From early in my Christian life I have looked for the practical application to the Gospel. I want it to work on a day-to-day basis. I want to be a follower of Christ not just on Sundays.
Last evening we attended a Christmas eve service at the Rockefeller Chapel on the University of Chicago campus. We went to what we thought was a Christmas program for our granddaughter, Anashe. Turned out to be a little bigger production than that. I wore my best orange Cabella's long sleeved t-shirt.
The chapel is huge. The ceiling is somewhere between 60-70 feet to the top. It has a two console pipe organ...real thing...that dominates the side wall on the right in the front. The service was Episcopalian in flavor, led by the "church" there at the chapel. I guess it really would be more a cathedral than chapel.
It had been a long time since I had heard pipe organ music. There just isn't anything like it. We listened to a prelude and then it accompanied us as we sang Christmas carols. We realized by the shape of our voices how long it had been since we sang songs in 4 parts. It was much more formal than we have experienced in recent years and yet it still had a beauty. I wanted at times to raise my hands to the loving Father who had sent us his son.
In the midst of the program they had the kids add their parts and it reminded me of a youtube video I saw a few days ago. In it the kids portrayed the Christmas story--the birth of Jesus. They were from Australia or New Zealand based on their accents. But one thing stuck out in contrast to where I was last evening. They mentioned that Mary and Joseph stayed in a stable and then they showed something I had never seen in the portrayal of the story before. A pile of cow manure.
At first I was a little shocked but last night it all made sense. When Jesus came he made sure he came to our world in all its unglossed glory. Stables have animal manure in them. I haven't seen one yet that didn't stink. That's why mucking out stalls is not the most enjoyable work to be done. If you think bed bugs are gross what would it be like to sleep in a barn with animals...in their waste?
But that's when I had my Aha! moment. My Father...your Father...is very practical. He came to where the entire people he wanted to reach could understand...a stable. Not a pristine five star hotel, the mansion of the governor or the castle of a king. He came into our world in such a way that we could all identify with his humanity and humility. How practical is that?
So I'm excited to see what new ways the Father surprises me with his practicality in the New Year. Watch for him to show you too. He is speaking right now.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Getting Serious
Up to this point the things I have been suggesting for followers of Christ have been, in my mind, elementary. I'm not saying that to discourage anyone. Again, that is part of the perspective I have as a prophet. I am looking for the best of the best, even though I don't always achieve that myself.
Obeying traffic laws and being courteous to others just scratch the surface of what I believe as followers of Christ we are to be doing on a daily basis. If we are to be salt and light in the world we have to be making a larger impact that even that.
Years ago I heard a sermon (during kid's time!) at a church in Glasgow, Scotland. The pastor was talking about the use of salt as a preservative. We are to preserve the culture we are a part of from rotting. If we are not doing our job as salt, the culture will rot and we as the salt will be thrown aside as worthless. We bring light when we push back the darkness. Light the smallest light in a very dark room and it will begin immediately to reveal things in the dark.
If we are going to preserve our culture and bring it to obedience to God we need to address the deterioration of our families. A lot has been made of the $100M donation of Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook to the Newark, NJ schools. The school system there is spending $22K per year per student to educate them...with dismal results. The problem is not just the education system but the families the kids come out of. How is throwing $100M to the schools going to change the homelife of the kids? It isn't.
Someone asked me recently what was the one piece of advice I would give to them as they are raising their children in this world. I said rather quickly, "You and your husband need to focus on your own emotional healing so that you can raise your children." No one else is going to do that for you as I learned after spending thousands of dollars to send my kids to Christian schools.
The need for emotional healing is the result of sins committed against us by even well-meaning people. Emotional healing also includes the need to admit our own sin in perpetuating the behaviors that result from our emotional brokenness. At some point after working through the pain we need to step up to the plate and change our behavior, taking responsibility for our continuing agreement with the evil that was foisted upon us.
Only then will we be able to impact other families in our communities. As a pastor I never found anyone who didn't want help in my travels around the neighborhood. They all recognized their needs and were looking for someone to show them how to move out of the cycle. At that time I wasn't a very good example of how to do that.
But as we get healed and come more in line to agreement with the Father we are going to be able to have the capacity to give to others, to impact those around us and to be the salt in the community we were meant to be. I have met thousands of people who have at one time or another been active in their churches who have failed to see healing in their own families. And, therefore, have had nothing to offer those around them in the same fix.
We have to be living proof that the Gospel of Christ can impact and change lives before others are going to look to us for help in getting their own house in order. That doesn't mean we have to have perfected our family life but we can't give answers to people that we haven't seen work in our own homes. Authority and believablilty come when we can demonstrate with our lives that what we say is true.
Are we hopeless? Not at all. All we have to do to receive what the Father has for us in the way of healing from our brokeness is to open ourselves to his work. I KNOW God can heal families because I have seen him do it in MY family. I KNOW he can change lives because I have seen him do it in my life...and hundreds of others. I KNOW he can change our world...one person at a time.
