The Star

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

We know it as the Star of David, and  recognize it as a symbol of the Nation of Israel and of its Jewish citizens.  After all, It’s right there in their middle of their flag, and on synagogues across the world.   

The Star also became the sad symbol of the Holocaust when the Nazis forced Jews to wear an identifying yellow star on their clothing.  JUDE it said, the German word meaning this one is a Jew.  

 

But what, exactly, does the Star represent? What does it really mean?

Before we delve into it, would it surprise you to learn that the Star of David is actually not the symbol for the Nation of Israel?  That would be an escutcheon which contains a menorah (lampstand) in its center, two olive branches on the sides of the menorah, and at the bottom, the label "Israel" in Hebrew. 

But back to the Star of David.  Megen David = Shile of David and is translated Shield of David.  Some speculate that King David’s shield was adorned with the six-pointed star.  But no such reference is found in the Bible or Talmud.   In fact, the Star of David is not referred to at all in either the Bible or the Talmud.  What then does the Star represent?

I dove into the subject expecting to find a universal agreement that the Star represents… well, that’s what I was trying to learn.  Instead, I found that there is not much agreement as to what it does represent.  Take a look at a few possibilities I found, after which I will tell you what “I” think it means (but note that I could not find anybody on the internet that agreed with me).

 

INTERPRETATIONS REGARDING JUDIASM (certainly not an exhaustive list)

• The six points represent the six days of creation spoken of in Genesis.
• The six points represent the six attributes of God – Power, Wisdom, Majesty; Love, Mercy, Justice
• The six points have twelve sides, representing the twelve tribes of Israel.
• The six sides represent the six traditional items on the Seder Plate (although some say there are only five).
• Two triangles – one points up to God, one points down to Earth or man.  Make of it what you will.
• One Rabbi admonished the Jew to “Be the Star of David” … Put a mezuzah on your door, study some Torah, eat kosher food, welcome the Shabbat with candles lighting and a festive meal, and you've become a living Star of David.

 

OTHER RELIGIONS (again, not an exhaustive list)

• The symbol is popular in pagan traditions.
• The symbol was used as a decorative device in first-century churches and even in Muslim culture.
• In Buddhism it is seen as the divine union of male and female.
• Six-Pointed Star of Christianity - The six-pointed star is one of the oldest Christian Symbols for God. For Christians, it is called the creator’s star.
• The six-pointed star is also used by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons) in their temples and architecture. In this context, it symbolizes the union of heaven and earth, with God reaching down to man and man reaching up to God.

 

MY THOUGHTS

Let me start by saying that, to my knowledge, I am alone in this viewpoint.  That said, I believe it may well be accurate, and may come to be revealed by future events as quite prophetic. And while I will not frame this with “Thus Sayeth the Lord,” I do believe in my heart that what I see was God Inspired.  Time will tell.

 The Downward Pointing Triangle = the Trinity of the Godhead

This point acknowledges that while not all Christians ascribe to the trinity of the Godhead, most do, and I am in that camp.  Matthew 28:19 instructs us to, “… teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

 To me, the three sides of the downward pointing triangle represent the Trinity of the Godhead.

The Upward Pointing Triangle – the Triune Nature of Man

Genesis 1:27 tells us that mankind was made in the image of God.  Many teach that because God is a Spirit, we also are spirits.  And I agree with that observation.  But I believe there is more to the picture than just that we are spirits.  Actually, we are spirits that possess a soul and reside in a body.  Like God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, we too are triune beings; spirit, soul and body.

The basis for the triune nature of man can be found in 1 Thessalonians 5:23, where it says, "I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.

The upward pointing triangle, to me, represents mankind, who was created triune in nature.

 

ONLY ONE REAL STAR

But the Star of David has both triangles – upward pointing and downward pointing.  Without either triangle, it would not be a complete Magen David, a whole picture.   

Now, you tell me, who is the ONLY ONE who is both deity and humanity, both a member of the Trinity of the Godhead as well as a member of the race of humanity?  There is is ONLY ONE, and his name is JESUS CHRIST.

It excites me to know that when the time is right, JESUS CHRIST Himself will lead the armies of Israel against her enemies.  And I believe our Jewish friends will then see the six-pointed star on that flag sewn onto their sleeve and realize it represents He who is their MESSIAH!

• Israeli flag graphic by Clker-Free-Vector-Images via  Pixabay
• JUIF.JPG (yellow Jude patch) courtesy of Kitkatcrazy at en.wikipedia
• The "Emblem of Israel" Graphic courtesy of The State of Israel, who was the first owner of copyrights on this work, which is now in the Public Domain in both Israel and The United States.

Ordinance Oughta-Be’s

You may call it Holy Communion. It my be The Lord’s Supper to you, or maybe the Eucharist. You know, that part of church where we partake of the wine and the bread.  Whatever your congregation calls it, pretty much the entire New Testament church considers it an Ordinance of the Church. 

Another ordinance is water baptism.  In fact, while some churches have many ordinances, these two are pretty much universal. 

I think the reason they are considered ordinances is because Jesus ordered us to do them; ordained them if you will. 

