THOSE WHO'VE GONE BEFORE

As a 14 year old teenager at Camp Copass, Texas, I responded to the call of God for my life. The person with the greatest Christian influence on my life to that time was Cecil McGee. He was a loving, kid, generous Youth/Education Director in our church, and his life was a wonderful example for me. From that camp experience in 1953 I began my life of ministry as a Music-Education-Youth-Administration leader. It has led me on a lot of exciting treks, and I praise the Lord every day for the opportunities He has given to me.
My surrender to the ministry was in the early 1950s; that was just about the time when many young people responded to the call to do "associate" work in the church. Up to that time, the only call to ministry was usually to before the Pastor. I have some friends who grew up in situations where they didn't know an alternative call was a possibility.
As I've become older, it has become more apparent to me that God has been using men throughout the ages. Paul was called on the Damascus road; some were called in foxholes; others followed Christ in a service of the local church; and some found God's leadership for them while studying God's Word. Some are probably called from a rodeo arena. It really doesn't make any difference; the important thing is to respond to God's will. That's God's plan. Everyone should do it.
Shari gave me a wonderful little book for Christmas. Gospel Tracks Through Texas: The Mission of Chapel Car Good Will tells the story of a railroad car Good Will that traversed Texas between the years of 1895-1903. An itinerant evangelist served on board the rail car; they would often spend a week or more in the new little towns of Texas preaching the gospel and leading people to Christ. It is one of those stories that I know nothing about; it was an exciting new revelation to me.
Now, here's the point. Sometimes I am prone to be critical of people doing ministry in ways that are different than my call. Their emphasis is God's emphasis. It really doesn't make any difference if I'm called to do it. The main thing is that God has called them and set them apart to reach people for Jesus.
This is not a Texas Baptist book, but I surely did learn a lot about Baptist work over the years. I'm happy that there were a whole lot of folks who came before me. They were faithful to their call; God used them to help me with my call.
My favorite: "Oh, may all who come behind us find us faithful."
Find the book and read it. You'll love the stories.

THE COTTER CLAN

This is our group. We had a wonderful time together for Christmas. We retold the story of Jesus. We shared his love. We celebrated our joy in knowing Him. It was fun.

WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT

This story is God's victorious plan for the ages. Read it carefully.
1 About that time Caesar Augustus ordered a census to be taken throughout the Empire. 2 This was the first census when Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3 Everyone had to travel to his own ancestral hometown to be accounted for. 4 So Joseph went from the Galilean town of Nazareth up to Bethlehem in Judah, David's town, for the census. As a descendant of David, he had to go there. 5 He went with Mary, his fianc-e, who was pregnant. 6 While they were there, the time came for her to give birth. 7 She gave birth to a son, her firstborn. She wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in a manger, because there was no room in the hostel.
8 There were sheepherders camping in the neighborhood. They had set night watches over their sheep. 9 Suddenly, God's angel stood among them and God's glory blazed around them. They were terrified. 10 The angel said, "Don't be afraid. I'm here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide: 11 A Savior has just been born in David's town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master. 12 This is what you're to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger." 13 At once the angel was joined by a huge angelic choir singing God's praises: 14 Glory to God in the heavenly heights, Peace to all men and women on earth who please him.
Luke 2:1-14 (MSG)

OH BE CAREFUL LITTLE VOICE

Recently I've been thinking about the denigration of language in our society. Several things have brought the subject to my mind. Let me share them:

1. There was a letter to the editor in the Fort Worth Star Telegram recently talking about the use of the word "bleeping" in the newspaper. In years past that was the way in which the paper would tell of someone using off-color language but not actually use the word. The writer was asking the newspaper to again use that type of literary expression instead of the very common practice in today's society. The style today is to use a letter with spaces behind it. I guess the idea is that we need to know everything that was stated. We don't need to read rapidly over the word "bleeping", but we need to have the actual word come into our brains.

The writer of the letter suggested that we move back to the old style of using the word "bleeping". I wholeheartedly agree! I'm tired of filthy language being forced on me.

2. My wife and I were in a conversation recently when a young man decided to use some inappropriate language to enphasize his displeasure. It is language that he uses regulary, and he obviously didn't see anything wrong with it. As our society accepts more and more inappropriate language, that is what happens. We all begin to accept the language and to make it our own.

Ruth Lynn immediately suggested to the young man that what he was saying was not acceptable. I was proud of her. The young man sheepishly apologized, and our conversation moved on. He was probably embarrassed, as well he should be, but I believe he learned a good lesson. I can ony hope that it will help him in the years to come.

3. I was listening to Dennis Prager on talk radio recently, and he told of attending a National Hockey League game. By the way, that is one reason I don't often attend live sports events. The language in the stands is often unbearable, especially where there is an abundance of alcohol. But I digress.

The crowd at the NHL game was chanting "Detroit sucks". Now I believe I know what that term means. I would certainly never say it, and most people I know would not say it. Dennis was surprised by the number of calls that he received that justified the statement as just fun among teams. And no, they wouldn't say it in public conversation, but it was alright to yell it out among a crowd of hockey fans. It was okay to scream it out when children were in the crowd. I wonder if our language use is on a steady decline?

4. I've been associated with church leaders and pastors most of my life. Occasionally I will hear one of these leaders use some type of bad language, and it always surprises me.

I recently read a statement on a public internet source where a leader denigrated other Christians with a "bodily function" statement. I guess he felt he could say something on the internet that would be unacceptable from the pulpit or in private conversation.

Most everything I write is addressed to Christians. We are the ones that God has called to change this world. Christians, it is time for us to "clean up" our act. Or maybe better, let's just quit the "act". We won't have to act when Christ is in our lives. It is "Christ is us . . the hope of glory". Christ's mouth would never issue such denigrating words and statements.

This Christmas season would be a good time to change our language. "For unto us a Son is born."

I HAVE A SONG

I recently wrote about my youngest granddaughter . . and her new experiences at school. I mentioned that she always has a song in her heart . . and on her lips.

So I want to direct you to her Dad's blog . . so you can hear her song. It will put a smile on your face. Listen at:

http://www.bryanmcanally.com/

GHOSTS IN THE CLOSET

I had long known that my ancient ancestry had roots in Texas in the 1820s. My great-great-great Grandfather was Issac Low, and he settled in Sabine County, Texas where he operated, among other things, a ferry across the Sabine River. He fought in the 1812 Battle of New Orleans and was a citizen of the Republic of Texas. He was very involved in the Runaway Scrape when Texans were seeking refuge in the United States after the fall of the Alamo and Goliad.

I have recently been doing some study on Ancestry.com and online. His name appears in several places; he served in some public positions in Sabine County and he lived east of Hemphill, Texas in Sabinetown. It was fun to find his name and family in the 1835 census of that region.

My parents travelled to that area several years ago and sought to visit the Issac Low Cemetery, now on the shore of Toledo Bend Reservoir. They told me that they were not well received by the local people. They didn't understand why. In my recent study, I have found the reason.

One of my ancestors, Eli Low, was killed in 1883 in what was to become the very well known (in that region) Low-Conner-Smith feud. That feud continued for many years, and even though many of the famlies have intermarried, the feud is still well known. A total of seven people including a Texas Ranger were killed during the period; some went to prison; and others just disappeared. As is usual with fueds, everyone placed blame on everyone else. The truth of what really happened will probably never be known.

I have just recently become aware of this feud and these "ghosts" in the family closet. Have you noticed how many of our families have ghosts in the closet? We usually don't like to talk about them too much. We just want to forget that they exist or ever existed.

RL and I are going down to Sabinetown this coming year. We're hoping to find out more information about our family. We want to visit the cemetery and hear some of the tales from the past. We'll be very careful.