Obeying traffic laws and being courteous to others just scratch the surface of what I believe as followers of Christ we are to be doing on a daily basis. If we are to be salt and light in the world we have to be making a larger impact that even that.
Years ago I heard a sermon (during kid's time!) at a church in Glasgow, Scotland. The pastor was talking about the use of salt as a preservative. We are to preserve the culture we are a part of from rotting. If we are not doing our job as salt, the culture will rot and we as the salt will be thrown aside as worthless. We bring light when we push back the darkness. Light the smallest light in a very dark room and it will begin immediately to reveal things in the dark.
If we are going to preserve our culture and bring it to obedience to God we need to address the deterioration of our families. A lot has been made of the $100M donation of Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook to the Newark, NJ schools. The school system there is spending $22K per year per student to educate them...with dismal results. The problem is not just the education system but the families the kids come out of. How is throwing $100M to the schools going to change the homelife of the kids? It isn't.
Someone asked me recently what was the one piece of advice I would give to them as they are raising their children in this world. I said rather quickly, "You and your husband need to focus on your own emotional healing so that you can raise your children." No one else is going to do that for you as I learned after spending thousands of dollars to send my kids to Christian schools.
The need for emotional healing is the result of sins committed against us by even well-meaning people. Emotional healing also includes the need to admit our own sin in perpetuating the behaviors that result from our emotional brokenness. At some point after working through the pain we need to step up to the plate and change our behavior, taking responsibility for our continuing agreement with the evil that was foisted upon us.
Only then will we be able to impact other families in our communities. As a pastor I never found anyone who didn't want help in my travels around the neighborhood. They all recognized their needs and were looking for someone to show them how to move out of the cycle. At that time I wasn't a very good example of how to do that.
But as we get healed and come more in line to agreement with the Father we are going to be able to have the capacity to give to others, to impact those around us and to be the salt in the community we were meant to be. I have met thousands of people who have at one time or another been active in their churches who have failed to see healing in their own families. And, therefore, have had nothing to offer those around them in the same fix.
We have to be living proof that the Gospel of Christ can impact and change lives before others are going to look to us for help in getting their own house in order. That doesn't mean we have to have perfected our family life but we can't give answers to people that we haven't seen work in our own homes. Authority and believablilty come when we can demonstrate with our lives that what we say is true.
Are we hopeless? Not at all. All we have to do to receive what the Father has for us in the way of healing from our brokeness is to open ourselves to his work. I KNOW God can heal families because I have seen him do it in MY family. I KNOW he can change lives because I have seen him do it in my life...and hundreds of others. I KNOW he can change our world...one person at a time.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Tipping Point
I started listening to a book on tape today entitled The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. My mind began to race as he told the stories in the first chapter. Here's the race.
Lots of money is spent every year on marketing and yet some of the biggest surges in sales of some items came as a mere fluke. Gladwell tells the story of how Hush Puppies almost disappeared from the scene until some young people in Soho started wearing them, influencing their friends and others to go out and buy them. Sales went from 30,000 pairs to 430,000 pairs. At some point the surge reached a tipping point and the momentum had a life all its own. Hush Puppies never did any advertising to fuel this growth.
I like to apply stories like this to following Christ. As those of you who know me are well aware I feel that the church has failed to be salt and light in the world. We are not leading our culture. We are not preserving it from destruction. Each one of you reading this post can think of probably ten things that illustrate deterioration of our world.
My contention is that the only way this trend will be reversed is...one follower of Christ at a time changing their behavior and living righteously. We can't wait for our neighborhood church or the mega church down the street to make the first move. We have to make individual choices to change our choices to reflect the righteousness and holiness of God--with our neighbors, with our co-workers, with strangers.
Those of you who read my post on Lawlessness know that I am trying to drive the speed limit in my travels. The other day I was driving to a store on a road marked 35 MPH. That is not the speed people like to travel on that road. The person behind me was a well-dressed man who had been riding my tail while I did the posted speed limit. He finally just couldn't wait any longer. He passed me on a double yellow line and hurried to where ever he was going.
That aggravates me. He makes it harder for me to drive the speed limit and it stresses me out when someone is riding my bumper trying to make me speed up by intimidating me.
But I'm looking at the bigger picture. I can't blame the world for the state things are in if I am contributing to it. I can't blame the church for it's failure to be salt and light if I am not personally putting energy in living to impact my world.
Where is the tipping point? Will it take ten of us driving the speed limit to change things? One hundred of us "doing unto others" before it begins to rub off on our world? A thousand of us in our community living in such a way that our neighbors can only give glory to God for our impact on the community?
One of the teens who grew up in the church I pastored sent me a letter as part of the organization that is sponsoring their church plant. He told of over 200 people in their church a few Sundays ago who, upon being challenged by their pastor, took off their shoes in church and donated them to those without shoes! They walked out of the church in their sock feet, into a snow covered parking lot and drove home without shoes. They got a taste of what a person without shoes lives every day.