But Jesus told us to do many other things too. So in following the logic that Jesus ordained it, I am hereby suggesting… yea, declaring some additional ordinances for the church.  

Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. 

Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.

Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven. 

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt,  and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. 

Well, I just realized it is going to take quite a while to get all these new ordinances listed. Maybe we should just add this one I found in Matthew 5, where Jesus was giving the Sermon on the Mount:

Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in Heaven is perfect.

Whaddaya think?

Corrupt Communication

 You know the word. It starts with an F. In fact, hundreds of words start with an F, perhaps millions more contain one. And yet if someone refers to “the F word”, you immediately know the reference, and you know what it means.   F-ing this and F-ing that!  But, as if we have not sufficiently perverted such a special gift from God, we now have a new acronym to be disgusted by, or to admire if that’s who you choose to be.  

A true student of the Bible understands that sex is indeed a gift from God; an amazing bond between a man and woman that may even transcend the physical, playing a part in creating that “one-flesh” union outlined in chapter 10 of the Gospel of Mark, where it says, “What GOD has joined together…”  

OK, you already know what the F stands for.  In case you don’t already know, the “A” stands for the word “as”. Just throw this combination of letters into your statement and you’ve expressed the full depth of your feeling on the situation. Easy AF, angry AF, happy AF.   

One of my favorite programs is an old black & white western that plays on Saturday mornings.  I look forward to it all week long.  But to enjoy my show I have to endure a local car lot telling me it's how easy it is to buy a car from them.  It's right there in their slogan, it's in their jingle, it's even on their website - Easy AF.  Auto Financing, they say.  I can only speculate as to whether they intend the double entendre they so proudly employ. 

One may think cursing is relegated to the lower class of society, gutter trash if you will.  But I have a friend who is a motivational speaker by trade.  He travels great distances to address groups of people who have come together to be inspired, to be motivated toward accomplishing greater things in their lives.  This man is highly intelligent and successful in his craft, and yet his writings are laced with this new catchphrase, AF.  

It has been said that to resort to cursing shows ignorance. Yet ignorance is just a lack of knowledge, which can be remedied with education. I have always considered it more a lack of class.  But in fact, you may be surprised to learn that some psychologists now say that swearing is a sign of honesty and intelligence; that it contributes to society in a positive way.  It may not surprise you that those psychologists did not reference the Holy Bible in their research.  The whole thing reminds me of that verse about calling evil good and good evil.  (Isaiah 5:20). 

 I hate this world!

The Great Puzzle

Picture if you will a giant jigsaw puzzle - several groups of people on all sides and every corner working on different sections.  A group on one side is working on the Faith section. A group in one corner is working on Prosperity.   Another group labors intently on Humility, while yet another focuses on Grace.  

There’s a big Pentecostal bunch putting together the Gifts of the Spirit section, while a group of Baptists across the table are getting the Fruits of the Spirit together nicely.  The Pentecostals run across a Fruits piece and toss it over to the Baptists.

One who works the puzzle alone may move from one section to another, and back again, until the picture in front of him starts to look like the picture on the front of the box.  

Sadly, Several groups are at the wrong table putting together the wrong puzzle headed toward the wrong result.  God help them.

 

But folks, even when we get the puzzle completed, we’ll still be able to see the lines. They’ll still be there because we will still be merely mortal men.  If we chose to focus on the lines that divide, the picture, though complete, will still appear blurred - fragmented if you will.   The pieces could still come apart leaving a gap in the picture.  

Let's focus on the beautiful picture, not on the lines that divide - until that glorious day comes and we no longer need the image, but are walking side by side with Him, on streets of gold. 

Even so, come quickly Lord Jesus!

Slingshots and Nuclear Options

 

Summer, circa 1963 - I was just a wee lad visiting my grandparents for a week or so, when I accompanied my grandmother to the market one day.  As she selected the ingredients for the evening meal I stood frozen in place, mesmerized by a spinning toy rack.   I had a quarter in my pocket, and they had a slingshot for sale at only 25 cents.  “Nanny, I want to buy this slingshot.  I have the money,” I declared.

 “Why don’t you wait until we go to the five and dime store tomorrow, and I’ll give you some more money to get a better toy, maybe a model airplane,” was her sage advice.   But NO.  I wanted something NOW.  It wasn’t like I was even in the market for a slingshot.  But there it was, catching my eye.  And there I was with a windfall of pocket change.  Wait one day for a much better toy?  No way!  I bought the slingshot.  Regret showed its ugly face the very next day, as I was tired of shooting pebbles and wished I had an airplane to play with.

 I don’t know how long that slingshot lasted.  I don’t have it now.  But then, I probably wouldn’t still have the model airplane either.  What I do still have from that memorable day with my Nanny is the lesson I learned; that haste is foolish, but patience is a virtue that will produce a good result (and a better toy)!

