Christmas Spirit

Is there any more joy than watching/listening to your children/grandchildren singing or performing at church?

Pictured here are 7 primary aged (one pre-school) children singing Christmas Carols at their church. Last Sunday, actually.

Small church, but friendly and genuine - all families, that is.

This is the church of John and Tonya and their children/grandchildren.

In this picture are 3 year old Mary on the left; 7 year old Priscilla next to her; and 6 year old Benjamin second from right. They’re Molly and Troy’s kids. (Isabelle and Janie - Bobby and Paige’s two were in Texas with their OTHER grandparents.)

While singing, they were smiling, rotating, jumping (to Jingle Bells) and really exhibiting the Joy of Christmas.

“Away in a Manger”; “What Child is This?”; “Silent Night”; “Jingle Bells”; and others.

They were trained and led by a Christian married lady named, Miss Diane. She and her husband not only trained them, but decorated and provided the gifts for the children - as well as for the Priest and Deacon of the Church. All at their own expense. What love they have for the children, and the children for them!

Such is the ”Spirit of Christmas”, as we say.

Children being early trained about the coming, and then the life and sacrificial dying of the Saviour of the world, is paramount in their rearing in the “nurture and admonition of the Lord”, as we’re challenged.

One Churchman is quoted as saying, “Give me the children until at least the age of 3, and we will have them for life.” I don’t know how true that is, but it certainly is the proper start.

There’s been a change in the national psyche about Christmas “down through the years” (we old timers like to use that phrase). There’s still some “Christmas Spirit” abroad, but it appears to be gradually degrading to “things”, rather than to “feelings”, or “faith”.

And, here 4 days after Christmas, it’s “back to normal”. Except for generally Christian radio stations, the Carols are gone. The “spirit” is gone.

I must relate a story I heard some years ago - that is certainly more pertinent to today, than to that time.

It seems that a man and his wife were walking past the window of a Department Store one December some time ago, when they noticed that the window display included a manger scene; shepherds; angels; father/mother and baby, etc. In the shadows, there was a cross, with the supposed body of Jesus hanging there. And, a sign stating, “Peace on earth, goodwill to men”. The man was reported to have said, “Look at that! Now they’re even getting religion in Christmas. What are we coming to?”

Indeed - What ARE we coming to?

Would that we had the “Spirit of Christmas” - of giving, loving, worshipping, sacrificing, sharing Christ - all year long.

Matthew 22:37-40 “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind…….And….thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”

Mark 16:15 “Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature.”

(This reminder is for me, and I’m sharing it with you.)

Cell Phones

I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to do a “blog post” on Cell Phones. They’re ubiquitous! omnipresent! Everybody has one! Don’t they?

Of course - don’t you?

Just mentioning those 2 words (cell phones) brings picture memories of at least 10 various sized, colored, enclosed, loud, large, small and assorted telephones - portable ones, actually.

I’ve been trying to remember what prompted me - in about 1983 - to arrange for a mobile phone in the WEEC car I was driving back then. I MAY recall by the time I finish this post, but for the life of me (as we say), I can’t come up with it. Oh……….I just remembered. I had a CB radio (with another one in the office) that I used, to give the Secretary a chance to get me if I was needed. I spent a lot of time in the car.

The problem was that sometimes I would drive beyond the range of the CB radio, and I couldn’t be reached. Then, I had to find a pay phone and “call in”.

I sometimes found a pay phone even when I could be reached by CB - if there was some personal or private information I needed to share, or be told.

Back in 1974, I was driving near Cedarville OH, when our Secretary - Linda - got on the CB and said something like “KNN3083 mobile, this is Base, Over”. “Mobile here”, I said. “I have a private message for you. Try to find a phone to call.” “Roger Base. 10-7”.

I distinctly remember turning into a service station in Clifton, finding an outside pay phone, and calling Linda, to find out that our new Grand-daughter Molly was just born. (I just got Molly’s permission to mention this. Good move, huh?). Now, if I had a cell phone, John could have talked to me personally, rather than having to give me the message second handedly.

(Stick with me---I’m going on instant memory here.)

Of course, there were advantages to having a CB. You could hear some interesting (and sometimes startling) things that Truckers on the Interstates had to say. And, if you happened to be a “gabby” person, you could talk to nearly anyone you wanted. (Do we know anyone like that?)

Another instant thought.

I was listening to the CB one time, when I heard some talking - in some cases kinda “off mike”, like conversations in an office. There were, I think, 3 different people talking - basically about their business, and what was going on in the office. Sometimes there would be silence, as there would be in an office setting. (Experience tells us that the “noise” in an office is directly proportional to the number of persons in that office - official conversation or not.)

Anyway, after hearing that on the CB for some time, suddenly, a phone rang, and someone said, “Oh”, and the communication stopped. It became apparent that someone else was listening who recognized these office sounds, and called them to say, “Turn off the CB!”, or some such. I remember that it sounded like an auto rental firm. No problem if they had had a cell phone instead.

I don’t know if that experience prompted me to look into a “mobile phone” for the car or not. At any rate, I found out that Duane’s Answering Service could provide a mobile, or portable phone for the car, at a reasonable rate. I contacted Victor, and he arranged to have one installed in the WEEC car.

It wasn't a SMALL cell phone! It was LARGE, and the base for it was mounted on the floor of the front seat, right over the transmission. In the base was a speaker, and there was a microphone attached to it.

To make a call, you had to pick up the microphone, and say, “Springfield Base, this is 1470” (Actually saying “Fourteen seventy“) “1470 go ahead.” “Please dial 555-1212” (or another real number). You could hear the ringing of the phone, then someone would answer. When done, you reported, “Springfield base. 1470 clear”. I had an incoming number as well, some 3 number prefix to “1470”

One drawback was that it was “simplex”, not “duplex”. That is, only one side of the conversation could talk at once. Frustating if you disagreed with what the other person said, or didn't want to wait. It was convenient, though, as well as portable, and accessible. Not private, but you could handle that OK. And could be used out of state - with advance notification.

I probably had that for maybe 5 years. In more than one car, though. It had to be removed from the “old” car, and re-installed in the “new” one.

The next "wave" was Cellular Phones. They had the promise of nationwide usage, without a problem. The first ones were "analog", like the old fashioned telephones. Then, apparently in the late 1990's or thereabouts they were digital. It's doubtful if the "analog" ones can still be used.

Victor wasn’t interested in “cell phones”, so I had to go to the telephone company to find one. The promise of even nationwide usage and coverage in the future was attractive.

Though the phone company had them, local dealers, such as Craig Robinson in Lawrenceville sold and serviced them.

In about 1988 or ‘89, I contacted Craig and his daughter Kimberly, and bought my first Cell Phone. That was the first of at least 10 Cell phones I’ve had in these last 15 years. What a help Kimberly especially was to me!

Even the first one could be “dialed” to a regular phone number. And, it could receive calls directly - not through someone like “Springfield Base”. And, it could be taken to other states and used. Some extra arrangements had to be made, though. Calls were received and answered just like at home.

Since the first ones, Cell phones have progressed to sending text messages, containing a camera - with the ability to “send” pictures - and even access the computer.

The latest for me?

BlackBerry 8330. Nationwide free calls to and from ANY location. Text messages to and from ANY other cell phone. Send and receive e-mails, using my home e-mail address. Direct access to the Internet (including quick access to this “blog” site). Access to live NFL football games. Live weather reports. Calendar and Date Book, synchronized with my Computer Calendar and Date Book. Address book. Voice Mail, if I can’t answer the phone right away. Still camera. Send pictures from the phone to and from any Cell Phone, or, even any e-mail address. Video camera. Bluetooth availability. Free GPS Navigation so as to never get lost. Alarm clock. Calculator. Memo pad. Voice note recorder. Pocket Express for News, Weather, Sports, Entertainment, maps and travel. CNN News. Instant Messaging. Google Talk. Yahoo Messenger. Facebook. Games. Live Television. Direct shopping. Voice Dialing. To Do list. Maybe more, but I DON’T use them all.

Remarkable, the Technology today, isn’t it?

Robots and Automatons

Think of this picture being taken 20 years ago or 10, or even 5.

Impossible? Absolutely.

Technology. It scares me to even comment on, much less write about this, or even Robots.

This picture shows two of our great-grandsons Benjamin 6, on the left; and Elijah 9, on the right. You might have guessed that this was taken on Christmas Day. You’re right. The instructions on the box for Benji say it’s for 8 year olds. Don’t tell him. He has no problem of remotely moving it around, on 3 distinct wheels - any direction at all. From 10 feet away! (Don’t tell him, but this 84 year old is “too young” for this.) And, Elijah’s WALKS, on two large flat feet. They also move their arms; pick up things; and grunt and even TALK - controlled remotely!

These days, it’s almost impossible to surprise me about the new Technologies. But these “Robots” do. And, these are apparently only elementary - using today’s standards.

Even so, they “blow my mind”.