How many of us would it take before the tipping point would be reached and the church would begin to bring the real life of Christ to our world? It's a slow process but it is possible. I want to live to see that. Will you continue to join me in living as Christ would live every day...starting right now?
Lots of money is spent every year on marketing and yet some of the biggest surges in sales of some items came as a mere fluke. Gladwell tells the story of how Hush Puppies almost disappeared from the scene until some young people in Soho started wearing them, influencing their friends and others to go out and buy them. Sales went from 30,000 pairs to 430,000 pairs. At some point the surge reached a tipping point and the momentum had a life all its own. Hush Puppies never did any advertising to fuel this growth.
I like to apply stories like this to following Christ. As those of you who know me are well aware I feel that the church has failed to be salt and light in the world. We are not leading our culture. We are not preserving it from destruction. Each one of you reading this post can think of probably ten things that illustrate deterioration of our world.
My contention is that the only way this trend will be reversed is...one follower of Christ at a time changing their behavior and living righteously. We can't wait for our neighborhood church or the mega church down the street to make the first move. We have to make individual choices to change our choices to reflect the righteousness and holiness of God--with our neighbors, with our co-workers, with strangers.
Those of you who read my post on Lawlessness know that I am trying to drive the speed limit in my travels. The other day I was driving to a store on a road marked 35 MPH. That is not the speed people like to travel on that road. The person behind me was a well-dressed man who had been riding my tail while I did the posted speed limit. He finally just couldn't wait any longer. He passed me on a double yellow line and hurried to where ever he was going.
That aggravates me. He makes it harder for me to drive the speed limit and it stresses me out when someone is riding my bumper trying to make me speed up by intimidating me.
But I'm looking at the bigger picture. I can't blame the world for the state things are in if I am contributing to it. I can't blame the church for it's failure to be salt and light if I am not personally putting energy in living to impact my world.
Where is the tipping point? Will it take ten of us driving the speed limit to change things? One hundred of us "doing unto others" before it begins to rub off on our world? A thousand of us in our community living in such a way that our neighbors can only give glory to God for our impact on the community?
One of the teens who grew up in the church I pastored sent me a letter as part of the organization that is sponsoring their church plant. He told of over 200 people in their church a few Sundays ago who, upon being challenged by their pastor, took off their shoes in church and donated them to those without shoes! They walked out of the church in their sock feet, into a snow covered parking lot and drove home without shoes. They got a taste of what a person without shoes lives every day.
How many of us would it take before the tipping point would be reached and the church would begin to bring the real life of Christ to our world? It's a slow process but it is possible. I want to live to see that. Will you continue to join me in living as Christ would live every day...starting right now?
Monday, December 20, 2010
Ponies
Every kid should have the opportunity to spend some time on a farm with all the fun it brings.
My uncles that lived near the family farm were never very rich guys. One dabbled in farming while working in the mines. The other one dabbled in trading animals while working in the mines. Both of them were fun loving and made sure the kids around had fun when they came to visit the farm.
One of the ways we had fun was to ride the ponies. The fun began in trying to catch them in the pasture. Most of the time they didn't have halters so we had to be smarter than them to catch them. We had reins...but that was it. Saddles belonged to the estate crowd. We rode bareback.
Now ponies are known to have ideas about being ridden. One of the ponies that was at the farm at one particular visit had a habit of reaching around and biting the one trying to get on...in the butt. That obviously was painful and didn't add to the fun of the rider, just those who were watching and waiting their turn. We had to learn to hold the rein tight on the opposite side of the pony's head so we could keep it from reaching around to bite us.
There were never enough ponies to go around so we took turns riding them. Some of the younger ones required help like being lifted up on the pony's back and being led around but us "reglars" could go on our own.
As I've mentioned before my cousin Dan and I should have lost our lives on the farm for all the crazy things we tried. The ponies were involved in several of those escapades. Fortunately, you can only fall so far from a pony's back.
The hay barn sat behind the farm house a couple of hundred yards. We rode the ponies back the lane to the barn, into the barnyard, across the exposed sandstone and into the barn...attempting to catch onto the beam above the barn door to dismount on the way in. This was to immulate the many TV cowboys we had seen do a similar feat. It was not successful. We usually ended up laying in the dust at the door while the ponies went on back into the barn.
My cousin Dan's house was on the other side of a little "ravine" from the farm house. The little meadow there sat down below the rock wall that ran along side the farmhouse. There was a little gate with an overhead frame above it that led into the meadow. The cattle had made a path sloping down the hill to the bottom where the path made a sharp right turn and then up the hill to Dan's house.