I'm glad my last name isn't Low. That just might get me into deep trouble.

THE GOVERNOR GRADED MY PAPER

Before moving to Texas about three years ago, Bryan and Kelli and their family lived in Cumming, Georgia where he worked for the North American Mission Board. They were also involved in a new church start where Jim Perdue was the pastor. He just happened to be the son of Sonny Perdue, Governor of the state of Georgia. The McAnally children became friends with the "grandfather" Sonny Perdue.


Kaylyn was taking her Georgia sytle "TAKS" test when her teacher explained that the Governor of Georgia expected great things from all of them. She told the children that the Governor would personally be grading the tests, and that everyone of them needed to do their very best on the test.


Kaylyn told her questioning teacher that she knew the Governor. The teacher answered with the, "Oh, sure you do, Kaylyn." It was only later than Kelli told the teacher that Kaylyn really did know the Governor. That, in itself, created quite a stir with the class. The best was yet to come.


Being the good student that she is, Kaylyn scored very high on the test and was excited that the Governor had done such a good job of examining her test.


The Governor showed up one night at the small church, and Kaylyn was so excited to speak with him about her test. Bryan made a fast dash to Sonny Perdue to explain the situation before Kaylyn could get to him. As soon as Kaylyn approached the Governor, he began to congratulate her on the fine job she had done on her test. Kaylyn was excited; Sonny Perdue was excited to have that close contact with one of his constituents. It was a memorable time for everyone.


Now, as a 6th grader, Kaylyn knows the full story. It was just a wonderful highlight of her young life to know the Governor and to know his interest in her test. I just ran into this picture of the Governor with Kaylyn and Cotter. She has a lifelong story to tell of her venture into politics.

SMALL TOWN AMERICA

I grew up in a small Texas town where I've now returned and retired. After living in the big city of Denver for a number of years, RL and I had a desire for the feel of the small town. It has its wonderful qualities and common problems. But for us, it is home. We enjoy the experience of living with a lot of "good old boys".

My 101 year old mother lost her glasses about three weeks ago, but we waited till just last week . . hoping for their return. I went to the local optician and explained my problem. He was very helpful in getting the prescription refilled, fitting them into some inexpensive frames, and adjusting them. The glasses seemed to fit mom very well, and she was extremely happy. The glasses would normally be over $300, but he sold them to me for a $100 bill. The man indicated that he wanted to help with my particular problem. I thanked him earnestly; that's small town America.

Mother's glasses lasted for 4 days . . when she ran over them and crushed them with her wheel chair. So this morning I went back to the optometrist with my sad story. He gladly found another frame, put mother's lens into them, and handed them to me. When I asked how much I owed him, he just smiled and said, "Nothin; we're in this thing together."

That would not happen in Denver . . or Dallas . . or any other large city. It does happen in small town America. People have a concern for other people. They are anxious to help. They certainlly know that I'll be back "soon" to visit their company. That's what I love about Weatherf0rd, Texas.

WHAT'S YOUR JOHN HANCOCK

It's a common statement . . "put your John Hancock" on that line. Your signature is what is needed, and the "Hancock" statement has become common in America. The United States Declaration of Independence has many names on it, but the most bold and widely recognized one is that of John Hancock.




A person's signature is very important. It defines the person. It is his personal mark, his personal seal. If you've ever closed on a new home or a loan or a business deal, you will find out that your signature is needed over and over again. Writer's cramp often sets in as this final part of the deal is finalized.




I've been watching the politicos recently, and they can finish an autograph almost instantaneously. I've actually seen some of these autographs, and they are often intelligible. They are just a mass of stratches and marks. But as I watch Antiques Roadshow, I find out that these scratches are actuallly worth a lot of money. I wonder what my John Hancock will bring in the future. Don't hold your breath.

Reggie Brewer is my dear friend and banker in Baytown, and he has one of those flourished type signtures. I took my church salary check to the bank early in my ministry there. The teller looked at the check and then excused herself. She went to Reggie's desk and asked if he thought this check was any good as she questioned the signature. He answered, "Yes, it's good . . that's my signature."

Congratulations to the young teller of 40 years ago for doing her job.

I've noticed that my signature gets more difficult to read as I age. It won't be long before it is unintelligible. I have a small booklet that my 101 year old mother wrote when she was 23 years old and newly married. She wrote her name "Mrs. Birdie Cotter" over and over again on the booklet. She was proud of her name and was practicing how to write it.

As Christians, we need to write our name over and over again into the lives of those around us. We should be proud of our name. We should shout it out loud. We are Christians who follow a living Savior. When someone asks about our "John Hancock", we need to use the name "Christian".

THANKS FOR EVERYTHING

One of the things we learn as young Christians is this . . "in all things give thanks". I don't want to say that I always do it (give thanks). I know I should. I realize it is God's plan. I know it in my head, but my heart often moves away from thanks to complaining and discouragement.

I was in a Sunday School class recently when there were several announcements about people who were sick. There wasn't much "thanks" expressed in the group; there was mainly concern for the welfare of the individuals. When it was announced that one's illness had turned towards health, there was a literal gasp and praise the Lord. It is so difficult to praise the Lord when people are sick and dying, but that's what the Bible means when it says . . "to give thanks in all things." Of course, it's difficult to do. But that is what sets us apart from the lost world. We as Christians have a great hope.

It's easy to be thankful at Thanksgiving. That's the American way. Our job as Christians is to be thankful in the difficult times.


I want to be thankful in the deepest, darkest times of my life.

"Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise."

Check out this article by Paul Brewster. It says it all.

http://bpnews.net/BPnews.asp?ID=29411

I WISH I HAD

It happens to almost everyone. As we get older, we think back to the things we wish we had done. The wish list is often connected with our family. We wish we had . . spent more time with the children . . lived a more Godly life . . read our Bible more . . expressed our love to our wife . . and on and on. You know the list. You've probably written it in your heart just as I have. "I just wish I had . . . . . . "

Over the past few years I've shared one simple "I wish I had" with some younger adults. This one is so simple that anyone can do it. It doesn't take a great deal of skill, and it takes such a small amount of time. Everyone has the potential of doing it. It doesn't take any great education or brain power. You just make up your mind . . and you do it.

For my children and grandchildren, I encourage you to do it.

To do what?

I encourage you to keep a journal. Take the time every day to write down some of the activities and insights of your life. It can be very simple or very involved. It can be done with a pencil or pen or computer or as a Blog . . or probably some other technical ways that I don't even know. It will be a wonderful tool in your future life as you look back at the activity of God in your life. It will help as you mature and grow and see yourself more clearly.

It would be fun to read something from my past . . to connect it with pictures of my grandmother . . or with some other event.

This is especially for my grandchildren. Start today! As you read your Bible . . and as you listen to God's directions . . write it down.

IT'S TIME TO GO TO SCHOOL

Kelli does a lot of writing for Lifeway Christian Resources, and she works from her home. Before Kelsi headed out to kindergarten last year, she had her own desk and work space set up right next to her mother's space. She really enjoyed working alongside as her mother wrote Sunday School and Vacation Bible School materials. She would do her "homework" and sing a special song as she sat at her desk.

She was certainly ready to head to kindergarten since her older sister and brother would be in the same school. She was ready to learn and to be with other children, but she did give up some "personal" time with her mother when school began.

She is the youngest and probably the last of our grandchildren, and she thoroughly enjoys her position as the baby of the group. Her little tender heart always wants to please adults. She always has a smile and a song. She's a joy. She's pretty special to me.

So we were surprised when Kindergarten began that a note was sent home to her parents, and they had to deal with a difficult problem. Here is her difficult problem! Her teacher suggested that she should stop singing while doing her work at school. It just wasn't proper for her to be singing when everyone else was doing their work.

