Mission N0. 26.
May 28th, 1944
Went to Magnebourg Germany and bombed the railway marshalling yards. We were hit by flak in the Dumar Lake Area, but not much damage was done. Made it onto the target where we were hit again by flak and knocked a hole in No 1 engine oil cooler draining all the oil from the tank. Was unable to feather the prop leaving it to windmill, and were unable to stay up with formation and hold altitude so we had to jettison all armor plating, guns and ball turret. Thought for a while we wouldn’t be able to make it back to the enemy coast but the old ship just kept on flying. So we made it back to our base. Here we are ready for another smashing good raid.
This week marks the 64th anniversary for George and Martha Pruitt, barely weeks following George’s death. I’ve made several pitiful attempts to bring honor to an honorable man and his family, and I can’t help but surrender to the fact that some people’s lives can’t be reduced to a few paragraphs in an article. Who George was, and who he became, begat an entire legacy of Christian values and noble patriotism which leaves indelible marks upon many generations—both those present and those to come. I’m thankful that my children had the opportunity to sit in his lap and share his kind, gentle smile. It is with a heavy heart that I announce this will by my last post about a war hero turned family man. If you haven't seen the other stories of the Section 8 and its crew, I invite you to glance through them in my previous posts in this month and last month. I now offer you two of his journal entries that must be shared with freedom loving people throughout our nation. For without him, freedom wouldn’t be possible. For if everyone held the belief that protecting our country belongs to “other people’s children,” then no one would have stood up to defeat the evil Axis powers. He knowingly and deliberately stood to his feet and drew a line in the sand indicating that Americans would not bow, nor would they slumber in the face of tyranny.
So many others stood with him and made that same declaration. My own grandfathers fought with him in that great war. Unfortunately, they were reluctant to discuss their lives during the war, and we have no record of what they faced and overcame. PFC Travis Boyd Inman served in the 303rd of the 97th Infantry Division during their Pacific Theater action and the subsequent occupation of Japan. Guy Bairrington, who served with both the 82nd Airborne, and the 101st Airborne, was one of those who parachuted into France on D-Day. He also returned with a purple heart. I’m proud to think that George and Guy were both in the same air at the same time, fighting the same enemy. Now, all three of these noble warriors have gone into eternity, leaving their families to follow in their examples. I pray that we don’t fail them or dishonor their contributions.
Mission No 30.
June 6, 1944
Completion of my last tour of duty. Didn’t get any sleep last night. Briefing at 10:30 pm. Take off at 2:10 am. Bombed beach head 8 minutes before invasion troops landed. Never saw such perfect timing and teamwork as was displayed by our air and ground forces this morning. Everything worked perfect. We bombed at 7:22 am and troops landed at 7:30 am. We landed back at our base at 9:45 am. Every available airplane in the 8th and 9th Air Force were flying. Here’s hoping those boys over there the best of luck in seizing and establishing their stronghold. God only knows they're apt to need it.
And with those words, I leave you to contemplate such great men. I pray their lives will influence my children to be as convicted as were they.
Learn more about the Section 8 and their mission over Normandy on D-Day, and catch another glimpse into the journal by following this link....
Friday, July 25, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
IRON POET--BATTLE CIRCUS
If you want to witness a bizarre poetry contest, then visit Alison's blog--and vote on your favorite. I'm certain you won't be disappointed.
www.alisonb1974.blogspot.com
www.alisonb1974.blogspot.com
Friday, July 18, 2008
Another View from the Section 8
Another View from the Section 8
George Pruitt passed away in Lubbock, Texas on July 5, 2008 following a massive stroke. He was surrounded by family and died with honor. May we shake hands when he greets me at the Pearly Gates.
George certainly came from the mold that pressed out heroes. I’m not implying that he was a perfect man, and he’d be the first to agree with me about his lack thereof, but George was a mighty man of valor, and his deeds are worthy of recording. In his latter years, he was a man of faith, and never once backed down from his love for Christ. He was an excellent father, husband, and grandfather. In fact, he passed away being surrounded by family—and there is no better way to go. The love and devotion demonstrated by his family lends insight to his character because those are the ones who knew him best. In honor of his life, I’m going to continue his epic struggle against the Nazi invasion of France. So, buckle in, it’s going to be an enjoyable journey.
This account is taken from his very own war journal, which was recently made available to me by Martha, George’s bride from 64 years past. George kept meticulous notes concerning the missions he flew and various odd details about each one. We know from his records that he was very generous, having lent many hundreds of dollars to his fellow airmen—most of them paid him back! I’ll share with you bits and pieces of his journal, and I’ll start with a mission he flew two-thirds of the way through his tour of duty.
Mission No. 20
April 29, 1944
Hit Berlin, Germany. On the way to the target number 2 engine started acting up, forcing us to pull military power to keep up with formation. Over target—number 3 engine was knocked out, loosing oil pressure and were unable to feather propeller. As a result, we had to let it windmill. As we were leaving target, number 1 engine was shot out, leaving us with only two engines. We were unable to stay with any of the returning formations and we were losing altitude. So, we threw out all our guns and ammunition. The ship was shot to pieces by flak. So, we were coming in “on a wing and a prayer,” just hoping and praying we’d have enough gas to get out of enemy territory, and praying we wouldn’t be intercepted by enemy fighters. And our prayers came true. We weren’t intercepted and we got out of enemy territory. But as we were crossing the North Sea, flying at about 4,000 feet, our two faithful engines run out of gas, forcing us to dead stick land in the water. The pilot made a beautiful landing and we all got out uninjured. We were in our dinghies 40 minutes when the air sea rescue picked us up. Our plane floated 57 minutes, which is believed to be the longest period of time any US Army/Air Force plane has floated. Lt. John R. Jeans, our navigator, got a few chips of glass in his eye when the plexiglass nose was hit by flak. Thanks to Lt. Suckow’s beautiful land and the wonderful work done by radio operator SSGT Joe C Spermbaur in contacting air Sea Rescue.Now, there were some corrections he penned into his journal in a different color ink than he used originally. One of the changes documented that they weren’t in the English Channel when they went down, but in the North Sea. Either way, it’s a remarkable story. At his funeral on July 7, 2008, his photo was posted near his casket. In the photo, he wore a boyish smile on a warrior’s face. You could see in his eyes the determination that he was were he was supposed to be and he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. I asked him once if he was worried about going to war. He never hesitated in his answer, “No. We knew we were going to win before we ever left,” which reminds me of a quote from Sun Tzu, “the victorious warrior wins first, and then goes to war; the defeated warrior goes to war first, and then seeks to win.”
Along with his photo, was a small laminated card the size of an actual playing card, which documented his enrollment into the Goldfish Club. For more information on this exclusive group, see: http://www.geocities.com/b24gunr2000/Goldfish_Club.html Thanks to the Pruitt family for allowing me insight into a wonderful story and an incredible man.
Learn more about the crew of the Section 8 and their mission over Normandy on D-Day by clicking here: D-Day, A View From The Section 8.
and-
Part three of the Section 8 story is found here....
George Pruitt passed away in Lubbock, Texas on July 5, 2008 following a massive stroke. He was surrounded by family and died with honor. May we shake hands when he greets me at the Pearly Gates.
George certainly came from the mold that pressed out heroes. I’m not implying that he was a perfect man, and he’d be the first to agree with me about his lack thereof, but George was a mighty man of valor, and his deeds are worthy of recording. In his latter years, he was a man of faith, and never once backed down from his love for Christ. He was an excellent father, husband, and grandfather. In fact, he passed away being surrounded by family—and there is no better way to go. The love and devotion demonstrated by his family lends insight to his character because those are the ones who knew him best. In honor of his life, I’m going to continue his epic struggle against the Nazi invasion of France. So, buckle in, it’s going to be an enjoyable journey.
This account is taken from his very own war journal, which was recently made available to me by Martha, George’s bride from 64 years past. George kept meticulous notes concerning the missions he flew and various odd details about each one. We know from his records that he was very generous, having lent many hundreds of dollars to his fellow airmen—most of them paid him back! I’ll share with you bits and pieces of his journal, and I’ll start with a mission he flew two-thirds of the way through his tour of duty.
