A Muncie Boyhood-The Crush



What girl could resist my handsome face and keen fashion sense?

When you are a small boy in school, you aren’t supposed to be interested in girls. After all, they’re yucky. They have Cooties. They wear dresses and play with goofy toys like dolls. Of course, that’s usually not something your mother teaches you. Rather, it is something the other boys educate you about as they tease you.

I remember standing in front of Roosevelt Elementary School looking up into one of the large trees that stood majestically guarding the building. In my ear a song is ringing:

“Mike and Holly sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, second comes marriage, then comes Mike with a baaaby carriage.”

Truthfully, I don’t remember the exact names. I heard the song so many times. But, it could have been Mike and Holly because in first grade she took a liking to me. I remember little “love” notes passed to me. I remember sitting on the floor to watch a movie and she would sit next to me; looping her arm through mine.

Oh, the shame of it all!

Outwardly, I was teased into acting like I hated it. In first grade, you’re not supposed to like girls in the least, but now the truth comes out…secretly, I really liked it. I liked it a lot.

Holly wasn’t my first girl, though. There were two before her. First, there was Tammy. She was the little girl who lived across the street from me before I was old enough to go to school. I do remember her complete name, but I can’t remember much else; except for the fact that she was a great friend and I was really sad when her family moved away.

Tammy kissed me once. The next day, I developed a case of The Hives. Of course, it had to be Tammy’s fault, and so I told her as much. In fact, I yelled it at her across the road.

“I’m ‘lergic to you! You kissed me and now I’ve got hives!”

After she moved, I only saw her once more when my folks took me to visit her. I’ve always wondered what became of her.

The other “woman in my life” before Holly was Cheryl. She was my skating buddy. Her grandmother and my mom were best friends, and because of them we became friends too. We used to take roller skating lessons together at Gibson’s Skating Rink when we were in Kindergarten and the early years of elementary school. She was a really cute little girl, but mostly she was my friend. We went to each other’s birthday parties, and played at each other’s houses. Good friends. To all of my old Southside classmates who used to dream of dating her, I can proudly say that she did kiss me once. I think we were six or seven, but hey! A kiss is a kiss…and, she didn’t give me hives.

After Tammy, Cheryl, and Holly, girls fell off the radar for a few years. I was consumed with boy stuff (toy guns, bikes, and Hot Wheels) until fifth grade. In Mrs. Denny’s class, despite the fact that I was still absorbed in the more manly pursuits of jumping ramps and shooting arrows at passing birds, I noticed a girl. That’s when it began.

The Crush!

My friends.  Tim and two of his sisters.  Yes, she's in the photo.  This was at the height of The Crush!

She really wasn’t new to me. I suppose I had known her all my life. It was just that I noticed for the first time that she was the most beautiful, smart, fascinating, and talented girl in all the world. I noticed all these things, but I couldn’t tell a soul. After all, I was a fifth grade boy, and I still wasn’t supposed to think girls were safe to be around. Additionally, I just knew that if I fessed up to the love I was feeling, I would be ridiculed from coast to coast.

That was the beginning of an obsession that lasted for five years! I was convinced that eventually I would be able to profess my feelings, and that she would feel the same, and we would get married. Sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. She was my dream girl.

She was also my best friend’s sister. Tim, who was about two years older than me, had one brother and three sisters. Tena was the oldest sister, and was my same age. It was her grandparents that owned the home behind my folk’s place where so many of my childhood memories took place. That being the case, she was conveniently around a lot. After fifth grade, she stopped being Tim’s sister, and Tim became Tena’s brother…at least in my mind.

I never told her about this crush until I mentioned it in passing at a reunion years later, and it lasted until I was a sophomore in high school. It wasn’t until I found an interest in another girl and began to date for real that it faded into history, and became just another story in my past.

One event during this period stands out, and I’ve retold it a number of times over the years. Sometime, while I was a student at Wilson Middle School, I decided I needed to get her something as a gift. It may have been Valentine’s Day, but I don’t recall for sure. I can’t remember the occasion, but I do remember the deed. I bought her a cross necklace at the K-Mart on south Walnut Street.

The problem was…I couldn’t tell her about my feelings, and I couldn’t come up with a good reason to give it to her without revealing the truth. So, I came up with a plan.


I would give it to her anonymously.

The rear of our neighbor's house on east 21st Street, and the scene of my secret admirer delivery.

I wrapped it up, and put a note on it. “To Tena. From a Friend.” It was a cloudy day, overcast and cool. No one seemed to be home at Cecil and Irene’s house; her grandparent’s home, so I stealthily made my way from my house to their front porch using all of the skills that I’d developed over the years of playing army in their yard. It was a circuitous route that would make the guy who draws The Family Circus proud. I hid behind trees, bushes, and flower beds; darting from hiding spot to hiding spot until I’d made my way to the target position.


If anyone saw me, I must have looked ridiculous.

I carefully placed the gift on a ledge that jutted out from a support column, and then reversed the sneaky process to make my getaway. I pulled it off. Whew!

Now what?

Curiosity was killing me! Did they see it when they came home? Did they give it to Tena? Did she like it? What did she think about getting a gift from a secret admirer? I just couldn’t take it! I had to find out!

But how?

A new plan.

I went over to Cecil and Irene’s after they came home under the guise of finding out if Tim was there. It was brilliant! Tim was my best friend. It only made sense that I’d go over to see him. I’d done it a million times. I’d go see Tim, and I’d be able to glean the reaction just by paying attention. They’d never know.

Except they did know!

I strolled up on the porch and knocked on the kitchen door like I’d always done before, and Irene answered like she usually did…except this time she had an odd look on her face. It was a strange smile with a sparkle in her eye.

“I know what you did?”

My heart jumped up in my throat and my stomach did a somersault. I’m sure my face flushed.

“Huh? I didn’t do anything? I just came over to see if Tim was here.”

“Mike. I know you did it.”

My mind: What do I do now? Lie! Lie! Lie!

“I didn’t do anything. Is Tim here?”

“No, he’s not here. But, I know you did it.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. If Tim’s not here, I guess I’ll go. See ya later.”

Terror makes for very effective self-deception. My secret was on the verge of being revealed, and I couldn’t let that happen, so I LIED. I don’t think that Irene bought it, but I lied so vehemently that I almost convinced myself. I walked off the porch and around the corner mumbling to myself that I couldn’t believe that she actually thought that I’d done it. I had to mentally stop and remind myself that I truly had done it. I guess sometimes we lie to ourselves much better than we ever lie to someone else.

That is as far as it ever went, however. No one ever said anything more about it. I never brought it up, and Tim, if he knew about it, never mentioned it. Eventually, my fear subsided.

A couple of years later, I saw her wearing what looked like the same cross on a different chain. I commented on it and asked her where she got it. She had no real reaction and I don’t remember her answer. In the end, it was a big deal to me, but really an epic failure.

I added secret admirer gifts to the list of things that I’d never do again.

From then on until my first real girlfriend Toni sent the crush into the realms of history, I never came close to sharing my feelings for Tena again. The only way my crush displayed itself was through the goofy smile that would plant itself on my face every time she was near. I would pass her in the hallway at Muncie Southside and BOOM! Smile all over the face. I couldn’t make it go away. The smile muscles contracted so tightly that it actually hurt.