 November 2013 – Harry Reid, Democrat from Nevada was Majority Leader of the U.S. Senate, and he was a man determined to confirm judges and other appointments made by President Obama.  The Republican minority had enough voices to throw a kink in the plan, using the senate filibuster rules.  See, the minority party could filibuster (talk on and on… and on) to stop a vote, and it took a 2/3rds majority to cease that and call the vote.  Reid didn’t have that 2/3rds, so he and his colleagues changed the rule so that a simple majority was all that was needed to close the debate and vote on the judges.  This action came to be known as the “nuclear option”.

 October 2020 – The Republicans are now the majority, and Reid’s decision came back to haunt his party, as the slim majority the Republicans now held was sufficient to use that nuclear option to confirm President Trump’s appointment of a new Justice to the U. S. Supreme Court.

 I know how Harry Reid felt.  I had the quarter, and wanted the slingshot.  He had the nuclear option and wanted the judges.  Of course, I was a small boy.  I’m not sure what his excuse is.  I do know what it cost him!

Photo: The Little Hunter, by by Karl Witkowski (in the public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

Did God Whisper "Willie"?

We remember the years past for various reasons; some good, some bad.  For example, in the year 2000 I went through a divorce, lost a job and buried my father.   But in the year 2017 I met and married the love of my life!  2019 provided me one of the most radical changes of all my days on this Earth.  Now, it may not seem like much to you, but to me it is life changing.  I bought a guitar.

All my life I have envied the guy who could pick up a guitar and play.  Not so much the rock stars with their fame and fortune;  I was more in awe of the guy at the campfire that strummed little tunes while folks talked and laughed.  I remember youth camp in the snow-covered Rockies, where we sat in a circle while one of the locals played the Beetles song, Rocky Raccoon.  I was so jealous.

When I was in my 20s, I came into possession of a guitar.  A friend at church tried to teach me how to play, but with one 30-minute session once a week, frustration led to despair as I determined I just “didn’t have it”.  And 40 years passed.

So how did this life-changing event come to be?  Here’s the funny part of the story.  My company holds a costume contest every Halloween, and I join in the competition.  Around mid-September I started thinking about what to “be” and Willie Nelson came to mind.  I don’t know why, but I have my suspicions.  The costume was easy.  Just buy a red bandana and make a couple of braids out of a wig I had around from previous years.  The whole thing cost a buck.  But as you probably realize, the props make the costume.  A Roman soldier needs his sword, a gangster must tote a plastic tommy-gun, and I needed a guitar. 

I came across what turned out to be a really sweet classical in a nice hard case for 30 bucks and won 2^nd place in the contest.  But the guitar was missing a string, so I got it restrung and that’s when I learned my first chord, and my first song.  That’s also when I learned enough to know my left-handedness would be an issue.   So, I gave that guitar to a friend and bought a “lefty”!

Six weeks later I had 8 chords mastered (well, learned anyway), and a couple dozen songs I could strum out.  This may be as good as I get.  If so, that’s great.  I’ll forgive myself for those 40 wasted years and strum out the rest of my days in bliss. 

But frankly, I’m a pretty quick study.  Who knows, this time next year I might be touring with Waylon and Willie!

Kindness in the Countryside

Exerpt from Address book for
the Royal Prussian Principality of
Ansbach and Bayreuth

Suppose for a moment you are wandering through Bavaria in the early 1600s, poor, tired and hungry.  Then by happenstance, you stumble across a book lying in the trail as if placed there by providence, or the good Lord in Heaven.  Just as you reach for this leather-bound treasure, the wind whips the pages and presents you with page 348.

Of course, 348 has always been your lucky number anyway, so imagine your excitement as you realize the town just a few kilometers up the trail is Wettelsheim, listed right there on 348. 

Being a smarter than average Bavarian, you know how to read, so you know that the header on page 348 - Geiftlichfeit auf  dem Lande - reads Kindness in the Countryside.   Now, if you can just find the home or place of business of this Pfr. Hr. Georg Ulbecht Kepner, you know you shall have bread, wine and shelter this evening.

I hope you enjoyed this little foray into fantasy-land.  I certainly did.  See, Georg Ulbecht Kepner is my 10^th great grandfather.  But, as an enthusiast of my heritage, today I learned something new.  Grandfather Georg from the old country, Herr. Georg Ulbecht Kepner, was actually Pfr. Hr. Kepler; Reverend Herr Kepler!

My father was a man who loved God and eschewed evil, as was his father and his father… and most assuredly his father also!  I have always known I came from a long line of Godly men, pillars of the community and servants of the church.  But little did I know how deep that heritage runs.  My 10^th great grandfather was known throughout Bavaria as the man to seek out for a kindness.  Of course, you probably wouldn’t find him at his house.  He was more likely out doing his Father’s business.

So must I.

A Blooming Conundrum

It has been said there are two kinds of people; those who divide people into two kinds of people and those who don’t.  The guy that said that was obviously the first kind.  I’m probably more the second, as you will soon see.

It was actually two cardiologists who developed the theory that there are two types of personalities; Types A and B.   They observed that folks who are more competitive, outgoing, ambitious, impatient or aggressive are Type A.  Of course, the more mellow of the species are Type B.  They surmised that Type A’s have a greater chance of developing coronary heart disease, while B’s are generally more satisfied with life. 

