Fuel For The Race

April 27, 2024April 28, 2024

Murder By Tongue

“That until the basic human rights,
Are equally guaranteed to all.
Without regard to race,
Dis a war.” (1976) “War” Recorded By: Bob Marley and The Wailers Composers: Allen Cole & Carleton Barrett

U.S Constitution Amendment I

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

Bob Marley recorded “War” which lyrically, spells out the destruction of a nation, a race, and a peace and freedom concerning Africa’s hotbeds of war. If you look up the entire lyric of the song you will see his raving against the injustice of oppressions targeting the color of skin, tribal conquests, religions, and philosophy challenges as weapons of war and death.

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Depending on where you get your news, you might not have heard the threats of death and torture of African American families living here in the U.S. Spilling out across university campuses from coast to coast are now public screams, hate-filled signs, and radical threats of genocide of peaceful Hindu citizens of the U.S. Cheers, along with, unison voices shouting out a call for all Asian Americans to be slaughtered, erased off of the face of the earth. Ivy league campuses are littered with tents where hate-mongers have camped out, sectioning off areas of publicly and privately financed grounds, occupying the area as if it’s a new community of those who chant, yell, and beat their chests demanding the removal of all Native American tribes from America. Just yesterday, one of the leaders of the murderous mob at Columbia University in New York, made his voice very clear in a speech on the campus as the cell phones and video cameras were rolling. He stated that all Presbyterians, Baptists, and Catholics have no reason to live. That’s right. He called for these congregants to be killed. He went on to say those groups of Christians should be thankful he wasn’t killing church members that day. Meanwhile, at various universities on the west coast revilers publicly marched, raising their fists in the air suggesting all people of the gay community be gathered forcibly and buried in the sands of the deserts of Utah. So much for liberal tolerance.

After reading the above, how do you feel? Are you one of the targeted? Do you know a black person, an Asian, a Native American, a Hindu family, a gay individual, a Christian?

All of the above has happened in recent days, with the exception of the targeted groups listed. Here, in the land of the free and home of the brave, where we pride ourselves as lovers of peace and liberty, are calls for the eradication of the Jews.

This hideous, evil, and destructive doctrine is currently spewing out of the mouths of our youth. One of these bright, enlightened university students held up a sign at one campus calling for, “The Final Solution…Genocide” written partially in red. We know that title from Hitler in Nazi Germany, calling for the gassing of the Jewish race.

Anti-Semitism is not only ugly, and downright monstrous, but it is also an ancient evil. It goes back to the beginning of when God singled out Abraham to birth a new nation, a nation He (God) would call, “His People”. Ever since, all throughout the biblical text, running through the echoes of time, there has been this evil doing all it can to dissolve the plan of God for human history, and His redemptive purposes. A soul’s spiritual rescue came through the Jews. Jesus was of the tribe of Judah. The Savior of the world was born of the family tree of King David of Israel. We have His genealogy recorded.

One might be tempted to say,

“Yeah, but where’s the harm? It’s only words. Here in America, we have the First Amendment. We are free to say anything.”

A non-thinking person would ask such a question. Forgive me, but it’s true. If a true calculating researcher delivers such a statement, then I would surely believe that person hasn’t truly searched out the authentic history of man, or has believed whatever has been said to them without due diligence of rightful education. In other words, look it up! Take the time.

Look at the historical records of the ancient life of Israel. Better yet, you only have to go back 100 years to see the facts.

Anti-Semitism does not stop with words.

The terrorists of Hamas can testify to this truth. Action always follows. Groupthink becomes the norm, the new god. Mob mentality germinates into trigger-pulling, sword-wielding, and button pushing as bombs detonate. As the tongues begin to murder families for being born Jewish, the violence and propaganda starts to migrate toward all who defend the Jews, or Israel.

Hey, Buffy, listen to this, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” Skippy follows up, “What do ya think? Cool, huh?” Before answering, Buffy, twirls her hair with her heart and rose tattooed index finger, not yet covered by the free Hijabs being handed out at the protest. “How cool, it rhymes. Sure, I’ll go shout with you, Skippy. So, what river and what sea are we shouting about?”

Sure, it can begin with the protesting of a war, covered by the First Amendment. It can first be disguised as a protest pointing out abuses, civil misconduct, or humanitarian shortages. It makes a good mask to draw a crowd, or non-thinkers who want to display some sort of social self-righteousness. Then, before you can say, indoctrination, it morphs into hate speech, calls for executions, and even imprisonment against the intended target. It’s a very subtle, sly, and slithery operation for the gullible. The First Amendment is mocked and used like a wet rag.

Suddenly, neighbor sees a neighbor as evil simply because they stand for the rights of the Jews. We learned this not too long ago when this plague of doctrine festered in the minds of young Germans in the 1930’s. Way too many at that time, looked the other way, pretending to be deaf, dumb, and blind. The cowards, and the deniers, do have blood on their hands.

Personally, I mourn for our nation. These current pretenders of “peaceful” protesting against the Jews is nothing short of…(yes, I will use the word)…demonic in nature.

Words kill. Words result in lifeless bodies piled in mass graves. Words swing swords.

Find out what it means to stand, like a beautiful girl named, Esther in fuel for the race.

“Then Mordecai told them to reply to Esther, ‘Do not imagine that you in the king’s palace can escape any more than all the other Jews. For if you keep silent at this time, liberation and rescue will arise for the Jews from another place, and you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether you have not attained royalty for such a time as this?”’ Esther 4:13-14 (NAS)

April 20, 2024April 20, 2024

Right On Time

“So build me up (Build me up),
Buttercup, don’t break my heart.” (1968) “Build Me Up Buttercup” Recorded By: The Foundations Composers: Mike d’Abo and Tony Macaulay

Like a voice crying out in the wilderness, I hear,

“Remember, that patch by the fence is not to be mowed.”

That’s the directive on mowing day as my wife, Michelle, dictates like clockwork at this time of year. She has good reason to. First, and foremost, she is our landscape artist at our house. She truly knows what she’s doing, and it shows.

Photo: From our backyard. A better camera would give honesty to the colors.

However, when spring is launched here in our area of north-central Texas, she knows what to anticipate concerning what she didn’t plant or groom.

In our backyard, on the east side of the property line by the fence, weeds begin to reach for the sky in late March, early April. One can take a quick gander out the window each day and wonder if this will be the day they all should be wacked down to the nubs. NO! Like bread dough baking in the oven, life is being nurtured through that miniature jungle. Then about April 13th, the eyesore might remind someone of the butterfly popping out of the cocoon. Overnight the tall, gangly weed stalks take on a new wardrobe.

Photo: What’s up, Buttercup?

Like welcomed visitors from another branch of the family, Buttercups shine their lovely faces for all to see. I’m sure our neighbors are much happier now.

It’s just outstanding to me. My wife never has to dig, cultivate, seed, or water them. The Buttercups have a Gardener tending them, and it’s not us. This Gardener has His own clock, and He sticks to it. You might say, it’s a promise every year.

