I heard (briefly) President Obama's talk about Israel, "Palestine" and a 2-state solution to their issues. Just wondering why Obama thinks that Israel will agree to the 1967 borders that had Israel at just 9 miles wide in one spot, had Jerusalem partitioned so that part was Israeli and part "Palestinian", that had Jerusalem's Jewish holy sites predominantly within the non-Jewish part of Jerusalem. Jews were not allowed to visit their holy sites prior to 1967; 86 (or so) mosques were destroyed in Jerusalem under Muslim rule. What is the purpose of Obama's "solution"? It doesn't make a lot of sense to me, particularly considering the fact that the "Palestinians" constantly send thousands of rockets into Israel with the borders as they are... imagine if Israel was back to its 1967 borders.
And, just for the record, "Palestine" and "Palestinians" are in quotes because there is no such group of people. These people were either Turkish (way back), Syrian, Lebanese or Jordanians living in that area prior to the establishment of Israel as a nation. There has never been a state/government that was known as "Palestine".
Friday, May 20, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Here's the next part of my 60-word sentence story.
The band played on but I was in no mood for frenetic frivolity as I furiously stomped away from those frantic fools infatuated with the flugelhorn-playing fop tooting like tomorrow was never going to arrive and we could continue to frolic in the fatuous style of fulsome lasses let loose upon a hapless world of binge-dancing and sloe gin fizzes.
Didn’t they know that the Four Horsemen were approaching and our way of life was teetering precariously on the precipice of destruction and doom? Life isn’t just about fun and frivolity; someone has to be aware that an immense danger to our way of life lurks in the shadows and hidden corners of our foolish society.
I am that someone. No, I don’t look all that impressive and I can’t leap tall buildings at a single bound but underneath this mild-mannered exterior resides a Hero. I see things no one else sees, I hear things that go unheard in the public venue, and I sense things that those intent on pursuing mindless activity cannot sense.
But back to the band and the fools dancing and drinking. They were celebrating the end of the year when they should have been planning for the end of the world. All the signs were in place and anyone with the teensiest bit of sense could tell that disaster was not far down the road; in fact, it was actually within sight. Sense, however, was no longer in vogue and hadn’t been for some time. Probably disappeared forever about the time of the World Trade Center disaster – 9/11/2001. The date was significant but no one had figured it out but me. Add all the digits together and what do you get? 2021. That would be the year it all happened. And the year end they were celebrating was 2020.
So how did I know that adding all those numbers together was what one had to do to arrive at the date the world would end? I don’t know but it was apparent, that’s all I can say. As far as the actual day, I wasn’t sure – it could be September 11th, or it could be November 9th depending on whether the 9/11 was month/day or day/month. See, I told you those numbers were significant!
However, common sense, again, dictated that it would be one or the other of those 2 days. So, I had either 8 months and 10 days to save the world or 10 months and 8 days to save it. I was secretly hoping for 11/9 but I was fearful that it was more likely to be 9/11. 9/11/2021 would be a Saturday and 11/9/2021 would be a Tuesday… hmm, which of those was the more significant? Aha! It had to be Tuesday – after all, the word Tuesday comes from the Old English Tiwesdaeg and the Middle English Tewesday both of which translated from the Latin dies Martis or MARS! The god of War! How appropriate – the world was going to end in a massive war.
Hold on just a minute, hoss. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions – I should think about the possibility of it being Saturday. So, the word Saturday comes from the Roman god Saturn who was the god of agriculture and harvest. Therefore, it could still be 9/11 since there would undoubtedly be a harvesting of souls when the earth was destroyed. And, perhaps the harvest was going to have something to do with food – a pandemic caused by the outbreak of some hitherto unknown fungus or spores developing on the food supply! Oh, how devious it was all getting to be.
Well, regardless of whether I had 8 ½ months or 10 ½ months, I needed to get busy – I didn’t know how the earth would be destroyed so how could I stop it? Obviously I needed more information. And I knew just where to get it.
