A warm breeze floated over the meadow as Brian lay in his hideout in the soft grass in a shallow ravine beside the hay-field. A bumble bee floated by his face on the way to the blue and white wild flowers that bordered the field. He rested there after a morning of sweating through the task of throwing heavy hay bales onto a farm wagon for their new landlord. He hated the job but the promise of a pair of champagne rabbits as pay for his labor for his mom’s “nature boy” was worth the effort. Their break from his dad in the previous month was quick and final. HIs mom found a cheap but drafty apartment in a huge two family two-story frame house that also contained a small grocery store. It was on a strip of land sandwiched between a two lane country road and a four lane highway. Farm fields dotted the area and there was a small creek just down the hill. A small trailer court was next door and a makeshift barn was across the street that housed a few cattle from time to time.

Little by little they moved their few belongings into the new place before his dad knew what was happening. That was until Brian and his twin brother Bruce came home from school to an empty house one day and his dad pulled into the driveway right behind them. Walking with them into the empty house he said the obvious, “I guess you’re moving!” Then with no emotion he turned, got into his car and drove back down the lane and right out of their lives, at least for the time being.

In the new apartment their family shared a common stairway to the second floor with the family next door who were also the proprietors of the store. That made it interesting at bedtime when Brian would hastily run up the stairs in his pajamas hoping not to be seen by the lady next door. The house was a step or two down from their previous home with drafty windows and cracked panes. A coal fired heatrola stove in the corner of the living room provided the only heat with its stove pipe disappearing into the ceiling and was exposed in the bedroom above which was a welcome source of heat in their bedroom where on cold winter mornings he would often wake up and find snow on the inside window sill. Winter would also bring rodent visitors from the barn across the street which made life interesting.

But Brian was in his haven. He loved running the fields and playing in the creek. Oh the creek! It wound lazily through a low meadow in the valley below the house and was alive with creatures. He loved wading in and turning over rocks to see what he could find or catch and keep in a mason jar.

It was a big adventure when he followed the creek as it ran under the towering bridge that supported the four lane highway. The bridge tunnel opened up into another meadow and seemed like a world that was far away from home. Another favorite activity was gathering eggs from bird nests. He treasured his egg collection which he kept in a grass lined cigar box on the window sill in his bedroom. He often climbed to the top of the tall pine tree beside the house seeking black bird eggs and he could almost see the top of the house from his precarious perch.

But the problems of a single parent household were quick to catch up with them. His mom worked double shifts at the local truck stop cooking and waitressing and she even brought left over food home from time to time. Though the rent was low it was still hard to keep up and the kind landlord would often stop in for whatever portion of the rent his mom could provide. Brian knew that his mom’s bad nerves were getting the best of her and her family came periodically to see how she was doing. It wasn’t long until they saw the need to take her to a mental hospital to get her some help. Brian’s heart was broken and he wondered what would happen to his mom and especially to him. He felt like an orphan but a loving uncle and aunt welcomed him into their home. They took him to a church service which was a new experience.

That was the first time he heard about God. Oh sure his mom had him say their rote prayers at meals and bedtime but this was different. Through the songs they sang and the words of the preacher Brian learned that the Creator of all the wonderful creatures in his life was also a God that loved and cared for him! This was the comforting message that began to wrap itself around his heart. It would be many years later until he took a saving step of faith, but God had begun His persistent pursuit of His future child. (To be continued)

See “Brian & the Band” below.

Brian and the Band

The Almighty has a plan for every life but forces His will on no one. Lives begin in myriads of circumstances and social settings and we have no control over the world in which we find ourselves. But God’s hands are always there to comfort, to nudge and to beckon us to seek Him. Here’s the first chapter and story of one such life.

Brian came into the world a baby boomer and was skinny and struggling for life as his mother tried everything to help him grow and she almost lost him trying formula after formula until she finally found one that he could keep down. He hung onto life knowing instinctively better days must be ahead, but not yet.

His family was scourged with what was called “the drink” in that day and so his very first memory was a fight between his parents as they lived in an old cabin in the mountains. Brian was just four but can vividly recall the vicious emotional and physical battle between his parents. Then his dad drove away in an awful thunderstorm. His mom, an emotional wreck, watched him retreat as she stood weeping under a great oak tree while the rain poured down and lightning flashed all around her. He looked on through the screen door the vivid image imprinted on his mind forever.