Her mother had obviously not considered the problem that had been created as they worked side by side.

I like people who sing. Kelsi still does it. She'll be playing by herself and will quietly be singing a special song. She's a lot of fun to observe. She's learned not to sing at school, but she still sings around my house. I like her singing heart. And, of course, it doesn't hurt when she crawls up into my lap and gives me lots of Kelsi hugs and kisses.

EVERYONE LOVES SPORTS

Every one of our grandchildren love sports, and that includes all of the boys and the girls. Their parents have them involved in baseball and basketball and football and whatever is in the current season. It's fun to see all of them hitting and running and shooting and enjoying the "latest new sport".

They are all small timers when compared with Zach. He is the true "in your face" sportsman who enjoys it all. He can make a game out of anything. It doesn't take any deep concentration; he just makes up the game and makes up the rules as he goes.

I don't think I can remember all of the sports that Zach has played. They include all of the above plus street hockey, scgolf (combination of soccer and golf), swimming, diving, knee boarding, water skiing, four wheeling, hunting, fishing, and probably dozens of others yet to be named. He loves the competion and the challenge. And he is good at them.

Zach is also a good student in school, showing that he can handle the competition and challenges there. He is now in the 7th grade and is beginning to zero in on some specialties. There is so much that he can do.

Do it well . . Z-man.

LIKE MOTHER/LIKE DAUGHTER

When Samantha's mother Shari was a small child in Baytown, she had a very "free spirit" attitude. "I can do it myself" was her theme, and we tried to give her freedom to become the Shari she is today. She is a wonderful teacher, leader, mother, and wife. Her "I can do it" attitude has gotten her into some interesting spots.

I remember the time in Baytown when a young neighbor boy knocked on the door and asked if we would come and help Shari. We found her on the roof of the house. She had climbed up the fence onto the roof to retrieve something only to discover the difficulty of getting back down.



Samantha is the re-creation of her mother. "I can do it myself." There is no challenge she won't accept. It's always the great adventure. She has had her fair share of bruises, bumps, and "I can do it" moments. She has a rope ladder to her club house that only a "monkey" can climb, but she makes it with great speed. I guess her Dad built it to keep GDads and others out of her private space. And . . it's working.


I don't know what place she won in the science fair, but that's not her prize. It's the challenge. I like that.


She may just turn out to be a "rocket scientist" someday.

THE FUTURE/PRESENT WRITER

I really wonder what the future is for my grandchildren; I only want the best for all of them. But they are all so different; they have their own skills and talents and abilities. I certainly believe that is how God planned it; He gives each of them gifts to be used according to His will. I just wish I could hang around long enough to see how it works out.

Our beautiful Kaylyn Marie McAnally is now in the 6th grade . . a middle schooler. It's hard now to figure out right now about her future. Will she be a softball player (very good) . . or possibly a volleyball player (very tall) . . or maybe a scientist (great in school) . . or a people person (she's definitaly that). I don't know, and Kaylyn doesn't know. She does know that God has something good in store for here.

Writing is a special skill for her, and it may be because both her Dad and Mother are writers in their occupations. She has the genes, that's for sure. She has been a winner in writing competions in her school and at Texas State University; she writes things I didn't think about until I was full grown. That's a compliment, not a criticism. She is a very perceptive thinker. She is also turning into a very beautiful person both physically and spiritually. Here is something she wrote a year ago.

SOFTBALL SENSATIONS by Kaylyn McAnally

Four bases – pearly white, but smudged with chocolate-colored dirt – emerge from the infield to form the corners of a softball diamond. The bleachers reflect bronze, silver and gold, as though they were made from Olympic medals. From the sky’s balcony seats the marshmallow clouds cheer for both teams.

The scent of water is thick and warns of rain. Churning dust tickles my nose every time I scoop up a grounder. The fragrance of newly-cut grass greets players running to the lush, green outfield. The aroma of my leather glove gives me the confidence to make the big play.

I try to block the sounds of the infield’s chattering as I step up to the plate. The fans’ cheers help me focus. The ball whizzes past home plate for a…strike! “Zero balls, one strike,” the umpire grunts. The next one zooms in and I swing… the “ding” announces my hit …all the way to the fence!! My cleat thuds as I step onto home plate. “Safe!”

I’m tired in the last inning of the game. My worn-out glove feels like an overgrown hand. The ball is hit and I lunge forward to make the catch. The ball lands forcefully in my glove, stinging my hand underneath. Teammates rush over, tackling me in a triumphant team hug.

My dry mouth enjoys the cold, crisp water I pour down my throat. A teammate offers me sour watermelon bubblegum. Instead, I grab a handful of salty sunflower seeds. Spitting the seeds onto the dugout floor, I celebrate our team’s win. Licking my lips, I discover the sweet flavor of victory.

My senses come alive at the softball field.
--------------------------------
One last GDad comment . . isn't Kaylyn something?

SAM GROWS UP

RL and I were at one time concerned that we would never be grandparents. It seemed that it took a long time for our first to come along. But Sam Cotter was born in 1994 , and then we had one new grandchild a year for the next 7 years. It just took our gang a little time to get started.

Most grandparents are a little crazy over their first one, and I was especially crazy since he was named for me. Sam and I have had a lifelong battle over saying over and over again, "No, I am Sam Cotter". He likes it, and so do I.

He's now 14 and a Freshman at Kingwood High School. Time does fly, doesn't it? The first 14 years of his life have come so fast. But now I think he's not as interested in his GDad as he once was. He has other interests.

He had his first real "date" recently with a friend from his church youth group. We coulnd't believe it. That's not our little boy. A suit and tie really cleans up a young man.

Congratulations to Sam for reaching a new point in his life. RL and I will continue to pray for him that he will listen to God's leadership for his life. God has a great plan for him; I'm just excited to see what the next 14 years will bring.

Don't they look great?

A TOUCHDOWN FOR MITCHELL

Every little boy needs to be encouraged. That's the problem with many who are parents. They just don't know how to "lift up" their children; they spend all of their time explaining what the child has done wrong. That's a dangerous method.

We went to one of the peewee football games recently. The 1st and 2nd graders offer a wide variety of entertainment. It is very difficult for these youngsters to understand the intricacies of the game. (I've noticed the same is often true for the Dallas Cowboys.) But, I digress.

My grandson Mitchell, a 1st grader, was playing defensive linebacker and offensive wide out. During the first half he did a lot of dancing around on defense, and he seemed to be lost about what he was to do. His dad finally gave him some good instructions, and he began to "grab hold" and make some contact with the runners. He was actually involved in some tackles for the team.

Mitchell's team was ahead 7-0 when the other team finally scored, and then they went for the 1 point running conversion. Mitchell did his job as they ran towards his side of the field. He grabbed the runner and held on for dear life until other players could join in the pile and the stop on the 2 yeard line. I don't think he realized that he had stopped the extra point, but he was happy to be playing with the other little boys.

Mitchell's team was running out the clock. They had one final play. All of the parents assumed a "knee" to the ground, but the coach of the mighty Columbus Cardinals had one last play up his sleeve. His quarterback dropped back one big step and heaved the first pass of the game into Mitchell's waiting arms, and Mitchell was off "weaving" through the desperate defense into the end zone for the winning touchdown. WOW.

You can just see it in the eyes of a young boy who does something right. He knows it. His parents know it. His GMom and GDad know it. He begins to understand some of the accomplishments of life. That's encouragement. Little boys like to please their parents. Help them with homework . . take them to church . . say positive things to them. They'll get it.

TOUGHENING UP COTTER

Remember my story about "The Marble Machine"? The grandchildren and I and Gene are still building on it. It's a work in progress, and we'll give you a better video view in a few weeks(months) . . according to our speed.

