescription of pain pills, which I knew Hubby wouldn't take, antibiotic ointment, and bandages.

            What a nightmare of a day! But, looking back, it could have been so much worse. And the only thing I could do to make it better was to run back to the store after supper for some ice cream for dessert.  

Summer Trip Day 1 - a Good Day

 As you may already know, Hubby and I took a short trip to the eastern UP last week. It was a long-anticipated trip, and we had high hopes that it would be a wonderful and relaxing time. Many of you know how that turned out, but let me start with the first day on the road, as that was a pretty good one.

            It was Hannah’s first big road trip with us, and she was totally onboard with it.

            We took a lot of short potty breaks, but the first big stop we made was at Fayette State Park, just under 220 miles from home.  I’ve been there two or there times before, but any place that has historic buildings is fascinating to me.

            Between 1867 and 1891, Fayette was an industrial community that manufactured charcoal pig iron. It is located on the Big Bay de Noc of Lake Michigan, between Snail Shell Harbor and Sand Bay, about nine miles south west of the tiny town of Garden.

The blast furnaces at Fayette produced a total of 229,288 tons of iron during 24 years of operation, using local hardwood forests for fuel and quarrying limestone from the bluffs to purify the iron ore. When the charcoal iron market began to decline, the Jackson Iron Company closed its Fayette smelting operations in 1891.

Over the years since then, the property had several owners, but in general, the old buildings fell into disrepair.  

In 1959, the state of Michigan acquired the site, restoring many of the buildings and turning it into a state park. The town has been reconstructed into a living museum, showing what life was like in this town in the late 19th century.

Geyser or Bust

Journal of Our Journeys 

Chapter 9 - Yellowstone 

In 1872, Yellowstone National Park became the first ever park of its kind. It was dedicated to the American people to be preserved for the enjoyment of generations to come. At the time, however, since there had never been a national park anywhere before, the government and those put in charge of it didn’t know what to do with it.

No one had allocated any funds for the upkeep and furtherance of the area. Poaching was common in that faraway place. At the time, the Wyoming territory was in what was considered a very remote area of the country, so the public the park was created for had difficulty getting there.

Before long, however, railroads and roads found their way into the park. Though visitors on horseback were the first to explore the park, automobiles began arriving by 1915. It is estimated that starting in that year, tourists drove 1,000 cars through the park a year.

When my family and I traveled to Yellowstone in 1969, many more than a thousand vehicles were in the park. It was and still is the most visited national park. Still, the American population was also much smaller in the late 1960s. There were no hordes of people, just the same hordes of bears that still hang out alongside the roads, blocking traffic and looking for handouts.

Old Faithful was already very popular and easily accessible. A crowd would gather when it was predicted to be due to erupt. The other geysers were just as fascinating, even when they weren’t erupting. Just the thought that, at any moment, they could spew hundreds of gallons of steaming water high into the air was enough for me.

Morning Glory Pool was gorgeous, and it was hard to fathom that hot water bubbling out of the ground could attract such amazingly colored algae and other organisms. Who knew that these microscopic life forms could thrive in the hot water? The blues, greens, and pinks seemed to glow in various other pools under the nearly boiling water.

Some of the other geysers and pools were a short hike from the parking lot. So, at one such place, Mom wasn’t feeling up to the walk and wanted to stay in the truck while Dad took me, Pat, and the cameras – both the regular one and the 8mm movie camera – to wander the boardwalks winding around the hot ponds and steaming pools.

We took our share of pictures and home movies, Pat and me scampering in front of the camera for Dad. Even though we didn’t view any other geysers discharging, we still had fun. When we returned to where Dad had parked the camper along the far edge of the lot, Mom was all excited. She pointed to a small lake not far away.

“A moose came right out of the woods and went through the water,” she exclaimed. “He was just a couple hundred feet away. His antlers were as wide as this camper is long. And you missed it, and I couldn’t even take a picture because you had both the cameras.”

Sure, Mom.

And since we did have the cameras, there was no way to prove it. As I said, the crowds were small, so no witnesses could back up Mom’s story. We believed her but continued to give her a hard time, mainly because we were jealous that all we had seen was hot water.