With a certain degree of disdain, I looked back at the festivities one more time before I left. Fools, I thought, they’re just fools. Too bad my girl friend Rosetta was part of that crowd – I was gonna miss her. Still, sacrifices had to be made, so I resolutely turned my face away and started the lonely trek away from the party. I hadn’t been having a good time, anyway, since I can’t dance and alcohol turns my skin a crimson red with yellow splotches – some kind of allergic reaction the doctors said. Rosetta, on the other hand, loved to dance and could drink almost anyone under the table. I have seen her drink a full quart of tequila in a night of partying and still get up at 7:00 to go bear hunting. Tough, tough girl, that one.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too far to 34th and Vine – that’s where I would find out the rest of what I needed to know. There’s a certain gypsy that lives there – Madame Rue. She looks a little odd with that gold-capped tooth but I’ve tried her products before and they work. Hey, how did you think I would get a sweet gal like Rosetta without Madame Rue’s help? That little potion she mixed up in the sink worked wonders for my love life.
Now, though, I needed to think about how best to approach Madame Rue. If she was aware that I was trying to find out things like how the world would end, she might charge me more money than I could afford. After all, my government stipend would only cover so much. I know, I know – I’m supposed to be happy with my government dole but sometimes I think that it might be better to get a real job. Gosh, I hope my case worker doesn’t read this – I’d be in real trouble with him. He might have me assigned to the Obama Youth Brigade and those are some real hard-core, scary folks. Gives me the shivers to think about it.
In less than 10 minutes, I was at Madame Rue’s but she was closed. Gosh, what had I been thinking – it was a quarter after midnight on January the 1st! I just shook my head and started to turn away when I noticed that the door to her pad was slightly ajar. I know, I know… one is not supposed to break into someone else’s house but the door was open and it wasn’t like she didn’t know me.
The band played on but I was in no mood for frenetic frivolity as I furiously stomped away from those frantic fools infatuated with the flugelhorn-playing fop tooting like tomorrow was never going to arrive and we could continue to frolic in the fatuous style of fulsome lasses let loose upon a hapless world of binge-dancing and sloe gin fizzes.
Didn’t they know that the Four Horsemen were approaching and our way of life was teetering precariously on the precipice of destruction and doom? Life isn’t just about fun and frivolity; someone has to be aware that an immense danger to our way of life lurks in the shadows and hidden corners of our foolish society.
I am that someone. No, I don’t look all that impressive and I can’t leap tall buildings at a single bound but underneath this mild-mannered exterior resides a Hero. I see things no one else sees, I hear things that go unheard in the public venue, and I sense things that those intent on pursuing mindless activity cannot sense.
But back to the band and the fools dancing and drinking. They were celebrating the end of the year when they should have been planning for the end of the world. All the signs were in place and anyone with the teensiest bit of sense could tell that disaster was not far down the road; in fact, it was actually within sight. Sense, however, was no longer in vogue and hadn’t been for some time. Probably disappeared forever about the time of the World Trade Center disaster – 9/11/2001. The date was significant but no one had figured it out but me. Add all the digits together and what do you get? 2021. That would be the year it all happened. And the year end they were celebrating was 2020.
So how did I know that adding all those numbers together was what one had to do to arrive at the date the world would end? I don’t know but it was apparent, that’s all I can say. As far as the actual day, I wasn’t sure – it could be September 11th, or it could be November 9th depending on whether the 9/11 was month/day or day/month. See, I told you those numbers were significant!
However, common sense, again, dictated that it would be one or the other of those 2 days. So, I had either 8 months and 10 days to save the world or 10 months and 8 days to save it. I was secretly hoping for 11/9 but I was fearful that it was more likely to be 9/11. 9/11/2021 would be a Saturday and 11/9/2021 would be a Tuesday… hmm, which of those was the more significant? Aha! It had to be Tuesday – after all, the word Tuesday comes from the Old English Tiwesdaeg and the Middle English Tewesday both of which translated from the Latin dies Martis or MARS! The god of War! How appropriate – the world was going to end in a massive war.
Hold on just a minute, hoss. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions – I should think about the possibility of it being Saturday. So, the word Saturday comes from the Roman god Saturn who was the god of agriculture and harvest. Therefore, it could still be 9/11 since there would undoubtedly be a harvesting of souls when the earth was destroyed. And, perhaps the harvest was going to have something to do with food – a pandemic caused by the outbreak of some hitherto unknown fungus or spores developing on the food supply! Oh, how devious it was all getting to be.
Well, regardless of whether I had 8 ½ months or 10 ½ months, I needed to get busy – I didn’t know how the earth would be destroyed so how could I stop it? Obviously I needed more information. And I knew just where to get it.