We used to ride the ponies down that path. If you've ever rode a pony you know their little short legs don't allow for a very graceful trot or run. So whoever was behind the other as we rode down that path got to laughing at how funny the other one looked bouncing up and down on the pony. Then both of us would get to laughing, finding ourselves hanging onto the bouncy ponies, trying to keep from falling off. One time Dan ended up in front of the pony's front legs on his neck...before he fell off.
There were only two times that I remember getting close to one of us really being hurt. That's when we ended up riding something bigger than a pony. One of those special not-quite-full-sized horses was Old Bob. He was the mainstay in the early days on the farm. Just before leaving on a Sunday afternoon to make our way home, Dan and I got on Old Bob to get one more last ride. I was in front on the reins and Dan was sitting behind me. For awhile. Until he kicked Old Bob where Old Bob hadn't been kicked in many years.
That old horse somehow managed to kick in his turbo-charger, took a leap and Dan rolled right off the back. Really, he did a somersault (that he didn't even try) getting kicked in the head on the way around. He ended up with a gash over his eye that required a few stitches.
Another time we were out at my Uncle Carl's house a few miles out the road. He had another bigger than usually pony AND a genuine, real saddle to go on it. Wow! We hadn't had that luxury ever in our pony riding days. So we hitched up the saddle and got ready to ride.
I was riding the horse around the yard having visions of Roy Rogers and the Lone Ranger when I started to get this choking feeling right under my chin. I finally figured out that I had ridden under the clothes line and it was tightening up, threatening to take me off the horse. I dropped the reins, grabbed the saddle horn and hung on...until the belly band broke and me and the saddle went off the back. I guess the saddle had been in storage awhile and rotted that important part of the fastening system.
We can still laugh about those times when we get together. My Mom probably would have wrapped me up in some kind of protective clothing if she had known all the antics we got into on the ponies. But I survived and with a little artiritis here and there have lived to tell about it.
My uncles that lived near the family farm were never very rich guys. One dabbled in farming while working in the mines. The other one dabbled in trading animals while working in the mines. Both of them were fun loving and made sure the kids around had fun when they came to visit the farm.
One of the ways we had fun was to ride the ponies. The fun began in trying to catch them in the pasture. Most of the time they didn't have halters so we had to be smarter than them to catch them. We had reins...but that was it. Saddles belonged to the estate crowd. We rode bareback.
Now ponies are known to have ideas about being ridden. One of the ponies that was at the farm at one particular visit had a habit of reaching around and biting the one trying to get on...in the butt. That obviously was painful and didn't add to the fun of the rider, just those who were watching and waiting their turn. We had to learn to hold the rein tight on the opposite side of the pony's head so we could keep it from reaching around to bite us.
There were never enough ponies to go around so we took turns riding them. Some of the younger ones required help like being lifted up on the pony's back and being led around but us "reglars" could go on our own.
As I've mentioned before my cousin Dan and I should have lost our lives on the farm for all the crazy things we tried. The ponies were involved in several of those escapades. Fortunately, you can only fall so far from a pony's back.
The hay barn sat behind the farm house a couple of hundred yards. We rode the ponies back the lane to the barn, into the barnyard, across the exposed sandstone and into the barn...attempting to catch onto the beam above the barn door to dismount on the way in. This was to immulate the many TV cowboys we had seen do a similar feat. It was not successful. We usually ended up laying in the dust at the door while the ponies went on back into the barn.
My cousin Dan's house was on the other side of a little "ravine" from the farm house. The little meadow there sat down below the rock wall that ran along side the farmhouse. There was a little gate with an overhead frame above it that led into the meadow. The cattle had made a path sloping down the hill to the bottom where the path made a sharp right turn and then up the hill to Dan's house.
We used to ride the ponies down that path. If you've ever rode a pony you know their little short legs don't allow for a very graceful trot or run. So whoever was behind the other as we rode down that path got to laughing at how funny the other one looked bouncing up and down on the pony. Then both of us would get to laughing, finding ourselves hanging onto the bouncy ponies, trying to keep from falling off. One time Dan ended up in front of the pony's front legs on his neck...before he fell off.
There were only two times that I remember getting close to one of us really being hurt. That's when we ended up riding something bigger than a pony. One of those special not-quite-full-sized horses was Old Bob. He was the mainstay in the early days on the farm. Just before leaving on a Sunday afternoon to make our way home, Dan and I got on Old Bob to get one more last ride. I was in front on the reins and Dan was sitting behind me. For awhile. Until he kicked Old Bob where Old Bob hadn't been kicked in many years.
That old horse somehow managed to kick in his turbo-charger, took a leap and Dan rolled right off the back. Really, he did a somersault (that he didn't even try) getting kicked in the head on the way around. He ended up with a gash over his eye that required a few stitches.
Another time we were out at my Uncle Carl's house a few miles out the road. He had another bigger than usually pony AND a genuine, real saddle to go on it. Wow! We hadn't had that luxury ever in our pony riding days. So we hitched up the saddle and got ready to ride.
