For thirteen years, I was the pastor of the Oakland Free Methodist Church in East Liverpool, Ohio. At that time, almost all of our churches had Sunday evening worship services.
I tried to make these times as enjoyable as possible. One of my tactics was to vary the location of our meeting. Sometimes we would use the sanctuary; other times we would meet in the fellowship hall. Other suitable rooms were also utilized. During the summers and early fall, we would occasionally meet at the picnic shelter on the Tri-State Free Methodist Campground.
The services would often be filled with music. Having David Kelly and Martha Anderson at the instruments made for a delightful worship experience. Our casual gatherings usually were led by Ron Kelly along with Brad Cowsert and sometimes David Pinkerton.
Some Sunday nights were even turned into game-show types of gatherings. Some were more focused on small group experiences or even competitions. Lots of delightful memories linger from those times together.
One Sunday evening, I had come early to set things up in the fellowship hall. After preparing my plans, I sat down in my reading chair to rest a bit. I fell into a deep sleep.
Meanwhile, the folks gathered in the fellowship hall in preparation for things to begin. 7:00 PM came and there was no pastor. Everyone assumed I'd be along shortly since I had a reputation for beginning promptly. However, ten minutes passed and still - no pastor.
Eventually, my administrative assistant, Karen Kelly, decided to check on me to see if I was ok.
As she knocked lightly and opened my door, there I was emerging from a sound sleep in my chair! I was shocked that I had missed the starting time for our service.
I quickly grabbed my Bible and notes and hurried to the fellowship hall slightly behind Karen. To her credit, she had not publicly announced my faux pas - although she had told Debbie.
I guess parishoners are not the only ones who sleep through services!!!!
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Monday, October 17, 2016
Psychological Tests
In 1972, when I was applying for admission to Asbury Theological Seminary, I was required to take several psychological tests that took hours to complete. I knew I was "normal", so I willingly submitted expecting a quick nod of approval to the application process. Imagine my surprise when I received a letter of acceptance with a contingency. I was required to participate in an Interpersonal Relationship (IPR) group for the first semester that would be led by one of the faculty members. SHOCK!!! FEAR!!! SELF-DOUBT!!!!
Debbie and I were married in August and immediately moved to Wilmore, Kentucky to establish our first home. When the semester began, I reported to the office of the designated faculty member along with about six other, equally shocked students. None of us knew why we were there! We had all been through the battery of tests and had been assigned to submit to this process that was apparently designed to purge us of our demons?
I resented being there. I was a healthy young man who had grown up in a Christian home with loving parents; what was I doing here? I'm confident that the others felt the same.
The 90 minutes seemed to last forever! The professor sat with his back to us while working at his desk. We sat in a circle without speaking. We examined one another's shoes. We daydreamed. We exchanged frustrated looks. We subdued our anger. Finally, the time expired and we got up and left.
A week later found us back in the professor's office passing another wordless 90 minutes. Our frustration was building...
The third week brought no relief. Another 90 minutes of awkwardness. Outside of his office we never spoke. We didn't know one another's names. We were not friends. We were simply co-sufferers of this obligatory process.
Week four arrived and we took our seats. Eye contact was rare during our 90 minute wait. Occasionally the Prof would swing around to join our waiting game. About half-way through our time, however, the game changed.
I happened to look at the guy who was sitting across from me; he seemed to single me out with his eyes. Suddenly, to everyone's shock, he spoke - directly to me! He said: "I don't like the way you look."
I was dumbfounded! Why me? What did he mean? Now everyone in the group was staring at me - waiting for my response. Time froze! My personal heat rose. I was verbally paralyzed! I felt like I couldn't even think!
It was then that our professor sprung into action. He impulsively rolled his chair across the room, stopping directly in front of me. He rolled in close until our knees were almost touching. He leaned in till we were face-to-face - then he said: "Harold, how does that make you feel?"
We never had another silent session after that!
Debbie and I were married in August and immediately moved to Wilmore, Kentucky to establish our first home. When the semester began, I reported to the office of the designated faculty member along with about six other, equally shocked students. None of us knew why we were there! We had all been through the battery of tests and had been assigned to submit to this process that was apparently designed to purge us of our demons?
I resented being there. I was a healthy young man who had grown up in a Christian home with loving parents; what was I doing here? I'm confident that the others felt the same.