We recently took a drive up from Dallas to Oklahoma City to visit family. Among the beauty of southern Oklahoma, with the Davis Mountains, Turner Falls, and the Red River, the scenic drive includes a generous helping of Indian Paintbrushes, Buttercups, and other brilliantly colored wildflowers along the freeway shoulders.

It’s a tad too early in April to catch the full explosion of the Texas Bluebonnets, but some are beginning to be early risers, but they’re on their way.

As the splash of hues grace the drive north of the Red River, one is reminded that state officials didn’t have to order any landscaping along the I-35 corridor.

Spring has been set aside by the Orchestrator of the seasons. And let me say, the timing is “on purpose”.

Photo: Our backyard with one of our residents. Mr. Squirrel knows it’s time.

Have you ever wondered why the wild has its blooms during this time of year? Winter, the season of frost, bare trees and wilted gardens, begins to exhale for the last time just as spring takes its inhale. Before you can drag out the water hose, what seemed like dead trees, dormant plants, and lifeless vines, rises again to new life, shouting out…

“Hey, those with souls! Look at us! Though we were dead, yet we live. Here’s the proof!”

“For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle; and it shall make a name for the LORD, an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.” Isaiah 55:12-13 (ESV)

There is a hand Who touches the world of horticulture. Designed to testify during the scheduled time of the events of Passover and Easter. Florals, and all its cousins, pointing to what was once dead, now lives again. What was once seen as “done & buried”, arrives with extreme, uninhibited life, colors, along with a loud voice of the purest details of Theology. No restraints. No need for wrappings. No need for shackles.

As I reach for my next snort of Flonase, my wife rejoices at the new life in our yard. By the way, she is the best of blooms.

Buried beneath the rubble of days, find springtime all year in fuel for the race.

“The blossoms have already appeared in the land; The time has arrived for pruning the vines, And the voice of the turtledove has been heard in our land.” Song Of Solomon 2:12 (NAS)

April 6, 2024April 7, 2024

Breaking The Paradigm

“You came along, just like a song, and brightened my day…” (1975) “Can’t Smile Without You” Recorded By: David Martin Also recorded By: The Carpenters, (1976) and Barry Manilow, and the more popular song release, (1978). Composers: Christian Arnold, David Martin, and Geoff Morrow

Have you ever been at a juncture in life that you can point to and say something like, “I’ve never been the same since.”? Maybe it was an event from your days where you could firmly testify in a court of law, if you had to, with, “On THAT day, my life was changed.” For you it possibly could be taking a seat in your first dream car. Could it be graduation day? Maybe it was your first kiss. You might choose the wedding day, the birth of your first baby, getting the keys to your first home. Among the choices, which move you emotionally, focus on that one event that changed the entire coarse of your life.

Do you have it locked in by now? I’ll wait here while you scroll back in time for a moment as you select that paradigm-breaking day. Close your eyes and soak in it. No doubt visuals will bubble up like a video from the files of your brain.

To be honest, I have a few moments in life which made a mark, or etched out a path for my future. Some memories vice-gripped my heart, leaving me helpless to shift them out of my thoughts for decades to come. Some of which were very enriching, while others were harmful moments of great persuasion.

Easter has passed us now. I often think of the friends and family of Jesus during the following days after such an earthshaking miracle like the raising of Jesus from the tomb.

Let’s rewind for a moment.

After the arrest of Jesus, the kangaroo court overnight, and the death of Jesus on the cross, the followers of Jesus ran and hid like scared mice. The biblical account shows Mary Magdalene, and two or three other women, were the only ones unafraid to be seen as supporters of the deceased Jesus as they prepped spices and fresh linens on the morning of the resurrection. It’s fitting they were the very first of His followers to receive the news of His bodily resurrection from the dead. Meanwhile, Peter, James, and John, as well as, the rest of the disciples, were like prairie dogs in their holes. Some even left town.

Before we hop on the judgement train, concerning the followers of Jesus, we must realize the size of their sandals. They were told they would be next, fugitives on the run. Arrests were coming. Trials were surely coming. Lashes, beatings, and death were coming to their calendar. Overwhelming persecution was on the menu and they were afraid. Who wouldn’t be? They were identifiable, too. There was no secret who followed Jesus as they were so very public, out front, on the edge of the stage for all to see. Of course, there were secret followers, but the most worried would have been those who were publicly by His side. Let’s face it, they had a reason to keep a low profile after they witnessed what happened to the leader of the band. After all, His death was so fresh in their minds. They were dealing with horrible grief, tremendous loss, and in a vacuum of confusion and regret. For them, life wasn’t going to be what they had hoped for. No doubt many pondered what they should do next. Options may have consisted of going back to a fishing business, tax collecting, rejoining the zealots, or starting anew in another country. In the mix of anxiety would have been the teachings of Jesus dashed against the cross. His “good news” would have been seen as dying with Him. Think about that.

Someone once said paradigms were made to be shifted, or broken altogether.

According to what we read in the scriptures, after Jesus appeared to Mary Magdalene personally at the empty tomb, he then showed Himself to the rest of the disciples, including Thomas who wasn’t there when Christ visited fellow followers the first time. Later, Jesus joined two followers escaping from the turmoil on the way to a town called, Emmaus. After revealing Himself to them at a dinner table, they were thrilled and returned to Jerusalem shouting about their experience with the risen Jesus. One of Jesus’ bio brothers was James, not to be confused with the James of James & John of the 12. Even though he grew up around Jesus, he was a non-believer. One passage indicates he was part of the siblings who believed Jesus had lost His mind as He left home to begin His three-year ministry. According to Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, Jesus appeared to His brother James and that’s when James first believed. In fact, he went all-in as he became the leader (Pastor) of the first church in Jerusalem. Paul also records that Jesus appeared to over 500 followers at the same time. Think of a 500 seat theater as a mental image.

The book of Acts is a historical account of how these once scared rabbits broke the paradigm as they went all-in.

Their world was changed forever. For over a five week period after His resurrection, Jesus spoke with them, taught them, ate with them, touched them, traveled with them. They dove in headfirst, becoming outspoken, courageous preachers and teachers right on the streets of Jerusalem where Jesus had been tortured and hung on a cross just a few days earlier. So much so, they were arrested several times for doing so, always going right back to it. It’s just so remarkable. Beatings took place as punishments for teaching the resurrection of Jesus. They wouldn’t shut-up. Being tied up and flogged didn’t stop their new courage to preach Jesus in the streets. Ironically, the same threats which caused them to hide from the public were in play again, but this time they boldly faced the brutality of the aggression placed on them. Jesus had warned them of their fate. And witnessing Him after His death on the cross, they became very hardnosed, bold, courageous, willing to take whatever the cost to spread the good news that Jesus lives. Moreover, they delighted in the proof that Jesus had the unearthly power to rise again after being very much dead. It turned all of Israel on its ear.

History tells us how each of the disciples met their demise. Every one of them were brutalized, tortured, and executed as they refused to revise their testimony of Jesus’ resurrection. Only John lived to be an old man. They suffered and put to death in different ways and in different places. Still, these reborn eye-witnesses did exactly what Jesus commanded them. They spread the facts of Jesus to the known world in their time. That movement continues even today, over 2000 years later. The paradigm was shattered.

