Day 1
      IN 1972, 50 years ago, I was a boy growing up in Canton, Ohio.  I still have, somewhere, a picture of Mrs. Matthews who was my second grade teacher.  She was the one that convinced that I was smart and had a big future ahead. Life was simple then.  I road my bike up and down Monica Ave, often to Gary’s house after school.  On Mondays, Wednesdays,  and Fridays we watched Ultra Man as he saved the world those days. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we watched as Giant Robot and the forces of Unicorn fought against the Gargoyle Gang and the Emperor Guillotine in the same time slot with similar results.

      (As an aside, some 50 years later, I am pleased to say that I own all the episodes of both shows, either on DVD or digitally.)

       School was fun and came easily.  Prairie College Elementary still existed in those days, and we often had arguments in class, and at recess, and at lunch,  over who ruled the playground, the boys or the girls. I still remember one day working out a compromise with Lynda Steckman, who represented the girls, after a week of discussion and multiple notes in class, that would allow us to take turns ruling. Everyone agreed it was a great plan.

      (Another aside, Congress today could learn a lot from us about how to negotiate things to everyone’s benefit.)
     
      Of course, I also found out in 1972 that I was incredibly stubborn and determined. One day at lunch they served us tomato wedges.  I had never eaten tomato wedges, and they did not appeal to me at all, so I decided I would not eat it.  Mrs Matthews insisted that I would.  I insisted I wouldn’t.  We had a standoff.  She then told me if I didn’t take at least a bite I would not be allowed to return to class.  Talk about motivation to not eat a bite.  They left me in the cafeteria.   She came back and I was still sitting there.  She took the fork, sliced of a piece put it on the fork.  I covered it with my napkin.  I never went back to class that day.  I still have never eaten a bite of a tomato wedge.

      The summer  of 72 I was going to play baseball on our little league team based out of the school. The start of a Hall of Fame baseball career was in the making.  I can still remember how excited I was that I was going to play second base.  I wasn’t the most athletic guy in the world then, and I knew it, but somehow, I had made a team and had a place and it was the beginning of something great.  That dream fell apart when someone (an adult) forgot to turn in our team roster, and we were not admitted to the league.  I think my major league career was totally derailed in that time. 

      The fall of that year I started third grade.  Mrs. Phillips was the teacher.   On our street some important things were happening.  We had always ridden old bus number 18 to school, but that bus was being phased out and new bus number 28 was brought in.  I remember the first day on that busy and how new and modern it was, and how thick the seats were compared to the old one.  I shared the bus stop with the three girls from next door and the two from across the street.  For a couple weeks we had serious discussions about who was in charge at the bus stop each morning, and we finally agreed it should be in age order.  I was fourth on the list, so I was prepared to bide my time to be in control, not even aware that a year later we would be moving away.

      My parents had multitudes of friends it seemed, and on Fridays and Saturdays would take us in the car and we’d go to one of their friends’ houses, have supper, hang out with their kids,  and then they’d put all us kids to bed around 8 pm.  They would warn us not to get out of bed and to go sleep, and they would always separate us into different rooms.

      Then they would go to the other room, or downstairs, depending on the house, get out the card table and play cards for hours, making so much noise we could never sleep.  They’d check on us every now and then to make sure we were where they put us.  Often, we were at the house of mom’s lifetime school friend Deloris.  They had grown up together and gotten into trouble together for years. She and her husband Jim were great friends with mom and dad, and their kids were fun to hang out with.

      (Aside number three, Mom and Deloris both passed away a little over a year ago just a few months apart, friends for almost 70 years)

      So in 1972, 50 years ago, I learned things about heroes saving us from monsters and heroes, and about  teachers who had lifetime impact. In that year I learned about compromise and working together.  I see now that I learned that being a guy meant I had to respect girls.  I learned that some friends last a lifetime, like mom and Deloris.
     
      One other thing happened in 1972 that changed my life.   Dick Carpenter was Minister of North Industry Christian Church.  As he was speaking one day, the truth of Jesus hit my young heart.  On May 7 of that year I was baptized as a believer.  Over the years I’ve failed to live up to the faith confession more times than just about anyone I know.  I’ve often struggled with doubts, even in years in ministry. Yet, here I am 50 years later, and I am even more sure than I was that day in 1972.  Thing is, God has never faltered in that time. 

      Fifty years later, I am beyond grateful for 1972.