What IS a robot?

ro·bot

ro·bot [rṓ bòt, rṓbət]
(plural ro·bots)
n
1. programmable machine for performing tasks: a mechanical device that can be programmed to carry out instructions and perform complicated tasks usually done by people
2. imaginary machine: a machine that resembles a human in appearance and can function like a human, especially in science fiction
3. person like machine: somebody who works or behaves mechanically and emotionlessly
4. South Africa traffic light: a set of automatic traffic lights (informal)


[Early 20th century. Via German < Czech , < robota "forced labor"; coined by Karel Čapek in his play R.U.R. (Rossum's Universal Robots) (1920)]


-ro·bot·ic [rō bóttik], , adj
-ro·bot·i·cal·ly [rō bóttikəlee], , adv
Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

One of these definitions that I like is: “perform(s) complicated tasks usually done by people.”

That’s a work saver! Could be used by lazy people - such as I. (I wonder if you could program it to make my bed?)

So far, the “robots” I know about, are programmed by people, and are not independently resourceful. But, that’s only those I KNOW about. Don’t you hear of some that sometimes even think for themselves? (Don’t forget - I’m scared about even commenting on these things that I know so little about.)

But, a TRUE “robot” IS programmed by human beings. According to Encarta, a robot is “programmed to carry out instructions.”

Then, there are “automatons”.

au·tom·a·ton

au·tom·a·ton [aw tómmətən, aw tómmə tòn]
(plural au·tom·a·tons or au·tom·a·ta [aw tómmətə])
n
1. independent and complex machine: a machine that contains its own power source and can perform a complicated series of actions, including responses to external stimuli, without human intervention
2. somebody who acts like machine: somebody who behaves like a machine in emotionlessly obeying instructions and performing repetitive actions


[Early 17th century. Via Latin < Greek , neuter of automatos "acting by itself"]


-au·tom·a·tous, , adj
Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

I’d like to comment on this partial definition:

somebody who behaves like a machine in emotionlessly obeying instructions and performing repetitive actions

Some people observing dedicated Christians following Jesus have mistakenly taken us to be “automatons”. We obey God’s “Instructions” from the Bible as we understand them, and try to follow them - but NOT “emotionless” or “mindless” obedience, but obedience never-the-less.

Here are some of God’s “instructions:

“Let each esteem others better than himself”. Philippians 2:3
“Walk in the Spirit and you will not fulfill the lusts of the flesh”. Gal. 5:16
“Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved”. Acts 16:31
“ Whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life”. John 3:16
“Go into all the world and preach the gospel”. Mark 16:15

And many others.

Not automatons. Nor robots. But rather, obedient ones - of our own choosing. I have put our actions as follows:

“I do what He wants, because His Will is my desire.”

I have a choice. A robot, or an automaton does not!

Praise the Lord!

Nicknames

Are you familiar with these nicknames?

DDE, HST, Dubyah, Bill and Hill, Tricky Dick, Silent Cal, Ike, FDR, The Great Communicator, RMN, etc.

Actually, they are “nicknames” for some of our Presidents.

What is a “nickname”?

nick·name [ník nàym]
n (plural nick·names)
1. invented name: an invented name for somebody or something, used humorously or affectionately instead of the real name and usually based on a conspicuous characteristic of the person or thing involved

Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Some “nicknames” are complimentary or endearing; some pejorative; some “downright mean”; e.g. “Slick Willie”, or "Tricky Dick".

I mentioned in an earlier post, the nicknames GI’s used for General MacArthur: "Backtrack Mac", and "Dugout Doug". There were others for MacArthur, as well as for the presidents named.

Why am I called “Mike”, when my name is “Myron”?

Well, when I was 8 or 9 years old, a next door neighbor named "Charlie" called to me one day and said, “Hey Mike”. I looked around to see to whom he was speaking. It was I. Little by little, the name stuck, and I’ve used it ever since.

Why not tell everyone that my name is “Myron”? Actually, I’ve never liked it very much. I was never told where my mother got the name, but I’ve always had it, and it’s mine. When I introduce myself generally, it is “Mike”. Family members say that when someone calls me “Myron”, you know they MIGHT be from Mechanicsburg, and not necessarily friends. Actually, my sister-in-law Doris pronounces my name, "Myron". more accurately than anyone - even Jean.

One of my childhood friends called me “Myronie”. And, someplace along the early years, it was “Mynie”. Jean called me that when we were dating, and for some time after that. Her high school friends called me that also. Later, of course, Jean went to “honey”; “Dad”; “Grandpa”; and finally, "Mike".

When I was in about the second grade, my mother bought a pair of “knickers” for me, that were obviously too large. Unfortunately, I wore them to school. So, the sixth and seventh grade boys started calling me “Two-pants” at school. I don’t think I wore them much.

Endearing? Or Pejorative? I never knew.

When T. W. Thompson, one of my favorite school teachers retired, the Lions Club in town (Mechanicsburg), held a celebration for him. Though I no longer lived in town, I was invited to represent some of his former pupils, and say a few kind words. The Emcee - Don Bradley, who was a local businessman and President of the local bank, introduced me simply, by saying, “Here’s Mynie Maddex!”

When my Army outfit was in New Guinea during World War II, we had a baseball team. I tried out for Shortstop and/or Second base, and used the nickname of PeeWee - after baseball great, PeeWee Reese. I wasn’t very good with “grounders” in high school, I remember, but in that outfit I went after EVERY ground ball that came my way, and I found out that a determination to get that ball paid off. (I wasn’t a very good batter, though.)

When I joined the Moody Bible Institute in 1954, of course, my name was “Myron”. That was true. However, I found a part-time job with a radio repairman/installer named Bob Werner. I gave him the name of “Mike”.

A confusing factor at MBI was that a fellow worker there was named Miron. We discussed our individual spellings, and he said his dad named him "Miron", instead of "Myron", because he wanted his name to be pronounced "Myern" (like "iron")instead of the traditional "My-run". Didn't work, though, at least at MBI. He was called "My-run", the same as I. Now we had two "My-runs". (Maybe it WAS better that I was Mike.)

One Sunday morning when I was on duty at WMBI there, Werner called the studios and asked to speak to “Mike Maddex”. Sam Paxton, the announcer who answered the phone said, “Who’s Mike Maddex?” Of course, I answered, and used my nickname ever after that. (So did Sam!)

Sometimes, using a nickname officially causes confusion. I just automatically say my name is Mike, without thinking. The same thing was true for Jean, whose real name was Wilma Jean Maddex.

The nickname won’t work for Insurance, Medicare, etc. I have to remember to use the “proper” name. In the doctor’s office, they call me “Mike”, since that’s what I gave them. However, in Insurance billing, I’ve had to be sure to use “Myron B. Maddex”, and “Wilma J. Maddex”. Confusing to other people. I have to be careful.

I like nicknames, though. They’re generally shorter than the real name, and in some cases, are endearing, or friendly.

I used to say, “Call me anything but late for chow”.

Did you ever think of Jesus having "nicknames"?

How about Isaiah 9:6? “For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given: and the government shall be upon His Shoulder: and His Name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.”

We also read of him being called “Saviour”; “Lord”; “Christ”; and other God-given names.

If you want to get my attention, say, “Hey Mike!” I’ll probably answer.

New Guinea and Manila

One of the things we did at Finschhafen, New Guinea in World War II, was to take a Jeep ride to Buna Mission. That was the “noted” battle site of November 1941 to January 1942 - maybe a year before I went there.

My recollection of the history of the place - battles included - is sketchy, but I do remember the significance to me, of the palm trees near the beach. Our information was that when our troops started the battle of Buna, many of the Japanese were “camped” in the leaves of the palm trees, and succeeded in “snipering” (a word?) our troops as they landed. As a result, the ships at sea “bombarded” the coast - and trees - so that NOT ONE of the trees had any foliage at the top, as could be expected. They were all “knocked out”, along with the snipers, by the ships in the harbor. Awesome sight!

The 5 men in my tent at Finschhafen were: Glen Grewell (late of Clark County Ohio); Thurl Campbell (late of Boynton Beach FL area); Clint Wilcox (late of Rochester NY area); Al Fessler (presently in Arizona); and me (currently in Indiana). Al and I, of course, the only 2 still living.

Glen Grewell retired 15 miles from my home town area, and we were able to be with him and his wife many times. We attended the funerals of both him and his wife Ila. He was an elecronic genius(bar none). An example: he built - from “scratch” - a color television set, and later, a satellite receiver and “ham” antenna in his back yard. With the TV, he bought no parts - he “wound his own coils”. Many other things.

Though the whole 897th Signal Company Depot Aviation, had annual “reunions”, the 5 of us were able to meet together only one time, in Dayton Ohio - 50 years after we first met.

Throughout our “tour” in Southeast Asia, we had, basically, the same cooks. Different Mess Sergeants were in charge, but at least 2 of the cooks remained. One memorable meal, we were filing in line with our tin mess kits and utensils, and one of the cooks said, “Steak today, boys!” “Hurrah“, we said. “Better than ‘spam’”. However, upon closer examination, it turned out to be “liver”. I’ve never liked liver since.

I had one official trip while at Finschhafen. I “safe handed” some equipment from our outfit in Finschhafen, to Hollandia, farther up the coast. We had some of our guys there - fixing radios.

After 15 months - more-or-less - at Finschhafen, our whole outfit packed up and moved to Manila, Philippines. By ocean, of course. I don’t remember whether “Ducks” were used to get us to and from the ship or not, but away we went.