I was riding the horse around the yard having visions of Roy Rogers and the Lone Ranger when I started to get this choking feeling right under my chin. I finally figured out that I had ridden under the clothes line and it was tightening up, threatening to take me off the horse. I dropped the reins, grabbed the saddle horn and hung on...until the belly band broke and me and the saddle went off the back. I guess the saddle had been in storage awhile and rotted that important part of the fastening system.
We can still laugh about those times when we get together. My Mom probably would have wrapped me up in some kind of protective clothing if she had known all the antics we got into on the ponies. But I survived and with a little artiritis here and there have lived to tell about it.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Christmas at the farm
We spent several Christmases at the Wright family farm where my Mom was raised. We often stayed with my Granny in a little wide place in the road called Dixie about 10 minutes from the farm. We did that because the farm house was full of others who came in for the holiday.
But the most fun was when we stayed at the farm with everyone else. Before we all arrived my Uncle Jr would go out on the ridge and get a scrub cedar for the Christmas tree that sat at the east end of the house. We'd play outside in the cold with the other cousins who had come for the holiday. I remember coming in to the house, getting warm and falling asleep after a busy day.
One Christmas we traveled to the farm in our '55 Chevy. Mom had to pack the trunk in such a way that she could hide the gifts from Santa Claus that would be under the tree on Christmas morning. That year I had asked for cowboy boots. I was thrilled when I opened one of my packages and found the brand new pair of brown cowboy boots with round toes and the fancy stitching up the sides. The first thing I had to do as soon as I got a chance was try them out. I went straight for the manure pile outside the dairy barn and tested them for farm use. My Mom just couldn't appreciate my need to do that.
Another year we traveled to the farm in our brand new '64 Olds. We had picked it up just a few days before we made the trip. In fact, I remember our license plate arriving from the dealership at the farm.
The arrival of the snow on Christmas Day was almost better than the new car. We got somewhere around 6" and the farm became a winter wonderland. The funnest part was sledding on the hill across the road from the farm with my cousins.
To add to the atmosphere we got some old tires (before the EPA) and set them on fire to give us a place to get warm and dry out while we went up and down the hill. We didn't have a lot of fancy sleds. We improvised. We got the hood of an old Crosley car with it's turned down nose (when it was on the car), flipped it over and rode it down the hill. We could usually get 5 of us on it. There was no steering it. It went where it wanted to go...very fast! It was a blast. I can't imagine a ready-made sled being nearly that much fun. We won't talk of the danger of the sharp edges.
There was one serious store-bought sled that I remember. We took turns riding it down the hill. One time my cousin Dan and I went down together on that one. The two of us could get into more trouble at the farm. In this case we went flying down the hill laughing all the way until we realized we were heading very quickly for the pond at the bottom of the hill. It was hit a fence post or take a very cold bath in the pond. We "chose" the fence post and it knocked my cousin a little silly...all the more fun.
I even remember my Dad, who wasn't much for outside things like this, taking that sled down the hill for a ride. He didn't go straight down like we did so he avoided the choice of the pond and fence post. Instead, he made as sharp a turn as he could...and spilled everything in his pockets on the hillside. That included a pocket knife, change and probably a fingernail clipper besides his keys. We laughed as we picked up all the items thinking about seeing my Dad come down the hill.
We flew down that hill all day except for a few breaks for food. By evening the hill was icing up and the Crosley hood got even faster. I don't think I've ever had that much fun sledding since.
Another Christmas I remember a bunch of us being there. The women got the food together for us, cooking a pot of soup on a couple of burners to get enough heat to it to finish it off. The kitchen counter was lined with goodies and we all ate our fill and laughed until our sides hurt.
The memories keep flooding back as I write. I'll have several more posts with antics from the farm. It was a childhood dream. And I don't remember the "things" I got as much as the fun times with family.
But the most fun was when we stayed at the farm with everyone else. Before we all arrived my Uncle Jr would go out on the ridge and get a scrub cedar for the Christmas tree that sat at the east end of the house. We'd play outside in the cold with the other cousins who had come for the holiday. I remember coming in to the house, getting warm and falling asleep after a busy day.
One Christmas we traveled to the farm in our '55 Chevy. Mom had to pack the trunk in such a way that she could hide the gifts from Santa Claus that would be under the tree on Christmas morning. That year I had asked for cowboy boots. I was thrilled when I opened one of my packages and found the brand new pair of brown cowboy boots with round toes and the fancy stitching up the sides. The first thing I had to do as soon as I got a chance was try them out. I went straight for the manure pile outside the dairy barn and tested them for farm use. My Mom just couldn't appreciate my need to do that.
Another year we traveled to the farm in our brand new '64 Olds. We had picked it up just a few days before we made the trip. In fact, I remember our license plate arriving from the dealership at the farm.
The arrival of the snow on Christmas Day was almost better than the new car. We got somewhere around 6" and the farm became a winter wonderland. The funnest part was sledding on the hill across the road from the farm with my cousins.