Personally, I find the theory particularly humorous that the inhabitants of this entire planet could be summed up by only two types.  At the time I write this, the current world population is a bit over seven billion five hundred thirty-three million, and counting.  I would submit to you that indeed there are a bit over seven billion five hundred thirty-three million types of people!

I suppose, technically speaking, we can create categories; be it home town, hair color or handedness.   But, my point is this – Don’t lose who you are, trying to be what “they” think you should be!  You are one of a kind – uniquely designed and with a path all your own.  So, discover the exceptional gifts you have been graced with, and strive to develop those.  Grow into who you are meant to be, and see if you aren’t a bit more satisfied with life.  And I’m betting you’ll live longer too!

Nicknames

Got any interesting nicknames?  I’ve been called Red. I’ve been called Lefty.  A whole group of folks used to refer to me as Cam.  Back when I was 16 I was even called Truck for one evening.  But that’s a different story for a different day.

I’ve always wanted to share with you my most endearing nickname.  But until recently I could not, because I couldn’t figure out how to spell it.   Let me explain.

When I was three years old my family moved to Perryton, Texas for dad’s work.  Dad worked with a group of Hispanic men, and they all fondly called him by a nickname.  Dad liked the name, and passed it down to me.  I’ve always wanted to use it as a screen name, or have it stamped on the back of a belt, or something to honor dad.  But I just didn’t know how it was spelled.  The name was pronounced KAW – ROWL. 

I loved to hear dad walk in the house after work and yell, “Where’s KAW-ROWL?”  But what did that mean?  And how was it spelled?  Dad said they told him it meant Red in Spanish.  But I took Spanish in 5^th grade, and I knew the Spanish word for Red is Rojo.  So, the mystery lingered.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I was visiting with a relative of a relative who is Hispanic.  I asked him if he knew what KAW-ROWL meant.  He gave me a puzzled look, so I told him the back story.  “OH”, he exclaimed.  “You mean Colorado!”

Colorado?  Isn’t that a state?  Well, yes.  But it is also another word for red, in Spanish.  Of course, you have to put a heavy roll on the R (and apparently, the D is silent?)  After half a century, Mystery Solved!

So, if you like, you have my permission to call me Colorado.  But if you do, please pronounce it KAW-ROWL, with a heavy roll on the R.  And up in Heaven, Dad will be grinning!

Election 2016 - An Exercise in Faith?

Wasn’t it Al Capone who said, “Vote early, and often”?  That’s the Chicago way!  And we’ve all heard reports of people voting from their graves in Colorado and California.  

Then there’s the famous quote ascribed to Communist leader Joseph Stalin that goes something like this; “Those who cast the votes decide nothing.  Those who count the votes decide everything.”   It’s enough to make a soul cynical on the whole idea of democracy.  To echo that age-old sentiment, “Does my vote really count?” 

The answer to that question may very well rest with how the votes are counted.  In days of old people marked their choice on a piece of paper and stuffed it in a ballet box (perhaps early and often).  And we stayed up into the wee hours of the morning to learn the results.  

However, in the Information Age that is the 21^st century we have optical scan devices and direct recording electronic (DRE) systems with touch screens.  These methods were designed to count the ever growing number of voters in a quick and organized fashion.  Thank goodness for technology!

But then Princeton professor Andrew Appel showed us how he can hack an electronic voting machine in 7 minutes, skewing the results at his whim.  His message was simple – the machines we use to vote are less secure than the smartphones we carry in our pockets.  And our angst grew deeper.  So now we swallow hard and head to the polls, trusting the powers that be to count the votes as closely as possible, and perhaps with the help of divine providence get the candidate we actually chose.  At least that’s what I’m doing.

So, remember to vote on Tuesday, November 8^th.  Hey, it’s a civic responsibility, but also a privilege to have your say!  Just watch out for hanging chads!

Graphic designed by Freepik

BEST LOSERS

Its Oscar season, and everywhere you turn someone is listing their top 10 movies of all time.  Of course, most of those lists contain the obvious; The Godfather, Braveheart, Forrest Gump, Rocky, Sound of Music – Oscar winners, one and all.

So I decided to list my top ten favorite movies that did NOT win Best Picture.  And here they are, in chronological order:



TOP TEN LOSERS

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939 – lost to Gone With the Wind)

The Grapes of Wrath (1940 – lost to Rebecca)

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946 – Lost to The Best Years of Our Lives)

High Noon (1952 – Lost to The Greatest Show on Earth)

The Ten Commandments (1956 – Lost to Around the World in 80 Days)

12 Angry Men (1957 – Lost to The Bridge on the River Kwai)

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969 – Lost to Midnight Cowboy)

The Shawshank Redemption (1994 – Lost to Forrest Gump)

Saving Private Ryan (1998 – Lost to Shakespeare in Love)

The Green Mile (1999 – Lost to American Beauty)



As a closing thought, here are (in my opinion) the worst travesties in Academy history:

WORST TRAVESTIES

That Wizard of Oz had to compete with Gone With the Wind;

That Mr. Smith goes to Washington had to compete with Gone With the Wind;

That Star Wars (or anything else) was beaten by Annie Hall;

That a western hasn’t won Best Picture since Unforgiven, in 1992 (although Braveheart and Gladiator might be considered westerns);

That politics is so prevalent in the movie industry;

That they just don’t make ‘em like they used to!