Mission No. 20
April 29, 1944
Hit Berlin, Germany. On the way to the target number 2 engine started acting up, forcing us to pull military power to keep up with formation. Over target—number 3 engine was knocked out, loosing oil pressure and were unable to feather propeller. As a result, we had to let it windmill. As we were leaving target, number 1 engine was shot out, leaving us with only two engines. We were unable to stay with any of the returning formations and we were losing altitude. So, we threw out all our guns and ammunition. The ship was shot to pieces by flak. So, we were coming in “on a wing and a prayer,” just hoping and praying we’d have enough gas to get out of enemy territory, and praying we wouldn’t be intercepted by enemy fighters. And our prayers came true. We weren’t intercepted and we got out of enemy territory. But as we were crossing the North Sea, flying at about 4,000 feet, our two faithful engines run out of gas, forcing us to dead stick land in the water. The pilot made a beautiful landing and we all got out uninjured. We were in our dinghies 40 minutes when the air sea rescue picked us up. Our plane floated 57 minutes, which is believed to be the longest period of time any US Army/Air Force plane has floated. Lt. John R. Jeans, our navigator, got a few chips of glass in his eye when the plexiglass nose was hit by flak. Thanks to Lt. Suckow’s beautiful land and the wonderful work done by radio operator SSGT Joe C Spermbaur in contacting air Sea Rescue.Now, there were some corrections he penned into his journal in a different color ink than he used originally. One of the changes documented that they weren’t in the English Channel when they went down, but in the North Sea. Either way, it’s a remarkable story. At his funeral on July 7, 2008, his photo was posted near his casket. In the photo, he wore a boyish smile on a warrior’s face. You could see in his eyes the determination that he was were he was supposed to be and he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. I asked him once if he was worried about going to war. He never hesitated in his answer, “No. We knew we were going to win before we ever left,” which reminds me of a quote from Sun Tzu, “the victorious warrior wins first, and then goes to war; the defeated warrior goes to war first, and then seeks to win.”
Along with his photo, was a small laminated card the size of an actual playing card, which documented his enrollment into the Goldfish Club. For more information on this exclusive group, see: http://www.geocities.com/b24gunr2000/Goldfish_Club.html Thanks to the Pruitt family for allowing me insight into a wonderful story and an incredible man.
Learn more about the crew of the Section 8 and their mission over Normandy on D-Day by clicking here: D-Day, A View From The Section 8.
and-
Part three of the Section 8 story is found here....
Saturday, July 12, 2008
The Rebuke Part II
“Great, then let’s vote. All in favor raise your hand.” Black frowned. “What’s the matter, David?”
“A salivation message should be about sin, not happiness.”
“But sin causes unhappiness, David.”
“Yes, Dr. Aziz, but…when I was a sinner, I enjoyed my sins--a lot.”
Reverend Black cleared his throat, “what if we added a second line that says, ‘God knows the true source of your problems: sin.’ Would that satisfy this argument?”
Dr. Jonas nodded in approval. “Truly, God has given you wisdom beyond your years.”
“Nonsense,” Black waved him off and blushed.
“We should include something about a God shaped vacuum.”
“Excellent suggestion, Stoney.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
Black’s patience seemed beyond end, “Yes, David, what is it?”
“I only have one last comment about happiness before we move on.”
“Very well, try to be brief, we are on a schedule.” He pronounced it shedule.
“Of course. Gentleman,” David began, “If we make our focus on happiness, then we are limiting our message to only those who are unhappy.”
“But that is everyone who is unsaved.”
“Not necessarily. As I tried to mention before, I was having the time of my life when I got saved. I was very happy in my sins.”
“Well, you weren’t truly happy, it was a false happiness.”
David grimaced, “Regardless. I loved myself and I loved my life.”
“Then why even bother to get saved?” As soon as Parvo spoke, he wished he could have retracted his statement, but it was too late. He looked down as David smiled.
“Exactly my point. Why get saved if it’s all about happiness? I was happy when a street preacher in San Diego, California warned me that I would die and face a judgment. Then I became unhappy. He pointed out my sins by using the Ten Commandments.”
“The Law?” Parvo snorted while Aziz gasped dramatically. “You expect us to use the Law and the Old Testament in a modern Gospel message?”
“Why not?” David countered? “You use the Old Testament every time you preach on tithing.” Parvo started to stand, but Reverend Black put a hand on his arm and David continued. “The Law is a schoolmaster that is used to reveal sin in our hearts. After a sinner trembles under the wrath of God, we should apply grace. Only then will a sinner truly understand what he was saved from and why he was saved.”
“I was preaching the faith message before you was born, Pastor,” special emphasis on pastor. “I hardly need you to preach to me about salvation.”
“Gentlemen,” Reverend Black cleared his throat, “I know that Brother David’s intentions are good. Technically, he is right. The Law is a schoolmaster.”
“Not only that,” David, encouraged by Reverend Black’s incidental support, continued, “Psalm 19 says that the Law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul…”
“I don’t care what Psalm 19 says, sonny. I want people saved.” Parvo was visibly shaken. Anger burned deep in his eyes.
“I have to agree, Jack. Jesus himself said that he came to heal the broken hearted.”
“Not only that, Dr. Aziz,” Stoney interjected, “He also came to bind up and heal the broken hearted. If we attack in the spirit, I know that souls will be saved. We need to bind Satan.”
“You mean, the broken hearted, right?”
“How’s that, David?”
“Jesus came to bind up the broken hearted, not to bind up Satan, right?” A hushed whisper grew in the auditorium.
“I hardly agree. Matthew 18:18-19 says that whatever we bind on Earth is bound in heaven.”
“Alright, Stoney, maybe you can answer this question. How long does a bind last?”
“Huh?”
“How long does a bind last?” The entire panel was staring at Stoney eagerly awaiting his response to a question that none of them could answer.
“Well, I…uh. Well, I’m not sure that your question is valid.” Then he smiled as he came up with an answer, “It’s up to God.” He adjusted his tie.
“Fine. My next question is this, if we have bound Satan, then why is he loose right now?”
“Well, he is strong, and we have to fast…”
“Are you telling me that there is not a Christian in this world who fasts enough to bind Satan?”
“Well, I do. Fast that is.”
“Great. Then why isn’t Satan bound?”
“Well, because someone else has loosed him.” He was pleased with himself for answering the question.
“Then you are saying that God isn’t sovereign. Either God has given us authority over Satan or He hasn’t. If we have that authority, then why isn’t Satan bound? You know what I think?” The panel nodded, eager to hear him continue. “I think that we have been teaching bad doctrine, and I believe that we have been preaching a corrupted salvation message by not addressing sin, repentance, God’s wrath, judgment, forgiveness, redemption, and the blood of Jesus. Happiness, deliverance, prosperity, healing, and knowledge are all great, but sinners most need forgiveness.”
The panel began to speak all at once, each furiously arguing against David Simple. The auditorium began to growl and fight with each other. Reverend Black tried to gain control, but the panel had been turned upside down. David endured these foul accusations for a few minutes, but gathered his items and stood to his feet.
“Hah!” Parvo snapped. “Brother Simple can’t stand the heat. Going home?”
“No, I’m going to save the lost.” David realized that his answer was trite and snobbish, but he desperately needed to make his voice heard. “Brother, you have a unique opportunity to reach the lost, but you seem to be so focused on money and faith that the Gospel is compromised in your ministry.”
“How dare you judge me?”
“No, Jack, he’s right. All you ever preach is money.” Aziz pointed a boney finger at Parvo.
“Ah, Doctor Aziz, you had a great heart for evangelism at one time, but now you have your own name and picture on every bill board in Dallas,” Parvo fired back.
“The people need to know who I am so that I can heal them,” he defended himself and then he realized what he said. “Well, so that Jesus might heal them through me.”
David turned to walk away, and then he stopped. “You know, I’ve already burned my bridges, so I just as well make this a bon-fire. Stoney, you so glamorize the occult and Satan that you give out the appearance that Jesus is less important. Spiritual warfare is a game to you. And please stop selling those trinkets on your radio program. Why do we need an ‘I fight demons’ T shirt? I would swear that Satan is your best friend. You spend more time talking about him and to him that I think you have forgotten that Jesus is sitting on the throne. I can only imagine that in your home you have little stuffed demon heads mounted on your fireplace. The finished work of the Cross gave us the final victory. When was the last time that a sinner actually repented because of your ministry?”
He turned to Dr. Jonas, “with you, it’s all in your head, Doctor. I don’t think that Jesus is in your heart. The goodness of God leads men to repentance, not the knowledge of God. God is not a matter of the head; he is a matter of the heart. You have failed to close that little eighteen inch gap from your head to your heart, which, by the way, is the same distance from heaven to hell.” He sighed and addressed the whole panel. “Gentlemen, you are so busy raising money and promoting yourselves that you fail to minister. My church is flat broke because all of my parishioners send their tithes and offerings to your ministries so that they can get that super big return on their investment into your little kingdoms that you continually promise. Whenever I preach against that, then they get mad and quit and join the next big popular church down the road, where they can be happy. Jesus was a fisher of men, not of riches, and so should be your focus. Get back to basics, gentlemen, I may be a hungry preacher, but at least I can sleep at night.” He turned and walked off the stage, silence permeating the auditorium.
