John, the Elder, who was also a caring pastor writes to his congregation in his three epistles. (No, epistles are not the wives of the apostles. They are special letters written by church leaders.) First John is a fantastic letter. He uses a logical introduction to reassure that his readers are not believing “in vain.” Peter repeated this message in 2 Peter 1:16.
For we did not follow cleverly devised tales when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of His majesty.
Peter declared that he had seen these things personally. Eye-witness testimony is close to unimpeachable, particularly when it is not a single, quickly unfolding event. Peter reported that he had seen all of them. Not much chance for mistakes there.
John reinforces that in his introduction. (1:1)
What was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the Word of Life— 2 and the life was manifested, and we have seen and testify and proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and was manifested to us— 3 what we have seen and heard we proclaim to you also, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father, and with His Son Jesus Christ.
John just closed out any objection of error or misinterpretation. Notice that he was not the only “witness.” “We have seen, ...looked at, and ...touched.” That is what we examined and now declare. He is referring to all of the apostles. Our message is unassailable. What a confidence to take into the “culture wars.”
And later, in our target passage, John reinforces his motive for writing.
I am writing to you, little children, because your sins have been forgiven you for His name’s sake. 13 I am writing to you, fathers, because you know Him who has been from the beginning. I am writing to you, young men, because you have overcome the evil one. I have written to you, children, because you know the Father. 14 I have written to you, fathers, because you know Him who has been from the beginning. I have written to you, young men, because you are strong, and the word of God abides in you, and you have overcome the evil one.
(Explanation: David Jeremiah pointed this out on his radio program.) John was writing to “little children, young men, and fathers.” He mixes the order in his explanation, but the key idea is the progression of maturity. Children have their sins forgiven. Great start, poor finishing point. Young men are strong and have even overcome the evil one by the power of the Word. But don’t stop there, with seeing God work.
The fathers know God. This is not knowing “about God,” but personally knowing him. This is the ultimate level of maturity. This is expanded by Jeremiah in his book. (Jeremiah 9:23-24)
Thus says the Lord, “Let not a wise man boast of his wisdom, and let not the mighty man boast of his might, let not a rich man boast of his riches; 24 but let him who boasts boast of this, that he understands and knows Me, that I am the Lord who exercises lovingkindness, justice and righteousness on earth; for I delight in these things,” declares the Lord.
First he instructs us not to boast in wisdom, power, or riches. They all fade with time and circumstances. But what does not change is “knowing God.” Since He is unchanging, we do not need to worry about believing the wrong thing.
Science has a terrible problem. What is “true” or at least accepted today, can change tomorrow. Take a quick tour through the history of science, or chemistry in particular, and you will be struck with how often the “understanding” or explanation of a concept is altered. The atom, for instance, has not changed from a “small, indivisible thing” to a “raisin pudding of atomic stuff with protons scattered in it like ‘raisins in a pudding.’” Later, it was understood to be a hard center (nucleus) with electrons oribting like a solar system. A later interpretation pictures the electrons as a cloud around the nucleus. And the understanding keeps changing. The atom has not changed, but our understanding of it has.
But, if we “know” God, we can be confident in our understanding, assuming that we are not misinterpreting it. What God was back then, is the same that He is now, and will be what He is like forever. What a relief. God does not change. What confidence we have in sharing Him with others.
God exudes lovingkindness, righteousness, and justice. Lovingkindness is alternately translated as “faithful love and mercy.” Loving kindness is a characteristic of a mother tenderly dealing with her baby. She not only “cares” for the baby, but she does it lovingly. Tender kindness is another way of communicating the concept. Combine mercy with righteousness and justice. What more could we want? I want to know that God. And, since He is infinite, I will never plumb the depths of knowledge about Him.
Keep digging. And keep reading.
Saturday, August 25, 2018
More Genealogy Considerations Shimei and Mordecai
Do you ever wonder why the Scripture lists the family history of different characters? Here is an example. There is a character in David’s story who is absolutely hilarious. (No he does not support a certain Presidential candidate, but he is ridiculous. No comment.) This guy is known for one of the most famous flip-flops in history. (I guess he could be a politician. But I digress.)
The story of Shimei is found in 2 Samuel16 and 19. In a nut shell, Shimei is the classic “follow the winner, fair weather fan-type” character. When David was fleeing from Jerusalem under the threat of his son, Absalom, Shimei was flanking him. Shimei was a relative of Saul, for the record. And as David was fleeing in disgrace, Shim-ol-boy was piling on. He cursed David, even throwing rocks and dust at him–from a distance, brave soul that he was. And for his trouble, he was threatened by Abishai, one of David’s warriors.
David magnanimously deferred Abishi’s defense, stating that if God had told Shimei to curse him, then why resist? And maybe God would see David’s mistreatment and turn the curse around. Then after Absalom was defeated and David was being escorted back to Jerusalem, the first one to meet David as he crossed the Jordan River was, you guessed it, Shimei. He was now, well, toadying up to the “new” winner.
Abishai again offered to lop off his head, and David wisely ruled that no one should die on this happy day. Was this just a passing episode in the life of David, or was there some long term significance? There is a genealogical tie-in. David spared Shimei’s life and he went on to live for a while. Shimei’s duplicity is another story, which you can explore later. (1 Kings 2) The key ingredient here is that Shimei had some children. And we encounter one of them in a very unusual setting.
Look at Esther 2:5.
Now in Shushan the palace there was a certain Jew, whose name was Mordecai, the son of Jair, the son of Shimei, the son of Kish, a Benjamite;
One of the descendants of Shimei was in Shushan, which is in Persia. This is possibly 500 or so years later. Nebuchadnezzar’s kingdom of Babylon had been overthrown by the Medes and Persians and Xerxes is now the ruler of the combined kingdoms. One of the royal advisors (of some sort or another) was Mordecai.
We all recall the story of Mordecai’s guidance for Esther and how it was instrumental in the saving of the Jewish nation from the intended genocide of Haman. Now for the implication.
David did not know that he was saving the nation when he spared Shimei. He was just being charitable to a very vexing and difficult person. But here, roughly 400-500 hundred years later, his largess is rewarded in the salvation of the Jews. God knew that Shimei’s great great (or more) grandson would be His tool for delivering His people. The Lord directed David’s decision, even if David was unaware of it.
God rules in the affairs of men. If any doubt remains, just read on in the Scripture. And now you know why the genealogical references are included. They are an important part of the story for us. We can see God’s hand at work, even in these seemingly minor details.
Read on. (And don’t skip the genealogies.)
The story of Shimei is found in 2 Samuel16 and 19. In a nut shell, Shimei is the classic “follow the winner, fair weather fan-type” character. When David was fleeing from Jerusalem under the threat of his son, Absalom, Shimei was flanking him. Shimei was a relative of Saul, for the record. And as David was fleeing in disgrace, Shim-ol-boy was piling on. He cursed David, even throwing rocks and dust at him–from a distance, brave soul that he was. And for his trouble, he was threatened by Abishai, one of David’s warriors.
David magnanimously deferred Abishi’s defense, stating that if God had told Shimei to curse him, then why resist? And maybe God would see David’s mistreatment and turn the curse around. Then after Absalom was defeated and David was being escorted back to Jerusalem, the first one to meet David as he crossed the Jordan River was, you guessed it, Shimei. He was now, well, toadying up to the “new” winner.
Abishai again offered to lop off his head, and David wisely ruled that no one should die on this happy day. Was this just a passing episode in the life of David, or was there some long term significance? There is a genealogical tie-in. David spared Shimei’s life and he went on to live for a while. Shimei’s duplicity is another story, which you can explore later. (1 Kings 2) The key ingredient here is that Shimei had some children. And we encounter one of them in a very unusual setting.
Look at Esther 2:5.
Now in Shushan the palace there was a certain Jew, whose name was Mordecai, the son of Jair, the son of Shimei, the son of Kish, a Benjamite;
One of the descendants of Shimei was in Shushan, which is in Persia. This is possibly 500 or so years later. Nebuchadnezzar’s kingdom of Babylon had been overthrown by the Medes and Persians and Xerxes is now the ruler of the combined kingdoms. One of the royal advisors (of some sort or another) was Mordecai.
We all recall the story of Mordecai’s guidance for Esther and how it was instrumental in the saving of the Jewish nation from the intended genocide of Haman. Now for the implication.
David did not know that he was saving the nation when he spared Shimei. He was just being charitable to a very vexing and difficult person. But here, roughly 400-500 hundred years later, his largess is rewarded in the salvation of the Jews. God knew that Shimei’s great great (or more) grandson would be His tool for delivering His people. The Lord directed David’s decision, even if David was unaware of it.
God rules in the affairs of men. If any doubt remains, just read on in the Scripture. And now you know why the genealogical references are included. They are an important part of the story for us. We can see God’s hand at work, even in these seemingly minor details.
Read on. (And don’t skip the genealogies.)
Tuesday, August 7, 2018
LeTourneau South Longview (# 6 of a series)
Four Vignettes
Here are four short episodes of things about LeTourneau. I have enjoyed reminiscing about those activities and conditions of “long ago.” These four are from the first year, if not from the first semester in Longview. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did living them and now recalling them.
1. Humidity
I grew up in southwestern Nebraska, as noted before, and the (relative) humidity there rarely got into double digits. It was dry. And even when a muggy evening did occur, it all disappeared over night. As we ventured out into the day to begin with chores, including milking 30 to 40 cows, we were met with cool, brisk air. Clean, breathable air that infused a new sense of life and ability.
So when I made the transition to Longview, Texas, to what I deemed to be the humidity capital of the country, I was surprised. First, the dorm, Tyler Hall (second floor, thank you) was air conditioned. Our farm was not air conditioned. Later Dad did install a window unit, Fedders, I believe, that took the edge off the heat, but to sleep in a cool room was foreign to me.
Not that I did not appreciate it. It is easier to add a sheet or cover than it is to shed more when you are sweating like a hog. (PS: Did you know that this saying is bogus? Pigs do not sweat. That is why they have to wallow in a mud puddle. That keeps them cool. And it did get hot in Nebraska. But I digress.)
Heat in Nebraska was nothing like heat in Longview. The heat was combined with high humidity and every moring for the first year I would descend the stairs to the first floor, (the stair well was not air conditioned, as I remember), look out the glass door at a fresh new day, push open the door–and nearly gag. The hot, humid air was oppressive and seemed like a ton of bricks hitting my lungs. It had a peculiarly noxious odor that I attributed to the red dirt surrounding Longview. I was informed that the red color was from iron in the soil and it formed iron oxide, rust.
Dirt was and still is, light brown in Nebraska. When I moved to Illinois and Iowa I saw some black dirt, that was really black. It did not smell. Years later, I visited campus on a job and noticed that the Eastman Kodak company had a plant just south of the campus. All of the years I lived in Longview, I attributed the bad smell to red dirt, when it was the chemical facility. This is particularly poignant, because my major was–wait for it–chemistry.
I am still amused that I did not recognize that simple fact. The EPA probably made them clean up their emissions, which, ironically, I was involved with in my second career of hazardous waste remediation.
2. Cafeteria
The campus was, and still is, situated on Mobberly Avenue in Longview. (I checked a map.) I lived in a new dorm, Tyler Hall (second floor) that was 40 or 50 yards inside the campus on the main drag that went from west to east through the campus. Mobberly Avenue and a Gibsons Store were on the west terminus of the road and the campus cafeteria was maybe 100 to 150 yards to the east. (Memories and perceptions of distances may have varied over the years.) From Tyler Hall we walked past the main administration buildings and on to the also new “Women’s Residence Hall.”