Shipwreck

I’m still writing about the Apostle Paul here on Sundays. He preached in the cities of Ephesus, Corinth, Philippi, Thessalonica, Athens, Rome, Antioch, Iconium, Lystra, Jerusalem, and Damascus, and more. I’d love to write about the remarkable things that happened in each of these places, but you’ll just have to pull out your Bible and, starting in Acts 13, read about all this yourself.

During many of these visits, the leaders of the local Jewish churches accused Paul of causing trouble and spreading lies. He was run out of a lot of towns and arrested multiple times. At one point when he was in prison, he asked to go to Rome to be tried. As a Roman citizen, he could appear before the Roman emperor to get a fair trial. This meant a long, long ship ride through the Mediterranean Sea. 

Here's the story beginning in Acts 27, with Paul’s travel companion, Luke, narrating (and with me deleting a lot of it as the whole story gets pretty long).

7 We sailed slowly for several days and with great difficulty finally arrived off the town of Cnidus. The wind would not let us go any farther in that direction, so we sailed down the sheltered side of the island of Crete, passing by Cape Salmone. 8 We kept close to the coast and with great difficulty came to a place called Safe Harbors, not far from the town of Lasea.

Paul told them, 10 “Men, I see that our voyage from here on will be dangerous; there will be great damage to the cargo and to the ship, and loss of life as well.”

 But those in charge ignored him.

13 A soft wind from the south began to blow, and the men thought that they could carry out their plan, so they pulled up the anchor and sailed as close as possible along the coast of Crete. 14 But soon a very strong wind—the one called “Northeaster”—blew down from the island. 15 It hit the ship, and since it was impossible to keep the ship headed into the wind, we gave up trying and let it be carried along by the wind.

         18 The violent storm continued, so on the next day they began to throw some of the ship's cargo overboard, 19 and on the following day they threw part of the ship's equipment overboard. 20 For many days we could not see the sun or the stars, and the wind kept on blowing very hard. We finally gave up all hope of being saved.

21 After everyone had gone a long time without food, Paul stood before them and said, “You should have listened to me and not have sailed from Crete; then we would have avoided all this damage and loss. 22 But now I beg you, take courage! Not one of you will lose your life; only the ship will be lost. 23 For last night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I worship came to me 24 and said, ‘Don't be afraid, Paul! You must stand before the Emperor. And God in his goodness to you has spared the lives of all those who are sailing with you.’ 25 So take courage, men! For I trust in God that it will be just as I was told. 26 But we will be driven ashore on some island.”

The storm continued for fourteen days.

33 Just before dawn, Paul begged them all to eat some food: “You have been waiting for fourteen days now, and all this time you have not eaten a thing. 34 I beg you, then, eat some food; you need it in order to survive. Not even a hair of your heads will be lost.” 35 After saying this, Paul took some bread, gave thanks to God before them all, broke it, and began to eat. 36 They took courage, and every one of them also ate some food. 37 There was a total of 276 of us on board. 38 After everyone had eaten enough, they lightened the ship by throwing all the wheat into the sea.

39 When day came, the sailors did not recognize the coast, but they noticed a bay with a beach and decided that, if possible, they would run the ship aground there. Then they raised the sail at the front of the ship so that the wind would blow the ship forward, and we headed for shore. 41 But the ship hit a sandbank and went aground; the front part of the ship got stuck and could not move, while the back part was being broken to pieces by the violence of the waves.

42 The soldiers made a plan to kill all the prisoners, in order to keep them from swimming ashore and escaping. 43 But the army officer wanted to save Paul, so he stopped them from doing this. Instead, he ordered everyone who could swim to jump overboard first and swim ashore; 44 the rest were to follow, holding on to the planks or to some broken pieces of the ship. And this was how we all got safely ashore.

I don’t know. It sounds like the plot for a Hollywood block buster. It could have been Jack Dawson clinging to one of those planks, with Rose riding on top of it. Or I hear the haunting tune of Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”, especially when I read about the men on Paul’s ship not eating for fourteen days.