While we were at Manila, so was General of the Armies Douglas MacArthur. I saw him occasionally, driving to and from the Air Base where we were stationed (Nielsen Field), right at Manila. He rode in the back seat of a Packard - luxury car of the day. The license plates front and back of his car carried the 5 stars of his present rank, prominently displayed. You couldn’t miss him.

I was in the shop at the Air Field one day, when we got a radio call concerning a defective radio on a certain plane. All we were given were the identifying numbers on the tail of the plane. I got on a weapons carrier, and rode out to find the plane. I found it - the biggest and most elaborate of any there.

Still unsuspecting, I climbed a simple ladder up to the cockpit of the plane to do the repair. When I got to the top, a large Master Sergeant met me and said, “Where do you think you’re going?” “I’m here to fix the radio, Sir.” “Not in those shoes, you’re not! Take ‘em off!”

What do you think I did? I was a lowly Staff Sergeant (technician at that).

I climbed back down the ladder, placed my shoes beside the other pair there, and climbed back up in my stocking feet. ( I had noticed the shoes, but never suspected that mine would join them.)

When I got in the cockpit, I discovered that this was General MacArthur’s private plane (owned by the Army, of course). After I took care of the radio, the Sergeant asked me if I would like a tour. “Sure”, I said. He led me back “aft” in the plane, and into the General’s private compartment. (Would you believe “apartment”?) Standing out above anything in the whole plane, was the “bulkhead” - with a 5 foot circle of 5 stars, denoting the General’s rank! Very intimidating! I was sufficiently impressed.


The GI's may have called him “Dugout Doug”, or “Backtrack Mac”, but you had to be impressed by that plane - and bulkhead.

One evening, several of us were riding in Jeeps in downtown Manila, and just ahead of us was another Jeep, and a soldier in the back held up a newspaper with the headline - “VJ Day arrives!” Though there had been rumors, this was the first confirmation we had that the war had ended. Joyous time. “When are we goin’ home?” was the cry.

It took awhile. The “Surrender” still had to be signed on the USS Missouri. But, prior to that, a delegation of Japanese army officials landed at Manila, for pre-negotiations for surrender. We heard they were coming, so we lined up outside a fence at the airport, right where the delegation exited the plane, and filed into cars. Without the fence, we could have touched them. No one made any pejorative remarks that I remember. We just watched history take place in front of us. Of course, they came to meet with General MacArthur and his staff.

It finally came time for me to head for home. I remember very little of that trip and flight, except it was much shorter in time than our first trip 2 years earlier.

I landed in San Francisco, and immediately called Jean - the first we had spoken in that whole time. Letters, but not any speaking.

My father-in-law always kidded me about being short - since he rememberd me as a “snot nosed kid” many years before. One time when he ran me home from the back yard where all the neighbor kids played ball, I turned and said, “You think you’re smart because you’re the Night Watchman!” Wiseacre? You bet! Just a kid, though.

Anyway, back to the “short kid”. After I got home, he told me right away that the telephone call cost so much (he probably paid for it), because they had to get a stool for me to stand on to use the phone. Oh well, I was just glad to be home!

Mercy of God? Brought home safely?

Lamentations 3:22 “It is of the Lord’s Mercies that we are not consumed, because His Compassions fail not.”

Thank God!

Toledo Fiasco

Our son Jim, in Springfield, told us some months ago about a “Concert” he was singing in on December 7. He invited us to attend. Of course, by the end of October, Mom had gone to be with Jesus in Heaven, and that left just John, Tonya and me to attend. We sort of tentatively planned on it.

At about the middle of November, it became obvious that John and Tonya couldn’t go, because they were so busy, and John would be in California. This almost precluded my going, since the 250+ miles to Springfield was too far for me to be comfortable driving, at my age. I told Jim.

Just before I went to Florida for Thanksgiving with our Grand-daughters Jodi and Kelly and families, Jim called and said, “Dad, I’m going to try to find SOME way for you to get down here for December 7 - even if I have to drive part way to meet you.”

That set me to thinking. Is there some way I could go down by myself? While considering and praying over that, I thought of a bus ride. Would that work?

So, I called a bus company, and discovered that there was a bus leaving South Bend, that could take me to Toledo, with a change for Dayton - near Springfield. I was used to South Bend, since I had taken the Commuter Train there several times. I like that. So….a bus ride was what I wanted.

In the middle of November, I took the train to South Bend and bought my ticket, for leaving on a Friday.

What I failed to consider was that on the week-days, train trips from home to South Bend were not available in the AM (my bus was to leave at 10:15). They all go to Chicago in the morning. So that meant I had to ask John to take me to South Bend. “No problem.”, he said.

So, I scheduled a Friday departure, with a Monday return. After messing up the train schedule to leave, I made sure I could take the train from South Bend to home on Monday.

On Friday, December 5, John happily took me to the South Bend Airport where the Bus Station was, and I left for Springfield. The trip to Toledo was uneventful - we stopped in eastern Indiana for lunch, took the Indiana Toll Road, then the Ohio Turnpike to Toledo.

When about 50 miles from there, I had the happy thought of maybe seeing our niece Karen, whom we hadn’t seen since I officiated at her mother’s funeral in 1992. She’s the daughter of Jean’s sister, Leah.

So, intrepid Senior Citizen that I am, I have a Cell Phone (doesn’t everyone?), so I called Karen to ask her if she could meet me at the bus station during my 2 ½ hour layover, for a little fellowship after 16 years. She said she would try, if she could get someone to stay with Ramon, her 45+ year old son with MS, whom she cares for all the time. Then, at about the same time, we both got the idea of a Taxi for ME to go to see HER. While I was thinking about that, she called back and said she would “call a cab” to pick me up.

Right on time, the Checker Cab pulled in to the station, and the driver wanted to know if my name was Maddex. I answered, “Sure is. Gonna take me to Karen’s house?” “That’s what I’ve been told,” the driver said.

I was relieved to see the driver, a congenial female, had a GPS unit on her dash. She COULD get me to Karen’s - I thought. (GPS - Global Positioning System, if you didn’t know.)

We took off for Karen’s house. We drove and drove, then she began looking at street signs, seemingly unaware of where she was going. I finally asked her if she could really get me there, or if I should call Karen, or better, use my OWN GPS on my phone.

She reset her GPS, and said she could get there. After awhile, I heard the GPS person say, “Turn right at the next intersection”. I felt more secure. We finally made it. Karen met us at the door, took my luggage, and promptly paid the driver before I could get my money out of my pocket. (I at least paid the tip.)

Early arriver that I am, I told Karen that I would only have about an hour. She and Ramon fondly greeted me, and Karen made Tacos. We had a wonderful time of fellowship, joined later by her youngest son, JC.

Near the hour, Karen said she wanted to take me back to the bus. She began wondering if, after several years of not traveling around the city, she still knew how to get to the Bus Station. I spoke up and said, “Let’s use my GPS.” That we did, and arrived at the station WELL ahead of the required time.

I thanked Karen for the fellowship, tacos and ride to the station, and kissed her good-bye. She said, “I’m not leaving you here by yourself with that ‘guy’ standing around here.” She indicated that this was not the best part of town. Shortly, the "guy" left, but she stayed until my bus arrived, and was announced as going to Dayton.

Before long, several of us lined up by the exit door, preceded by a lady in a wheel chair, waiting to get on the bus. I found out that she was going to Texas - BY HERSELF.

Shortly, and right on time, the driver took the ticket of the “wheel chair lady”, and pushed her out toward the bus. He didn’t come back for the longest time. So, a couple of my soon-to-be fellow passengers, looked out the door, and saw the driver was “trying” to get the hydraulic lift of the bus to lift the wheel chair. They worked and worked - time to leave having passed by. One of the passengers asked what was going on, and was told that they were trying to fix the lift. After another long while, the “Wheel chair lady” came back in, followed by the driver. He was on his cell phone, apparently trying to get another bus - while we waited, and waited.........and waited.

Another bus came. Those passengers, not having a wheel chair, were shifted to our defective bus, then the wheel chair was wheeled out again, and it looked like we might be leaving shortly - in the second bus. After the same amount of time, she came back in again, and the driver said he needed a THIRD bus! By now, it was over 2 hours since we were supposed to leave. I called Jim, and he said he’d drive to Toledo to pick me up. There was some concern that either or both of the Toledo and Dayton bus stations would be closed before we even left. I reported in to John at home.

What to do?

I called Karen, reporting what was happening and she said, “I’m coming down there to pick you up. Jim can get you at my house. You’re not staying in that station by yourself.” (Oh, the wonderful, loving concern family members have for an old man.)

Just as we might be doing that, as well as having Jim pick me up, the THIRD bus arrived. (The first one had long gone, with its new passengers, to Detroit.) I told Jim and Karen to stand down, until further word from me.

In not too long a time, the driver said he was ready to load us up - after re-loading the passengers from the THIRD bus (are you following here?). At 2 ½ hours late, we loaded onto a bus - for Dayton. I then called Jim, Karen and John to tell them that we were on the bus.

I was one of the last to board - along with my fellow-passengers AND those transferred from the second defective bus. Kidder that I am, after entering the aisle, I looked up and said - rather loudly, “Are all you folks going to New York?” Blank stares - maybe nervous laughs. After a beat or two, I said, “Just kidding. I’m going to Dayton.” Now they laughed.