Shhhhhhh – and pass the popcorn.


 Logo vector designed by Freepik

COUNTDOWN

TEN…  

At least that’s what the muffled voice appeared to say.   But through three sets of walls it was hard to even hear – much less understand – the announcement made over the loudspeaker.  And although he had already pressed every button on the control panel, that announcement caused Dave to again punch the button labeled “Alarm”, hoping against hope that someone would answer his plea, or at least recognize his presence in the building.  “I can’t afford to panic,” Dave thought to himself.

Dave never really liked elevators anyway.  Like many people he had a slight touch of claustrophobia.   And although his wasn’t strong enough to keep him out of elevators altogether, it was enough to give him a healthy respect for stairways.  Dave would always claim he took the stairs for health reasons.  He just didn’t clarify that it was for mental health reasons!

NINE…  

Dave knew this structure was slated for demolition.  He knew the date.  He knew the time.  He even knew how many pounds of C-4 would be needed and, ironically, which direction the elevator shaft would fall.  Such knowledge was integral to the man whose job it was to supervise the crew tasked with bringing down this once stately – now foul and crumbling 9 story monstrosity.  But for all the things Dave did know, what he could not comprehend was how he came be trapped inside this elevator… so close to zero hour.

Even when he was a child Dave loved explosives.  On the fourth of July Dave didn’t play with mere firecrackers.  He was an M-80 man!  An M-80, officially described as a pyrotechnic device, is essentially a firecracker on steroids, or at least it was – before it was banned for sale to the general public in 1966.  It contained 50 to 60 times more flash powder than a regular firecracker; enough to take a finger… or a hand.  But Dave lost nary a finger, and he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up.

EIGHT…  

The fog inside Dave’s brain oddly resembled the cloud of dust he had seen so many times before; moments after he set off the chain of events with the index finger of his right hand.   “Why did I come back into the building?” Dave asked himself, struggling to concentrate.  “I had everything ready; every charge wired and set, every man in his place.  I remember having my finger on the button.  But this isn’t the right button…”

SEVEN…

“This can’t be happening,” Dave whispered.  “Not on one of my jobs.”  Dave prided himself in being known as Mister Blast, the best in the business at his chosen profession of explosion demolition.  But Dave didn’t bestow that moniker upon himself.  For three years running that distinction was made by Demolition Monthly, the trade periodical for those who get to play with explosives for a living.  The most recent award was announced in an article that focused on Dave’s safety record.  That month’s cover graphic was a bandage covered by a big red circle and slash, for in 136 jobs engineered by Dave, there had never been the need for as much as a band-Aid. 

SIX…  

Dave fought to recall why he was where he was.  What could have compelled him to walk back inside this doomed structure?  Was something wrong with one of his charges?  Or perhaps someone spotted something that wasn’t right.  Dave was familiar with the urban legends about homeless people who refused to leave and went down with the ship; so to speak.  To this day folks in Oklahoma City speak of October ’77 and that mysterious outline of a man seen staring out a window of the old Biltmore Hotel – at the very moment of the blast.  Of course, a body was never found.  Those are just made-up stories.  Or are they?

FIVE…

“And why are the lights even on?” Dave wondered.  Cutting the electricity to a structure is one of the first things dealt with by his crew.  We can’t have live wires hanging around, causing sparks and fires – and electrocuting innocent bystanders.  Yet not only are the lights on, but apparently the elevators are working.  Or at least they were a few moments ago.  “But this just can’t be so!” Dave thought to himself.  “Yet here I am…”  

FOUR…  

Realizing his life was now measured in milliseconds; Dave turned and began to claw at the door.  “Must run… No time left…” Dave struggled to concentrate – to execute an escape from this prison of circumstance.  But the door would not budge.  And, even if he had possessed a step-ladder, his fruitless efforts with the door had left him too exhausted to search for a trap door in the ceiling.   “Trap doors should be located in the floor,” he foolishly thought to himself.

But Dave was not willing to give up.  He was no quitter.  He simply had no idea what to try next. And so, totally overwhelmed for the moment, he collapsed to the floor.  And sitting there realizing he was living the last seconds of his life, Dave’s thoughts turned to a different explosion that took place in Oklahoma City.

THREE…

Dave’s job was to blow buildings.  But the buildings he brought down were timeworn; no longer functional, or at least no longer profitable.  And his blasts ultimately resulted in useless eyesores being replaced with beautiful things.  The building Tim McVeigh blew up in Oklahoma City was all-together a different matter.   McVeigh’s bomb was built with the purpose of causing pain and suffering; death and destruction.  And the building it brought down was not nearly ready to give up the ghost. 