WRH was an early example of “If you build it, they will come.” There were probably less than 50 females on campus and each wing, of which there were four, would hold 32 (memory glitch?) students. So two full wings were “empty” of women, and inhabited by men for the time that I was there. The entrance to the lounge, which opened to all four wings was blocked at the door of the men’s wings.
The campus was a former army base and every original building was a barracks. They were all connected by covered walk ways. So from the Admin building one could get to just about every other building on campus under cover–except the new ones. That does not enter the story, but I just remembered that detail. The “new” WRH was actually four refurbished barracks, connected by the common lounge. They had brick siding to make them look new. They were okay, and I resided there for three years. (In the men's side, of course. Our designation was WRH Southwest.)
So the trip from dorm to the cafeteria was a good little walk. One day, probably during the first week we were on campus, and most likely one of the first days, I was outside, just looking around. I noticed that a guy from my floor was heading toward the cafeteria.
I had nothing to do, and did not have a watch, so I assumed that he was heading to supper. Does anyone remember Saga? I guess that is a pretty big campus food supplier now. They usually had “enough” so that we didn’t starve, but no one considered it a culinary delight to eat there.
I dropped into step with the student and asked, “Are you heading for the cafeteria?”
“Yep,” he replied and we walked on together. We probably just made small talk about where we were from, or what our majors were, or stuff like that. It was a long hot walk. As we ascended the steps to the cafeteria, I noticed that there was no line. We got inside, to the waiting hall that led to the dining room proper and not only was no one there, we did not even see the cashier.
I commented that this was strange to be so deserted. “Why?” he asked. “It is only 4:00. We don’t begin to serve until 5.”
“We? Do you work here? Why didn’t you say that you were coming to work instead of letting me walk all the way here?”
His name was Ed, and we became very good friends, and even lived together for two years in WRH. But he was exasperating. “You just asked if I was going to the cafeteria. You didn’t ask if I was going to eat. I answered your question.”
Oh well, I needed the exercise and diversion anyway. Years later, Ed even remembered our first encounter and marveled that we had become friends. He was worth it. I was even in his wedding.
End of tale.
3. Pronunciation
The pronunciation of words has always fascinated me. I was particularly entertained by Mr. Moser, the first year chemistry teacher. He had a heavy German accent and had learned to speak English in England, I believe. He had several British pronunciations for elements and other chemical terms. One I recall, and still hear a lot when a British speaker is involved. He called aluminum, Al-U-`Min-E-Um. Say it fast.
“A-`luuu-min-num,” student after student corrected him. He didn’t change.
What was even more entertaining was the Japanese student that we had in our class. Mr. Moser constantly, and, we thought, deliberately mispronounced his name. (Spelling is approximate.) When Mr. Moser saw it on the roll, he “sounded it out.” “Nisshy-`mora,” he called out.
“Ni-`She-Mor-ah,” came the reply. I do not remember his first name. We all called him Nishemorah, as he said it. Mr. Moser refused to change. That was brought to my memory on August 6 when we noted the day that the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Japan.
One day in class, we got to talking about that, and someone mentioned `Hero-shima. Nishemorah corrected, “Hir-`RO-shama.”
Like Mr. Moser, we had that wrong too. Nagasaki seems to be pretty straight forward. Recall that this was about two decades after the attack, so the Japanese were still, and probably still are, pretty sensitive about it. At least pronounce it correctly.
That was likewise triggered in my memory as I talked to my doctor this week. I said that I was taking magnesium sal-a-`cyl-ate. He repeated that sa-`lys-ilate does reduce inflammation. His pronunciation is evidently the medical way of saying it. My way is the chemistry way. I will recall the bombing of Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima every time I hear salycilate from now on.
4. Kid on a Car
This might require some more campus geography. We were freshmen in 1965 and were the fortunate beneficiaries of two new campus buildings. We had a new library and about 30 to 40 yards north, was a new science building. There was another 40 or 50 yards on to the main campus road which ran east and west to the aforementioned Mobberly Avenue. The intervening space was just open grass.
One night, as I was returning from the library to the dorm, Tyler Hall, second floor, I was passing the science building which was separated from the road by about 40 yards or so. I noticed that a car had stopped right in front of Tyler hall and some kids had gotten out. I recognized one of the guys. He was another freshman.
A little history is in order here. We were told wild tales of former students, whom the town boys called “Techies.” In turn the college “men” called the high school students, “Townies.” Older students recounted pitched battles between the Techies and Townies, who were defending their territory, and incidentally, women, against the aggressive Techies. (Did I mention that there were about 50 women on campus when I was there? When LeTourneau Technical Institute began it was a male only school. It wasn’t until about 1961 that it became coed.)
Many of the Techies were verterans, as the GI Bill paid for education, and they took advantage of it. These battles, as I noted, were quite intense, with the older verterans having a lot of experience and training compared to the townies. The townies retaliated with ball bats, clubs, and bicycle chains. These were serious altercations.
So when I saw the “techie” talking to town girls, I quickened my step just in case this was the portent of trouble. Maybe her town boy was involved. The noise turned out to be laughing and “horsing around.” The student, I do not recall his name, exuberantly leapt onto the hood of the car, reared himself up on his knees which were on the bumper, and raised his arms in what would now be called a reverse “Titanic salute.” His back was to the road, as he precariously knelt on the bumper.
Laughing, she revved the car’s engine, but he remained in place. Then she started to roll forward accelerating a little, then slammed on the brakes. I saw the brake lights flash. He did a backwards “plank” onto the road with a sickening thud. She backed up, and accelerated around the body and raced off campus.
I was running, with my books, toward the scene when several guys from the dorm poured out of both ends. The dorm probably had 15 or so rooms on a side with three floors, three guys per room. So 30 to 40 or more witnesses could have been looking out. Several were, and they, like I, were horrified.
I was not the first one there, and would have been worthless anyway. Someone shouted to call an ambulance. We left him alone on the pavement. (No 911 or cell phones then, so someone ran back inside to one of the pay phones at either end of the hall.) Soon the police and ambulance were there to deal with the situation.
Not too long after that, the car returned, and several of us pointed it out to the officer or officers. But the girl and someone else, probably her parents, got out and visited with the authorities. End of story...for three years.
During my senior year, someone commented offhand at the cafeteria that he had been in an interesting trial that morning. Curious, I listened as he described a trial about a LeTourneau student suing a town family for injuries that occurred when he was run over on campus. It had happened when I was a freshman.
I asked some more questions and realized that this was the same “accident” or rather incident that I had witnessed. “I saw that,” I exclaimed.
He was shocked. There had been no witnesses at the trial. It was the plaintiff, the student, claiming that she had run over him in front of the dorm. She denied it, saying that he had been on the hood of her car and jumped off. “He said–she said,” with a twist.
I told him what had happened and he said that he would call the attorney. I waited and he came back and asked if I would go to court and tell what I remembered. I did. This was an interesting episode. No Perry Mason or anything like that.
The judge asked me what happened. Both attorneys just sat there, not knowing what in the world I would say. Now, I know that neither was particularly happy, because the worst thing to happen in court is for a witness to say something that you do not already know. And neither knew what I would say.
I recounted the story as recorded about, without the Titanic reference, and the judge thanked me for my civic service. He did comment that this made things look a lot different–for both sides. I saw the same guy at supper/dinner and he said that the two attorneys had agreed to negotiate a settlement. Neither party was without blame and a settlement would reflect that.
Why is this story important? I remember my Dad asking me, “Is that what this is for?” It was after I had broken or somehow damaged a tool or other object trying to use it for something outside of its intended purpose. I deliberately asked my kids that from the time they were toddlers in hopes to instill that thinking into their active operational practice.
You cannot tell them every dumb thing that they, or someone else will think of to try, but if they have “Is that what this is for?” ingrained in their thinking, they are more likely than not to avoid their own dumb mistakes. That event indelibly impressed this concept into my thinking. I was running, shouting for him to stop. He was definitely using something the wrong way. So was his erstwhile date. Both regretted it.
Thanks Dad.
Here are four short episodes of things about LeTourneau. I have enjoyed reminiscing about those activities and conditions of “long ago.” These four are from the first year, if not from the first semester in Longview. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did living them and now recalling them.
1. Humidity
I grew up in southwestern Nebraska, as noted before, and the (relative) humidity there rarely got into double digits. It was dry. And even when a muggy evening did occur, it all disappeared over night. As we ventured out into the day to begin with chores, including milking 30 to 40 cows, we were met with cool, brisk air. Clean, breathable air that infused a new sense of life and ability.
So when I made the transition to Longview, Texas, to what I deemed to be the humidity capital of the country, I was surprised. First, the dorm, Tyler Hall (second floor, thank you) was air conditioned. Our farm was not air conditioned. Later Dad did install a window unit, Fedders, I believe, that took the edge off the heat, but to sleep in a cool room was foreign to me.
Not that I did not appreciate it. It is easier to add a sheet or cover than it is to shed more when you are sweating like a hog. (PS: Did you know that this saying is bogus? Pigs do not sweat. That is why they have to wallow in a mud puddle. That keeps them cool. And it did get hot in Nebraska. But I digress.)
Heat in Nebraska was nothing like heat in Longview. The heat was combined with high humidity and every moring for the first year I would descend the stairs to the first floor, (the stair well was not air conditioned, as I remember), look out the glass door at a fresh new day, push open the door–and nearly gag. The hot, humid air was oppressive and seemed like a ton of bricks hitting my lungs. It had a peculiarly noxious odor that I attributed to the red dirt surrounding Longview. I was informed that the red color was from iron in the soil and it formed iron oxide, rust.
Dirt was and still is, light brown in Nebraska. When I moved to Illinois and Iowa I saw some black dirt, that was really black. It did not smell. Years later, I visited campus on a job and noticed that the Eastman Kodak company had a plant just south of the campus. All of the years I lived in Longview, I attributed the bad smell to red dirt, when it was the chemical facility. This is particularly poignant, because my major was–wait for it–chemistry.
I am still amused that I did not recognize that simple fact. The EPA probably made them clean up their emissions, which, ironically, I was involved with in my second career of hazardous waste remediation.
2. Cafeteria
The campus was, and still is, situated on Mobberly Avenue in Longview. (I checked a map.) I lived in a new dorm, Tyler Hall (second floor) that was 40 or 50 yards inside the campus on the main drag that went from west to east through the campus. Mobberly Avenue and a Gibsons Store were on the west terminus of the road and the campus cafeteria was maybe 100 to 150 yards to the east. (Memories and perceptions of distances may have varied over the years.) From Tyler Hall we walked past the main administration buildings and on to the also new “Women’s Residence Hall.”
WRH was an early example of “If you build it, they will come.” There were probably less than 50 females on campus and each wing, of which there were four, would hold 32 (memory glitch?) students. So two full wings were “empty” of women, and inhabited by men for the time that I was there. The entrance to the lounge, which opened to all four wings was blocked at the door of the men’s wings.
The campus was a former army base and every original building was a barracks. They were all connected by covered walk ways. So from the Admin building one could get to just about every other building on campus under cover–except the new ones. That does not enter the story, but I just remembered that detail. The “new” WRH was actually four refurbished barracks, connected by the common lounge. They had brick siding to make them look new. They were okay, and I resided there for three years. (In the men's side, of course. Our designation was WRH Southwest.)
So the trip from dorm to the cafeteria was a good little walk. One day, probably during the first week we were on campus, and most likely one of the first days, I was outside, just looking around. I noticed that a guy from my floor was heading toward the cafeteria.
I had nothing to do, and did not have a watch, so I assumed that he was heading to supper. Does anyone remember Saga? I guess that is a pretty big campus food supplier now. They usually had “enough” so that we didn’t starve, but no one considered it a culinary delight to eat there.
