THE SPARROW THAT LIVES FREE

The election of Nov 3rd, 2020 changed everything for me.  I am no longer the person who believed in the goodness of our nation, and the ability of our people to make wise decisions come election time.  Believe it or not, I'd come to peace with the election of President Obama because I knew his polished communication skills, combined with a sympathetic press, made his election possible.  He could elucidate his plans, and do it in such a way that he was able to make center right people vote for him.  Well done!

Biden's election is a sham, and a testament to the unending left wing media bashing of President Trump. I am convinced and will not be dissuaded from my belief that there was widespread election fraud in this election.  I also blame it on good hearted idiots who don't understand that by voting for a third party candidate they were voting for Biden.  It goes without saying that the Libertarian Candidate drew more votes away from Trump than Biden.  So, I will resist this administration just as the left resisted President Trump.  I refuse to believe that a mentally infirm man who didn't campaign won the election fair and square.  

I am not being melodramatic when I say 'goodbye to America.'  Our freedoms are as good as gone under a Biden presidency.  

At least my Sparrows live free.  

I will pray for this administration, but I will do it by asking God for a righteous leader who will take us back to the greatness our founding fathers planned for us.  

I will pray for God to guide us back to being a nation that abhors death, but is willing to die for the sake of freedom.  

I wish I were a sparrow so that I can fly far away from the evil that has been thrust upon our nation by the elitists on our coasts.  

This isn't a prophecy, but it is a promise based upon what I know has happened in the past.

In the next four years you will see martial law used to quell unrest.  The wealthiest will NOT be taxed, but the middle class and those in the lower class will.  The elderly and infirm will be left to die by choice.  Our once great medical superiority will be sacrificed for mediocre and unreachable healthcare. Finally, industry and the machine of greatness will leave our shores.  While I don't believe in Ayn Rands economic political vision, I do agree with how she saw the destruction of Capitalism occur.  You are seeing that happen right now.  

There is a vindictive part of me that wants to see the leftist elites get there just rewards, but there is also a part of me who doesn't want to see people suffer.  

There will be no healing for America this time around, because the sparrow that lives free doesn't care about being put in a cage.  

GRACE IN ALL I SEE

My sparrows are back!  I know I could have put out bird seed a long time ago, and drawn them in, but if I did that, then I would be feeding the squirrels as well as my dog. (Yes, my stupid dog loves bird feed.)  Squirrels are cute, but they're also destructive.  Once they find a way into your attic, they never leave.  I know I'm sounding like an old curmudgeon, but I don't love squirrels. However, I do enjoy my sparrows, and I would love to feed them, especially during the winter.  So, I have a dilemma, feed the sparrows and squirrels, or let the sparrows fend for themselves.  

My neighbor feeds the squirrels.  For the longest of time he had three bird feeders placed throughout his yard, and they were all designed to prevent squirrels from getting to them.  They don't work! The squirrels violate every known law of physics and end up gobbling up the bird seed before the birds can get to it. To say the least, he has the fattest squirrels on the block.  They don't even bother to come into my yard. Why should they?  They get everything they need next door.  This isn't unique to my neighbor, though.  My dad lives out in the country, and he feeds the birds, the squirrels, deer, racoons, bears, and probably a host of other animals we don't even know about.  He's tried different ways to keep the deer out of his feeder, but when they want the feed, they just knock the feeder over.  Racoons are like squirrels, they violate every law of physics to get to what they want.  

So, what does bird feed have to do with grace?  Everything!

I've been doing a lot of study into grace for our Men's Group and have come to an amazing revelation about God's grace.  It flows!  It's like my neighbor who feeds the birds, and the squirrels.  My neighbor wants to bless the sparrows, so he shows them grace by feeding them birdseed.  The sparrows  don't work, or do anything special to deserve his favor, but he feeds them anyway.  He is gracious, they are blessed.  So are the squirrels.  Whether he wants to or not, he's feeding the squirrels, and continues to do so.  God's grace is the same way. His favor is extended to those who believe in Jesus Christ, but that favor ends up blessing the entire world.  This favor through Jesus the Messiah was originally extended to Abraham.  God wanted to show Abraham favor, and in so doing He blessed the entire world.  We're not even told why He showed favor to Abraham except for something about Abraham having faith in God. God explained the rules of grace when He said "Those who bless Israel will be blessed, and those who curse Israel will be cursed."   There is a correlation between God's favor to the children of Abraham and that favor extending out to every nation.  Not only does the favor extend out, but it flows through time.  Grace flows from the throne of God to those He favors, and ends up blessing everything, and everyone. It is expressed in Christian neighborhoods, and outwards to villages, cities, states, and nations. 

In today's world there is an open hostility toward people of faith, and if it continues unabated, mankind will be judged by their own stupidity.  God won't judge them, they'll judge themselves. The end of the world won't come because God gets angry at mankind, He's already been there, and done that.  God isn't mean like us.  He isn't going to have to kill anyone or wreak terrible plagues on mankind.  He will simply stop the flow of grace.  His first act of grace was to save Noah and his family.  His second attempt to show favor to mankind was through Abraham.  His last attempt was Jesus Christ.  When mankind attempts to destroy all vestiges of God by destroying the Church, God's favor will end, because there will be no reason for Him to keep feeding the sparrows.  All you have to do is look at the history of mankind to know that what I'm telling you is the truth.  In every country that used to be 'Christian' but eventually drove it away through persecution, that country quickly fell into ruin.  Every nation that persecuted or cursed the Jewish people was destroyed. Everywhere Judaism and Christianity are allowed to flourish, that nation will flourish as well as those around it. Christians aren't special, and like Abraham, the only reason God shows us favor is because of our faith.  Christians aren't smarter, more inventive than anyone else, we're just favored because we believe.  It's simple, but then again simple things confound the intellectual elites who dismiss God. It's too easy to be like the greedy squirrels, and believe that your own ingenuity is the reason for the birdseed.  This is where we seem to be at in America today.

I've been heartbroken to watch our great nation become more antagonistic toward people of faith. In the process, I've watched as pestilence has increased, not to mention the unending onslaught of storms, fires, and natural disasters.  In those states that are governed by socialist ideologues, the destruction is even more rampant. Where Christianity is mocked, regulated, or even legislated out of the way, the door to disaster is flung wide open.  God isn't doing it!  The unbelievers are doing it to themselves! He simply is not showing favor because they've driven the believers away.  Grace stops flowing.  