A lone figure in the balcony stood to his feet and began to clap. Slowly, the entire hall soberly endorsed the rebuke.
“Why that ingrateful brat!” Parvo snapped.
“Ungrateful,” corrected Dr. Jonas.
“Absolutely,” agreed Parvo, oblivious to the correction.
“Doesn’t he realize that we paved the road for him years ago?” growled Aziz.
“Well, I’m going to bind him up and cast him out, that little ingrate,” Stoney retorted.
“What we have here is a man that has not been to seminary and to learn the most modern theology. He is lost in the old and stuffy traditions of men like Charles Finney and Charles Spurgeon.”
“Well said, my friend. Well said.”
And with that, I subject myself to your thoughts and criticisms.
“A salivation message should be about sin, not happiness.”
“But sin causes unhappiness, David.”
“Yes, Dr. Aziz, but…when I was a sinner, I enjoyed my sins--a lot.”
Reverend Black cleared his throat, “what if we added a second line that says, ‘God knows the true source of your problems: sin.’ Would that satisfy this argument?”
Dr. Jonas nodded in approval. “Truly, God has given you wisdom beyond your years.”
“Nonsense,” Black waved him off and blushed.
“We should include something about a God shaped vacuum.”
“Excellent suggestion, Stoney.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
Black’s patience seemed beyond end, “Yes, David, what is it?”
“I only have one last comment about happiness before we move on.”
“Very well, try to be brief, we are on a schedule.” He pronounced it shedule.
“Of course. Gentleman,” David began, “If we make our focus on happiness, then we are limiting our message to only those who are unhappy.”
“But that is everyone who is unsaved.”
“Not necessarily. As I tried to mention before, I was having the time of my life when I got saved. I was very happy in my sins.”
“Well, you weren’t truly happy, it was a false happiness.”
David grimaced, “Regardless. I loved myself and I loved my life.”
“Then why even bother to get saved?” As soon as Parvo spoke, he wished he could have retracted his statement, but it was too late. He looked down as David smiled.
“Exactly my point. Why get saved if it’s all about happiness? I was happy when a street preacher in San Diego, California warned me that I would die and face a judgment. Then I became unhappy. He pointed out my sins by using the Ten Commandments.”
“The Law?” Parvo snorted while Aziz gasped dramatically. “You expect us to use the Law and the Old Testament in a modern Gospel message?”
“Why not?” David countered? “You use the Old Testament every time you preach on tithing.” Parvo started to stand, but Reverend Black put a hand on his arm and David continued. “The Law is a schoolmaster that is used to reveal sin in our hearts. After a sinner trembles under the wrath of God, we should apply grace. Only then will a sinner truly understand what he was saved from and why he was saved.”
“I was preaching the faith message before you was born, Pastor,” special emphasis on pastor. “I hardly need you to preach to me about salvation.”
“Gentlemen,” Reverend Black cleared his throat, “I know that Brother David’s intentions are good. Technically, he is right. The Law is a schoolmaster.”
“Not only that,” David, encouraged by Reverend Black’s incidental support, continued, “Psalm 19 says that the Law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul…”
“I don’t care what Psalm 19 says, sonny. I want people saved.” Parvo was visibly shaken. Anger burned deep in his eyes.
“I have to agree, Jack. Jesus himself said that he came to heal the broken hearted.”
“Not only that, Dr. Aziz,” Stoney interjected, “He also came to bind up and heal the broken hearted. If we attack in the spirit, I know that souls will be saved. We need to bind Satan.”
“You mean, the broken hearted, right?”
“How’s that, David?”
“Jesus came to bind up the broken hearted, not to bind up Satan, right?” A hushed whisper grew in the auditorium.
“I hardly agree. Matthew 18:18-19 says that whatever we bind on Earth is bound in heaven.”
“Alright, Stoney, maybe you can answer this question. How long does a bind last?”
“Huh?”
“How long does a bind last?” The entire panel was staring at Stoney eagerly awaiting his response to a question that none of them could answer.
“Well, I…uh. Well, I’m not sure that your question is valid.” Then he smiled as he came up with an answer, “It’s up to God.” He adjusted his tie.
“Fine. My next question is this, if we have bound Satan, then why is he loose right now?”
“Well, he is strong, and we have to fast…”
“Are you telling me that there is not a Christian in this world who fasts enough to bind Satan?”
“Well, I do. Fast that is.”
“Great. Then why isn’t Satan bound?”
“Well, because someone else has loosed him.” He was pleased with himself for answering the question.
“Then you are saying that God isn’t sovereign. Either God has given us authority over Satan or He hasn’t. If we have that authority, then why isn’t Satan bound? You know what I think?” The panel nodded, eager to hear him continue. “I think that we have been teaching bad doctrine, and I believe that we have been preaching a corrupted salvation message by not addressing sin, repentance, God’s wrath, judgment, forgiveness, redemption, and the blood of Jesus. Happiness, deliverance, prosperity, healing, and knowledge are all great, but sinners most need forgiveness.”
The panel began to speak all at once, each furiously arguing against David Simple. The auditorium began to growl and fight with each other. Reverend Black tried to gain control, but the panel had been turned upside down. David endured these foul accusations for a few minutes, but gathered his items and stood to his feet.
“Hah!” Parvo snapped. “Brother Simple can’t stand the heat. Going home?”
“No, I’m going to save the lost.” David realized that his answer was trite and snobbish, but he desperately needed to make his voice heard. “Brother, you have a unique opportunity to reach the lost, but you seem to be so focused on money and faith that the Gospel is compromised in your ministry.”
“How dare you judge me?”
“No, Jack, he’s right. All you ever preach is money.” Aziz pointed a boney finger at Parvo.
“Ah, Doctor Aziz, you had a great heart for evangelism at one time, but now you have your own name and picture on every bill board in Dallas,” Parvo fired back.
“The people need to know who I am so that I can heal them,” he defended himself and then he realized what he said. “Well, so that Jesus might heal them through me.”
David turned to walk away, and then he stopped. “You know, I’ve already burned my bridges, so I just as well make this a bon-fire. Stoney, you so glamorize the occult and Satan that you give out the appearance that Jesus is less important. Spiritual warfare is a game to you. And please stop selling those trinkets on your radio program. Why do we need an ‘I fight demons’ T shirt? I would swear that Satan is your best friend. You spend more time talking about him and to him that I think you have forgotten that Jesus is sitting on the throne. I can only imagine that in your home you have little stuffed demon heads mounted on your fireplace. The finished work of the Cross gave us the final victory. When was the last time that a sinner actually repented because of your ministry?”
He turned to Dr. Jonas, “with you, it’s all in your head, Doctor. I don’t think that Jesus is in your heart. The goodness of God leads men to repentance, not the knowledge of God. God is not a matter of the head; he is a matter of the heart. You have failed to close that little eighteen inch gap from your head to your heart, which, by the way, is the same distance from heaven to hell.” He sighed and addressed the whole panel. “Gentlemen, you are so busy raising money and promoting yourselves that you fail to minister. My church is flat broke because all of my parishioners send their tithes and offerings to your ministries so that they can get that super big return on their investment into your little kingdoms that you continually promise. Whenever I preach against that, then they get mad and quit and join the next big popular church down the road, where they can be happy. Jesus was a fisher of men, not of riches, and so should be your focus. Get back to basics, gentlemen, I may be a hungry preacher, but at least I can sleep at night.” He turned and walked off the stage, silence permeating the auditorium.
A lone figure in the balcony stood to his feet and began to clap. Slowly, the entire hall soberly endorsed the rebuke.
“Why that ingrateful brat!” Parvo snapped.
“Ungrateful,” corrected Dr. Jonas.
“Absolutely,” agreed Parvo, oblivious to the correction.
“Doesn’t he realize that we paved the road for him years ago?” growled Aziz.
“Well, I’m going to bind him up and cast him out, that little ingrate,” Stoney retorted.
“What we have here is a man that has not been to seminary and to learn the most modern theology. He is lost in the old and stuffy traditions of men like Charles Finney and Charles Spurgeon.”
“Well said, my friend. Well said.”
And with that, I subject myself to your thoughts and criticisms.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
The Rebuke Part I
I'm sorry that I've been slow in posting new stories the last few months. We've been distracted with life recently. Like Bilbo Baggins, "I feel stretched out and thin, like butter spread over too much bread." I appreciate all of your encouragements to get back on track, and I always enjoy hearing your feedback. I want to present to you a story that I've been hesitant to submit. This attacks many popular opinions, and when you attack the popular, you become very popular yourself--but maybe not for the reasons you want!