I dropped into step with the student and asked, “Are you heading for the cafeteria?”
“Yep,” he replied and we walked on together. We probably just made small talk about where we were from, or what our majors were, or stuff like that. It was a long hot walk. As we ascended the steps to the cafeteria, I noticed that there was no line. We got inside, to the waiting hall that led to the dining room proper and not only was no one there, we did not even see the cashier.
I commented that this was strange to be so deserted. “Why?” he asked. “It is only 4:00. We don’t begin to serve until 5.”
“We? Do you work here? Why didn’t you say that you were coming to work instead of letting me walk all the way here?”
His name was Ed, and we became very good friends, and even lived together for two years in WRH. But he was exasperating. “You just asked if I was going to the cafeteria. You didn’t ask if I was going to eat. I answered your question.”
Oh well, I needed the exercise and diversion anyway. Years later, Ed even remembered our first encounter and marveled that we had become friends. He was worth it. I was even in his wedding.
End of tale.
3. Pronunciation
The pronunciation of words has always fascinated me. I was particularly entertained by Mr. Moser, the first year chemistry teacher. He had a heavy German accent and had learned to speak English in England, I believe. He had several British pronunciations for elements and other chemical terms. One I recall, and still hear a lot when a British speaker is involved. He called aluminum, Al-U-`Min-E-Um. Say it fast.
“A-`luuu-min-num,” student after student corrected him. He didn’t change.
What was even more entertaining was the Japanese student that we had in our class. Mr. Moser constantly, and, we thought, deliberately mispronounced his name. (Spelling is approximate.) When Mr. Moser saw it on the roll, he “sounded it out.” “Nisshy-`mora,” he called out.
“Ni-`She-Mor-ah,” came the reply. I do not remember his first name. We all called him Nishemorah, as he said it. Mr. Moser refused to change. That was brought to my memory on August 6 when we noted the day that the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Japan.
One day in class, we got to talking about that, and someone mentioned `Hero-shima. Nishemorah corrected, “Hir-`RO-shama.”
Like Mr. Moser, we had that wrong too. Nagasaki seems to be pretty straight forward. Recall that this was about two decades after the attack, so the Japanese were still, and probably still are, pretty sensitive about it. At least pronounce it correctly.
That was likewise triggered in my memory as I talked to my doctor this week. I said that I was taking magnesium sal-a-`cyl-ate. He repeated that sa-`lys-ilate does reduce inflammation. His pronunciation is evidently the medical way of saying it. My way is the chemistry way. I will recall the bombing of Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima every time I hear salycilate from now on.
4. Kid on a Car
This might require some more campus geography. We were freshmen in 1965 and were the fortunate beneficiaries of two new campus buildings. We had a new library and about 30 to 40 yards north, was a new science building. There was another 40 or 50 yards on to the main campus road which ran east and west to the aforementioned Mobberly Avenue. The intervening space was just open grass.
One night, as I was returning from the library to the dorm, Tyler Hall, second floor, I was passing the science building which was separated from the road by about 40 yards or so. I noticed that a car had stopped right in front of Tyler hall and some kids had gotten out. I recognized one of the guys. He was another freshman.
A little history is in order here. We were told wild tales of former students, whom the town boys called “Techies.” In turn the college “men” called the high school students, “Townies.” Older students recounted pitched battles between the Techies and Townies, who were defending their territory, and incidentally, women, against the aggressive Techies. (Did I mention that there were about 50 women on campus when I was there? When LeTourneau Technical Institute began it was a male only school. It wasn’t until about 1961 that it became coed.)
Many of the Techies were verterans, as the GI Bill paid for education, and they took advantage of it. These battles, as I noted, were quite intense, with the older verterans having a lot of experience and training compared to the townies. The townies retaliated with ball bats, clubs, and bicycle chains. These were serious altercations.
So when I saw the “techie” talking to town girls, I quickened my step just in case this was the portent of trouble. Maybe her town boy was involved. The noise turned out to be laughing and “horsing around.” The student, I do not recall his name, exuberantly leapt onto the hood of the car, reared himself up on his knees which were on the bumper, and raised his arms in what would now be called a reverse “Titanic salute.” His back was to the road, as he precariously knelt on the bumper.
Laughing, she revved the car’s engine, but he remained in place. Then she started to roll forward accelerating a little, then slammed on the brakes. I saw the brake lights flash. He did a backwards “plank” onto the road with a sickening thud. She backed up, and accelerated around the body and raced off campus.
I was running, with my books, toward the scene when several guys from the dorm poured out of both ends. The dorm probably had 15 or so rooms on a side with three floors, three guys per room. So 30 to 40 or more witnesses could have been looking out. Several were, and they, like I, were horrified.
I was not the first one there, and would have been worthless anyway. Someone shouted to call an ambulance. We left him alone on the pavement. (No 911 or cell phones then, so someone ran back inside to one of the pay phones at either end of the hall.) Soon the police and ambulance were there to deal with the situation.
Not too long after that, the car returned, and several of us pointed it out to the officer or officers. But the girl and someone else, probably her parents, got out and visited with the authorities. End of story...for three years.
During my senior year, someone commented offhand at the cafeteria that he had been in an interesting trial that morning. Curious, I listened as he described a trial about a LeTourneau student suing a town family for injuries that occurred when he was run over on campus. It had happened when I was a freshman.
I asked some more questions and realized that this was the same “accident” or rather incident that I had witnessed. “I saw that,” I exclaimed.
He was shocked. There had been no witnesses at the trial. It was the plaintiff, the student, claiming that she had run over him in front of the dorm. She denied it, saying that he had been on the hood of her car and jumped off. “He said–she said,” with a twist.
I told him what had happened and he said that he would call the attorney. I waited and he came back and asked if I would go to court and tell what I remembered. I did. This was an interesting episode. No Perry Mason or anything like that.
The judge asked me what happened. Both attorneys just sat there, not knowing what in the world I would say. Now, I know that neither was particularly happy, because the worst thing to happen in court is for a witness to say something that you do not already know. And neither knew what I would say.
I recounted the story as recorded about, without the Titanic reference, and the judge thanked me for my civic service. He did comment that this made things look a lot different–for both sides. I saw the same guy at supper/dinner and he said that the two attorneys had agreed to negotiate a settlement. Neither party was without blame and a settlement would reflect that.
Why is this story important? I remember my Dad asking me, “Is that what this is for?” It was after I had broken or somehow damaged a tool or other object trying to use it for something outside of its intended purpose. I deliberately asked my kids that from the time they were toddlers in hopes to instill that thinking into their active operational practice.
You cannot tell them every dumb thing that they, or someone else will think of to try, but if they have “Is that what this is for?” ingrained in their thinking, they are more likely than not to avoid their own dumb mistakes. That event indelibly impressed this concept into my thinking. I was running, shouting for him to stop. He was definitely using something the wrong way. So was his erstwhile date. Both regretted it.
Thanks Dad.
Sunday, August 5, 2018
LeTourneau North Word of Life The Trumpets
LeTourneau North actually began a year before I spent the summer there as a counselor. That is another story. The short version, if you can believe I can DO that, is that I accomplished a high school long dream of being in a quartet. LeTourneau College Quartet (official name) spent the summer of 1967 touring from Missouri east, all the way up into Canada. (A very important part of the story, as you will see.)
We spent roughly the first half of the summer doing “one-night stands” in churches. This covered in part, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, among others. Then we began a “conference ministry,” spending a week at various camps and conferences in New England, and finally Canada. Just for a finishing touch, we went to the Prince or Princess of Bible conferences, Winona Lake. (Short story over.)
The first camp we visited was Jack Wyrtzen’s Word of Life camp, in Schroon Lake, New York. This was for high school students. What a great place that was. And we began our ministry coupled with a trumpet trio of high school kids from Coatsville, Pennsylvania. I think that they were there for the summer, and we were only there for a week.
The trio was two sisters, with a middle brother sandwiched in between them. Their dad was an accomplished trumpet player, as I recall, and he had trained his kids. He may have been active in Jack Wyrtzen’s ministry. Anyway, we were the “special music,” along with the kids. And they were magnificent trumpeteers. We kind of swaggered a little as we met the “kids,” but the first time we heard them play we were, to put it kindly, “put in our place.” They were extremely talented and proficient musicians.
Recreation consisted of the cabins competing against each other, so the quartet, and trio, were pretty much left out. Ultimately we joined forces and became a “volleyball juggernaut.” Just for fun, we challenged some counselors to a match, and won. We were off and running. I do not know how many matches we had, but we challenged everybody we could find. We won every game that week. Like I said, “unstoppable.”
The week ended, all too soon, and we went on to another camp in New Hampshire, I believe. Most of the rest of the schedule is buried in the mists of time, but I recall that. (Actually, I recently unearthed some brochures for the Quartet, and there may even be a summer itinerary in there somewhere. Not important.
What was important was that the next camp or conference also had some volleyball nets, and we resumed our athletic conquests. I don’t think that I mentioned that our quartet had a piano player, so that made five of us. With the three of the trio we had eight players, which, at the time anyway, was a regulation team. After we left Schroon Lake, we were down to five, but we were all reasonably athletic. We continued our winning ways.
This continued throughout the summer. Occasionally we ran into a smaller venue and one “team” actually had a couple of grade school kids. As I recall, we magnanimously refrained from spiking on the smaller players. But we won, and won, and won. Once in an early week, we were struggling. One of us, maybe me, I’ll tell you why in a minute, called out, “For the Trumpets!” That spurred us on and we won several consecutive points, pulled out the game and the match.
All during the rest of the summer, we had a rallying call, “For the Trumpets!” and we relied on that for a talisman of good luck. It might have been me, because the older sister was a senior in high school. I had developed a “minor” crush on her at Word of Life, and she had given me her address. I don’t recall if it was at camp or her home, but I had written regularly, and did throughout the summer.
I also sent her our schedule with the addresses of the upcoming camps, and I think she sent me a letter or two over the summer. After returning to school, I continued to write and she wrote back.
The next to last camp/conference was Keswick (Kessick) in Canada. We had been undefeated all summer and were pretty proud of that. Keswick was a facility that had a summer staff of workers to take care of motel-like accommodations that the atendees used. So their staff had been together all summer. And guess what they had been doing. Yep, playing volleyball.
The challenge was given and the date for the “big match” was set. They were as athletic as we were, or more so. All summer we had played eight man teams with our five. The eight they put on the court were like a rebounding machine or trampoline. Every ball that went over the net popped up and was “set” for their spikers. You know the rest.
We held our own for a while, but eventually, inexorably, the score mounted–in their favor. “For the Trumpets!” sounded on nearly every serve. The Trumpets were not able to inspire or spur us to even a draw. I do not recall even losing a game, let alone a match all summer. They won the first game. Other details are hazy, but they won the second or third game, and thus, the match.
We immediately challenged for a rematch, and they agreed. I think we won the second match and, as my memory serves, we had scheduled the “rubber match” but were not able to play it before our tenure at the camp ended. We left with a draw and some pride, but our perfect record was ruined.
Ironically, our last camp, Winona Lake, was not expecting us, so had not scheduled us to sing. We were invited to stay for the conference, but with no promise of performing. We had been gone for over two months and a chance for an early dash for home was very appealing. One of the guys lived fairly close and he could get home in just a few hours. The rest of us headed south and I dropped off in St. Louis and flew to McCook, Nebraska. This was my first time on a commercial plane, so this was a new adventure.
After a week or so off, I headed back to Longview. And here the story takes a very intersting turn. During the first day of chapel, a new English teacher announced to the student body that he was starting an intercollegiate debate program at LeTourneau and anyone who was interested was invited to try out for the team.
