Grilling An Elk

Grilling An Elk

It was a pristine winter morning in Montana, fresh snow on the ground and the sun bright against the blue sky. The road to White Sulphur Springs was snow packed and icy, a perfect day to hunt some elk. My hunting partners were Hal and Tyrell. We were taking advantage of an extended elk season in mid December.

Hunting elk is no easy proposition. It’s a lot of hard work hiking and scoping to find them. The elk tend to hang out in dense timber and come out in the early evening to feed on farmers’ haystacks. Once spotted, there is a technique to stalking them until you are in range to shoot. The work really begins when you kill one. There is on site gutting, quartering and hauling the meat out. You have to be in good physical shape to hunt these critters.

We spent the day spotting and sneaking but to no avail. As the sun began to set, tired and disappointed we called it a day. It was a two-hour drive back to Bozeman so we packed up and headed out. Just south of White Sulphur, we spotted a lone cow elk standing on the highway. Barreling down on the elk, we tried to maneuver around her but she turned around and looked us right in the eye.

Let me tell you what it’s like to hit a five hundred pound elk with a one-ton Ford truck at forty miles an hour. You see lots of fur and legs and flying plastic along with a loud thud! All the while the three of us were saying “Oh No.” Then there was a crunch, crunch as the truck and utility trailer ran over the now deceased elk. We were in shock.

By the time we got the truck stopped, we jumped out to survey the damage. There were plastic parts everywhere. The front grill was gone and the radiator pushed in and leaking fluid. We limped back to town and waited for a ride back to Bozeman. It was a long day of hunting.

You could say we got our elk and grilled it all in one without firing a shot. It turned out to be a very expensive hunt.

Other Side Of The Mountain

Other Side Of The Mountain

It’s funny how life takes you places you never thought you would go. It’s a good thing that we don’t always know what life has in store for us. Sometimes I wish I could see what the future held but in my more sane moments I am thankful that I don’t know. It would ruin the surprise.

Judy and I got married forty years ago in a little stone chapel in Duluth, Minnesota. At the time we thought we would make our home along the shores of Lake Superior. It wasn’t two months later; we were in a U Haul, heading in the opposite direction. Our life together started by running a ski lodge in the Bridger Mountains of southwest Montana. I would have never guessed that would happen.

But that was just the beginning. After three ski seasons at the lodge, we packed up and moved into a small parsonage in Helena, the capital of Montana for two years and then on to the inner city of Minneapolis for six years. Hard to believe but now it was back in the U Haul for a return trip to Montana, this time on the Hi Line in Havre. It was here we bought our first home and lived there for nine years.

Just when we felt that we had finally settled in for a long season in Havre, it was time to load two U Hauls and head back to Minneapolis. We bought our second home and prepared for a long stay. That lasted eight years before another and hopefully our last U Haul trip. Three moves from Minneapolis to Montana are enough for one marriage.

The irony of all this is that now we live on the opposite side of the mountain where we started all those years ago. Yes, here we are in Bozeman again where we spent the first years of our marriage. We have aged and the city has grown but the mountains remain the same. I must say that the Bridger Mountains grow on you. The beauty of the snow capped peaks against the big, blue sky continues to be a feast for the eyes.

The Bible says, “The mind of man plans his ways, but the Lord directs his steps.” I confess that my mind could never plan what God had in store for us. All those miles have finally brought us home.

Giving

Giving

Many years ago I was at a large auditorium for a conference. There were thousands of people there praising and thanking God. When it was time to take the offering, the leader gave an animated plea for hilarious giving on the part of those attending. He asked us to bow our heads and seek the Lord as to how much we should give.

I dutifully bowed my head and told the Lord I was willing to give $25. I thought that was a generous amount considering my present financial condition. It was not an audible voice, but I am sure He said. “How about $50?” I thought I can’t afford that. Then again He said, “How about $100?” I though “wait a minute this is getting out of hand.” Before I heard more instructions from on high, I wrote a check for $100 and dropped it in the white plastic KFC bucket when it came my way.

I was not a happy camper when I let go of my hard earned cash at that conference. I had always put something in the offering plate but never that much. Sometime later I read in the Bible “God loves it when the giver delights in the giving.” Another translations says, “God loves a cheerful giver.”

I’ll be honest with you; it has taken a long time to change my attitude from thinking like Scrooge to being a “cheerful giver.” The real issue is who’s money is it? The bottom line is that all that I have comes from the Lord: my job, my health, and my very breath. It took encouragement from the Bible and friends to realize what a privilege and blessing it was to give cheerfully out of my own resource to bless others.

As I look back on that experience, I see that I needed a real heart change. Giving out of a generous heart is far better than giving because I have to. In the Book of Proverbs it says: “The world of the generous gets larger and larger; the world of the stingy gets smaller and smaller.” Amen!

