About a week or two before Christmas, all on the same day, Jackie gets separate calls from 3 of our daughters. Does dad have such and such a book asks one and then an hour later another call with a question about a different book and then 20 minutes later by the third girl asking about yet another book.
It turns out that I didn't have any of their choices and so last Sunday when our family got together to celebrate Christmas I was blessed with: 41, A Portrait Of My Father, by George W. Bush, - Made In America, an autobiography by hockey player Chris Chelios - and Killing Patton. by Bill O'Reilly from daughter Becky who was kind enough to "scan" the book ahead of time for me.
I've just finished reading 41 which I found really enjoyable. It received almost unanimous praise on the review sections at Amazon and Barnes and Noble but of course got the expected raspberry from it's review in the New York Times. I did read the review and thought it reflected the expected hate and vitriol that they always have had for the author.
I have a personal story about George W. Bush. When President Bush was running for his second term he took a bus tour in South West Michigan and one of the stops was to give a speech at the Ottawa County fairgrounds. At that time we were living just across the road from the back of the fairgrounds and that morning I look out the window of our house and notice snipers checking out possible positions from trees that are no further than 30 yards from us. You just don't see that everyday.
The President is supposed to come for his appearance sometime between 1 and 3 pm and I have road tests scheduled and our test site is a couple of miles down the road from where we were living. It is a beautiful September day and I'm at our office when a police car pulls up and parks at the corner of Aniline and Ottawa Beech Road to block any traffic. I walk over to join a small crowd at the corner to check things out and after a few minutes we see driving by a formation of about 20 motorcycle police followed by an armed personal carrier carrying a dozen men with combat gear and then what looks like a truck equipped with surface to air missiles.
The caravan stops and we look back 100 yards and see 3 big blue buses parked in front of Capt'n Sundae, a local and very popular north side ice cream eatery. Sweet memories from Capt'n Sundae are what every north side kid will have fondly when they grow up. There is a large outdoor seating area located underneath a tree shaded canopy where on a typical summer evening both winners and losers in their little league and T ball uniforms mix with bathing suit clad high school and college guys and girls returning from a day at the Holland State Park waiting in line behind grandma and grandpa, mom and dad and an occasional biker and biker babe dressed in their do rag, leather and tattoo.
A dozen high school kids clad in the blue capt'n shirts frantically prepare the soft serve cones, slushes, Hudsonville ice cream, and speciality ice cream concoctions. One of the most favorite dishes is the Tommy Turtle which is a bowl of vanilla soft serve topped with hot fudge, hot carmel and pecans.
But this is about 2 in the afternoon and the story is that President Bush gets out of one of the buses, strolls up to the order window and asks what's good. They of course make him the Tommy Turtle, offer it gratis but the President insists on paying. He then takes his time and eats the treat and talks with anyone who happened to be there and has his photo taken with anyone else who has a camera. One of the photos is still on display there today.
Unfortunately I am not there. I am still at the corner hoping that my customer would come in the back way to our location. And when he did I didn't want him not to find anyone there. After about 20 minutes, without my customer coming of course, the buses fire up their engines and drive past me and I wave, but you can't see into the buses and the President might be in any one of the identical buses so I smile and wave at all three.
Two of my daughters went to the rally at the fairgrounds. They were way back in the crowd, the President was standing on a flat bed trailer giving his speech and there was another flat bed trailer between him and the crowd and my girls could hear the speech but could not really see the President.
My oldest daughter at that time was a morning DJ at the local Christian radio station. Her co host (interestingly enough named Tommy) really wanted to see the President but like my girls he ended up way back in the crowd. His wife wasn't as interested so she had dropped Tommy off at the fairgrounds and then stopped with her 4 year old twins for some ice cream at the Capt'n. A lot of time in life and in politics timing is everything and she ended up eating ice cream with President Bush and her twins had their picture taken with him. They eagerly showed the picture to their dad when he picked them up. However the next day when their mom asked them if they wanted to take the photo for show and tell at their play school they said no, we'd rather bring our Sponge Bob Square Pants character.
Politically I am to the right of Bush 41 and Bush 43 and also to Bush 45 if that happens. I do find in the story of Bush 41 though qualities that you just do not see anymore in politics or for that matter much in the world at large. There are many words that can describe what I am talking about, such as hard working, loyal, honest, humble, forgiving, encouraging, doing your duty and finally, trusting that if you do your best God will take care of the rest and leave it to Him to ultimately defend your character.
These I will sum up in one word - Honor. The sense of duty one has to serve God, family and country to the best of one's ability, to admit one's mistakes and to try to do better the next time. George Herbert Walker Bush had all of that in spades. 41 is first of all a son's remembrance of the values he learned from his father. It reminded me so much of how my father would tell us these little stories and sayings that reflected what it meant and how it worked to do things the right way.
Many will say that 43 was not the same man that 41 was and I don't know if I was tested like my father that I would have matched up any better. I can only do my best and try to learn from my mistakes and fight the good fight and trust that God will defend my character.
And of course stop at the Capt'n from time to time with my grand kids to make memories.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Sweet Freedom
The first thing you would notice about Charles is that he is missing most of three fingers on both of his 46 year old hands. I was wondering to myself if this was going to be a problem for him to keep his hands on the steering wheel during our test but Charles seemed to manage it just fine.
Charles is a black man who until recently has never driven legally because he always neglected to obtain the required driver's permit or license. Believe it or not I get someone around his age or older almost every day who has never had a license.
His father was a workaholic and successful businessman, now retired in Arkansas, who had owned 2 hotels in Chicago. Charles was a druggie and alcoholic who grew up in Benton Harbor, or Ben Harbor as the locals call it. He had been so for most of his adult years.
Charles tells me that one day he walked into a store in Ben Harbor to get some smokes and there was a guy giving a talk to a group of men in the back of the store and he heard the man say that if they didn't change the way they were living they were bound to die young. At this point in his life Charles felt that he was dying. It wasn't just the drugs and booze, it was also his lifestyle. If something was good, more was always better. He had always run around with the wrong crowd, men and women who were just like him, but now he felt his body wearing out.