I had read a book on debate in high school and was fascinated with the exercise. My ears perked up and I went to the first meeting. It was going to entail a tremendous amount of extra work outside of regular classes. But, due to my service on the quartet, I had a scholarship for my junior year. I did not have to work, so was able to commit to the team.
He said, “Try out for the team.” It turned out that anyone who would come to meetings would make the team. And that changed the direction of my life just as much as the first chemistry class that I took in high school. Until the class, I was undecided as to what I though the Lord wanted me to do. Chemistry changed that, and I went on to get a degree and even a masters in Chemistry. I taught it on the high school and college level for nearly 20 years. Then I worked on a hazardous waste process that used biochemistry to detoxify noxious and toxic substances.
I am still a chemist. Debate also captivated my interest and trained me to present and defend ideas and positions. I use those skills all the time. I would not be here without chemistry and debate.
And the next step in the story is tied directly into that. The year of debate, my junior year, earned me a scholarship for representing the College (now a University) on the debate team. I debated two years and the final year was on a scholarship for debate. My Junior year was compliments of the Quartet, and now I had a second year paid.
That gave me a second summer of not having to work to pay tuition and expenses. In the spring semester of my junior year, another group appeared in chapel. It was a team of recruiters from Word of Life seeking college students to be counselors at the camp for the summer. There was no pay, but they did provide room and board. (I may have described the accomodations in an earlier post. They were primitive at best, but the food was good and plentiful.)
Since my final year of tuition was insured by my debate participation, I had a second summer “free.” The Lord made it possible for me to be accepted by the camp, and I was set for another summer of “travel.” Only this time I would go a long way, sit still for two and a half months or so, then travel back. Only after the fact did our campus pastor, Sarge Grey, tell me the full story of my acceptance by Word of Life. In short, it was a miracle. But that, again, is another story.
Remember the high school girl I had been writing during the summer? So did I. I had kept up a steady flow of letters about college and debate and anything else I thought would interest her. It was to showcase LeTourneau College for her and her family. Uh huh. All for the school. Right.
When I told her that I was going to Word of Life for the summer, she seemed enthusiastic. She said that her mom had insisted that I stop in Coatsville to spend the night. It was right on the way to Schroon Lake. And for me, coming from southwestern Nebraska, anything east of the Mississippi was “on the way.”
So with much anticipation and trepidation, I left home, probably on a Thursday in early June. I drove all the way to New Lenox, Illinois, where my mother’s sister and her family lived. Googling the trip now, shows it at about 13 hours. Of course, I-80 did not go through Omaha, so that added a good hour or more, and my 1963 Corvair Monza was not the most speedy vehicle on the road. A long day is a generous description.
The next morning, a Friday by my time line, I left for Coatsville. This time Google shows 13.5 hours and that is probably optimistic. I left early. And finally, late in the afternoon, or even early evening, I arrived in Coatsville.
To say I had great expectations is an understatement. I had visions of her falling into my arms and declaring undying love and fidelity. We would finish our educations and wait to see what the Lord had in store for us. Or something equally enthralling and exciting.
I knew the address. I had been writing to it for at least nine months and perhaps close to a year. There were no GPS helps, but “asking around” was almost foolproof. I found the house.
I wobbled to the door. This was a combination of 13 plus hours crammed into the front seat of my Monza and uncertainty as to what reception I would receive. I knocked. I knocked again. I peeked into the window–the windows. It seemed that no one was home. I checked the address. It confirmed the place that I had sent to, and received return letters from. No one was home.
I may have sat in the car, or maybe I just squatted on the porch. No telling how much later, a car drove up the drive and into the garage. I don’t even remember who was in it, but after they had entered the house, I knocked again.
The door opened and I introduced myself, explaining that I was a friend of their daughter. (Did you notice that I have not used a name? I have a total blank.) “Oh yes!” the mother exclaimed. Either she was the driver, or had also just arrived. “This is the day you were coming. I bet she forgot. She is out on a date. They will be back in about an hour or so.”
I backpedaled faster than a clown on a unicycle facing an irate lion tamer whose path he had crossed. I felt like a clown as well. I stammered that I would go to a hotel and go on to Schroon Lake the next day. We were supposed to check in on Saturday afternoon, just like a camper for our first week of training and orientation. Google now says seven hours. Pshaw! A piece of cake.
She would not hear of it. I was 26 or more hours on the road with about eight hours of sleep. The least they could do was give me a good meal, gratefully accepted after two days of burgers, fries, and Cokes, and a good long night’s sleep. Her husband could map out the best route to Word of Life, as they drove it often.
Reluctantly, I accepted, and did have a pleasant evening with the family. Older Sister did get home and we exchanged a cordial, but perfunctory greeting. I had misjudged her interest by about 180 degrees. Either in direction or temperature. I do not remember if I even wrote to her from camp. I doubt if I got a letter back if I did.
Well, Word of Life certainly did not begin with the bang that I was expecting. But, as earlier posts indicated, that was another turning point in my life. Chemistry, debate, and Word of Life. What an odd conjunction of influences that is. And, without the “deflection” afforded by each one, I cannot guess where I would be today. God did some amazing miracles to take me from Hitchcock County Nebraska to Texas to New York, back to Texas, to Iowa, to Illinois, and finally to Tennessee. I have called this home for over 30 years. And I am about to settle down.
Word of Life actually had two paddle strikes on this pinball as it careened through life. And for that, this Screwball is profoundly thankful. Thank You Jesus.
End of story–for now.
We spent roughly the first half of the summer doing “one-night stands” in churches. This covered in part, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, among others. Then we began a “conference ministry,” spending a week at various camps and conferences in New England, and finally Canada. Just for a finishing touch, we went to the Prince or Princess of Bible conferences, Winona Lake. (Short story over.)
The first camp we visited was Jack Wyrtzen’s Word of Life camp, in Schroon Lake, New York. This was for high school students. What a great place that was. And we began our ministry coupled with a trumpet trio of high school kids from Coatsville, Pennsylvania. I think that they were there for the summer, and we were only there for a week.
The trio was two sisters, with a middle brother sandwiched in between them. Their dad was an accomplished trumpet player, as I recall, and he had trained his kids. He may have been active in Jack Wyrtzen’s ministry. Anyway, we were the “special music,” along with the kids. And they were magnificent trumpeteers. We kind of swaggered a little as we met the “kids,” but the first time we heard them play we were, to put it kindly, “put in our place.” They were extremely talented and proficient musicians.
Recreation consisted of the cabins competing against each other, so the quartet, and trio, were pretty much left out. Ultimately we joined forces and became a “volleyball juggernaut.” Just for fun, we challenged some counselors to a match, and won. We were off and running. I do not know how many matches we had, but we challenged everybody we could find. We won every game that week. Like I said, “unstoppable.”
The week ended, all too soon, and we went on to another camp in New Hampshire, I believe. Most of the rest of the schedule is buried in the mists of time, but I recall that. (Actually, I recently unearthed some brochures for the Quartet, and there may even be a summer itinerary in there somewhere. Not important.
What was important was that the next camp or conference also had some volleyball nets, and we resumed our athletic conquests. I don’t think that I mentioned that our quartet had a piano player, so that made five of us. With the three of the trio we had eight players, which, at the time anyway, was a regulation team. After we left Schroon Lake, we were down to five, but we were all reasonably athletic. We continued our winning ways.
This continued throughout the summer. Occasionally we ran into a smaller venue and one “team” actually had a couple of grade school kids. As I recall, we magnanimously refrained from spiking on the smaller players. But we won, and won, and won. Once in an early week, we were struggling. One of us, maybe me, I’ll tell you why in a minute, called out, “For the Trumpets!” That spurred us on and we won several consecutive points, pulled out the game and the match.
All during the rest of the summer, we had a rallying call, “For the Trumpets!” and we relied on that for a talisman of good luck. It might have been me, because the older sister was a senior in high school. I had developed a “minor” crush on her at Word of Life, and she had given me her address. I don’t recall if it was at camp or her home, but I had written regularly, and did throughout the summer.
I also sent her our schedule with the addresses of the upcoming camps, and I think she sent me a letter or two over the summer. After returning to school, I continued to write and she wrote back.
The next to last camp/conference was Keswick (Kessick) in Canada. We had been undefeated all summer and were pretty proud of that. Keswick was a facility that had a summer staff of workers to take care of motel-like accommodations that the atendees used. So their staff had been together all summer. And guess what they had been doing. Yep, playing volleyball.
The challenge was given and the date for the “big match” was set. They were as athletic as we were, or more so. All summer we had played eight man teams with our five. The eight they put on the court were like a rebounding machine or trampoline. Every ball that went over the net popped up and was “set” for their spikers. You know the rest.
We held our own for a while, but eventually, inexorably, the score mounted–in their favor. “For the Trumpets!” sounded on nearly every serve. The Trumpets were not able to inspire or spur us to even a draw. I do not recall even losing a game, let alone a match all summer. They won the first game. Other details are hazy, but they won the second or third game, and thus, the match.
We immediately challenged for a rematch, and they agreed. I think we won the second match and, as my memory serves, we had scheduled the “rubber match” but were not able to play it before our tenure at the camp ended. We left with a draw and some pride, but our perfect record was ruined.
Ironically, our last camp, Winona Lake, was not expecting us, so had not scheduled us to sing. We were invited to stay for the conference, but with no promise of performing. We had been gone for over two months and a chance for an early dash for home was very appealing. One of the guys lived fairly close and he could get home in just a few hours. The rest of us headed south and I dropped off in St. Louis and flew to McCook, Nebraska. This was my first time on a commercial plane, so this was a new adventure.
After a week or so off, I headed back to Longview. And here the story takes a very intersting turn. During the first day of chapel, a new English teacher announced to the student body that he was starting an intercollegiate debate program at LeTourneau and anyone who was interested was invited to try out for the team.
I had read a book on debate in high school and was fascinated with the exercise. My ears perked up and I went to the first meeting. It was going to entail a tremendous amount of extra work outside of regular classes. But, due to my service on the quartet, I had a scholarship for my junior year. I did not have to work, so was able to commit to the team.
He said, “Try out for the team.” It turned out that anyone who would come to meetings would make the team. And that changed the direction of my life just as much as the first chemistry class that I took in high school. Until the class, I was undecided as to what I though the Lord wanted me to do. Chemistry changed that, and I went on to get a degree and even a masters in Chemistry. I taught it on the high school and college level for nearly 20 years. Then I worked on a hazardous waste process that used biochemistry to detoxify noxious and toxic substances.
I am still a chemist. Debate also captivated my interest and trained me to present and defend ideas and positions. I use those skills all the time. I would not be here without chemistry and debate.
And the next step in the story is tied directly into that. The year of debate, my junior year, earned me a scholarship for representing the College (now a University) on the debate team. I debated two years and the final year was on a scholarship for debate. My Junior year was compliments of the Quartet, and now I had a second year paid.
That gave me a second summer of not having to work to pay tuition and expenses. In the spring semester of my junior year, another group appeared in chapel. It was a team of recruiters from Word of Life seeking college students to be counselors at the camp for the summer. There was no pay, but they did provide room and board. (I may have described the accomodations in an earlier post. They were primitive at best, but the food was good and plentiful.)
Since my final year of tuition was insured by my debate participation, I had a second summer “free.” The Lord made it possible for me to be accepted by the camp, and I was set for another summer of “travel.” Only this time I would go a long way, sit still for two and a half months or so, then travel back. Only after the fact did our campus pastor, Sarge Grey, tell me the full story of my acceptance by Word of Life. In short, it was a miracle. But that, again, is another story.
Remember the high school girl I had been writing during the summer? So did I. I had kept up a steady flow of letters about college and debate and anything else I thought would interest her. It was to showcase LeTourneau College for her and her family. Uh huh. All for the school. Right.