The Rebuke
“Okay, people, people!” A distinguished elderly gentleman in a dark suit was standing at the end of a long table that was sitting on stage in the center of a large coliseum full of excited people. “Hello? Everyone? Can I have your attention, please?” He taped on his lapel mic to ensure that he was being heard. The roar of the crowd began to fade as five men emerged from backstage and began to find their places around the enormous table. “I’m pleased to see such a large crowd. It touches my heart to see so many that have a heart for the lost.” His voice was drowned in a chorus of amens and clapping hands. “As you all know, my name is Reverend Black…” again a round of cheers and applause. “Thank you, my children, you humble me.” He held up his hands to contain the clapping. “As you all know, I have assembled a panel to discuss our concerted efforts to win this world for Christ in this new DECADE OF HARVEST!” On queue, the crowd erupted and settled down only when Reverend Black demanded that they do so. “In my panel, I have requested that Brother Jack Parvo, whom you all know and love from his television broadcast, which reaches over 13 million people daily, to be present.”
Jack Parvo stood and the crowd went wild. He waved them down and said, “If you’re not careful, I’ll take up an offering!” He was greeted with laughter.
Black continued. “I also invited Dr. Ben Aziz, whom you know as the cutting edge of today’s healing ministry.” The crowd roared when Aziz stood and laughed when he pretended to lay hands on Reverend Black. Meeting expectations, Reverend Black pretended to be slain in the spirit, stopping short of actually falling to the floor. The crowd ate it up.
“I am also pleased to introduce Dr. Paul Jonas, founder and CEO of Jesus University, now proudly announcing an attendance of 20,000 students.” Applause greeted him as he stood, but he was too stiff to entertain the crowd. He sat down awkwardly.
“Next to him, Mr. Stoney Henchman, host of the nationally syndicated radio talk show, ‘The Violent Take it by Force.’” The multitude loved Stoney. His program was radical and confrontational with frequent debates from occultists and demonically influenced guests. His program was sensational and exciting.
“Finally, just to keep us humble, I have requested the presence of a young man whom I think you will appreciate as much as I do once you get to know him. He is the associate pastor of a small church in West Texas. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Pastor David Simpul.” An obligatory applause trickled through the auditorium. Embarrassed, David lifted a hand to the crowd.
“Now, as we get started, I want to ask the crowd to control its clapping, as we will try to record this session. After all, this is an historic gathering of the greatest minds in Christianity today. Now gentlemen, as you know, the members of the Unified Christian Movement, which includes all of us present, are requesting that we develop a unified salvation message. This message will take a tract form and will be used in our new Decade of Harvest efforts to evangelize the world. Our goal tonight will be to pool our experience and knowledge to develop a perfect Gospel message. Brother Parvo, why don’t we start with you?”
“Thank you, Reverend. First, let me say how much I appreciate an opportunity to serve on your board. It is both an honor and a privilege to be included with such giants of the faith.”
“You’re welcome, Jack. Tell us, what do you consider the most important message out there? Over the years, you have influenced more people than all of us combined. What is your secret?"
“Well, God, of course.” The panel nodded reverently. “We try to tell the world about God’s love. Just that simple.”
Dr. Aziz cleared his throat and spoke in his characteristic Jewish accent. “God’s love is sufficient. It’s his love that draws men unto Him. That is why we must proclaim God’s love through healing.”
“Amen brother.” Parvo redirected his thoughts. “Not only healing, but also His promises. After all, the riches of His Kingdom are available at our fingertips. We only have to ask of Him to receive.”
Stoney Henchmen spoke. “God does promise us prosperity, but He also promises us a victorious life that is free of demonic oppression!” The crowd cheered.
“Yes, of course,” Reverend Black pointed to Dr. Jonas. “What do you think, Doctor?”
“God also promises wisdom. If we present God to intellectuals, they will want to know about the knowledge that God will grant them.”
“Knowledge is fine, but their lives, homes, and bodies are broken. They need healing first!”
Jonas sighed. “Dr. Aziz, I must surrender your point, but how do they get healed unless they first know how to be healed?”
“Just what I was saying,” said Parvo. “God’s riches abound in His healings. Perhaps we should present a message on how God can prosper them.”
“What good is prosperity if they are in bondage?”
“Well, Stoney, that is why we should give them God’s wisdom.”
“Yes, Dr. Jonas, it is the love of God that leads men to repentance.” Reverend Black glanced down at David Simpul. “Pastor? We haven’t heard from you yet.”
“What about sin?”
“I believe that God is against it!” Jack Parvo nodded to the crowd, who was clapping furiously at David’s expense.
“I mean,” David waited for the crowd to settle. “I mean, shouldn’t our message be about sin and repentance?”
“Well, of course, my dear boy, but all in due time.”
“Thank you, Reverend,” nodded Aziz. “After you pull someone out of a wheelchair, they are willing to listen to you about sin.”
“Not to mention God’s riches.”
“Of course, Jack. They need to understand that God loves them and has a wonderful plan for their lives.”
“Great idea, Reverend. Why don’t we start our message with the Jabez Prayer?”
“Excellent idea.”
“Amen.”
“But?” David interrupted. “The Jabez Prayer isn’t meant for sinners. In fact, an entire theology has been developed around two little verses in the Old Testament. That verse has nothing to do with a call to repentance or salvation. The Bible says that all men have sinned…”
“I can see why you brought this young man into our discussion, Reverend” Dr. Aziz interrupted. “The Jabez Prayer won’t do. The world is sick. It needs to be healed.”
“What better way to heal them than to present God’s wisdom on the subject?”
“Wisdom? Sure,” Stoney’s tone hinted sarcasm. “They will know wisdom once they are set free from demonic influence. Free from their deception, I say.”
“I was deceived once; most miserable experience of my life. I was very unhappy.”
“Now you’re on to something, Jack. Happiness. That’s the common thread.”
“Amen, Reverend. We all want to be happy. Our experience and our life…, well it all boils down to happiness.” Jack nodded at Dr. Jonas for approval.
“Well,” he reasoned in his mind. “Knowledge can produce happiness. I’ll go along with that.”
Black looked over at Aziz. “What say you, Doctor?”
“Amen.”
“And you, Mr. Henchmen?”
“Amen, you aren’t happy when you are in bondage.”
“And for the last member of our committee, Pastor Simpul.”
David cleared his throat nervously. “It’s been my experience that an individual, who can’t do anything by himself, joins a committee so that they can do nothing together.” After several amens, he continued. “It seems to me, that happiness is the wrong approach. Jesus didn’t really come to make you happy, He just…”
“Well, now, I don’t know about you, Reverend Black, but Jesus has made Jack Parvo plenty happy.”
David nodded. “I’m sure. If I were as rich as you, I might have fewer things happen to me to destroy my happiness. But where you happy last year when you were under investigation for embezzlement?”
A shocked, hushed crowd leaned forward to watch Jack Parvo react. “Touch not the Lord’s anointed.” His eyes flashed for a moment, and then he caught himself and immediately softened his tone and waved nonchalantly. “Of course I was happy, because I knew that Christ in me would prevail.”
“What about you, Dr. Henchmen, when you were sued for millions by the Church of Satan?”
“Was I happy? Naturally. It was an opportunity to demonstrate the deliverance of God.”
“Dr. Aziz,” David redirected. “Were you happy when your daughter died of pneumonia?”
“Well, I…” he hesitated. “I can’t see how that figures into this panel of discussion.” The panel and the crowd were all frowning in disapproval of David’s blatant attack against the character of these super giants of the faith.
“Gee, I don’t know,” David shook his head. “Maybe it’s me, but I don’t see a lot of happiness in Paul’s life, or even in Jesus’ life. Ya’ll seem to be better off than Jesus himself.”
Dr. Jonas waded in. “Paul said that for him to live is Christ. He had Jesus in him. Of course he was happy. ‘With joy I run the race set before me.’”
“But, Doctor, the other half of that verse is, ‘to live is Christ, to die is gain.’ Would a truly happy man perceive that dying is better than living? Wouldn’t he want to enjoy his happiness as long as he could?”
“Paul wrote about happiness while in prison. Why, Philippians is all about happiness.”
“No, Dr. Aziz, its not. It’s about joy, not happiness. Paul was stoned, shipwrecked, snake bitten, whipped, beaten, and imprisoned on numerous occasions. In II Corinthians 1:8, Paul was so happy that he wanted to die.” He looked around at the frowning panel. “Well, Jesus himself told us ‘what great things we would suffer in His name.’”
Reverend Black jumped in. “Well, you can see why I like David so much.” He swallowed. “Now, let’s get back on track here. We all agree that the world lacks happiness, right?” The men nodded in agreement. David, who was looking confused, didn’t acknowledge the question. “What if we said something to the effect of, ‘has the world got you down? The trials of life can be overwhelming, but God is the true source of happiness?’”