The crush was all bottled up inside, and it stayed that way until I saw her and her husband at a class reunion. I think it may have been our twentieth-year reunion. We were all walking in together, and I said hello.

“Hi Tena.”

“Hi Mike.”

“You know, I used to have the biggest crush on you.”

“Really?”

Nothing more was said. What more could be said? We all walked in. She and her husband went to their table. My wife and I went to ours. It is interesting how much of a relief it can be to even give voice to something as silly as a childhood crush. It was nice to let it out.

When I look back on all these girls, and at the wonderful wife that became the love of my life, all I can say is…

Boy, do I have good taste in girls.

Christianity 101-Are You Serious?

There are some things in life that just demand that we face them with more seriousness. Taxes come to mind. Fail to take them seriously, blow them off and you’ll find yourself in trouble with a little group known as the IRS. How about dealing with a major illness? People who are told they have cancer generally buckle down into a very thought out and careful treatment regimen. Even something as simple as trying to reach a personal goal needs to be faced with seriousness if one is to truly reach beyond themselves.

In 2009, I made a personal commitment to ride my bike 100 miles in one day. I made that commitment in the spring, and the plan was to do it before the end of the summer. I’m not sure how many of you have ever ridden a bike a hundred miles, but it isn’t a breeze. It takes training, preparation, and planning. I had to think through how I was going to approach the training, and build up my body’s endurance over time. Additionally, I had to plan a route, work out a support system for drinks and food for the day, and develop a strategy to how I would ride the distance. It took serious thought.

I think as we delve into this subject of Christianity, it is fair to say that we should enter into this with a serious mind. Many in the USA today often seem to waltz in and out of church like it was going to the movies. Is it entertaining enough? Is it too stiff or too loose? Are the seats comfortable? Do I like the preacher? Others seem to think they are Christians by genetics. I was born in America, so I’m a Christian.

Whoa! Not so fast, partner. I think maybe we need to take a serious look at Christianity. It is not something to take lightly. A person died to get this thing going. Many others have died along the way to be faithful to the God who gave His Son. Back in the early days of the Way of Christ, folks could be thrown into prison, flogged, fed to lions, or hung on a cross simply for professing a faith in Christ. This was back before a cross was a piece of jewelry. It was an instrument of a torturous death, capital punishment.

Christianity is serious business.

If you are just looking into this Christianity stuff, then good for you. Be serious about the investigation. Look at the details of scripture, and don’t simply take another person’s word for what is said. Study it for yourself. In the Book of Acts in the Bible, there are a whole group of people from a village called Berea that were considered quite noble because they didn’t take the Apostle Paul’s word for what was true from the scriptures. Rather, they listened to him, and then they researched it themselves to see if it was true. (Acts 17:10-12) Follow their lead. Don’t take mine or anyone else’s word as gospel. Check out the details for yourself.

If you are a Christian, then my question to you is: Just how seriously do you take your faith?

Is it just another facet of your complicated life? Or, is it your driving force, your source of strength, and your hope for your future? When you read the scriptures, do you allow it to impact you, or does it roll off as just some nice sayings from an old book?  Do you even read the scriptures?

I wonder what would happen if Christians began to once again take the Bible seriously. What if Christians everywhere began to really love their neighbors as themselves? Or, they began to consider the needs of other people before they considered their own? Hmmm.

What about you and me? What if we began to take a serious look at Bible passages as they impacted our own personal daily walks in this life? One reason that I like to teach classes and write blogs is because it drives me to take a closer look at myself, and it makes me strive with more determination to be a better Christian. Let’s take a look at a few verses with our new “serious” perspective. Let’s consider what “serious” looks like in this sampling.

Matthew 6:31-34
So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Take a few moments to consider…if we are really serious…what does it look like to seek the kingdom of God FIRST? How would priorities change? How would lifestyles change? Would your life be different, if you seriously began to pursue God and his righteousness as priority one?

I John 3:16-18
This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.

What would it look like if we as individual Christians stopped talking about loving others and actually began to earnestly do something about it? Bob Harper from the Biggest Loser yelled at a competitor a season or so ago that she should “Stop talking and just do it!” I think that is what the Apostle John is saying. Stop talking about feeding the hungry, and get them some food. Stop talking about …you name it…and get it done.

What would it look like if we all did that?

Ephesians 5:18-20
Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit. Speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

How would it change your worship gatherings if everyone began to do that? If they were filled with the Spirit of God? If they were sharing their worship with one another instead of sitting like little marble statues, staring straight ahead as if they were the only ones in the room? If they were allowing their hearts to engage with the words that were coming out of their mouths? How would that change your church’s worship?

How would it change your worship?

There is something special that is generated when a congregation begins to sing TOGETHER. They look at one another; they see the enthusiasm in each other’s faces, and build off of one another’s faith. It can take our mutual worship to places that most of us cannot imagine, and many of us have never experienced.

1 Thessalonians 5:19
Do not put out the Spirit’s fire;…

That one likes to hit me between the eyes. I tend to be a rather subdued guy. I’m too self-conscious. I see people “lifting holy hands” during worship, and I want to, but instead I subdue the urge. Sometimes, I’ll feel a small compulsion to share my faith with a person, and I talk myself out of it. How about you? Do you feel an urging in your spirit welling up, but instead you take both hands and push it back down?

What if we decided to take this verse seriously? How would that change us? How would it change our churches?

Back in January 2010, I took part in a yearly kick off devotional for the teen group and parents at the church I attend. Now, this is a group that is supposed to be the most enthusiastic of our church. Teenagers. Parents of teenagers. It should have rocked the room! Instead, I couldn’t believe how the room lacked any kind of energy. At one point, we sang the song “This is How We Overcome.” A line that is repeated over and over is: “You have turned my mourning into dancing. You have turned my sorrow into joy.” I looked around at the faces as those lines were being sung, and I almost gave in to the urge to stop the song and address the group, but instead I took both hands and pushed the compulsion back down. You see, the words were coming out of their mouths, but someone forgot to tell their faces! It was humdrum. It was mundane. There was no power in the voices, no joy in the tone. Where was the music of the heart?

I came to the conclusion that we often are either lying to God when we sing, or we are simply just going through the motions of voicing words that we aren’t really connecting with. Either way is not good.

There was no Spirit flowing that night, and I snuffed out what may have been the Spirit of God urging me to point out the problem.

What if we stopped doing that? What if we sang and MADE MUSIC in our HEARTS to God?

These are four examples of particular verses. We could go on and on, but, I don’t think that is an urge I should follow.

As I bring this installment to a conclusion, let me just say it again: Christianity is serious business. We are talking about things like death, redemption, salvation, and eternity. In the coming weeks, we will explore sin and its consequences. We’ll look at God’s answer to that problem, and our response to His solution. These are all serious subjects.

Can you take a serious look?

WMBO-Fitness Update-Week 18

The McGregor creek, finally with leaves.



The Aikman Farm along my cycling route.  I've always thought this was a pretty view.




The confluence of two streams along my cycling route.  A nice place to stop and think.

It seems that the weather is finally cooperating with my cycling efforts.  I've ridden each of the last three days, and I'm feeling pretty good about it.  I think I'll give my legs a break tomorrow and maybe only take a short walk, but I'm starting to be able to put the miles behind me, and that is encouraging.  It also doesn't hurt my enthusiasm to have lost a little weight this week.  It wasn't much, but it was a loss.  If I can keep riding like I have the last few days, then the weight ought to keep dropping.