With a certain degree of disdain, I looked back at the festivities one more time before I left. Fools, I thought, they’re just fools. Too bad my girl friend Rosetta was part of that crowd – I was gonna miss her. Still, sacrifices had to be made, so I resolutely turned my face away and started the lonely trek away from the party. I hadn’t been having a good time, anyway, since I can’t dance and alcohol turns my skin a crimson red with yellow splotches – some kind of allergic reaction the doctors said. Rosetta, on the other hand, loved to dance and could drink almost anyone under the table. I have seen her drink a full quart of tequila in a night of partying and still get up at 7:00 to go bear hunting. Tough, tough girl, that one.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too far to 34th and Vine – that’s where I would find out the rest of what I needed to know. There’s a certain gypsy that lives there – Madame Rue. She looks a little odd with that gold-capped tooth but I’ve tried her products before and they work. Hey, how did you think I would get a sweet gal like Rosetta without Madame Rue’s help? That little potion she mixed up in the sink worked wonders for my love life.
Now, though, I needed to think about how best to approach Madame Rue. If she was aware that I was trying to find out things like how the world would end, she might charge me more money than I could afford. After all, my government stipend would only cover so much. I know, I know – I’m supposed to be happy with my government dole but sometimes I think that it might be better to get a real job. Gosh, I hope my case worker doesn’t read this – I’d be in real trouble with him. He might have me assigned to the Obama Youth Brigade and those are some real hard-core, scary folks. Gives me the shivers to think about it.
In less than 10 minutes, I was at Madame Rue’s but she was closed. Gosh, what had I been thinking – it was a quarter after midnight on January the 1st! I just shook my head and started to turn away when I noticed that the door to her pad was slightly ajar. I know, I know… one is not supposed to break into someone else’s house but the door was open and it wasn’t like she didn’t know me.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
A 60-word sentence.
The band played on but I was in no mood for frenetic frivolity as I furiously stomped away from those frantic fools infatuated with the flugelhorn-playing fop tooting like tomorrow was never going to arrive and we could continue to frolic in the fatuous style of fulsome lasses let loose upon a hapless world of binge-dancing and sloe gin fizzes.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Write about - Seeing Red
I have been fascinated with the history of Constantinople (or modern Istanbul) for ages and was eager to visit the city for the first time. Although I was traveling alone, I was not the least bit lonely as I was so eagerly anticipating seeing the city and its many historical sites that I felt no need for companionship. The Turks of Istanbul are notably friendly and what little loneliness I might have felt was vanquished by sharing cups of strong Turkish coffee with many of the local people. Interestingly enough, it is sipped with a sugar cube held between the front teeth. Many are the citizens of that area who no longer have front teeth!
I spent my first night in the Kariye Hotel in Edirnekapi, about 3 kilometers from the center of Istanbul, anxious for the morning to arrive so I could start exploring. I chose this hotel because it is in close proximity to the Edirnekapı Martyr’s Cemetery and I was interested in starting my historical exploration there.
The Edirnekapı Martyr’s Cemetery is an important burial ground for Turkish citizens. It is located outside Edirnekapı, the Gate of Charisius of the city wall, on top of the sixth hill of the old city. It was originally formed for the Ottoman soldiers who fell during the Siege of Constantinople in 1453. However, it also holds other folk who are associated with the Ottoman Empire in other ways.
It is rumored that it holds the final remains of Hayreddin Barbarossa, the scourge of the Mediterranean in the first half of the 16th century. He was appointed as the admiral of the Ottoman fleet in 1533 after he captured Algiers in 1529. In 1534, he conquered all of Tunisia. Additionally, he defeated the fleet of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V in 1538. He was always a favorite of mine and I was anxious to see if I could find his gravesite.
Unfortunately, due to the vagaries of travel and the tap water that I drank the night before, I was subjected to a violent bout of Montezuma’s revenge (or more properly I suppose, by Muhammad’s revenge since Constantinople was last captured by Sultan Muhammad II). It was, therefore, close to dark when I felt well enough to start my exploration of the cemetery.
While I am not particularly superstitious, it was a chilling and somewhat menacing place to enter so close to sundown. Nevertheless, I gathered up my courage and walked into the cemetery determined to find Barbarossa’s gravesite. The late afternoon was still and unnaturally quiet and it caused me to search more frantically so I could leave the area before it became fully dark.