The 90 minutes seemed to last forever! The professor sat with his back to us while working at his desk. We sat in a circle without speaking. We examined one another's shoes. We daydreamed. We exchanged frustrated looks. We subdued our anger. Finally, the time expired and we got up and left.
A week later found us back in the professor's office passing another wordless 90 minutes. Our frustration was building...
The third week brought no relief. Another 90 minutes of awkwardness. Outside of his office we never spoke. We didn't know one another's names. We were not friends. We were simply co-sufferers of this obligatory process.
Week four arrived and we took our seats. Eye contact was rare during our 90 minute wait. Occasionally the Prof would swing around to join our waiting game. About half-way through our time, however, the game changed.
I happened to look at the guy who was sitting across from me; he seemed to single me out with his eyes. Suddenly, to everyone's shock, he spoke - directly to me! He said: "I don't like the way you look."
I was dumbfounded! Why me? What did he mean? Now everyone in the group was staring at me - waiting for my response. Time froze! My personal heat rose. I was verbally paralyzed! I felt like I couldn't even think!
It was then that our professor sprung into action. He impulsively rolled his chair across the room, stopping directly in front of me. He rolled in close until our knees were almost touching. He leaned in till we were face-to-face - then he said: "Harold, how does that make you feel?"
We never had another silent session after that!
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
Boyhood Friends
We'd make our plans on the school bus while riding home at the end of the day. Bob and I got off at the Honor Roll bus-stop between Brighton Heights and Crescent Heights. We would agree to meet there after checking in with our moms and changing clothes - which usually took about fifteen minutes. John and Larry went a half-mile further to the Stuber road bus-stop. We all convened at Larry's as soon as possible to take full advantage of whatever sunshine we had.
Larry's neighbor (a doctor) had an old, unused tennis court that became our football field. It was usually Bob and me against John and Larry. We had a variety of rules that we incorporated into our self-devised game of 'Razzle-Dazzle Drop Football'.
The game consisted primarily of passing; however, if the pass was incomplete, the other team got the ball wherever it hit the ground. It was a fast, back-and-forth game that kept things exciting. We loved playing football and lamented when it was time to end the game and return to our homes. Bob and I would walk down Mercer Road talking all-the-way (occasionally getting distracted by climbing the huge sycamore trees along the way)!
Eventually, we'd switch over to basketball - often playing on the tiny court behind Bob's house on Crescent Heights. Bob and I frequently continued playing well after dark with the help of a spotlight on the back of his house!
I grew up with these three guys. There were occasionally others who joined us, but we four had a special friendship that bound us together. Bob was best man in my wedding, and Larry was one of my groomsmen.
In the summer, we had sleep-outs. Occasionally, we caroused the neighborhood in the dark, evading automatic lights and swiping a tomato from a neighbor's garden. I remember one night when we walked out Mercer Road several miles - diving for cover if a car came either way.
Summers also gave us opportunity for bike-hikes. Usually this meant going far out Stuber Road. One time we followed an old dirt road and dropped down into Eastvale. After we discovered this destination, it was just a matter of time before we continued down through Beaver Falls and crossed the 10th Street bridge to return to our homes!
I can remember twice when Bob and I rode our bikes to Darlington Lake. I don't think our mothers knew we did this! It was a great place to swim because it had a huge sliding board that dropped into the water!
The leisure season also gave us opportunities to explore the woods behind Brighton Heights. We hiked up to the 'Indian Caves'. We built forts and played army. We caught lizards and crabs in the creek. We hiked down to the Beaver River and then walked the tracks back into town where we'd get a milkshake at Isaly's.
In the winter we would sled-ride on Valley Avenue and lob snowballs from Brighton Heights down on cars traveling up Mercer Road!
Those were fun and free days!
However, our lives changed a bit as we entered junior and senior high school. New friends were developed and our relationships gradually became a bit more distant. We still occasionally had classes together. Bob and Larry had engineering prospects; I took every math class NB offered - just to be with them. They pulled me through with barely passing grades! Ha ha ha... Larry ended up being the valedictorian of our class! My claim to fame (and reason for being at the head of the procession) was due to singing a solo at our commencement: "No Man Is An Island".
However, throughout most of those years we continued our friendship by sharing the New Brighton High School 'open-lunch-period' by hitting the Brighton Hot Dog Shop! Those were the days when three hot dogs, a fry and a shake came to $.95 with $.05 tax; so, for a buck we had an awesome lunch! :-)
But life moves on...