“That works for me.” Parvo interjected.
“Great, then let’s vote. All in favor raise your hand.” Black frowned. “What’s the matter, David?”
TO BE CONTINUED.....
The Rebuke
“Okay, people, people!” A distinguished elderly gentleman in a dark suit was standing at the end of a long table that was sitting on stage in the center of a large coliseum full of excited people. “Hello? Everyone? Can I have your attention, please?” He taped on his lapel mic to ensure that he was being heard. The roar of the crowd began to fade as five men emerged from backstage and began to find their places around the enormous table. “I’m pleased to see such a large crowd. It touches my heart to see so many that have a heart for the lost.” His voice was drowned in a chorus of amens and clapping hands. “As you all know, my name is Reverend Black…” again a round of cheers and applause. “Thank you, my children, you humble me.” He held up his hands to contain the clapping. “As you all know, I have assembled a panel to discuss our concerted efforts to win this world for Christ in this new DECADE OF HARVEST!” On queue, the crowd erupted and settled down only when Reverend Black demanded that they do so. “In my panel, I have requested that Brother Jack Parvo, whom you all know and love from his television broadcast, which reaches over 13 million people daily, to be present.”
Jack Parvo stood and the crowd went wild. He waved them down and said, “If you’re not careful, I’ll take up an offering!” He was greeted with laughter.
Black continued. “I also invited Dr. Ben Aziz, whom you know as the cutting edge of today’s healing ministry.” The crowd roared when Aziz stood and laughed when he pretended to lay hands on Reverend Black. Meeting expectations, Reverend Black pretended to be slain in the spirit, stopping short of actually falling to the floor. The crowd ate it up.
“I am also pleased to introduce Dr. Paul Jonas, founder and CEO of Jesus University, now proudly announcing an attendance of 20,000 students.” Applause greeted him as he stood, but he was too stiff to entertain the crowd. He sat down awkwardly.
“Next to him, Mr. Stoney Henchman, host of the nationally syndicated radio talk show, ‘The Violent Take it by Force.’” The multitude loved Stoney. His program was radical and confrontational with frequent debates from occultists and demonically influenced guests. His program was sensational and exciting.
“Finally, just to keep us humble, I have requested the presence of a young man whom I think you will appreciate as much as I do once you get to know him. He is the associate pastor of a small church in West Texas. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Pastor David Simpul.” An obligatory applause trickled through the auditorium. Embarrassed, David lifted a hand to the crowd.
“Now, as we get started, I want to ask the crowd to control its clapping, as we will try to record this session. After all, this is an historic gathering of the greatest minds in Christianity today. Now gentlemen, as you know, the members of the Unified Christian Movement, which includes all of us present, are requesting that we develop a unified salvation message. This message will take a tract form and will be used in our new Decade of Harvest efforts to evangelize the world. Our goal tonight will be to pool our experience and knowledge to develop a perfect Gospel message. Brother Parvo, why don’t we start with you?”
“Thank you, Reverend. First, let me say how much I appreciate an opportunity to serve on your board. It is both an honor and a privilege to be included with such giants of the faith.”
“You’re welcome, Jack. Tell us, what do you consider the most important message out there? Over the years, you have influenced more people than all of us combined. What is your secret?"
“Well, God, of course.” The panel nodded reverently. “We try to tell the world about God’s love. Just that simple.”
Dr. Aziz cleared his throat and spoke in his characteristic Jewish accent. “God’s love is sufficient. It’s his love that draws men unto Him. That is why we must proclaim God’s love through healing.”
“Amen brother.” Parvo redirected his thoughts. “Not only healing, but also His promises. After all, the riches of His Kingdom are available at our fingertips. We only have to ask of Him to receive.”
Stoney Henchmen spoke. “God does promise us prosperity, but He also promises us a victorious life that is free of demonic oppression!” The crowd cheered.
“Yes, of course,” Reverend Black pointed to Dr. Jonas. “What do you think, Doctor?”
“God also promises wisdom. If we present God to intellectuals, they will want to know about the knowledge that God will grant them.”
“Knowledge is fine, but their lives, homes, and bodies are broken. They need healing first!”
Jonas sighed. “Dr. Aziz, I must surrender your point, but how do they get healed unless they first know how to be healed?”
“Just what I was saying,” said Parvo. “God’s riches abound in His healings. Perhaps we should present a message on how God can prosper them.”
“What good is prosperity if they are in bondage?”
“Well, Stoney, that is why we should give them God’s wisdom.”
“Yes, Dr. Jonas, it is the love of God that leads men to repentance.” Reverend Black glanced down at David Simpul. “Pastor? We haven’t heard from you yet.”
“What about sin?”
“I believe that God is against it!” Jack Parvo nodded to the crowd, who was clapping furiously at David’s expense.
“I mean,” David waited for the crowd to settle. “I mean, shouldn’t our message be about sin and repentance?”
“Well, of course, my dear boy, but all in due time.”
“Thank you, Reverend,” nodded Aziz. “After you pull someone out of a wheelchair, they are willing to listen to you about sin.”
“Not to mention God’s riches.”
“Of course, Jack. They need to understand that God loves them and has a wonderful plan for their lives.”
“Great idea, Reverend. Why don’t we start our message with the Jabez Prayer?”
“Excellent idea.”
“Amen.”
“But?” David interrupted. “The Jabez Prayer isn’t meant for sinners. In fact, an entire theology has been developed around two little verses in the Old Testament. That verse has nothing to do with a call to repentance or salvation. The Bible says that all men have sinned…”
“I can see why you brought this young man into our discussion, Reverend” Dr. Aziz interrupted. “The Jabez Prayer won’t do. The world is sick. It needs to be healed.”
“What better way to heal them than to present God’s wisdom on the subject?”
“Wisdom? Sure,” Stoney’s tone hinted sarcasm. “They will know wisdom once they are set free from demonic influence. Free from their deception, I say.”
“I was deceived once; most miserable experience of my life. I was very unhappy.”
“Now you’re on to something, Jack. Happiness. That’s the common thread.”
“Amen, Reverend. We all want to be happy. Our experience and our life…, well it all boils down to happiness.” Jack nodded at Dr. Jonas for approval.
“Well,” he reasoned in his mind. “Knowledge can produce happiness. I’ll go along with that.”
Black looked over at Aziz. “What say you, Doctor?”
“Amen.”
“And you, Mr. Henchmen?”
“Amen, you aren’t happy when you are in bondage.”
“And for the last member of our committee, Pastor Simpul.”
David cleared his throat nervously. “It’s been my experience that an individual, who can’t do anything by himself, joins a committee so that they can do nothing together.” After several amens, he continued. “It seems to me, that happiness is the wrong approach. Jesus didn’t really come to make you happy, He just…”
“Well, now, I don’t know about you, Reverend Black, but Jesus has made Jack Parvo plenty happy.”
David nodded. “I’m sure. If I were as rich as you, I might have fewer things happen to me to destroy my happiness. But where you happy last year when you were under investigation for embezzlement?”
A shocked, hushed crowd leaned forward to watch Jack Parvo react. “Touch not the Lord’s anointed.” His eyes flashed for a moment, and then he caught himself and immediately softened his tone and waved nonchalantly. “Of course I was happy, because I knew that Christ in me would prevail.”
“What about you, Dr. Henchmen, when you were sued for millions by the Church of Satan?”
“Was I happy? Naturally. It was an opportunity to demonstrate the deliverance of God.”
“Dr. Aziz,” David redirected. “Were you happy when your daughter died of pneumonia?”
“Well, I…” he hesitated. “I can’t see how that figures into this panel of discussion.” The panel and the crowd were all frowning in disapproval of David’s blatant attack against the character of these super giants of the faith.
“Gee, I don’t know,” David shook his head. “Maybe it’s me, but I don’t see a lot of happiness in Paul’s life, or even in Jesus’ life. Ya’ll seem to be better off than Jesus himself.”
Dr. Jonas waded in. “Paul said that for him to live is Christ. He had Jesus in him. Of course he was happy. ‘With joy I run the race set before me.’”
“But, Doctor, the other half of that verse is, ‘to live is Christ, to die is gain.’ Would a truly happy man perceive that dying is better than living? Wouldn’t he want to enjoy his happiness as long as he could?”
“Paul wrote about happiness while in prison. Why, Philippians is all about happiness.”
“No, Dr. Aziz, its not. It’s about joy, not happiness. Paul was stoned, shipwrecked, snake bitten, whipped, beaten, and imprisoned on numerous occasions. In II Corinthians 1:8, Paul was so happy that he wanted to die.” He looked around at the frowning panel. “Well, Jesus himself told us ‘what great things we would suffer in His name.’”