My 8 year old grandson, Cotter McAnally, was working on the project this summer, and we have been using a lot of hot glue for the machine. He accidentally got some glue on his finger, and he began to cry and run around. It seemed to burn him some, but I really didn't think it was much of a problem. So I did my GDad thing . . I told him it would be okay. Don't worry about it. Let's just keep working on our machine. So he did, but later on, we had to put some aloe vera on it to cool it down.

After Cotter was gone, I was working on the project and was again using the hot glue gun. I put a large glob of glue on some wood, and then I accidentally stuck my thunb on the glob. It began instantaneously to do what all hot glue does. It began to glue my finger. I yelled out and stuck it in my mouth, hoping to cool it off and to pull it away from my finger. I must stay that that worked fine except for one small factor. It didn't pull away from my finger. It tore the skin and some flesh off as I gnawed at it with my teeth. I've attached a picture if you're brave enough to see it.

Now, for the final story. I went back to Cotter and give him my sincere apology for not being more sympathetic with his injury. I didn't know hot glue could hurt so much, but I learned. I also learned how to be a better GDad in the process. After all, as an 8 year old, he's still learning the "facts" of life. I'm old enough to know better, but I'm not too old to learn.

I suppose criticism can go both ways. My grandchildren are so far out ahead of me in the area of technology. They are digital natives, and I am a digital immigrant. I'm trying to keep up and to learn, but it's not easy to learn a new language. I think I'll just call on them when I need some help. I hope Cotter doesn't criticize me too much when I do some crazy technology things and speak a different tongue.

By the way, the picture above of Cotter is not from the Marble Machine. It is where Cotter departed from his rolling scooter and had a dramatic meeting with the asphalt road.

PIANISTS - TALL OR TEENAGE

One of the advantages of serving as a Minister of Music (now called Worship Leader, etc.) in my early years of ministry was the opportunity of serving in a "larger" church with other staff members. Many young pastors do not have that opportunity. They often go to a church with small congregations and no staff support. They are sometimes left on their own "out in the wilderness". Larger churches often have accomplished leadership.


After serving in other churches, it was my privilege to move to Second Baptist Church of Baytown, Texas as their Minister of Music and Youth. Second BC was a very successful church with 25 years of great history in the area, but I was to be their first "full time" Minister of Music.


I remember the very first time I met Patsy Brewer because she was a tall lady and the church pianist. I didn’t know it at first, but Patsy was my age and had graduated from Lee High School in Baytown in 1957. Since Patsy was exactly 6’ tall, the same height as me, I remember standing on my tip toes when we first met. Patsy had been the pianist in the church for 16 years by that time because she began playing age 12. The next eight years were going to be exciting ones as we learned and grew together musically. And, by the way, Patsy is still playing the piano at Second Baptist. I promise not to tell her age.


The part time music director at the church had been W.C. Herring who was a school administrator with the Goose Creek School District. He had done a wonderful job in the past, but the church wanted to have a larger music program for all ages. W.C. Herring was always very gracious; he stepped back and let me lead and often led music in small churches of the area. His daughter, Pam, became one of my most ardent supporters and pianist for the youth choir. It was she who helped me so much in the early days that “rock and roll” came to the church. She was a very good pianist and helped me to work my way through the new rhythms of that era. We still maintain contact with Pam after all these years.


I mention these two fine ladies to say THANK YOU. You both saved my life. I certainly couldn't play the piano, and you spent a lot of time "making me look good". I love tall pianists . . and I love teenage pianists.

THE REALITY OF LIFE

God's word is clear. We are not to kill.

And yet, this modern world says it is alright to kill an unborn child.

My 101 year old mother lost a still born child in 1934, and the hurt is still there.

We know a precious couple who lost a still born child of 37 weeks just this weekend, and yes, the hurt and pain will remain for years to come.

That's how it should be.

We should be concerned about life because God has given it to us.

We can argue and debate and support every political cause.

But it is still killing on our part.

We have become a nation of killers.

It's time to stop. It's time to celebrate life.

ARE YOU SCARED?

The following is a direct quote from a CNN poll . . from this week's news.


THE POLL
Seventy-five percent of those surveyed in a CNN/Opinion Research Corp. poll released Tuesday said things are going badly in the United States.
An equal portion of those polled said they are angry about the way things are going. Two-thirds of those questioned said they're scared about the way things are going and three in four said the current conditions in the country are stressing them out.
"It's scary how many Americans admit they are scared," said Keating Holland, CNN's polling director. Prior to 2008, we have seen that level of dissatisfaction only three times in the past four decades -- during Watergate, the Iranian hostage crisis and the recession of 1992," Holland added.


MY RESPONSE

I decided "a long time ago" to place my faith and trust in God. After a lifetime of doing just that (i.e. placing my faith in God), I have found out that it works. There's a lot of scriptural support, but a good one is in 1 Peter 5:7 . . "casting all your cares on Him . . for He cares for you."

I serve a God that cares for me. He loves me. He gives me life.

There's certainly a lot in the world to be scared about. Those who live without faith and who trust only in themselves have a lot to be scared about. I pray today that I can keep my eyes on the God of my salvation.

LANGUAGE SAYS A LOT

There's lots of discussion in our country about English and why everyone should use it. I'm one of those guys who is uni-lateral when it comes to language. I know only one language, and that one is English. I really wish I could speak Spanish or another language, but I was never committed enough to get that accomplished.

I've seen a lot of Christians who seem to be really upset that a Spanish speaking person "refuses" to speak English. I'm not sure that they are refusing; they may just be uni-lateral like I am. Learning a new language is not easy; it requires much time and work. I do believe that English is the language of America, and I do wish that everyone could and would seek to use it in the business world. BUT that is somewhat secondary to me.

Most of all, I'm concerned about Christians who refuse to speak the correct language. As you listen to them and as you observe their lives, they sound just like the rest of the world. Their language is filled with slurs and put-downs and denigration of others. Sometimes their words become foul and filthy. They often use their words to gossip and slander and debase others. They are more interested in criticism than they are in lifting up.

Our words are to be filled with love . . whether they are spoken in English or Spanish or any of the other hundreds of languages of this world. Christ died for all mankind; he didn't ask them what language they spoke. He simple asked them to . . "follow me".

I want to be an encourager to the Chrisitian famly . . to challenge us to change our language from hurt to healing. Decide today to say a good word about someone . . even to those to whom you have disagreements. That might be the best thing that ever came from our mouths during this political season.

TEENAGE GIRLS AND NUMBER 68

The Weatherford High School Homecoming Parade was yesterday, and some thousands of folks lined South Main to celebrate the annual ritual. There were about 30 members of the 1958 graduating class who rode on a hay bale covered trailer and enjoyed the crowd and the joy of celebrating their 50th Homecoming. The football game is tonight an the big party will be Saturday night. It's a wonderful part of home town America, and I had the privilege of observing these 68 year olds acting like 18 year olds. People never change.

We had to "hoist" some of the people onto the high 18 wheeler trailer, but they made it safely. Then 25 went to a local Mexican food restaurant for two hours of noise, food, and conversation. But one of the highlights of the day came at the end of the parade.

We were helping everyone off the trailer. Three of the men had sat together for the ride, and they all had on their football jerseys with their name and number. Ted Hartness (68), Gary Beck (11), and Lynn Dobbins (22) had all been leading team members. Gary and Lynn are still in good physical condition, but Ted has suffered some major medical problems. He is now stooped and shorter, but he had made it to the parade with enthusiasm. He had been in 1958 an All-State Guard for the Weatherford Kangaroos.

Now for the rest of the story.