I wasn’t finished. When we arrived at Dayton, over 2 hours late, as I was at the end of the aisle, I said, “I’m gettin’ off here. Ya’ll have a nice trip to N’Yawk now, ya heah?” Utter panic (I hoped) - though maybe they knew me by then. (Naughty, Naughty!)

Silver lining? Jim picked me up in Dayton, and I didn’t even forget to get my luggage off the bottom of the bus. Almost did, though. I was in Jim's car when I remembered it.

PTL

Oh, I just remembered. When we arrived at Dayton, there was a bus there that the crew was trying to get its wheel chair lift to work - unsuccessfully. Three in one night? Really!

Hebrews 10:36 “`For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.”

Right!

New Guinea II

Sorry Sam, to be so long getting back to Southeast Asia during World War II!

I mentioned in a previous posting that at Dobodura New Guinea, we weren’t settled into our regular location to set up our Radio Shop, so since I had had some truck driving experience at home, I was assigned to the Motor Pool.

One of the things I had to do was to go to the Australian Post to secure food and supplies. I don’t recall how far away it was, but it took some time to get there. The first time I went, I arrived at about 2PM, I think. Whatever the time, it was “Tea Time” for the Aussies! We not only had to wait, we couldn’t even raise anyone to find out why they couldn’t help us. We just waited - maybe a half hour or so. Tea time in Australia is a sacrosanct time. After that, we avoided 2PM.

We didn’t stay at Dobodura very long, since it was just a “staging area” for our more or less permanent post at Finschhafen, on the Papua New Guinea eastern coast. Some time later, we were taken back down to Milne Bay and boarded a ship to go to Finschhafen - of course, riding the “Ducks” again (dual use trucks for land or sea).

The Finschhafen base wasn’t very much (are you kidding? There was nothing there). So, the task at hand was to build maybe 20 tent “floors” out of lumber from the area, then attach our tents to them. Then, our bunks (cots, actually) were put up, 5 to a tent, on the side of a hill.

Since this location was close to the sea, we had plenty of water - but “not a drop to drink”. So, guess what? We had a guy named Govro, I think, from Missouri who said he could find water wells for us. Right! So, he cut off a “willow twig”, or whatever, from one of the trees, and made a forked device about 2 feet long, and 1 foot wide, with two prongs in his hands, and the third pointing forward. He walked around with that gadget, trying to “divine” water, and several times it seemed to jiggle, but one time, it really dipped. “Here it is”, he proclaimed. What? So, our Company Commander, Captain Phillips ordered us to dig, and dig, and dig. Before long, WATER was discovered, and it continued providing the whole time we were there (maybe 15 months). Doubters were humiliated.

Since everything we were going to use was yet to be set up, we had to improvise, using the materials available. Our group set up a Radio Shop, to check in and repair radios for P-38 airplanes (the ones with the twin fuselages). Later, some of our crew installed the radios (I remember the term SCR274N) right behind the pilot’s seat. We also had some of the new VHF (Very High Frequency) style radios that were put in C-46 planes, I think. I can’t remember the model of the VHF ones. My job then, was to bring all the VHF radios into my shop (a large cargo trailer), tune them up, and then turn them over for installation. Then, after installation, the pilot took off, and we checked for operation further. “Jaclyn Tower. This is 6537, C46. Do you copy?”

One of my tent mates in Dobodura was a Jewish fellow from Brooklyn named Gus Blumenthal. A real nice guy. We hit it off real well. After arriving in Finschhafen, he was riding in a Weapons Carrier one day, when he had an accident, and was killed. Very sad.

Another character I remember was an Irish lad named Michael Mc something. I can't quite remember his last name. I mention him, because of the phrase he often used, that my oldest son and I still use. When someone mentioned that they had some gadget or other, no matter what it was, Mike would say, “We had one once, but the kids ate the wheels off of it.” Jim and I say that all the time.

We had one guy in the outfit (not a radio guy), who told all of us that he was going to pretend that he was insane, so he could get a “Section 8 Discharge”, and go home. After several months, he pulled it off. They sent him home.

We had another one, in the tent just above ours on the side of the hill, who didn’t PRETEND he was insane, he WAS. Not only that, he was “wacko”. He would rant and rave at times, then be quiet sometimes. All the guys around knew he wasn’t “right”, but no one knew what to do.

One time, he “holed himself up” in the tent, and wouldn’t come out - to eat or anything. Our First Sergeant found out about it and came to the tent to get him. The guy said, “Come on in, Bill (the First Sergeant). I don’t have anything in my hand.” Well, that gave Bill some pause. So, he stayed out, but talked him into surrendering. (It turned out that he had a revolver he got from somewhere.) We often said, “You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.” He was crazy!

A couple more stories about Finschhafen.

This area was noted for “monsoons”, I think they called them. One day mid-morning, a “monsoon” hit the area, and tore down some of our tents. One guy in our tent who worked the night shift in the Warehouse was asleep in his bunk. Next he knew, he was on the floor, his cot upside down, and no tent over his head. I was in the Radio Shop. I don’t remember anyone being seriously hurt.

Two things I got in New Guinea I didn’t forget. One was the fungus I got in my ear from bathing/swimming in a creek near by. It was treated for maybe 3 months, by using the peroxide liquid in my ears. The other malady I had, was Dengue Fever. Not quite as bad as Malaria, but was caused by the same bug - the mosquito. We had “atabrine” tablets (like quinine) to keep from getting it, but I STILL got it. Took a couple weeks to get over it. Atabrine, by the way, was BITTER if you didn’t get it down right away.

One time…………….oops! Have to stop. Some other time for New Guinea and/or Manila. So long!

Psalms 103:11 “For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is His mercy toward them that fear Him.”

And, Lamentations 3:22 “It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions they fail not.”

Whew! Thank God!

Why Blog?

Since opening this blog early in November, I’ve thought a lot about the reason for it, as well as the alternatives to it. Which of these is best? Telephone? US mail? E-mail? Person to person? Blog? (By the way, where did this term “Blog” come from? I haven’t the slightest idea! Do you know?)

Back to the subject:

The basic function of a blog, it seems to me, is to Communicate.

Why is it better (if it is) at communicating than the others mentioned? Well, rather than immediately think that it is superior, let’s look at them:

Person to person: You and I converse, nose to nose, so to speak, and can hear the other person’s tone of voice; we may see in his/her eyes; notice the nodding of the head, etc. or look at a frown or furrowed brow; but we may not continue talking un-interruptedly, since he/she may want to interject a word/phrase or two. The length of the conversation on our part, may be controlled by the other person’s patience in listening. We only control our side of the conversation, if we get to speak at all. And, the other person wants to give input. Enough of a description?

Telephone: We can’t see the other person, but we may hear the sound and tone of the voice; and maybe even notice the volume of the other person speaking; but we can’t see the other person’s physical reaction to what we are saying. We may still suffer the interruption of our cadence as in person-to-person conversation; but we may NOT visually observe any reaction to what we say.

US Mail: Different than the first two, in that, we write, totally without interruption; we may stop and think what the next phrase should be; we can elaborate on the subject as it seems fit, without interruption; our facial expressions are not seen, and we are free to go on forever.

E-mail: Quite a lot like US Mail, except, generally, the thought tends to be shorter, because of space. We still may stop and think; continue without interruption, and may elaborate at will.

Blog: Basically, has the same characteristics as US Mail and E-Mail; pausing for thought; no interruptions from the “listener”; possible elaborations; (whether it would be “shorter” or not, may depend on the subject. There is generally a limit on the number of words the space can accommodate.) If the writing is done on a word processor, (as I do) rather than directly on the blog , it can be done either at one sitting, or over a length of time. I merely “save” what I’ve written, and return to complete the thought as many times as needed. When finished, I “copy” the material to the Computer “clip board”; open the “blog site”, “log in”, indicate I am starting a new post, then I “paste” the words on the site. Then I may edit as needed.

OK. So what did all of that tell us?

In every instance but the “blog”, the “listener” must handle the material. That is, he/she must answer the phone; or stand and listen to you talk; open the mail and decide whether to read it all; or look at the title of the e-mail and either open it or delete it; spend the time on the phone at your convenience. NOTHING of his/her choosing.

“So what are you saying, Mike?”

I’m saying that with the “blog”, YOU control your own actions and reactions. I haven’t sent you anything that you have to answer, open, handle, or anything else that YOU don’t choose. You find out about my blog from some source - (many times me) - and then, AT YOUR CONVENIENCE you may open up the blog and see what that scatter-brained Mike has to say - IF YOU WANT TO!

Got the difference?

Here’s a verse for me right now: Ephesians 2:3: “Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other(s) better than (himself).”

Wow!

Barbies Time

“Is Grandpa Mike gonna play Barbies with me?”

Take a look at this picture, and tell me the answer. That’s 3 year old Mary, another of our great-grandchildren. She asked this when she found out I was going to come to her house on Thursday mornings.

What’s the occasion?

Home schooling, that’s what.

Mary is the youngest of 4 great-grandchildren, in the house of Molly, our Granddaughter.

Molly “home schools” her 3 older children, and since I’m retired and need some activities, Molly asked me if I would like to help her in this project on Thursday mornings. “Sure - what do I do?”

She has a 9 year old - Elijah; a 7 year old - Priscilla; a 6 year old - Benjamin; and 3 year old Mary.