Just like the sinking of the Titanic and the Edmund Fitzgerald, Paul’s ship sank as well. But the crew and all the passengers survived! God had so much more planned for His servant Paul, and to prove that God is God over all, He saved everyone else on that ship as well. 

(Of all the pictures I've taken on so many lakes, I didn't have any with a boat being tossed about. Probably a good thing. The photos above were both taken at Cave Point County Park in Door County in October of 2020. It was a brisk day.)

Don't Tell Mom

I saw this meme on Facebook and had to steal it. I hate doing that; almost all of the pictures in my blog posts are ones that I've snapped at some point or another. But here we are. I give full credit to whoever came up with this one.

Sure, my sister Pat and I had our share of "don't tell Mom" stories. The time Pat shot herself in the foot with an arrow or the time I got a nosebleed playing "How high up the basement stairs are you willing to jump from to the cement floor below?"

But the times that I remember most are when I was minding my own business on many a summer afternoon, and Dad came in the house and grabbed me. He'd drag me into the bathroom, saying, "Don't tell Mom." Then he'd hold up his hand, wrapped with black electrician's tape securing a wad of paper towel to a finger, blood beginning to ooze through.  

I'd unwrap the wound and shove whatever was bleeding under a faucet running cold water. The sink quickly turned pink with the mix of water and blood.

Even though Mom worked at a doctor's office, she didn't stock the linen closet nearly as well as I did mine in my adult life. No Coban wraps, gauze rolls, or even decent medical tape. The only tape in any first aid kit back then was thick and unyielding, rolled on a metal ring in a metal case, which required Herculean strength to pop off. I could scrounge up a stiff piece of Telfa, but the antibiotic ointment was always expired. (But I must admit, my antibiotic ointment in my house now is always expired too.)

Whatever I managed to wrap him with, Dad was always satisfied and would sneak back out to his wood-working shop to see if he could cause any more damage.

Go figure that I ended up working in the medical field.

Virginia I

Journal of Our Journeys 

Chapter 8 - Virginia I

My mom's mom, born in 1893, was the oldest of nine children. One of her brothers died at only eight months old, but several others lived relatively long lives. One great-uncle beat out all of them, dying only two months shy of his 105th birthday. He and his wife had been married for over 75 years when she passed away at 94. And though they lived 1,200 miles away in a small papermill town in Virginia, we visited several times during my childhood.

          Mom and Dad had been there with my other siblings, Tom and Judy, before. I have a black and white photograph of Tom and Judy on the veranda at Monticello, and another one with them, Mom, and a relative in someone's backyard, dated 1954. As I write this, I have just visited Judy in the assisted living home where she now resides, and she showed me that same picture. I don't know how we each ended up with a copy of it, but that's all right. Better to have too many photos than none.

          It was a long ride in the camper to get to Virginia, driving through a few national parks and stopping at various campgrounds along the way. But once we pulled into their yard, we set up camp right in their driveway. I never questioned why we couldn't sleep in their house, but as a kid raised in the sixties, I didn't question much.

          The homes of most of our relatives out East were long and low to the ground, sprawling estates to my six-year-old eyes. One great-aunt and great-uncle had a formal flower garden by the back door, a carport instead of a garage, a formal living room, and a formal dining room, besides a family room. There was even a shed in the backyard where Uncle had a woodworking shop. That must be why he and Dad got along so well; Dad had a similar shop in our garage.

          But anyway, at that point in my life, I'd never been in a house with rooms that weren't used daily. Another great-uncle and his wife even had a fascinating room called a den. I don't remember much about it, except that it was down a couple of steps, the walls were paneled, the floor was covered in sculptured avocado-colored carpet, and taxidermed animal heads were hanging on the walls. Okay, not so different from rooms in many homes of the time, but it was still new to me.

          One of my mom's cousins and her husband rivaled that. They had a room above the garage for his train sets. And this was a grown man!  He would stand in the middle of the room holding the controls and, with the push of a button, command trains to travel around the room's perimeter.