Reverend Black jumped in. “Well, you can see why I like David so much.” He swallowed. “Now, let’s get back on track here. We all agree that the world lacks happiness, right?” The men nodded in agreement. David, who was looking confused, didn’t acknowledge the question. “What if we said something to the effect of, ‘has the world got you down? The trials of life can be overwhelming, but God is the true source of happiness?’”
“That works for me.” Parvo interjected.
“Great, then let’s vote. All in favor raise your hand.” Black frowned. “What’s the matter, David?”
TO BE CONTINUED.....
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
A Tribute to My Wife
Written as an introduction to a family cookbook on May-30-98 at 06:27P.
Our Story--The Beginning
I sat drinking my coffee in a small café in Mexico City in an area called Collacón, on one of those days when the air clung to you like a heavy jacket. It was one of those hang outs where members of the upper middle class go to drink fancy coffees and smoke cigars, and talk about their golf game. People were milling about as if ants on a militant journey. They walked around me in pursuit of their daily mundane lives and I observed them with keen interest. Outside of the fact that I was sporting a pair of sunshades, it was impossible to tell that I was the only person on the street that didn't belong. I had managed to blend in, to become one with the culture, to become one of them. However, despite the state of contented bliss in which I was enveloped, one thing weighed heavily with me.
I remember her well; she was constantly on my mind. Every time I turned around, I was catching a hint of her perfume. Relentlessly, she was the soul of my thoughts, my focus of energy, and my reason for smiling. I hadn't known her long, in fact, I had only met her a few times, but everywhere I looked, I saw her face.
I spoke her name often in those days, Brenda Zuniga—it just sort of rolls off the tongue. She was the exact double of a famous movie star in Mexico and I was determined to fall in love with her. The fact that her father was wealthy didn't discourage me much either. I sat there waiting for her to join me over a cup of café mocha, or café con crema, and I was lost in my thoughts when she arrived. We talked for hours, and as we prepared to leave, I agreed to attend her school graduation party that evening. I remember dressing in a nice suit that evening, a Spanish style suit that resembled a tuxedo, and I looked like Sylvester Stallone. Well, I wore a pair of glasses that looked like the ones he wore in a movie. However, as excited as I was to be Brenda's date, I will never forget Juan Carlos. He was the one that stole her away and sent me home with a cut rose and a commemorative handkerchief.
Looking back, I can say that, in a way, I owe all I have to Brenda and Juan Carlos. For it was a few months latter that I stole fifty dollars from a girl I knew at church.... But that is another story. Oh, what the heck, let's tell it anyway!
I had been home from Mexico for a short visit. I had a rough time of it there. I had just been run over by a car while riding my bicycle, and I badly needed some R & R. It was while I was visiting my home church that my father introduced me to a girl I only knew by sight. She was a preacher's kid, and you know what they say about them, they always are in trouble because they hang out with the deacon's sons. Therefore, I kept my respected distance. Only I had trouble not staring at her, and then after church I had trouble not talking to her. I was worried about my reputation, hanging out with that PK. Yet, there was mystery in her eyes and I wanted to know her better. So, when the opportunity came, I jumped on it quicker than a duck on a June bug.
Our parents were involved in a church meeting, so I accepted her invitation to go join her at the Dairy Queen for a Coke while we waited for them to join us. Well, that's when the Preacher's daughter showed her true colors.
I was in my car and (let's call her Sarah, for now, in order to protect the innocent) Sarah was following in her Oldsmobile. Her mother had given her a 50.00 bill to buy cokes, and I was appropriately impressed that these folks would drop a fifty for refreshments. I thought it over and decided that it would be funny to hide her fifty and watch her search for it. Heck, she probably had a handful of them. Then when she was desperate for money, I would produce that fifty and offer to buy the drinks and let her keep the change. When you have ears like mine, you have to use every advantage you can.
That's when a fly got into the ointment. After I had lifted the fifty, (I learned lots of things in Mexico), I saw that my brother Jeb was on the side of the road with a flat tire and I went to see if he needed help. I told her brother Roy that I would be right there, and went on my Good Samaritan trip. I was only gone for a short time, but upon my arrival, I saw Sarah digging frantically through her purse and Roy standing behind her calmly sipping at his straw. Well, I arrived with my fifty to save the day but Roy gave me up like a little stool pigeon. Sarah acted offended and I suspicioned that she might become angry. So I said, “I guess that this is not a good time to ask you to marry me?”
She launched into a speech that involved her mother and the last fifty dollars they owned, but I sat down and tuned her out, listening to Roy talk about his favorite football team, the Philadelphia Eagles.
I knew that she spelled trouble, but I ignored the warning bells screaming in my head. Throwing caution to the wind, I began to fall in love with her—and even married her. Living with Sarah has been something of an adventure, to say the lest. As I think back on all the things that have happened to me like, when her cat urinated on my last clean shirt, or when we over filled her waterbed, I think of Brenda and that rat Juan Carlos. All in all, I guess things haven't been that bad. We have gone through more pets than salmon factories go through cans. We have moved more times than gypsies. We froze to death in the mountains because we couldn't afford to run the heater, and we cried when we couldn’t afford to make a cake on my birthday. We laughed as thirty insurance companies dropped our coverage in a span of two years, and all over a misunderstanding. We have traveled throughout the US and had adventures in foreign countries. On one particular incident, we found the Holy Grail—or was that Indiana Jones? Anyway, we struggled through the years I was in prison and the years that followed where I made no money. I put up with her family and all the misery they can deal out, only to discover after we got married that the only reason Sarah dated me was because I had horses! I bet that rat Juan Carlos is spending all of Brenda's money right now...
I suppose that things aren't all that bad, the other day I had a dream that Sarah and I were getting married again. The preacher says, “Is there anyone that thinks this couple should not get married?” I looked around and everyone in the building was forming a double line behind us. Now that we are in the Army and have a child on the way, I can only think back and say that I, we, owe it all to Brenda and Juan Carlos. Of course there is the story of Irma Angelica Zamorano, but we will save that for the next cookbook, The Squat and Gobble Eatin' Guide. Until then, I leave you with this word of wisdom, don't spit in the well, you might want to drink from it later!
Our Story--The Beginning
I sat drinking my coffee in a small café in Mexico City in an area called Collacón, on one of those days when the air clung to you like a heavy jacket. It was one of those hang outs where members of the upper middle class go to drink fancy coffees and smoke cigars, and talk about their golf game. People were milling about as if ants on a militant journey. They walked around me in pursuit of their daily mundane lives and I observed them with keen interest. Outside of the fact that I was sporting a pair of sunshades, it was impossible to tell that I was the only person on the street that didn't belong. I had managed to blend in, to become one with the culture, to become one of them. However, despite the state of contented bliss in which I was enveloped, one thing weighed heavily with me.
I remember her well; she was constantly on my mind. Every time I turned around, I was catching a hint of her perfume. Relentlessly, she was the soul of my thoughts, my focus of energy, and my reason for smiling. I hadn't known her long, in fact, I had only met her a few times, but everywhere I looked, I saw her face.
I spoke her name often in those days, Brenda Zuniga—it just sort of rolls off the tongue. She was the exact double of a famous movie star in Mexico and I was determined to fall in love with her. The fact that her father was wealthy didn't discourage me much either. I sat there waiting for her to join me over a cup of café mocha, or café con crema, and I was lost in my thoughts when she arrived. We talked for hours, and as we prepared to leave, I agreed to attend her school graduation party that evening. I remember dressing in a nice suit that evening, a Spanish style suit that resembled a tuxedo, and I looked like Sylvester Stallone. Well, I wore a pair of glasses that looked like the ones he wore in a movie. However, as excited as I was to be Brenda's date, I will never forget Juan Carlos. He was the one that stole her away and sent me home with a cut rose and a commemorative handkerchief.
Looking back, I can say that, in a way, I owe all I have to Brenda and Juan Carlos. For it was a few months latter that I stole fifty dollars from a girl I knew at church.... But that is another story. Oh, what the heck, let's tell it anyway!
I had been home from Mexico for a short visit. I had a rough time of it there. I had just been run over by a car while riding my bicycle, and I badly needed some R & R. It was while I was visiting my home church that my father introduced me to a girl I only knew by sight. She was a preacher's kid, and you know what they say about them, they always are in trouble because they hang out with the deacon's sons. Therefore, I kept my respected distance. Only I had trouble not staring at her, and then after church I had trouble not talking to her. I was worried about my reputation, hanging out with that PK. Yet, there was mystery in her eyes and I wanted to know her better. So, when the opportunity came, I jumped on it quicker than a duck on a June bug.
Our parents were involved in a church meeting, so I accepted her invitation to go join her at the Dairy Queen for a Coke while we waited for them to join us. Well, that's when the Preacher's daughter showed her true colors.