Merry Christmas and a Blessed New Year

Parenting

Parenting

I remember my Dad saying, “When you get as old as I am, you will understand.” He would repeat this whenever there was a conversation about parenting. I would go to my Dad for advice because he was wise man, who with my Mom raised eight children. I confess that I thought his remark was a cop-out. I was raising four kids and needed a more substantial answer.

Raising kids is an imperfect science at best. All the handbooks, seminars and sermons don’t quite dispel the confusion, fear and joy that goes along with being a responsible adult trying to encourage your kids and directing them along the safe path to adulthood. I have yet to read the definitive work on child rearing.

Then I remembered what my Dad said, “When you get as old as I am, you will understand.” Well, I am about as old now as he was when he kept repeating this mantra. I have four adult children who are making their way through life. They are responsible, productive citizens some of whom are raising families. I even get a call once in awhile asking for advice. I don’t repeat what my Dad told me but I have my own mantra, “This too shall pass.”

Life keeps coming at us without much of a chance to catch our breath. It seems like yesterday Judy and I were changing diapers (she did most of that), strapping kids in car seats and looking for a little peace and quiet. Now that we are well trained, we keep in practice with the grandkids. Parenting kept us young for long time. Now we have many memories, few regrets and more understanding of what it takes to survive parenthood.

There is one thing I now understand and maybe this is what my Dad had in mind: “Parents give us life, they don’t give us perfect.” As I reflect back on my parents, it isn’t hard to see their faults. They were not perfect but they were there to provide what was needed to set us on the road to maturity. For that I am very thankful.

The Bible says: “Parents rejoice when their children turn out well; wise children become proud parents. So make your father happy! Make your mother proud!”

Bibliobulia

Bibliobibuli

I am not sure how old I was when I started reading books. Yes, I was introduced to the Dick and Jane books in grade school but I am talking about when I started to really love reading. It was so many books ago that my memory fails me.

I think it started when my grandmother would take me to downtown Minneapolis on the bus. It was an hour ride from our house to the city center. Our first stop was Woolworth’s so we could sit at the lunch counter and have BLTs and a malt; then off to the book corner of Dayton’s Department Store. Grandma said, “Pick out a book, I want you to learn to love reading.”

Well, that was the start of my addiction. It was the Hardy Boys Mystery’s that got me hooked. On the bus ride home I devoured half of that first book. I couldn’t wait for another bus ride, lunch and book. My best memory of my grandma is encouraging me to love to read.

I don’t know how many books I’ve read through the years. All I know there are a lot. My taste in books is rather eclectic: classics, mystery, biographies, history, fiction, theological and thrillers. Until recently I loved the feel of that hardbound or paperback in my hands. Now I have gone electronic and read all my books on Kindle. This portable electronic devise goes everywhere with me. What a joy and privilege to have a book at my fingertip and the desire to read it.

Here’s a quote attributed to H.L. Menken about reading: “There are people who read too much: bibliobibuli (book drunk). I know some who are constantly drunk on books, as other men are drunk on whisky or religion. They wander through this most diverting and stimulating of worlds in a haze, seeing or hearing nothing.”

Thanks Grandma for giving me the gift of loving to read!

Two Dot

Two Dot

One of the pleasures of living in Montana is jumping into your pick up truck and driving. The state is over 650 miles from the Idaho border to the North Dakota border. It is about 350 miles from the Wyoming line to the Canadian line. In other words, there is a lot of open space to explore. From the rolling prairie in the east to the mountain passes in the west, Montana is a smorgasbord for the eyes.

This fall Judy and I along with our friends set out exploring. It was a beautiful autumn day with a gentle breeze and blue sky. We headed north out of Bozeman searching for new places. Along the way we saw old homestead buildings, a resorted early 1900’s church, lots of antelope, deer and a moose! Pulling off on a deserted road, we had a Happy Hour with wine, cheese and a jaw dropping view.

The highlight of the day was stopping in Two Dot. This is a very small town located in the heart of Montana. It was established in 1900 as a station stop on the now abandoned transcontinental railroad. The town got its name from a rancher who donated land for the town. His cattle brand consisted of two dots, placed side by side on the hip of his cattle. Once a thriving center for commerce, traders and trappers, it now has a Post Office and a bar and a few homes.

Driving down Main Street, crossing the Musselshell River, is like a time warp into what was Montana a century ago. When we pulled up to the bar, people sitting outside welcomed us with a “Howdy neighbor!” Although the past glory of Two Dot is gone, there is still a remnant that welcomes strangers.