I noticed three teenage girls walk by our crowd of senior adults, and one was pointing out the number and name on the jersey of Ted. They walked past, but one came back to take a picture of this "old man" in the jersey. Ted had begun to walk away, and I stopped him so they could take a picture of his name on the backside. As Ted walked away, I stepped over to the girl and told her that this man was the Captain of the 1958 Kangaroo team. She was taken by surprise and said to me, "Really?" And I said, "Yes, really." She smiled and continued on her way.

She thought of Ted and the others in the crowd as a bunch of old people.

Ted and the others thought of themselves as a bunch of 18 year olds in tired bodies.

Now for the punch line. All of this is God's plan. He cared for us as 18 year olds, and He still cares for us as older adults. God is good!

BILL CHAPPELL ART

Do you ever have something go "over your head"? It happens to me very often, and I discovered an "over the head" part of my life recently. We were travelling with the Holsingers, and we stopped for lunch in downtown Hamilton, Texas. While eating lunch in a nice local restaurant, we walked two doors down the street to Bill Chappell Art.

Bill is a well known western artist who has created sculpture, paintings, and prints over many years. http://www.billchappellart.com/ While talking with Bill and his wife, we soon found that we had mutual friends from Colorado since Bill and his wife Fay had lived in the South Fork area of Colorado for many years. I knew Bill's name by reputation, but I was surprised to learn of their work with Southern Baptists in Colorado.

Bill and Fay moved to southern Colorado in 1953 where Bill was in the cattle business, and his new art career was begun. They were instrumental in starting College Heights Baptist Church in Alamosa. They also helped with the work in Crede and South Fork and other mountain churches in southern Colorado. Bill also served for several years of the Executive Board of the Colorado Baptist General Convention during its formative years.

Bill is now in his 80s and has a wonderful gallery in Hamilton. You need to stop by and visit with him on the downtown square. The main thing to remember is this. Bill and Fay gave their lives and their ministry to reach people for Christ in Colorado. That reality once went "over my head", but now I thank the Lord for them. They are just one couple who made a deep commitment to tell people the good news of the gospel.

I lived in Colorado for about 25 years, and it was my privilege to meet a lot of "Bill Chappells" along the way. I'm glad I got to know many of these wonderful people.

PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION PRAYER

Dear Father. I thank you first of all for the freedoms of my country, for the opportunity to openly confess You as Lord. I stand in awe that you have allowed our country, though sinful and unrepentitent, to stand as a beacon to a lost and dying world. In this election season, I pray for myself. I want to be available for your work. You have given to each of us free choice, and I cannot change the actions of others. I pray that John McCain and Barach Obama will listen to you. I pray that their spirits will be directed by you. I want my nation to react as a Christian nation, but most of all, I want to react as you lead me. Lord, help me as I vote and as I support those that will be slected to lead my city and county and state and country. My life is yours.

SECRETARIES DO ALL THE WORK

I recently called County Commissioner John Roth (Precinct 3) to ask for some help down the road on Roark Lane. He wasn't available, but I was able to speak with Michelle. I don't really know what Michelle's title is, but she obviously answers the phone and handles a lot of the problem calls in the Precinct. She actually wanted to give me John's cell phone number, but my own inner sense suggested that I just turn over the needs to Michelle. She was very helpful, and may I say, efficient.

Within about two hours there was a full crew of workers who showed up on Roark Lane, and by the end the day, all of the problems were solved. I asked the foreman of the job if he worked for John or for Michelle; he just smiled and kept on working.

I have such wonderful respect for people who work behind the scenes. Most of the time I don't even know their name(s), but they get the job done without any praise or recognition. So, thanks Michelle for the great job.

I joined the staff of the Colorado Baptist General Convention in 1989, and I was immediately greeted with the smiling face of Eunice Liesmann. Her husband, Ron, was pastor of one of our Baptist churches, and Eunice was a graduate from the Religious Education school of Southern Seminary. She was certainly over qualified to be a ministry assistant, but that didn't make any difference to Eunice. She met every person with a smile and a deep understanding of ministering to their needs. She understood the challenges of our division, and she was constantly learning and growing in ministry. We worked together there for a number of years before Ron and Eunice moved on to minister in Wyoming. They are now retired and living close to children in South Texas.

I've had a lot of compliments over the years about my work, but I know the truth. Secretaries do all the work. Thanks Eunice. You were faithful to God's call.

THE HENDERSONS OF HAWAII

Have you ever been to Hawaii? It is as beautiful as they say. My uncle Mike spent some time there at Pearl Harbor during World War II. Another uncle, Howard, made it to Hawii at the end of the war just in time to work as a life guard. That must have been fun. RL and I made a trip in 2004 and had a wonderful time on three of the islands.

My favorite Hawaiians are Veryl and Cherl Henderson. Veryl serves as the Executive Director for the Hawaii Baptist Convention, but they were originally from the Rocky Mountains. Veryl grew up in Grand Junction, Colorado, and Cheryl grew up in a missionary home of Roy and Maxine Owen, who served all over the western states. They worked in Hawaii for many years on the state staff.

The Hendersons then made a sojourn back to Colorado for a few short years where Veryl served as our state Director of Missions. The Hawaii convention then needed them, and they travelled back and have remained there, serving very faithfully for several years.

Hawaii seems like the ideal spot, but its not always "paradise". There is lots of "cabin fever" in the state. It is surrounded by water, is influenced greatly by tourists from around the world, and is certainly not on the buckle of the bible belt.

Veryl has given the state wonderful leadership. They live in what we would consider to be a very simple lifestyle at tremendous financial cost. Cheryl is such a wonderful Executive Director's wife who loves the churches and the people. They may be from the American west, but their hearts and lives have been in Hawaii for many years. I love that type of commitment, and it can only come from God's leadersip.

Cheryl is dealing with some cancer problems right now. Pray for her, and also pray for the Hawaii Baptist Convention. They will be hosting the Baptist World Alliance in just a couple of years. They will, under Veryl and Cheryl's leadership, do a great job. They are wonderful hosts.
I'll never forget our afternoon of "eating around Oahu" . . we stopped at each and every known spot that Cheryl could find. Thanks Veryl and Cheryl for being such good friends and for remaining faithful to God's call in your life.

BIRDIE IDELL LOW COTTER

My mother is living at Holland Lake Nursing Center, and she is a hoot. She has a hard time remembering much, and she certainly struggles with her communication skills. I wish she could do better, but at 101 I believe she is doing great.

Mother was born in 1907 . . yes, that's right . . 1907. As you may realize, that was before the days of automobiles or airplanes or whatever we may consider "modern". You realize that I don't know how a cell phone works. It's hard to imagine what she thinks of this "stuff" that overwhelmes our society. She just accepts it and continues to live her life.

My mother's mother died when my mother was 12 years of age, and my mother then became the "mother" of her four younger siblings. (How do you like that sentence?) They did have some help from aunts and cousins and other relatives, but my mother took over most of the household at that young age. I'm talking about a dirt poor household; I really don't know how they survived in that dry West Texas life. They did, and my mother went on to raise her own family and to live with my Dad for 57 great years before he died 21 years ago.

I'm headed over to see her this morning. They get her up at 7:30 for breakfast, and I'll get there about 8:30 for a visit. She's now in a wheelchair, but she zips up and down the hallways. She'll probably be confused, but we'll vist for about 30 minutes. She'll say to me, "There's something I wanted to tell you." Then she'll never be able to remember what it was. That's okay. We'll visit and then she will probably want me to leave. We really don't have a lot to talk about, but it's important that I'm there. That's how life is between Birdie and Sam.

I'm not sure I want to live to be 101, but all of that is really in God's hands. I just want to stay faithful for the years that I have on this earth. That's how it is between Jehovah and Sam.