When I told her that I was going to Word of Life for the summer, she seemed enthusiastic. She said that her mom had insisted that I stop in Coatsville to spend the night. It was right on the way to Schroon Lake. And for me, coming from southwestern Nebraska, anything east of the Mississippi was “on the way.”
So with much anticipation and trepidation, I left home, probably on a Thursday in early June. I drove all the way to New Lenox, Illinois, where my mother’s sister and her family lived. Googling the trip now, shows it at about 13 hours. Of course, I-80 did not go through Omaha, so that added a good hour or more, and my 1963 Corvair Monza was not the most speedy vehicle on the road. A long day is a generous description.
The next morning, a Friday by my time line, I left for Coatsville. This time Google shows 13.5 hours and that is probably optimistic. I left early. And finally, late in the afternoon, or even early evening, I arrived in Coatsville.
To say I had great expectations is an understatement. I had visions of her falling into my arms and declaring undying love and fidelity. We would finish our educations and wait to see what the Lord had in store for us. Or something equally enthralling and exciting.
I knew the address. I had been writing to it for at least nine months and perhaps close to a year. There were no GPS helps, but “asking around” was almost foolproof. I found the house.
I wobbled to the door. This was a combination of 13 plus hours crammed into the front seat of my Monza and uncertainty as to what reception I would receive. I knocked. I knocked again. I peeked into the window–the windows. It seemed that no one was home. I checked the address. It confirmed the place that I had sent to, and received return letters from. No one was home.
I may have sat in the car, or maybe I just squatted on the porch. No telling how much later, a car drove up the drive and into the garage. I don’t even remember who was in it, but after they had entered the house, I knocked again.
The door opened and I introduced myself, explaining that I was a friend of their daughter. (Did you notice that I have not used a name? I have a total blank.) “Oh yes!” the mother exclaimed. Either she was the driver, or had also just arrived. “This is the day you were coming. I bet she forgot. She is out on a date. They will be back in about an hour or so.”
I backpedaled faster than a clown on a unicycle facing an irate lion tamer whose path he had crossed. I felt like a clown as well. I stammered that I would go to a hotel and go on to Schroon Lake the next day. We were supposed to check in on Saturday afternoon, just like a camper for our first week of training and orientation. Google now says seven hours. Pshaw! A piece of cake.
She would not hear of it. I was 26 or more hours on the road with about eight hours of sleep. The least they could do was give me a good meal, gratefully accepted after two days of burgers, fries, and Cokes, and a good long night’s sleep. Her husband could map out the best route to Word of Life, as they drove it often.
Reluctantly, I accepted, and did have a pleasant evening with the family. Older Sister did get home and we exchanged a cordial, but perfunctory greeting. I had misjudged her interest by about 180 degrees. Either in direction or temperature. I do not remember if I even wrote to her from camp. I doubt if I got a letter back if I did.
Well, Word of Life certainly did not begin with the bang that I was expecting. But, as earlier posts indicated, that was another turning point in my life. Chemistry, debate, and Word of Life. What an odd conjunction of influences that is. And, without the “deflection” afforded by each one, I cannot guess where I would be today. God did some amazing miracles to take me from Hitchcock County Nebraska to Texas to New York, back to Texas, to Iowa, to Illinois, and finally to Tennessee. I have called this home for over 30 years. And I am about to settle down.
Word of Life actually had two paddle strikes on this pinball as it careened through life. And for that, this Screwball is profoundly thankful. Thank You Jesus.
End of story–for now.
Thursday, August 2, 2018
LeTourneau South, Longview (Episode 4 of 4)
BIG JOHN’S BROTHER
Other episodes are posted below.
LeTourneau College and Longview, Texas, hold many fond and treasured memories. I was there from the fall, August (actually who ever heard of college starting before the middle of September? All my buddies were at home goofing off in the swimming pool and playing “dare base.”) Where was I? Oh yes. From August of 1965 to April of 1969. Incidentally, when we got around to April and I was home, getting the pick of summer jobs, I did not envy the “pool time” and games that the boys had.
I will probably dredge up several memories, or conflations in the immediate future so will put keyboard under finger tips....That doesn’t sound as poetic as, “take pen or quill in hand, and....” But it is more accurate. My fingers fly over the keys, stop, backup and make corrections, go on and...repeat.
One memory is tied to camp and my co-counselor, John. He also came from LeTourneau and I do not know of anyone else who went from Texas, or at least LeTourneau. Texas is a pretty big place and has a lot of colleges and Universities.
John is now in Pennsylvania so, if he lived there before, he didn’t have far to go. I lived in Nebraska, far, southwestern Nebraska. I drove for one whole day to get to New Lenox, Illinois, where I spent the night with my aunt and her husband, then drove on all the way to Coatsville, Pennsylvania. (Short, sad story there. May get to it later.) Then the next, the third day of travel, like Abraham, I lifted up my eyes and saw the “mountain,” the Adirondacks and was ready to “sacrifice” my summer. (Genesis 22)
I was repaid far more than I expended that season, and part of it was reported in earlier posts. (LeTourneau North, Schroon Lake.) After the exhilarating and enormously satisfying time there, I wondered home to Nebraska, and then back to LeTourneau. More stories there.
Back in the swing of things in Longview, I was introduced to Big John’s brother. He, likewise was a “big boy,” but I do not recall if he was taller than his brother or not. For the record, “Big” did not mean overweight, but tall and strongly built. No offense, boys.
Being a “mighty senior,” I did not have much interaction with John’s brother, but I did see him occasionally and even spoke to him. I was also very active in intercollege debate (lots of stories there) and was tied up and/or out of town much of the first one and one half semesters of 1969.
LeTourneau had a “spiritual emphasis week” within about a week or so of the beginning of each new semester. Maybe it was just second semester. My memory is that it was spring semester. We had special meetings during chapel (MWF or TT–remember those class designations? Or the dreaded TTS.) during chapel and in the evenings. After one of the meetings we had an “altar call,” for anyone who needed to dedicate or rededicate their lives or otherwise, do business with God. John’s little brother went forward.
I was pleased, thinking that he was going to follow John’s lead to serve the Lord, maybe even at Word of Life. Sometimes the leaders would have people give a testimony. John’s brother stood up.
What he said electrified me, and I think many others who were there.
Little brother began, “As you all know, I am Big John’s little brother. And all through my life I have followed him where ever he went. Coming here was more of the same. And everyone always assumed that since Big John was saved and living for the Lord, that I was too.
“I waited during high school and youth group for someone to ask me if I wanted to be saved.” Now that I think through this, I think that Sarge Grey probably decided to have John’s brother speak. Sarge was our campus pastor, college counselor, and confidant. He became a dear friend to me, and even visited me one time in East Peoria High School on one of his travels.
Sarge was a great soul winner and never missed a chance to tell others about Jesus. And he encouraged, urged, and prodded me, at least, and I bet everyone else whom he mentored to do the same. So John’s brother’s declaration shook all of us. (Side Story: Sarge told me that while he was stationed in Japan, after WWII, he met a Japanese who did not speak English. Sarge knew only a few words in Japanese, but witnessed to him anyway. “I don’t know if he got saved, but I will find out in heaven.”) Back to the story.
“I waited during high school and youth group for someone to ask me if I wanted to be saved.” He “wanted to get saved,” and no one asked him. I didn’t ask him. What if something had happened to him before he got asked? (I was not very theologically oriented then, but it is still sobering.) I, or anyone else who had met him could have led him to the Lord right on the spot. As Jesus told His disciples in John 4 the field is “white unto harvest.” Be a laborer. (John 4:35)
I have tried to be sensitive to opportunities to invite anyone that I can to believe on Jesus for the forgiveness of sins. I do not want to miss another “little brother.”
This series has had a focus on the outcasts of society, like druggies. It also saw an “up and out-er” who was a genius as well as an atheist confront his mistakes and become a Christian. Finally we saw an invisible member of society or even our family come to make a decision. Do not let time pass before you are assured that everyone within your circle of influence knows Jesus.
How about you? Have you prayed, like the drug addict, or the atheist I referenced before? Or are you invisible? God sees you and this is your invitation. Will you do it today? Contact me.
Other episodes are posted below.
LeTourneau College and Longview, Texas, hold many fond and treasured memories. I was there from the fall, August (actually who ever heard of college starting before the middle of September? All my buddies were at home goofing off in the swimming pool and playing “dare base.”) Where was I? Oh yes. From August of 1965 to April of 1969. Incidentally, when we got around to April and I was home, getting the pick of summer jobs, I did not envy the “pool time” and games that the boys had.
I will probably dredge up several memories, or conflations in the immediate future so will put keyboard under finger tips....That doesn’t sound as poetic as, “take pen or quill in hand, and....” But it is more accurate. My fingers fly over the keys, stop, backup and make corrections, go on and...repeat.
One memory is tied to camp and my co-counselor, John. He also came from LeTourneau and I do not know of anyone else who went from Texas, or at least LeTourneau. Texas is a pretty big place and has a lot of colleges and Universities.
John is now in Pennsylvania so, if he lived there before, he didn’t have far to go. I lived in Nebraska, far, southwestern Nebraska. I drove for one whole day to get to New Lenox, Illinois, where I spent the night with my aunt and her husband, then drove on all the way to Coatsville, Pennsylvania. (Short, sad story there. May get to it later.) Then the next, the third day of travel, like Abraham, I lifted up my eyes and saw the “mountain,” the Adirondacks and was ready to “sacrifice” my summer. (Genesis 22)
I was repaid far more than I expended that season, and part of it was reported in earlier posts. (LeTourneau North, Schroon Lake.) After the exhilarating and enormously satisfying time there, I wondered home to Nebraska, and then back to LeTourneau. More stories there.
Back in the swing of things in Longview, I was introduced to Big John’s brother. He, likewise was a “big boy,” but I do not recall if he was taller than his brother or not. For the record, “Big” did not mean overweight, but tall and strongly built. No offense, boys.
Being a “mighty senior,” I did not have much interaction with John’s brother, but I did see him occasionally and even spoke to him. I was also very active in intercollege debate (lots of stories there) and was tied up and/or out of town much of the first one and one half semesters of 1969.
LeTourneau had a “spiritual emphasis week” within about a week or so of the beginning of each new semester. Maybe it was just second semester. My memory is that it was spring semester. We had special meetings during chapel (MWF or TT–remember those class designations? Or the dreaded TTS.) during chapel and in the evenings. After one of the meetings we had an “altar call,” for anyone who needed to dedicate or rededicate their lives or otherwise, do business with God. John’s little brother went forward.
I was pleased, thinking that he was going to follow John’s lead to serve the Lord, maybe even at Word of Life. Sometimes the leaders would have people give a testimony. John’s brother stood up.
What he said electrified me, and I think many others who were there.
Little brother began, “As you all know, I am Big John’s little brother. And all through my life I have followed him where ever he went. Coming here was more of the same. And everyone always assumed that since Big John was saved and living for the Lord, that I was too.
“I waited during high school and youth group for someone to ask me if I wanted to be saved.” Now that I think through this, I think that Sarge Grey probably decided to have John’s brother speak. Sarge was our campus pastor, college counselor, and confidant. He became a dear friend to me, and even visited me one time in East Peoria High School on one of his travels.
Sarge was a great soul winner and never missed a chance to tell others about Jesus. And he encouraged, urged, and prodded me, at least, and I bet everyone else whom he mentored to do the same. So John’s brother’s declaration shook all of us. (Side Story: Sarge told me that while he was stationed in Japan, after WWII, he met a Japanese who did not speak English. Sarge knew only a few words in Japanese, but witnessed to him anyway. “I don’t know if he got saved, but I will find out in heaven.”) Back to the story.