I was in my car and (let's call her Sarah, for now, in order to protect the innocent) Sarah was following in her Oldsmobile. Her mother had given her a 50.00 bill to buy cokes, and I was appropriately impressed that these folks would drop a fifty for refreshments. I thought it over and decided that it would be funny to hide her fifty and watch her search for it. Heck, she probably had a handful of them. Then when she was desperate for money, I would produce that fifty and offer to buy the drinks and let her keep the change. When you have ears like mine, you have to use every advantage you can.
That's when a fly got into the ointment. After I had lifted the fifty, (I learned lots of things in Mexico), I saw that my brother Jeb was on the side of the road with a flat tire and I went to see if he needed help. I told her brother Roy that I would be right there, and went on my Good Samaritan trip. I was only gone for a short time, but upon my arrival, I saw Sarah digging frantically through her purse and Roy standing behind her calmly sipping at his straw. Well, I arrived with my fifty to save the day but Roy gave me up like a little stool pigeon. Sarah acted offended and I suspicioned that she might become angry. So I said, “I guess that this is not a good time to ask you to marry me?”
She launched into a speech that involved her mother and the last fifty dollars they owned, but I sat down and tuned her out, listening to Roy talk about his favorite football team, the Philadelphia Eagles.
I knew that she spelled trouble, but I ignored the warning bells screaming in my head. Throwing caution to the wind, I began to fall in love with her—and even married her. Living with Sarah has been something of an adventure, to say the lest. As I think back on all the things that have happened to me like, when her cat urinated on my last clean shirt, or when we over filled her waterbed, I think of Brenda and that rat Juan Carlos. All in all, I guess things haven't been that bad. We have gone through more pets than salmon factories go through cans. We have moved more times than gypsies. We froze to death in the mountains because we couldn't afford to run the heater, and we cried when we couldn’t afford to make a cake on my birthday. We laughed as thirty insurance companies dropped our coverage in a span of two years, and all over a misunderstanding. We have traveled throughout the US and had adventures in foreign countries. On one particular incident, we found the Holy Grail—or was that Indiana Jones? Anyway, we struggled through the years I was in prison and the years that followed where I made no money. I put up with her family and all the misery they can deal out, only to discover after we got married that the only reason Sarah dated me was because I had horses! I bet that rat Juan Carlos is spending all of Brenda's money right now...
I suppose that things aren't all that bad, the other day I had a dream that Sarah and I were getting married again. The preacher says, “Is there anyone that thinks this couple should not get married?” I looked around and everyone in the building was forming a double line behind us. Now that we are in the Army and have a child on the way, I can only think back and say that I, we, owe it all to Brenda and Juan Carlos. Of course there is the story of Irma Angelica Zamorano, but we will save that for the next cookbook, The Squat and Gobble Eatin' Guide. Until then, I leave you with this word of wisdom, don't spit in the well, you might want to drink from it later!
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
You Can Count on Me
Well, as promise, I will deliver to Alison a copy of When Love Calls, as the winner of the "Name that Story" contest. Congratulations on your victory, Alison.
Now, I present to you a fully titled short story that has some personal meaning to me. I pray this story will encourage your participation in the American experience.
You Can Count on Me
Fall 2003
Wendell Ingles sat in the center of a large prayer circle. His friends and family surrounded him and beseeched God for His favor and grace. They had been praying at the church for the better part of an hour and were just about to close the prayer meeting. Brother Jeff finished a lengthy and detailed examination of a Christian’s duty to serve as the nation’s moral compass and ended with, “…and all the saints said…”
“Amen.” The group sounded in unison. Jeff dabbed the tears out of his eyes and offered a hand to Wendell, who was still sitting in his chair in the middle of a now emptying room. “Brother, I really felt the Lord ministering to us tonight.”
“Yes, so did I” Wendell agreed. “I believe that the Lord is leading us, I mean, me,” he smiled, “to run the race set before me. Since the Lord has put this idea in my heart, I have no choice but to follow it.”
“To not follow it is sin, and we don’t want that.”
“Yes, thank you, Jeff. I suppose that I can count on your vote?”
Jeff stretched his hand. “I want to be the first to shake hands with our new mayor.”
One by one the church members walked past him and shook his hand, each of them assuring him that their vote was a sure thing. The men would slap him on the back and say things like, “We expect great things out of you” and “Don’t forget the little people.”
The small community of Sand Bend, a town located along the banks of the Salt Fork of the Brazos River, and just south of the county seat, Justice, began with a population that was just over 10,000 people at the turn of the century. Sand Bend was a mining town that specialized in salt and cotton, but as the years advanced, the salt mine dwindled and the cotton industry was all that remained. Now the town survived on a steadily declining populace of 3,000 people—most of whom were old and getting older. Of those who were registered to vote, only a third traditionally voted in an election year, but only if that year bore the weight of a presidential election. At best, the government of Sand Bend would ultimately be determined by less than a thousand socially conscious members of the community.
As his campaign progressed over the rest of the year, Wendell counted 200 people who were absolutely committed to him and assured him of their votes. He still needed at least 200 more votes to guarantee a victory, and the election was still almost a full year away. From the Barber Shop to the Old Salt Café, the townspeople generally stopped Wendell to offer him their support and to wish him good luck.
Wendell had been a public personality for several years. He first ran for office in a school board election. He had noticed that the members of the current school board had been seated so long that they no longer had any children who were still in school, but were making decisions as if they were still living in the past twenty years. The school was falling into disrepair and the busses constantly needed mechanical attention. The prevailing opinion of the board was, “it has worked for us all these years, why change now?” The last member to have a child in the school was Jimmy White, and his son graduated over eight years ago. Change was needed, but no one was willing to step up to the plate and take charge. Wendell listened to the community complain beyond the ears of the school board long enough to realize that no citizen was willing to commit to the problem. Therefore, he ran for school board and was elected by an overwhelming majority. Over the next 12 years, he fostered new policies and hired a superintendent that had a vision to see a small town school become a modern and effective educational force. Slowly, the school population grew as people from the nearby town of Justice realized that Sand Bend, despite its size, offered a higher quality of education. Soon, the entire county was paying attention to Sand Bend Independent School District as it began to receive awards and recognition from the state. Wendell had generated positive change for all of Justice County and was recognized for his contribution. His final act of responsibility was to step down from the school board when his youngest son graduated. The entire community begged him to reconsider, but he realized that the school would only grow stagnant if some new ideas and new people weren’t introduced to the system. He had fulfilled his purpose; it was time to move on and let someone else take up the reigns.
He considered himself removed from politics until the current mayor, David Donaldson, decided to build an enormous hospital upon the backs of the small tax base. The town didn’t need a new hospital, as Justice was only 15 miles away, and Justice had an 85 bed medical system that was perfectly adequate for their part of West Texas. Mayor Donaldson was simply making a grave mistake, but no one was able to convince him otherwise. Sand Bend couldn’t support a 15 million dollar hospital, but they were about to build one, unless someone stepped in with a voice of reason. So Wendell, once again realizing that no one was willing to be responsible, threw his hat into the ring and filed his candidacy for Mayer of Sand Bend, at a cost of $500.00 filing fee.
As 2003 turned into 2004, Wendell placed his third order for political signs that read, “A vote for Wendell is a vote against the hospital.” The signs were in practically every yard throughout the town of Sand Bend. Wendell’s campaign appeared to be a sure thing.
However, a very desperate Mayer Donaldson refused to give up without a fight. Using fear tactics, he convinced all the senior citizens that the hospital in Justice was threatening to close and that they would no longer have medical care available. Then he promised the local businesses that the materials for hospital construction would be purchased in their stores. Slowly, greed and fear began to replace reason and logic. Then the Mayer began to play upon social issues and campaigned that the facilities in the adjoining medical complex could house the only abortion clinic within 75 miles. The Mayer then decided to promise Internet access in the library that was dedicated to research pornography sites, so that the beauty of the human body could be expressed, for those who appreciate art. Donaldson also revealed his vision of proposing an adult bookstore and a liquor store. The race began to heat up.
In the last week before the election, Wendell made one last attempt to secure his voter base. His various friends throughout the community all guaranteed their vote, but that was only a total of 220. He still needed another 200 votes to assure a victory. He still had not counted his friends at his local church, whose membership was well over 275 steady members.
On that Sunday morning, Wendell stood and made a short speech about his concerns for the future of Sand Bend. When he mentioned the moral and social implications of the proposed abortion clinic and the Internet porn access at the library, the congregation shouted amen until he was proud to be a member of the church. He then pointed out that the risk of losing this election would mean an unbearable tax burden upon the property owners. Again, the church shouted approval of his position against the liquor store and the proposed pornography access and applauded until their hands were sore. After the service, he stood in the back of the church with the pastor and shook hands with all of the members, who repeatedly swore their allegiance to him.