The man giving the talk had a recovery home in Grand Rapids and told Charles that if he could make it, there would be a place for him. There was only one rule. He would have to totally swear off drugs and drink.
A few weeks later and not having any money at this point Charles goes into a Salvation Army store and explains his situation to the manager who believes he is sincere and has the store purchase a bus ticket to Grand Rapids for Charles. He gets to GR and is walking to the recovery home on a nice warm June day with 3 dollars in his pocket and on the way passes a liquor store. Nothing at this point sounds better than a nice cold beer. But Charles remembers his pledge to cut off what is killing him and makes it to the home without stopping.
He had been there for 4 years and now 3 months on his own at the time I meet him. He goal is to be able to console others like him and help them have a better life.
Charles asks me if I have had any problem with drinking and my reply is that I use to drink a little many years ago and even did for a couple of years after becoming a believer at the age of 22. My reason to stop drinking was that I like to try to be funny and one time after drinking I said something which later embarrassed me. I then felt the Holy Spirit saying, and this was for me personally, that it was not His will for me to be in a position where I was not responsible for what I was saying or doing.
"So you never had a drink after that?" asks Charles. I reply that I've had a few sips of champagne at wedding receptions but nothing more. "And how long has that been?" inquires Charles and my response is that it would now be 40 years. "Wow!" exclaims my new friend. "I can't believe you've been clean for 40 years!" I try to tell him that it's not like drinking was an addition or anything but my dear Charles keeps shaking his head. He asks me my name and then said; "I'm going to share that at our meeting tonight."
The test ends, Charles did well and passes and walks off to find the friend who loaned him the car for the test. Five minutes later he comes back with a white guy, same age, same look of hard years on his bearded face who walks up to me, extends his hand and asks; "Are you Bob? I want to shake the hand of a man who has been clean for 40 years!"
Initially this seemed pretty funny but then it dawned on me. For guys like Charles and his friend whose body chemistry's are addicted to what will ultimately kill them, every day is a challenge. They struggle so much more than I do to avoid bad company and to overcome life's setbacks and wrong turns by using the temporary painkillers of drugs and drink and sex. For them to actually meet someone who did not drink for 40 years was an inspiration. They were living day to day but I was hope that days could actually turn to years.
So I shake the friend's hand and smile, wish him merry Christmas and God bless and may the Lord be with him every day.
And may my gracious Lord be with you all as well this Christmas season.
Charles is a black man who until recently has never driven legally because he always neglected to obtain the required driver's permit or license. Believe it or not I get someone around his age or older almost every day who has never had a license.
His father was a workaholic and successful businessman, now retired in Arkansas, who had owned 2 hotels in Chicago. Charles was a druggie and alcoholic who grew up in Benton Harbor, or Ben Harbor as the locals call it. He had been so for most of his adult years.
Charles tells me that one day he walked into a store in Ben Harbor to get some smokes and there was a guy giving a talk to a group of men in the back of the store and he heard the man say that if they didn't change the way they were living they were bound to die young. At this point in his life Charles felt that he was dying. It wasn't just the drugs and booze, it was also his lifestyle. If something was good, more was always better. He had always run around with the wrong crowd, men and women who were just like him, but now he felt his body wearing out.
The man giving the talk had a recovery home in Grand Rapids and told Charles that if he could make it, there would be a place for him. There was only one rule. He would have to totally swear off drugs and drink.
A few weeks later and not having any money at this point Charles goes into a Salvation Army store and explains his situation to the manager who believes he is sincere and has the store purchase a bus ticket to Grand Rapids for Charles. He gets to GR and is walking to the recovery home on a nice warm June day with 3 dollars in his pocket and on the way passes a liquor store. Nothing at this point sounds better than a nice cold beer. But Charles remembers his pledge to cut off what is killing him and makes it to the home without stopping.
He had been there for 4 years and now 3 months on his own at the time I meet him. He goal is to be able to console others like him and help them have a better life.
Charles asks me if I have had any problem with drinking and my reply is that I use to drink a little many years ago and even did for a couple of years after becoming a believer at the age of 22. My reason to stop drinking was that I like to try to be funny and one time after drinking I said something which later embarrassed me. I then felt the Holy Spirit saying, and this was for me personally, that it was not His will for me to be in a position where I was not responsible for what I was saying or doing.
"So you never had a drink after that?" asks Charles. I reply that I've had a few sips of champagne at wedding receptions but nothing more. "And how long has that been?" inquires Charles and my response is that it would now be 40 years. "Wow!" exclaims my new friend. "I can't believe you've been clean for 40 years!" I try to tell him that it's not like drinking was an addition or anything but my dear Charles keeps shaking his head. He asks me my name and then said; "I'm going to share that at our meeting tonight."
The test ends, Charles did well and passes and walks off to find the friend who loaned him the car for the test. Five minutes later he comes back with a white guy, same age, same look of hard years on his bearded face who walks up to me, extends his hand and asks; "Are you Bob? I want to shake the hand of a man who has been clean for 40 years!"
Initially this seemed pretty funny but then it dawned on me. For guys like Charles and his friend whose body chemistry's are addicted to what will ultimately kill them, every day is a challenge. They struggle so much more than I do to avoid bad company and to overcome life's setbacks and wrong turns by using the temporary painkillers of drugs and drink and sex. For them to actually meet someone who did not drink for 40 years was an inspiration. They were living day to day but I was hope that days could actually turn to years.
So I shake the friend's hand and smile, wish him merry Christmas and God bless and may the Lord be with him every day.
And may my gracious Lord be with you all as well this Christmas season.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Soap On A Rope
It was Christmas morning during my 8th grade year and opening the brightly colored package I got, SURPRISE!, soap on a rope. From that moment on I've been much more aware of the impact of unwanted smells.