What made me realize this was watching my neighbor pull down his feeders at the beginning of the summer. (Maybe that's why my sparrows disappeared.)  He told me that he got tired of feeding the squirrels.  About a week ago I noticed he put a new feeder up in the front yard, which explains why my little friends are coming back.  On the other hand, if you drive away the sparrows, why is there a need for birdseed.  The descent into famine begins in a famine of the soul.  God's favor simply stops flowing.  His grace stops flowing.  The stinking squirrels mess everything up.  Grace is in all I see, but someday God will not have anyone to show favor to, and then the end of the world will come. I don't want that to happen, but it will because we've been told it will. 

In order to understand God's grace, maybe I will put up a feeder.  I know the squirrels will benefit from it, but I really want to bless my sparrows.  I've missed them this summer, and the squirrels aren't all bad.       

Do Sparrows Hope

 To be transparent, and forthright, this post didn't come from watching my fine feathered friends hanging out on the telephone wire.  It happened on my way to Springfield the other day.  My wife and I were travelling in our staid, very plaid Toyota van to Evangel College to see my grandson Elijah.  We'd just left Branson when I saw a sleek, low slung car in my rear view mirror.  It hadn't been there two minutes before, so I knew it was travelling somewhere close to supersonic.  It was coming so fast, I couldn't see it's hood badge, and when it went past us, I just sighed.  It was an early model Acura NSX, black, and well maintained.  I sighed because the NSX is one of my favorite cars.  I've wanted one since they first came out in 1990.  The first time I saw one was in Las Vegas at Caesar's Palace.  It was perched atop a huge bank of progressive slots on the way to the buffet, and it never failed to catch my attention.  From that day on, I've longed to own one, but I knew I never would.  If you go online you can find some selling for $11,000 to $25,000.  That is a ton of money for this old man, and I can find much better things to do with that kind of money.  Still, it doesn't hurt to dream.  

That's what caused me to wonder if sparrows hope.  Not that I ever hoped for an Acura NSX, but I guess I've always dreamed of owning one.  What is the difference between hoping, wishing, and dreaming?  Are we the only species on earth who hope?  Do sparrows hang out on the telephone wire hoping a bug will fly by?  Do they wish for more bugs?  Do they dream about bugs?  From everything I can tell, we seem to be the only beings on our planet who hope.  I know that my dog dreams, but I don't think she hopes.  Hope is something formidable that can overcome fear, or override caution.  Hope drives athletes, pushing them past their physical abilities.  Hope moves doctors to heal, artists to create, musicians to make music, and every form of aspiration we are capable of exhibiting.  Hope causes us to rise above adversity, even when there is no plausible reason for us to rise.

Hope is able to make time of no importance.  Wishing is empty, and dreaming is about as useless as wishing.  BUT, Hope...moves even the faint of heart to imagine what it could be to hold that for which we long for.  Love and hope are often found walking hand in hand.  It is easy to love what we long for, and long for what we love. I can't help but wonder if a male sparrow spends it's life hoping for that one little girl sparrow it saw four years ago.  Yet, I've seen young men hope for the romance of the young woman they met while in High School.  Little girls used to put things into their 'hope' chests for the day they got married.  Time passes by in a cruel race, but hope can make its passing meaningless once we have what we hoped for.  

Once again, I come to the conclusion that human beings are a marvelous creation, far more valuable than sparrows.  We are more than our passions, and more than our base desires, and more than our hunger.  Hope is a gift from God to take us beyond ourselves, to see eternity, and to make a path of joy through this present vale.  

While I may never own an Acura NSX, I've had so much more than I could have ever hoped for.  

THE SPARROW THAT FALLS

I've been a little sad lately because of my little sparrows.  Things have been tough for them this summer.  I haven't seen as many this year as in previous years, and I've had lots of time to observe them due to the coronavirus lockdown.  My wife and I usually are up before the sun, and we sit out on our screened porch to read our bibles before she heads off to work.  Except for our water feature, it is almost deafeningly quiet. The truth is, we don't hear the sparrows like we have in the past.  We've had an unusually hot, but humid July without any appreciable rainfall.  Things are crispy outside.  Trees are dropping leaves, and my wife's beautiful annuals are wilting despite being watered. It makes me wonder if the sparrows have moved somewhere where it is better suited to them, or if they are dying off?   All I know is that I don't hear their usual chatter in the morning, and I don't see them on the wires outside my yard.  While I'm saddened, by the silence, it doesn't affect me personally.  I could become dramatic and make it tragic, but that would be a lie. Am I affected by a lack of sparrows this year?  Does it matter enough to me for me to go out and make it a national issue?   Am I going to cry myself to sleep at night because thousands of sparrows are dying off due to an unusually hot summer?  Do I care?  I know that God does.  The scripture that this blog is based upon is Matthew 10: 29-31.  Jesus was trying to make the disciples understand how much God cared for them, and He pulled His example from the sparrows which were in abundance.  There is one truth in the scripture that gets overlooked, and that is that the sparrows fall to the ground. God doesn't rescue the poor sparrow, but knows when it falls to the ground.  The course of life is death, and every day thousands of people will pass this vale in utter anonymity, without notice, and without fanfare.  One of the things that the coronavirus has done to me, is to cause me to be ambivalent about the sorrow all around me.  Mostly because it doesn't affect me.  This entire year has been a set of circumstances that don't affect me personally in any great way, but the effects are felt by me, and I'm sure billions of others.  

The course of nature often appears cruel, and heartless.  You can try to frame it in your human terms, or you can just accept the fact that life isn't always easy.  There is a virus out there that is sniping away at people my age and older.  It is cruel and indiscriminate, but it is an act of nature.  I don't believe that God is using this virus to pass judgement on mankind.  I don't believe Satan created this virus. What makes this virus unique is how WE are handling it.  We haven't handled it well.  Maybe it is because it is something that kills the weakest among us, and we don't have the means to do anything about it.  For all our scientific prowess, our understanding of genetics, and our ability to create medicines, we seem helpless in the face of this faceless killer.  More than anything, I believe people are truly afraid.  Will they be the one that is struck down?  To make it more personal, will I be struck down?  Will my fetching bride of 46 years be struck down?  Will my parents who are in their middle eighties be struck down?  The raging fear of the unknown has revealed our true hopeless nature.  That is why I say we haven't handled this virus well.  If you want to prove it, just look at the WORLD'S reaction to mask wearing.  It is amazing to me that we are focused on a little piece of cloth to protect us from this virus, and how each of us view it.  The mask isn't an immunity from the virus, it is to protect others from us if WE have it.  I don't know how many times I've heard someone say; "I don't know how they got it, they were wearing a mask."   