So, why are we surprised today that the aggression against Christians is growing and becoming even more acceptable IN AMERICA, home of the free? In many nations, more and more Christians are imprisoned, enslaved, or executed for their faith. There are people up for prison for praying in public IN AMERICA! Some have been arrested and facing jail time for singing hymns and praying in front of abortion clinics IN AMERICA! The U.S. State Dept, by way of the FBI, have spied on Christians in their own churches, saying they are a threat to democracy itself. U.S. citizens have been under surveillance by their own government concerning the January 6th incident in Washington. In this case, there were orders to scan the lives of anyone purchasing Bibles and other religious publications IN AMERICA! It brought to mind how Nero blamed the Christian community for the burning of Rome. On the presidential Easter Egg Roll event on the White House lawn, it was strictly forbidden that the children’s artwork on the eggs, or signs, be of any religious wording or symbols IN AMERICA! Once again, apparently the cross of Christ continues to be offensive. The U.S. President, Joe Biden, promoted a Transgender Day of Visibility on Easter IN AMERICA! He was proud to announce how it landed on Easter Sunday, a Christian holiday! (Oh, don’t get me started.) In the U.S. drag queens are welcome to have story time with children in public libraries, paid for by our taxes, but Christian readings are either frowned upon or outlawed altogether IN AMERICA!

The jolt felt on the east coast on Friday morning wasn’t an earthquake. It was the sound of our forefathers rolling in their graves.

Just like in the days of Peter, James, and John, there are those at the top who want to silence the testimonies of Jesus followers. There are those who want to teach the world that Christians are evil, against rights, democracy, and peace. There are those voices who shout that Christians are to be silent outside the walls of their churches. Sounds like the Book of Acts to me.

On this side of the Easter event, how brave are today’s Jesus followers? The original followers were weak and hiding, but flipped to strength, boisterous voices, and courageous. God forbid we Christians turn from joy, strength, and sharing the good news, to becoming silent, hidden, and weak in our time.

Find out more on the proofs of Easter in fuel for the race.

“After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep.” I Corinthians 15:6 (NIV)

March 27, 2024

See You Later

“See you later alligator,
After ‘while, crocodile.” (1956) “See you later, Alligator” Recorded By: Bill Haley & His Comets Composer: Robert Charles Guidry

Today, I attended the memorial service of an old friend who died way too soon. Her name was, Patt. (Yes, two “T’s” because she wanted to make it different. That’s the way Patt rolled.)

Patt was the big sister I never had. She was the sister of one of my best friends in high school. Patt was four years older than we were, so she treated us like we were in her way. You know, when I think of it, we probably were at that time in our lives. But I was very fond of Patt and happy to write, she was fond of me, too.

Patt was full of talent. She was a bit of what we used to call, “Tomboy”. She was a bit rough around the edges. A great athlete, musician, singer, songwriter, as her little brother was. Patt played the piano, the organ, the guitar, the banjo, the flute, and the violin. After college she became a physical education teacher, coach and referee. When the 1980’s hit, we lost track of one another as life took us in different directions. But her brother and I were always close, and remain so to this day. She was able to keep up with my life through her brother. Two years ago, we were at a family lunch for some Texas BBQ, and we spent some time catching up. I am so grateful for that moment in our lives.

A bit over a month ago, Patt fell ill. She was surprised to find out that she had stage 3 lung cancer. The doctors drained her lungs and told her it was still treatable. Just two weeks ago her status changed. She entered stage 4 lung cancer. A little over a week ago, she was admitted into ICU where her lungs were constantly being drained. Thursday, the 14th of March, she passed away. The entire ordeal still has our heads swimming. The speed of her illness was supersonic.

Her memorial service was beautiful, loving and honoring. She was a woman of faith. To define that, she was a follower of Jesus. Her brother, my friend, Mark sang an old, not well-known, John Denver song, “On The Wings Of A Dream”. It was extra sweet as she had willed him her Ovation guitar and used it in the service.

Photo: Mark Cannon with Patt’s Ovation guitar.

Patt’s body was all decked out for the open casket ceremony. And as usual, it, the body, didn’t look like Patt at all. It’s interesting, isn’t it? You often will hear that from other loved ones surrounding the open casket.

“Well, they did a good job on him/her, but it sure doesn’t look like him/her.”

I’ve attended many funeral services with an open casket. I have learned much from those moments standing there gazing down at the remains of a loved one. The main thing I have been educated on is the fact that when life leaves the body, it is incredibly noticeable. One minute, there is breath, along with blood pumping through the artwork of the network of vessels and veins, then the next minute, everything stops. Biblically, we understand that the “person”, the “soul”, the “spirit” which thrived inside the body vacates, leaving a shell, a house in which the person once lived. That person, disconnected from the body, is transported into an eternal place prepared where the old body, the shell, was not meant to reside. One theologian called this body our, “earth suit”. It’s just a suit made to clothe our soul/spirit while living on the planet. Scripture is very clear on this. The trusting believer in the risen Jesus is immediately translated to another realm where He is. That is where Patt moved to on Thursday, March 14th at 6:53pm, EST. At 6:52pm, she was in a failing body in an ICU room. The next minute, she, the person, the essence, the persona of Patt, was freed from it all as she was being held by her Redeemer as He lovingly said,

“Welcome home, Patt”.

I have friends who are without a faith in Jesus and His promises. They will grieve for Patt differently than I will. Why? Because to them, death is an idea that you just go blank like a prairie chicken death. Others have an idea Patt will float throughout the universe on a cushion of good intensions. (Gee, what fun, right?) While others feel Patt will go into a nirvana of an existence due to her being a great person of truly good efforts. They believe those things because they have rejected the scripture they have read, or heard of. So, because humanity was created to have eternity in mind, they make up any other scenario that sounds pleasant to their wandering, and wondering minds. So, yes, I grieve differently because I have the joy of the future in Jesus beyond this life.

Photo: My lovely wife, Michelle with me at Patt’s memorial service. (Can you tell I had been crying?)

If Patt were here she would type this out as well. She is there, by the side of Jesus, because of what He did on the cross for her, not because of what she has done. It was for the remission of her sins in life, and with it, the promise of new life eternally. Without her faith in Him, the spirit of Patt would be spent in darkness, away from God, away from her prepared place with Him. Jesus paved the way by vacating His own tomb on Easter morning. That tomb remains empty today in Jerusalem, just like the emptiness of Patt’s remains in that casket six feet under.

Photo: Patt Cannon Barrett

Ironically, Patt was buried on her birthday. She was born on this memorial service day, March 27, but spiritually born again when she was a teenager. That’s why Patt wasn’t buried today, only the old house, the shell, the cocoon in which she once lived.

Learning to replace, “Goodbye” with, “See you later” is taught in fuel for the race.

“For God loved the world in this way: so much that he would give up his Son, The Only One, so that everyone who trusts in him shall not be lost, but he shall have eternal life.” – Jesus – John 3:16 (Aramaic Bible In Plain English)

March 16, 2024

Alone?