This week it all came back to me. I'm doing a test for a guy from Saudi Arabia and after I get into the passenger seat Faheed tries to hand me a fist sized, round, black, dare I say bomb looking object that has a spray nozzle on it's top. "This is for you" says Faheed in his Saudi accent. "It is Arabic."
He clearly has the advantage because I have no idea what is going on so I reply with a no thanks I'm not allowed to take anything reply. Undeterred Faheed must have given the bomb a good squeeze without me seeing because all of a sudden the car is filled with an awful strong sweet cheap perfume smelling fragrance. I now am looking forward to 30 more minutes of this unless, if the driving gods are kind, Faheed like many of his countrymen tries to turn left in front of oncoming traffic and the test is shortened, one way or the other.
Alas, I keep making him do left turns but this guy turns out to be quite a good driver and we go the entire route.
After the test is done and I give Faheed his review he once more pulls out his little fragrance bomb and asks me again to take it. I still don't know if he is offering this as a gift or he just wants to squirt me but once more I politely decline, eliciting a sigh and response; "But it is from my country."
America has it's own customs, at least the America I drive with. They are the Christmas trees or other symbols that hang from the rear view mirror, heavily impregnated with odors that smell nothing like advertised. If one is good then a half dozen must be better! Of course if you want to be a little more sophisticated about it then there are those tiny little perfume bottles that fit into the dashboard blower vents (always a fun ride).
All these things make me wonder if what they are trying to cover up is actually that much worse than their solution. I mean, the original bad smell must still be there as well, right?
But then I had a guy this week who didn't need vent bottles or mirror hangers or Arabic hand bombs. Roy, who looks like a good old country boy comes with a beat up 1998 Chevy Impala. His brother Lester gets out of the passenger seat and apologizes for the brown paper shopping bags laying on the floor that I will have my feet on. "Sorry for the bags" says Lester, "I just cleaned up the car and parts are still wet."
Let me tell you about the dreams that strong bleach odors will give you if you spend 30 minutes with them. I mean, I really don't think that was a dead squirrel tucked underneath the front seat.
This week it all came back to me. I'm doing a test for a guy from Saudi Arabia and after I get into the passenger seat Faheed tries to hand me a fist sized, round, black, dare I say bomb looking object that has a spray nozzle on it's top. "This is for you" says Faheed in his Saudi accent. "It is Arabic."
He clearly has the advantage because I have no idea what is going on so I reply with a no thanks I'm not allowed to take anything reply. Undeterred Faheed must have given the bomb a good squeeze without me seeing because all of a sudden the car is filled with an awful strong sweet cheap perfume smelling fragrance. I now am looking forward to 30 more minutes of this unless, if the driving gods are kind, Faheed like many of his countrymen tries to turn left in front of oncoming traffic and the test is shortened, one way or the other.
Alas, I keep making him do left turns but this guy turns out to be quite a good driver and we go the entire route.
After the test is done and I give Faheed his review he once more pulls out his little fragrance bomb and asks me again to take it. I still don't know if he is offering this as a gift or he just wants to squirt me but once more I politely decline, eliciting a sigh and response; "But it is from my country."
America has it's own customs, at least the America I drive with. They are the Christmas trees or other symbols that hang from the rear view mirror, heavily impregnated with odors that smell nothing like advertised. If one is good then a half dozen must be better! Of course if you want to be a little more sophisticated about it then there are those tiny little perfume bottles that fit into the dashboard blower vents (always a fun ride).
All these things make me wonder if what they are trying to cover up is actually that much worse than their solution. I mean, the original bad smell must still be there as well, right?
But then I had a guy this week who didn't need vent bottles or mirror hangers or Arabic hand bombs. Roy, who looks like a good old country boy comes with a beat up 1998 Chevy Impala. His brother Lester gets out of the passenger seat and apologizes for the brown paper shopping bags laying on the floor that I will have my feet on. "Sorry for the bags" says Lester, "I just cleaned up the car and parts are still wet."
Let me tell you about the dreams that strong bleach odors will give you if you spend 30 minutes with them. I mean, I really don't think that was a dead squirrel tucked underneath the front seat.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
The First Day
There is pain in the front of my forehead
intense, fierce, unrelenting
starting this morning with the first call
Gone! Missing! We haven't heard!
All day, phone in hand
computer on lap
watching TV
and I am scared shitless
TV doesn't say
Google's gone berserk
friends and family asking me
but I can't tell them
I am a coward at heart
At 11 or 12 the world opened up a crack
At 17 or 18 the ground started shaking
At 19 or 20 I gave in to logic and ran
When you are young running's easy
There was once a glimmer
like the shimmer of a mirage in a dream
it seems I almost had it
I would often sleep just to catch that dream
but it never came back
and I eventually forgot it's beauty
Someone once told me about this day
as if, yes, as if you could know
something so outrageous and wrong
we sent men to the moon for christ sake
and your little backward mind is living
in a fairy tail
a borrowed one at that
why why why if what you say is true
would this ever happen
I can't like this
Fear is gripping me
sweaty palms and blurry eyes and shallow breath
I am so worried I will pass out
and someone will find me
and take me away forever
there is nowhere to hide
and no one left who really cares
they are all running and I can't go with
because I know
Somewhere, far off
a train is approaching a crossing
and I feel the vibrating moan that warns beware
startled I jumped clear out of my seat
the first time in hours I could move
the TV and computer were blank
the phone was dead
day had turned to night with no progression
and staring at me from the corner of a grand bookcase
was a dusty book with shinny pages
Years ago I had stored an unopened letter inside it's pages
I did not have to read it
I'd known it's author for years
and I knew that one day I would die
that I would have done my best
that it would be good enough
but coward that I am I now needed something
even just to help me breath
and clear my mind
and think
Dear friend, it said
if love could hold you
and keep you safe for a thousand years
and every moment your heart beats you would have joy
so is my wish for you.