That is where a trust in God comes in.  I don't believe in immunity from life's tragedies just because of my faith in God.  I don't believe I have a ledger that I can point to and convince God of my worth.  A matter of fact, the opposite is true.  He tells me in that lovely passage in Matthew, that I am worth more than a flock of sparrows, and that He knows when I am going to pass this vale.  I came to the knowledge that I am on a sure path to death many years ago.  The moment I was born, I was dying.  BUT, I am more than this shell I walk in.  This physical body is only a vessel, a tent, a garment, that I put on to walk this vale.  David Bragg is somewhere beyond the eyes that peer out at this life with wonder and awe.  The coronavirus can't take that away.  I am going to die, case closed.  This year my body began to betray me in ways that I haven't experienced before.  I've abused it for most of my adult life, and now it is telling me that it is time to pay the piper.  If I should succumb to the virus, it is well with me.  This world hasn't been my home for over 55 years, and another few years won't make it any more so. I have a home prepared for me.  

For all of those of you who are living in fear, I hurt for you.  I am in deep sorrow because you don't know the peace that passes understanding.  I can't make you believe in Christ Jesus, and many people will die of this virus without coming to a saving knowledge of Jesus.  That breaks my heart, and I'm sure it breaks God's heart.  You see, He does know the sparrows that fall to the ground, and He does know those who have died, and will die due to coronavirus.  They are worth everything to Him.  Still, they will fall.  

For The Little Guys

Summer is here, and with it comes my sparrow friends.  Across the street from my front door is a telephone line that has become a ritual meeting place for my little friends.  In the morning it is fun to watch them sitting on the wire preening themselves, and fluffing their feathers in anticipation of the sun coming up.  I truly don't understand what happens when a certain amount of birds get on the wire and suddenly some of them will take flight.  Is there an unspoken rule as to how many birds are allowed to sit on the wire? Are sparrows sexist?  Are the guy sparrows all chilling out on the wire until a female sparrow comes along?  I can't help but wonder if my little sparrow friends are racist?  If you don't have a specific coloring are you forced to go somewhere else?  I would hate to think that is true, but...then again the evidence seems to suggest it's true. 

 

Let me start off by saying that I'm not racist.  I know the prevailing thinking is that all white people are racist, but that is another human being's idea, and they aren't mind readers.  I have my reasons for not being racist, and I've shared them in the past.  I grew up with a racist father, a racist grandmother, and I'm told a racist grandfather.   I grew up in a southwest Texas border city where I was the minority. If someone says, "You don't know what it's like being black."  I agree, no one knows what it's like being another person. Most people don't know what it's like being vertically challenged either.  At 4' 11 inches tall, I've been looked down upon, teased, and physically beaten because of my height. I've been teased by every race, and every sex.  Just last week a Doctor's nurse who also takes care of my 85 year old mother, casually remarked that she knew which side of the family I took after. (My mother is 4' 10")  I learned early on what it is like to be stereotyped, and I rebelled against it.  Sometimes it still hurts when someone points out the obvious that I'm "short", and I have to tamp down the desire to lift up their thinking.  No one in this world chooses their race, sex, hair color, eye color, or any other physical trait that defines them.  How we treat each other on an individual basis is what defines our character.

Sadly, the events of the last month have caused me to evaluate my views on all things pertaining to race, especially as it relates to dealing with law enforcement.  As I've watched the protests, the looting, and the reactions of our political leaders, I've found myself wondering if there is anything more I can do to advance the discussions in a way that is constructive, and helpful for my community.  You see, when a black man tells me that they fear for their life whenever they get in a car and go somewhere, I understand that fear well.  I've seen it played out too often in every community surrounding every Air Force Base I've ever been stationed at.  There wasn't a man of color that I'd served with who hadn't been pulled over at least once on their way to the base in the surrounding community.  I've had black airmen under my supervision who've been late for work because a city cop didn't believe a young black airman could afford the super slick BMW they were driving.  I've witnessed first hand the difference in cop's attitudes when pulling over a young black driver versus a white driver.  I know police officers would like to think that they are good at hiding their prejudices, or even their instincts, but their prejudice is clearly visible to someone like me observing the interaction.  

I was sickened by the video of the killing of George Floyd.  As I watched it, I wanted to reach my hand through the screen and slap the daylights out of the cop sitting on his neck.  The smug look on his face made me sick to my stomach, as it should anyone who has to watch a man die at the hands of another.   I've heard people talking about the rap sheets of both George Floyd and Rayshard Brown, but that is no reason for them to be dead.  I made myself watch the videos of both men being killed, and one thing is clear, both of them were afraid.  They were afraid of the system putting them back in prison.  Should George Floyd have been passing a counterfeit bill?  No.  Should Rayshard Brooks have been driving drunk?  No!   They were both doing something illegal, but neither of them should be dead because of what they did.  Fear makes you do dumb things, and both men chose to resist out of fear.

I've never had to fear that I could die at the hands of a law enforcement officer should I be pulled over.  I learned a long time ago how to behave when I'm pulled over, and I was pulled over a lot.  At first it was because I was only 4' 11 inches tall and the local police didn't believe I was old enough to drive. Later, it was because I loved to drive fast.  On the one hand, I didn't deserve to be pulled over, on the other... I needed to be pulled over.  

Why am I saying all of this?  Why is it important?   Because of 'the little guys.' 

You don't know them, and if you saw them they wouldn't mean a thing to you.  They are two mixed race boys who were adopted and raised by our pastor.  I've known them since...well since they were toddlers, hence the name 'little guys'.  When I think of them, they aren't bi-racial.  They aren't black until someone asks me.  They have names, and they are good young men.  They are no different to me than all of the other young men who've grown up in our small fellowship.  Our little town doesn't have very many people of color (there was a time when it didn't have any.)  Now, more people of color are moving to the town, and I love it.  The little guys have never been 'black' to me.  They are beautiful men, with loving hearts, and generous natures. One of them is in college preparing to be a missionary to Morroco, the other is in High School, and wants to be a physical therapist.  In all my time of knowing them, I've never feared them, and I've never feared for them, until now.  

In this little town, they are well known by the police department because our fellowship provides breakfast for our police and firemen once a month.  We also allow the police department to use our fellowship hall every Christmas for their Christmas Banquet.  They've seen the boys, interacted with the boys for years, and if they should ever be pulled over for doing something dumb, I'm sure the boys know what to say, and how to behave to avoid trouble. 

 

Outside of this small town though, I would be concerned for the 'little guys.  I would be worried about that one cop who has had a bad day for whatever reason. Good cops have bad days just like any other person. They could have just had a terrible argument with their spouse that didn't end in a resolution.  It could be that he or she has been going through a divorce, or facing financial woes, or didn't get enough sleep, or just simply believes all people of color are doing something against the law.   What I'm trying to say, in a round about way is that I don't believe any policeman puts on his or her uniform with the intent to kill someone.  The problem is, they have the weapons, and they aren't mindless machines.  They bring their personal lives to any interaction whether they realize it, or not.  You can be sure that there are days they shouldn't even be out there.   The 'little guys' have never had to deal with that before, and as they leave the warm cozy confines of our little town,  I worry that they might have to. 