In the midst of the suffering and loss of life, everyone in Oklahoma – yea, everyone in America took personal offense.  If life had left us any semblance of security, the events of April 17, 1995 dealt a death blow to that naivety.  And we were angry!  Yet Dave’s anger ran even deeper, if that is possible.  See, he considered it a personal affront; as if the man was purposely mocking his chosen profession.  “We are not killers!” Dave screamed back at his thoughts.

TWO…  

Dave’s recollection of the Oklahoma City attack, if not as clear, was more personal than most.   See, at 9:01 AM on that fateful morning Dave was walking down the sidewalk just one block from the front door of the Murrah Building when McVeigh pulled up and parked the Ryder Truck.  And Dave’s life was changed forever.

ONE…   

Dave’s injuries from the explosion on that April morning were not life threatening, but they were life changing.  He would lose the use of his left arm, and his right eye.  And that impish grin he used to try so hard to hide no longer needed to be disguised, as the disfigurement of his face permanently stole away his smile. 

CONTACT!  

And then Dave heard that word he had dreaded for the last ten agonizing seconds.  And while he grimaced in fear and anguish with what would surely be his last breath, viewers all across America watched the historic and fateful blast on their televisions. 

“Dave, are you OK?” he heard the voice asking.  Dave recognized the voice as that of Roger Taliaferro, his second in command and right-hand man.  At the sound of Roger’s voice Dave realized two things; first, that he was not dead – or else that was really the voice of an angel.  But Dave had been friends with him long enough to know Roger was definitely no angel!  

The second thing he realized was that he needed to respond, lest his inquisitor believe him dead and walk away.  “What happened?” Dave asked.

“Geez Dave, we all thought you weren’t gonna make it,” Roger responded.  “You were injured in an explosion.”

“I know, Roger.  I heard the countdown over the loudspeaker. I was trapped in an elevator,” Dave answered.  “Who gave the command?  Who pushed the button?”

“Countdown?  What Countdown?  What loudspeaker?” Roger asked with a look of concern and confusion.  “And what elevator?   You weren’t in an elevator.  You were walking down the sidewalk.”

But Dave did hear a countdown.  “I know I heard a countdown,” Dave demanded.  “It was muffled but I know it was a countdown to an explosion, because I heard the explosion.”

Right then Roger noticed what was playing on the television.  The date was May 23^rd, 1995, just over a month since 168 lives were taken and over 680, including Dave, had been injured by the Murrah Building bombing.  And today was the day the remains of the building were to be leveled – by explosion; a job neither Dave nor Roger would have relished.    

The human mind is a complex organism.  It thinks and schemes.  It reckons and dreams.  And sometimes those dreams interweave themselves with reality.  Slowly the realization came upon Dave that he had not been trapped in the elevator of a doomed building, but was resting in his hospital bed; the bed he had occupied for over a month now. 

Dave prayed a prayer of thanks that day in May.  He thanked God it was just a dream.  He thanked God the bombing of 1995 would teach mankind that violence holds no answer to the troubles that plague us.   And he thanked God he survived the bombing to end all bombings, for surely never again would anyone ever hate deeply enough to destroy a whole building!

Surely!

Photo of the Murrah Building, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma - in the public domain.

The Stephens County Mafia

Duncan Oklahoma is a quaint little town in the southwestern region of the state, where life is quieter and slower than the Big City.  That’s not to say the town has never had its heyday.    It was in Duncan that Earl P. Halliburton first set up shop, founding that megalith of a corporation that bears his name.  You remember Halliburton; made famous by Dick Chaney and allegations of massive war-time profit taking.

But if you are assuming Earl P. to be the only man of fame to have roots in this forgotten hamlet, allow me to set you straight.  Remember Hoyt Axton?  No?  Well, he was that county singer-composer who penned the lyrics to the infamous tune ‘Joy to the World’.  No, not the Christmas tune; the Three Dog Night tune about a bullfrog named Jeremiah!

Also hailing from Duncan would be Ron Howard (who may or may not be my brother), and former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations, Jean Kirkpatrick.  Beyond that, the balance of those finding their genus in Duncan Oklahoma would only be famous to their own people.  Such is the case with my family.   My father’s clan as well as my mother’s put down roots there, making it a significant place in my heritage.

But nowadays, it seems only one thing takes me back to Duncan – a funeral!  Grandparents and parents; uncles and aunts; headstones pock the Duncan landscape like pepperonis on a Sicilian pizza.  So it was with pleasure I was able to make the trek back to the old hometown for a joyous occasion; the celebration of the 80th birthdays of my Uncle Cliff and his lovely wife Kay!

If Stephens County has a mafia, my Uncle Cliff is assuredly the Godfather in residence!  He wheels and deals, moves and shakes, and God forbid your business should conflict with his business.  More than once I’ve felt compelled to warn him to be careful of dallying around fruit stands, especially if his driver called in sick that day!  If this reference is lost on you, rent the flick ‘The Godfather’.  It’s high time you watched it anyway.  And I’m just kidding around.  Uncle Cliff has never had anybody rubbed out (to my knowledge).

