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!