 

Please don't get me wrong, I'm not anti-cop, nor do I support the organization called 'Black Lives Matter.'  I've read their agenda, and it is a leftist diatribe, not a defense of black lives.  However, I do believe black lives matter.  I believe that they matter before they are born, while they are children, and as they grow up.  My faith in Christ lifts me above my carnal nature, and gives me the ability to love beyond skin color. What angers me more is that I have to use 'they' to talk about the little guys as if 'they' are different.  This goes against everything I was taught as a young airman during my years in the Air Force. I can still see the pained look on a black SSgt's face as he told me; "Stop referring to us as 'they', 'them', 'you folk', or 'your people."  After that,  I worked hard to purge my thinking of any racial tropes I'd learned.  Still, racial issues are hard to deal with, then you couple that with the coronavirus, a hot summer, prisoners released due to the virus, and you have the stew we're all cooking in right now.  I don't want to see one more person of color die at the hands of the police unless it is absolutely clear that the person is a danger to the policeman or to others.  More than anything I want the 'little guys' to be safe.  They don't have a clue.  I know their dad has taught them , and I know that they are good kids, but I've just seen too many people die lately. I've grown weary of the killing, and the reasons for it.  Yes, I know all the statistics about black on black killing, and that police kill just as many or more white people than blacks.  These are useless numbers when you are putting a loved one in a grave.  It means nothing to a grieving family.  Just because someone has a rap sheet doesn't make them evil. I believe in redemption, and the possibility for anyone to become better than they are.  When someone dies, that path to redemption is over.  

 

So, I think you can understand when I tell you that I don't know if my little sparrows are racists.  I'm convinced that something makes them jump up, and fly away.  If I had more patience I might sit down and make notes as to whether it was something to do with coloration, or it could be something to do with size. That's it in a nutshell though, do we take the time to look at our interactions with people of color?  Do people of color take the time to think about their interactions with white people?  I think we humans have the capacity to be better than sparrows, and we should be, on the other hand, I have to wonder if we can be.    Till then, I'll continue to pray for the 'little guys', and every person of color who deserves to live without fear.  

Pentecost Sunday

During holidays, I often wonder if sparrows know what day it is.  Does God give them an understanding of days or times?  Do sparrows take time out for special religious days?  The fact that an entire Psalm is written about them going in and out of the Holy Place in the Hebrew Temple tells me that they could go places that man was forbidden to go but once a year.  Which could make someone jealous, if it weren't for the fact that the Bible says Christ lives in us all the time.  Sparrows don't have anything on us.  

This is Pentecost Sunday, and the sparrows are going crazy in my front yard as the day begins to break.  This day became special to me a few years back when I realized that Pentecost was not only a special day in Christianity, but also for the Jewish people for whom the feast was instituted.  That's often the problem with Christianity. We often frame everything in terms of our faith in Christ, and neglect the Jewish roots from which we have our faith.  I've been a Pentecostal Christian from the time I was a young child of about ten years old.  I gave my heart and life to the Lord after hearing Rev. Gene Rayburn talking about the book of Revelation at a two week revival not long after my Mom started going to church again. My mother, who'd allowed her relationship with Christ to grow cold during the early part of my life, rededicated her life to Christ and began taking us to church on a regular basis just before I turned ten.  Don't get me wrong, we'd gone to church before that, but not with any consistency.  The name of the church was Glad Tidings Assembly of God, and it was a small cinder block building with a 'Spanish Mission' styling that was typical for El Paso, Texas.  It was in this small church that I learned about Pentecost, and what it was all about.  It was also here that I witnessed the power of Holy Spirit in almost every biblical manifestation.  Sadly, it was also here that I saw how a people could lose their fire, and zeal for Christ through a love of this life more than a love for God.  

As an adolescent I saw and heard things I'll never forget.  I met a man who'd been through a fiery crash of a B-52, surviving only because an angel held him up after his parachute failed.  I remember listening intently as he told how he plummeted to the earth below as the fiery wreckage fell around him.  His parachute caught fire and disappeared in flaming tatters above his own burning flight suit.  As he removed his shirt sleeve I was amazed to see the one inch wide band of perfect skin around his bicep framed by the horrific fire scarred skin covering the rest of his arm.  It was then, without fanfare, I believed in the miracles of God.  The man's quiet recitation of the event, coupled with his revelation that it was the fire that caused him to have faith in Christ, spoke to my young heart.  God existed, and he cared.  

After accepting Christ at ten years old, I soon found out something I didn't understand at all.  There were about four or five ladies, and maybe  three men who would often begin speaking loudly in a foreign language during the service.  This would occur often times between songs, or during the transition between worship and the preaching of the word. Eventually someone would 'interpret' what the other person said, and I would be riveted in wonder.  The messages were often calls for salvation to someone, or a warning to avoid sins, or a prediction of the future coming of Christ.  Occasionally, a man or woman would get what I called 'happy' and start running around the the inside of the building.  Then there was this sweet old man named Jimmy who rarely spoke or sang, but once in a while he would get 'happy' and start doing this funny dance that carried him all across the front of the church.  I loved watching him get happy.  He could dance without music, or with it, but I knew when he was dancing he was someplace else other than on earth.  

My young life was filled with thousands of things like this, and they were part of the physical manifestation of God's Holy Spirit that worked to convince me of the genuineness of my faith,and cement that faith forever in God.  I still remember Sister Mays lifting a 1957 Chevy off of her teenage son, Donny, after it fell on him while he was working under it.  She told the church how when she saw her son under the car she asked God for strength and she lifted it with one arm while pulling him out with the other.  There was no denying this miracle because we saw the bruises, and the Doctor's report.   

There was the time my little brother Jeff contracted Leukemia when he was 3 or 4 years old. All I remember now, is that he was gone from us for almost a week, and whenever we saw our mom she was heartbroken.  I remember the prayer meeting where our Pastor said we would stay there all night until my brother was healed.  I remember the joyous call from my Mom saying that the doctors said his blood count had returned to normal overnight. 

I know for a fact that many cancers were healed, and great wonders done.  For me, it was a time of wonderment, and I've never been the same since.  It wasn't perfect, and there are things that happened that caused me to wonder if I would be able to stay true till Christ returned.

You see, I saw many 'wrong' things in our little Pentecostal church.  I saw people act with spiritual pettiness that was not born of the Spirit of Christ dwelling in them.  I saw people come and go over silly things like whether we should wear jewelry or go to football games.  It was in these things that I learned how Holy Spirit "guides" us into all truth.  He doesn't drag us, he leads us, sometimes taking a long time to convince people of the truth.  Other times He leads us away from error and mistakes in our doctrine, till one day, we are mature and able to stand in His power with the ability to overcome ourselves.  