To add to the atmosphere we got some old tires (before the EPA) and set them on fire to give us a place to get warm and dry out while we went up and down the hill. We didn't have a lot of fancy sleds. We improvised. We got the hood of an old Crosley car with it's turned down nose (when it was on the car), flipped it over and rode it down the hill. We could usually get 5 of us on it. There was no steering it. It went where it wanted to go...very fast! It was a blast. I can't imagine a ready-made sled being nearly that much fun. We won't talk of the danger of the sharp edges.
There was one serious store-bought sled that I remember. We took turns riding it down the hill. One time my cousin Dan and I went down together on that one. The two of us could get into more trouble at the farm. In this case we went flying down the hill laughing all the way until we realized we were heading very quickly for the pond at the bottom of the hill. It was hit a fence post or take a very cold bath in the pond. We "chose" the fence post and it knocked my cousin a little silly...all the more fun.
I even remember my Dad, who wasn't much for outside things like this, taking that sled down the hill for a ride. He didn't go straight down like we did so he avoided the choice of the pond and fence post. Instead, he made as sharp a turn as he could...and spilled everything in his pockets on the hillside. That included a pocket knife, change and probably a fingernail clipper besides his keys. We laughed as we picked up all the items thinking about seeing my Dad come down the hill.
We flew down that hill all day except for a few breaks for food. By evening the hill was icing up and the Crosley hood got even faster. I don't think I've ever had that much fun sledding since.
Another Christmas I remember a bunch of us being there. The women got the food together for us, cooking a pot of soup on a couple of burners to get enough heat to it to finish it off. The kitchen counter was lined with goodies and we all ate our fill and laughed until our sides hurt.
The memories keep flooding back as I write. I'll have several more posts with antics from the farm. It was a childhood dream. And I don't remember the "things" I got as much as the fun times with family.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Racing
Today I'm thinking about adding some flowers to my blog. Nah! Probably not.
When I was a kid my Dad and I didn't do a lot of fun things together. He was an only child who lost his Dad when he was 2. His step father didn't come into his life until 4 or 5 years later. So he didn't know a whole lot about being a father.
One thing we did have in common was a love of cars. I can remember as a kid hanging on the back of the front bench seat looking at all the cars going by as we drove some place. I could name them all--make, model and year. Of course, that's when they all didn't look alike and the styling changed every year.
I lived in Louisville, KY about 5 miles from the state fairgrounds where they had a 1/4 mile paved asphalt oval race track. On a Fri or Sat night we could hear the cars going around the track in the distance.
One night out of the blue my Dad told me to get ready we were going someplace. I couldn't imagine where he would take me on a Fri night. We didn't often do things like that together, especially on a whim.
Much to my surprise and joy we ended up at the race track at the fairgrounds. On Fri nights they ran the older models...cars from the late 40's and early 50's...in lap races but also in figure eights. It was fun to watch two cars approaching the X of the figure eight wondering if they were going to hit. One night a couple of them did and one ended up sitting atop the stack of tires they placed there for...well, I'm not sure what for.
That began a regular activity for us happening several times a year. On Sat nights they ran the late models...60's. They were faster and sleaker. It was something to see a car that was a current model running on the track. Someone really had to have the bucks to do that! One of my neighbors ran a late model and I would occasionally go down past his house to see the car off the track being worked on.
We would often get to go in the pits to see the cars up close. It just further fueled my love of cars, especially the unmuffled roar of the engines.
As I grew older we stopped going to the oval track but my buddies now took me to the drag strip to see the cars, again with wonderful unmuffled engines, roar down the track from a standstill to over 100 mph in a quarter mile. Wow! That was moving.
I still love racing and enjoy watching the NASCAR races on TV. When I was a kid it was rare to see them televised.
One of the fun things that happened while I was at the Bargain Hunter was we sponsored a weekly race series car. We got free tickets to go to the Mansfield track to see it race as a major sponsor of a car.
One evening we went over for the Hooters 250. I thought about bringing ear plugs...but I didn't want to be a sissy. I made sure we sat down close to the track on turn 4 so we could get the benefit of the acceleration of the engines. I came home that night unable to hear well and it lasted a day or so more.
Maybe that's why I need hearing aids. Aw, it was worth it and still is to see and hear the cars turn loose their horsepower. One of my dreams is to drive a NASCAR in one of their schools around the country. It's part of my bucket list. What's on yours?
When I was a kid my Dad and I didn't do a lot of fun things together. He was an only child who lost his Dad when he was 2. His step father didn't come into his life until 4 or 5 years later. So he didn't know a whole lot about being a father.
One thing we did have in common was a love of cars. I can remember as a kid hanging on the back of the front bench seat looking at all the cars going by as we drove some place. I could name them all--make, model and year. Of course, that's when they all didn't look alike and the styling changed every year.