In recent years, the town regained fame in a 1983 Hank Williams Jr. song “Two Dot.” Here is the refrain: “But I’ve climbed up the Rockies and swam down the Snake; I spent winters trapping in the Mosery Breaks. This ain’t the first time I’ve been in a jam. I’m from Two Dot Montana and I don’t give a damn.” Amen

Round Table

Round Table

Growing up in a family of eight children presented a number of logistical problems for my parents. One of the biggest was how do you get that many bodies around the kitchen table? Eight kids, two parents and one grandma demands a large table. We had a big kitchen so a round table with several leafs to enlarge the seating capacity was the answer.

One of my favorite childhood memories is all of us sitting around the table for an evening meal. The combination of high chairs, booster seats and adult chairs filled all the available space on the circumference of the table. Because it was so large, it was hard to reach for the butter, salad dressing or the salt and pepper. Everything needed to start eating was on the opposite side of the table and unreachable. Asking a sibling to pass “the whatever” was a lot like asking them to quite eating altogether.

Then came the Lazy Susan. This modern marvel bypassed the moodiness of family and delivered the goods. A Lazy Susan is a round piece of wood on a stand that rotates on ball bearings and holds condiments for a meal. When that appeared on our kitchen table, life got a lot easier. Now I didn’t have to ask someone to pass the salt. Also, I had a toy to spin while waiting for supper to be served.

Those days of the round table with our family sitting around it are long gone. All that is left are scattered memories of growing up in a large family. It is hard to find a round table any more, at least one that would sit eleven people. Once in a while I see a Lazy Susan sitting atop someone’s kitchen table with a floral decoration on it. Then all those memories come flooding back.

The Bible says: “Your wife will bear children as a vine bears grapes, your household lush as a vineyard, the children around your table as fresh and promising as young olive shoots. Stand in awe of God’s Yes. Oh, how he blesses the one who fears God!”

Little did I know how blessed I was.

The Old Road

The Old Road

Several weeks ago, a friend and I drove from Bozeman to Minot, North Dakota. We went to celebrate the completion of the new sanctuary at a sister church. I rented a 2015 Ford Explorer for the trip. Montana recently upped the freeway speed limit to 80. So we cruised in luxury through the plains of eastern Montana and the oilfields of western Dakota. Autumn was having its way with the aspen and the harvested fields of grain and sugar beets.

Traveling that long stretch of interstate, I caught glimpse of the abandoned two-lane highway that used to carry traffic from the Midwest to the Pacific coast. Sections of the old road were used for local traffic. Some of it was overgrown with tumbleweed. Other parts completely gone except for a bare, flat stretch of roadbed.

Even though we made good time on the expanse of concrete that ran for hundreds of miles, I felt sad to see the decay of a once powerful road that carried life and supplies to far away places. As we sped over the concrete bridge that spanned the Yellowstone River, I couldn’t take my eyes off the old, rusting Iron Bridge still willing to serve any who wanted to venture into the past; a stark reminder that beauty and gracefulness are often replaced by utilitarian ugliness.

I am reminded of the prophet Jeremiah’s words: “Go and stand at the crossroads and look around. Ask for directions to the old road, the tried and true road. Then take it. Discover the right route for your souls. But they say, ‘Nothing doing. We aren’t going that way.”

Oh, we almost set a land speed record getting from point A to point B and back again. But I can’t help wonder how much we missed along the way. When I travel fast I see a lot of nothing. When I take the time to travel slowly, I find all kinds of interesting people and places. As practical as that concrete ribbon is, it can never replace the back roads of Montana.

Kingdom Manure

Kingdom Manure

Growing up in the suburbs of Minneapolis, we lived in a nice home on a two-acre lot with a swimming pool. Of the eight children, my brother Mike and I were responsible for lawn care. That meant cutting the grass, weeding the flowerbeds and picking up dog poop. These chores kept us busy and out of trouble. At times, we felt like slave labor while our five sisters enjoyed some housework and the pool.

One year our father got the idea to plant an orchard of fruit trees. Once planted these trees needed constant watering and care. One day a dump truck arrived and deposited a whole load of manure. Mike and I were instructed to shovel the manure in a wheelbarrow and spread it around each fruit tree. For us it was more than one day’s work. When finished we smelled like the inside of a barn.

 I finally worked up the nerve to ask my dad why fruit trees need manure, he told me two things. First, manure is full of nutrients that feed a tree so that it can produce fruit. That answer was hard to believe considering where it came from. Secondly, he said that manure spreading was character building. He went on to say that in life, there are situations that are far worse than the smell of manure. It was time to learn how to handle the smell.