I've learned a lot since those early days.  I've learned not to judge a persons faith by what they say or do, but how they change through time. I no longer think a person has to be perfect before being filled, and baptized with the Holy Spirit. One thing that hasn't changed through the years is my joy at seeing young children baptized in the Holy Spirit.  I giggle when I see someone get happy, and dance a Pentecostal jig.  I still celebrate when a teenager says; "I want that."  Pentecost is the core of my being even after 50 years of having lived for Christ.  I still get goose bumps when Holy Spirit nudges me to give a message.  That's not to say I've been perfect or arrived at a place better than others. I haven't been a pillar of righteousness, but Holy Spirit is still my guide after all these years.  I still get happy, and I still speak in tongues, I still interpret, and I still lay hands on the sick to heal them.  These are the gifts God gives to those who believe.  

Sadly, calling yourself a Pentecostal believer in today's world conjures up images of snake handlers, and frenetic, wild eyed people rolling in the aisles.  According to scripture, none of these things are associated with being baptized in the Holy Spirit.  Christ said those signs would accompany those that believe. (Mark 16:18)  I grew up being teased mercilessly for being Pentecostal, but in the end, here I am at 65 years old, still in love with Christ, and in love with Holy Spirit.  I'll go to my grave being a Pentecostal believer. 

WATCHING YOUR PARENTS GET OLD

This is a difficult post for me.  I don't think anything in this life reveals more about our inner belief system than the process of watching your parents age.  I'm at a distinct advantage over a lot of people because my parents were both within months of turning 20 when I was born.  So, if I want to tell people how old my parents are, I just have to do a quick add of twenty years.  My Mom turned 85 on May 4th, (NO, she doesn't understand the pun,) and she isn't the woman I remember when I was a child.  My Dad turned 85 one month before her, and sadly I've had to watch his body betray him just within the last year.  Although I know my two younger brothers would love for the two of them to move where they live, I'm the one who is living within four miles of them. 

Their situation is like a lot of couples their age, in that one is fading mentally, but still physically able to get around, and the other while very much in control of their faculties, has begun to fail physically.  As I watch them both cope with their respective issues, I can't help but wonder what my lot in life will be.   

From the time I can remember, my Dad was a mountain.  His hands were like mallets, and if he laid a hold on you, there was no escape.  At the same time, I never once saw him hit another man, or my mom.  I don't know if he was always that controlled, but I do know that he said he loved to fight when he was in school.  I never saw it.  Still, I wouldn't wanted to have been in a fight with him.  I worked with him from the time I was eight years old, till I was 21, and he was a difficult man to work for.  He worked hard, furiously, and expected you to know what he wanted before he wanted it.  I didn't. This caused me to be at the blunt end of his acidic tongue, and stern stare.  He worked long hours, often leaving before 7 in the morning, and sometimes coming home later than seven at night.  To say he was a worker would be a massive understatement.  So, you can imagine how I feel watching this force of nature shrivel up, and become a shadow of the man he was.  It has only been in the last couple of years that I've seen him slow down, and especially more so in this last year.  There are a lot of things that happened to him over the last ten years, and I am convinced that the medications he takes have taken a toll on his strength, and his vigor.  Thankfully, he still has his mental capacity.  Although, I'm not sure if that is a blessing or a curse, because he knows he's failing, but he doesn't want to go.  He is sometimes overcome with panic attacks, and he snaps at people in public, something he never did before.   I'm sure it's because he's afraid.  He is one of those men who get angry when they get scared.  I remember being in a bad motorcycle accident as a teenager, and having to endure him yelling at me for nearly thirty minutes.  At one point he yelled out "If you weren't hurt so bad, I'd kill you."  That was just the way he dealt with fear.  

Mom on the other hand is frail, but still able to get around, albeit gingerly. Her problem is her failing memory.  It began about three years ago, but now it is almost unbearable to be around her.  She knows who I am, and she has a descent memory for things long ago, but, she can ask you the same question at least five times in about ten minutes.  We tried to get her to get help about a year ago, but she felt as if we were trying to have her put away in a Nursing Home.   If you try to tell her that she has asked the same question numerous times, she gets angry.  This is heartbreaking to all of us boys because when we were growing up she was at the forefront of the technology curve.  She worked out at White Sands Missile Range from the time I was thirteen years old, and eventually learned to program in Cobalt, which was amazing for a woman who didn't have a college education.  I still remember the first time she brought home this weird looking box that allowed her to connect to her computer at the installation. Now, she can barely connect to Facebook.  We've all tried to bring her into the 21st century only to be frustrated.  Like my Dad, she was someone I was in awe of as a child.  She was only 4 foot 10 inches tall, but I knew better than to talk back to her.  A matter of fact I never once thought of myself as taller than her until I was in my thirties.  Losing her short term memory is painful to watch, because we've started to see her long term memory erode.  There was a day when she could tell you everyone's birthday, where they were born, and other fascinating things.  All of my childhood friends loved to spend hours talking with her because she engaged them in love, and genuine interest. 

Both of my parents have lived through some pretty tough physical situations.  Dad had both of his knees replaced when he was 68 years old.  In the same year, he had a pulmonary embolism that nearly killed him.  He's also been fighting Diabetes since he was seventy, and now his kidneys are failing.  Mom has endured three types of cancer in the last 25 years, and her legs are almost gone.  They're both on blood thinners and the price of their long life is somewhere near a thousand dollars a month in medications.  I think the worst insult of all is that Dad can't drive long drives like he used to.  He was a truck driver for years, and driving has always meant freedom for him.  Now, he can barely drive more than two hours.   

This is difficult for me, because I always felt as if I would die before they got old.  Call it being melodramatic, or morbid, whatever, I never thought I'd live to see them both at this point in their lives.  Both of my grandfathers died in their sixties, and I have always done 'dangerous' work.  I knew I would never make it to my sixties, so it just never occurred to me that I would see my parents deteriorate before my eyes.  It isn't kind, and it isn't easy.  Life isn't like a Dylan Thomas poem, and not everyone has the ability to 'rage against the night'.  Sometimes the thief come in and steals your memory while you weren't looking, or steals your vitality while you are asleep.  I'm sure I'm feeling sorry for myself, and I'm probably being just a little selfish, but I wish they could remain the vibrant, and energetic people who formed me into the man I am today.  