What I DO is: Read to Elijah; have him read to me; Read to Priscilla; have her read to me; and drink tea. Oh………and play “Barbies”.

Elijah and I just finished reading about the Aztecs, the Incas and the Mayans in Central America. Blood thirsty people, some of them.

Priscilla is “reading” Laura Ingalls Wilder’s book “On The Banks of Plum Creek”.

Elijah has another book now, about a boy and his family in the Indian Territory of the northwest, (I don’t remember the title) who has to live alone for some time while his father “goes back home” for the rest of the family. He discovers an Indian “friend”, who takes him to the Indian Village. The two of them also confront a bear, which the Indian Boy kills.

Also while I’m there, both Priscilla and Elijah have another book to look at and read, for their education. We just look at these together. Sometimes, Elijah practices reading a chapter of the Bible.

Now, “Barbies Time” includes getting down on the floor with Mary, and putting together the Barbie dolls and their clothes. Of course, while there, I’m Ken. I pick up Ken right away, but one time I also picked up one of the girl dolls, and Mary said, “No, Grandpa. You’re Ken.” Right.

She dresses and undresses the dolls, while talking to them in words I don’t always understand. But, my job is NOT to understand, but to spend “quality time” with her. (An euphemism, right?) This goes on and on, as long as I have time for. Can’t miss lunch, you know.

During all this time, Benjamin is around, doing what 6 year old boys do, but nothing that I have to help him with. Molly has other assignments for him.

Have you recently watched small children play? No more “Lincoln Logs”, or “Lionel Electric Trains”. Or even “marbles”. (My mother never let me play “for keeps”. Gambling.) They have rockets, space men, robots, space ships, etc. Priscilla IS interested in art. She paints a lot on an easel she got for her birthday. Elijah has Video Games.

They DO entertain themselves quite well, without adult help.

In all, we have 6 Great-Grandchildren in this town; 3 in Florida; one in Chicago; one in Korea; and several step-Grand and Great-Grandchildren. I’ve mentioned 2 of the Florida ones, along with 4 here. I’ll discuss the others later.

I don’t need to remind anyone of the importance of children, grand children, etc. and our responsibility to “bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord”. Ephesians 6:4. But, don’t “provoke them to wrath” (same verse).

Children and grandchildren are a blessing to any family. Thank the Lord for the love they garner, and offer. THEY are our future!

Praise the Lord!

Mystery

What do you think of when you say, hear or read the word “Mystery”? A novel? A movie? Mystifying event? A Murder story?

Here’s ONE of the Encarta definitions:

Mys·ter·y [místəree]
n (plural mys·ter·ies)

1. puzzling event or situation: an event or situation that is difficult to fully understand or explain

Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Puzzling? Difficult to fully understand or explain? Sure! Let’s go with that definition for a minute.

“It’s a mystery to me”, we say. What is? Well, anything we can’t seem to understand, or find the reason for.

“Why haven’t the Chicago Cubs won a World Series for over a hundred years?” It’s a mystery. Surely, the “law of averages” would let them win at least ONCE! No………..it’s a mystery.

How can NASA figure out how to send a rocket to the moon (or wherever) thousands of miles into space? “It’s a mystery”, we say. No it’s not - at least to the scientists figuring it out, it‘s not. But, “It’s a mystery to me!”

But, it seems to me that there ARE mysteries that NO ONE can seem to “understand or explain”. Now, it may be that in time, they can be “figured out”. But, meanwhile, “they’re mysteries”.

Now, in thinking of “mysteries”, we need to remember that we are speaking of us “human beings” being unable to explain. There are NO unknown mysteries to God!

Let me give you one - one that caused me to consider this topic for a posting on my “blog”.

When John and Tonya suggested that I open up a “blog”, I had not the slightest idea how to do it. I had only seen some that Molly, Bobby and some families of Missionary friends of ours had written. How to do it myself? Not a clue!

John said that Molly would help me if I needed it. He did give me what could be my “address” - mikemaddex.blogspot.com. I thought that I would just type in that address, and “follow my nose”.

I hadn’t typed very much after “logging in”, before I saw, in big letters on the upper left of the screen: “Grandpa Mike”. What? The phrase wasn’t new to me, since John and Tonya’s kids and grandkids have always called us “Grandpa Mike and Grandma Jean”. As distinguished from “Grandpa Bob and Grandma Charlene”, actually.

But, how did that title get on my supposedly “new” blog? I have no idea, to this day. It’s a “mystery” to me. I didn’t object to it, since I’m very familiar with it, and it DOES describe me.

But…………..”How did it get there?” It’s a “mystery” Maybe I’ll figure it out some day, but for now “It’s a mystery”.

Mysteries are not unknown in the Bible - especially in the New Testament. For example:

I Corinthians 2:7 “…………wisdom of God in a mystery”
I Corinthians 4:1 “………..stewards of the mysteries of God”
Ephesians 6:19 talks about “………the mystery of the gospel.”
Colossians 4:3 speaks of “……….the mystery of Christ.”
I Timothy 3:9 mentions “………the mystery of faith.”

Then, in Ephesians 3:3-6, Paul explains the REAL mystery:
“How that by revelation (God) made known unto me the mystery: (as I wrote afore in few words, whereby, when ye read ye may understand my knowledge in the MYSTERY of Christ)”. (Emphasis added by me.) vs. 6: “That the Gentiles should be fellow heirs, and of the same body, and partakers of His Promise in Christ by the Gospel.”

Now, I'm NOT a Theologian, but this seems very clear: The Gentiles may participate in the Good News of the Gospel, as well as the Jews! That WAS a mystery in the First Century, but NOT NOW! Praise the Lord!

I don’t know how “Grandpa Mike” became my “Blog Title”, but I’m using it just the same, because it fits me.

I don’t know how God could make us Gentiles “fellow-heirs of the Gospel”, and will never know in this life. But, “It fits me.”

Praise the Lord!

Thanksgiving in Florida

I'm presently in Florida, visiting 2 of our Granddaughters and their families - for Thanksgiving. I've been here all week.

Yesterday, we had a FABULOUS dinner, prepared by husband and wife, with all the Florida family here. I'm sure you did as well - enjoy a FABULOUS dinner, that is.
We had prayer, then turkey, dressing, green bean casserole, plain green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, and several other types of food. I was full - including pumpkin pie. Then, we each mentioned some of the things we were thankful for - as I'm sure you did as well.

Olivia, a Third Grade student, and one of my great-granddaughters, suggested another way to express our thankfulness:

In the late afternoon, she had each of us write down three of the things we were thankful for, on small pieces of paper, putting our names on the back, then into the "bin". One by one, each of us selected one of the pieces of paper from the "bin", and read aloud the words written there - by someone else.

Among other things, I mentioned being thankful for my family, Jesus and memories of Grandma. Others mentioned Dad and Mom; school; children; family again; teachers; Grandpa; having a job; glad for not being a turkey; and others. I'm not trying to be all-inclusive in the list, but merely representative. The main thing is, since probably most of us don't express our thankfulness very often (speak for yourself, Mike) it's helpful to do so on Thanksgiving. NOT Turkey Day, by the way! It was good to hear what others wanted to be thankful for.

Speaking of Grandma, this was, of course, the first Thanksgiving that she was not presently here with us. We did have a picture of her on the wall beside the table. Though not physically here beside us, she never-the-less was present! She was mentioned several times, mostly remembering the things she would do. It seemed strange without her, but gradually, I'm getting used to not having her right here beside me. Though the "hole in my heart never goes away, gradually, over time, it gets smaller and smaller".

We went to Church Wednesday night, joining hundreds of others in remembering the broken body and shed blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, and being thankful. We took communion with these hundreds, more efficiently than many small churches, I think. We remembered that He GAVE his life for us, though at first glance, it appears it was taken away. Not so! He willingly "laid down His Life" for us!

On Tuesday and Wednesday, I visited for the whole school day, the 3rd grade class of my great-granddaughter, and the 1st grade class of my great-grandson. What a difference in the style of the teaching, and the "deportment" of the children!

For the 3rd grade, I spent the day out in the hall, tutoring students in reading and math. When the teacher mentioned "math", I said "Whoa. Maybe I won't be able to do it." She said it was "basic".

With my background in radio and speech, you can imagine the suggestions I might have in the reading. Such as: dropping the voice and pausing after a period; pronouncing the words distinctly and correctly; asking if they knew what certain words meant; knowing the difference between "then" and "when"; (I hadn't thought about the possible confusion of these two words); etc. The teacher seemed to like the suggestions I made. I told her that I didn't bother to correct the pronunciation of the word "a". (The letter is pronounced "aaaay", the word, "uh".) She smiled.

In Math, I had 2 students at a time, doing "subtractions" of 20 different compound problems, then another session of "correcting" some earlier mistakes by other students, also in subtractions. I had to be very careful about suggesting how to borrow, and "take away". What was new to me, was that each student had a plastic bag full of little "chips" (like "Tiddledy winks" for you old-timers), that they would count out the LARGE number in "chips", then take away the amount of the SMALLER number, then count the difference. In my mind, I wondered if that really taught, and was helpful in the long run. But, the teacher has been doing this for a long time, and repetition does help, so, I'm sure it works. (Even then, sometimes they got the wrong number.) One problem I had with one group was that the student
on my left, kept getting ahead of the other one, but sometimes getting the wrong answer. I tried to keep them together, some times not too successfully. We DID break for lunch, and for recess (used to be my favorite subject).