I have some unaccounted for exercise also.  I attended the AIST Show in Indy this week.  In short, it is a trade show for the steel industry.  On Tuesday, I walked the show looking at the various booths.  I'm not sure how far that was, but probably a couple of miles anyway.  On Thursday, after I rode, I also mowed the yard.  That always entails a fair amount of walking as I push the trim mower around to cut the stuff the rider has a hard time reaching.  I don't have a clue how far I go, but it takes about a half hour to do the trim cut.  I'm burning calories, that's all that matters.

I'm really eager for two things: warmer temps and calmer winds.  Frankly, I'm a warm weather rider.  I don't like the chill of the wind that bites at my face and hands until I get the blood pumping.  I like to ride when it's hot.  The wind is a different story.  On the one hand, it makes the ride HARD.  Today, riding into the wind was like trying to ride through molasses.  On the other hand, riding in the wind makes a rider stronger and more fit.  It makes you better.

There are three things that make a rider better and stronger: 1. miles in the saddle, 2. riding into the wind, 3. climbing lots of hills.

I only have a few rolling hills around, so I have limited chance to gain from those, but the wind is everywhere and especially so in the spring.  Even so, I will be happy when they calm down.  I like to enjoy my rides as well as gain fitness from them.

One last piece of good news before I go to the numbers...

I was sitting on the sofa the other evening after a ride, and I ran my hand down over my right calf...the one that had the surgery...and I could feel a little tiny bit of muscle tone.  Yay!!!!  My legs are coming back!

Here are the numbers:

Weight: 255.4 lbs  (Down .4 lbs this week)

Goal: 2011 miles in the year 2011 by walking, running, or cycling
Miles Completed: 245.4
Percentage Completed: 12.20%

Miles this week: 41.0...That's almost equal to what I was doing all month during the winter.  Things are picking up folks!  That said, I've got to triple that through the summer if I have a prayer of hitting the goal.

Time to go.
See you on the road.
Mike

Christianity 101-The Prime Ingredients-An Introduction

Why are you what you are? Methodist? Catholic? Lutheran? Church of Christ? Presbyterian? What ever it may be, why are you that? Is it because you thought it over, examined the details, prayed about it, studied it, and decided that it was the right path for you to follow? Or, was there some other reason? Maybe a spouse or boy/girl friend? Or, perhaps that is what your family was?

Back in the early days of my sales career, I used to make a good deal of joint sales calls with representatives of the products that my company sold. In doing that, we spent a numbers of hours behind the windshield of a car driving from place to place. Most of those folks were aware that I was “religious” and often times the conversation would turn in that direction. When it did, I commonly asked that question above. It was sort of an informal poll.

Do you know what the answer was, more often than not?

“That’s what my parents were.”

That answer begs a follow up.

If that is the case, then whose faith do you have; yours or your parents’ faith?

In thinking this through, I think that it is quite common for a person to be a tad bit lazy with their faith. It’s easy to just go to the tradition that you were raised with and not poke around and see if there is something more. Have you ever considered why you are what you are?

I’m reminded of a story. I’m not sure where this story originated, nor can I remember who I borrowed it from, but I think it fits.

There was a woman who was cooking a Sunday ham. Just as her mother always did, she cut the ends off of the ham before placing it in her pan for baking. Her husband, being a curious man, asked her why she did that. “I don’t know” she replied. “That’s what my mom always did.” It just so happened that her mom was coming over for dinner and she arrived just in time to address the question. “Mom,” the woman asked, “why do you always cut the ends off of the ham before you bake it?” “Ummm, well, I don’t know,” the mother answered. “That’s what my mom always did.” Well, now all three of them were dying with curiosity, so they called grandma on the phone. “Grandma, why did you always cut the ends off of your ham before you baked it?” Grandma knew exactly why. “Well, dear. My pan was too short. I had to cut it down to make it fit.”

Is it possible that faith is that way with so many people? Someone, somewhere, at some time, decided to go to a particular church for a specific reason, and now, many years later, that reason is lost and the descendants are just continuing the pattern without knowing the reason why.

It is my goal with this series to attempt to help us (myself included) think through these issues and build a stronger personal faith, one that is truly personal.

For other folks, there is no specific church history. They, like me, grew up without a home church, and their parents didn’t indoctrinate them with any particular set of views. In a sense, they are like a new journal without any writing on the pages. They are free of preconceived ideas of faith, and have a clean slate on which to build their own faith. Often times, that is what they do. They build their own faith, but it is not based on scripture, but rather on the hearsay of friend, the opinions of others, or their own personal logic. If that is you, then I hope to provide you with a least the footings of a foundation from scripture so that you can build a faith based on something more substantial.

We will see. Let’s take a swing at it anyway.

Christianity is based on the “Gospel” of Jesus Christ. The word “gospel” is a religious word, but it once was a common word. We do that a lot. We take perfectly good English words and religify them. (I made up the word religify, but I think it fits. Besides, people make up words all the time. If presidents can do it, so can I.) I will point out a few other religified words through the course of this series.

The word “gospel” simply means “good news.” So, Christianity is based on the good news of Jesus Christ. If you’ve attended a church that some would label as a Fire and Brimstone church, you may wonder what is so good about the news, but it really is good. In fact, it is wonderful.

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:6-8 (NIV)  All scriptures referenced will be from the New International Version of the Bible.

The coolest part of this is that He did it while we were still sinners. He didn’t wait for us to become righteous on our own, but He jumped over that hurdle for us! The GOSPEL or GOOD NEWS is that we were sinners, but Jesus loved us so much that He stepped into our place and died for us!

Another view that is becoming more and more prevalent is that you don’t need a church to be a Christian. This is becoming more and more true with the increasing media influence in our lives. After all, you can get “church” on TV, or you can watch webcasts on the internet. That’s so cool….you can sleep in and still get your faith fix….right? “Click, click” and I don’t have to go to a fancy building somewhere to punch my religious time-clock.

I think maybe we have a misperception of the point, the purpose, and the mission of the church.

If people are getting the idea that the church isn’t relevant anymore, then maybe it is because the church has lost sight of these things as well. Let’s take a closer look. First, it would be good for us to be reminded that “church” was the creation of Jesus himself. He told Peter in Matthew 16 “…and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.” Mt. 16:18. Second, it would be good for us to realize that the church of scripture was never made of stone or wood or brick. It was made of flesh and bone. Read Ephesians 4 and 5 and I Corinthians 12. The church is the body of Christ, the people, the followers of Christ. If you are a Christian, then you are a member of THE church, His body, and you have a responsibility toward it, the other members of that same body…whether you like it our not.

Church.

What is the point?

And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching. Hebrews 10:24-25

It seems even in the days of the writer of Hebrews, people were starting to flake on church. Apparently, some were in the habit of skipping out of meeting together. They had missed or lost the point already.

What is it? What is the point?

Spurring one another on toward love and good deeds. Mutual encouragement. A sense of having one another’s backs. A level of accountability with one another. The point is to support and encourage other Christians.