“Hard to be sure.
Sometimes I feel so insecure.
And love so distant and obscure,
Remains the cure. All by myself.
Don’t want to be all by myself anymore…” (1975) “All By Myself” Recorded By: Eric Carmen Composers: Eric Carmen and Sergei Rachmaninoff

What a loss. With Eric Carmen passing away in his sleep recently, I felt the loss, even though I never met this incredible talent.

Phot: CNN Eric Carmen (1975)

His songs, “All By Myself” and “Never Gonna Fall In Love Again” were brilliant for the airwaves in the mid 1970’s. In fact, they were mesmerizing for me as a young performer and lover of music. There is so much to say about the songs. Using themes and variations from composer, Rachmaninoff was simply genius.

I loved performing torch songs, especially pulling at the heartstrings songs. The way the music and lyrics can mesh with lyrical tools to identify with pain, struggle, and heartbreak, is just a gift. The drama of a phrase can make you cry unanticipated tears. THAT is what a great composition can do.

Eric’s last verse of “All By Myself” was a kicker for my 15 year old emotions the first time I ever heard it. The lyrics are so honest. It speaks of hues of instability, mourning, and unrest. The first line, “Hard to be sure…” was often opted out by Eric in concert with the phrase, “I must be sure…” It clearly spotlights the transparency of the songwriter concerning the idea of life’s hesitancies. Have you been there? Procrastination is often born from the hesitant feet refusing to move forward because of fear, uncertainty, or lack of faith. That entire idea of the rickety wooden plank suspended bridge between you and the love and understanding searched for. The phrase warns the listener of the authentic pause before leaping into the unknown depth of waters below the suspension.

Eric’s next line shows not only the topic through the lens of honesty, but it reveals he is ready to admit the issue at hand. “…Sometimes I feel so insecure…” It’s the right thing to acknowledge the shortfall. Too many of us, including myself, are guilty of putting on a show in the attempt to hide the hinderance. We’ll use the crutch of nervous laughter, the ever wandering eye for distraction, not to mention the substitute of social media as a shield. Those doctors in the know tell us it’s healthy to admit, confess, or display the shortcomings.

Eric’s next line is a doozy. “…and love so distant and obscure…” When love remains at arms length, rather by choice, or by design, the ambiguity, the vagueness, and mystery becomes the nutrients of the day. Like a very well crafted diet, it becomes the norm. Like sugar, or carbs, one can crave the imagined satisfaction. When that settles into the brain, self-training maps the pathway chosen. In his words, “..remains the cure”, tells the tale. It slow dances us to the chorus, with the line,

“All by myself…”.

Eric is saying the solo life, without the responsibility of love, is what’s for dinner. Loneliness. It places you in a fog of complacency, a sense of security. Others might translate such an emotional hermit as being aloof. But then comes the rub of truth-telling in the second line of the hooky chorus…

“…don’t want to be all by myself anymore…”

Wow! This is what truth will do. That line is the punch for the entire meaning of all the candor written prior. That line means in the heart of hearts, the center core of who you are, that special room in the soul which you guard from others, is ready to respond when a knock at the door is heard. The lyric screams out, “I’m ready for change!” The knock is heard again. The lyric of a forthcoming heart shouts out, “I’m coming! I’ll be right there!”

The fact that the one knocking will not turn the knob, invites the one on the inside to unlock, turn the doorknob, and pull open the door, which is found to be far less weighty than imagined. When love, authentic, unearned love is the visitor, life’s outlook changes immediately. And so does the future. The tissue box can finally be stored away.

God does that, ya know. He waits with the endurance of eternity. He visits the heart’s door, not beating with a fist of fury, not plowing His shoulder to the hinges, or setting fire to the doorframe, but rather gently knocks. No scary tactics. No forced entry. No sledge hammering to the lock. Just a soft, gentle, loving knock. The only doorknob faces the interior.

Photo: Door to munitions storage, Ft Belknap, Tx.

True love, accepted, unconditional love, adds stout fuel for the race.

“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me. To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne, just as I was victorious and sat down with my Father on his throne.” – Jesus – Revelation 3:20-21 (NIV)

March 10, 2024

Strides

“Oh, I’m walking on sunshine, whoa.
I’m walking on sunshine, whoa.
I’m walking on sunshine, whoa.
And don’t it feel good?
Hey, all right now,
And don’t it feel good?” (1985) “Walking On Sunshine” Recorded By: Katrina And The Waves Composer: Kimberley Rew

“Training begins when you want to quit.” – Chuck Norris

“Don’t compete with the other guy across the ring from you. Compete with yourself.” – Chuck Norris

How true that is. Last June I began to get serious again with exercise for my health sake. I had already started a routine of walking two or three times a week, for maybe a mile or so. When June turned the page on the calendar, I joined my local gym at a civic center for people 55 and over. Slowly I ramped up to a longer walk, and grew the clock on my workouts in the gym. No, I’m still haven’t reached my goals. Let’s just say, I’m a man in progression.

This has been difficult for me in general. When I was much younger I was an athlete. I went through my teen years a tournament fighter in Karate and kickboxing, long before the mixed martial arts craze was born. I trained under world contenders, including Texas, U.S. and world champs of that time, who always pushed themselves, and me, to higher levels of focus and endurance. The late champ, Demetrius Havanas was my Karate/kickboxing trainer. My fellow fighters were champions, or would be champions later in life, Raymond McCallum, Billye Jackson, Steve Armstrong, and many more.

Top Photo: (1975) Billye Jackson and I going up for our next belt levels.

Photo: (1976) (L) Billye Jackson, (R) Demetrius “Greek” Havanas

Photo: (1977) Me with Demetrius “Greek” Havanas

Chuck Norris would come to our area from time to time to conduct Karate clinics. He expected a lot from his students, and rightly so. At that time, he was already seen as the Babe Ruth of Karate champions.

Photo: (1978/1979) Demetrius “Greek” Havanas & Chuck Norris

Still, I was a very fit teenager, and even into my twenties keeping my toe in the water. Tragically, Demetrius was killed in a plane crash in 1981. Through the following decades, life got in the way and I didn’t workout as much. There were lengthy periods of time when I stayed on the couch. Then at other periods of time, I would jog, or workout on the heavy bag, or play racquet ball. So, now, here I am, almost 64 years old doing my part to get back into shape…whatever that means at this age. I must say, it’s frustrating not being able to do what I did. Arg, I say! Arg!

Health issues developed over time. That would be a lengthy story for a wordy snapshot, but I can say it left me with only 40%-45% of my heart, and about 20% of my kidney function. So, needless to say, my endurance levels are not what they once were. BUT…my mind of pride wants it to be.

Just yesterday, while on my 2 mile walk, I looked up to the urban horizon to see where I make a left turn on my trek, which is the benchmark to begin my last leg of my routine. It’s easy to spot as it’s an intersection where a signal light beckons me on with its red, green, and yellow lights. My imagination hears it calling to me from afar,

“Come on, Alan! It’s just another four blocks!”