FIFTY YEARS IN MINISTRY

September, 2008 completes 50 years for me in the ministry. I really hadn't thought much about it, but RL had talked and shared that information with several people. So I've been receiving cards and email and calls . . all congratulating me for this anniversary. It's really been fun for me to thank the Lord for the opportunity to work with all of those folks.

In some ways this is the reason I began to write this blog. I wanted to share some stories, some people, and the great joy that it has been to work with the church of Jesus Christ. I wouldn't change my 50 years for anything else on this earth.

I wanted to list the churches that have touched my life. Each church was made up of people who loved the Lord, who had great patience with me, and who helped me to grow. Most of them will never understand the wonderful part they played in my life. I'm hoping that heaven will give me the opportunity to express much thanks to them. But for now, thank you . . .

First Baptist Church . . Howe, Texas . . Calvary Baptist Church . . Denison, Texas . . Calvary Baptist Church . . McAllen, Texas . . Second Baptist Church . . Baytown, Texas . . Bellevue Baptist Church . . Hurst, Texas . . Calvary Baptist Church . . Craig, Colorado . . Colorado Baptist General Convention . . Centennial, Colorado

I love you in the love of the Lord.

MY LONG LOST FRIENDSHIPS

The type of friendships that are found in a church go beyond earthly . . because they have heavenly connectons. I often find myself separated over the years from a dear friend . . only to renew that acquaintance and to find that its just as strong as ever.

I recently reconnected with my friend Bob Craig, if only online and through his blog. It's a good one at http://www.claybreadbox.blogspot.com/. It was so refreshing for me to remember the great times that we have spent together. It puts a lump in my heart as well as my throat. As I think of Bob and Catherine and their wonderful children, I am reminded that this is just a simple picture of what heaven will be like. We'll gather as the family of God around the throne to worship our risen Savior. I think there will be a lump in our hearts as we worship together.

After moving back to Texas following a lifetime in the far country, we were able to re-up and become close friends with our German friends, the Holsingers. They are really not from Germany, but they are from the far north of Pennsylvania and Ohio, and they were dear friends of ours back in the Hurst days. They went on many mission trips with us when our families were young, but we had been out of close touch over the years. Terry went through some major open heart surgery, moved to California for a time, and then came back to settle again in Texas. Terry's ancestry is with the Brethren Church, but they chose to become very faithful Baptists when there was no "home" church for them. We travel with them now, and they are dear friends in Christ. They are the type of friends that cannot be explained. Lump to the heart?

I talked recently with my dear friend Dayton King who worked for the Baptist Convention of New Mexico for many years. He is retiring at the end of October, and the two of us talked together of the "good old days" in denominational life. You can tell we're both getting old because we used the term "good old days." We've traveled lots of miles together; he is a faithful friend who has given his life to reach others for Christ.

Wouldn't it be terrible to not have close Christian friends? I relish the opportunity of earthly friends . . who are friends for eternity.

THE CLASS OF 58

I graduated from high school in 1957, and RL graduated in 1958, and we're now living back in our home town. She has close relationships with some of her classmates from that period, and they get togther often for eating out, etc. We were with about 30 of them recently; I was really surprised how old some of them looked. I just don't understand why they have aged so much. Oh well, I'll just keep on NOT looking in the mirror.

Here's a good one from a lady:

I was sitting in the waiting room for my first appointment with a new dentist. I noticed his DDS diploma, which bore his full name.
Suddenly, I remembered a tall, handsome, dark-haired boy with the same name had been in my high school class some 40-odd years ago. Could he be the same guy that I had a secret crush on, way back then?
Upon seeing him, however, I quickly discarded any such thought. This balding, gray-haired man with the deeply lined face was way too old to have been my classmate. Hmmm—or could he??
After he examined my teeth, I asked him if he had attended Central High School.
“Yes. Yes, I did.” he gleamed with pride.
“When did you graduate?” I asked.
He answered, “In 1958. Why do you ask?”
“You were in my class!” I exclaimed.
He looked at me closely.
And then, that miserable, near-sighted, ugly, old, wrinkled rascal asked, “WHAT DID YOU TEACH?”

RL's 50th Anniversary Homecoming is October 16-18, 2008 at Weatherford High School.
That's Barbara Moore Owens with RL . . an old friend. She played the organ at our wedding. I enjoy getting together with some of the old gang; we retell the same stories and talk about the same ailments. The older we get the more we look back.

JOHN MCKAY - MUSIC EVANGELIST

John McKay grew up in west Texas and in north Fort Worth, and he is a tremendously talented musician and singer. As a young man, he sang in the Dallas Music Hall musicals and was invited to New York to pursue a music career on the stage. But something was wrong with that plan.



Instead of heading to the "big time", John followed God's call and committed his life to music ministry in Baptist churches and crusades. He wrote some wonderful music, he produced some great albums and books of music, and he has served faithfully for many years. John is well known and loved all across the Southern Baptist Convention.


I worked with some of John's children while serving in Hurst, Texas many years ago, and I just completed an interim pastor position and worked with John for 8 months. I recently had lunch with John, and we discussed our years of ministry. His story is very similar to mine, that is, except for the fact that he is a great soloist. Just like me, he heard the call of God on his life, and he has remained true to it. Now in his 70s, John is serving as the interim music director at Friendship Baptist Church in Weatherford. The people there love him, and he helps them to sing music of the church from the depths of the heart.



Just a sidelight . . for many years, Richey Craig of the Baytown Craig clan has played the piano for John. Richey continues to be the pianist at Wedgewood Baptist Church in Fort Worth.


John and Richey and others others like them are just the reason I share this blog. I want you to know many of God's faithful servants who have touched my life. I'm glad I've become good friends with John McKay and Richey Craig. John and Richey are persons who understood the call of God was for their entire lives. They just keep on keeping on!

OFFERING FOR STATE MISSIONS

I just got off the phone with a call to Nicy Murphy. For you Texans, Nicy Murphy is the Mary Hill Davis of Colorado. The annual Colorado offering in September is called The Nicy Murphy State Missions Offering. I never will forget when Kelli was in high school, and she was able to meet Nicy Murphy. Since we had arrived from Texas, she was amazed that Nicy Murphy was a real person and that she was actually alive. Kelli had obviously never been able to never met Mary Hill Davis.


That was about 20 years ago, and Nicy is still alive. I remember kidding Nicy, who was a member of our church in Colorado, about her age. I often would ask how old she was, but she always declined to give me an answer. Today, as we spoke on the phone, she happily told me that she was now 97 years of age. She has a goal of reaching 100; she continues to write and work on many projects. She said she was running out of time to get it all done.


Nicy lives back in her home town of Guymon, Oklahoma, but for many years she travelled throughout the Rocky Mountain states working with Woman's Missionary Union. She never married, but she gave her life to starting new work in Montana and the Dakotas and Wyoming and Colorado and wherever possible. She was a true pioneer in ministry in the Colorado Convention and in the Northern Plains Convention.


Nicy wrote a wonderful little book about her years of ministry. The Flip Side or Workin' for the Lord ain't all that dull tells some funny stories of driving through the snow, flying from state to state with Phil Card as pilot, leading conferences in remote places, and just doing the Lord's work. One of the funnest stories is of the lingerie salesman who wanted to give her a free bra. There's more to the story, but you'll just have to read it. If you can find one of her books, read it. It'll leave you laughing and also inspired.


I love Nicy Murphy. She gave her life to share missions all over the western part of the United States.


Thank you Nicy for being faithful to God's call to your life. You did good! Keep it up!

NEW KNEE

I can hear the theme from the old TV program "The Twilight Zone". Listen and you can hear that theme in your brain . . "new knee . . new knee . . new knee". I don't guess Rod Sterling was thinking about this modern age when new knees are common, but getting one does seem like a twilight zone experience. My brother just had a second one "installed" at the local hospital, and my brother in law will soon get two new knees. Who would have thunk it?