I wonder…how many Christians today take that point seriously? How many slip in the door at the last minute, crawl into their pew, punch their spiritual clock, and then check back out after worship without ever having a encouraging or spurring interaction with another member of their congregation? How many members of local churches are never active in any function outside of Sunday morning? How many don’t even know the name of that guy who sits next to them every week?

How are we doing in getting the point of church in our personal lives?

What is the purpose?

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will—to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ.


In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, in order that we, who were the first to hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory. And you also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation. Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God’s possession—to the praise of his glory. Ephesians 1:3-14

Did you see it? Did you see why the church, the body of Christ is assembled? We are here for the praise of his glory. Our purpose in being as a church is to bring glory to God.

I wonder. How are we doing with that? When people look at how we live our lives, does it spawn praise for God? When visitors come to our churches, does it make them fill with the wonders of the glory of God?

Are we praising God for the glory of his wonderful grace?

What is the mission?

Since, then, we know what it is to fear the Lord, we try to persuade men. What we are is plain to God, and I hope it is also plain to your conscience. We are not trying to commend ourselves to you again, but are giving you an opportunity to take pride in us, so that you can answer those who take pride in what is seen rather than in what is in the heart. If we are out of our mind, it is for the sake of God; if we are in our right mind, it is for you. For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.


So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. 2 Cor. 5:11-21

The mission isn’t to build fine buildings. It isn’t to start endless programs. A great children’s program wasn’t in the original plans. No where is there a food pantry in the strategy. Now, all of those things are fine. They make excellent tools when kept in perspective, but the mission is spelled out for us. We are to help people become reconciled to God. Everything else we do is a tool to that ultimate end.

The question is, do you and I have that mission on our minds and hearts? How are we doing?

The Church…

What is the point?—To encourage one another.

What is the purpose?—To bring praise and glory to God.

What is the mission?—To help others become reconciled to God.

Is that relevant? Is that something that should demand our participation? You have to decide for yourself, but I think so.

So, we have defined Gospel, and we have discussed the point, purpose, and mission of the church. But, if we boil it all down, what are the most basic and most important things that any and all Christians should focus on?

Let me start with a question. What is the most important ingredient in making a chocolate cake? The answer may seem obvious. You may be drawn automatically to the word “chocolate.” That is obviously the most primary ingredient. Right?

Nope.

Chocolate is a descriptive word. It is describing the object, a cake. First and foremost, you are making a cake. Chocolate gives it flavor, but if you leave it out, you still have a cake. There are other ingredients that if left out would leave you with a big pile of messy chocolate flavored goo.

So, what are the basic ingredients to Christianity? What are the ingredients that you just can’t leave out without spoiling the whole thing?

Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?”


Jesus replied: “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all you heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” Mt. 22:34-40

I don’t care how many songs you sing. I couldn’t care less about how much money you give. It really doesn’t matter how many good deeds you do. If you don’t have love for God and love for your neighbor, you’ve missed the boat. Your ship has left the dock and you’re still standing there on the pier.

And, notice, it doesn’t say to obey God with all of your heart. It says to LOVE God. If you love you will obey. If you just obey, then love doesn’t need to be part of the deal. You see, with God, it is ALL ABOUT THE RELATIONSHIP!

The first two key ingredients that cannot be left out of Christianity:

1. Love God
2. Love your neighbor…you know, that person next to you…even if he does have body odor and yellow teeth.

Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” Mt. 28:18-20

The above is known as the Great Commission. It is among Jesus’ last words on earth. It is our marching orders. It is our mission. How can we consider ourselves to be followers of Christ if we are not taking this to heart?

3. Make disciples of all nations…start next door please.

How many of us feel competent and equipped to do that? Do we know what to do? Do we know what to teach? Could you take someone from step one and help them ‘be reconciled to God?’ Hopefully, this series of classes will help with that. In the coming weeks, we will examine some of the first principles of Christianity. My goal is to challenge you (and myself) to more fully live out those principles, and hopefully give you some tools to help you pass this thing we call Christianity on to someone else.

See you next week.

WMBO-Fitness Update-Week Seventeen

A farm we passed on our bikes.



This seemed like a good place for a picture.




Totally unrelated.  I just threw this in for fun.  I'm in jail in Bannack, Montana.

I'm feeling pretty positive today.  Just so you know, I'm still not eating well.  I just can't get that car back in the garage, so to speak.  However, I guess it's not totally out of control because I lost the weight that I had gained last week.  I'm back to where I was before. 

The thing that I'm truly excited about is that I seem to be getting some cycling legs under me pretty quickly.  The wet weather has made it tough to ride much, and in fact, I didn't ride at all between last Saturday and today, but still I felt good today.  I finally went over 20 miles in a single ride today...22.6 miles to be exact.  Hopefully, my schedule and the weather will cooperate enough to allow me to get some more miles on the bike during the week this week.

April was my biggest mileage month so far this year.  That is the case despite the number of days with a "zero" in my tracking sheet.  The five times I rode my bike drove the numbers up significantly.  That said, I better get the real mileage kicking in through May if I have a real hope of hitting my 2011 miles in the year.  Time to get cranking!

Here is my monthly mileage:

January: 44.9

February: 31.8
March: 43.4
April: 84.3

Here are my overall report numbers:

Mileage Completed:  204.4
Percentage Completed:  10.16%

Current Weight:  255.8 lbs  (Down 2.4 lbs from last week's weigh-in.)

Finally, just some general info on some of my blogging activity that I have planned for the next few weeks.  In addition to the Fitness Update, I'll be posting some other things that will most fall into three specific series:

1. Henry the Preacher--A cartoon revolving around the mishaps of a frumpy, nerdy, sometimes silly minister.  I posted the first one last week.
2. A Muncie Boyhood--Stories from my youth in my hometown of Muncie, Indiana.  As much as possible, I will include pictures from the time period, and or pictures from current day Muncie.  I have posted an introduction and three stories so far.
3. Christianity 101--This will be a new series that will flow once a week from a class that I am starting to teach at church tomorrow.  The focus is two-fold.  First, teach those who have little knowledge of the scriptures.  Second, challenge those of us who have some knowledge to reexamine how seriously we take things.  I don't have all the answers, but I hope what I do have to share is helpful to someone. 

Time to go.  My daughter is getting ready for prom.

See you on the road.
Mike

A Muncie Boyhood-Wiffle Ball and the Poop Monster

Back in the days before Playstation, X-Box, cell phones, and the internet, a young person had two options: 1. sit and watch TV, or 2. go outside and make up something to do. As a child of the sixties and seventies, I did a good deal of both. I suppose there were the third and fourth options of homework and reading a book, but those two things were pretty low on the priority list at the time.

Outdoor activities were varied. We played army as I’ve mentioned before. We played baseball and football. Sometimes, we’d just walk down to Cantrell’s Barbershop and buy a pop. He had the best machines around; drinks always in glass bottles and sometimes they were so cold that there would be ice floating inside.  Not bad for twenty-five cents.

One summer was completely devoted to wiffle ball in my back yard. It was just after my fifth grade year in school, and I had just returned from a trip to California. I don’t know who’s idea it was, but it became literally a daily routine. The gutter on the corner of my house was first base, a spot in the middle of the yard was second, and a sugar maple was third base.  We'd put something down for home right in front of the little blue spruce sapling that we nearly trampled to death that summer.  (That tree is HUGE now.) Whether you were playing defense or running the bases, you had to carefully avoid the landmines left behind by my dog, Sugar. (She kept my dad’s yard pretty well fertilized.)