While talking with Dad about his most recent panic attack, I reminded him that he's lived a long life, and has lived to see two of his great-grandchildren become adults.  "Well," he said with tears in his eyes, "I'd like to live long enough to see my great-great-grandchildren."  Who can argue with that?  I also know one of his fears is knowing that if he dies, Mom would have to be put in a nursing home.  He's worked hard to keep that from happening.  Both of my grandmothers lived well into their nineties, so no telling how long mom will live.

Now, I have come to a point in my own life where I wonder when the call will come saying that one of them has died.  Watching your parents get old is no fun.   

RELIGIOUS SPARROWS

It's early Sunday morning the week after 'Easter.'  I'll call it Easter, because like it or not, Christians co-opted the holiday long ago and just like Christmas, we kind of own it now.  Dawn is about an hour away, and I have a sparrow beginning to sing outside on the telephone wires outside.  I still haven't figured out why sparrows aren't religious observers of the Lord's day. Does it irritate God that they refuse to observe His day?  Why aren't there religious sparrows?  Don't they know that there is a pandemic happening?  Sparrows don't appear to be observing social distancing, nor have I seen one of them wearing a mask.  Would they still congregate at our little church?  Maybe they just didn't listen to the major news outlets, or the daily briefings from our Governor.  Then again if they won't be quiet on Sundays in observance of the Lord's day, what makes us think they would care what our government is saying.  'Hey, let's all fly up to the telephone wire and wait for the sun to come out and make us warm for the day.'  Despite the song of the non-religious sparrows, it is as remarkably quiet as it was last Sunday.  It rained last night, and the air has that fresh scent of Spring, even as I'm writing this, there is a gentle mist falling outside. I'm still awestruck by the absence of vehicular noise. 
Throughout my life, I've always heard 'car' noises as a background to my life experience.  When my family moved to El Paso, Texas in 1960, our little trailer was parked on the corner of a busy intersection at the edge of Fort Bliss.  Less than a hundred feet away was a bar where I remember hearing the blare of the Jukebox and the occasional gunshot.  I don't remember sparrows singing.
The sounds of modern life were written into my memories long before I even understood what they meant.  Unlike my Grandmother who used to boast that she'd seen us (mankind) go from horse and buggy, to the moon, I have only known the drone of cars, planes, trains, and the busy sounds of modern life.  I've never known a living room without a TV, or a telephone for that matter.  When we first moved to El Paso, we lived about a mile beyond the runway at Biggs Air Force Base, which was still home to B-52's.  Every morning they would take off at 5 am and they became my 5 o'clock alarm clock.  To this day, I still wake up naturally at 5 in the morning.  Why am I saying all of this?  Because, it is almost disconcerting to me to not hear the constant steady drone of cars in the distance, even on a Sunday.  Yes, there was a time when we lived out beyond the city, but we were close enough to a major thoroughfare that the sound of cars, the local wood mill, and a fashion box company were easily heard in the early morning hours.
Now that I live in the city, it is mind boggling to not hear one vehicle in the distance.  I'm sure it will begin again in about an hour or two, but for right now, silence is a sound I'm not accustomed to.  What is amazing to me is that even on Sundays this city is a busy place.  Even more amazing to me is the knowledge that it took a small insignificant virus to do this.  Something we can't see with our naked eye did what massive armies have never done before, and brought the world to its knees.  Perhaps, we should have gone to our knees sooner, to ask God for help against this unseen foe, but I'm not going to be religious about it. In the thirty minutes it has taken me to get this far in the blog, (I'm very careful about the words I use) there is a slight blue tinge in the eastern sky.  I can hear more birds beginning to chirp in the distance even as a light mist falls.  Ahhhh, the sound of life.  Finally, one of my neighbors fired up their truck, and must be headed off to work somewhere...on a Sunday.  Life still happens, even on a Sunday morning.  Life still happens on Sabbath days, Holy days, and every day we human beings have marked as being sacred.
Life goes on, and that is the lesson we should be learning from this pandemic.  In the United States, approximately six thousand people die everyday.  That was before the Coronavirus pandemic.  (The number is actually a little higher, but is actually not a known number.)  Death, although tragic, is still the end result of life. My little sparrow friends live about 3 years, and they don't worry about M-95 masks or other things that we humans obsess over.  They just live.  That is why I worry about them being non-religious.  How can they sing so brightly every day when their lives are so short?  Why don't they build huge edifices to congregate in and sing worshipful songs to God?  I truly don't think there are any religious sparrows!  I don't understand why God still cares about them, but Jesus told us that God sees every one of them that falls to the ground.  You'd think that sparrows would be the most religious beings on this planet.  God said He cares about them, that should be earth shattering news to them.  You'd think they would be motivated to find ways to prolong their short lives.  They don't seem to care!  They don't build cities, drive cars, or do great things beyond sing a lot.  Other than pooping seeds everywhere, what good do they serve?  I just don't understand why God cares about sparrows so much. Why does He provide plants, that provide seeds, that draw insects, that...oh, well I think you get the point.  I read an article by an agnostic who said she doesn't believe in a God who would allow the Coronavirus to kill so many people.  I say I don't believe in people!  If people are so good, why don't we stop killing people?  If that logic holds true, then why would we continue to reproduce if we know that the ultimate end to our lives is death?  Selfish, unthinking PEOPLE!!  I think I'd rather trust God.
So, unlike the sparrows who don't build great cathedrals, the agnostics who worship their own logic, I'll choose to drive to our small church, social distance myself, (because I don't have Facebook to watch the live stream,) and be a part of about 10 people who worship together.  Not because I'm religious, but because like the sparrow, I just HAVE to be in church.  It's in my DNA, my raising, or whatever drives me to worship the Creator.  Like my little irreligious sparrow friends, my soul has to sing, "because I know, oh yes, I know he watches over me."https://youtu.be/d4mvCKlov4Q
I'm ready for my life to get back to normal.  The Wuhan Chinese Coronavirus has caused me to go stir crazy, but I know He watches over me.