“I waited during high school and youth group for someone to ask me if I wanted to be saved.” He “wanted to get saved,” and no one asked him. I didn’t ask him. What if something had happened to him before he got asked? (I was not very theologically oriented then, but it is still sobering.) I, or anyone else who had met him could have led him to the Lord right on the spot. As Jesus told His disciples in John 4 the field is “white unto harvest.” Be a laborer. (John 4:35)
I have tried to be sensitive to opportunities to invite anyone that I can to believe on Jesus for the forgiveness of sins. I do not want to miss another “little brother.”
This series has had a focus on the outcasts of society, like druggies. It also saw an “up and out-er” who was a genius as well as an atheist confront his mistakes and become a Christian. Finally we saw an invisible member of society or even our family come to make a decision. Do not let time pass before you are assured that everyone within your circle of influence knows Jesus.
How about you? Have you prayed, like the drug addict, or the atheist I referenced before? Or are you invisible? God sees you and this is your invitation. Will you do it today? Contact me.
LeTourneau North, word of Life (Episode 3 of 4)
DAYS OFF and such
Others posted above and below.
One final memory of camp, for now. We were on the Island with maybe 100 campers and were only able to get off the island on power boats. This was by design to “keep the more adventurous campers home.” It was a bit inconvenient, because we got one day off each week, but had to go to the mainland to do anything.
In fact, they urged us not to stay on the island. First we needed to be apart from the kids for a while, and they needed a respite from us. The second reason was that this was the only time we could do laundry. There were no facilities on the island. I do not believe that the cabins even had electricity. There may have been lights, but no electrical outlets. The campers were instructed not to bring radios or record players or anything that needed electricity.
Once there, I discovered the wisdom on the “Counselors’ instructions: Bring enough underwear to last a week.” And no days off were on Saturday or Sunday. Those were the times we met new campers and kicked off the “festivities.” At the end of the week, we were bundling them up to ship back home.
On one of our days off, a group decided to go to Montreal. The Expo 67, a world’s fair was winding down in Montreal, Canada. That was interesting. The memorable thing was that on this trip a new face appeared. Evidently one of the “regulars” on our day off had something to do, and traded with her co-counselor.
I had noticed this girl, female counselor, occasionally over the summer, but had not even gotten acquainted. (NOTE: Boys and girls’ cabins did not fraternize in the normal course of events. That was by camp design.) So I got acquainted with a girl named DeeDee.
“Just by happenstance,” she traded the next week also and the group went on an outing to Whiteface Mountain. FYI: Counselors were not allowed to “date,” meaning go to events in pairs consisting of mixed couples. But on the ski lift, each gondola only held two, and guess who Jimmy boy paired with? You got it. DeeDee was not unwilling. We had struck up a friendship, and were able to legitimately spend some time together. No harm, no foul, no guilt.
This did not ever progress beyond “friendship,” but this lady made a major impact on my life. My roommate at LeTourneau and I went to Shelbyville, Tennessee, over Christmas of ‘68 and visited with DeeDee and her family. Incidentally our visit triggered her brother’s interest in LeTourneau which he subsequently attended and later even served on the staff or faculty.
In return, DeeDee suggested that I check out the University of Iowa for graduate school. She had studied piano (and maybe organ) there, gotten a Master’s degree, and was going to teach at a college in Virginia. For graduate school, I was planning to go to the University of Nebraska or Missouri. Neither of those worked out, and I ended up at Iowa. (Lucky break?)
From there, after getting a MS in Chemistry, I taught chemistry in East Peoria, Illinois, and met the girl (woman) who would become my wife and the mother of my three kids. God works in mysterious ways. (No luck involved. Theology is straight now.) From Schroon Lake, to Montreal, to Whiteface Mountain, to Shelbyville, to Iowa City, to East Peoria was the route that He took me.
I went to camp in grade school and early high school and dedicated my life to do whatever God wanted me to do. I thought it would be to the mission field. Word of Life camp was a mission field, and then He took me to the chemistry classroom and lab. We are currently in Smyrna, Tennessee, ironically, only a few miles from Shelbyville. But DeeDee does not live there. She actually never came back, as far as I know. She taught and married in Virginia and now has retired somewhere here in Tennessee.
LeTourneau was a wonderful training ground and I wil have a few more “tales from the crypt of my faltering memory.” Or maybe I should say, “my conflating memory.” I “remember” a lot of stuff that didn’t happen–to me anyway. Oh well, we can all learn.
Write it down. Then you do not have to depend upon “lightening” gray matter. Have a blessed day. Watch God work and lead.
Others posted above and below.
One final memory of camp, for now. We were on the Island with maybe 100 campers and were only able to get off the island on power boats. This was by design to “keep the more adventurous campers home.” It was a bit inconvenient, because we got one day off each week, but had to go to the mainland to do anything.
In fact, they urged us not to stay on the island. First we needed to be apart from the kids for a while, and they needed a respite from us. The second reason was that this was the only time we could do laundry. There were no facilities on the island. I do not believe that the cabins even had electricity. There may have been lights, but no electrical outlets. The campers were instructed not to bring radios or record players or anything that needed electricity.
Once there, I discovered the wisdom on the “Counselors’ instructions: Bring enough underwear to last a week.” And no days off were on Saturday or Sunday. Those were the times we met new campers and kicked off the “festivities.” At the end of the week, we were bundling them up to ship back home.
On one of our days off, a group decided to go to Montreal. The Expo 67, a world’s fair was winding down in Montreal, Canada. That was interesting. The memorable thing was that on this trip a new face appeared. Evidently one of the “regulars” on our day off had something to do, and traded with her co-counselor.
I had noticed this girl, female counselor, occasionally over the summer, but had not even gotten acquainted. (NOTE: Boys and girls’ cabins did not fraternize in the normal course of events. That was by camp design.) So I got acquainted with a girl named DeeDee.
“Just by happenstance,” she traded the next week also and the group went on an outing to Whiteface Mountain. FYI: Counselors were not allowed to “date,” meaning go to events in pairs consisting of mixed couples. But on the ski lift, each gondola only held two, and guess who Jimmy boy paired with? You got it. DeeDee was not unwilling. We had struck up a friendship, and were able to legitimately spend some time together. No harm, no foul, no guilt.
This did not ever progress beyond “friendship,” but this lady made a major impact on my life. My roommate at LeTourneau and I went to Shelbyville, Tennessee, over Christmas of ‘68 and visited with DeeDee and her family. Incidentally our visit triggered her brother’s interest in LeTourneau which he subsequently attended and later even served on the staff or faculty.
In return, DeeDee suggested that I check out the University of Iowa for graduate school. She had studied piano (and maybe organ) there, gotten a Master’s degree, and was going to teach at a college in Virginia. For graduate school, I was planning to go to the University of Nebraska or Missouri. Neither of those worked out, and I ended up at Iowa. (Lucky break?)
From there, after getting a MS in Chemistry, I taught chemistry in East Peoria, Illinois, and met the girl (woman) who would become my wife and the mother of my three kids. God works in mysterious ways. (No luck involved. Theology is straight now.) From Schroon Lake, to Montreal, to Whiteface Mountain, to Shelbyville, to Iowa City, to East Peoria was the route that He took me.
I went to camp in grade school and early high school and dedicated my life to do whatever God wanted me to do. I thought it would be to the mission field. Word of Life camp was a mission field, and then He took me to the chemistry classroom and lab. We are currently in Smyrna, Tennessee, ironically, only a few miles from Shelbyville. But DeeDee does not live there. She actually never came back, as far as I know. She taught and married in Virginia and now has retired somewhere here in Tennessee.
LeTourneau was a wonderful training ground and I wil have a few more “tales from the crypt of my faltering memory.” Or maybe I should say, “my conflating memory.” I “remember” a lot of stuff that didn’t happen–to me anyway. Oh well, we can all learn.
Write it down. Then you do not have to depend upon “lightening” gray matter. Have a blessed day. Watch God work and lead.
LeTourneau North, Word of Life (Episode 2 of 4)
ATHIEST GENUS, WARREN
Story number two of WOC 68..
My co-counselor, John, and I had a second memorable camper, and he was in our cabin. The campers came on Saturday afternoon and left the following Saturday morning. So we had them for nearly an entire week.
John and I would meet the new campers on Saturday evening by doing a series of pullups (chin-ups) to convince them that they did not want to tangle with us. Some would try, but did it with their palms facing themselves. We made them turn their hands around. It is harder that way.
I only recall one camper who was able to match us. We did 10 just to start. Then if they were able to pull 10, we would immediately jump up for a second set. Only one camper, as I remember, made it past 10. And after several sets, we agreed to call it a draw.
Incidentally, my co-counselor’s full name was. “Big John.” And he was big. I was not inclined to tangle with him. We were wonderfully and propitiously matched. He also attended LeTourneau College, and I don’t think I knew him before we “met” on Schroon Lake Island.
Saturday afternoon and early evening were largely unstructured, allowing campers and counselors to get “acclimated” to each other, if not acquainted. I think this guy’s name was Warren. (Warning, this is a giveaway as to his character and temperament.) We had a different challenge with him. Within a few minutes we became aware that Warren was both precocious, and gifted. Just how gifted was not clear, even at the end of the week.
I cannot compare him directly with the “geniuses” I encountered while teaching high school and college chemistry. But, based on a 50 year-old memory, he was probably one of the highest IQ’s that I encountered in my life. (Exclusive of my own, of course. Smiley face.)
Warren declared that he was an atheist and was here for the recreation only. He was from New Jersey, Newark, if I remember, and he had little patience with the peons who were in charge of both his cabin and the whole camp. Anyone who believed in God had to be brain-dead or barely above that level.
We discussed a little relativity and he started to come out of his shell. (I knew nearly as much about it as he did, and neither of us understood it. Intellectual draw.) So the door was open. I cheated. I prayed for him.
And later in the week we were discussing the Bible. He stated that he could not believe it because it was filled with errors and contradictions. I simply challenged him to give me one. After a few false starts, he gave up, but continued to argue that there was nothing about the Bible that made it special, especially God’s Word. (I did not point out his self-contradiction there.)
I countered with the premise of prophesy. If the Bible makes prophetic statements and they come true, would that not prove that it was supernaturally inspired? He admitted that it would, but categorically stated that most of the “so-called” prophesies were written after the fact. There goes all of my Jesus points. I knew that they were not postdated, but had no way to prove it to him there.
He had been told that everything was written later, and had no reason to doubt it. He may even have been in an “atheist club” or group of some kind. He was well primed, but with his IQ, he was capable of ferreting out his own arguments. (And in the days before the internet and Google, that was a bit of a task.)
“Luckily,” I had just been reading in Isaiah where the prophet named Cyrus as being the king to let the Israelites go back to their land after Babylon had exiled them for 70 years. (I omitted the 70 year exile prophesy.) I started in 2 Chronicles 36:22-23. (It is repeated in Ezra 1.)
Now in the first year of Cyrus king of Persia—in order to fulfill the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah—the Lord stirred up the spirit of Cyrus king of Persia, so that he sent a proclamation throughout his kingdom, and also put it in writing, saying, 23 “Thus says Cyrus king of Persia, ‘The Lord, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and He has appointed me to build Him a house in Jerusalem, which is in Judah. Whoever there is among you of all His people, may the Lord his God be with him, and let him go up!’”
I may have started with Isaiah 45:1-3. (I do now.)
Thus says the Lord to Cyrus His anointed, Whom I have taken by the right hand, To subdue nations before him And to loose the loins of kings; To open doors before him so that gates will not be shut: 2 “I will go before you and make the rough places smooth; I will shatter the doors of bronze and cut through their iron bars. 3 “I will give you the treasures of darkness And hidden wealth of secret places, So that you may know that it is I, The Lord, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name.