Wiffle ball was one of those things that come along, but that never repeat. It was 1973, and all of the kids in the neighborhood would gather every evening to divide up teams and knock that plastic ball around. We didn’t do it before 1973, and no one seemed interested in years after. It was a passing anomaly.

We didn’t play traditional wiffle ball. We didn’t like those little plastic balls with the holes. They didn’t hold up well, and you couldn’t hit them very far. We also didn’t like the flimsy plastic bats that were so easily broken. I don’t know where it came from, but someone provided us with an extra hard and durable white plastic ball about the size of a softball. It was practically unbreakable, which came in handy when we broke the flimsy plastic bat and I brought out my wooden baseball bats. A hit that landed in my yard was in play, but if it went over the fence or my dad’s garage it was a homerun. Boy, did I feel like a real slugger when I’d nail one over the garage.

Late in the summer, the end of the games all but arrived on a sunny afternoon when tragedy struck. It wasn’t the usual crew. Tim and Tony weren’t around. No Tena, Teresa, or Ernie in the game. My cousins had come over to the house, and my friend Jerry from a block over was also there. We decided to do a little hitting. Jeff, my cousin was pitching. Chuck was in the outfield somewhere. Jerry was catching. I was at bat with my really nice and legitimately powerful Louisville Slugger baseball bat. Jeff threw me a pitch that was just calling my name. However, as I started my swing, Jerry chose that moment to stand up. I have no idea why. I don’t know if we ever found out. I swung with the form of my hero, Johnny Bench and nailed that hard plastic ball. I drove it deep into the outfield, but as my bat completed its swing, it came around and also nailed Jerry in the eye.

Of course, Jerry went down, holding his eye and crying out in pain. We helped him up, and got him inside as his eye swelled and changed into a myriad of colors. We were all scared, but he was okay. He apparently suffered no serious injury. It just looked horrible. We got him home and after some ice and likely some sort of pain-killer, all was well.

Except…for…one tragedy.

I must have knocked that hard plastic ball into next week because we never found it. We were all so scared for Jerry that we didn’t see where it went. We searched and searched and searched, but it was NEVER seen again. I mean, I kept and eye out for it for years afterward, but it never resurfaced. It was gone. It was like God had taken it, or aliens had swooped down and snagged it when we weren’t looking. The games ended shortly after we lost that ball. They just weren’t the same anymore.

It was a great ball.

Another fun game from my childhood was developed by my friend Tim. His grandparents lived directly behind my folk’s house, and they had the huge yard that I mentioned in my previous post. Near their backdoor there was a metal post that stuck up out of the ground about three feet. It was only about two inches or less in diameter, and had probably at one time been part of a handrail for the couple of steps down from their backdoor to the patio. The top of this little post had a shallow depression where water would collect. After a while, that water would get sort of stinky. It smelled like…well…like poop.

One day, Tim stuck the end of a stick into that water, got it wet, and began to chase the rest of us around the yard, and a new game was born.

The Poop Monster!

“I’m the Poop Monster! I’m gonna get you! I’m gonna wipe my poop on you!”

Oh, for the innocent days of youth!

The object was simple: don’t get touched by the poop on the stick. If you did, then you were the Poop Monster, and you took over the chasing duties. All that wasn’t too bad when it was just stinky water out of the top of that metal pole, but the thing is, when you’re a kid, you’re playing a game called The Poop Monster, and there is an abundance of animal waste from various neighborhood dogs available to you, sometimes it wasn’t just water on the end of the stick.

Sometimes, we were playing for real.

Sometimes, the game got a bit more intense.

The Poop Monster, a Muncie original.  Maybe it should have been copyrighted.  Maybe it could be a new Playstation game!  Hmmm.


Coming soon: "The Crush" and "Space 1999 and a Neighborhood Rumble"......maybe.

WMBO-Fitness Update-Week 16

This bridge being out was a minor inconvenience that led me to need to add a few miles to the days effort.



I had to stop at this little church building to tighten my cleats.  Squeak.  Squeak.  It was driving me a little crazy.



Today started out as another bad report for this update.  I crawled out of bed earlier than I wanted to, and wondered aimlessly into the bathroom.  I stepped on the scales and the inevitable hit me square between the eyes.  I was up.  I had gained 2.4 lbs in the last week. 

After my lamenting previous post, you would have thought that I would have buckled down and gotten my eating habits under control, but noooooooo.  Not me.  I'm still just about chowing on anything that has a food label....mostly jelly beans at the moment.

It is embarrassing, but I guess I'm still not in a place where I want to deal with it, so I actually contemplated dropping that aspect of this report.  After all, this is about my attempt to complete 2011 miles in the year 2011.  The weight thing has been a secondary factor all along.  I thought about it, but I guess I'll hang in there a bit longer.

By the way, I asked you readers to give me a kick in the pants last week, but I didn't hear a peep out of any of you.  What's up with that?  I know you're reading it because I've got a counter that tells me how many page views per post.  Come on now.  Let me hear it when I'm messing up.  Or, at least drop me an encouraging note.

It started out negative this morning, but by noon I was feeling great about life again.  You see, I went for a group bike ride with some folks and I managed to ride 18.9 miles and felt good all along the way.  No leg pain.  No cramps.  I felt good, real good.  Do you know what that gives me?  HOPE!  I really can build my cycling strength back!  I still don't like the fact that I gained this week, but now I've got some renewed enthusiasm for my riding.  Lot's of riding will make me healthier.  No way around it. 

Now, if I can just get in good enough shape to keep up with my new cycling buddy, Mike Eaton.  Oh yeah, that's my new goal.  He needs to stare at my back wheel at least a little bit.  :) 

Here's the mileage report.  I already gave you the weight number.

Goal:  2011 miles in the year 2011

Miles Completed:  180.8

Percentage Completed:  8.99%

Thanks to the ability to get on the bike, I've already completed a third more miles in April than in each of the previous months, and I still have seven days to go. 

See you on the road,

Mike

Henry the Preacher--Volume 1, Number 1

I created "Henry the Preacher" about thirty or thirty-one years ago while attending Williamstown Bible College in Williamstown, West Virginia.  He began to randomly show up on dry erase and chalk boards in our various classrooms with humorous little quotes in little dialog boxes; at least I thought they were humorous.  Over the years, I've gone in and out of playing with him in various venues.  Back in the mid-80's, I made up a bunch of note pads with Henry at the top with the caption, "Henry the Preacher Says:" across the heading.  When I was attending Indiana Business College around the same timeframe, I had a guy suggest that he could get me a financial backer and we could start publishing Henry.  So, I tried to do a portfolio to present to those potential supporters.  However, I found that when I tried to draw him under pressure, I just couldn't get it right.  Since then, he's popped up from time to time for no good reason, but nothing of note.  I dropped the "Preacher" moniker for a while.  However, I've decided that it's time for his reappearance.  I hope you enjoy his misadventures in the ministry. 

Here's the first one...