No Apologies

Spring is beginning to bust loose here in Harrison.  We're officially two weeks into Spring and I can tell you that because of the sparrows congregating in my yard.  I still haven't put out a bird feeder, but that is largely because I still haven't figured out a way to NOT feed the greedy squirrels.  I don't have anything against squirrels, although my dog does.  I guess it would be free entertainment to put out a feeder and then watch her go after the squirrels, but she's over ten years old now, and I wouldn't want to give her a heart attack.  We have one squirrel that loves to walk the fence in the back yard every day at 2 in the afternoon.  It stops, looks towards the French Doors, barks and waits for our Beatrice Bandersnatch to spot it, then it gleefully leaps away to the higher branches.  I used to have bullies that did me that way.
Oh, yeah, back to Spring.
This is a Spring unlike any other that I've experienced in my 65 years on this earth.  It is 5:30 on a Sunday morning, and I can hear the sparrows chirping outside, and a remarkable absence of traffic noise.  Our little house is less than 2 blocks away from Hwy 43, and usually by this time in the morning you can hear the rumble of eighteen wheelers as they slow down to make the junction to Hwy 7.   There is none of that right now.  Off in the distance I can hear a motorcycle heading south on Hwy 7.  It's a large V-Twin of some kind or another, but that is all I hear.  The self imposed isolation we've put ourselves into is amazing to say the least.  Yes, later the small city will wake up, people will decide to do grocery shopping, or go to the park to walk, and maybe even pick up a 'to go' order of food.  This 'Shelter in Place' we're practicing is not an edict in our State.  The Governor of Arkansas has only 'asked' us to practice 'self isolation'.
WHY would we voluntarily sacrifice our jobs, our homes, our economy for the sake of a relatively small amount of people? 
Our history on this earth is replete with tale after tale of deadly viral outbreaks that kill millions.  Of all the killers that have taken lives throughout our brief tenure upon this planet, the common flu is the most prolific killer of all.  It doesn't care who its victims are, their economic status, the power they hold, their gender, or even whether they were good, or bad people.  It just kills.  Yet, even as cruel as the flu is, we've never reacted to it as we have the Coronavirus from Wuhan, China.  Yet, for the very first time, mankind has offered up its economic well being on the sacrificial altar of hope.  We are possessed of a hope that isolation will end the viruses reign of death.
WHY?
The Covid-19 virus is very specific in the people it wants to kill.  It prefers the elderly and the infirm.  Now, in any other species, this targeting would be considered beneficial.  I'm not being insensitive.  If you are a stone cold naturist, you know that predators seek out the weak, and infirm.  This ensures that those who live to propagate the hunted, will be the strongest, fastest, and most healthy.  Yet, here we are, threatening to destroy the world economy in order to defend, and protect the weakest among us!
WHY?
I don't see sparrows do this.  Sparrows, as much as I write about them, don't care one bit about one another except to mate and have offspring.  Outside of that, they don't share food, build armies, or surrender themselves to the ravages of the hunter.  WE do.
WHY?
Christianity, that's why.  NO APOLOGIES!!!!
I don't care whether you are a Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Atheist, or Agnostic, only one religion in the world has taught, and continues to teach 'individual worth' and that is...Christianity.  The central, core truth of Christianity is that every person has worth.  Now, for those who would point out the historical failures of Christianity, I will simply answer you that it isn't easy to change thousands of years of social engineering arising out of the powerful ruling the weak. Governments throughout our history were built upon the idea that only certain people were worthy to rule by virtue of family or caste.  Tribalism of every shape or form was the core of every government until Christianity finally took root.  Even then, it took a long time to shake off the bonds of tribalism.  As humans became more mobile, we began to intermarry, travel abroad, cross oceans, and build governments that spanned continents.  Still, the lesson of individual worth hadn't taken hold, yet!.
It was a small group of men in an obscure, dangerous, and wild land who first began to take the lesson of individual worth seriously.  Even though, they themselves were fraught with the bonds of their colonizing past, they found a truth that to them became self evident, and that starkly broke with their upbringing.  "We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness..."  A seed of truth was planted in a wild, and savage land. Its power broke the chains of imperialism, and would later break the bonds of slavery.  No, it didn't happen overnight.  It was a sacred truth, and it takes a while for some seeds to germinate.  Still, the truth of the Gospel marched unflinchingly toward the gates of hell.  You see, slavery is the hallmark of hell.  Its chains aren't easily broken, and its gates have withstood generations of attacks.  The truth of 'individual worth' is the chain breaker, and the gate buster.  Jesus told an obscure fisherman named Simon Peter that the truth of the Gospel would be what He built His Church upon and that the gates of hell would not prevail against it.  It has taken a couple of thousand years, but the Church finally busted down the gates of slavery.  While that may seem a long time to some, it is a breath in the history of humankind.  The sacred truth of individual worth finally broke the gates of slavery.
Thomas Jefferson had originally written "We hold these truths to be sacred..." and they are sacred.  They are the foundation of Christianity, and no other faith.  Individual worth is the gift of God, through the saving work of Christ.  Within 100 years of declaring this truth, its underlying principle would be tested, and proven with the blood of over 625,000 men's lives.  The last vestiges of Slavery as a legal institution were abolished.  A shining light, a city upon a hill, began to proclaim the truth of individual worth.  Since 1865, our Christian nation has struggled to build upon that fragile foundation, warring with itself to define 'all men' as anyone, not just a land holding European.  Tribalism is a difficult thought to erase. The United States of America isn't even 300 years old yet!  We're still an adolescent as far as nation states go.  Yet, thanks to the Christian ethic, we have finally come to the point where we understand that everyone has individual worth.
What does that have to do with Covid-19?  Everything! The Christian ideal of individual worth is like a virus, and it has infected the entire world.  Even Communistic countries who've divorced themselves from any vestige of religion will discover that their rhetoric had its birth in Christianity.  Even other religious nations have had their ideals, governments, and their institutions altered by the Christian truth of individual worth.  For the longest time, mankind has lived by the idea espoused in a popular line from "Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan"  "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."   This has been the unspoken mantra of the powerful, imperial, and despotic throughout history.  Serve me because it serves the needs of the many.  Even President Kennedy spoke it when he made his famous statement; "ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country."  On its face it sounds good, but it denies the truths our nation was founded upon.  It denies the truth of the Gospel.
Individual worth is why the world is willing to sacrifice its wealth, even its future for the sake of one frail, and feeble soul.  As someone who is in the crosshairs of the Covid-19 virus, I don't fear it, nor do I want to see our great nation brought to its knees because someone believes I'm worth preserving.  At the same time, I will live by the advice of my leaders, to keep from spreading this virus to others. I have two frail parents in their mid-eighties, and I worry about me spreading the virus to them.  Still, I need to check up on them. My Dad is still active, and drives to town even though I beg him not to.  I've offered to go get him groceries, but he won't hear of it. As much as I would like to protect both of my parents, I know I can't.  Maybe our nation, or even the world will realize that, but until then I am so thankful for the victory of Christianity, and I see its power throughout the world.
NO APOLOGIES!!!!!