Jesus told a Kingdom story about manure: “A man had an apple tree planted in his front yard. He came to it expecting to find apples, but there weren’t any. He said to the gardener, ‘What’s going on here? For three years now I’ve come to this tree expecting apples and not one apple have I found. Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?’ The gardener said. ‘Let’s give it another year. I’ll dig around it and fertilize it, and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn’t, then chop it down.’”

Producing fruit either on a tree or in the heart needs more than wishful thinking. It takes a lot of tender loving care and a wheelbarrow load of manure. Just because it stinks doesn’t mean it ain’t good for you!

Thanks Dad for all the character building.

Herding Cats

Herding Cats

I confess that cats are not my favorite household pets. Although I have had a few over the years, I still prefer dogs especially Shelties. Cats have a mind of their own and don’t take to being told what to do. They are not easily intimidated by loud threats or scolding. They like to cuddle and snuggle but only when they decide. No, dogs are a lot more to my liking.

There are two exceptions to my cat feelings. They were not cats that I lived with but ones I observed from a distance. I met Elmer back in 1974 while moving from Minneapolis to Bozeman, Montana where we going to manage a ski lodge. Hauling our earthly possessions in a U Haul, Judy and I stopped in Medora, North Dakota for the night. When I went into the office to register for a room, an overweight calico cat was napping on the counter. This was Elmer’s perch. With those big feline eyes he checked out anyone who came in the door. You could pet him and he would purr but nothing more. Elmer of Medora is probably no more but he was a cat with a class act.

Fang was a whole different kind of cat. I met Fang early one winter morning.  I was making breakfast for our lodge guests. I happened to look out the window. There, on the very small ledge, sat this huge, grey Angora cat. As I looked closer, this cat had one eye gouged out and only one large tooth that hung outside his lip. This was a wild cat that had seen better days. He appeared on the windowsill every morning. After awhile I built a shelf so he could sit there comfortably. I could not touch him but he loved my pancakes. Fang is no more. Somewhere along the way he fell to the bottom of the food chain.

Several years ago, I saw a video on the Internet. The title was “Herding Cats.” If you haven’t seen it, I encourage you to look it up. It reminded me of pastoring. In fact I showed it at one of our Sunday services. Not an easy job to get everyone going in the same direction.

The Bible records in the Book of Judges a time when Israel was in disarray. “At that time there was no king in Israel. People did whatever they felt like doing.” Sounds like a lot of cats to me!

Blogger

Blogger 

For years people have asked me to write a book about my experiences in the ministry. Apparently, some feel that my journey from being a Catholic priest to an Episcopal priest to pastoring in non-denominational church life would be of interest. I confess that I don’t have the interest or gifting to share my life in a book.

Interestingly enough, this past year, there was a lady who asked to write a book about me. I turned her down several times but finally agreed to a series of interviews. We met in a local coffee shop. Being a good interviewer, she asked questions that forced me to bring back to remembrance my years of trying to follow God. The more questions she asked the more uneasy I became. Why was I struggling so much?

At my age, looking back at the past can be a mixed blessing. Although, I know that God ordered my steps, I carried the guilt and shame of dragging Judy and my kids through some painful situations. Until these interviews I did not realize the impact of these emotions on my life. During my last interview, I suddenly saw that the collateral damage that I though I caused was my problem not my family’s. With that revelation came a release of guilt and shame.

Although, the book is not written and may never be, the process of looking back and seeing God’s goodness every step of the way is more than enough reward. This is a good reminder that my view and God’s view of life may be and often are two different things. The Bible says, “He knows us better than we know ourselves…That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.”

Now that I am released from the guilt and shame of the past, I am free to share my life with you, my blog readers. I have been writing weekly for little over a year. I hope you have had as much fun reading them as I have had writing them. Thank you for your encouraging responses. I will keep at it as long as I have stories to share.

Cruise Control

Cruise Control

It was an early spring morning as Judy and I drove through the Columbia River Gorge on Interstate 84 heading back to Bozeman. We had left Portland about 4 am after spending a week visiting our oldest son and his family. Judy and our dog Sparky were fast asleep. I was trying to stay awake myself. I had the radio on, my window open and cruise control set at 65. When I woke up all I could see was metal!

I could not have dozed off for more than few seconds. Startled by the fact that I was about to rear end a semi, I jerked the steering wheel to the right slamming on the brakes. I heard the crunching of metal, the squealing of tires and the pounding of my heart all at once. By the time I stopped on the side of the road, I knew I was in real trouble.

As the semi kept on going, I got out of the car to look at the damage. The hood was bent like a tepee. The front left headlight was gone and the front bumper was sagging toward the ground. Judy was screaming, the dog was barking. I though I was having a heart attack.

Amazingly, the motor kept running with no clanking or fluid running out from the engine. I drove to the next exit, ran into the convenient store to get a cup of coffee to calm my nerves. Believe it or not we drove the remaining 650 miles home without incident and wide-awake.