This world of technology spins my head. I distinctly remember the first computer that I used back in the 1980s. The personal computer wasn't even evented until 1980, and it was certainly a primitive contraption. I can almost hear the twilight zone theme in my brain . . "no-nee . . no-nee . . n0-nee". We thought it was wonderful that you could actually "type" and make corrections before anything was printed. That was pretty amazing and new age to all of us. We seemed to be in the twilight zone.


My dear friend Don Perry did some early computer programming in the early 1970s. He actually had a program where we could call the "main frame" in Houston and play golf on the telephone. Now it wasn't Tiger Wood golf; there were no actual visuals. The program would just tell you how many yards you had hit the ball and if it was in the fairway. It was primitive, but as I remember, it a lot of fun. We thought we were in the big time.


I wonder what the world will look like another 20 years from now. People now can have new knees, new hips, new hearts, new livers and kidneys, new legs and arms and hands, and a thousand other things. A person can even have a new heart. Wouldn't it be wonderful if the doctor could stick in a new person . . one who was "new" all over. Wow, that's what Christ does when he comes into a life. He makes us a brand new person.

I've had a new hip (twice on the same side) back in 2001. I've lost some other "parts" along the way. I really don't want any more new parts. I surely do want to keep the ones that I have. No-nee . . no-nee . . no-nee.

UNCLE M.J. AT PEARL HARBOR

I was born in 1939, and that was just at the same time that my Uncle M.J. joined the navy as a 17 year old from the dryness of west Texas. As one of 14 brothers and sisters who had barely survived the misery of the depression, he was probably looking for a new adventure. He found it in the order and good food of the U.S. Navy, and it wasn't long before he found himself as a 16" gunner on the U.S.S. Maryland anchored at Pearl Harbor.


The U.S.S. Maryland was parked just inside the U.S.S. Oklahoma at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, and M.J., who was a turret gunner on a 16" gun, survived the attack. The battleship escaped from the harbor and headed for Washington state where it was reconditioned and prepared for battle. It then headed back to the Pacific where it bombarded island to island for the remainder of the war. By the time the war ended, Mike was a 23 year old veteran who had seen his great amount of death and destruction. He often told some of those stories, but I believe he kept many inside because of their depth of horror.

Following the war, the U.S.S. Maryland returned to Washington where it was decomissioned and placed in dry dock. Mike placed on a bedroom wall a 12x18 inch plaque from his gun turret on the U.S.S. Maryland. He had taken it in his duffle bag as he left his "home" for the final time. It was a wonderful remembrance of his years of service.

My uncle Mike, as the U.S. Navy named him, died on Tuesday, Septmeber 16. RL and I will attend his memorial service in Littlefield, Texas this Saturday. We will also visit the Lamb County Veterans Memorial where his name appears with those of five of his brothers. They all came home from the great wars.

Mike was truly one of the greatest generation. I will miss him.

I'll use a future blog to tell some more of his story. It is fascinating.

THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER

I'm watching the Cowboys play the Eagles . . and a 20 year old "singing sensation" just finished the national anthem. It reminded me of church, and here's the reason!

Anytime in church that a soloist . . or a music leader . . or a praise team . . or a choir . . or a pastor . . or a person making the announcements . . or anyone who is standing up in front of the worshipper . . decides to focus on themself insead of God . . they have missed the point.

It's obvious that the girl who was singing had a good voice, but I didn't want to hear all of the trills and thrills and additions. I wanted to hear the national anthem sung in honor of our country. She missed the point.

Here's the reminder. When we worship, quit concentrating on self and concentrate on Jehovah God. Then we won't miss the point.

THE CHURCH IS DISRUPTED

The reason God's people gather together at the church is to worship. We come together so we can get our minds off of the problems of the world; we come to think of God and his goodness and greatness. That's the plan. It often doesn't happen that way.

I remember the time when a man disrupted a revival service to yell about his disagreement with what was being preached. He had been in the service but had left a little earlier. I was seated on the platform, and I wondered why he didn't return. I just assumed he didn't want to be there any longer. I was shaken out of those thoughts when he rushed into the front of the auditorium as he was screaming and yelling. He came around right where I was sitting, and I immediately jumped up and grabbed him by the arm. This was before the days when we worried about someone actually entering with a gun, and I didn't even think about him hurting me. I did ask myself, "Where is Bill Ivy?" Bill was a superintendent of a local coal mine, he was a deacon, and he was a leader of men. Just as I had the question about Bill, I turned to look and there he was. He and two other men came to help and grabbed the man. We pulled him out of the auditorium and asked him to quieten down, but he continued to yell and cause a disturbance. After getting him outside and being unsuccesful in our efforts, we called the local police who transferred him to the city jail. Oh well, so much for a quiet worship service.

Churches are prime candidates for robberies; in today's society most churches have installed some type of security system. In churches I've served in the past, we have lost sound equipment, cash, video equipment, and anything else that could be sold for a profit. We had so maky break-ins in one church that I told the staff to quit locking the doors to their offices because every time there was a burglary the crooks would just kick in and ruin the door jambs.

At the same church we once had a big old safe stolen. We didn't have much in the safe, but we collected a small amount from the insurance company. It wasn't long until the Sheriff's Department called to tell us they had found the safe unopened in the river bottom. The door was messed up and not able to be fixed. I knew I would have to report it back to the insurance company; I just told the Sheriff's Department to keep it as a gift from us.

In one church we had money stolen from purses in the choir room, and we determined to solve the crime. We actually set up a sting operation by leaving some of the men on watch by the choir rooom during church, and it wasn't too many Sundays until we caught our thieves. I'll always remember the day when Mac Morrison came to the back of the auditorium during a service and motioned for me to leave my place on the platform. He had caught some young men with their hands in the purses, and they immediately made a trip to the police station. (Above is a picture of Mac feeding deer in his back yard in New Braunfels. YES, Mac did look a little different when he caught the thieves, but this is the only picture that I have.)

It's good to remember that through all the disruption, God is still in control.

HANGING AROUND THE CHURCH

It's been my privilege to hang around the church and church people most of my life, and I have lots of stories to tell. For those who don't understand the church of Jesus Christ and who don't know that Christians can have lots of fun, this may come as a surprise.




We as Baptists believe in the Biblical command to "baptize" people in water. The Greek word actually means to "dip" people under water. Sprinking is something of a compromise, and we as Baptists are very involved in lots of water. An unchurched man came by our church in Colorado and wanted to know what that thing was up behind the pulpit; he had never seen a baptistry and didn't understand that we filled it with water in order to "dip" people. And, by the way, it is not a secret event. We want everyone to see baptism as a testimony of faith.




There are literally hundreds of funny stories about the disasters that occur when you get that much water . . and that many people . . and the need for warming the water . . and the need for filling up the baptistry with water. Every church that I know has probably had a small flood caused by an overflowing baptistry. I don't really have time to tell all of those, but I encourage you to find a local Baptist pastor who will gladly tell you some of these wild stories. Most of them will let you know how wet a nice suit can be when the pastor's waders begin to leak. One of the best storytellers about baptism is the music evangelist John McKay. He has lots of them.




I remember the day I arrived at a new church where I was to serve as a Youth Pastor, only to find my office completely filled with newspapers. The youth, along with some help from many of the adults, had spent hours of labor in opening up newspapers to fill the office. It was a sight to behold. Welcome Sam.

Reggie Brewer was a sponsor on one of our youth trips, and we took him to the airport for an early return home. Reggie had his guitar, and we all gathered around him and swooned over his supposed popularity. Most of the people watching thought he was someone famous, and they began to gather around and ask for autographs. I believe Reggie rushed onto plane and tried to hide so no one else could find him. He didn't mind being popular, but he just couldn't "complete" the story of who he was and where he was performing next. We still laugh about that one.