As I continue to put years behind me, the ones ahead seem fewer.  And those I love continue to pass away.  So it was a joy to be able to reunite with uncles, aunts and cousins once again, this side of the great beyond.  I especially enjoyed visiting with my old high school classmate and fishing buddy, Cousin Greg Wallraven.  If memory serves me, I always caught more and bigger fish than him at Aunt Jessie’s pond.  (His recollection may be different.)  And I got to again greet two of his sweet daughters, who I found out are fans of my writings.  It was good to see that Greg finally caught some keepers!

Here’s to fewer funerals and more time with those we love!

Photo: Cousins as pallbearers at Grandmother (Nannie) Wallraven's Funeral, March 1998, Duncan, OK

Back row: Dan Oden, Greg Wallraven, Middle row: Reece Kepler, Joe Kepler, Front row: Mark Wallraven (RIP), Hank Wallraven

About Stephanie - a note to the recipients of her gifts of life!

I met Stephanie when she was 25 and I was 45.  See, I had always run with a bit younger crowd, and she enjoyed hanging with an older crowd.  I was just amazed such a beautiful and vivacious lady would show an interest in me.  That was Memorial Day weekend, 2002.  We fell in love dancing to Country music, and drove to Vegas in my convertible Camaro to get married over Labor Day.

From the beginning Stephanie told me her health wasn’t great, and that I would outlive her.  I passed that off as the babblings of a somewhat immature girl, but she persisted with this notion all the thirteen years I knew her.  And by the way, I soon realized she was anything but immature.  Stephie had a congenital deformity of her heart from birth, and I think she expected to die from that.  In truth, she just had a very weak body hidden behind a hardened steel constitution!

Stephie started having severe migraine headaches, and they found a cyst in her brain.  We were scheduled to go to a neurosurgeon in July, but she died in June.  A few weeks before she died, Stephie sat down and wrote out her wishes.  In that letter to me, she wrote that she wanted her body to be used in any and every way possible to benefit others!  See, Stephie was a recipient of donor bone for a spinal fusion, and wanted to give back.  But she would have wanted to anyway.   Stephie was just a giver and a lover of everyone and everything!

As Stephie collapsed in my arms on that last day we had together, she whispered her last words to me, “You know I love you!”  Stephanie would want you to know, and her son and I want you to know, that you must not feel guilty for benefiting from her death.  She didn’t die to donate her organs.  She died because she was mortal, as we all are.  She was just excited that, should she die, she could continue to show her love after her death by giving of herself to the benefit of others.

Stephanie loved to crochet and made afghans as gifts.  She scrapbooked, and had “scrapping parties” with friends at our home.  She loved to adopt rescue dogs, and we had a houseful!  She liked to say she had a love affair with books, and she owned hundreds of them.  She loved slot machines and the Atlanta Braves – and she loved to dance.  In fact, in the middle of Wal-Mart, at a restaurant or in our own living room, if a waltz came on, we would drop what we were doing and dance right there where we stood!

So her son and I ask that you rejoice with us.  Rejoice that Stephie is no longer in pain, but dancing with her Lord.  Rejoice that hers was a special life, and that even though she died young, while she lived she truly LIVED!  And finally, let us rejoice with you that her final gift gave you a new chance to LIVE your life.

And if you don’t know how to dance, please learn!  Stephie would want it that way.

Sincerely Yours!


(Photo from the dinner show "The Soprano's Last Supper" in Las Vegas, 2006)

The Token Agnostic

Sadness Man In The Shadow by George Hodan
in the public domain

A few days ago a friend told me of her 'token agnostic' friend.  She said he declared himself an agnostic when his wife died.  "I can't believe in a God that would let my wife die so young and before her time," I believe is how he put it.  Then my friend offered her observation that the untimely death of a spouse seems to either drive someone far away from God or draw them much closer to God.  Truer words were never spoken.

While many would offer this man sympathy for the loss of his wife, fewer can offer true empathy.  Surely one would have to suffer a similar tragedy to truly understand what a man goes through when he experiences such great loss.  But I now find myself in the place where I am uniquely qualified to sit down with this self-declared agnostic, and with a heart of compassion and understanding, explain to him why his wife passed from this Earth.

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Such a great and tragic loss could have driven me far from God...

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If you do not know me or have not seen me for a while, you may not know that I buried my dear wife, Stephanie in June 2015.  She was only 38 years of age and her death was unexpected.  And I would venture to say that few couples loved as intensely or cared as deeply for each other as Stephie and me.  Besides being spouses and lovers, we were truly best of friends!  And such a great and tragic loss could have driven me far from a God who would let a wonderful person die at such a young age.  Or, I could find myself running into the arms of a loving and compassionate God to find grace and peace at the most desperate time of my life.

It is true that I grew up attending church and have served in the ministry.  But it was not my ‘religious’ background that drove me toward God in my time of need.  Rather, it was the very need itself; a crushing and devastating loss from which I knew not how to recover.  Had it not been for a loving Heavenly Father, I would not have been able to face that horrible day, or the days, weeks and months to follow.  And it is God and God alone who has given me the peace to move forward with life.  And not only move forward, but continue on with hope and expectation of a wonderful life.  See, while I do not know what tomorrow holds, I do know who holds tomorrow.  And I know He loves me and has a plan for my life… STILL!