I did have the opportunity of marrying Bob and his wife some years later. I also stopped to visit Larry in his law office one time, but we didn't seem to have anything to talk about. It's sad that these wonderful friends have not been a part of my adult life, when we shared so many fantastic times together as boys!
I don't know where they are today or what they're doing, but I hope their lives have gone well. I hope they're happy and fulfilled! I valued their friendship and we shared dreams and fantasies together while having tons of fun! If I could, I'd thank them for their friendship and the memories we made together! I'd also pray God's blessings on their lives!
Larry's neighbor (a doctor) had an old, unused tennis court that became our football field. It was usually Bob and me against John and Larry. We had a variety of rules that we incorporated into our self-devised game of 'Razzle-Dazzle Drop Football'.
The game consisted primarily of passing; however, if the pass was incomplete, the other team got the ball wherever it hit the ground. It was a fast, back-and-forth game that kept things exciting. We loved playing football and lamented when it was time to end the game and return to our homes. Bob and I would walk down Mercer Road talking all-the-way (occasionally getting distracted by climbing the huge sycamore trees along the way)!
Eventually, we'd switch over to basketball - often playing on the tiny court behind Bob's house on Crescent Heights. Bob and I frequently continued playing well after dark with the help of a spotlight on the back of his house!
I grew up with these three guys. There were occasionally others who joined us, but we four had a special friendship that bound us together. Bob was best man in my wedding, and Larry was one of my groomsmen.
In the summer, we had sleep-outs. Occasionally, we caroused the neighborhood in the dark, evading automatic lights and swiping a tomato from a neighbor's garden. I remember one night when we walked out Mercer Road several miles - diving for cover if a car came either way.
Summers also gave us opportunity for bike-hikes. Usually this meant going far out Stuber Road. One time we followed an old dirt road and dropped down into Eastvale. After we discovered this destination, it was just a matter of time before we continued down through Beaver Falls and crossed the 10th Street bridge to return to our homes!
I can remember twice when Bob and I rode our bikes to Darlington Lake. I don't think our mothers knew we did this! It was a great place to swim because it had a huge sliding board that dropped into the water!
The leisure season also gave us opportunities to explore the woods behind Brighton Heights. We hiked up to the 'Indian Caves'. We built forts and played army. We caught lizards and crabs in the creek. We hiked down to the Beaver River and then walked the tracks back into town where we'd get a milkshake at Isaly's.
In the winter we would sled-ride on Valley Avenue and lob snowballs from Brighton Heights down on cars traveling up Mercer Road!
Those were fun and free days!
However, our lives changed a bit as we entered junior and senior high school. New friends were developed and our relationships gradually became a bit more distant. We still occasionally had classes together. Bob and Larry had engineering prospects; I took every math class NB offered - just to be with them. They pulled me through with barely passing grades! Ha ha ha... Larry ended up being the valedictorian of our class! My claim to fame (and reason for being at the head of the procession) was due to singing a solo at our commencement: "No Man Is An Island".
However, throughout most of those years we continued our friendship by sharing the New Brighton High School 'open-lunch-period' by hitting the Brighton Hot Dog Shop! Those were the days when three hot dogs, a fry and a shake came to $.95 with $.05 tax; so, for a buck we had an awesome lunch! :-)
But life moves on...
I did have the opportunity of marrying Bob and his wife some years later. I also stopped to visit Larry in his law office one time, but we didn't seem to have anything to talk about. It's sad that these wonderful friends have not been a part of my adult life, when we shared so many fantastic times together as boys!
I don't know where they are today or what they're doing, but I hope their lives have gone well. I hope they're happy and fulfilled! I valued their friendship and we shared dreams and fantasies together while having tons of fun! If I could, I'd thank them for their friendship and the memories we made together! I'd also pray God's blessings on their lives!
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
You're Not Going to Kittanning Today, Dad!
It was a year ago today. Troy and I had been working together. At 2:30 PM, I stopped and went in to shower and pack so that I could leave for Kittanning in time to arrive for God's Choice Church. Troy was talking on his phone when I went in and was still talking when I started carrying my bags out. He met me on the porch and told me that there was something going on. I tried to push past him saying that I had to get on my way to Kittanning or I'd be late! He firmly placed his hand on my chest and said: "You're not going to Kittanning today, Dad!"