That's all it said
well, and - love, your friend
p.s. enjoy this book
That was the first day
it all came back clearly as I kneel here so comfortably
shaved head on the block
waiting for my joy to be complete
praying that now those well worn pages
will be found
by a coward
like me
intense, fierce, unrelenting
starting this morning with the first call
Gone! Missing! We haven't heard!
All day, phone in hand
computer on lap
watching TV
and I am scared shitless
TV doesn't say
Google's gone berserk
friends and family asking me
but I can't tell them
I am a coward at heart
At 11 or 12 the world opened up a crack
At 17 or 18 the ground started shaking
At 19 or 20 I gave in to logic and ran
When you are young running's easy
There was once a glimmer
like the shimmer of a mirage in a dream
it seems I almost had it
I would often sleep just to catch that dream
but it never came back
and I eventually forgot it's beauty
Someone once told me about this day
as if, yes, as if you could know
something so outrageous and wrong
we sent men to the moon for christ sake
and your little backward mind is living
in a fairy tail
a borrowed one at that
why why why if what you say is true
would this ever happen
I can't like this
Fear is gripping me
sweaty palms and blurry eyes and shallow breath
I am so worried I will pass out
and someone will find me
and take me away forever
there is nowhere to hide
and no one left who really cares
they are all running and I can't go with
because I know
Somewhere, far off
a train is approaching a crossing
and I feel the vibrating moan that warns beware
startled I jumped clear out of my seat
the first time in hours I could move
the TV and computer were blank
the phone was dead
day had turned to night with no progression
and staring at me from the corner of a grand bookcase
was a dusty book with shinny pages
Years ago I had stored an unopened letter inside it's pages
I did not have to read it
I'd known it's author for years
and I knew that one day I would die
that I would have done my best
that it would be good enough
but coward that I am I now needed something
even just to help me breath
and clear my mind
and think
Dear friend, it said
if love could hold you
and keep you safe for a thousand years
and every moment your heart beats you would have joy
so is my wish for you.
That's all it said
well, and - love, your friend
p.s. enjoy this book
That was the first day
it all came back clearly as I kneel here so comfortably
shaved head on the block
waiting for my joy to be complete
praying that now those well worn pages
will be found
by a coward
like me
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Perspective
Jackie and I are out driving and some heavy fog has set in. I say to my dear wife; "How much visibility do you think we have here? A quarter mile, maybe a half mile?" She answers that it is perhaps a half mile. We continue on in silence for another minute until Jackie breaks the quiet. "Well, I guess I was wrong. We've driven over a mile and I can still see for maybe a half mile!"
This is how you entertain yourselves after over 42 years of marriage. Sometimes reality is all a matter of perspective.
I had two interesting clients this morning, both with an African connection. One was a lady who had come here from Rwanda. She spoke passable English but her 21 year old son was helping her out with a few words during our parking lot portion of the test. After Basilissa passes that part we no longer need her son for the drive so he wishes his mother "Bon chance". Recognizing the French phrase for "good luck" I say out loud; "Oh, bon chance!" which Basilissa interprets as me also wishing her good luck and so she tells me thank you.
"So you speak French!" she says excitedly and I respond that no, I don't speak French but that I did understand what her son said. Not having learned my lesson we are about to leave the parking lot and I give the instruction to turn right at the approaching street, but because I had someone from France a week or two ago and remembered the French word for right I added, "turn right, dwot."
At this point Basilissa almost demands; "What is your name?" and I tell her "LaBarge" and apparently no longer believing that I really don't speak French she blurts out a couple paragraphs to me in French. I smile sheepishly and from then on just speak English, even when we are nearing our first left turn and I want to yell out in the worse way, "goosh".
Later on in the test I ask Basilissa if her parents are with her or still back in Rwanda. Sadly she tells me that both parents, along with 20 other family members "passed away during the genocide". I tell her I am very sorry and we go on to talk about the Michigan weather and she tells me that for her and her son the cold has been very difficult to adjust to but that her younger son not only loves the cold but complains when it gets too hot. She then goes on to say; "And the schools are very good here. A little cold is a good trade for not having to worry about someone killing you."
My next client Samuel was a college student whose parents were missionaries for the last 20 years in Kenya. His mother runs a village medical dispensary there and his father does things like teaching how to build wells for clean water and they both share the gospel. Things for them are much easier now than they were 20 years ago when his parents hacked their way with machetes 20 miles into the wilderness to get to the village they reside in now.
"Wanting to live just like the locals do for the first 10 years our home was a corrugated metal shack only a little bigger than 10' x 10'. This was fine but eventually other tribes learned that there were white people living in our village and white people must be rich so every few months an outsider would be traveling through and find our hut and then rob us. Our village leaders decided that they really needed to build us a brick home for safety purposes."
Samuel goes on to tell me that although there are a couple of dominate ethnic tribes there are also over 1000 different tribal groups in Kenya and because a lot of them don't get along in parts of the country things can get quite violent. His family for now is lucky because they are far enough back in the bush to avoid most of the trouble.
Last week I tested an African American lady who was in her fifties. Carmen was dressed very nice, wore bright purple lipstick, and gave me a look when she drove up that said; "Don't you be messing with me boy!" I figured she was probably just a little nervous but with everything that had just happened with Ferguson and New York and all I wasn't totally sure. So I decided that my secondary goal (the primary goal would be to conduct a good driving test) would be to make Carmen laugh.
I smiled and asked Carmen if she was a little nervous and she glares at me and says; "I suppose so." That didn't break the ice. As we are driving I ask Carmen if she is from the area and she informs me that she moved here the last year from Detroit. "Have you found a good church yet?" I ask. Carmen perks up and tells me that she has a brother-in-law who pastors a small church and that she has really been enjoying it there.
This leads me to share that I have a son-in-law who is a pastor. I tell Carmen that a couple of weeks ago he was preaching and said that his favorite holiday was Thanksgiving because with all the other holidays like Christmas and Easter there is so much hustle bustle and other things to do but Thanksgiving is not like that and is so much more relaxing. Someone then yells out from the congregation; "You must not be a woman!" Suddenly Carmen gets a great big smile and says; "That's right. I be up all night long before, just cooking and cooking and then cooking all the next day and all the men folk want to do is watch football and eat and eat and then moan about how full they is and then eat some more."