I share this story as a reminder that whenever I am tempted to put my life on cruise control I am probably heading for disaster. Procrastination is a tough taskmaster. I am learning the discipline of dealing with life issues up front not putting them off. Tomorrow can be a long way away.

The Bible says: “A nap here, a nap there, a day off here, a day off there, sit back, take it easy; do you know what comes next? Just this: You can look forward to a dirt poor life, poverty your permanent houseguest.”

By the way, I now use my cruise control sparingly.

Goal Posts of Life

Goal Posts of Life

Judy and I were driving down Highway #101. It was early spring and we were on vacation exploring southern Oregon and northern California. I had the windows down and the radio loud listening to Country Western.  Taking in the beauty of the day was our agenda.

Then a song came on that I never heard before. The title was “Drop Kick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life” by Bobby Bare. Since it was Sunday morning and I wasn’t in church, I listened with an expectant ear. Here is the refrain: “Dropkick me, Jesus, through the goal posts of life. End over end, neither to the left nor to right; straight through the heart of them righteous uprights, Dropkick me Jesus through the goal posts of life.”

I darn near drove off the road laughing so hard. The analogy of a football field with a goal post at both ends and Jesus catapulting me through the uprights was a new one. When I got home, I asked several friends if they ever heard of this song. They had and asked what I thought. I told them it would make a good theme song for our church.

Reflecting on my walk with the Lord, I can verify that he indeed, upon occasion, took drastic action to move me in the right direction. He ordered circumstances that seemed, at the time, like a good kick in the pants. Although unpleasant, it had the desired effect to keep me from wandering off on my own way.

There doesn’t seem much left in our world that embraces discipline. We are told not to spank our kids. Everybody is a winner and nobody a loser. Drink the Kool-Aid of correctness and all will be well. We are entitled and empowered. Affluence will deliver us from all adversity.

Here is what the Bible has to say: “But don’t, dear friend, resent God’s discipline; don’t sulk under his loving correction. It’s the child he loves that God corrects; a father’s delight is behind all this.”

Whatever happened to the visit to the woodshed?

Choices

Choices

When I get to heaven, the first question I am going to ask God is: “What did you have in mind when you created me with the ability to choose?” I know that there is a long list of questions to ask him but this one really bugs me. I am aware of the philosophical and theological answers but I want to hear it from him!

I have made my share of bad choices that led to painful consequences. Long before I was conscious of the connection between choice and consequence, I thought that it didn’t matter what I chose as long as it felt good and didn’t get me in trouble. It was confusing to me that people made choices that didn’t seem to make sense. How come people make such dumb choices?

Now that I am the parent of adult children, I have the luxury of looking back on the choices I made in raising my kids. Although there are some things I would change if I could, I do remember repeating this mantra, “In order to learn how to make good choices, you are going to have to make some bad ones and walk out the consequences.” I can still see my kids looking at me like I had two heads.

We live in a culture that majors in personal freedom and largely ignores consequences. Personal responsibility seems to be a thing of the past. When I read the newspaper or listen to the new on TV, I am continually bombarded with the blame game for the consequences of bad choices. Social pressure and correctness are leading us down the path to self-destruction. Who is going to stand up and say that when you make bad choices you are going to reap bad consequences?

The Bible is full of people who, in spite of knowing better, chose to walk away from God and live their dream. Adam and Eve were the first ones and it has been down hill since then. You would think that the sheer pain of consequences would wake us up to the reality that better choices make for a better life. The Lord says, “I place before you Life and Death, Blessing and Curse. Choose life so that you and your children will live.”

Now that’s a good choice.

Golden Men

Golden Men

As an ordination gift, my family gave me a beautiful pewter and gold chalice. It is a Catholic tradition to give a communion chalice to the newly ordained priest. Mine was professionally had crafted by an artist on a design that my parents brought back from a trip to Germany. The names of my family are engraved at the bottom of the cup.

Many years have passed and that chalice is stored away in a felt lined case. I no longer have need for such an ornate chalice. Every once in a while I open up that case and take out the cup. Memories of the past flood my mind but most importantly the love and affection my family gave me; that is more precious than gold.

St. Boniface, a 8^th century English monk, who became a martyr and apostle to Germany, had this to say about expensive church ware: “Once golden priests used wooden chalices; now on the contrary, wooden priest use golden chalices.” Boniface was challenging the clerical mindset that insisted that character didn’t matter and that robes, reverends and rituals did. As a bishop of the church, he used his influence to focus on the character of Jesus and not on the ecclesial system.

Although we live in a different century, we face the same character issues that Boniface did. In my years of church ministry, I have been privy to more than my fair share of leaders whose public persona was golden but their private life was wooden. The church has suffered much at the hands of religiousness. Is it any wonder that an increasing number of churches are leading people away from the Truth?