I asked, "Why?" That was my last moment of peace...
His next words jolted my soul and created a disturbance that hasn't settled yet.
"Dad, Trav had a cardiac arrest and is in the hospital in critical condition."
Disbelief. Shock. Anguish. Sorrow. They mingled together in my mind as I tried to incorporate what my son had just said to me.
To be honest, everything after that is a fog to me. I know that within hours we were on a plane headed for Honolulu (Debbie, me, Troy and Missy and Tracibeth). And the next morning we walked into the room where we would keep vigil for the next four days. At first, we were given a small ray of hope, but the longer we stayed, the more we realized that Travis was not coming back to us.
We stood for countless hours at his bedside, stroking his hands and arms and face. We talked to him, sang to him, prayed with him and even played music for him. A parade of chaplains visited us and prayed with us. Outstanding among them was Chaplain Lee Axtell, who stopped more frequently and stayed longer than the others. After Trav's death, we actually attended church with Chaplain Axtell and his wife; then they took us out to eat.
We were wanderers in a foreign land.
We stayed in a hotel for a few days and then moved to an extremely nice, private home that was made available to us by a private individual who had never met any of us. Travis' husband, Josh, and a host of his friends and Navy co-workers came to our side; many of them stayed for hours and came every day. The hospital personnel were gracious and kind. Navy wives brought food to us and sat with us.
We toured the house that Trav and Josh had worked so hard on renovating. Oh, how we wished that Travis could be giving us that tour.
We were asked to stay for a week to attend a Memorial service in Travis' honor at the Pearl Harbor Chapel. His Commander and Executive officer came to Travis' bedside to console us. The chapel was nearly full for that service. So many Navy Seals came and spoke to us of their tremendous appreciation for Travis; they unraveled stories that amused and comforted us! Travis' Commander was the primary speaker and highly honored our son with his kind words and stories. [We have a video of that service, but haven't been able to watch it yet.]
Then, we went home to wait for the final arrangements to be made for the funeral in Annapolis.
All of Deb's siblings attended and my one of my sisters and my brother. Many of Travis' cousins came. A few friends and ministry associates came. Janie and Katie decorated the funeral parlor with pictures of Travis hanging from helium balloons. Tables were covered with dozens of other pictures; his smiling face beaming in every one! Chaplain Axtell came and participated in the funeral. At the end of the evening, our friend, Pastor Bob Singleton, called everyone together and led in a prayer.
The service took place in the massive, ornate chapel where a small crowd gathered in the first ten pews. I don't remember much of the service. Afterward, we walked behind the hearse and honor guard across the Academy Yard to the memorial garden where Travis' ashes would be interred. The normally busy Navy world ground to a halt to honor our son!
Along with Josh, we offered a reception for all of our guests and had a short opportunity to visit and receive greetings from so many. Then, we went home...
The year has been one of massive change for us. We bought a manufactured home and had it placed on a lot in a retirement community in Enon Valley. Consequently, we moved again - hopefully for the last time. I continued in my role of part-time pastor. Debbie retired.
I feel different. It's impossible for me to explain, but I'd like to try. Times of real joy are less frequent in our lives. Debbie has meltdowns, although they are gradually growing further apart. I am much more forgetful than I've ever been before. I have a harder time focusing. My passion for life has diminished.
I've always lived my life looking forward to something: a date night, a good meal, a family gathering, a vacation, a trip, a holiday, etc., etc.. That's far less true today. I often find it difficult to find anything to genuinely look forward to.
I find myself wondering how much of what I'm experiencing is grief and how much is a result of aging? I suspect that grief is the bigger piece of that puzzle. In spite of being a pastor and counselor, I don't think I've handled my grief very well. I live a life of constant inner thoughts that hinder my ability to stay focused on what I'm doing. Although I wept at Travis' bedside, memorial service and funeral, I haven't wept since.
I have so many questions. Questions about Travis' death. Questions too private to utter. So far, no answers. It seems I'm simply left to ponder.
Debbie and I find our greatest comfort in one another's arms. We continue to take joy in Troy and Missy and Jon and Tracie and Rylie and Coltin. We appreciate the comfort we've received from family and a few persistent friends. We move on. Sorrow slows our pace. God is our daily Source of strength. We know He weeps with us - as do many who are reading this blog...