I lived in Louisville, KY about 5 miles from the state fairgrounds where they had a 1/4 mile paved asphalt oval race track. On a Fri or Sat night we could hear the cars going around the track in the distance.
One night out of the blue my Dad told me to get ready we were going someplace. I couldn't imagine where he would take me on a Fri night. We didn't often do things like that together, especially on a whim.
Much to my surprise and joy we ended up at the race track at the fairgrounds. On Fri nights they ran the older models...cars from the late 40's and early 50's...in lap races but also in figure eights. It was fun to watch two cars approaching the X of the figure eight wondering if they were going to hit. One night a couple of them did and one ended up sitting atop the stack of tires they placed there for...well, I'm not sure what for.
That began a regular activity for us happening several times a year. On Sat nights they ran the late models...60's. They were faster and sleaker. It was something to see a car that was a current model running on the track. Someone really had to have the bucks to do that! One of my neighbors ran a late model and I would occasionally go down past his house to see the car off the track being worked on.
We would often get to go in the pits to see the cars up close. It just further fueled my love of cars, especially the unmuffled roar of the engines.
As I grew older we stopped going to the oval track but my buddies now took me to the drag strip to see the cars, again with wonderful unmuffled engines, roar down the track from a standstill to over 100 mph in a quarter mile. Wow! That was moving.
I still love racing and enjoy watching the NASCAR races on TV. When I was a kid it was rare to see them televised.
One of the fun things that happened while I was at the Bargain Hunter was we sponsored a weekly race series car. We got free tickets to go to the Mansfield track to see it race as a major sponsor of a car.
One evening we went over for the Hooters 250. I thought about bringing ear plugs...but I didn't want to be a sissy. I made sure we sat down close to the track on turn 4 so we could get the benefit of the acceleration of the engines. I came home that night unable to hear well and it lasted a day or so more.
Maybe that's why I need hearing aids. Aw, it was worth it and still is to see and hear the cars turn loose their horsepower. One of my dreams is to drive a NASCAR in one of their schools around the country. It's part of my bucket list. What's on yours?
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Jeeps
Let's do something fun today! Well, it may not be fun for you but it will be fun for me.
As a young boy I remember sitting in front of our first television, a 12" screen, black and white Motorola (which I have sitting in my shop, by the way). One of my favorite shows was the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans show. I was especially taken by the Jeep, Nellie Belle.
Part of my fascination with that show was I was remembering the Jeep my grandfather had bought in 1949 (or 8 as some of the family say) to use on his farm. It was a dark green CJ3. It had an indestructible 4 cylinder flat head engine, the military style tires for mud and a Willys tailgate that was let down with chains.
When I visited the farm the location of the Jeep was one of the first places I'd go to after getting out of the car. My cousins and I would sit in it for hours playing all sorts of make believe.
We went everywhere in that Jeep...over the 280 acres of the farm, pulling wagons, trailers, hauling things or just out for a drive to see the cattle on Tunnel Ridge. Later after my grandfather died, my uncle would drive us into town to get supplies and we'd always tag along, two of us together in the passenger seat. Usually, it was my cousin Danny. Back then, the canvas top was long gone and my uncle had built a white plywood top to go over the two seats to keep warm in the winter.
As I got older, reaching the big 12, I was allowed to try to drive the Jeep moving it around from place to place. In fact, that's where I learned to drive. I had to stretch holding on to the steering wheel while pressing the floor starter button and depressing the clutch to get it started. Sometimes there just wasn't enough of me to get that done.
As I grew older my cousin Dan and I would get the Jeep out and drive it around the farm occasionally getting it in a situation where we needed the help of the tractor to pull us out. One time in particular we had killed the motor and the Jeep was sitting too close to the rock wall, threatening to go over it backwards. Part of that problem stemmed from being too short for us to get it started, let out the clutch and get it going away from the peril.
When my grandfather originally bought the Jeep new he purchased a short wheelbase trailer to go with it. The axle was located right in the center of the trailer. It was the hardest trailer to back that you have ever seen...but that didn't stop my cousin and I from trying it. Over and over and over again.
When my grandmother died we went back to the farm for the funeral. I had my new wife, Pat, along. We had just been married a few months. I remember taking her for a ride in the Jeep out into the old orchard.
In 1986 we went back to the farm while at a family reunion. The Jeep had been sitting for some time and hadn't been used on a regular basis. All we had to do was pour gas in the carburetor and make sure it had a jump and it fired right up. By then the two pedals for the clutch and brake had rusted together...but it still drove. In fact, if I remember correctly, my daughter Nissa took it for a drive.
I remember asking my uncle who still owned it (and still does!) if I could buy it from him. He wasn't willing to sell it so I returned back to PA where we were living at the time and bought one of my own. It was a '61 Willys Jeep CJ5, red with a white hardtop probably bought at Sears. The original 4 or 6 cylinder motor had been replaced by a Chevy 283 V8 from a '68. The owners had used it to plow snow and wanted some more horsepower. They also equipped it with a J C Whitney overdrive. And most importantly, it had a Willys tailgate with chains to let it down.