Somehow the family was reunited which was a cycle that would repeat itself again and again in the early years. They moved into a little garage that had a kitchen sink and cabinets hastily installed along one wall and sparse furniture scattered around the garage bays sitting on a throw rug which formed a living room. A couple of small bedrooms were in the upstairs and there was a smoke belching oil pot furnace that provided heat at the bottom of the steps. One morning they all woke up and looked quizzically into each other’s blackened faces as the furnace had malfunctioned during the night and showered soot over everything. I suppose their guardian angels kept them from tragedy and may have chuckled at the comical sight. Brian knew a better life must be ahead, but not yet.

Their next home, purchased through the kindness and support of his great-grandmother was a dream come true and the whole family thought they had arrived. Brian ran the fields and the forest pretending he was exploring the frontier as he climbed trees, gathered fossils, caught crayfish and frogs in the nearby mountain stream. But heartache wasn’t far behind as the “drink” and its caustic effects began to again seep into the family’s life.

The mortgage payments were way behind and one dark dark night as he lay in bed Brian heard the fighting begin again and then he was dragged into the kitchen joining his mom as they stood trembling along the wall as his dad pointed a single barrel shotgun at them threatening to pull the trigger. The gun wasn’t loaded but they didn’t know that. His father threw down the gun and stormed out of the house. His mom said that was it, they were moving away from dad for good and she meant it. Brian thought life would finally be better, but not yet. (to be continued)

For the next chapter see: Bud’s Haven

I guess going to church is in my genes and it’s a good thing! My great grandfather Samuel Wolfe founded a little chapel in the mountains of Lebanon County PA pictured above and his son took the reigns of leadership from him so future generations would benefit. In the same time period my grandmother Margaret Anspach on my mother’s side took the leadership in her family, in spite of grandpa’s resistance and made sure her family had a Bible in the house and her children were in church regularly.

In my devotions this morning I read these passages which talk of this very thing:  “I was glad when they said unto me let us go into the house of the Lord. It is good to give thanks to the Lord, and to sing praises to Your name O Most High. To declare Your lovingkindness in the morning and Your faithfulness every night. For You, Lord have made me glad through Your work; I will triumph in the works of Your hands.” (Psalm 122:1; 92:1,2,4)

The fact is, all of us have an “O Most High” in our lives. It’s either the real O Most High, the creator of heaven and Lord of the universe or “Me, Myself & I”. Granted the MMI god has it’s benefits, no getting up early on a Sunday morning, no offerings, no sermons, no list of do’s and dont’s. I’m sure you could name a few more. On the other hand, the OMH God brings an eternal list of benefits out of this world. A relationship with Him through His Son is offered by a step of true faith (John 1:12), a family of believers to support and pray for you (Oh yes there are hypocrites but aren’t we all at times?), a place to hear his Word preached which gives the fuel for the week ahead and a place to give back to Him and others in need. I could go on but you probably get the picture.

I close with one of my favorite Psalms chapter 63:1-2, “O God thou art my God, early will I seek Thee, My soul thirsts for Thee, My flesh longs for Thee, In a dry and thirsty land where there is no water. So I have sought Thee in the sanctuary to see Thy power and Thy glory.”

It’s pretty dry out there, won’t you join me in seeking the real “O Most High”?

You could hear the distant sound of a tractor heading up the valley road. “Chossy” (Josiah Zechman) as he was known to valley residents was coming out from his farm for his evening refreshment. It was 1948, a simpler time of party phone lines, flat head engines and cook stoves. But the rising innovation of the twentieth century was on the horizon. With the baby boomers generation in full swing a whole tidal wave of change was moving across the countryside. Some of the things the residents treasured would pass away so gradually they would hardly even notice.

Neighbors still knew each other by first names, and communicated on a daily basis. People needed rest after a long days work, instead of exercise. They didn’t hesitate to help a neighbor build their home, gather crops, or even help raise one another’s children. A mischievous youngster couldn’t get away with skipping school with a whole caring community looking on.

The small Green Point hamlet in northern Lebanon county PA was tucked between the first and second of the Blue Ridge mountains east of the Indiantown Gap military reservation. The community consisted of a two-mile stretch of farmettes and small family homesteads with a country store and fire house plopped right in the middle and a church on both ends of the valley like bookends holding everything in place.