This name thing is big. God named a king several years before he was the king. And here it gets very exciting. Whether here or later, Warren was astounded.
Isaiah wrote that between 701 and 681 BC. Cyrus overthrew Babylon and became the ruler of the Jews in 539 BC and the Chronicles and Ezra books were happening. But wait, there is more.
In Isaiah 44:28 we read,
“It is I who says of Cyrus, ‘He is My shepherd! And he will perform all My desire.’ And he declares of Jerusalem, ‘She will be built,’ And of the temple, ‘Your foundation will be laid.’”
I wanted to focus on the sending back and rebuilding the temple. But Warren seized on the fact that his name had been predicted nearly 150 years before Cyrus took power and did his thing.
(Disclaimer: I had just acquired a Scofield Study Bible, and all of the dates when books were written were there. So I did not have to remember them, only that the prophesies existed.)
That broke the dam. Warren exclaimed, “They (and presumably the documents he had read) lied to me! Only a God who knows everything could foretell the future like that.” (Did I tell you he was “pretty bright?”) I didn’t have to say a word or explain anything. (I’m choking up here.) Even without my explaining that God inhabits eternity, etc, he realized that if anyone was able to do that, He would be God. And he was ready to accept Him.
I was not satisfied to get Warren to God, I wanted him to know Jesus. That was an easy transition, now that he discounted all of his “learned” training about how the Bible was spurious and unreliable. The Jesus story made sense and Warren accepted Jesus’ sacrifice for his sin right there in our cabin. PTL! Isn’t God good, to have me “just happen” to read those passages recently? His leading is profound and, thankfully, fairly consistent. “Listening” is more the problem of consistency, but I digress.
Warren was changed too. He was stil a genius, but no longer an atheist. I do not recall anything about his parents. But, unless they were aggressive atheists, sending him on a mission to camp to convert the gullible, they may have been behind his coming in hopes that someone could get through to him. Someone, Someone did, and He used me to point out the road through Isaiah.
I hate that I did not keep up with either of these boys/men. But we will meet in heaven, and who knows, maybe we will cross paths on Facebook or something. John and I recently discovered each other. (“Hi John.”) We are slowly catching up. Warren and LSD guy were more peripheral encounters, but I was deeply impacted. And they are going to heaven because of that. If we don’t meet until then, so be it.
God changes lives. We are born in sin, but He can take us out and make us New Creatures. Thank You Jesus.
Epilog: The previous engagement was done before the advent of the “GET LIFE” program. They use RAMP to argue for the validity and veracity of the Bible. Resurrection (of Jesus), Archeology (historic finds), Miracles proving an Supernatural intervention in lives, and Prophesy. God pre-wrote history because He is everpresent, He is in the past, the present, and the future. Cyrus comes in this category.
Disclaimer: These “memories” may have warped and been enhanced over the years. A couple of years ago, we had instances of peoples’ memories “conflating” events that actually happened and things that happened to them. There is a good possibility that these tales, like my memories of being an all-American high school basketball player, are bigger than life. The actual events are not imagined or invented. I have a witness: John.
Story number two of WOL 68 is at an end.
Story number two of WOC 68..
My co-counselor, John, and I had a second memorable camper, and he was in our cabin. The campers came on Saturday afternoon and left the following Saturday morning. So we had them for nearly an entire week.
John and I would meet the new campers on Saturday evening by doing a series of pullups (chin-ups) to convince them that they did not want to tangle with us. Some would try, but did it with their palms facing themselves. We made them turn their hands around. It is harder that way.
I only recall one camper who was able to match us. We did 10 just to start. Then if they were able to pull 10, we would immediately jump up for a second set. Only one camper, as I remember, made it past 10. And after several sets, we agreed to call it a draw.
Incidentally, my co-counselor’s full name was. “Big John.” And he was big. I was not inclined to tangle with him. We were wonderfully and propitiously matched. He also attended LeTourneau College, and I don’t think I knew him before we “met” on Schroon Lake Island.
Saturday afternoon and early evening were largely unstructured, allowing campers and counselors to get “acclimated” to each other, if not acquainted. I think this guy’s name was Warren. (Warning, this is a giveaway as to his character and temperament.) We had a different challenge with him. Within a few minutes we became aware that Warren was both precocious, and gifted. Just how gifted was not clear, even at the end of the week.
I cannot compare him directly with the “geniuses” I encountered while teaching high school and college chemistry. But, based on a 50 year-old memory, he was probably one of the highest IQ’s that I encountered in my life. (Exclusive of my own, of course. Smiley face.)
Warren declared that he was an atheist and was here for the recreation only. He was from New Jersey, Newark, if I remember, and he had little patience with the peons who were in charge of both his cabin and the whole camp. Anyone who believed in God had to be brain-dead or barely above that level.
We discussed a little relativity and he started to come out of his shell. (I knew nearly as much about it as he did, and neither of us understood it. Intellectual draw.) So the door was open. I cheated. I prayed for him.
And later in the week we were discussing the Bible. He stated that he could not believe it because it was filled with errors and contradictions. I simply challenged him to give me one. After a few false starts, he gave up, but continued to argue that there was nothing about the Bible that made it special, especially God’s Word. (I did not point out his self-contradiction there.)
I countered with the premise of prophesy. If the Bible makes prophetic statements and they come true, would that not prove that it was supernaturally inspired? He admitted that it would, but categorically stated that most of the “so-called” prophesies were written after the fact. There goes all of my Jesus points. I knew that they were not postdated, but had no way to prove it to him there.
He had been told that everything was written later, and had no reason to doubt it. He may even have been in an “atheist club” or group of some kind. He was well primed, but with his IQ, he was capable of ferreting out his own arguments. (And in the days before the internet and Google, that was a bit of a task.)
“Luckily,” I had just been reading in Isaiah where the prophet named Cyrus as being the king to let the Israelites go back to their land after Babylon had exiled them for 70 years. (I omitted the 70 year exile prophesy.) I started in 2 Chronicles 36:22-23. (It is repeated in Ezra 1.)
Now in the first year of Cyrus king of Persia—in order to fulfill the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah—the Lord stirred up the spirit of Cyrus king of Persia, so that he sent a proclamation throughout his kingdom, and also put it in writing, saying, 23 “Thus says Cyrus king of Persia, ‘The Lord, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and He has appointed me to build Him a house in Jerusalem, which is in Judah. Whoever there is among you of all His people, may the Lord his God be with him, and let him go up!’”
I may have started with Isaiah 45:1-3. (I do now.)
Thus says the Lord to Cyrus His anointed, Whom I have taken by the right hand, To subdue nations before him And to loose the loins of kings; To open doors before him so that gates will not be shut: 2 “I will go before you and make the rough places smooth; I will shatter the doors of bronze and cut through their iron bars. 3 “I will give you the treasures of darkness And hidden wealth of secret places, So that you may know that it is I, The Lord, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name.
This name thing is big. God named a king several years before he was the king. And here it gets very exciting. Whether here or later, Warren was astounded.
Isaiah wrote that between 701 and 681 BC. Cyrus overthrew Babylon and became the ruler of the Jews in 539 BC and the Chronicles and Ezra books were happening. But wait, there is more.
In Isaiah 44:28 we read,
“It is I who says of Cyrus, ‘He is My shepherd! And he will perform all My desire.’ And he declares of Jerusalem, ‘She will be built,’ And of the temple, ‘Your foundation will be laid.’”
I wanted to focus on the sending back and rebuilding the temple. But Warren seized on the fact that his name had been predicted nearly 150 years before Cyrus took power and did his thing.
(Disclaimer: I had just acquired a Scofield Study Bible, and all of the dates when books were written were there. So I did not have to remember them, only that the prophesies existed.)
That broke the dam. Warren exclaimed, “They (and presumably the documents he had read) lied to me! Only a God who knows everything could foretell the future like that.” (Did I tell you he was “pretty bright?”) I didn’t have to say a word or explain anything. (I’m choking up here.) Even without my explaining that God inhabits eternity, etc, he realized that if anyone was able to do that, He would be God. And he was ready to accept Him.
I was not satisfied to get Warren to God, I wanted him to know Jesus. That was an easy transition, now that he discounted all of his “learned” training about how the Bible was spurious and unreliable. The Jesus story made sense and Warren accepted Jesus’ sacrifice for his sin right there in our cabin. PTL! Isn’t God good, to have me “just happen” to read those passages recently? His leading is profound and, thankfully, fairly consistent. “Listening” is more the problem of consistency, but I digress.
Warren was changed too. He was stil a genius, but no longer an atheist. I do not recall anything about his parents. But, unless they were aggressive atheists, sending him on a mission to camp to convert the gullible, they may have been behind his coming in hopes that someone could get through to him. Someone, Someone did, and He used me to point out the road through Isaiah.
I hate that I did not keep up with either of these boys/men. But we will meet in heaven, and who knows, maybe we will cross paths on Facebook or something. John and I recently discovered each other. (“Hi John.”) We are slowly catching up. Warren and LSD guy were more peripheral encounters, but I was deeply impacted. And they are going to heaven because of that. If we don’t meet until then, so be it.
God changes lives. We are born in sin, but He can take us out and make us New Creatures. Thank You Jesus.
Epilog: The previous engagement was done before the advent of the “GET LIFE” program. They use RAMP to argue for the validity and veracity of the Bible. Resurrection (of Jesus), Archeology (historic finds), Miracles proving an Supernatural intervention in lives, and Prophesy. God pre-wrote history because He is everpresent, He is in the past, the present, and the future. Cyrus comes in this category.
Disclaimer: These “memories” may have warped and been enhanced over the years. A couple of years ago, we had instances of peoples’ memories “conflating” events that actually happened and things that happened to them. There is a good possibility that these tales, like my memories of being an all-American high school basketball player, are bigger than life. The actual events are not imagined or invented. I have a witness: John.
Story number two of WOL 68 is at an end.
LeTourneau North, Word of Life (Episode 1 of 4)
LSD GUY
This message began as a meditation on the claim by some in today’s society that they were “born that way,” and cannot change. This is to explain and excuse certain behaviors, especially those that are delineated as sin. My mind ran to 2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
But my mind immediately turned to the summer of 1968 when I was a camp counselor at Word of Life Camp in Schroon Lake, New York. I was reminded of two guys who became “new creations” that summer. They definitely changed.
The camp is in upstate New York and a lot of NY City kids were bussed up to the camp for a week away from the ghettoes and other influences of the city. They could not even bring radios. They got to live on an island, which was a very good move for some of the more “transient minded.” I do not recall anyone “running away and escaping. They also got to enjoy camping in the woods, water sports on the lake, and just experiencing the outdoors away from the hustle and bustle (and all the rest) of the Big City.
But more important, they were exposed to the message that Jesus saves. Two lives specifically come to mind. The first was an older “child,” who, many of us counselors estimated to be in his early to middle twenties. How he got into the camp was a mystery–until you hear the rest of the story.
This guy was “on something” as he seemed to be perpetually stoned. Most of us counselors were middle class, midwestern or southern born and bred, and the most severe “addiction” or intoxication we had ever encountered was alcohol. Harder, or more exotic drugs were outside of our experience. When it did not wear off in a few hours, we were more suspicious.
My co-counselor, John, and I were just happy that he was not in our cabin. I seem to recall that he was somewhat voluble, and even vociferous. But, at the same time, he was very personable and likable, to the point of being memorable. (That was 50 years ago.) Then, one night, he went forward and got saved. The skeptic in me said that he had “read the writing on the wall,” and knew he was about to be sent back to New Yawk. This would forestall his departure for a day or so.