It wasn’t until after the sky had become fairly dark that I wandered into the section of the cemetery where it appeared that most of the inhabitants were sailors of some sort. I couldn’t read the headstones all that well, of course, but there were plenty of tombs marked with sailing ships, sea eagles and other indications that this section was primarily for sailors.
As it became more fully dark, I walked around a monument that was larger than most and almost ran into a small, bearded man with a turban on his head sitting cross-legged on the ground. He paid me little heed, however, and even though I attempted to apologize, he ignored me. For a while, I just stared at him, wishing I could talk to him. Not knowing exactly how to respond to his indifference, though, I decided that perhaps I should just leave.
The next day, I visited one of the larger museums in Istanbul and came across a painting of a man that bore an uncanny resemblance to the man I had seen in the cemetery. Moving closer to the painting, I read the inscription under it: “Hayreddin Barbarossa, also known as Redbeard the Pirate”. I couldn’t believe it! It was Red I had been seeing the night before!
I spent my first night in the Kariye Hotel in Edirnekapi, about 3 kilometers from the center of Istanbul, anxious for the morning to arrive so I could start exploring. I chose this hotel because it is in close proximity to the Edirnekapı Martyr’s Cemetery and I was interested in starting my historical exploration there.
The Edirnekapı Martyr’s Cemetery is an important burial ground for Turkish citizens. It is located outside Edirnekapı, the Gate of Charisius of the city wall, on top of the sixth hill of the old city. It was originally formed for the Ottoman soldiers who fell during the Siege of Constantinople in 1453. However, it also holds other folk who are associated with the Ottoman Empire in other ways.
It is rumored that it holds the final remains of Hayreddin Barbarossa, the scourge of the Mediterranean in the first half of the 16th century. He was appointed as the admiral of the Ottoman fleet in 1533 after he captured Algiers in 1529. In 1534, he conquered all of Tunisia. Additionally, he defeated the fleet of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V in 1538. He was always a favorite of mine and I was anxious to see if I could find his gravesite.
Unfortunately, due to the vagaries of travel and the tap water that I drank the night before, I was subjected to a violent bout of Montezuma’s revenge (or more properly I suppose, by Muhammad’s revenge since Constantinople was last captured by Sultan Muhammad II). It was, therefore, close to dark when I felt well enough to start my exploration of the cemetery.
While I am not particularly superstitious, it was a chilling and somewhat menacing place to enter so close to sundown. Nevertheless, I gathered up my courage and walked into the cemetery determined to find Barbarossa’s gravesite. The late afternoon was still and unnaturally quiet and it caused me to search more frantically so I could leave the area before it became fully dark.
It wasn’t until after the sky had become fairly dark that I wandered into the section of the cemetery where it appeared that most of the inhabitants were sailors of some sort. I couldn’t read the headstones all that well, of course, but there were plenty of tombs marked with sailing ships, sea eagles and other indications that this section was primarily for sailors.
As it became more fully dark, I walked around a monument that was larger than most and almost ran into a small, bearded man with a turban on his head sitting cross-legged on the ground. He paid me little heed, however, and even though I attempted to apologize, he ignored me. For a while, I just stared at him, wishing I could talk to him. Not knowing exactly how to respond to his indifference, though, I decided that perhaps I should just leave.
The next day, I visited one of the larger museums in Istanbul and came across a painting of a man that bore an uncanny resemblance to the man I had seen in the cemetery. Moving closer to the painting, I read the inscription under it: “Hayreddin Barbarossa, also known as Redbeard the Pirate”. I couldn’t believe it! It was Red I had been seeing the night before!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Write about - Waiting
Weighting? Is that like the butcher holding his thumb on the scale while he is weighing out your lamb chops? Maybe it’s putting sandbags in the back of your pickup after a deep snow. Or, I suppose, it could be adding weight to the hook with the bacon on it to get to the 6-foot gray shark faster (after all, if he is full of bacon, perhaps he won’t eat the kids, Andy!).
In my case, weighting is what I do when I get on the scale at the doctor’s office – well, maybe that’s de-weighting since I take everything out of m pockets including the lint.
Personally, I am not in favor of homonyms.
In my case, weighting is what I do when I get on the scale at the doctor’s office – well, maybe that’s de-weighting since I take everything out of m pockets including the lint.