The humidity in the air of the warm summer evening was thick and sweltering. Chossy came over the hill and pulled his big red Farmall tractor into A.J.Wolfe’s little country store. He mopped his brow with his shirtsleeve, greeted the “regulars” sitting in their usual places on the front porch benches and headed inside. Stepping up to the counter he ordered the usual, a cantaloupe cut in half, scooped out and filled with vanilla ice cream. Still in his bib overalls from a hard day on his farm, he sauntered out to the front porch with his cool summer treat and joined in the evening discussion already in progress. In the winter time they would gather inside around the warm heatrola coal stove and swap stories and opinions of the days events amidst the swirls of smoke from their pipes, cigarettes and cigars.

This was life around a typical country store. The landscape of our state was dotted with hundreds of them until the competition of large grocery stores and the mobility of residents created circumstances which caused their demise. They could no longer compete and simply faded out of sight. There are not many people under 40 who even remember them. But for those of us who do the memories are heart warming and unique.

Hearing a ringing bell from the front door the owner would typically appear from behind a curtain drawn across a doorway behind the counter which usually led into his living quarters. He would greet the customers by their first names and usually inquire of their families welfare. The tongue and groove floor boards would provide a chorus of squeaks and groans as customers walked the bulging isles among the sticky fly catchers hanging from the ceiling. Distinct aromas from fresh ground spices, baked goods, Lebanon bologna or the molasses barrel by the counter filled the air. It sure wasn’t Walmart, but they somehow found room for all the essentials a person needed. Bib overalls, dry goods, canned goods, kerosene heaters, bulk cookies, dried apricots and ground coconut to mention just a few.

You could try on shoes or boots, pick up muskrat traps, buy ammunition and shop for clothing and groceries all on the same stop! You could even buy ice from their ice house which was stored in layers of saw dust after being cut from their frozen pond in the winter time. Some residents would come in carrying fresh cream from their small milk farms or eggs from their hen-house to barter for needed supplies. The store owner would welcome them and send them home with a fresh supply of sugar and flour, not to mention some sugar drops, Mary Janes or huge malted milk balls to boot. Since many residents didn’t have automobiles they would depend on the stores delivery truck. In the morning the truck would deliver kerosene and pick up grocery lists which would be filled and delivered that afternoon.

In addition to groceries, country stores provided something that many towns now lack, which is a sense of closeness, communication and community. It was a place where neighbors could gather for conversation, seek help or advice, or share a burden. They could do so while sitting on the front porch enjoying a creamcicle or soft drink pulled from the chilled water of the soda cooler.

Chossy fired up his tractor around closing time, waved to his friends on the porch and started back home amidst the sounds of the crickets in the surrounding woods which were beginning their night-time chorus. If you drive through the little valley today you will still find the store but the shelves are bare, the porch is sagging and the paint is peeling. Like the echoes from Chossy’s tractor growing faint as he headed out the valley road, the echoes of the country store era have also grown faint across the annals of our time but the needs of human beings for friendship, caring and community still remain. (first published in January of 1997)

I’m re-blogging this post since I just started my 2016 Road Bike riding schedule. I need to drop at least 15 pounds to help alleviate some physical maladies which have cropped up over the last year. It’s amazing how carrying an extra three 5 pound bags of sugar around can affect your “frame” and your circulation system in a negative way!

I’m a biker, you know, the peddling type. I began riding about 15 years ago and started with an old traditional 10 speed but soon graduated up to a 21 speed bike with index shifting under the brake hoods. No reaching for shifters because they are right there at your finger tips. It’s like riding a bike with an automatic transmission! Smooth shifting and a gear for every hill. I rode the MS150 ride seven years in a row. That’s the ride where you raise money for MS research and ride 75 miles from Cherry Hill NJ to Ocean City and then ride back the next day. One year I tacked on an additional 25 miles on the way down so I could check off “Do a century” from my bucket list. It was a rain or shine event and the weather didn’t always cooperate.

There was one other thing that didn’t cooperate and that was my tube tires which seemed to always be going flat. The culprit was the many little pointy rocks that were strewn along the road. I became paranoid about missing every rock that was purposely positioned with the pointy side up in my path. Run across one of those babies and POW! Your tire goes off like a shot. I then learned that the secret to success was to have your tires pumped up to an incredible 100-120 pounds of air. With your tires pumped up properly those pointy rocks just ricochet off like a bullet hitting superman’s chest.