The Bible says: “There are difficult times ahead. As the end approaches, people are going to be self-absorbed, money hungry, self-promoting, stuck up, profane, contemptuous of parents, crude, course, dog eat dog, unbending slanderers, impulsively wild, savage, cynical, treacherous, ruthless, bloated windbags, addicted to lust, and allergic to God. They’ll make a show of religion, but behind the scenes they’re animals. Stay clear of these people.”

Good advice for golden people.

Plastic Jesus

Plastic Jesus

Back in the day when cars were made of metal not plastic, the dashboard was a place where you could attach things with a magnet. You could put a metallic ashtray, clipboard or a bobble head up there and it would stay put. No more. Now we have Velcro, sticky notes and suction cup appendages. Technology does not always make life easier.

Years ago, I was traveling from Ashton, Idaho to Bozeman, Montana. My friend and I had just left a Sunday morning church service. It was mid January and a blizzard had blown in while we were praising the Lord. Driving across Henry Flats on the way home in winter is always a risky proposition. My four cylinder Vega hatchback was having a tough time plowing through snowdrifts to say nothing about the poor visibility. In a moment of desperation I jokingly yelled to my friend, “Reach into the glove box and grab my plastic Jesus. I think we are going to need him.”

I remember Paul Newman singing “Plastic Jesus” in the movie Cool Hand Luke. Here is the refrain: “Well, I don’t care if it rains or freezes, long as I have my plastic Jesus riding on the dashboard of my car. Through all trials and tribulations, we will travel every nation, with my plastic Jesus I’ll go far.”

I don’t have a plastic Jesus in my truck. It’s interesting that people put their trust in a statue, a religious medal or a good luck charm that has no power to help or save them. Idols have no power but Jesus does. He is the real deal.

Here is what the Bible says about Jesus: “Now that we know what we have, Jesus, the great High Priest with ready access to God. Let’s not let this slip through our fingers. We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all but sin. So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give. Take mercy, expect help.”

Now that’s the Jesus I can put my trust in.

One Eyed Man

One Eyed Man

For all the Latin scholars: “In regione caecorum rex est luscus.” Erasmus, a 16^th century scholar penned these words: “in the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king.” This proverb has been often quoted to describe a person with limited talent or ability but by temperament or personality stands out in the crowd.

Earlier this spring, at a college graduation, former President George W. Bush encouraged his audience by stating that even a C average student can be president. I was impressed that this man regardless of political ideology was candid enough to admit his own limitations in a crowd of academics. A sign of maturity is the ability accurately evaluate oneself and then laugh.

Our country is entering another electoral season. It seems that we barely finished the last round of debates and primaries. Could it be said that political campaigning is now our national pastime? Polling has become the new barometer of our national health. The parade of women and men aspiring for public office flood us with words and ideas that are near impossible to decipher let alone believe. By the time the last ballot is cast, our whole nation is near exhaustion.

There may be little we can do to change our constitutional system. Yet, there are ways to discern the character and words of those who desire public office. Our history often reminds us that men and women of limited education and talent but of strong character and conviction do change the course of our country. Let us not be distracted by the bells and whistles of political correctness when our future is at stake. When the smoke and mirrors of the elite blind our common sense, let people who can discern with only one eye rule the land.

The Bible reminds us, “When a country is in chaos, everybody has a plan to fix it. But it takes a leader of real understanding to straighten things out.”

On The Road Again

On The Road Again

Montana summers are short and sweet. The snow showers end by the middle of June followed by rain. It’s not until the first of July that it’s safe to say summer is here. When the sun comes out to stay, Montanans are on the move. Camping, hiking, mountain biking, even ridge running are in full swing. By the time mid August rolls around, you can smell fall in the air. Cooler nights and shorter days send the warning that winter is heading our way.

After six months of winter and a short spring, people want to be out and about. Jeans, flannel shirts and boots make way for shorts, tank tops and flip-flops. It’s time to hit the road and take in the beautiful diversity of the Montana landscape. Some even suggest that we take a month’s Sunday church sabbatical in July so as not to disrupt the flow of easy living without guilt.

For the last eight years, during the last week of July, Judy and I pack up the fifth wheel trailer and head to Glacier National Park. Spending six days at the West Glacier KOA with friends is as near to heaven that I can get in Montana. Hiking the Avalanche Trail, floating the Flathead River, eating s’mores around a campfire, gazing at Lake McDonald and driving Going To The Sun Road make big deposits in my happy memory bank.

When winter comes again and our world turns white and cold, I recall those lazy summer days at Glacier. The friends, the fun and campfires melt the snow and warm my heart as I count the days until I can get on the road to Glacier again.