Now we are buddies. Carmen passes the test and thanks me for being so nice and I am amazed at how complicated and yet how simple life can be.
There is so much hate in this world. I am convinced that there are evil spirits that promote racial hatred and hatred between people groups and religions and hatred even between men of good will who should otherwise call themselves brothers. Anytime one group demeans another group, or a person demeans another person for some type of perceived gain, that is a spiritual problem.
Anytime there is a root of bitterness or feelings of inferiority which blind a person to what reality is, that is a spiritual problem. Anytime there are breakdowns in family structures which will almost always lead to income and opportunity disparities, that is not primarily an economic problem. It is foremost a spiritual problem.
The evil one wants to destroy societies. He wants to enslave people and has a thousand ways to do so. He is called the lawless one, the father of lies and a murderer from the beginning.
But we have a heavenly Father who loves us. He sent His only Son Jesus to die for us so that we might be free. Free from the condemnation and enslavement's of sin. Free from the root of bitterness. Free from all the voices that say we are not worthy. Free from living a life filled with hate.
My perspective is that nothing will change in our society unless hearts are changed and evil spirits are driven out so that true healing can begin. Lord, give us your perspective!
This is how you entertain yourselves after over 42 years of marriage. Sometimes reality is all a matter of perspective.
I had two interesting clients this morning, both with an African connection. One was a lady who had come here from Rwanda. She spoke passable English but her 21 year old son was helping her out with a few words during our parking lot portion of the test. After Basilissa passes that part we no longer need her son for the drive so he wishes his mother "Bon chance". Recognizing the French phrase for "good luck" I say out loud; "Oh, bon chance!" which Basilissa interprets as me also wishing her good luck and so she tells me thank you.
"So you speak French!" she says excitedly and I respond that no, I don't speak French but that I did understand what her son said. Not having learned my lesson we are about to leave the parking lot and I give the instruction to turn right at the approaching street, but because I had someone from France a week or two ago and remembered the French word for right I added, "turn right, dwot."
At this point Basilissa almost demands; "What is your name?" and I tell her "LaBarge" and apparently no longer believing that I really don't speak French she blurts out a couple paragraphs to me in French. I smile sheepishly and from then on just speak English, even when we are nearing our first left turn and I want to yell out in the worse way, "goosh".
Later on in the test I ask Basilissa if her parents are with her or still back in Rwanda. Sadly she tells me that both parents, along with 20 other family members "passed away during the genocide". I tell her I am very sorry and we go on to talk about the Michigan weather and she tells me that for her and her son the cold has been very difficult to adjust to but that her younger son not only loves the cold but complains when it gets too hot. She then goes on to say; "And the schools are very good here. A little cold is a good trade for not having to worry about someone killing you."
My next client Samuel was a college student whose parents were missionaries for the last 20 years in Kenya. His mother runs a village medical dispensary there and his father does things like teaching how to build wells for clean water and they both share the gospel. Things for them are much easier now than they were 20 years ago when his parents hacked their way with machetes 20 miles into the wilderness to get to the village they reside in now.
"Wanting to live just like the locals do for the first 10 years our home was a corrugated metal shack only a little bigger than 10' x 10'. This was fine but eventually other tribes learned that there were white people living in our village and white people must be rich so every few months an outsider would be traveling through and find our hut and then rob us. Our village leaders decided that they really needed to build us a brick home for safety purposes."
Samuel goes on to tell me that although there are a couple of dominate ethnic tribes there are also over 1000 different tribal groups in Kenya and because a lot of them don't get along in parts of the country things can get quite violent. His family for now is lucky because they are far enough back in the bush to avoid most of the trouble.
Last week I tested an African American lady who was in her fifties. Carmen was dressed very nice, wore bright purple lipstick, and gave me a look when she drove up that said; "Don't you be messing with me boy!" I figured she was probably just a little nervous but with everything that had just happened with Ferguson and New York and all I wasn't totally sure. So I decided that my secondary goal (the primary goal would be to conduct a good driving test) would be to make Carmen laugh.
I smiled and asked Carmen if she was a little nervous and she glares at me and says; "I suppose so." That didn't break the ice. As we are driving I ask Carmen if she is from the area and she informs me that she moved here the last year from Detroit. "Have you found a good church yet?" I ask. Carmen perks up and tells me that she has a brother-in-law who pastors a small church and that she has really been enjoying it there.
This leads me to share that I have a son-in-law who is a pastor. I tell Carmen that a couple of weeks ago he was preaching and said that his favorite holiday was Thanksgiving because with all the other holidays like Christmas and Easter there is so much hustle bustle and other things to do but Thanksgiving is not like that and is so much more relaxing. Someone then yells out from the congregation; "You must not be a woman!" Suddenly Carmen gets a great big smile and says; "That's right. I be up all night long before, just cooking and cooking and then cooking all the next day and all the men folk want to do is watch football and eat and eat and then moan about how full they is and then eat some more."
Now we are buddies. Carmen passes the test and thanks me for being so nice and I am amazed at how complicated and yet how simple life can be.
There is so much hate in this world. I am convinced that there are evil spirits that promote racial hatred and hatred between people groups and religions and hatred even between men of good will who should otherwise call themselves brothers. Anytime one group demeans another group, or a person demeans another person for some type of perceived gain, that is a spiritual problem.
Anytime there is a root of bitterness or feelings of inferiority which blind a person to what reality is, that is a spiritual problem. Anytime there are breakdowns in family structures which will almost always lead to income and opportunity disparities, that is not primarily an economic problem. It is foremost a spiritual problem.
The evil one wants to destroy societies. He wants to enslave people and has a thousand ways to do so. He is called the lawless one, the father of lies and a murderer from the beginning.