Thoughts from the Other Side of Suicide

A couple of weeks ago in one of my Muncie Boyhood posts, I shared a story about my brother’s suicide. http://caaampersthoughts.blogspot.com/2011/04/muncie-boyhood-switches-and-crying.html 

He was twenty-six and I was seven. Very briefly, I shared a few snippets of the carnage to my family in the wake of that event. As a result, one of my readers, and a friend, asked me to share my thoughts on what would be good to say to folks who had recently lost a loved one to suicide.


Wow. I found that request to be a touch beyond the scope of what I think I am qualified to speak to. After all, I’m not a clinical psychologist. I’m not even a formally trained pastoral counselor. I did enjoy a few Christian Counseling courses in Bible College about thirty years ago, but that was just enough information to get me in trouble.

I thought: What could I say to answer the question? And: What would I say to someone in that situation?

Frankly, this one is tough.

To me, most of the things that people say to those who have recently lost a loved one sounds forced, trite, and contrived. I’m sure that often these comments are said with good intentions, and with the hopes that some encouragement would flow through, but still the words seem empty and can then fall on deaf ears because they don’t really fill the need of the hour.

However, despite my trepidation and the possibility of sounding contrived, I’m going to attempt to fulfill my friend’s request. Hopefully, something in here will be worthwhile, and there won’t be too many things where those with more knowledge and experience will think I’m off base. Just take it all with a grain of salt. Much of what I have to say is based on personal experience in my family, and on life’s gleanings through the years.

Here are my thoughts:

If someone has just lost someone close to them due to suicide…

1. There is NOTHING you can say that will make them feel better.

2. Better than words is the simple touch on the arm, or even better still, a warm hug. Give them your strength through your physical connection, whether a simple shoulder squeeze or a long embrace.

3. Don’t say, “Call me if you need anything.” Instead, find reasons to see them and help, whether they voice the need or not. Your actual actions will speak much louder than your words.

4. If you are close to them, get them moving. Give them time to grieve, but then get them out of the house, and back into the activities that they enjoyed before.

5. Realize that beyond the ordinary grief of the loss, they are likely feeling some measure of guilt. They may be thinking it was their fault, or that they should have known. That pain can overwhelm them, so they need friends to lean on.

6. Over time, point them toward those who are still with them that need their time, energy, and support. Help them shift focus from the one they have lost to the ones they still have.

7. Verbally express your love and support for them. Let them know that they are important to you.

8. Again, if you are close to them, encourage them to have someone that they can express themselves to in an intimate way. They need to talk about what they are feeling. They will need an outside perspective.

9. Be the person who thinks of them AFTER the funeral has run its course. A week after all is done, most people have returned to their regular lives, but the mourning goes on and on for the suicide survivor. Call them to touch base. Drop by with a pie. Take them out to lunch. Go to a movie with them.

10. Pray with them. Encourage them to pour out their pain and anger to the One who loves them the most. Help them connect with the God of all Grace who longs to put His arms around them to give them peace and comfort.

Often when someone dies, those who seek to comfort the loved ones will say something to the effect of “He’s in a better place now” or “He’s not suffering anymore.” Personally, I understand that these words are meant to comfort, but unless you have special insight into the human soul and can read the mind of God, you have no idea of whether that is true or not. They come off to me as trite words; pat answers from folks who really have no idea of what to say. With that said, I do believe that the committed Christian can enter the next life with the confidence that comes from a walk with Christ. However, if you are the survivor of one who has committed suicide, you may be less than confident of your loved one’s spiritual outcome. Thus, the words are not at all comforting. They are at best frustrating, and may in fact be troubling to the survivor. They are best avoided.

Despite the commonly held religious perspective that “suicide is the unforgiveable sin” because the person committing it cannot repent, I believe that Grace can prevail. A person who commits suicide is deeply troubled. He or she is racked with internal conflict and pain. Better than any of us, God can see that. I believe that His Grace is sufficient even for the Christian who falls prey to depression to the point of taking his own life. Eventually, if the survivor’s doubts in this area are expressed, comfort can be given based on God’s love for their loved one, and His Grace for all who love Him but fall short. Conveying this is a conversation, not a quick one-liner.

Losing a loved one is like yanking a huge rock out of your yard. It leaves a nasty hole in your heart with ragged edges. In time, you can fill in a hole in the yard, level it off with dirt, and the edges will become dulled. You can maybe tell that something was there and the yard will perhaps dip a bit in that area, but time has smoothed out the loss. It is similar with the loss of a loved one, even a suicide loss. Time dulls the edge of the pain, and eventually the hole in the heart begins to heal, fill and level off. If we are good friends, we can speed that process along by providing our own love and support. My mom took ten years to crawl out of bed after my brother’s suicide, so a great deal of patience and love may be required.

I hope you never have need for the thoughts above, but if you do need them, I hope you find them helpful. As always, I welcome your comments.

WMBO-Fitness Update-Week Fifteen

 A Couple of Yellowstone Bison



A Couple of Stress-Ball Bison

This second picture is a good reflection of what I'm feeling right now in a few areas.  I'm kind of faced-off against myself.

Here's the deal.  When you write a blog with segments about fitness and how you are working to get into shape, and you're telling the world about how you are working toward a pretty doggone tough goal, you generally want to keep all the posts postive and encouraging.  You want to be excited about what you are doing.  Positive Mental Attitude!

Hooey!

The real world doesn't work that way.  Some days....some weeks...maybe even some months...you just are not in the right frame of mind.  Maybe you're completely off track.

This is where I pick up the mirror and take a good look.

I have lost my fire for what I set out to do.  I'm making terrible choices for food...no more kidding myself...I just don't want to eat right, and I don't want to go to the extra effort to make sure I have the right options available to myself.  I'm food-lazy.  I really love french fries and pizza!  Even more, I love ice cream.

I'm also discouraged about how my weakened right Achilles Tendon is feeling after bike rides.  Last Sunday, I took a 9.6 mile right.  About 3.5 miles into the ride, I pushed too hard.  I stood up on the pedals to push up a little hill, and I felt my right calf "tweak."  I think it was a little cramp, but I'm not totally sure.  Anyway, I took it easy the rest of the ride, and then rested it for a couple of days.  I didn't ride again until Thursday (with zero walking in between) when I rode 10.6 miles.  I took it easy on the hills, and didn't push hard at any point, but my leg still felt a bit sore regardless.  Thus, only one walking mile and no riding since. 

I'm just not feeling good about much of anything with regards to this process at the moment.  But, in my constant attempt to look at things from an unbiased position, I think that this probably isn't uncommon in folks who are attempting a longer-term goal.  There are ups...and there are downs.  At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

I guess the key is for me to not quit and to gut it out until my gusto returns, but there are times when I just simply don't want to.

Sometimes I want to quit.  I want to sit down with a big bowl of ice cream and watch Biggest Loser.

I can't do that, though.  I'm not ready to retire from life, and you really need to be healthy to get the chance to experience some of the most exciting parts.  I'll never complete a "Fourteener" in Colorado if I continue to settle for expandable waistband trousers.  Hiking to Phantom Ranch in the Grand Canyon is a great deal more difficult when you're carrying a tub of lard on your torso.

I guess I need to kick my self in the tush and keep going.  I'd appreciate a good swift kick in the pants from you readers also.  Can you give a guy a hand?