My mind says, “YEP, I CAN DO IT!” My body stops short of that. The sight of the distance simply discourages me.

One thing in my favor is a mind game I utilize. Instead of looking four blocks down into my immediate future, I have decided to rely on a shorter view. I will only focus on the next block ahead, or cast my eyes on the next 20 yards in front of me. It’s the old idea of eating an elephant one bite at a time. Believe it or not, the mental trick is truly effective. By focusing on the short term, I find I more easily arrive at the long term. The clock doesn’t know any better, but I do.

Growing up in a certain kind of church, it was preached to me that living by faith is a constant state to a life pleasing to God. That sounds good, and perfect…but we are not perfect. Let’s face it, we kid ourselves if we say we never sin, or we never falter from our faith journey. I know humanity very well. I know myself even more. I can say, with a Mt. Everest mound of assurance, only Jesus can take home that trophy. Humanity wavers at EVERYTHING, especially in matters of faith.

The phrase, “Faith journey” is an accurate depiction of a life of faith, but I prefer the biblical phrase, “Walk by faith”. Why? Because, frankly, it lends the picturesque view of the possibility of stumbling, stopping, getting off-road, making wrong turns, etc. It becomes clear, when being honest with yourself, that a walk of faith lends easily to a faulty individual. Isn’t it true, the faith walk can get trying? The faith walk can push you to the limits. Walking by faith can find cracks in the pathways. Walking by faith is a sure test of spiritual endurance. We do fail in our steps. Do we not? Find me a person in life who says they never stumble, never tire, never take wrong turns, and I will show you a dishonest person.

Looking ahead to the final goal, to reach the mark, as Paul said, is a great motivator for sure. With that said, I must admit, I believe THE World Champ, Jesus Christ, has trained me to focus on the short term chucks of life before me as I walk by faith toward the next 20 yards, or so. For me, my bite out of the elephant of life is small, but effective in the end. One step at a time is an excellent stride toward the goal.

Stretching toward the goal has a training manual in fuel for the race.

“So we are always confident, knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord. For we walk by faith, not by sight.” 2 Corinthians 5: 6-7 (NKJV)

February 24, 2024February 25, 2024

Faithfulness

“You can get just so much from the good thing. You can linger too long in your dreams. Say goodbye to the oldies but goodies, ’cause the good ol’ days weren’t always good. And tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems. We were keepin’ the faith. yeah, yeah, yeah yeah, keepin’ the faith…” (1983) “Keeping The Faith” Written &Recorded By: Billy Joel

Wear and tear. That’s what I am calling it.

I have written a couple of times concerning the personal heartbreak of my mom’s declining health due to Lewy Bodies/Dementia. Currently she remains living with my wife and I, but not for long. We are her 24/7 caregivers.

If you have read those posts, then you might recall how I have had to take care of her old house some 90 minutes from where we live. At the risk of redundancy, allow me to thumbnail sketch a bit.

The house was purchased by my grandparents in 1955. It was an old house in when they moved in. I have the history of deed going back to 1847. My mom inherited the old place back in 2016 after the passing of her parents. Morbidly so, the house has worn away slowly over the years without money for, or hope of repairs. I little over two years ago, with the reality of her sliding condition, we knew she could no longer live in the house. Selling the property was the only alternative. We needed the burden to be off of our shoulders, as well as, she drastically needs the funds for her future care.

I say, “Wear and tear” as a reflection of the aging of the house, my mom, and my haunting memories which continue to weigh heavily on my emotions. I practically was born in her old bedroom. She was only 16 in 1960, and went into labor while in her bed. She got to the hospital about 2 miles away where I was born. The first room I saw outside of the hospital, was my mom’s pink bedroom.

Two marriages came later, along with two divorces. We moved from town to town to town until I was 13. However, the one solid, faithful, steady place I loved, all of my life, was that old house where my grandparents waited with open arms of great, great love. With life seemingly unstable for me as a kid, 1613 Jones Street in Greenville, Texas was THE place of rock solid great love and shelter. So, as you can imagine, my emotions have bitterly fought with my reasoning. With the shape of the old place, I was very much aware it was going to be demolished to make room for a new home for someone in the future. It’s been truly very difficult for me to “let go” of the place. But, the time is now.

Recently, I signed a contract to sell the property. We close in less than a month.

Just yesterday, while my heart struggled, I was browsing through my Facebook scroll when I came across a picture my cousin posted (On my dad’s side of the family) from the historical family homestead on the other side of Texas, in Graham.)

In another past post, I told the story of an old Indian chief who would visit my great-grandmother at the homestead for a pitcher of her fresh buttermilk back in the late 1800’s. He would sit under the ancient Live Oak on the east side of the house as he drank it dry and then walked away. Well, in the photo above you can see part of that elderly tree in the background. Still, it was the Daffodils she was focusing on. She mentioned how each February they come up like clockwork. And so, once again, they showed themselves to be faithful. Everyone always says, when Daffodils grow and open, it means Easter/spring is around the corner.

Suddenly, I remembered many years ago, visiting the pasture in east Texas, close to Greenville, where my maternal great-grandmother lived in a small frame house, My memories of her, and the little house, remain very fond in my heart. After I moved back from my years in Buffalo, NY, I wanted to see the spot where her house once stood. To my shock, as I drove up the gravel country road to the pasture, there stood Daffodils lined up in a square, the footprint of where my great-grandmother’s house once sat. She died in 1971. Nobody, since the house was vacated, ever nurtured, or watered the ground where the Daffodils were planted by her some 70+ years ago. Yet, there they were. Almost as if they were speaking to me.

“Yes, here, Alan, was where the love was planted. She isn’t here, but she left us for you to remember her by.” I admit, I cried like a baby.

Fast forward to this morning. I made my last trip to the old house at 1613 Jones Street to leave the hidden keys for the realtor. I pulled up to the curb as my eyes caught splashes of yellow alongside the western exterior wall of the aging house. You guessed it, they were Daffodils, a lengthy line blooming along the side of the house toward the backyard area. Then when I pulled into the driveway, there on the eastern side of the house, yet another line of Daffodils blooming like there’s no tomorrow. A very warm feeling came over me.

Now, let it be known, my grandparents were not green-thumb folks. I know for a fact that all the perennials planted around the old place (There are other various blooms that diligently pop up each spring and summer around the property.) were planted by the couple who lived there from the 1930’s to 1955.

Photo: My grandparents in their backyard.

To this very day, the works of their faithful hands appear to greet us each springtime.

As I completed my last stroll through the house, and the lawns, I thought deeply on how faithful the perennials are, leading to recall the faithful loved ones who left them for us all.

No matter the tornados, the overheated Texas summer temperatures, or the droughts which overtakes us here at times, or the single digit readings on our thermometers in deep winter, or the infamous flash floods, the perennials will keep the faith.

Photo: (2020?) My mom, a cousin, and friend examining the damage after a tornado flew overhead.

They somehow assists in the truth of knowing it wasn’t the house that was the center of stability, nor the peace and safety, or the love I wrapped myself with while visiting, it was the the loved ones who happened to live there long ago. They held to their faith, and thus, held to their love for others. It’s those memories I now am forced to hold to, not so much a visual reminder of sheltering.