On Wednesday, I visited the First Grade class of my great-grandson, Ethan. What a difference! I marvelled at the way these two teachers taught in a different way, for the two grades. In this class, I observed all day (including lunch and recess).

In this class, talking, walking, moving around and doing other things was the norm. No problem for the teacher. She was IN CONTROL. No temper or yelling or pushing for her. She spoke in a normal voice, and yet, she was heard above the "noise" (by the pupils, at least). When one of the pupils "acted up", or didn't do what was expected, she just took him/her by the hand, and led him or her to another part of the room and went about her teaching. One boy sat beside me for at least a half-hour. Neither he nor she said a cross word. Eventually, he was back where the others were.

There was a video monitor in the room, and the class joined all the other students in the school in the Pledge of Allegiance, and the monitor exhibited a clock, that indicated time for lunch and recess.

A couple times, the teacher had the pupils gather and sit down on the "rug". This was for rest, and also, for her to read a Thanksgiving story to them. They were told to "keep your hands in your lap!"; "sit up on your bottom"; etc. Occasionally, someone did NOT keep his hands in his lap, so, he was told to go to his desk and sit.

She had several "hand outs" that she had prepared, on which the pupils wrote and/or drew. And, then, each was given a book with a story, and "tear out sheet". She then read a sentence, then had them repeat after her. There were spaces on the "tear out sheet" for them to answer questions about the story.

Suddenly, she said something I didn't hear, and the pupils all lined up at the door. "LUNCH TIME". I got in line with the others, and filed outside to go to the lunch room. (Oh- I didn't mention that here in Florida, the schools are all on one floor, and they go outside to go from one area to the other.) Excellent food.

OH...I have to tell about recess!

Just as before lunch, the teacher mentioned a word, and they all lined up for recess. Fun time, right? Oh boy. They all asked me if I was going to do the "monkey bars". "Sure. Why not?" We walked what seemed to me a quarter mile, to the play area. The "monkey bars" included a movable bar just above my head, that, when held onto, the student was pushed back and forth until he/she either gave up, or fell to the sand. I helped the short ones reach the bar, and watched as they were pushed back and forth. Guess what! "Are you going to do it, Grandpa?", they all said. I grabbed the bar, lifted my feet off the sand, and away I went - being pushed by the first graders! Back and forth, back and forth. I finally dropped my feet down on the sand and "got off". (You'd think an 84 year old would know better!) From then on, I had to help each one get on, then be pushed back and forth. I thought sure my arms and shoulders would be sore the next day, but, miraculously, they weren't.

There were also two computers in that room that the pupils freely worked on - when not being assigned to something else by the teacher. And, one time they spent maybe a half-hour in the Library, where they "checked out" books for a week. I was VERY impressed with the "education" being taught - in several different ways.

I'm going back home on Monday, to another part of my family. I enjoy ALL of them.

"As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:15 PTL!

New Guinea For Sam

I have this Pharmacist friend whose name is Sam. I’ve known him for about a year, I guess. Actually, I met him right after we moved in with John and Tonya the end of September, 2007. I think Sam is maybe half my age, or less. I can’t ever tell. A REAL nice guy!

I don’t know exactly how it started, but Sam got interested in my Second World War experiences. I think somebody mentioned Army life or something, and it seems to me that Sam asked me if I was in World War II. I told him I was.

“Where?”, he said.

“New Guinea and Manila, principally”, I replied.

Before the next customer came up, he wanted to know if anything interesting had happened. I told him I wasn’t in a fighting zone, but rather farther back, installing and repairing Airplane radios. He was “wowed” by that, so the next time - and several times after that, he asked me to tell him something interesting that happened. I did some of that when I went into the Pharmacy, but some time later, Sam was transferred to a Pharmacy in a neighboring town, so I kinda lost track of him.

After John and Tonya got me started on this “blog thing”, I thought about Sam, and his interest in my experiences overseas. So, today I inquired as to where Sam was “stationed” now, and when I found out, I went there and “accosted” him. After caring for a few customers, he came over and gladly greeted me. I gave him my card that now has my “blog” site address on it, and told him he might find some interesting stuff there. Although I hadn’t yet posted any of my overseas experiences here, but, for his benefit, I was going to. (By the way, when I saw him today, and after talking about that possibility, he said, “I could sit and listen to you for hours.” ) Poor guy. Little does he know.

For Sam, and anyone else who is interested, this is the first of my “blogs” that mentions New Guinea, Manila, or other places I was stationed. Sam, I may have told you some of this already. Anyway, here goes:

When we left the USA, our ship sailed from Newport News, VA, and though we GI’s didn’t know ANYTHING, we were SURE we were going to Europe.

WRONG!

Before long, we headed south along the east coast, and ended up going through the Panama Canal. That meant the “Far East” probably. Fortunately, our ship went through the Canal during daylight hours, so we stood by the rail and “gawked”. It was the first time I had seen “locks” for water level control, and it was intriguing.

We were a month aboard ship, when we finally docked at Brisbane, Australia. “Better than New Gunea”, someone said. We took down our bunks (stacked 3 high in our area), and waited for orders to debark.

“897th Signal Company! Put your bunks back up, you’re leaving before the day is out.”

“Whoa! What about the nice people down on the wharf who were waving and throwing flowers at us?” No matter. We were going somewhere else!

Before long, we set sail again, much to our chagrin (I had never heard of that word then. I was only 19.) But, after some days (I don’t remember how many), we ended up in the harbor of some land, and “dropped anchor”. We thought “How will we get ashore while we’re ‘parked’ clear out here in the harbor”. The answer: “Ducks!” We looked ashore, and saw some funny looking trucks driving right into the water, headed our way. They WERE called “Ducks”. I’m sure there was a technical name better than that, but since it was 64 years ago, can you expect me to do better? Of course not! They traveled on land with wheels, but on water, they just floated - having a “screw”in back, of course.

It turned out that we went ashore at “Milne Bay, New Guinea”. The “Ducks” hauled us inland quite a ways to a place called, “Dobodura”. (How does he remember that stuff?) Before dark, we unloaded our tents, set up our cots, then dumped our 2 duffel bags in the corner, and went to sleep.

So, how was New Guinea? Well, it was hot and stuffy, as well as an interesting place that had not only Natives and GI‘s, but there was an Australian base there, providing “groceries” for us. Since we were not yet at our eventual base of operations, we had no radio work to do.

“Anybody here who has driven a truck?” I had FORGOTTEN the GI adage that you should NEVER volunteer, so I said, “I did - right after high school.” “Ok, you’re in the 'Motor Pool'". “Better than KP duty”, I thought. That gave me a couple experiences I wouldn’t have had if I were on KP - or even in the Radio Shop. These are the kinds of experiences that Sam likes.

One time I was driving a “weapons carrier” by myself at night, not really knowing where I was going, but had to pick up some supplies from Milne Bay. I didn’t know how to get there, but I was directed. On the way back to our camp that night, (dark as pitch. Good thing there were lights on the truck.) Suddenly, an air raid alert was given, and right away an Aussie yelled at me, “Turn off those ‘blankety-blank’ lights” I stopped and doused them. It was dark all around. Shortly, I heard a plane not far away, but I think the whole thing was a “false alarm”. I neither saw nor heard any bombs. No danger. “Some guy forgot to turn on his IFF!”, one of the Aussies said. (Identification, friend or foe). Though now, I REALLY didn’t know where camp was - in the dark. I didn’t know whether there was an “all clear” or not. So, “following my nose” in the moonlight, and turning where it seemed right, I did get back.

Another time,-----But, riggghhht therrrre, I see our space is gone, and we’ll have to stop until next time. You’ve been listening to………….” Sorry, I thought for a minute there that I was Miron Canaday presenting “Continued Story Reading" on WMBI.

What verse? How about, “….our God Whom we serve is able to deliver us…” Daniel 3:17 (I DID get home safely. PTL!)

Blabbermouth, Confession and Quotations

The other day, getting into the car after a doctor’s visit, I got listening to an ongoing conversation on a Christian radio call-in program that intrigued me.

There was this guy (with a voice like a radio announcer), describing the experience he had had with his “Debit Card” at the bank. It seems that he had changed banks, and unthinkingly used the “pin number” of the account at his PREVIOUS bank, while trying to transfer funds to his checking account in the NEW bank. (Pay attention here. It WILL make sense.) For those uninitiated, a “pin number” is a “personal identification number” that identifies the user as truly the owner of that account. (Don’t go to sleep now. I’ll tie it all in.)

The “upshot” of it is, when he couldn’t transfer his funds, he got so upset at the bank that he went in and gave them a “piece of his mind”, and really “fell off the wagon” so to speak. He lost his temper.

To “add insult to injury”, his check to his Mortgage Company “bounced”, and he heard bad messages - both from the bank AND the MC. (Am I going too fast?). I’m not sure that’s the whole story, but at this point, the guy was describing his actions, while laughing uproariously at himself for what he had done.