I asked, "Why?" That was my last moment of peace...
His next words jolted my soul and created a disturbance that hasn't settled yet.
"Dad, Trav had a cardiac arrest and is in the hospital in critical condition."
Disbelief. Shock. Anguish. Sorrow. They mingled together in my mind as I tried to incorporate what my son had just said to me.
To be honest, everything after that is a fog to me. I know that within hours we were on a plane headed for Honolulu (Debbie, me, Troy and Missy and Tracibeth). And the next morning we walked into the room where we would keep vigil for the next four days. At first, we were given a small ray of hope, but the longer we stayed, the more we realized that Travis was not coming back to us.
We stood for countless hours at his bedside, stroking his hands and arms and face. We talked to him, sang to him, prayed with him and even played music for him. A parade of chaplains visited us and prayed with us. Outstanding among them was Chaplain Lee Axtell, who stopped more frequently and stayed longer than the others. After Trav's death, we actually attended church with Chaplain Axtell and his wife; then they took us out to eat.
We were wanderers in a foreign land.
We stayed in a hotel for a few days and then moved to an extremely nice, private home that was made available to us by a private individual who had never met any of us. Travis' husband, Josh, and a host of his friends and Navy co-workers came to our side; many of them stayed for hours and came every day. The hospital personnel were gracious and kind. Navy wives brought food to us and sat with us.
We toured the house that Trav and Josh had worked so hard on renovating. Oh, how we wished that Travis could be giving us that tour.
We were asked to stay for a week to attend a Memorial service in Travis' honor at the Pearl Harbor Chapel. His Commander and Executive officer came to Travis' bedside to console us. The chapel was nearly full for that service. So many Navy Seals came and spoke to us of their tremendous appreciation for Travis; they unraveled stories that amused and comforted us! Travis' Commander was the primary speaker and highly honored our son with his kind words and stories. [We have a video of that service, but haven't been able to watch it yet.]
Then, we went home to wait for the final arrangements to be made for the funeral in Annapolis.
All of Deb's siblings attended and my one of my sisters and my brother. Many of Travis' cousins came. A few friends and ministry associates came. Janie and Katie decorated the funeral parlor with pictures of Travis hanging from helium balloons. Tables were covered with dozens of other pictures; his smiling face beaming in every one! Chaplain Axtell came and participated in the funeral. At the end of the evening, our friend, Pastor Bob Singleton, called everyone together and led in a prayer.
The service took place in the massive, ornate chapel where a small crowd gathered in the first ten pews. I don't remember much of the service. Afterward, we walked behind the hearse and honor guard across the Academy Yard to the memorial garden where Travis' ashes would be interred. The normally busy Navy world ground to a halt to honor our son!
Along with Josh, we offered a reception for all of our guests and had a short opportunity to visit and receive greetings from so many. Then, we went home...
The year has been one of massive change for us. We bought a manufactured home and had it placed on a lot in a retirement community in Enon Valley. Consequently, we moved again - hopefully for the last time. I continued in my role of part-time pastor. Debbie retired.
I feel different. It's impossible for me to explain, but I'd like to try. Times of real joy are less frequent in our lives. Debbie has meltdowns, although they are gradually growing further apart. I am much more forgetful than I've ever been before. I have a harder time focusing. My passion for life has diminished.
I've always lived my life looking forward to something: a date night, a good meal, a family gathering, a vacation, a trip, a holiday, etc., etc.. That's far less true today. I often find it difficult to find anything to genuinely look forward to.
I find myself wondering how much of what I'm experiencing is grief and how much is a result of aging? I suspect that grief is the bigger piece of that puzzle. In spite of being a pastor and counselor, I don't think I've handled my grief very well. I live a life of constant inner thoughts that hinder my ability to stay focused on what I'm doing. Although I wept at Travis' bedside, memorial service and funeral, I haven't wept since.
I have so many questions. Questions about Travis' death. Questions too private to utter. So far, no answers. It seems I'm simply left to ponder.
Debbie and I find our greatest comfort in one another's arms. We continue to take joy in Troy and Missy and Jon and Tracie and Rylie and Coltin. We appreciate the comfort we've received from family and a few persistent friends. We move on. Sorrow slows our pace. God is our daily Source of strength. We know He weeps with us - as do many who are reading this blog...
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