They understood real, true love. They held to the scriptures which details God’s love for His creation, and moreover, His people. They were taught about the perennial of the love of God when they were children, long before I came along. Always faithful, always strong.

The house will be bulldozed, the ground plowed up and layered with new soil before the cement is poured for the foundation of a new dwelling. Of course, the perennials will be destroyed, but maybe that’s the way it should be. After all, a future young family will want to lay their forever plants as they build a life for their loved ones to come.

As for me, I have my firm foundation.

It doesn’t take springtime to find God’s perennial planted for you. It remains blooming in fuel for the race.

“The LORD has appeared of old to me, saying: ‘Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you’.” Jeremiah 31:3 (NKJV)

February 11, 2024

Runner

“Well, I know what it means to hide your heart,
From a long time ago.
It keeps you runnin’, yeah, it keeps you runnin’ (It keeps you runnin’,” (1976) “It Keeps You Runnin'” Recorded By: Doobie Brothers Composer: Michael McDonald

As some people experience, often times the holidays get in the way of exercise. Suddenly you turn the calendar to February, with the realization that the workout routine has been on hold since Christmas. That reality hit me upside the head. I hate to admit it, but I slowly have been getting lazy in the post holiday winter weeks when it came to going to the gym. Shame on me!

When getting back in the saddle of things, I noticed a vacancy among two fellow-fitness freaks around me. An older couple, maybe in their mid 70’s, was missing each day from the workout area. Not that I really glanced at my watch, but they usually arrive around 2pm, hop on the treadmills for a brisk round of 30 minutes, then mount up on the four-action stationary bicycles for another 30 minutes. She looks more in shape than her husband, but they both seem very healthy and strong for their age bracket.

As I was punishing my body, for laying off for over a month, pedaling away on one of the bikes that goes to nowhere, I overheard a couple of men chatting behind me. They were updating each other on the condition of the older lady who works out with her husband. Apparently, while I was AOL, the couple were doing their normal visitation with the workout machines when she somehow lost her footing on the treadmill’s conveyer under her feet. As a result, she fell, landing on her side, hitting the conveyer hard. It was said she broke her arm and collarbone resulting in surgery. I felt so badly for the couple while hearing of the accident. One man mentioned that she came close to hitting her head on the hand braces of the treadmill, but the conveyer belt pushed her away at the beginning of her stumble.

Photo: Carrollton Senior Center Gym

After returning home from my workout, I opened up my Facebook account only to learn that an old friend of mine, had to bury his old faithful dog. Mason was a beautiful white Shepherd mix.

Photo: Mason in a recent Texas snow storm

My old school bud lives on top of a mesa, about an hour west of Dallas, where he has some acreage. It’s a gorgeous area, overlooking Lake Bridgeport around that part of the west Texas brush country. He has some cattle on the old ranch, and loves working the land with his dog by his side. He raised Mason from puppyhood. My friend and his dog have been pals for many moons, doing just about everything together. There’s nothing like the lengthy years of the loyalty of a dog. Of course, my compadre is grieving over the death of Mason, and noticeably so on his social media posts. He is terribly heartbroken. Mason was his best friend.

Photo: Mason

Mason was only 7 years old. The dog showed no signs of slowing down, or in any pain at all. He and my friend were out in the pasture goofing off together when Mason saw a lone cow in the distance. He barked and ran toward the cow, as he has done a thousand times before, but collapsed about 30 yards away. My friend ran to Mason and was with him for his last breath. He states that from bark to collapse it was only about :30-:45 seconds. Very unexpected.

You should know, my old friend has had many struggles in his life. He found the love of Jesus while attending AA meetings many years ago. He’s not shy about telling his story of battling substance and alcohol abuse, which continues to plague his life, but certainly not to the depths, or degrees from his past. He feels like he has it under control, although he moderately medicates. Yes, it bothers me. While we were in high school, he was already under the influence even during school hours. He wasn’t the only one there riding high as teens of the 1970’s. It’s been a long war for him.

I reached out, hoping to comfort him during this very painful and unique vacancy in his life. He responded back to me with a very blunt statement. (He always is very blunt and speaks his mind.)

“I’m wondering if God’s punishing me for things I’ve not yet done?”

I’m not one to pry. Knowing a bit of my old schoolmate’s struggles, I am certain he is pondering deeply on falling short of constructed expectations.

Instantly, my mind went back to the aged lady who fell badly on her treadmill. As you keep the legs moving, even though your body isn’t advancing in actual miles, or scenery, you, the runner, can be lulled into the routine of the conveyer feeding your feet false advancement of turf. Before you can say, Carl Lewis, you’ve worked hard without getting anywhere. It can almost feel hypnotic. I don’t use the treadmill myself, due to numb feet, yet I still can imagine after just 10 minutes or so, losing my focus causing me to lose my footing.

False traction can be an issue sometimes. Have you been there before? If you don’t know God’s character, as well as you could know Him, you very well might find yourself stumbling and falling hard due to misjudging Divine love and grace. So much so, that when a big loss hits your days, you can mistakenly fall into a misdiagnosis of God’s weaving in your personal life. Civilizations throughout the ions, who tried to please false gods, always had this over their heads. If a hurricane leveled their village, then Triton must be missing a human sacrifice. If a volcano erupted, the god of the mountain, or the god of fire, or Zeus himself must be angry with the villagers. If “karma” was delivered to an individual for a misdeed, bad stuff was sure to be in the not too distant future. Just always beware what the next fortune cookie has to say, or what the taro cards reveal.

The true and living God of the Bible sent His son to endure misdeeds, bad conduct, and cultural shortcomings. He sent part of Himself to be “punished” for the crimes of all humanity, past, present, and future, even though He never sinned. That’s true mileage, a true grip, a realistic traction.

My friend up on the west Texas mesa, is not being “punished” for failures in his life. The loss of dear, sweet Mason, is painful, but not a penance, nor penalty. The fact that my friend hears such a misnomer in his mind is evidence the thought is issued by the Adversary, God’s enemy. I reminded him of God’s grace and mercy in his life. My friend must learn, or revisit, the fact of the understanding and compassion of Jesus. Just check out the visit with the wayward woman at the well. That simple scheduled exchange displayed His graciousness toward the woman stained with sins and cultural shame. He was understanding, compassionate, and kind. Missing is the scene where Jesus points His judging finger at her while slamming a rubber mallet on her head with His other hand. My grieving buddy needs to be brought back to the realization of God’s unlimited forgiveness in his life of struggle. It all is the opposite of punishment. These truths will give him accurate footing with each step.

Avoiding synthetic traction for your run is located in fuel for the race.