          The best thing about their house was that they had kids who were close to the ages of Pat and me. This meant that instead of spending our vacation days inside with the female adults, as they shared tea and stories, we could be outside where our young cousins dared us to curl up inside a tractor tire so they could roll us across the yard. Okay, Pat accepted the dare; I was too chicken to try it.

          At night, we caught fireflies in a pint jar in the backyard and then released them in their bedroom. With the lights on, the drab insects disappeared into the room's furnishings. When we threw the room into darkness with the flip of a switch, the fireflies would appear as if by magic, bringing a glow to the room.

          Mom's other cousin raised horses - trotters, actually - and lived in a restored plantation house. Riding up the long driveway was like entering a different era. I always pictured Scarlett O'Hara walking out the front door, her wide hoop skirt sashaying. The interior of the house seemed to go on and on and on, the formal dining room leading to the formal living room leading to the family room, antiques everywhere. She even had a housekeeper.

          One year, when we were there, they had just finished building a new barn. This building had so many amenities – a full kitchen, full bathroom, office, padded stalls for the horses. Nothing like barns I’d been in back home.

          The animal life at this farm was quite varied. In addition to the beautiful sleek mares and their gangly foals, there were several riding horses along with a small herd of round furry burros. A pair of Great Danes was offset by a pair of Welsh corgis, with their German shepherd-type heads and short, stubby legs.

          Everywhere, exotic-looking peacocks roamed. In their occasional absence, their long, iridescent feathers or their droppings reminded me that they were still around. The birds would constantly emit their loud cries, scaring those of us who had never lived with these creatures before.

          The homes of the Virginia relatives were awesome when I was just a naïve kid, but there were so many more wonders to witness throughout our great land.

(The first picture is Pat and me on someone's porch in Virginia in 1968. You can barely make us out on the far right side. The picture just above is one the peacocks on the "Farm", when Hubby and I were there in 2019. A place full of memories.)

Plant the Seed

He went straight to the synagogues and began to preach that Jesus was the Son of God.

All who heard him were amazed and asked, “Isn't he the one who in Jerusalem was killing those who worship that man Jesus? And didn't he come here for the very purpose of arresting those people and taking them back to the chief priests?”

But Saul's preaching became even more powerful, and his proofs that Jesus was the Messiah were so convincing that the Jews who lived in Damascus could not answer him. (Acts 9:20-22, Good News Translation)

Last Sunday I wrote about how Saul, who had been persecuting the early Christians, was called by God to spread the word of salvation through Jesus Christ. It was an amazing conversion, and Saul (soon to be known as Paul) took off on his mission. He shared the story of Jesus with anyone who would listen in city after city.

In the church at Antioch there were some prophets and teachers: Barnabas, Simeon, Lucius, Manaen, and Saul. While they were serving the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said to them, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul, to do the work to which I have called them.”

They fasted and prayed, placed their hands on them, and sent them off. (Acts 13:1-3, GNT)

Hard to believe but just twenty years ago this weekend, I heard about a mission trip to Kenya, and one year later that trip to Africa changed my life. And hopefully changed the lives of at least a few of the Kenyans I met. But it was nothing – I mean NOTHING – like what Paul experienced during the remainder of his lifetime.

I can’t share with you here all the places Paul traveled to, all the people he met, all the time he spent in prison. All the people he saved.

But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. Just one person at a time. Show them the love of Jesus Christ. Plant the seed. Watch it grow. 

(The first picture is a group of school kids we encountered in one of the slums. The picture above is of one of our team members, Amanda, planting a tree with her Compassion child. I didn't imagine at the time that seven years later, I would be doing the same thing with my Compassion child in Kenya.) 

Home - My Brother, part 3

        I wasn't going to write any more about my brother – my mother would kill me for sharing all this personal stuff. But as I mentioned here once before, if anything I say can give hope to someone going through the same nightmare, then it's worth the risk.