I SIT IN WONDER

It is still winter as I write this.  A couple of days before, we had a high temperature of 83 degrees.  As warm as that was, it wasn't a record.  It only took a couple of days and here we are back again at 32 degrees.  Every once in a while I spy a big, bushy, grey squirrel bounding from limb to limb of the trees along our fence line.  Every so often I'll hear a sparrow chirp, or see one flitter down from the telephone wires.  I have slowed down enough in my life that I can spend time appreciating the wonder of life all around me. The beauty of it all takes my breath away. 
From the time I was a child I've loved the way things work. Shopping cart wheels were mysteries to me as a toddler.  The ocean, cars, sunsets, and almost everything about life amazed me.  When my mother bought me a set of encyclopedias at six years old, I spent hours looking at the pictures, and then spent even more hours reading them once I could read.  Nothing was safe from my wonder!  Cereal boxes, peanut butter jar labels, magazines, artwork, photographs, sculpture, a thousand other things that I can't even begin to list. The wonder of chemistry, particle physics, combustion engines, cranes, watches, filled my moments with a hunger for the next discovery.  How does it work, what makes it move, why does it melt, why does it burn?  Every question pushed me deeper and deeper into wonder.  When I turned 13 we got a horse, and I used to sit for hours watching it move around in the corral. 
Still, of all of this that we have before us, the wonder of God abides longer, and to this day, He still causes my heart to race when I sit in wonder of all that I know He has done.  Because of my love of science, I've had moments where I questioned, and even doubted His existence.  I would be a liar if I didn't admit it.  Then I would read an article about how fragile this little planet is, or how precarious our existence upon it is, and realize that this mortal plane wasn't an accident. Whether you are an 'old earther' or 'young earther,' the same truth is that God molded, shaped, and formed this planet to sustain us.  There is a Jewish statement that goes something like; This world was made for me.  From the smallest speck of single cell life, to the giant blue whales swimming in the ocean, this world exists because of His design. 
Whenever I see pictures of the far-flung galaxies, and the brilliance of their fine balance, I can only sit quietly in wonder.  Pictures from the Hubble Space Telescope don't dissuade me of God's handwork, instead I find myself in breathless wonder as I see the beauty spread out before me.  BUT, more than that, I sit in wonder of the human minds that dreamed of that beautiful gleaming instrument and launched it into orbit.  Did they expect to see what they saw?  Then when they found out it had a flaw in it, they were able to repair it while it orbited our tiny blue planet spinning gracefully in orbit around the sun.  No other species on this planet has done this.  Ever!!!!!  I actually get angry at these shows that try and prove aliens gave us the technology we have.  As if an alien species who could travel across the vastness of outer space would not set up shop and live here.  Please!!!!   WE WOULD!
I sit in wonder when I hear a musical instrument played with the skill and precision only a master musician can produce.  I can still be moved to tears by philharmonic orchestras, and be swept away by a good choir.  I can be brought to joyous celebration by the masterful music of a good rock band. Don't even get me talking about Celtic music sung by an amazing soprano, or tenor. 
I sit in wonder as I sit alongside a babbling brook, or the whoosh of a waterfall.  The things and places I've been in my life are memories I can visit anytime I want to. 
As I close in on the exit door of my life, I am thankful for the wonder that God has allowed me to enjoy.  Nothing can compare to the feeling of holding my wife's hand as we walk from the car to wherever we are going. That one simple act has the power to calm my spirit, and make my heart race at the same time.  Cuddling up to her on a cold winter night and hearing her breathing slow as she falls to sleep is still amazing to me. 
Throughout my time in the Air Force I never grew tired of seeing huge aircraft lifting off from the runway into the clear blue sky.  I've watched rockets and missiles launched into space, seen huge cargo ships making way through ports as I wondered how all this metal stayed afloat. 
I sit in wonder at how my hands type these words from my brain to this computer monitor, and from that to a piece of paper.  I am amazed at how these words mean something to someone else who may read them. 
You see, I believe in God.  I sit in wonder at all He has created.  Every dance of color, every hope, every dream, every imagination is formed in me because of his creative power.   

YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN

There are times when I sit down to write this blog, and I wonder why I do.  What force drives me to cough up a couple of hours to say things that maybe two other people read. 
Writing is my voice. 
I don't have a natural charisma like my younger brothers, and I don't come across well in conversations.  I'm not physically attractive, so there is no reason for anyone to believe I have anything valuable to say.  I'm kind of like those sparrows who keep calling out in vain for someone to pay attention to them.  However, as I sit at my computer, I can imagine people nodding in approval as they read my words. I probably will never hear someone say; "Yes, David is a wise, educated man, worthy of honors far above his station in life."    Nah, I don't think so.
From the time I was in the sixth grade, writing has been my release.  When I was a youngster it was a release from the hurt, and anger I felt toward the mean kids who teased me day in, and day out.  You would not like to read those words today.  I don't even like to think that I wrote them.  If I were a student today, they would have me locked away.  Still, that time helped me to lay hold of my feelings, and process them.  I could do all the damage I wanted in my 'fantasy' life without really hurting anyone. 
Eventually, I came to accept my 'uniqueness' and find peace with the God who put that weight upon me.  Yes, I blamed Him. I talked about it to Him all the time!  I raged, I cried, I screamed, but most of all I wrote.  Till one day, people began to read my stuff, and they liked it.  WOW!  What a rush!   I discovered that words were powerful things.  From that time forward, I've written almost every day of my life.  I looked for avenues to release the words within me.  I have computer files that are almost thirty years old.  Now, I write out of an inner compulsion I can't explain.  My time on this vale is drawing to a close.  I can see the end now.  It doesn't bother me other than the fear I think all of us dread which is; I don't want to be forgotten. 
As part of my nature, I also like to do genealogy.  There is something exciting to finding the people who made me...me.  As I find a new relative in the obscurity of the past, I reach up, place my finger on their name and say; "You are not forgotten."  It means something for me to do that.  I have a relative from the early 1700's that no one can agree on her name.  They can't find a birth date, nor any of our family tree agree on even her first name.  The census taker who wrote it down, didn't have very good penmanship.  Every time I stop on her name I feel a sorrow for her.  She was someone's daughter, a father's joy, a mother's hope, and most of all she had dreams, and a life well lived.  She bore ten children into this world, and they carried her forward with them.  Yet, less than 300 years later, I can't find out with confidence who she was.  She didn't write blogs, she wasn't a journalist, and she didn't do anything I know of that was of any historic value, other than making ten children.  I want to be able to put my finger on her name and say; "you are not forgotten."  BUT, she is.  I would like to know if she was a great pie maker as many of the women are in her lineage.  I would like to know if she loved her husband, my fourth great grandfather.  Did she go to church on Sunday?  Was she kind, and tender like my grandmother was?  Did she have hopes and dreams beyond being a wife, and a mother? 
There is one thing I know.  Jesus said that not one sparrow falls to the ground that God doesn't know about.  We can know one thing above all else, and that is if God cares for sparrows so much that He knows when they die, then if no one else remembers me, God does.  He'll be there when I pass through the veil of this life into eternity, and he'll tell me; "You are not forgotten."