Life has been filled with so many different emotions and occurrences lately for me, as I am sure it has been for everyone.  I have some strong and definite opinions about things that are going on in this country, but at the root of it all I know we have a need for Jesus. 

I recently had a place that I have long loved and cherished, and a place I gave 11 years of my life, do something that hurt me to the very core, and they did so without remorse or explanation.  I struggle with that, and I know that sooner or later I will need the mercy that can only be found in Jesus.

People have been brought into my life recently that have great physical and material needs for basics, such as food, and it has been a blessing to be part of helping those situation, but ultimately, at the core, they need Jesus.

So, two things happened recently that reminded me how we need to stay grounded in faith.   
 
A church in another part of the country reached out to me about possibly coming there to serve as their executive pastor.  They sought me out through a mutual connection convinced that my gifts and skill set were what they needed.   Part of that position included being part of the church's teaching team.  They got back to me a few weeks later after watching some of the recent sermons.  The comment was this, "Your preaching style isn't what our people are used to.  You use a lot of scripture in your teaching."

Let that sink in a little.  A church no longer was interested in me, because my style of sharing God's word is to actually use God's word, read God's word, and see what lessons from God's word apply to us today.  I find that I stand unapologetic for that, and sorry for them that they will be spending their money to bring in someone who doesn't do that.
 
Also, today as I was updating the website I realized that the way we have set the camera angle for Sunday mornings, whenever I am speaking, the cross on the wall of our church can be seen clearly over me.  I am doing all of my sharing of the Gospel under the shadow of the cross.

So, Here are a couple things:

We stand fully and completely on the word of God.

We do all that we do, in the shadow of the Cross.

​I am good with those things.

         The summer of 1971 was the one that changed everything.  Ohio, America’s heartland, had been shattered by the surprising shooting at Kent State, and the Vietnam war was threatening to rip the very fabric of America.  But I was unaware of any of that.  It wasn’t until years later that I even began to understand what Vietnam was all about.  The world was coming apart around me without my knowledge in 1971, so it seems only fitting that my world would also be ripped that year.  
           My life was changed forever by a lady known as The Blue Streak.  She entered the world the same year I did, 1964, so it seems inevitable that our lives would be destined to cross.  When she was presented to the public that year you could hear the collective gasp as people saw her for the first time.  Few babies ever entered the world with such anticipation and astonishment.  The years have passed now, dimming the luster and the memory of that moment, but for a brief time she was hailed as something special, the biggest, fastest, meanest wooden lady ever.  Each year my family would make it’s pilgrimage to the shores of Lake Erie, to the great amusement park that still looms larger than all of them in my memory.  Cedar Point, aged like Abraham and Sarah, had stood for some 94 years before giving birth to that special lady who would always be part of my life.  An anticipatory pride filled the air with the arrival of the new child, and in those early years she was revered by all. 
           By today’s standards she’s nothing special, an old worn out relic of 57 years, but it was her freshness, her  presence and her daring that breathed life for all who would come after.  Now as the years have passed there is a revived interest in the simplistic endurance she has displayed.
Each year as we made our way to the park I would beg my father to let me ride that fearsome coaster.  I was just a boy, a mere child, but inside there was a fire burning, longing to show I was a man, and that passion found its mark in the Blue Streak.  She was a thing of exquisite beauty and as I watched year after year the happy faces of those who would board her with such glee and leave her breathless with excitement, I fell in love.  My life revolved around the day I would be able to join her on the magic ride and feel the joy and love she would give me.  But I was always too small, never quite reaching that required minimum height.  My physical size seemed to be all that stood between me and happiness.
           Finally, the day arrived.  The lady and I were both seven years old.  She had not grown any in those years, except in terms of reputation, but I had grown, and my day had come.  We, my father and I, got in line and waited for what seemed like eternity.  The moment arrived as we reached the front of the line.  The great Blue car roared into where we waited.  I watched in amazement as the bars released allowing her passengers to disembark, and opening the way for me to enter the place I had always dreamed of.  The gates swung open, and I was barely even aware of my father next to me as we sat down.
           After that I don’t remember much in the way of details.  For some reason I have blocked it almost entirely from my mind.  Occasionally I get vague images of us riding to the top of that first hill and reaching the crest, but the rest will not come to me.  What I do remember is that when the ride ended I scrambled as quickly as I could to leave my seat, forgetting my father.  Running down the exit ramp I could be heard screaming at the top of my lungs as I tried to get away from that dreadful beast. 
           The only thing that remains with me from that ride after all these years is simply this:  Fear.  Fear caused by the fact the thing I had wanted more than any had tossed me about in a way I had never conceived of, caring not how I felt as we hurtled through space together.   As I child I don’t ever remember fear prior to my encounter with the Blue Streak. I remember jealousy as my sister was born when I was four, and pain when I slammed my thumb in the church door at age two, and I remember disappointment in missing the fire a school in the first grade because I was having my tonsils out.  But prior to 1971 fear, unadulterated terror, and a world that could toss you about so mercilessly was alien to me. The Blue streak gave me that fear, and fear has never left me.
           50 years later I’m not afraid of the Blue Streak anymore. Until the day my health said I could not ride anymore, I’ve ridden bigger and faster coasters, been turned upside down until I thought I was going to vomit.  And found joy in the ride.
I even went back to that place and conquered the Blue Streak, but never have I come close to regaining the innocence I held when I first took the step of becoming part of her.  I had looked at her with all the love and passion a seven year old child could muster.  She was waiting for me patiently for those seven years until I grew to the point where I could ride her and when I came to her I knew she was going to bring me joy.  But I was wrong, physical growth had not prepared me for the emotional ride, and as I plummeted down that first hill, not only was my stomach ripped away, so was my heart.  She had betrayed me, or had she?
             There never had been any promise that the journey would be smooth.  In fact if I had paid attention even as I child I would have noticed that there were twists and turns, peaks and valleys, changes speeds.  I would have seen that sometimes there would be long slow chugs to the top of the hill and the experience of being on top of the world, only to be followed by an intense plummet that took your stomach away.
       In fact the only promise I can see, all this years later, was the promise that if I got on board and road the ride, then she would be under me, supporting me all the way to the very end of the journey.
 