Willie Nelson says it best: “On the road again; just can’t wait to get on the road again. The life I love making music with my friends….Goin places that I’ve never been. Seen things that I may never see again. Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway. We’re the best of friends insisting that the world keep turning our way…”

Summer is nearly over and only a few more months until we get to do it again.

Courage

Courage

Now here’s a word I don’t often hear today. Rarely are people described as courageous. Maybe it’s because we live in a world of 24-7 news shouting out the misdeeds of humankind. It could be that we are living in a dumbed down world, where we are perpetually warned not to take risks but to play it safe. Where have all the courageous people gone?

I looked up the word “courage” in the Webster’s Dictionary. Courage is the ability to do something that you know is difficult and dangerous. Courage is the strength to persevere, withstand danger, fear or difficulty! These are strong words for a culture that preaches correctness as the primary virtue. Interesting enough, the opposite of courage is cowardice: the fear that makes you unable to do what is right or expected.

Where does courage come from? Courage happens when, on a daily basis, I am willing to step out of my comfort zone and experience the successes and failures of life. Playing it safe only reinforces my fears and never allows me to step up and let the adrenaline flow. Living life to the full means risk taking not knowing if I will end in success or failure.

Hanging in our guest bathroom is a plaque someone gave us years ago. It is a quote from John Wayne: “Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” I’m not sure of the context but I like what he says. Many time when in a difficult situation, I remembered those words and climb up in the saddle anyway!

The Bible is full of risk takers. Those men and women did a lot of seeming impossible things. They did it trusting not in their own ability but in their Father’s desire to see them succeed. They were willing to step out on the water knowing full well that unless God showed up they would drown.

“Haven’t I commanded you? Strength! Courage! Don’t be timid; don’t get discouraged. God, your God, is with you every step you take.”

So says the Father.

King of the Cowboys

King of the Cowboys

I opened a Birthday card from a friend and there on the cover was a photo of Roy Rogers! Just like in the movies, he had on his cowboy hat, western shirt and leather riding gloves. He was smiling and wishing me “Happy Trails until we meet again.”

If you grew up in the 50’s and 60’s you remember Roy Rogers and Dale Evans in the movies, on black and white TV, and appearing in person at special events. With his horse Trigger, Roy was always the good guy and he always caught the bad guys. Back then it was easy to tell who was who because Roy wore a white cowboy hat and the bad guys wore black ones.

Even though I never did, I remember you could join the Roy Rogers Riders Club. All you had to do was send in your name to Roy and he would send you a special RoyGram confirming your membership. This entitled you to special privileges so long as you adhered to the Roy Rogers Riders Rules; a strict code of cowboy conduct:

·      Be neat and clean

·      Be courteous and polite

·      Always obey your parents

·      Protect the weak and help them

·      Be brave but never take chances

·      Study hard and learn all you can

·      Be kind to animals and take care of them

·      Eat all your food and never waste any

·      Love God and go to Sunday School regularly

·      Always respect our flag and our country

Many years have come and gone. Our culture has changed. Yet there is something foundational in what Roy taught us. The Bible says, “Point your kids in the right direction; when they’re old they won’t be lost.”

Riding My Bike

Riding My Bike

It’s been a long time since I was on a bike. In fact, the last time I rode a bike any distance was when I was in high school. Back then I had a Schwinn one speed with wide handlebars, no fenders and only a pedal brake. Compared to today’s bikes it was a poor excuse for two wheeled transportation. That bike took me everywhere I wanted to go.

Last spring I suggested to Judy that we look around for some new bikes that we could ride around the neighborhood. Thinking of spending a few hundred dollars for two old peoples’ bikes, I quickly discovered that the bike world had changed. I was told that I would be lucky to find a bike for under $500. That was real sticker shock.

After some serious searching, we found two Giant Sedona DX Hybrid bikes. They are built for casual riders who like a comfy ride with 24 speeds. Wow! These are a big upgrade from my old Schwinn. With a few add-ons like fenders, a digital speedometer, and a bell that sounds like the ice cream truck, I now pedal all over the neighborhood in style. I am getting in shape for a 13-mile ride coming up this fall.

Recently, I found a quote on Facebook. It describes how I feel on my bike: “When I ride my bike, I feel free and happy and strong; liberated from the usual nonsense of day to day life. Solid, dependable, silent my bike is my house, my fighter jet, my island, and my friend. Together we shall conquer that hill and thereafter the world.”

I just have to remember that I am 71 and not 16. I have to force myself to slow down and pay attention to what I am doing. Bikes don’t come with seat belts only helmets if you chose to wear them. Happy is the man who can return to the days of his youth and ride a bike!

