A Cold Room and A Cold Message

The words from the radio, "On a cold and gray Chicago morn another little baby child is born in the ghetto, and his momma cries" as I listen to Elvis sing I can hear the phone ring downstairs. The voice of Elvis continues and then I hear my mother gasp and begin to cry herself. My bedroom is unheated and cold so it takes a moment to get our from under the covers and head for the stairs. I open the door and the kitchen and dining room are to my left. My mom is crying and my dad is hanging his head. My Uncle Bob and Aunt Lucille are at the table with them.

My dad tells me that the V.A. hospital in Allen Park has just called and a cold voice using cold words tells the Galloway family that Thomas Galloway has expired just minutes ago. The coming hours are a blur and yet a flurry of activity. A call to a funeral home, people in the house, friends calling, sports fans calling and crying. A newspaper calls and words are expected to give detail to a young life, a big Marine, put into a grave, not by an enemy bullet but by an enemy in his blood.

It was early May when Tag first called to give us the devastating sentence that would lead to his death. He had been promoted and his marine buddies had punched him in the arm to congratulate him. Days later he was black and blue from his shoulder down to his hand. The Naval hospital in Pasadena diagnosed him with leukemia and he was headed home as soon as possible. Once in Allen Park at the hospital the full extent of his illness would come down on us like a wrecking ball turning brick to crumbs. Within a couple of weeks massive blood transfusions were required and people from all over the downriver area gave their precious gift.

Tag fought hard and had some brief times of strength and we hoped for recovery. But, when he went back into the hospital as the Oak and Maple leaves came down he commented to my dad that he would not be getting out this time. He never made it home again. They say that the line of cars for his military funeral was a mile long. It didn't matter to any of us at the time. We only knew that our mom and dad were burying our brother.

My parents were never the same and neither were we. The years have come and gone. In 1987 I conducted the funeral for my dad and he was laid to rest next to Tag and my mom. All of us question the unexplainable and we are left with no answer. At times we even doubt the wisdom or even existence of God. Thousand of troubled souls abandon faith and embrace nothingness and emptiness. I have traveled the road of doubt and have questioned the very truth of God.

I am glad that I doubted and questioned. I am glad that I honestly searched for purpose and meaning for mankind. In my search, which has taken me some years, I am convinced more today than ever before that: He was, He is, He always will be. In spite of my belief or unbelief He is.

Watch Watching

How many of us are guilty of watch watching? Do you suppose that everybody that wears a watch is guilty of watch watching? Is it kind of like, "A watched pot never boils?" Well, what do I mean, watch watching? I used to see it almost every Sunday morning worship service. First comes the wiggles, the weight adjustment (those pews are so hard), and then Old Joe starts looking at his watch. The closer it gets to noon the more he looks at his watch. I wanted to, but never did, bet somebody that one day Old Joe would either smack himself in the face as he whipped his watch arm up to his glasses, or he would get whiplash as he turned his head to make sure the clock on the back wall was in sync with his watch.

We try so hard to squeeze God into our concept of time and space. When we pray we want an answer right away. If the answer doesn't come quickly we may even try to manipulate the issues to force His Hand. We ought to understand by all of the illustrations in the Bible that God (Jesus), doesn't wear a Rolex. His time is not our time and His timing is perfect. Let me illustrate that point. For ten years Donna and I waited for our letter sending us to Zambia to arrive. We did all of the right things. We prayed a lot and kept informing the administration of our burden and calling.

The letter did come, after ten years of waiting. We left the USA and headed to Zambia the third week of September. After a week of orientation it was already October. On October 7th in a very remote area known as Chavuna-Chinjawa, some fifty miles from our home, a malnourished Tonga mother was dying as she gave birth to a tiny four pound little girl. A superstitious uncle carried the fragile, near death infant, for two days and placed her into Donna's hands. And, he turned and walked away.

Some people may say all of this was coincidence, chance, happenstance. Do you really believe that? I don't for a minute. God in His timing, according to His perfect knowledge and understanding had all of this scheduled right down to the second.

God please help me to stop watch watching.

Charlie was a disgusting man

Everybody knew that old Charlie was a homeless vagabond. He trudged up and down the streets, at times in the middle, in his gray wool coat and blue stocking cap pulled down on his head. His gray hair was as short as the stubble on his face. It didn't matter what time of the year it was old Charlie dressed the same. All of Charlie's earthly belongs were kept in his red wagon, a Radio Flyer, that was given to him by some kind hearted person.

We hadn't been in our ministry very long when we first met Charlie. We heard about and saw Charlie long before our first meeting. He came around the church on a pretty regular basis. There was always some food in the kitchen or fast food burgers in the freezer. Charlie knew he could eat at least once a day at our church. Well, when we met Charlie for the first time it was late August and still pretty warm. Charlie looked, and smelled, pretty bad, he was living up to his reputation.

Donna, being the kind heart that she was, looked at Charlie with compassion and love. Looking at him she was able to see past the coat, the smell, the dirt and the reputation. She saw a man loved by God, but only by a few people. After finding Charlie something to eat she asked him if he would like a shave and a haircut. He told her that he would really appreciate it if a pretty lady like her was to cut his hair. She led Charlie to the basement bathroom and I found a kit that contained a comb, shave cream and razor.

Donna trimmed Charlies hair and then his eyebrows, which looked more like bramble bushes than eyebrows. When she finished his eyebrows she asked if he would like her to trim his mustache. He told her that it would be nice because he hadn't been able to for a while. Well, what Charlie didn't tell Donna was that he chewed Red Man (tobacco) and it had been years since his mustache had been trimmed. You can just imagine what it was like when Donna ran the comb through Charlie's mustache and about two inches of it came out of his mouth. I had to find her two other combs to complete the task of the mustache trim.

There are unlovable people all around us. Contemporary lepers cross our paths and some of us turn our self-righteous faces away from them. The people that I shun might not be the same people that you would shun and so on and so forth. The fact of the matter is quite simple and plain: That is wrong and we are to love the Charlies of the world as much as we love our self. Jesus did not really give us a lot of options about who we should care about and who should be thrown aside.

God help me to see all people the way I should.