But we have a heavenly Father who loves us. He sent His only Son Jesus to die for us so that we might be free. Free from the condemnation and enslavement's of sin. Free from the root of bitterness. Free from all the voices that say we are not worthy. Free from living a life filled with hate.
My perspective is that nothing will change in our society unless hearts are changed and evil spirits are driven out so that true healing can begin. Lord, give us your perspective!
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
What I Sometimes Sing To Myself While Scoring Parking In The Winter
So here I am
standing outside
watching the lady
park before we ride
with each passing minute
getting more old
standing outside in the cold
The temperature's twenty
the wind is eighteen
hopping up and down
like a jumping bean
there'd be days like this
or so I've been told
standing outside in the cold
There are miles per hour
leagues per day
even feet per second
and that's OK
but inches per minute
is not too bold
standing outside in the cold
I think I might be crazy
and I'd be right
can't wait to be finished
and call it a night
hey! just found my pencil
hiding in a fold
standing outside in the cold
Shiver shiver shiver
brr brr brr
move that dang car
lady or sir
hop hop hop
c c cannt f f feeel m m my t t towd
standing outside in the cold
standing outside
watching the lady
park before we ride
with each passing minute
getting more old
standing outside in the cold
The temperature's twenty
the wind is eighteen
hopping up and down
like a jumping bean
there'd be days like this
or so I've been told
standing outside in the cold
There are miles per hour
leagues per day
even feet per second
and that's OK
but inches per minute
is not too bold
standing outside in the cold
I think I might be crazy
and I'd be right
can't wait to be finished
and call it a night
hey! just found my pencil
hiding in a fold
standing outside in the cold
Shiver shiver shiver
brr brr brr
move that dang car
lady or sir
hop hop hop
c c cannt f f feeel m m my t t towd
standing outside in the cold
Friday, December 5, 2014
Marijuana Entrepreneur
Today I was blessed to do a driving test for a guy named Eddie Wilson V. He took the test 12 years ago when he was 16 and failed so he finally screwed up his courage and decided to try again. When I came up to him I told him; "Eddie, you're my 1st 5th. Tell me a little about the original Eddie Wilson. When did he live and what did he do?"
Eddie knew absolutely nothing about the other Eddies. Not Eddie Sr., not Eddie Jr. Not Eddie the III. I asked him; "Weren't you even a little curious about your other ancestors with the same name?" and he responds; "I guess not. I never even asked my dad about them. But one thing for sure. The name stops with me. I got teased at school. They all called me Eddie Murphy and so I named my son Jamal. Jamal Junior I call him.
Eddie named his son Jamal Jr. That was my first clue.
I asked Eddie what he did for work and he tells me that he is a pro grower. "What the heck is a pro grower?" I ask. It turns out that "pro grower" is another name for people who grow marijuana for medicinal purposes. All of a sudden my ears perk up and I start asking about how all of this works.
Just across the parking lot from where we start our tests is a gas station that has several shops connected to it. There is a Subway, an ice cream stand that in season has according to Jackie the worlds best chili dogs, a head shop called Purple Haze which I think sells medical marijuana over the counter and who knows what under the counter, and then just around the corner from the head shop is a doctor's office that specializes in only one thing. A guy stops in every now and then to write prescriptions for medical marijuana.
Since the wacky weed is now legal to sell in Michigan for medical purposes growing the stuff has become an opportunity for eager entrepreneurs like our Mr. Eddie (Jamal) Wilson V. There was a time before it became legal when growing the stuff was fairly easy and inexpensive as long as one didn't get caught. I have a sister-in-law who once found her attic filled with healthy green plants that had been carefully tended by her two boys.
But now that the State of Michigan is involved it is possible but costly to produce a healthy crop. Michigan has a lot of regulations (or regulatories as Eddie phrased it) about the process of growing that weed. You need to keep records, The state has random but surprise inspections and the state will take 15% of any profits made. The required license cost $350 every two years. If you live in the inner city like Eddie the plants need to be grown indoors in a special room that is locked, as Eddie put it, to keep children and other interested parties away. So Eddie needed to build a special room in his basement.
A pro grower is allowed to have up to 5 "patients" and may grow up to 12 plants per patient. Eddie has 1 patient and when I asked him why only 1 he told me that he wants to get everything producing right before he adds more.
One can order the seeds from a catalog but because the plants are indoors there needs to be special high powered sodium lights, humidity controls, and two other types of growing lights just to produce a healthy plant. Eddie had some problems on his first 3 batches and now half way on his 4th he thinks he has the process down.
All this has been a little expensive for Eddie. His girl friend "gave" him her tax refund check for $3700 to get started and they bought all the stuff and made the special room and found a patient. Then after the first 3 crops did not pan out as well as expected and they added the other two lights they received a monthly electric bill for $600.
After getting the bill Eddie calls his lone patient and asks him if he needs to up his consumption but apparently the guy wasn't feeling too much pain at that moment and he declined. Frantic at this point they called their utility company who thoughtfully suggested that they get on a budget payment plan that will average out the rest of the year's bills with the $600 dollar month. Eddie proudly tells me that now his utility bills are only $200 a month!
I guess the silver lining in all of this for Eddie is that it will be some time before he has to cough up his 15% tax on profits to the State of Michigan and if his head starts to hurt after a few more months of cheap utility bills catch up with him he knows where to go to alleviate the pain.
Eddie knew absolutely nothing about the other Eddies. Not Eddie Sr., not Eddie Jr. Not Eddie the III. I asked him; "Weren't you even a little curious about your other ancestors with the same name?" and he responds; "I guess not. I never even asked my dad about them. But one thing for sure. The name stops with me. I got teased at school. They all called me Eddie Murphy and so I named my son Jamal. Jamal Junior I call him.
Eddie named his son Jamal Jr. That was my first clue.
I asked Eddie what he did for work and he tells me that he is a pro grower. "What the heck is a pro grower?" I ask. It turns out that "pro grower" is another name for people who grow marijuana for medicinal purposes. All of a sudden my ears perk up and I start asking about how all of this works.