A Little Town On The Prairie

A Little Town On The Prairie

I was born and raised in a large metro area. I had read about life in small towns in distant places but never had the desire to live there. The advantages of big city life blinded me to reality on a smaller scale. And so another adventure begins.

On a map, Havre, Montana is located on U.S. Highway 2 as you head west toward Glacier National Park. It is approximately 45 miles south of the Canadian border and sits almost dead center between the North Dakota and Idaho state line. You can get there by road, rail and sometimes by air. Target, Sam’s Warehouse and Costco are a good drive away. However you can shop Kmart, Wal-Mart and Cavalier’s Men and Boys right in town.

The town’s original name was Bullhook Bottoms. Later it was given a more respectable name, Havre, after the French city Le Havre, France. The town grew as the Great Northern Railroad built a service and repair shop there. It was an ideal location situated halfway between Minneapolis-St. Paul and Seattle. A statue of James J. Hill, the founder of the Great Northern, stands in front of the Amtrak station in the center of town.

I write this to give background to the town Judy and I moved to with our kids in the late ‘80’s to start a church. After living in a rental for the first year, we bought a home and settled into small town life. Havre became home and its people became our friends. Our kids grew up in a nice neighborhood and attended good schools. Looking back, we have many fond memories of this little town on the prairie.

If you ever get a chance to visit Glacier Park, make sure you stop by Havre. It is a welcome oasis on the vast expanse of northern Montana. When you do stop by, make sure you say hi to our friends and the Ark Church. Havre may not be a big city but it has a big heart. Havre has it!

Grandkids

Grandkids

After years of responsibility and worry raising our four children, now comes the parade of four wonderful, healthy, intelligent and good looking grandkids. Am I bragging? Yes I am.

Abigail is our first grandchild. She is seven going on thirteen and ready to start the second grade in the fall. She was born in Minnesota but she has a Montana heart for sure. Just to see her run, jump and smile is a delight. She is smart and doesn’t let grandpa get by with much.

Ella is five and a native Montana girl. She is a little shy with strangers but her million-dollar smile melts my heart. She is so excited to start kindergarten this fall in the same school with Abby. Watch out boys, Ella is going to steal your heart.

Then there is Sophia; an Oregon girl. Now here is a girl that has a mind of her own. She just turned four and can talk your ear off. She can drive the riding lawnmower, read books to the chickens she is raising and run like a wild woman. The look in her eyes will make you think twice before saying No.

Ben is two and a native Montanan. With that bushy blond hair you can’t help but want to hug him. He is into everything but particularly likes knobs, switches, buttons and anything that responds to his touch. He is fast afoot and when he hears the word “no”, he has a fit! A real boy: noise with dirt on it.

I confess it is getting harder to keep up with these grandkids but Judy and I love them. They are indeed a blessing from the Lord. Here’s what God’s Word says: “Old people are distinguished by grandchildren…and a good life gets passed on to the grandchildren.”

Now I have to go find a grandkid to hug!

Grandpa Tom

Grandpa Tom

By the time you read this, Tom will have gone home to be with the Lord after a long battle with health issues. Tom wasn’t really our grandpa, the real ones lived a long ways away. To our kids growing up he was as much a grandpa as the blood ones. In honor of Tom, my friend, I write this memory.

Tom was a man’s man. He loved to hunt geese and gophers, drink red beer, and take a chew once in awhile. He was a retail man who once worked for J.C. Penny’s and later was a partner in Cavalier’s Men and Boys store in Havre, Montana. He was the best darn salesman I ever knew and he loved people. He didn’t just want to sell you something; he wanted to get to know you.

Most of all Tom loved Jesus. Whenever he had a chance, he would share what the Lord had done for him. He wasn’t shy about it nor was he pushy. He wasn’t perfect but he was real. Like the rest of us guys, Tom had some flaws that kept him humble. He was one acquainted with sorrow as he buried two sons and one grandchild. In the midst of tragedy, he never lost his faith.

It was Tom who kept me in check. One time when I was really discouraged and ready to call it quits as a pastor, husband and father, I went over to his house. He was in the basement reloading shells. I stood in the doorway and let it all hang out. He looked at me, kept reloading and told me to sit down, have a beer and let’s talk about it. It was his willingness to listen and not judge that brought me around.

Over the years, I have been privileged to have a number of men friends. I am very thankful for the contributions each has deposited in my life. Without them I would not be where I am today. Tom stood at the head of the line. Not because he was so spiritual or so wise but because he was so human. Tom, you showed me how to walk as a man in the midst of tragedy and joy. You taught me how to shoot gophers and be a salesman. You encouraged me not to be afraid of life but to enjoy it.

Thank you my friend. Rest in Peace.