Personally, I am not in favor of homonyms.
Monday, March 14, 2011
An Unusual Phobia
Okay, let’s do this right – let’s inquire into the meaning of “Unusual Phobia” – break it down into its component parts:
Unusual - uncommon in amount or degree
Phobia - a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.
Well, there’s my fear of falling off high places like cliffs and high bridges or tops of buildings and while that fear is persistent, it isn’t irrational and it isn’t unusual. After all, falling off high places is inimical to life as we know it so it could hardly be a phobia.
Okay, how about my fear of aliens conquering the earth? Nope – that’s not it; while that is more than likely uncommon in degree and may be irrational, it is not a persistent thing with me (I only worry about it when I’m awake) so I guess it isn’t a phobia.
You know what? This writing assignment was a little more difficult than I originally thought. What would be a fear that I would have a compelling, uncommon desire to avoid? Well, there’s the movie Chamber of Fear with Boris Karloff? Maybe that would count since it has fear in the title? No; I like Boris Karloff and only werewolf movies really scare me – I mean, OMG – the hair growing on the arms and the claws growing out from the ends of the fingers! Now that is scary but it’s hard to have a phobia about something that isn’t real (they aren’t real, are they?).
An unusual phobia...
Okay, how about a phobia of the mailman? After all, they deliver things from the government and I DEFINITELY have a phobia (or at least a paranoia) about stuff that comes from the government so maybe by extension that could be an unusual phobia.
Nah – that’s probably not unusual enough to satisfy the Eradicator of Egregious Elucidations for whom I must write. Not that she is so obviously evil, mind you, but misplace a comma or muddle your syntax and beware the Wrath of the Wicked Witch of Wordsmithing!
I mean, come on! I don’t think this is in the running for a Pulitzer or anything, is it? Or a Newberry award? A Reader’s Digest feature of the month? I didn’t think so.
I guess I’ll just have to admit I don’t have any phobias that are unusual and take my lumps.
Unusual - uncommon in amount or degree
Phobia - a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.
Well, there’s my fear of falling off high places like cliffs and high bridges or tops of buildings and while that fear is persistent, it isn’t irrational and it isn’t unusual. After all, falling off high places is inimical to life as we know it so it could hardly be a phobia.
Okay, how about my fear of aliens conquering the earth? Nope – that’s not it; while that is more than likely uncommon in degree and may be irrational, it is not a persistent thing with me (I only worry about it when I’m awake) so I guess it isn’t a phobia.
You know what? This writing assignment was a little more difficult than I originally thought. What would be a fear that I would have a compelling, uncommon desire to avoid? Well, there’s the movie Chamber of Fear with Boris Karloff? Maybe that would count since it has fear in the title? No; I like Boris Karloff and only werewolf movies really scare me – I mean, OMG – the hair growing on the arms and the claws growing out from the ends of the fingers! Now that is scary but it’s hard to have a phobia about something that isn’t real (they aren’t real, are they?).
An unusual phobia...
Okay, how about a phobia of the mailman? After all, they deliver things from the government and I DEFINITELY have a phobia (or at least a paranoia) about stuff that comes from the government so maybe by extension that could be an unusual phobia.
Nah – that’s probably not unusual enough to satisfy the Eradicator of Egregious Elucidations for whom I must write. Not that she is so obviously evil, mind you, but misplace a comma or muddle your syntax and beware the Wrath of the Wicked Witch of Wordsmithing!
I mean, come on! I don’t think this is in the running for a Pulitzer or anything, is it? Or a Newberry award? A Reader’s Digest feature of the month? I didn’t think so.
I guess I’ll just have to admit I don’t have any phobias that are unusual and take my lumps.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
My Testimony
Let me start by saying I was always a good kid – not that I didn’t do anything wrong but I generally had no malice toward anyone and was not normally inclined to be dishonest. I did have a tendency to run away though - not to get away from home but to go adventuring. In fact, the worst thing that I can remember doing as a kid was squirting mustard all over the white leather seat of a Cadillac convertible when I was a teenager. No reason to do it, just a spur of the moment thoughtlessness that I have regretted ever since. I didn’t have the courage at the time I did it to confess to the person and take my lumps. In fact, I wasn’t even sure where we were when I did it – I wasn’t paying any attention to where we were – so even if I had managed to work up the courage, I wouldn’t have known where to go to confess.