There are more stories to come from years of hanging around the church!

THE MARBLE MACHINE

Back during the summer one of my grandsons was here for a visit, and he and I were fooling around in the workshop. We had some marbles that we wanted to roll down a roughly made trough, and we started rolling marbles. From that first little project has developed our neighborhood famous "Marble Machine". We first named it the Rube Goldberg Marble Machine, but since no one understood who Rube Goldberg was or is, we simplified the name.



The picture shows a work in progress; we continue to add tracks and all sorts of mechanisms. It has "taken over" one of my work benches, and I don't see any future opportunity of tearing it down and moving it. It has literally enveloped the work bench. Now all of the grandchildren have become involved in either building on it or playing with it. We now have steel marbles moving in all directions, making all sort of noise, and creating a great clamor.



I must admit that I've become deeply involved in something that is totally useless. I guess you can say it is totally useless until you see the gleam in the eyes of the grandchildren. Even the adults in the family and in the neighborhood stand and look at it with amazement in their eyes. Everyone says "wow" to the monster. Even my brother has become involved in design and construction of some of the elements. And, by the way, it's basically made of scraps and junk.

I don't think we're going to eliminate any of the world's video games because of this project, but for just a little while it has brought a lot of joy and pleasure to Sam, Zach, Kaylyn, Samantha, Cotter, Mitchell, and Kelsi. Lynlee and Nolan are off at college, but I believe even they would have a great time with "The Marble Machine."

You can see it at: www.youtube.com/v/PaxM47eJofc

MY MOTHER IN LAW

We were talking with friends just last week when RL reminded them that her mother had died just about a year ago. As with most things in life, their reply was, "Where has this time gone?" It's hard to realize that Grandmother had left us a year ago. Life had been moving so fast that we really failed to realize the passing of time.

Grandmother was a sweet dear lady who lived to the wonderful age of 94. Grandad had died several years before, and she had lived alone in a assisted living center. She didn't really like it, but she understand the necessities of life. By the way, I visit a lot of assisted living homes and nursing homes, and I've yet to meet anyone who is thrilled to be there. I want to remind you and I want to remind myself that God's plan includes old ages. He created life; he created every phase of life; he understands old age. I don't, but he does.

So on this September 12, 2008, exactly one year after her passing, I want to say how much I love and appreciate the life of Ruth Barker. She was a loving, caring mother in law who supported me over many years of marriage.

I miss her, but I understand she was and is a part of God's plan.

MY BROTHER GENE

My brother was born in 1932 in the hills of northern Arkansas, and I had a another brother still born and buried in Arkansas in 1934. It took another 5 years for my parents to decide to have another child, and I'm glad they did. I was born in 1939. So there was seven years of difference in the age of the two boys in our family.


My brother and I were not very close as boys because of that age difference. We really didn't fight and argue much, but I did pick up a 5 pointed ice pick and threw it at hime when I was about 7 years of age. It hit him right in the middle of the back and left 5 little holes. We never did tell our parents about that episode, and we decided not to fight again the future.


He was in the US Army in Korea when I was coming of age, and I still have a letter he mailed to me encouraging me to be nice as I dated girls. It was a good word to me from my older brother, and it meant much to me during my dating years.


After living great distances from each other for many years, we not live just two blocks from each other. We're enjoying our retirement years together, and we enjoy being with and supporting each other. We do a lot of wood working projects as a team. He and his wife are Godly people who are faithful members of one of the local churches.


Gene . . . . I love you.
Thanks for being a great brother to me.

ROUGHHOUSING BROTHERS

My older brother and I never did really “roughhouse” together; he was seven years older than me, and he really didn’t want to be around me very much. I did throw an ice pick at him one time when I was about seven years old, and that stopped whatever roughhousing we might have done. So I’ve always been fascinated in a family with lots of boys.

One great example was the Craig family in Baytown, Texas. Some of their boys were already grown when I arrived on the scene, but it was fun to get to know them. Their parents, Curtis and Corrine, were sweet Christian folks; Curtis ran a used car lot for many years in Baytown. The fun thing was that every child in the family had a name that began with the letter R. The one girl was Robin followed by Robert, Rickey, Rodney, Randy, Reggie, and Rusty. You’ve already probably figured out that they were probably a pretty tough bunch; I imagine they did a lot of roughhousing over the years.

I remember playing racquetball with Randy and Reggie one day; they were on the same team in a doubles match. You must realize that doubles in racquetball can be very dangerous because there is a great chance that someone on the court will be hit on the backside with the ball. It happens accidentally most of the time, that is, unless you’re one of the Craig brothers. I will never forget when Randy hit Reggie, rather intentionally. Reggie was a tough guy; he was a football receiver for the Arkansas Razorbacks and later the Kansas City Chiefs. When tears came to his eyes, he wanted to attack Randy, but they just laughed and went on trying to hit each other. It didn’t take me long to excuse myself from the game; Reggie already had a large whelp on his back, and I didn’t want one.

I remember the time when Rusty, the youngest of the family, took a fast swim through some of the drainage pipes and into a nearby creek. Several children were playing, and Rusty just disappeared with all the children screaming and crying. It wasn’t long until he was found about a block away hanging onto a tree limb on a creek bank. He said that he had been practicing earlier that week on how to hold his breath, and when he fell into the drainage pipe, he just held his breath. He was a little bruised and bumped, but he just seemed to enjoy the exciting trip through the water. Everyone else thanked the Lord that Rusty was alive.

That’s what family is all about; it’s learning how to roughhouse together and yet come out on the other end with a smile and joy on our face.

THE TYPING TEACHER

Sandra Jones, one of my teacher friends who taught typing in the past, asked me if the old Royal typewriter was a manual or an electric? Duh? You’ve got to remember that this was in the early 1950s, and I don’t think there was any such thing as an electric typewriter in those days. You had to put some energy into every typing stroke in those days. You developed good finger muscles in the process.

My mother kept that typewriter for many years after I was gone from home. It finally broke down and was un-repairable, and I bought her one of those new fangled electric ones. That was back in about 1980, and I don’t believe she ever learned how to use it.

I realize that children can now “type” now from the beginning. It’s just something that comes in their DNA. They are either are at a keyboard or a cell phone keypad or some other new device that I’ve not heard about . . . from birth. That’s good. I’m sure that the future, for now, is still somehow tied to our finger muscles.

What about voice recognition. I’m sure it’s coming . . . soon!

THE YOUNG WRITER

My son in law has lots of old Cotter pictures posted on Flickr . . and he suggested I use this one. As I look at the picture, I think I need to change my story . . I was only about 12 when I bought the typewriter.

Wow.

50 YEARS OF BLOGGING

The world of communication is amazing. I remember in my early life typing letters on a small portable typewriter to my fiance, my parents, and to others. I'm sure it took a large amount of time, but it kept us well in touch. I made the terrible mistake of throwing out many of those love letters and correspondence from years past; I remember thinking I didn't want my children to see them. Talk about dumb and dumber! I wish they could see them now to understand how much I loved my dear wife at that time. It hasn't changed, but it proably had a little more verbal passion in those days.

I bought that Royal portable typewriter when I was 14 years of age. My dad went with me to the bank and I borrowed $120 from Boley Pearson at Merchants and Farmers State Bank. I don't know why I wanted a typewriter at that time, but I just guess I wanted to start "blogging."

So, here I am, celebrating 50 years of being in the ministry and finding new things to do and say. I've stayed away from blogging, but there's just some things I want to say and do. I figure this is a good way to say and do them.

This is my first attempt. I'll keep on trying.

Sam