Just across the parking lot from where we start our tests is a gas station that has several shops connected to it. There is a Subway, an ice cream stand that in season has according to Jackie the worlds best chili dogs, a head shop called Purple Haze which I think sells medical marijuana over the counter and who knows what under the counter, and then just around the corner from the head shop is a doctor's office that specializes in only one thing. A guy stops in every now and then to write prescriptions for medical marijuana.
Since the wacky weed is now legal to sell in Michigan for medical purposes growing the stuff has become an opportunity for eager entrepreneurs like our Mr. Eddie (Jamal) Wilson V. There was a time before it became legal when growing the stuff was fairly easy and inexpensive as long as one didn't get caught. I have a sister-in-law who once found her attic filled with healthy green plants that had been carefully tended by her two boys.
But now that the State of Michigan is involved it is possible but costly to produce a healthy crop. Michigan has a lot of regulations (or regulatories as Eddie phrased it) about the process of growing that weed. You need to keep records, The state has random but surprise inspections and the state will take 15% of any profits made. The required license cost $350 every two years. If you live in the inner city like Eddie the plants need to be grown indoors in a special room that is locked, as Eddie put it, to keep children and other interested parties away. So Eddie needed to build a special room in his basement.
A pro grower is allowed to have up to 5 "patients" and may grow up to 12 plants per patient. Eddie has 1 patient and when I asked him why only 1 he told me that he wants to get everything producing right before he adds more.
One can order the seeds from a catalog but because the plants are indoors there needs to be special high powered sodium lights, humidity controls, and two other types of growing lights just to produce a healthy plant. Eddie had some problems on his first 3 batches and now half way on his 4th he thinks he has the process down.
All this has been a little expensive for Eddie. His girl friend "gave" him her tax refund check for $3700 to get started and they bought all the stuff and made the special room and found a patient. Then after the first 3 crops did not pan out as well as expected and they added the other two lights they received a monthly electric bill for $600.
After getting the bill Eddie calls his lone patient and asks him if he needs to up his consumption but apparently the guy wasn't feeling too much pain at that moment and he declined. Frantic at this point they called their utility company who thoughtfully suggested that they get on a budget payment plan that will average out the rest of the year's bills with the $600 dollar month. Eddie proudly tells me that now his utility bills are only $200 a month!
I guess the silver lining in all of this for Eddie is that it will be some time before he has to cough up his 15% tax on profits to the State of Michigan and if his head starts to hurt after a few more months of cheap utility bills catch up with him he knows where to go to alleviate the pain.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
November Dream
It was a nice fall day and I was with a group of people standing outside a building, a church I think, and I sensed that a person of some importance was coming out. As the man, dressed in garments I've seen a Catholic priest wearing for a regular mass, green vestment with a lot of gold color, walks past me I recognize him as my father. My dad has been dead for 10 years after struggling with a slow progression of Alzheimer's on his body and mind but here he is quite vital physically and mentally.
When he gets about 5 yards past me I call out his first name, My father stops in his tracks, turns around, sees me, smiles and then calls out my first and last name. I come over to him and we hug. I now sense that this is going to be a final goodbye and that in the least I will never see him alive again or at most I will not see him well. Wondering what to say I simply tell my father to take care.
There is a very large lawn or field that stretches from where we are to a road off some distance where there awaits for my father another group of people. Behind the road the trees are at their Autumn finest and the sky is clear and blue and I think as my father is walking away that the color in his vestments are a perfect compliment to the beauty of the scene that God has painted.
As my father goes on I am overcome by emotion and first I fall to my knees and then face down on the ground. Then embarrassed because I remember there are people behind me I get up, turn back to the right with my head down so not to make eye contact with them and join the crowd.
It is a morning dream in late November and as I lay now awake very comfortably between my flannel sheets I wonder if this is a dream that has come from God and if so then what would be the symbolism and meaning for me.
My first thought is perhaps my father wearing those vestments represents the priesthood of the believer and that the time for the Church is running out. Is the crowd that I am with the current Church and the group waiting by the beautiful trees and sky those who have gone before? I was not really sure of any of it.
Later that morning we go to church and because this is Thanksgiving week the service devotes a period of time where people can come up to the microphone and give thanks for what God has been doing in their lives. A certain gentleman, a bit older than me whom I had met a couple of times previously, came over during the earlier greet your neighbor portion to say hi. Later he was one of the people who gave their sharing.
He told about seeing a friend get older and losing his mind and later a relative going through Alzheimer's and then 10 years ago after a doctor's exam he was told that he too had Alzheimer's. The guy didn't say it but I knew that was a crushing pronouncement. He and his wife decided they would do something about it and they knelt down and prayed and so far, praise God, he has not had any symptoms.
That evening I opened my Bible to the section for my daily reading which now is in Psalms and noticed that it says in the fourth Psalm, verses 3-5:
But know that the Lord has set apart the godly man for Himself; The Lord hears when I call to Him.
Tremble, and do not sin; Meditate in your hearts upon your bed, and be still.
Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and trust in the Lord.
The meaning for the images from my dream now came a little clearer for me. It seems that my father represents the overall Church. I know that there are congregations today that are spiritually really alive and others that are spiritually dead with the majority in between. They might even be considered as "lukewarm".
The Lord is present in the overall Church because He lives in the hearts of those who are believers but there is a problem. For the most part today's Church is in the process of losing it's mind! Once strong and vibrant it will as a body become weak and feeble, remembering fragments of who it was but not knowing who it is or where it is going.
The man who spoke at the service this morning gave the solution to the problem. There is something we can do and the first step is to get down on our knees with love ones and pray.
The verses from Psalm 4 complete both the prophetic warning and prophetic advice from the Lord. Know that the Lord has set apart the godly man for Himself. God has a plan for each of our lives. He knows us and indeed loves us and because this is true the Lord hears when I call to Him.