I had attended church off and on while I was growing up – Baptist church with my grandmother, Episcopalian when I lived with an aunt and uncle for 7 years, and occasionally Methodist when I was an adult. I think I have always believed that there was a God and that He had created the universe and everything in it but I was not as certain that He cared about me or even knew about me. God was more like a distant, remote being than a personal God. Jesus was pretty much just a good guy in my mind.
Eileen was a Christian when we got married but I wasn’t. Had someone asked me, I would have said that I was of course a Christian – I believed in God and I had certainly heard of Jesus. Because Eileen was a Christian and wanted to go to church, I was willing to go with her just to please her plus I figured it would do the kids good. I could tolerate it plus since we went to Baptist churches, there was always good food involved.
My least favorite time of church, however, was the “invitation”. I could not stand to sing 6 or 7 verses of a song while waiting for someone to “accept Christ”. In fact, I was pretty certain that there were people designated to go down front if there weren’t any real suckers in the crowd that day. I figured they were planted there to break the ice and entice folks to “walk the aisle” – or, as I preferred to think of it – to “walk the plank”. It was always an uncomfortable time for me but only because I was anxious to be done with church.
One Sunday, we were on about the 4th verse of the invitational song and I distinctly remember wondering how much longer we would be singing and whether or not I could deal with it. I was bored to tears.
Out of nowhere, with no reason that I could think of, I turned to Eileen and asked her if she would go down front with me. I’m not sure who was more surprised – she or me. Fortunately, she recovered before I did and quickly agreed to go with me.
As we moved out to the aisle, I had no idea why I was going down front – it was certainly not my idea. As we started down the aisle, a truly strange thing happened to me – I was 2 people at the same time. There was the me that was walking down the aisle and there was a me that was watching me from behind. The me that was watching from behind was trying to convince the me in front that I was making a huge mistake; that it was all foolishness and there was no such thing as a personal relationship with Christ. I would have to be as dull and as mindless as I thought all the other so-called Christians were. For no reason that I know of, I ignored the second me and continued down the aisle and as soon as I told the pastor that I wanted to accept Christ, the second me disappeared.
I have since heard hundreds of testimonies about people having a “road to Damascus” sort of conversion, or being in such pain and despair that Christ was the only way out, or any number of reasons that they just had to reach out to God and beg for mercy. I, to my knowledge, had no such reason. Like I said, I was a good kid. I was a good adult. I was kind, I was honest and I was generous. I had good kids and a good wife. I had a good job that I enjoyed. I did not know of any reason I had that would cause me to reach out to God.
So why did I ask Eileen to walk down front with me? I don’t know for sure, but I am pretty well convinced that for some reason God did not want to wait on me any longer to make up my mind about Him. Perhaps He knew that if I had to be brought down to my knees in order to realize my desperate need for Him, I might in stubbornness decide to ignore Him. I have, after all, been known to cut off my nose to spite my face – it is not one of my more desirable traits but it is part of who I am.
Like so many new Christians, I just knew that since I had accepted Christ as my savior all my troubles were over. I wish I could say that is exactly how it worked out but I can’t. It has taken some years but I now understand that Satan works hard to destroy the faith of new Christians so that their eagerness and excitement will be tamped down and they will not be good witnesses for Christ. If a new Christian is having pain and issues, how likely is it that he or she will work to bring others into the kingdom? Satan nearly got me and, in fact, he did drag me through a dry, terrible desert in my relationship with God. He nearly destroyed my marriage. He set me up for a horrible relationship in a church that I felt truly invested in. For a time, he managed to convince me that joy in Christ is not really possible.
Over the years since my acceptance of Christ, I have on occasion been uncomfortable in my relationship with God but I don’t think I have doubted His concern over me or His influence in my life. I have been rebellious and I am so grateful that He forgives me even of that rebellion. I have allowed Satan to deceive me and yet God maintained His protection of me and His love for me.
I can truly say that my life has been infinitely better with Christ. I can say with certainty that God loves me. I can attest to the power of God through prayer. I have witnessed miracles. I have felt the spirit of God directing me to pray specifically for people that I had no desire to pray for. I have laid hands on those people and prayed God’s blessing on them because He said to. I continue to be amazed at God’s goodness and His mercies. I am grateful to be able to claim that I am His even though I do not deserve to be.