Original Version: October 23, 1995
Revised: July 24, 2021
 

For the last few weeks during services we have been doing a series entitled Seeing Jesus: Stories from the Road that is all about how and where we see Jesus in the everyday of our lives.  For me I have had the opportunity to retell some of my favorite stories.  Many of these stories, now told in retrospect, make people laugh and smile. Hopefully in the midst of them they have also seen the presence of Jesus. 

This journey we are all on passes quickly.  A couple years ago I realized I had more Christmases behind me than I had in front of me.  The same is true for birthdays.  We blink and in a moment our babies are 16, or as is the case for many of my friends, their babies have babies.  

I was reading a little in James this week and came across this verse:

whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life, It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.  James 4:14 NKJV

I was reminded how short and fleeting all of this is, but then I also remembered this verse:

But the very hairs of your head are numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.   Luke 12:7 NKJV

Now for some of us it is easier to count the hairs on our head than it is for others, but God reminds us not to worry about life and even the shortness of it, he knows every part of creation, and we are more valuable than any part of it.  We are to simply enjoy the journey and to see his incredible guiding hand in all that we are and all that we do. 

I have a 2007 Toyota Camry with 178,000 miles on it.  The car was my dad's and has been well taken care of but recently as I was driving one day the windshield wiper fluid stopped flowing.   I was trying to diagnose from online measures what was wrong, and guessing how much I was going to pay, until today, when I decided to actually look under the hood.  I found a hose had disconnected, and I put it back where it belonged, and thing worked again. 

I've also noticed a drop in some fuel efficiency, and I know that the spark plugs have not been changed for a long time in the vehicle.   Now I could go and spend $199 (an actual quote) for someone to do that, or I can take matters into my own hand, and go by the store and buy some new plugs for about 35 dollars and do it myself.   Sometimes, to restore the power and efficiency we just have to do some things ourselves.

In Luke 8:40-48 there was a woman who had been sick for a long time.  Nothing was working, nothing was helping, and one day, she saw Jesus on the way to do something for someone and she came up behind him, and she did something very simple,  she touched him.   She acted on faith, because she believed that faith in Jesus was warranted. 

Verses 44 says, "Immediately her bleeding stopped."

Jesus felt power go out from him and in the midst of the crowd, stopped and said, "Who touched me."

After some talking and discussion, the woman finally admitted she had.  She was looking for the power source, and she got an answer from Jesus, "Your faith has healed you, go in peace."

Sometimes we have to tune up our lives.  Sometimes we have to reach out on faith to Jesus and trust that his power will be sufficient for us.   May we have faith, like this woman, to reach out to Jesus for his power.