I, along with several others, maybe a lot of others, discovered, to our delight that he had truly been saved and changed. Just talking with him revealed a completely new person. He was still the same personality. And in respect to the “50 years,” the thing that made him memorable was the transformation that occurred in his life.
He testified to the entire camp, and, I believe the next group or two as the administrators invited him to stay for an extra week or two. He told these groups of “know it all” city kids that he had been like them, but was now different. He had been on LSD. He may even have brought some to camp. But the second that he received Christ as his Savior, he was freed. He was freed from the wanting for it, and even the effects of his most recent dose. “I do not even want a cigarette, and I have been smoking since I was a little kid,” he declared.
Not every addict is released from the physical effects like that, but he was. I hope that someone, somewhere kept in touch with that guy and maybe we can touch base again. I know I will see him in heaven, but would like to “catch up” on the past half century and see how the Lord worked in and through his life.
God clearly and definitely did a miracle in his life; several miracles, in fact. First, and most important, he was literally a new creature, just as 2 Corinthians says. (He even threw away his drugs, as I recall.) His physical body also experienced a supernatural “healing.” He was delivered from the “addiction” or whatever accompanies LSD, and he also was delivered, for a while anyway, from the residual effects of LSD.
He had experienced “flashbacks” before, and that is when he took another hit. AC, after Christ, he had no flashbacks while at camp. (I imagine that he did not want to go home when the season ended.)
I was able to talk to him and, discerning soul that I am, was able to determine that he had been in a real, life-changing, experience. And I had actually watched him walk down the aisle. I was ashamed of my skepticism. God had worked in his life, and he was a walking miracle, a new creature.
Story number one of WOL 68 is at an end.
See Episode 2 above in the post. (LeTourneau North Word of Life Episode 2)
This message began as a meditation on the claim by some in today’s society that they were “born that way,” and cannot change. This is to explain and excuse certain behaviors, especially those that are delineated as sin. My mind ran to 2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
But my mind immediately turned to the summer of 1968 when I was a camp counselor at Word of Life Camp in Schroon Lake, New York. I was reminded of two guys who became “new creations” that summer. They definitely changed.
The camp is in upstate New York and a lot of NY City kids were bussed up to the camp for a week away from the ghettoes and other influences of the city. They could not even bring radios. They got to live on an island, which was a very good move for some of the more “transient minded.” I do not recall anyone “running away and escaping. They also got to enjoy camping in the woods, water sports on the lake, and just experiencing the outdoors away from the hustle and bustle (and all the rest) of the Big City.
But more important, they were exposed to the message that Jesus saves. Two lives specifically come to mind. The first was an older “child,” who, many of us counselors estimated to be in his early to middle twenties. How he got into the camp was a mystery–until you hear the rest of the story.
This guy was “on something” as he seemed to be perpetually stoned. Most of us counselors were middle class, midwestern or southern born and bred, and the most severe “addiction” or intoxication we had ever encountered was alcohol. Harder, or more exotic drugs were outside of our experience. When it did not wear off in a few hours, we were more suspicious.
My co-counselor, John, and I were just happy that he was not in our cabin. I seem to recall that he was somewhat voluble, and even vociferous. But, at the same time, he was very personable and likable, to the point of being memorable. (That was 50 years ago.) Then, one night, he went forward and got saved. The skeptic in me said that he had “read the writing on the wall,” and knew he was about to be sent back to New Yawk. This would forestall his departure for a day or so.
I, along with several others, maybe a lot of others, discovered, to our delight that he had truly been saved and changed. Just talking with him revealed a completely new person. He was still the same personality. And in respect to the “50 years,” the thing that made him memorable was the transformation that occurred in his life.
He testified to the entire camp, and, I believe the next group or two as the administrators invited him to stay for an extra week or two. He told these groups of “know it all” city kids that he had been like them, but was now different. He had been on LSD. He may even have brought some to camp. But the second that he received Christ as his Savior, he was freed. He was freed from the wanting for it, and even the effects of his most recent dose. “I do not even want a cigarette, and I have been smoking since I was a little kid,” he declared.
Not every addict is released from the physical effects like that, but he was. I hope that someone, somewhere kept in touch with that guy and maybe we can touch base again. I know I will see him in heaven, but would like to “catch up” on the past half century and see how the Lord worked in and through his life.
God clearly and definitely did a miracle in his life; several miracles, in fact. First, and most important, he was literally a new creature, just as 2 Corinthians says. (He even threw away his drugs, as I recall.) His physical body also experienced a supernatural “healing.” He was delivered from the “addiction” or whatever accompanies LSD, and he also was delivered, for a while anyway, from the residual effects of LSD.
He had experienced “flashbacks” before, and that is when he took another hit. AC, after Christ, he had no flashbacks while at camp. (I imagine that he did not want to go home when the season ended.)
I was able to talk to him and, discerning soul that I am, was able to determine that he had been in a real, life-changing, experience. And I had actually watched him walk down the aisle. I was ashamed of my skepticism. God had worked in his life, and he was a walking miracle, a new creature.
Story number one of WOL 68 is at an end.
See Episode 2 above in the post. (LeTourneau North Word of Life Episode 2)
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
I Told You So
don’t you hate it when someone gloats, “I told you so?” Expecially when they warned or advised you about something and you did not heed their caution. It stings doubly, because you could have avoided whatever loss or reversal that occurred, and...you have to live with the stigma of knowing something, but not responding to it.
There seems to be just such an instance in Acts 27:21. A little background will help us to understand. Paul is on his way to Rome, courtesy of the Emperor, via the “best transportation Rome has to offer.” As you read the chapter, you discover that King Festus had dispatched Paul to Rome in the custody of a Roman Centurian named Julius. The exact number of soldiers accompanying Paul and the “other prisoners” is not indicated. He was part of the Augustan cohort. A cohort was a tenth of a legion and was between 360 and 800 soldiers.
The whole crew probably did not travel, but transporting or confining prisoners usually entailed a group of four, possibly multiplied by three for successive eight hour shifts. When Paul was taken to Caesarea the officer sent 70 horsemen and 200 soldiers. (Acts 23) We may safely infer that there were several soldiers involved.
Without going into details, which you can read for yourself in chapter 27, they ran into a little difficulty and put in at a harbor that the captain and ship owner deemed to be unsuitable for wintering. So they went on, in spite of Paul’s warning. Verses 9 and 10
Paul began to admonish them, 10 and said to them, “Men, I perceive that the voyage will certainly be with damage and great loss, not only of the cargo and the ship, but also of our lives.”
They went on and were caught in a terrible storm that blew them all over the Mediterranean. After 14 days (v. 27) they began to near some sort of refuge. Paul stood up in verse 21:
Paul stood up in their midst and said, “Men, you ought to have followed my advice and not to have set sail from Crete and incurred this damage and loss.”
FYI: They had first jettisoned the cargo, then all of the tackle and sails, and were in fear of losing the ship.
And Paul stood up and “rubbed their noses in it. Or did he? Read on.
22 “Yet now I urge you to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship. 23 For this very night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve stood before me, 24 saying, ‘Do not be afraid, Paul; you must stand before Caesar; and behold, God has granted you all those who are sailing with you.’”
Paul was not gloating, but offering a validation of his “visions.” In essence, he was saying that the information that had been given to him was valid, true, and reliable. So what he was going to say next was likewise trustworthy. Listen
25 "Therefore, keep up your courage, men, for I believe God that it will turn out exactly as I have been told. 26 But we must run aground on a certain island.”
Well, the boat crashing was not too encouraging, but he had promised that they all would survive and live to sail another day. (If they wanted to, that is.)
Paul was not a smartypants, lording it over the dummies with which he was consigned. He was sharing God’s message of salvation and deliverance. That is a pretty good message, and one that we ought to be shouting out today.
The chapter finishes with this description:
And so it happened that they all were brought safely to land.
I have a strong suspicion that the centurion, and probably most of the soldiers became believers. We know that in the next chapter most of the inhabitants of the island became believers. This “little diversion” was not a glitch in God’s travel itinerary for Paul, it was a designed encounter with some people who needed to know God. If we could see the travel planner it probably said, “Leave Caesarea, travel to Malta. Preach the Word. Proceed to Rome.” (The details are in Acts 27 and 28.)
Once again we are reminded that the Divine Author of the Bible did not waste words or time. He gave us what we needed to know, even if we didn’t know that we needed it. So when we need it, we have it. Having a reversal today? God does not always ‘make it all right,” but He is in control and nothing is out of His control. What a blessing.
Bon Voyage!
There seems to be just such an instance in Acts 27:21. A little background will help us to understand. Paul is on his way to Rome, courtesy of the Emperor, via the “best transportation Rome has to offer.” As you read the chapter, you discover that King Festus had dispatched Paul to Rome in the custody of a Roman Centurian named Julius. The exact number of soldiers accompanying Paul and the “other prisoners” is not indicated. He was part of the Augustan cohort. A cohort was a tenth of a legion and was between 360 and 800 soldiers.
The whole crew probably did not travel, but transporting or confining prisoners usually entailed a group of four, possibly multiplied by three for successive eight hour shifts. When Paul was taken to Caesarea the officer sent 70 horsemen and 200 soldiers. (Acts 23) We may safely infer that there were several soldiers involved.
Without going into details, which you can read for yourself in chapter 27, they ran into a little difficulty and put in at a harbor that the captain and ship owner deemed to be unsuitable for wintering. So they went on, in spite of Paul’s warning. Verses 9 and 10
Paul began to admonish them, 10 and said to them, “Men, I perceive that the voyage will certainly be with damage and great loss, not only of the cargo and the ship, but also of our lives.”
They went on and were caught in a terrible storm that blew them all over the Mediterranean. After 14 days (v. 27) they began to near some sort of refuge. Paul stood up in verse 21:
Paul stood up in their midst and said, “Men, you ought to have followed my advice and not to have set sail from Crete and incurred this damage and loss.”
FYI: They had first jettisoned the cargo, then all of the tackle and sails, and were in fear of losing the ship.
And Paul stood up and “rubbed their noses in it. Or did he? Read on.
22 “Yet now I urge you to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship. 23 For this very night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve stood before me, 24 saying, ‘Do not be afraid, Paul; you must stand before Caesar; and behold, God has granted you all those who are sailing with you.’”
Paul was not gloating, but offering a validation of his “visions.” In essence, he was saying that the information that had been given to him was valid, true, and reliable. So what he was going to say next was likewise trustworthy. Listen
25 "Therefore, keep up your courage, men, for I believe God that it will turn out exactly as I have been told. 26 But we must run aground on a certain island.”
Well, the boat crashing was not too encouraging, but he had promised that they all would survive and live to sail another day. (If they wanted to, that is.)
Paul was not a smartypants, lording it over the dummies with which he was consigned. He was sharing God’s message of salvation and deliverance. That is a pretty good message, and one that we ought to be shouting out today.
The chapter finishes with this description:
And so it happened that they all were brought safely to land.
I have a strong suspicion that the centurion, and probably most of the soldiers became believers. We know that in the next chapter most of the inhabitants of the island became believers. This “little diversion” was not a glitch in God’s travel itinerary for Paul, it was a designed encounter with some people who needed to know God. If we could see the travel planner it probably said, “Leave Caesarea, travel to Malta. Preach the Word. Proceed to Rome.” (The details are in Acts 27 and 28.)
Once again we are reminded that the Divine Author of the Bible did not waste words or time. He gave us what we needed to know, even if we didn’t know that we needed it. So when we need it, we have it. Having a reversal today? God does not always ‘make it all right,” but He is in control and nothing is out of His control. What a blessing.
Bon Voyage!
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