Update:

Miles Completed:  156.9
Percentage Completed:  7.8%

Current Weight:  255.8 lbs

See you on the road....at least that's the plan.

Mike

A Muncie Boyhood-Adventures with Arrows



Me and my six guns.  With the salute, I guess I'm a cross between a western cowboy and a WWII soldier.

Roy Rogers. The Lone Ranger. The Rifleman. Bonanza. The Big Valley. High Chaparral. The Wild Wild West. Gunsmoke.

As a child of the sixties and early seventies, my TV entertainment choices contained a healthy diet of Westerns; Cowboys and Indians, before that phrase was considered politically incorrect. I could only dream of galloping through the sagebrush on a huge horse while shooting at outlaws and evading the flying arrows of renegade Native Americans. The closest I could come to that was running around my back yard, shooting arrows with rubber tips at trees, while being chased by my savage dog, Sugar who would lick my scalp off if she were to catch me.

I don’t remember the first bow and arrow set I had. I just remember that the arrows were narrow wooden rods, and they had little rubber suction cups on the ends so that they would stick to smooth surfaces when shot. Eventually, the tips were lost and the arrows became just a tad bit more dangerous. I never shot anyone’s eye out, but it’s a wonder it never happened.

I had more toy guns than toy arrows. My favorite and the one I kept the longest was a “popgun;” a small metal rifle with a cocking lever that made it look like a Winchester Repeater. It got its name from the noise it made when you pulled the trigger. However, as you can see from the picture above, I also had my share of pistols. Being a would-be gunslinger, I preferred a two-holster set up. That said, I had no intention of being a gun-for-hire. No sir. I was going to be the next Marshall Dillon of south Hackley Street.

Later on, the Cowboys and Indians battles changed over to games of Army. There were also a great number of TV shows based on World War II in those days, and it inspired my friends and me to shoot at each other for hours in and around the houses in my neighborhood.

“Halt! Gestapo!” “Bang bang bang!” “Pow pow pow!” “I got you!” “No, you didn’t! I was behind that rock!” “You’re dead!” “No, you’re dead!”

Hours of fun.

Usually, we used my yard and my neighbor’s yard directly behind my parent’s house. (Cecil and Irene had a huge yard, at least it seemed that way when I was ten. Now, I go back and I wonder how we ever did the things we did in that yard. But, it was like an amusement park at the time.) However, one year, I think it was middle school or early high school; we outgrew those two yards and overran two entire oversized city blocks with our army battles that raged every evening. We hid behind every conceivable obstacle, climbed trees, and even crawled up on a few roofs. I think at the height of that year’s wars, we probably had close to twenty kids playing, and we were driving more than a few grown-ups crazy.

I kind of miss those days. The only thing I had to worry about was not getting shot by Tim’s imaginary machine gun, or not waking up my dad who worked third shift at the Chevy plant.

One thing I didn’t mention about my old arrow set was a use I put it to that I’m sure its makers did not intend. In the fall, the birds would begin to head south, and great flocks of them would fly over the house. They weren’t geese. They were just huge groupings of some species that I don’t think I ever really recognized. Perhaps they were Starlings. I really don’t know. Anyway, having a bit of hunter built into my male nature, it seemed only natural that I should try to shoot the birds with my arrows. I would stand at the ready with an arrow notched on the string, and when a flock would appear I would shoot straight up in the air and into the flying squadron of birds. Of course, the problem with shooting straight up in the air is that the arrows come straight back down. It wasn’t a good idea to take your eyes off of your arrow while it was still in flight.

No one ever got hit by a falling arrow. Thankfully. Also, I never shot down a bird, although I did “wing” one once. I felt so bad about hitting it that I never did it again.

Later, into my early teen years, some of us graduated to more powerful and more dangerous archery sets. These bows were fiberglass and had a strong tension. The arrows were larger and had pointed metal tips. I believe they were considered target arrows. Thinking back on it, it was pretty stupid to let these things get into our hands. Only trouble could ensue.

You see, we didn’t have targets. There were no bales of hay sitting around on 21st Street. There were no bulls-eyes set up to shoot at. We couldn’t intentionally shoot at houses, or maybe we just knew better. We were remarkably smart enough to recognize that we shouldn’t shoot these arrows at one another.

So, what did that leave?

The sky, of course.

There were a few of us who had these sets, but I’ll focus on two of us: me and Ernie. Ernie was a kid who was about three years younger than me, and he lived sort of diagonally across 21st street from me in a little house that sat on the alley that ran behind our house.




Cecil & Irene's back field.  Back in the day, the trees were smaller, and there weren't so many fences.  Still, it sure seems small today.

Now, what we generally would do was go into the field behind Cecil and Irene’s house and shoot the arrows up in the air from one end of the field to the other. Then, we’d go pick them up and shoot them back. More hours of fun. Anyway, one day Ernie shot one up in the air from a different place. I don’t remember exactly where he was, but it seems like he was close to the alleyway behind my dad’s garage. He shot it pretty well straight up, but angled toward the street. He was shooting blind from behind some garages. One of those garages was Cecil’s. In front of Cecil’s garage was Cecil’s car. The arrow went up. The arrow came down. BANG!

“Oh, crap!”

Right in the middle of Cecil’s hood was a nice little cone-shaped dent. We didn’t find the arrow for days. I think it popped back up in the tree next to the driveway and didn’t fall into the grass right away. Of course, all of us who had the sets were suspects, but I don’t think anyone took the fall for the deed. I suppose the statute of limitations for dumb stuff is up, so there’s no harm in the truth coming out now.

As for me,….well,….I had a sheath of arrows, probably five or six in all, and while I was stupid enough to shoot them in the air, I was smart enough to keep them away from the neighbor’s car. I always went back to the field to shoot. Now, you need to understand that Cecil’s yard was three lots wide, so there was decent distance. Plus, we generally could stray into a few of the other neighbor’s unfenced yards without issue. We’d play football and baseball back there. Really, just about every game we played in the neighborhood somehow involved their back field. Anyway, one day no one else was around and I was a bit bored, so I gathered up my arrows and went over to shoot. I shot them all east. I picked them up and shot them back west. I probably went back and forth a few times. Finally, I shot my bunch of arrows back east one more time, but this time I came up one arrow short. I searched. I hunted. I covered all of the normal landing area multiple times, and even widened my search circle. No arrow. Ultimately, I grew weary of the effort and went home without my missing miniature missile.

Fast forward a few days.

I’m sitting in my backyard enjoying a nice evening when I see Jerry, a friend of mine from 22nd Street walking down the alley carrying an arrow.

“Hey Jerry, where’d you get that arrow?”

“A guy found it. I’m thinking it’s Ernie’s,” he said.

“Actually, I think it’s mine,” I said. “I lost it the other day. Where’d he find it?”

(Here I’m going to make up a name because I don’t remember who this person was.)

Jerry replied: “Well, Bobby was looking out his kitchen window at his dog when this arrow came down and stuck in the ground about two feet away from it.”

Again, something I never did again.

WMBO-Fitness Update-Weeks 13 & 14

Heber Springs, Arkansas



Heber Springs-Another View




Nancy Rocks!




The Red River, below the dam.




Harding University



If you are wondering why I didn't post an update last week, it was because I was out of town, missed my weigh in, and I didn't want to announce to the world via the internet that we weren't home.  As a result, this week, I'm covering two-weeks worth.