So what’s the point? Well, I met an old friend this weekend. Floyd has lung cancer which is a huge burden to carry and it makes a person realize the important things in life and quickly come to a realization of your own mortality. It can also understandably affect one’s disposition. What was interesting about Floyd was that he was pumped up! He was full of laughter and joy. When he goes for his chemo treatments the nurses say that he encourages them when you’d think Floyd was the one needing encouragement.

Floyd’s secret? Through a series of events a couple of years ago he came to the realization that he needed salvation so he turned from his sins and put his faith in Jesus Christ as his savior. He became a new creature in Christ as described in 1 Corinthians 5:17.  Since then, life has thrown a myriad of pointy rocks in Floyd’s path but because of his new-found (pumped up) faith in Jesus Christ he has been able to navigate the terrain. This remedy is actually for all of us, which is true faith in Jesus and a regular daily diet of His Word the Bible, that keeps you pumped up and ready for whatever pointy rock life throws in your path.

I believe in a BIG God who created me, the world around me, the solar system in which I live and the millions of galaxies in our universe. Yes, I believe in a BIG God! SO.. if He could do all of that it’s not difficult to imagine He is capable of directing and managing the tiniest event or things which happen in my “little” world. Afterall, He is all powerful, all knowing and all present everywhere.

So where does God speak? Well, He’s God and He can speak from anywhere to those with listening ears, but is there a particular place or venue from which He is known to speak more clearly? We know He speaks clearly from his Word the Bible to those who take the time to read and meditate upon what they read, but putting the Bible aside for a moment, where historically has man heard from Him? You guessed it, in the mountains and in the wilderness! I can recall quickly many times recorded in the Scriptures where God spoke to His people sometimes literally or via the inner working of His Spirit, and more often than not it was…. in the wilderness!

Abraham took Isaac up on a mountain and heard distinctly from the Lord. Moses was on the backside of the desert in the wilderness and a bush became engulfed by flames and he heard the voice of the Lord calling to him. He heard again from the Lord on the top of a mountain in a “cleft of the rock”. Then you have Joshua’s encounter in the wilderness with the Angel of the Lord promising He would be with him. Followed by Jacob who wrestled with God for a blessing all alone in the wilderness. Where did David go when chased by King Saul? He found refuge in the caves and rocks of the wilderness where he heard from God and wrote many of the Psalms.

The prophet Elijah heard the “still small voice of the Lord” while hiding in a cave.  Even our Savior the Lord Jesus had to at times go apart from the busy work of ministry to get alone in the wilderness to pray and seek the face of His heavenly Father. So where do YOU go? . It might not be on the top of a mountain (picture attached) like where last week I experienced a clear voice of the Spirit calling out to me, but it could be a park, a lake, a nature trail or mountain bike ride but somewhere you can be alone to take time to stop, look and listen for Him. He will not disappoint you.

At the same time I’m not recommending you base your entire activity and relationship with the Lord by what you experience in the wilderness. I met a man this week who believed that all he needed was to experience God in nature which is a big mistake. There is no substitute for the weekly gathering of believers in a local assembly where there is corporate worship and teaching of the Word. But with the tentacles of social media all around you, with television, radio, smart phones and myriads of people, events and appointments screaming for your attention I recommend you find “Your Wilderness” and use an old acrostic for your pattern of communication with God. ACTS: A for Adoration of your great God. C for Confession of any sin the Spirit brings to your mind. T for Thanksgiving for all He has done for you. S for Supplication for requests you may want to ask of Him.

If you are wondering about my mountain top experience I was there to thank the Lord for all of His blessings on me and seek His face concerning my recent retirement. Upon arriving two young hikers approached me with  whom I ended up sharing my faith. Then an Indigo Bunting  flew by and began praising the Lord with his song. My phone began buzzing with texts from our 3 sons wishing me well in my retirement and then rang with a call from an old old friend bidding me the same. The voice of the Lord spoke quietly to my spirit saying “I am all around you, ministry is where you are, you are loved and supported by family and friends”. What more could I ask? See you in the wilderness!

I heard an Australian say today that America is the greatest country on earth! What a breath of fresh air! He inspired me! In spite of our difficulties more of us proud Americans need to start speaking up about our love for this land. No matter what Political Party is in power, no matter the shape of our economy, no matter the unemployment rate or domestic crisis dominating the news, people are still trying to break the bonds of restrictive nations around the world and risk their lives to come to this great land. A plaque on the Statue of Liberty says “Give me your tired your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The retched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door” (Emma Lazarus). Let’s be proud of America today. God Bless America!