He was trying to say that he was so convicted by his actions, that he went back in and apologized to the bank employee for what he did and said, while trying to explain to the employee what a “klutz” he was (are you still awake?) The Bank guy wasn’t interested in HOW he had goofed, but that he HAD, and “he’d better not do it again”. I don’t know how that made him feel, except that he insisted on telling him HOW and WHY he had goofed. (Ad infinitum, I’m sure.)

The part that interests me is that he not only insisted on telling the bank employee the whole story, but continued telling US that story - embellished or not - while laughing so hard he could hardly speak. He couldn’t stop!

The moral of this story is that he got convicted by the Lord, and then went in and apologized, and now felt “peace with God” (not his words).

The program host was “taken” with the story, and encouraged other listeners to not only call-in with reactions to THIS story, but to share their own experiences as well. Good follow-up.

This is not an unusual experience of other Christians, I’m sure. And, it does have a “moral”. He sinned; he was convicted; and he confessed - not only to God, but to the bank employee. I just remembered: At the end of the conversation on the radio, the guy said: “I’m changing banks!” What? (I laughed out loud!)

This story is NOT why I’m sharing it with you “long-suffering” readers of my blog, but rather, when I heard all that I said outloud: “Hey. That’s me!” oops. “Hey. That’s I”. (You know - subject, predicate, the verb “to be”, and all that.) Not that I did exactly the same thing (I’ve done others), but rather that it took him so long to tell the story. Is that me (oh, I), or what?

This whole posting is illustrative of that story. Sometimes, I just can’t shut up! (As our call-in friend couldn’t.) If you’ve known me for some time, or even read some of these “blog postings”, you’ll agree with that, I’m sure. And, I STILL have a tendency to “embellish” what I’m saying, supposedly for effect.

Now: Wait until you hear this! (Follow me, now). When I left the Moody Bible Institute 43 years ago to take over Christian radio station WEEC in Springfield OH (my home area), the last interview I had there was with my long-time chess partner (at lunch) and friend, Robert J. Little. A better friend and mentor I have never had - before or since.

Before I packed up my stuff (including the Chess Board) and left, Mr. Little took me to lunch. Good. Then, he shared with me some observations about me that he had noticed in the last 11 years of our friendship, and made two or three suggestions. I don’t remember much about the other “suggestions”, but this one pops up regularly: (Are you ready for this?) He said, “You’ll be more effective, if you practice getting information into the minds of your hearers, rather than just trying to get something off your own mind.” Whoa!! I wrote that down, and have referred to it many times in the past several years.

Soooo…………., the obvious question is: “Why don’t you follow the advice, Mike?” I don’t know. I just seem to have to express myself - on many topics, regrettably. I TRY to be brief. But that, like me being unable to “slow down, Mike”, doesn’t seem to register. Having this blog is a testament to that. My only excuse is that John and Tonya suggested the blog, and I just naturally “fell in”. Naturally? You bet!

That reminds me: I remember another thing Mr. Little advised: “Be careful to notice the ‘speed’ of others, not just of yourself.” (I might as well get it all “off my chest”, so to speak. I still can’t remember the third thing. Actually, I hope I don’t! These two are bad enough!) In that vein, the secretary outside of my office at Moody used to say that when I came “running” out of the office, she just felt she needed to “hurry up and do something”.

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” I John 1:9

OK. Confession time is over. That’s enough of that!

Home For A Week-End

Who said you can’t go home again? At 84? Oh yeah?

I just did, in a fashion - at least for a week-end.

Well…not REALLY home, I guess. Although it was home for my wife, 3 children and myself for 11 years - enjoyable ones too. We had 11 years of ministry - both at the Christian institution where I ministered, as well as the Church, Sunday School, Christian Education and Choir that some more of the family also participated in. And the friends we gained were outstanding! Our 3 children went to grade and high school there. They were in the Youth Group at the church. Home? Boy, it sure seemed like it at the time! But, out of the 65 years Jean and I were married, that span of 11 hardly seems to be really home.

But, this past week-end it was like “Old Home Week”, as they say. After 43 years of being away, to go back again and see some of those friends - most of whom I didn’t even recognize until they told me their names - sure seemed like home. And, I saw 3 grandchildren I hadn’t seen for awhile, and a great grandchild too. Home? Hmmm.

But, the last 43 years of our family life were spent elsewhere. Back to our original home area, actually. I got to minister to my home town (and others around it) for 34 years, actively - before I became “superannuated”. Didn’t know that was a word? I heard a man in the ministry say one time that he thought maybe he should retire, before he became (that word). It might mean:

1> worn out: used so much as to be able to offer no more useful service; or
2> out-of-date; no longer in fashion.

Actually, I did retire, almost exactly 10 years ago, just 5 months short of my 75th birthday. But, we lived near our original home for 42 years. That was home. Whether I retired because of being “worn out”, or “out-of-date” I’ll let others decide.

But, back to last week-end.

After Jean’s passing last month, I have a lot more time on my hands than previously. Sometimes I wonder what to do with myself. So, I look around and pray about what I might do - productively if possible.

Knowing part of our extended family now live in that place where we spent 11 years ministering, and remembering some of those friends from back then who were still there, I got the idea of visiting family there, and also attending the church where many of those former friends now attend. My family there encouraged me to not only come for the week-end, but to come a day early so as to visit my great grandchild’s day care school. (I'm retired, so why not?)

So, “to make a long story short”, (short? you say!), I informed John and Tonya (who really take care of me), that I was planning on taking the commuter train to the city for the week-end to visit family and friends. “Great idea”, they said.

First of all, I had a wonderful Saturday with many of my family, including a terrific evening meal at Olive Garden. That afternoon, as well as Sunday morning before and after church, I re-acquainted myself with some of our old friends from 43 years ago - only 3 of whom I recognized. (Does old age affect the sight? Or memory?) Actually, only two of them recognized me, and one of them had heard that I was coming. So..... Who else is old?

We shared memories, joys, tears, and sadness, since others, like Jean, had since left us for heaven with Jesus. Memories flooded. I got reacquainted with friends that I wouldn’t have known if they hadn’t identified themselves; but then, we talked about the past. What a joy!

I have to say this: Not a small number of those friends had come to Christ as a result of the Youth Pastor of the church we attended there nearly 50 years ago, who is NOW the Senior Pastor of THIS church - a lighthouse in the community, and a ministry to needy and hurting individuals in that area.

Home? It felt like it - yet with all the wonderful ministry occurring there in these years - I could only now OBSERVE it, and Praise the Lord for THEIR faithfulness!

Matt. 25:21 “Well done, thou good and faithful servant(s).”

Helpful or Hurtful?

I'm a little worried about this posting, but somehow, I feel as if I need to do it. It opens me up to criticism, I'm sure, though some might, hopefully, appreciate my position. I NEVER (until now) critique a minister's message, by "accosting" him after the service (until now).

A little background: Ten years ago, I finished 45 years of Ministry in operating, then directing, Christian Radio Ministries - broadcast, that is. My family and former associates will testify, I think, that I'm just fanatical about some things. One subject I am VERY fanatical about (along with "striving for excellence"), is my "lifelong" HOBBY of studying and listening to, grammar, and the use of words in speaking. Pronunciation. Diction. Using proper words to describe something. Not being repetitive.

One time YEARS ago, I found a little printed card that read: "Be sure mind is engaged before putting mouth in gear." Guess where I put THAT card! You're right. On a shelf in front of the on-air announcer's face.

When Jean was in the Nursing Home for a little over 5 months this past summer and fall, we couldn't always get out to church on Sundays. I sometimes could, by going to an 8AM service, then arriving at the Home around 9:30. But she could only go occasionally.

Thankfully, 3 or 4 different church groups hold services in the large dining room there - either on Saturday morning, or Sunday afternoon.

The one we attended the most often was on Saturday mornings. It was provided by a local church, with volunteers - both adult and youth - who regularly helped the "wheel chair" patients there, and encouraged others. The leader, whom I initially thought was the pastor, was actually a lay person, with a supervisory job in a factory during the week, I found out. This 50 to 60 year old man was gregarious, helpful, joyful and every other week, gave the message. On alternate weeks it was given by a young man whom I presume was a student at the church's college.

The first time I heard him (the adult) speak, he used the word "OK?" several times during the message. "So David picked up the rock. OK? Then he put it in his sling OK? He walked down to meet Goliath OK?" etc. Now I'm SURE that I was the only one sitting there who noticed that - including the volunteers. But, remember my background. The message was all right, I presume, but I was distracted by that "OK?" thing. I didn't know what he was trying to teach.

The next week, the student spoke, then following that, it was again my adult friend's turn. This time, knowing his "over use" of "OK" the last time, instead of listening to the meaning of the message, I counted the times he used "OK".

After the service, (while praying), I waited for him to come out of the room. When he did, I approached him, giving him my name and said that I had spent 45 years in the Christian Radio ministry, then said, "I noticed that in your message today, you used the word 'OK' 86 times". He said, "You counted?" I said that I did so because the last time I heard him, he used it several times, and it took away from the meaning of the message. He said, "Thank you for that! I tell my wife that she uses a certain phrase all the time, never realizing that I used 'OK' so much myself." We parted friends.

The following weeks when he spoke, we attended and listened. The first time, he may have said OK 2 or 3 times, but NEVER after that, for several weeks. As far as I know, he still doesn't say it.