“He said to her, ‘Go, call your husband and come here.’ The woman answered and said to Him, ‘I have no husband.’ Jesus said to her, ‘You have correctly said, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one whom you now have is not your husband; this which you have said is true.’” John 4:16-18 (NAS)

February 3, 2024

Be-TRAY-al

“(What they do?),
(They smilin’ in your face),
Smiling faces, smiling faces sometimes tell lies (Back stabbers)” (1972) ”Back Stabbers” Recorded By: The O’Jays Composers: Leon Huff, Gene McFadden, John Whitehead

Over-the-top volume levels roused me from my sleep. I looked over at the clock on my bedside table to discover it was 2:20am, March 4, 2014. It was difficult to get out of bed due to my debilitating condition at the time.

The year prior, on February 13th of 2013, my wife at the time found me without a pulse in the bathtub. My eyes were fixed open, with skin white as a sheet. I had been extremely ill for a few days. If I had been aware, having her find me would not have been a comfort. Due to her covert talents to hide her alcohol and drug abuses, among other things, her entire alteration of persona had wrecked havoc in our relationship. Our marriage was barely alive, at best. She had been sleeping on the living room couch for several weeks. Although I have no memory of it, sometime before 3:00am, I had filled the bath with hot water to soak my painful body. She found me unresponsive, in ice cold water, sometime around 9:30am. I died twice, once before the paramedics arrived to jump start me, and again in the ER. To make a long story short, I was the victim of a full-organ shutdown during the overnight in the tub. The ICU was my home for three weeks while on life support before they moved me to a telemetry room for another three weeks. Tubes and machines kept me alive.

Over the course of the next two years, my body was recovering. On that sorrowful night of March 4th, 2014 I was still in therapy learning to walk on my own strength again. By that time, I was able to ditch the walker, but my ability to balance with each step was a carefully thought-out action of sheer will. Muscle erosion and weakness was like an overlord against me in the battle for health. I was half the physical man I had been. I would never be the same again. Disability was no longer a stranger to me.

As I made my way into the living room, where my wife had been sleeping, I found the TV volume blaring at 75%. As I lowered the audio levels with the remote, I instantly discovered the purpose. On the other side of the living room was the guest room, although mainly unfurnished. The door was shut with a light bleeding out from under the door. I heard my wife’s loud laughing, with mumbled sentences, along with pauses interrupting a one-sided conversation. A sickening feeling came over me from the top of my head to the bottom of my numb feet. Her words became clearer as I exercised a soft caution with my fragile steps toward the closed door. Placing my ear against the door, I listened to a horrifying reality.

She obviously was on the phone with a lover. It was very clear with only a grasp of two or three sentences. I knew well the flirtatious giggles, forced laughter, sensual inflections used like a gardener massaging the early bud of a flower. There was recognition as I took in her altered speech patterns. Trust me when I say, I knew a lover was on the other line. Not only did her seductive crafts gave her away, but her words of loving him were deafening to this struggling husband.

Yes, I tried the doorknob. It was locked. There was a second door to the guest room, inside a second bathroom, which had access to the guest room. It too was locked. I retrieved a small screwdriver which would spring the doorknob lock through a small hole. I was outraged and enraged. When entering the room, I bluntly confronted her. With the phone to her ear, she told me to get out.

I will spare you the rest of the horrid details of that early morning train wreck with my adulterous wife and her lover. However, I would like to tell you about my next discovery.

After she elected to leave the apartment for the rest of the overnight, I was able to prove more of her relationship with this other man. I was able to get into her email account around 5:00am, where I read several email conversations with this man which dated back many months. He was in upstate New York, where we lived prior to moving to the Dallas, Texas area. They had plans to rendezvous near our area on his way to Florida for a vacation. She was going to go with him for a romantic fling-week. She had plans to lie to me concerning going to North Carolina to see her ailing father. All of this while I, her husband, was struggling to recover from a major health crash. She used my disability, and the various drugs I had to be on, to cheat on me.

I divorced her before the end of that same year. Right, or wrong, it was a long time coming.

When I think back on our five year marriage, I could see where I was being betrayed at every turn. There’s too much to define it all for you, in fact, much of it is way too personal to share. She had been living a double life from the time we met. She hid all of her vices, a disturbing past, and dark spiritual life. She was into occultism, although pretending it was a thing of the past. She hid well her various substance addictions. My wife had a drug dealer in our apartment complex, a man she also traded with using sex. This woman had her sexual attractions, later admitting she was a bisexual. She was violent, abusive, and used psychological warfare on a daily basis.

Betrayal was familiar in my life. In fact, betrayal ended my first marriage of 26 years. I lost one of my very best jobs in radio due to a sickening betrayer, a so-called friend, with an agenda and a lying tongue. At the age of 13, I was devastated by a betrayal exercised by my youth pastor at the time. I guess it would be fair to say, it is far more bitter to be a victim of betrayal by way of a loved one, a relative, or a close friend. If a stranger betrays you, it hurts, but somehow the stab wound seems softer.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

A relationship wrapped in love is like a strong post to lean on when the gravity is brutal. Think of it like a strong tree root offering its arm as it sticks out from the edge of a dangerous cliff.

You grab it with all you have as it holds you up from the sharp rocks one hundred feet below.

Friendship, like marriage, is built on trust. We rely on our relationships. Marriage is sealed between two people as they give vows to uphold one another. Anything less will chip away, or even melt that trust, leaving the residuals all over everything and everybody.

To betray is to utilize masks, or falsehoods. A store window betrays us. The dress looks terrific under the colored stage lights as it’s tailored to fit the pretty mannequin perfectly. Food photographers can tell you how they use tools to take yummy pictures of the latest hamburger from this advertiser, or that advertiser. It always looks better in the photo than it does on your plate. In a sense, it is betrayal.

“This above all; To thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.” Shakespeare’s, “Hamlet”. Because frankly, betrayal can come from someone you most least expect.

You can search the entire spectrum of life, from the cradle to the grave, and find a bit of betrayal in almost any person. We are faulty. No one is always honest all the time. Depending on someone for all things can be hard to do in our day, our times, our world.

Religious folk can betray you. Religious leaders have been known to betray others. It has happened.

Because spiritual matters are so close to the heart, we ache for a spiritual foundation, a post, a root of its tree to be everlastingly strong and reliable. Matters of the heart outlasts the body, even the mind.

The One, The True One, The God who describes Himself as, The Great I AM, promised never to forsake. His batting record is beyond perfection. He never fumbles. His three-pointers never hit the rim. He holds you most dear. When all fails around you, He is sturdy. Gravity is powerless against Him. After all, He created it.

When looking for someone to have your back, to believe in, to trust in, He can be found in fuel for the race.

“No one shall stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you or forsake you.” – Joshua 1:5

January 21, 2024

Wash-Up Now…Yeah, Right

“I would not leave you in times of trouble.
We never could have come this far.
I took the good times, I’ll take the bad times.
I’ll take you just the way you are.” (1977) “Just The Way You Are” Recorded and Written By: Billy Joel

It happened overnight, while sound asleep in mid January, during a very frigid, windy and wet cold front. It wasn’t a total surprise as the forecasters warned us about it a week prior. I was awakened by it around 3AM. It was loud, ominous, and somewhat threatening. The winds were heard first coming from the northwest. Shortly after the first brunt of gusts, the straight-line winds made their presence known, the sound of thunder, accompanied by rainfall beat on our bedroom window. When I say, “rainfall”, what I really mean is deluge, in the torrential variety. The waterworks continued until just before dawn.