Tremble and do not sin. This is the charge for each one of us. God loves us but all of us are weak and subject to both failure and rebellion. Failure God can understand and He works with His Holy Spirit to bring us back to a relationship with Him. But rebellion builds a barrier that limits what God can do. We should tremble because God is a Holy God whose ways are not our ways and yet they are what's best for us. And how do we know those ways? Mediate in your hearts upon your bed, and be still.
Offer the sacrifices of righteousness. In this day and age it is too easy to live a life compromised to the standards of the day. This is a huge problem for the Church which wants to be accepted by the society we live in, a society that now accepts almost any type of sexual behavior, worships at the altar of celebrity, excess, violence and many and varied types of occult themes and images, and denies the truth of scripture.
God is not looking for our donations and good works, fine and necessary as they are. He much prefers the sacrifice it takes to live a life holy to Him. The story of the world from start to finish is this. How is that possible? And the answer has been proven over and over. Trust in the Lord.
How much time do we have here? As I've said many times before, I think the time is short but who really knows? Will there be revival in the Church that will change it and seriously affect the society we live in? Many respected prophets have said that that time will come. I know that there are great revivals happening throughout the world today in China and Africa and South America but here in America I only see the steady progression of spiritual decay. I pray for revival here but, like in my dream, I see my father walking across the field and I fear that I will never see him well again.
But it is not mine to know, it is mine to pray. On my knees. On my face. Mediating in my heart upon my bed. Being still before my Lord. Offering the sacrifices of righteousness. Trusting in the Lord.
When he gets about 5 yards past me I call out his first name, My father stops in his tracks, turns around, sees me, smiles and then calls out my first and last name. I come over to him and we hug. I now sense that this is going to be a final goodbye and that in the least I will never see him alive again or at most I will not see him well. Wondering what to say I simply tell my father to take care.
There is a very large lawn or field that stretches from where we are to a road off some distance where there awaits for my father another group of people. Behind the road the trees are at their Autumn finest and the sky is clear and blue and I think as my father is walking away that the color in his vestments are a perfect compliment to the beauty of the scene that God has painted.
As my father goes on I am overcome by emotion and first I fall to my knees and then face down on the ground. Then embarrassed because I remember there are people behind me I get up, turn back to the right with my head down so not to make eye contact with them and join the crowd.
It is a morning dream in late November and as I lay now awake very comfortably between my flannel sheets I wonder if this is a dream that has come from God and if so then what would be the symbolism and meaning for me.
My first thought is perhaps my father wearing those vestments represents the priesthood of the believer and that the time for the Church is running out. Is the crowd that I am with the current Church and the group waiting by the beautiful trees and sky those who have gone before? I was not really sure of any of it.
Later that morning we go to church and because this is Thanksgiving week the service devotes a period of time where people can come up to the microphone and give thanks for what God has been doing in their lives. A certain gentleman, a bit older than me whom I had met a couple of times previously, came over during the earlier greet your neighbor portion to say hi. Later he was one of the people who gave their sharing.
He told about seeing a friend get older and losing his mind and later a relative going through Alzheimer's and then 10 years ago after a doctor's exam he was told that he too had Alzheimer's. The guy didn't say it but I knew that was a crushing pronouncement. He and his wife decided they would do something about it and they knelt down and prayed and so far, praise God, he has not had any symptoms.
That evening I opened my Bible to the section for my daily reading which now is in Psalms and noticed that it says in the fourth Psalm, verses 3-5:
But know that the Lord has set apart the godly man for Himself; The Lord hears when I call to Him.
Tremble, and do not sin; Meditate in your hearts upon your bed, and be still.
Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and trust in the Lord.
The meaning for the images from my dream now came a little clearer for me. It seems that my father represents the overall Church. I know that there are congregations today that are spiritually really alive and others that are spiritually dead with the majority in between. They might even be considered as "lukewarm".
The Lord is present in the overall Church because He lives in the hearts of those who are believers but there is a problem. For the most part today's Church is in the process of losing it's mind! Once strong and vibrant it will as a body become weak and feeble, remembering fragments of who it was but not knowing who it is or where it is going.
The man who spoke at the service this morning gave the solution to the problem. There is something we can do and the first step is to get down on our knees with love ones and pray.
The verses from Psalm 4 complete both the prophetic warning and prophetic advice from the Lord. Know that the Lord has set apart the godly man for Himself. God has a plan for each of our lives. He knows us and indeed loves us and because this is true the Lord hears when I call to Him.
Tremble and do not sin. This is the charge for each one of us. God loves us but all of us are weak and subject to both failure and rebellion. Failure God can understand and He works with His Holy Spirit to bring us back to a relationship with Him. But rebellion builds a barrier that limits what God can do. We should tremble because God is a Holy God whose ways are not our ways and yet they are what's best for us. And how do we know those ways? Mediate in your hearts upon your bed, and be still.
Offer the sacrifices of righteousness. In this day and age it is too easy to live a life compromised to the standards of the day. This is a huge problem for the Church which wants to be accepted by the society we live in, a society that now accepts almost any type of sexual behavior, worships at the altar of celebrity, excess, violence and many and varied types of occult themes and images, and denies the truth of scripture.
God is not looking for our donations and good works, fine and necessary as they are. He much prefers the sacrifice it takes to live a life holy to Him. The story of the world from start to finish is this. How is that possible? And the answer has been proven over and over. Trust in the Lord.
How much time do we have here? As I've said many times before, I think the time is short but who really knows? Will there be revival in the Church that will change it and seriously affect the society we live in? Many respected prophets have said that that time will come. I know that there are great revivals happening throughout the world today in China and Africa and South America but here in America I only see the steady progression of spiritual decay. I pray for revival here but, like in my dream, I see my father walking across the field and I fear that I will never see him well again.
But it is not mine to know, it is mine to pray. On my knees. On my face. Mediating in my heart upon my bed. Being still before my Lord. Offering the sacrifices of righteousness. Trusting in the Lord.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)