          So, the big day to move my brother into assisted living was July 1. For two weeks, I mentioned it every time I spoke with him on the phone, and he kept asking why he had to move out of his house for a couple of weeks and why it was going to take so long to fix his water. But we just kept telling him our little fib about it – that to clean up the iron in his well water, it would take the plumber that long, and he wouldn't have any water that whole time, and it would even cause poisonous gases to come out his water faucets.

On the last day of June, he called multiple times, and I think it was starting to sink in. The morning of July 1, he called at least four times asking about it again. I told him I'd pick him up at 1:00 and that he could pack a bag with his electric razor, a change of clothes, and anything else he might want to have over the next two weeks while he was there. He was agreeable to that.

Then, when I got to his house at 1:00, he had made a 180 turn. He didn't know why I was there, and when I told him, he said he wasn't going to go. I kept telling him it would only be for a few weeks and reminded him that they would feed him three meals a day and he could watch TV all day on the big screen TV right outside his room. I also asked him if he remembered talking to me earlier and if he had packed anything to take with him. But he just gave me a blank look.

He finally gave up on that argument and switched to wanting to buy a new vehicle. We'd been telling him over the previous week that they couldn't fix his truck and he couldn't get it back, so he'd been saying he was going to buy a new one and that I had taken him to the dealership the other day and he had put a down payment down on a truck and he wanted me to take him to pick it up.

My brain searched all over my head for a story. But I finally told him that we'd need to get him settled in his new room first, and then we'd worry about picking up his new truck.

I got him in my car and talked again about how nice this place was as we drove to it.

I walked him into the building and to his room. He said, "oh, I remember coming here before."

We had bought him a throw for his bed, which had a big whitetail buck on it because he used to feed the deer. They were half-tame, almost eating out of his hand. He laughed when he saw that on his bed and thought it was great.

I spoke with a few staff members and asked if I could run to get more of his things and if they could keep an eye on him. I parked him in front of the TV in the lobby, and he was fine when I left.

I met Hubby at his house so we could load up his dresser, an end table, and the rest of his clothes. We looked for his razor, too, but couldn't find it. When we got back to the place, he was still watching TV, happy as a clam.

I could NOT believe it! Who was this man, and what had he done with my brother?

He called me a few times that evening, asking where he was and why, and I told him the same story. He'd say, "Oh, yeah," but then he'd still call back five minutes later.

Then he started calling me at one o'clock the next morning. When I asked if he was okay, he answered, "Yes, I just called to talk." After the fourth time, I finally told him it was the middle of the night, and I had to get some sleep, that he should put his phone away and go back to bed, and it would be morning before he knew it. I turned off my phone, and in the morning, I felt guilty because he had called three more times. I'm sure he was scared, even though he wouldn't say that.

He still calls a few times a day, but mostly to tell me that he's been watching TV all day or that he just got done eating a meal, but when I ask him, he doesn't remember what he ate, just says that it was good.

But he seems sooo happy. I still CANNOT believe it. Thank You, God, what did I ever do to deserve this huge blessing in my life?

Through all this, the only time I got teary-eyed was the day after we checked him in there, and Hubby and I were trying to clean up stuff at his house. In his back room, I found a brown paper bag with some underwear, a pair of shorts, a handkerchief, and his razor. He had packed a bag for himself that morning and had forgotten all about it. I don't know why that made me feel like crying - just that dementia is such a horrible thing.

Yesterday, when I went in to see him, I sat down on the couch next to him where he was watching Jeopardy. He was so pleased to see me, and we had the best visit we have had in a year. I told him about the different people I had talked to who wanted me to say "hi" to him. And he seemed to remember these people when I reminded him who they were (two cousins and someone he went to school with).

He pointed to the sign on the door to his room, which had his name on it. He said the maintenance man wanted to remove his name, but he told the guy he was staying for two months, so he should leave his name on the door.

Two months! We'd been telling him two to three weeks. I don't know where this extended time came from. But he also didn't ask me today when he would be going home. Well, maybe he doesn't have to ask anymore because I think he is home. And maybe he knows that, too.

          I realize that he will probably still have bad days, that I might get phone calls in the middle of the night or he might argue with me about something stupid. But I still thank God for the good days that he has had so far.