After the sun rose, I made my way to the living room to open the window blinds, as is my morning routine. The temperature had dropped about 50 degrees, leaving us with 10 degrees above zero. For Texas, that’s cold. As I opened the shades, my eyes glanced at our car sitting in the driveway. I had to take a second look. I blinked, then rubbed my eyes to refocus. There, in the morning sunlight, our car was covered in red dirt. I live in the north Dallas area where the sod is more dark, clay-like in some areas. Some sections of north Texas is black clay and sandy spots. Red dirt is definitely west and northwest Texas. Obviously, there had been a good old-fashion red dust storm ushered in by the winds of the cold front, straight out of west Texas.

Seeing that the red dirt, more like red dried mud, had christened the vehicle from top to bottom, including the windows, a carwash was in order. However, it was too cold for carwash locations as so many lines of water were freezing. The following three days we never got out of the 20’s for a high, adding snow to the mix as well. When I finally got to our neighborhood carwash, there were 6-7 cars deep waiting in line. I gave up, washed the windows as best I could, (although the red caked mud smeared across the windows) and delayed the bathing of old Silver for another day. But, a couple of days went by, giving way for temperatures to rise over freezing, and she got her much needed bath. After all, the car couldn’t wash itself.

About that same time, my uncle posted online an old photo of three relatives from my dad’s side of the family. It is an old shot of three of my dad’s cousins. The photo is from the west Texas community of South Bend, Texas, just northwest of the scenic Possum Kingdom Lake.

Photo: (1935/1937), Service Station, South Bend, Texas.

If developed in color, you would be able to see the red sandy dirt around them. Growing up, I loved visiting the area to see family, but always got in trouble coming home with red stains on my jeans and t-shirts. My mom was NOT happy. Little did I understand at the time how difficult it is to get the red dirt stains out of fabric.

Notice our cousin Edward, the guy in the middle. He looks as if he just got back from the army. A common mistake. For anyone under 60 years old, you may not realize the uniform of a service station attendant. Yep, he was decked out in his daily working clothes. Often it came with a bowtie. They are at a “Service Station” owned by my great-uncle Marshall, Edward’s dad. You can clearly see the old gas pumps behind them. I should have underlined the word, “Service”.

A few decades ago, with rare instances, they transitioned from “Service Stations” to gas stations, self-serve stations, or refueling stations. Back in the days of yore, as in the above photo, the service attendant, mechanic, or quasi-mechanic, (Gomer or Goober Pile) would walk out to your parked car by the pumps as you rolled down your window (by hand), and he would ask what he could do for you.

“Fill ‘er up with Ethel”, one might say.

With a cigarette hanging out between his teeth, along with an oily red rag dangling from his rear pants pocket, he would either ask if he could check your oil and radiator levels, or he would just raise the hood and go to it without asking. He then would check your tire pressure, airing them up if needed. And the most outstanding service in the west Texas dust, he would wash your windows as the tank was getting filled. Now, THAT’S service! After all, the car can’t service itself.

Those were the days!

One of the most memorable statements I would hear as a child, while playing in the red sandy creek bottom, just a stone’s throw away from my grandparent’s house in west Texas was,

“Go wash-up, now! Supper will be ready soon! Get to it!”

Of course, my problem was, I could in no way get the red dirt stains off my clothes. The stain was too deep, too seeping, too stubborn. I just couldn’t do that myself.

As long as I live, I will always be fond of those precious visits out in those west Texas hills.

Whether it’s a red dust storm dumping itself on my defenseless car in the driveway, or cleaning red stains off my clothing from a west Texas creek bed, there comes with it a real sense of helplessness. Have you ever felt that way about personal brokenness? Have you ever been at an insightful position to recognize the stark truth of being defenseless in a world around you serving up evil right and left? Do you know what I mean?

Let’s put it this way; have you ever, just once, found yourself surrounded by something you would like to shower-off? Am I resonating? Do you know what I mean?

Plenty of times in my life, I found myself somewhere I shouldn’t be, or hear/say something I was offended by, or simply splashed by something that approached me which I recognized as straight from an evil intension. There is this lasting impression, an urge to shower-off, even though a physical washing on my exterior body never would wash away the oppression deep within. Have you ever been there?

If so, you are in the majority. In fact, I dare say everyone has been there, if honesty prevails. Frankly, we, as humans, have a stain on the inside. It’s a stain you cannot wash away in your personal, private carwash. This is a stain you are born with, a flaw, which manifests itself throughout your years. Yes, the environment we live in enables this stain to strengthen, not fade. You can attempt to manage the edges of the manifestations of this stain, but the power of it will either morph into another area of weakness in your make-up, or it will rise again as you feel even more defeat. Am I strumming your chord?

The car couldn’t wash itself. The old 1935 V8 engine couldn’t refill its oil and radiator, or clean its own windshield. The red sand in the creek bottom in west Texas is still there to this day, with the run-off of the red Brazos River water. It’s always going to be there. So, too, the stain within will always be there, regardless of how we mask it, disguise it, or paint it over.

The storm which ushered in this inward devastating stain is a curse degreed ions ago in the infancy of the human experience. You can rub, scrub, wash, wax, shellac, paint, only to discover its ugly head popping up from your heart of hearts. It’s natural to attempt to remodel, or reconstruct in efforts to rid yourself of it, simply because we can do that in almost every sector of physical life. It’s a search for satisfaction which drives us to better ourselves by the inner might of one’s self-endurance, self-motivation, self reliance. However, in this case, it is the one and only thing in your life you cannot dislodge, cast out, or wash and rinse away. It’s like trying to cleanse the grain from a tree trunk. It’s immoveable by all efforts.

Sin is a problem. The stain lasts, regardless of effort. After all, you are unable to clean your own heart, soul, and spirit. Servanthood, beyond your muster, makes the difference. Servanthood from the Maker of your heart, your soul, your spirit, your temporary body. Only He has the “Service Station” to wash away this deeply seeded stain. The Great Redeemer wears the cap.

No need to wash-up first. Don’t go changin’ to try and please Him. He’ll take you just the way you are, stains and all.

If you have read this far into my post, then count it as a sign of soul-desire within you, a willfulness to understand yourself in a world which trains us all to ignore lasting satisfaction within.

Jesus said,

“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man (individual) can come to the Father but by me.” – Jesus – (John 14:6)

The urge to wish the stain away, or utilizing the “quick-fix” notions will only fail, proving the weight of the stain to be like a growing bowling ball on your shoulder. Lennon and McCartney wrote a truth in the phrase,

“Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time…” (Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight)

Two thousand years prior, Jesus gave the answer to the dilemma,

“Come to Me, all those toiling and being burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” – Jesus - (Matthew 11:28-29 Berean Literal Bible Version)

Removing the eternal stain is found in the cleansing red blood of the crucified Suffering Servant, found in fuel for the race.

“’Come now, let us settle the matter,’” says the LORD. “’Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.'” – Isaiah 1:18 (NIV)

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