That Monday morning, the newspaper published the results of the poll taken over the weekend. The projected winner of the election was clearly predicted to be Wendell by a margin of 70 percent. Sand Bend was not ready for a liberal social reform; Mayer Donaldson had overplayed his hand. The voters were confident that Wendell was to be elected Mayer and protect their interests.
On Tuesday, as the polls closed, Mayer Donaldson sat at the local bar and soaked his troubles in a bottle of gin. He hardly noticed when the phone rang in the distance. He only wanted the miserable election to be over. He could hardly imagine how bad his losses must be. Only 30 percent of the voters approved of his candidacy, and most of them were the senior citizens that were convinced the hospital in Justice was going to close. He saw the bartender approach him with the phone in hand. This was it. The Court House was calling to notify him of the tragic results. Just get it over with….
Wednesday morning was a buzz of activity as Sand Bend emerged from a night of fitful sleep. One by one the good citizens unrolled the morning newspaper to confirm the victory of the votes from the night before. One by one the shock and dismay experienced by each member of the community was felt as the earthquake of reality overwhelmed them all. The headlines read, “Mayer Donaldson Re-elected in Landslide Victory.”
It seems that the entire community was so certain that Wendell was going to win that only 25 people turned out to vote for him. Donaldson won by an enormous 200 to 25. The next Sunday in church, every member of the congregation expressed their regrets and promised him that they were one of the twenty five that had voted.
Now, I present to you a fully titled short story that has some personal meaning to me. I pray this story will encourage your participation in the American experience.
You Can Count on Me
Fall 2003
Wendell Ingles sat in the center of a large prayer circle. His friends and family surrounded him and beseeched God for His favor and grace. They had been praying at the church for the better part of an hour and were just about to close the prayer meeting. Brother Jeff finished a lengthy and detailed examination of a Christian’s duty to serve as the nation’s moral compass and ended with, “…and all the saints said…”
“Amen.” The group sounded in unison. Jeff dabbed the tears out of his eyes and offered a hand to Wendell, who was still sitting in his chair in the middle of a now emptying room. “Brother, I really felt the Lord ministering to us tonight.”
“Yes, so did I” Wendell agreed. “I believe that the Lord is leading us, I mean, me,” he smiled, “to run the race set before me. Since the Lord has put this idea in my heart, I have no choice but to follow it.”
“To not follow it is sin, and we don’t want that.”
“Yes, thank you, Jeff. I suppose that I can count on your vote?”
Jeff stretched his hand. “I want to be the first to shake hands with our new mayor.”
One by one the church members walked past him and shook his hand, each of them assuring him that their vote was a sure thing. The men would slap him on the back and say things like, “We expect great things out of you” and “Don’t forget the little people.”
The small community of Sand Bend, a town located along the banks of the Salt Fork of the Brazos River, and just south of the county seat, Justice, began with a population that was just over 10,000 people at the turn of the century. Sand Bend was a mining town that specialized in salt and cotton, but as the years advanced, the salt mine dwindled and the cotton industry was all that remained. Now the town survived on a steadily declining populace of 3,000 people—most of whom were old and getting older. Of those who were registered to vote, only a third traditionally voted in an election year, but only if that year bore the weight of a presidential election. At best, the government of Sand Bend would ultimately be determined by less than a thousand socially conscious members of the community.
As his campaign progressed over the rest of the year, Wendell counted 200 people who were absolutely committed to him and assured him of their votes. He still needed at least 200 more votes to guarantee a victory, and the election was still almost a full year away. From the Barber Shop to the Old Salt Café, the townspeople generally stopped Wendell to offer him their support and to wish him good luck.
Wendell had been a public personality for several years. He first ran for office in a school board election. He had noticed that the members of the current school board had been seated so long that they no longer had any children who were still in school, but were making decisions as if they were still living in the past twenty years. The school was falling into disrepair and the busses constantly needed mechanical attention. The prevailing opinion of the board was, “it has worked for us all these years, why change now?” The last member to have a child in the school was Jimmy White, and his son graduated over eight years ago. Change was needed, but no one was willing to step up to the plate and take charge. Wendell listened to the community complain beyond the ears of the school board long enough to realize that no citizen was willing to commit to the problem. Therefore, he ran for school board and was elected by an overwhelming majority. Over the next 12 years, he fostered new policies and hired a superintendent that had a vision to see a small town school become a modern and effective educational force. Slowly, the school population grew as people from the nearby town of Justice realized that Sand Bend, despite its size, offered a higher quality of education. Soon, the entire county was paying attention to Sand Bend Independent School District as it began to receive awards and recognition from the state. Wendell had generated positive change for all of Justice County and was recognized for his contribution. His final act of responsibility was to step down from the school board when his youngest son graduated. The entire community begged him to reconsider, but he realized that the school would only grow stagnant if some new ideas and new people weren’t introduced to the system. He had fulfilled his purpose; it was time to move on and let someone else take up the reigns.
He considered himself removed from politics until the current mayor, David Donaldson, decided to build an enormous hospital upon the backs of the small tax base. The town didn’t need a new hospital, as Justice was only 15 miles away, and Justice had an 85 bed medical system that was perfectly adequate for their part of West Texas. Mayor Donaldson was simply making a grave mistake, but no one was able to convince him otherwise. Sand Bend couldn’t support a 15 million dollar hospital, but they were about to build one, unless someone stepped in with a voice of reason. So Wendell, once again realizing that no one was willing to be responsible, threw his hat into the ring and filed his candidacy for Mayer of Sand Bend, at a cost of $500.00 filing fee.
As 2003 turned into 2004, Wendell placed his third order for political signs that read, “A vote for Wendell is a vote against the hospital.” The signs were in practically every yard throughout the town of Sand Bend. Wendell’s campaign appeared to be a sure thing.
However, a very desperate Mayer Donaldson refused to give up without a fight. Using fear tactics, he convinced all the senior citizens that the hospital in Justice was threatening to close and that they would no longer have medical care available. Then he promised the local businesses that the materials for hospital construction would be purchased in their stores. Slowly, greed and fear began to replace reason and logic. Then the Mayer began to play upon social issues and campaigned that the facilities in the adjoining medical complex could house the only abortion clinic within 75 miles. The Mayer then decided to promise Internet access in the library that was dedicated to research pornography sites, so that the beauty of the human body could be expressed, for those who appreciate art. Donaldson also revealed his vision of proposing an adult bookstore and a liquor store. The race began to heat up.
In the last week before the election, Wendell made one last attempt to secure his voter base. His various friends throughout the community all guaranteed their vote, but that was only a total of 220. He still needed another 200 votes to assure a victory. He still had not counted his friends at his local church, whose membership was well over 275 steady members.
On that Sunday morning, Wendell stood and made a short speech about his concerns for the future of Sand Bend. When he mentioned the moral and social implications of the proposed abortion clinic and the Internet porn access at the library, the congregation shouted amen until he was proud to be a member of the church. He then pointed out that the risk of losing this election would mean an unbearable tax burden upon the property owners. Again, the church shouted approval of his position against the liquor store and the proposed pornography access and applauded until their hands were sore. After the service, he stood in the back of the church with the pastor and shook hands with all of the members, who repeatedly swore their allegiance to him.
That Monday morning, the newspaper published the results of the poll taken over the weekend. The projected winner of the election was clearly predicted to be Wendell by a margin of 70 percent. Sand Bend was not ready for a liberal social reform; Mayer Donaldson had overplayed his hand. The voters were confident that Wendell was to be elected Mayer and protect their interests.
On Tuesday, as the polls closed, Mayer Donaldson sat at the local bar and soaked his troubles in a bottle of gin. He hardly noticed when the phone rang in the distance. He only wanted the miserable election to be over. He could hardly imagine how bad his losses must be. Only 30 percent of the voters approved of his candidacy, and most of them were the senior citizens that were convinced the hospital in Justice was going to close. He saw the bartender approach him with the phone in hand. This was it. The Court House was calling to notify him of the tragic results. Just get it over with….
Wednesday morning was a buzz of activity as Sand Bend emerged from a night of fitful sleep. One by one the good citizens unrolled the morning newspaper to confirm the victory of the votes from the night before. One by one the shock and dismay experienced by each member of the community was felt as the earthquake of reality overwhelmed them all. The headlines read, “Mayer Donaldson Re-elected in Landslide Victory.”
It seems that the entire community was so certain that Wendell was going to win that only 25 people turned out to vote for him. Donaldson won by an enormous 200 to 25. The next Sunday in church, every member of the congregation expressed their regrets and promised him that they were one of the twenty five that had voted.
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