I had attended church off and on while I was growing up – Baptist church with my grandmother, Episcopalian when I lived with an aunt and uncle for 7 years, and occasionally Methodist when I was an adult. I think I have always believed that there was a God and that He had created the universe and everything in it but I was not as certain that He cared about me or even knew about me. God was more like a distant, remote being than a personal God. Jesus was pretty much just a good guy in my mind.
Eileen was a Christian when we got married but I wasn’t. Had someone asked me, I would have said that I was of course a Christian – I believed in God and I had certainly heard of Jesus. Because Eileen was a Christian and wanted to go to church, I was willing to go with her just to please her plus I figured it would do the kids good. I could tolerate it plus since we went to Baptist churches, there was always good food involved.
My least favorite time of church, however, was the “invitation”. I could not stand to sing 6 or 7 verses of a song while waiting for someone to “accept Christ”. In fact, I was pretty certain that there were people designated to go down front if there weren’t any real suckers in the crowd that day. I figured they were planted there to break the ice and entice folks to “walk the aisle” – or, as I preferred to think of it – to “walk the plank”. It was always an uncomfortable time for me but only because I was anxious to be done with church.
One Sunday, we were on about the 4th verse of the invitational song and I distinctly remember wondering how much longer we would be singing and whether or not I could deal with it. I was bored to tears.
Out of nowhere, with no reason that I could think of, I turned to Eileen and asked her if she would go down front with me. I’m not sure who was more surprised – she or me. Fortunately, she recovered before I did and quickly agreed to go with me.
As we moved out to the aisle, I had no idea why I was going down front – it was certainly not my idea. As we started down the aisle, a truly strange thing happened to me – I was 2 people at the same time. There was the me that was walking down the aisle and there was a me that was watching me from behind. The me that was watching from behind was trying to convince the me in front that I was making a huge mistake; that it was all foolishness and there was no such thing as a personal relationship with Christ. I would have to be as dull and as mindless as I thought all the other so-called Christians were. For no reason that I know of, I ignored the second me and continued down the aisle and as soon as I told the pastor that I wanted to accept Christ, the second me disappeared.
I have since heard hundreds of testimonies about people having a “road to Damascus” sort of conversion, or being in such pain and despair that Christ was the only way out, or any number of reasons that they just had to reach out to God and beg for mercy. I, to my knowledge, had no such reason. Like I said, I was a good kid. I was a good adult. I was kind, I was honest and I was generous. I had good kids and a good wife. I had a good job that I enjoyed. I did not know of any reason I had that would cause me to reach out to God.
So why did I ask Eileen to walk down front with me? I don’t know for sure, but I am pretty well convinced that for some reason God did not want to wait on me any longer to make up my mind about Him. Perhaps He knew that if I had to be brought down to my knees in order to realize my desperate need for Him, I might in stubbornness decide to ignore Him. I have, after all, been known to cut off my nose to spite my face – it is not one of my more desirable traits but it is part of who I am.
Like so many new Christians, I just knew that since I had accepted Christ as my savior all my troubles were over. I wish I could say that is exactly how it worked out but I can’t. It has taken some years but I now understand that Satan works hard to destroy the faith of new Christians so that their eagerness and excitement will be tamped down and they will not be good witnesses for Christ. If a new Christian is having pain and issues, how likely is it that he or she will work to bring others into the kingdom? Satan nearly got me and, in fact, he did drag me through a dry, terrible desert in my relationship with God. He nearly destroyed my marriage. He set me up for a horrible relationship in a church that I felt truly invested in. For a time, he managed to convince me that joy in Christ is not really possible.
Over the years since my acceptance of Christ, I have on occasion been uncomfortable in my relationship with God but I don’t think I have doubted His concern over me or His influence in my life. I have been rebellious and I am so grateful that He forgives me even of that rebellion. I have allowed Satan to deceive me and yet God maintained His protection of me and His love for me.
I can truly say that my life has been infinitely better with Christ. I can say with certainty that God loves me. I can attest to the power of God through prayer. I have witnessed miracles. I have felt the spirit of God directing me to pray specifically for people that I had no desire to pray for. I have laid hands on those people and prayed God’s blessing on them because He said to. I continue to be amazed at God’s goodness and His mercies. I am grateful to be able to claim that I am His even though I do not deserve to be.
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