We had a great trip to Searcy, Arkansas; home of Harding University.  My oldest daughter attends school there, and my younger daughter is headed that way in the fall.  We drove down on Thursday, and had nice weekend with our girls and their friends...as well as a pleasant little drive up to Heber Springs; a nearby lake.  The Heber trip was just Nancy and I, and we climbed around on the shorter cliffs by the lake, drove down and climbed down to the river below the dam, and then headed to the town of Heber Springs for a quick bite of lunch at a little hole in the wall restaurant.  All in all, it was a great time together and a beautiful day for a drive.

We also watched the semi-final Butler Bulldog game on Saturday in the lobby of our hotel.  We just kind of took over the breakfast area and watched it on the big screen.  Other people wandered in and we met a nice couple from Memphis who joined us for almost all of the game.

On to the fitness report....

For most of the two-week period, things were not so good.  I ate very poorly...and like a horse....and I didn't walk or ride consistently at all.  I did get some good walks in at Harding and Heber, but my schedule, the weather, and a bit of laziness hit me pretty hard otherwise.  As a result, I actually gained 1.8 pounds over the period.

On the bright side, I finished strong.  I rode my bike twice this weekend, and worked on the yard most of the afternoon today.  Lots of exercise, and I've eaten okay...at least today anyway.  Time to get back in the saddle, and not let laziness and discouragement hold me back.

That's the challenge for a long-term fitness effort.  There are going to be ups and downs.  Some periods of high activity, and periods of time where other things take precedence.  The key is not to quit.

The numbers:

GOAL:  2011 miles by walking, running, or cycling in the year 2011

RESULTS:

Total Miles Completed:  145.3
Percentage Completed:  7.23 %

Current Weight:  255.8 lbs

Look for another Muncie Boyhood post in the next couple of days:  "Adventures with Arrows"

See you on the road.
Mike

A Muncie Boyhood-Switches and Crying Under the Coat Rack

My brother, Freddie Nicholas

One factor in trying to write a series of posts about life as a boy is that the further back in time you go, the sketchier the details become. I’m a bit torn as to whether to try to do this chronologically, or to just write the stories as they come to me. It seems to be easier to do the latter, so as you follow the posts, don’t expect them all to fall into a neat timeline.

Another issue I’m faced with is that some of the stories might be a tad embarrassing for some of the characters involved. Most of them probably aren’t really that big of a deal, but since I don’t want to deal with angry folks, I’m likely going to either change the names to protect the not so innocent, or I’ll not use their last names so as to give them some plausible deniability. As for stories that might be personally embarrassing to me, well….there are some in my memory bank that I’m just not going to bring up. They don’t account for many of the potential sagas, however, so you won’t be missing much.

I was the only child of my mother and father’s marriage. My dad had no other children…as far as I know. He, however, did travel extensively in the west as a young, single guy, and also served in Europe in WWII, so you never know for sure. He was fifty years old when I was born. My mom, on the other hand, had a previous husband, and I had three siblings from that earlier relationship; two brothers and one sister. Their father had been a drunk and an abusive man, so my mom had divorced him and taken the three kids. This post is about my oldest brother, Freddie.

Freddie was nineteen years old when I was born. He was a teen in the 1950’s, and had been a rowdy and wild child. I remember hearing of him being in and out of trouble, spending time in some institutions, and there were several visits to the Delaware County Jail. While that was true, many people were not aware of his more sensitive nature, and by the time I was headed to kindergarten, he had a wife and a two-year old baby girl named Krista.

There are two distinct memories about my brother that I want to share, one good and one sad.

As a youngster in the sixties, it was not unusual for my mom to use a “switch” to keep me in line. Some of you who have grown up in this age of politically-correct parenting might not know what a “switch” is, so let me explain. In the dark ages of corporal punishment (spanking), there was a “branch” of that type of parenting that utilized a fresh, slender twig off of a nearby tree as an instrument of wrath upon a child’s hindquarters.  Oh, did they ever leave the red welt lines on the legs if you happen to have been wearing short pants when the punishment occurred! Even long pants didn’t provide much relief. To make the event even more horrible, if the parent didn’t have a switch at hand, she (mothers used switches) might actually send the offending child out to fetch his own torture device. Can you tell that I was not particularly fond of this method of punishment? That said, I am thankful that my fear of that switch and my dad’s belt kept me out of most of the trouble that I could have pursued.

My mother commonly kept a switch conveniently stashed out of my reach on top of our refrigerator. “You better (name the demand) or I’m gonna get that switch down!” It was always there as a reminder of the potential results of my many juvenile crimes like “talking back” or “not picking up my toys.” I could see one end of it sticking out over the edge of the icebox door as a subtle reminder of the consequences of misbehavior. As I write this, I can still sort of feel the sting of those mini-whips snapping on my skin.

Ouch!

Apparently, that had been my mom’s normal stashing location for the switches over the years because my brother Freddie knew where they were. One thing that I remember about him, and that I will forever be grateful for is that every time he would come over to our house, and walk in the back door and through the kitchen, he would reach up, grab that switch, and break it into about twenty little pieces. My mom would cuss him, and I would give him a great big hug.  He was my hero!

Unfortunately, I don’t have too many other memories of my brother Freddie because when I was in first grade, he died.

He was a troubled soul; plagued with dysfunctional relationships and personal unhappiness. My mother shared with me later that over the years he had attempted several times to take his own life. Once he tried to shoot himself with a rifle, but the length of the weapon foiled the attempt. Another time, he tried to hang himself in our basement, but my mom found him and pulled him down in time. Unfortunately, when a person is bent on self-destruction, you cannot always be there in time.

When he was twenty-six, and I was seven, he was married with a young daughter. They had another baby, but she had died as an infant a few months prior. He and his family were at my sister’s apartment, and he was arguing with his wife. For some reason, he had brought home a cyanide egg from the shop where he worked, and he threatened his wife that he would put it in water and drink it. Through the course of the argument, he did just that. He dropped it in a glass and eventually did drink it. As soon as he did, I am told that he jumped up to go to the sink, but as he reached the faucet, he collapsed and fell over. He could not be revived. It was too late. He was gone.

Fortunately, I didn’t witness any of this, but my sister, her son, his wife, and my niece all did. The whole family was devastated.

My last memory that is directly related to my brother is of myself standing underneath the coat rack at Parson’s Mortuary crying for my brother. I still miss him forty-two years later.

I didn’t intend this to be a post with a moral, but let me just say that while my brother made his point, and got his “escape” from the mess, if he had known the wake of destruction that his passing would leave, I have no doubt that he would have found another way to deal with his pain. My mom went to bed in 1969, and except for short interludes of activity, she didn’t get up again until I went off to college in 1980. I won’t go further into the other side effects of his death, but there were many others scattered across the relationships that he left behind. I am confident that my brother who was so concerned for me, his little brother, that he couldn’t bear the idea of my being whipped with a switch, would never have done what he did if he had an inkling of the ongoing pain that it would cause his family.

I hope none of my readers are contemplating suicide, but if so, please rethink it. Suicide is never an answer. It is a curse on those you leave behind. Find another way to live and to deal with whatever is causing you pain until life inevitably smiles on you again! And it will, you know.

Life will smile at you again.