I've had a lot of fun in my Jeep but not as much fun as I would have hoped. I drove it everyday back and forth to work for about a year when we first moved back to OH. Then I used it to drag trees in the woods around our home when we bought out in Millersburg. I occasionally got it out and ran down the road, taking the various grandkids for a ride. Yea, they go for the Jeep when they get to my house now, sitting in it and playing make believe. When we lived in OH my grandson, Briggs, used to ask me to take he and his brother Rece for a ride in the forest (the woods around my home).
I can't drive my Jeep now. PA wants me to have it look like new to get Antique Plates on it. The other option is to license it regularly but that would drive the national deficit up even further to bring it back to road-worthiness.
Why do I keep it? Because it still means fun to me. It still brings out the boy in me and reminds me of all the fun times I had on the farm, exploring, seeing the countryside and doing the work of a farmer. Every kid should have that experience.
As a young boy I remember sitting in front of our first television, a 12" screen, black and white Motorola (which I have sitting in my shop, by the way). One of my favorite shows was the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans show. I was especially taken by the Jeep, Nellie Belle.
Part of my fascination with that show was I was remembering the Jeep my grandfather had bought in 1949 (or 8 as some of the family say) to use on his farm. It was a dark green CJ3. It had an indestructible 4 cylinder flat head engine, the military style tires for mud and a Willys tailgate that was let down with chains.
When I visited the farm the location of the Jeep was one of the first places I'd go to after getting out of the car. My cousins and I would sit in it for hours playing all sorts of make believe.
We went everywhere in that Jeep...over the 280 acres of the farm, pulling wagons, trailers, hauling things or just out for a drive to see the cattle on Tunnel Ridge. Later after my grandfather died, my uncle would drive us into town to get supplies and we'd always tag along, two of us together in the passenger seat. Usually, it was my cousin Danny. Back then, the canvas top was long gone and my uncle had built a white plywood top to go over the two seats to keep warm in the winter.
As I got older, reaching the big 12, I was allowed to try to drive the Jeep moving it around from place to place. In fact, that's where I learned to drive. I had to stretch holding on to the steering wheel while pressing the floor starter button and depressing the clutch to get it started. Sometimes there just wasn't enough of me to get that done.
As I grew older my cousin Dan and I would get the Jeep out and drive it around the farm occasionally getting it in a situation where we needed the help of the tractor to pull us out. One time in particular we had killed the motor and the Jeep was sitting too close to the rock wall, threatening to go over it backwards. Part of that problem stemmed from being too short for us to get it started, let out the clutch and get it going away from the peril.
When my grandfather originally bought the Jeep new he purchased a short wheelbase trailer to go with it. The axle was located right in the center of the trailer. It was the hardest trailer to back that you have ever seen...but that didn't stop my cousin and I from trying it. Over and over and over again.
When my grandmother died we went back to the farm for the funeral. I had my new wife, Pat, along. We had just been married a few months. I remember taking her for a ride in the Jeep out into the old orchard.
In 1986 we went back to the farm while at a family reunion. The Jeep had been sitting for some time and hadn't been used on a regular basis. All we had to do was pour gas in the carburetor and make sure it had a jump and it fired right up. By then the two pedals for the clutch and brake had rusted together...but it still drove. In fact, if I remember correctly, my daughter Nissa took it for a drive.
I remember asking my uncle who still owned it (and still does!) if I could buy it from him. He wasn't willing to sell it so I returned back to PA where we were living at the time and bought one of my own. It was a '61 Willys Jeep CJ5, red with a white hardtop probably bought at Sears. The original 4 or 6 cylinder motor had been replaced by a Chevy 283 V8 from a '68. The owners had used it to plow snow and wanted some more horsepower. They also equipped it with a J C Whitney overdrive. And most importantly, it had a Willys tailgate with chains to let it down.
I've had a lot of fun in my Jeep but not as much fun as I would have hoped. I drove it everyday back and forth to work for about a year when we first moved back to OH. Then I used it to drag trees in the woods around our home when we bought out in Millersburg. I occasionally got it out and ran down the road, taking the various grandkids for a ride. Yea, they go for the Jeep when they get to my house now, sitting in it and playing make believe. When we lived in OH my grandson, Briggs, used to ask me to take he and his brother Rece for a ride in the forest (the woods around my home).
I can't drive my Jeep now. PA wants me to have it look like new to get Antique Plates on it. The other option is to license it regularly but that would drive the national deficit up even further to bring it back to road-worthiness.
Why do I keep it? Because it still means fun to me. It still brings out the boy in me and reminds me of all the fun times I had on the farm, exploring, seeing the countryside and doing the work of a farmer. Every kid should have that experience.
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