I told him that I really appreciated his ministry and message, and that he was surely an open and teachable person, and I admired that.

We've been friends ever since.

Was that helpful? or hurtful? Did I do the right thing? Was I so "full of myself" that I had to set him straght? I'm not sure yet, though he seemed to appreciate it. His "appreciation", though, is certainly not any justification for what I might have done.

Galatians 6:1 "Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual (ouch), restore such an one in the spirit of meekness, considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted."

I don't know whether I feel better or worse for sharing this on my blog. I only know I felt a "compulsion" to do so. Compulsion from whom? I'm not sure. I hope it was God.

"Brethren, pray for us!"

Church Signs

Today, I had to make a trip to another city 10 or 12 miles away, to see how to get to the doctor I must see next week. (Now that's not the subject of this posting, but later, if I get brave enough, I might share my NEED to do that sort of thing. Grin)

Back to my trip out of town.

I find church signs fascinating, and I guess I LOOK for something different on them. This time, after FINALLY finding the doctor's office and starting to return to my adopted town, I saw a church sign out front with an interesting statement: It read, "God is good. Good is normal. Expect good." What is meant by that? You can read into it anything you want, I guess. But, What? The implication, it seems to me, was that, of course, God is good; you can depend on good to be normal; so expect that "good" will always happen. In other words, "trust the good to happen", wherever it comes from.

Surely, I took that wrong, being the "slogan" of a church, but it hit me like a "ton of bricks." Surely they meant: "God is good; and God's good is normal; so, Trust God to make good happen."

But, that's not what I got out of it. Is that too "picky?" I suppose.

Since it's Armistice Day (Oh, excuse me. Showing my age!) , Veterans' Day, this church sign said: "Thank you Veterans". I like that, don't you? Last week, the same church's sign read: "It's never too late to make a new beginning." I like that one, too. One can trust Christ as late as the last minutes of his life. (BUT don't stretch it is my advice.)

Two more that I like: "Let's trust our leaders and trust Jesus Christ for our future." I might have made the emphasis on Jesus first, but it's still good, in my opinion.

Another: "Some see a hopeless end, and others an endless hope." Of all those church signs I saw today, I think this one, and the one about "a new beginning" are my favorites. Our hope in Christ is forever, and we can begin that life ANY TIME! There is never an end to God's Mercy and Grace.

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life." John 3:16.

"Whosoever" means YOU, ME and EVERYONE.

Praise the Lord!

Jean and her Grandchildren

Anybody knowing me and my love and respect for my deceased wife, would expect me to post a blog about Jean Maddex. How better to do that than to relate her relaltionship to HER grand-children?

There are undoubtedly millions of grandmothers, as well as billions of grandchildren and great-grandchildren in our nation. All, it seems to me, have an unique relationship. I'm not so brash as to claim that Jean had the BEST relationship with her grandchildren of all time, but she's the one I know about, and hear about from our grandchildren. And, according to them, she was the BEST. As one of them said at her memorial service, "She was MY grandma!"

What did she do that endeared her so to them? Not unexpectedly, I'd have to say her LOVE for them, and she TOLD them so. She also demonstrated it to them. She DID things for them. She spent TIME with them - not the so-called "quality time" we hear about today that equates "quality" with actual minutes and hours. When we went to see them, or they to see us, she always "grabbed" them first - kissed them and hugged them. When they came, she cooked for them also, which makes me wonder WHEN she had time for that.

She played with them, and invented special non-traditional games or stories for them. Her stories were many times "made up" ones in her mind, although she sang or read MANY traditional kids' stories. Traditionally, teenage boys don't like to be seen by their peers with their parents, or grandparents. One of ours was like that. Although, when it came to Grandma's Story Time told to her granddaughter in bed, THIS teenage grandson slipped unnoticed (he thought) into the bedroom, and lay on the floor beside the bed - listening to HIS grandma!

If there were two "kids" who needed special seat belts or restraints in the car, she insisted that she sit BETWEEN them in the back seat, telling stories all the while.

One year, we hosted for a week, 5 of our grandchildren who were old enough to go to Kings Island. For the 6 days we DIDN'T go there, Grandma set up a mammoth chart for the "kids" that listed all of their daily chores (make bed; take bath; brush teeth; don't clutter; don't argue or fight; etc.) Each "transgression" resulted in 25cents taken off the promised $5.00 they were to receive at the end of the week. Boy, did that work! I won't report the end result, to save embarrassment, but it was a huge success. And, cost me almost $25.00.

Jean Maddex was THE grandma, as far as our grandchildren were concerned. And, in some ways, that feeling has passed down to the NEXT generation. As she lay dying, one of our younger ones cried, "But I didn't get to say good-bye!" He did though, and he got right up to her ear to tell her he loved her, just before she joined Jesus in Heaven.

In Proverbs 31:10-31, a virtuous woman is described. In verse 28, we read: "Her children arise up and call her blessed; (grandchildren also) and her husband also, and he praiseth her."

That's what I'm doing, and what this post is all about!

Virtuous woman? That was Jean Maddex!

Praise the Lord!

Sixes and Sevens

Does this title make any sense to you? "Sixes and Sevens"? Maybe those from our little town of Mechanicsburg are the only ones that use it. If so, and you're not FROM "The Burg", you may not know what I mean.

You know.......you lose your job; a loved one passes away; somebody unjustly criticizes you; you get the flu; you're on a new job that you haven't learned yet. You're at "sixes and sevens". Nothing makes sense; you feel like staying in bed in the AM (might just be laziness, not "sixes and sevens"); you just feel like getting in the car and taking a "nothing" ride. You're at "sixes and sevens".

I mentioned in my first blog that I had lost my wife after 65 wonderful years together as man and wife (Dad and Mom; Grandpa and Grandma; Great- etc.) After that amount of time, the two of you think alike; finish each other's sentences; etc. You turn around and think she's right there in her chair. You might even say, "Do you remember..........", then realize. Oh...Sixes and sevens. Oh, I KNOW she's in a much better place than I (no offense John and Tonya), but she's not here. She's with the Lord, and who knows how much happiness she has now that was impossible for her with me.

Things just don't seem right. They're at "sixes and sevens". Some say, "You'll get over it".

Not so fast.

You do......... but not right away.

Well, what should a believer in Christ, such as I am, do about this? I should REST in Christ, I should accept the wonderful GRACE that I have already experienced from God, and move on.

I often quote a minister friend who told Jean and Me when our daughter of 47 years died in 2001: "You now have a hole in your heart. It will never go away, but over time, it will get smaller and smaller." You know, we found that to be true.

"God will not suffer you to be tested above what you are able, but will, with the testing, also provide a way of escape" (Loosely translated from I Cor. 10:13.)

PTL!

Excellence

An engineer who reported to me years ago, bristled at my insistence that we do things right the first time, because it saves time and money, not having to do it over again. We wanted excellence at our radio station. I wish I could remember the author of the book I read titled: "Excellence Doesn't Cost, It Pays". (I can ALMOST remember the name.)

The engineer wasn't opposed to doing things right, I think, but my insisting on it, "bugged" him. It bothered him so much, that he requested a face-to-face meeting in our basement to discuss it. After talking about it for awhile, the next thing he said floored me: "But Mike, are you human?" (I'm thinking, "What? Human? What does that have to do with it? Of COURSE I'm human......I think.) I gathered from that statement that HE felt I thought I was PERFECT - thereby NOT being human.

Actually, I was neither perfect, nor "un-human". I just thought we should TRY to do things right the first time. There are other humans that do this all the time. I think I convinced him that he didn't have to be perfect, but that he should strive for excellence.

Why bring this up now? Well, Blush, blush. Look at the box on this blog entitled "About Me". See anything "un-perfect" there? I didn't for a long time. Me, that has ALWAYS insisted that those reporting to me should check their work. Blush, blush. Another engineer formerly reporting to me just sent an e-mail telling me that the word "Station" was misspelled in that box. What? Me make a mistake? I say, "You mean it's NOT spelled 'Statiion'?" He said he wanted to "sharpen my iron". So, as a reminder to me, I'm NOT going to edit that. (11/23/08 I've since edited it, after this blog was "archived.") Thanks, Ken. (Ya wanta keep yer thoughts to yerself, Buddy?) Just kidding!

Romans 12:3 ........"not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think; but to think soberly."

Whew!

Football

Forgive me for this second post being only 4 hours after the first. I AM just learning. I've had 2 comments already (can't brag. Grandchildren).

Football. I went to the local high school game tonight, but only stayed for the first half (It got too cold for an old man).

I just wanted to comment on what I see so often. "Fair weather fans". Know what I mean? We support our team a lot when it does well, but when not (Why did the coach call that play?) (Can't the quarterback THROW the ball?) (The halfback carries the ball too low.)

"Fair weather fans?" What about support? Or, give them a chance? Why not encourage?

We used to call these guys "Downtown quarterbacks". My problem is, "I do it too!"

I'm ashamed.

People REALLY need encouragement. We forget that the Coach now realizes that it was the wrong play. Let's give him a chance! We don't have to lie if we think he did wrong. Let's tell him - and the team that we appreciate the hard work and effort.

Could I do better as a coach or player? I'd guess not.

"Let each esteem other better than themselves." Phil. 2:3.

Oh.....we lost 14-7. I knew it!

Shame!