And so, having presented my unique qualifications, I now offer an answer to this self-proclaimed agnostic’s question of why his wife died.   Sir, your wife died because she was mortal.  Likewise, you and I are mortal, and will follow our dear wives in death.  In the Bible a very wise man known as the Apostle Paul said, “This mortal shall put on immortality.”  He went on to say that when this happens, then DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP IN VICTORY!  You can read this for yourself in 1 Corinthians 15:54.

The truth I wish to share with you, Sir, is that your wife and my Stephie are not really dead.  Not really.  Oh, they are no longer mortal, and walking with us on this Earth.  But their death – the death we witnessed and mourned – was swallowed up in victory!  At least if they knew Jesus Christ as their Savior it was.  I know Stephie knew Jesus.  I pray your wife did also.    And I pray you also would come to know Jesus, so you too can one day see your mortality swallowed up in victory!

Come on, my friend.  Let’s run to God together!

Of War and Fishing Buddies

If the battle of Gettysburg was the turning point in the war, General William Tecumseh Sherman’s Atlanta Campaign could be considered the home stretch.  It was late in the year of 1863 and General U.S. Grant had taken Chattanooga.  Grant was promoted to general-in-chief of all Union armies, and his old fishing buddy, General Sherman took his place commanding the army of the west.  Sherman’s plan was to march through Atlanta and then onward to the sea, cutting the south in half.  But the Confederate Army had a different plan.

William McCallister Wallraven was a typical Georgia teenager working as a laborer along-side his father when the war broke out.  While others rushed off to enlist and “whoop the Yankees”, young William stayed behind with his folks, Berry and Martha Wallraven, his two brothers and four sisters.   The 1860 U.S. Government census shows the Wallravens living in the Buckhead District of Fulton County, Georgia – now a high rent suburb of Atlanta.  But they were from Gordon County, about midway up the road to Chattanooga.  And with the outbreak of the war they moved back to Gordon County.

The movie Cold Mountain, starring Nicole Kidman and Jude Law, introduced us to a handful of very unsavory characters referring to themselves as the ‘home guard’.  These men (a father and sons in the movie) stayed behind to protect the home front from lawlessness, and any Union soldiers that may have snuck through.  In fact, the Confederate Home Guard did exist.  It was a loosely organized militia under the direction of the Confederate Army, designed to be the last line of defense against the enemy.  But the home guard (or state guard) was also tasked with tracking down and capturing any Confederate deserters.  And, just as portrayed in the movie, there are many accounts of mistreatment, torture and even the murder of deserters by these home guardsmen.

In August 1863 the 1st Regiment Georgia Infantry, State Guards was formed.  This regiment was to serve as local defense for six months.  Company G of the regiment was known as the Gordon Guards, as their job was to defend Gordon County, should their services be needed.  Berry Wallraven and his son William McCallister Wallraven are listed as Privates on the Company G roster (as are President Wallraven, a cousin, and Johathan Wallraven, who may be William’s older brother).

They were probably aware that Chattanooga had fallen, but there is no way Berry and William Wallraven could have known the grand battle plan devised by the Union Army’s western General, William Tecumseh Sherman.    And it could only be described as fateful that Gordon County, Georgia, the land they called home, stood directly between General Sherman and Atlanta.

110,000 Union soldiers marched down upon Privates Berry and William Wallraven (and 55,000 other Confederate soldiers) over the course of two days in May, 1864.  The Battle of Resaca was the first major battle of Sherman’s Atlanta campaign, resulting in the deaths of over 5,500 men and a major victory for General Sherman.   And while we do not know what happened with Berry Wallraven, we do know he lived to at least 1880, and died at the age of at least 66.  William McCallister Wallraven wasn’t so fortunate.  While he was not killed in action, he was taken prisoner of war by Union forces, along with his cousin President Wallraven.

Prisoner exchanges were a common occurrence in the Civil War, and In Sherman’s journal he noted his policy of prisoners being, “…captured, sent to the rear, and exchanged.”  As so it is that the journal Civil War Prisoner of War Records 1861-1865, on file at the National Archives in Washington D. C. records the release of one William Walraven, a Private of the Home Guards, Gordon Co. Company, State of Georgia.  Private Walraven was listed as a man of dark complexion, dark hair, hazel eyes and standing 5’10”.  His release, among many others, was ordered by Union Major General Thomas, and was effected at Chattanooga on 24 MAY 1864, a mere nine days after the bloody Battle of Resaca.

William McCallister Wallraven went on to marry in 1866.  He and his wife, Mary Jane, saw many children and grandchildren.  Berry Wallraven was my 3rd great grandfather.  William McCallister Wallraven was my 2nd great grandfather.  And the 1920 U.S. Government Census records him as a 77 year old head of household.  Among those residing in William’s home was one Dennis Wallraven, age 40.  Dennis was my great grandfather.

And by the way, that same census also records in residence a 12 year old boy named Olen.  That 12 year old boy grew up to be my fishing buddy when I was a 12 year old boy!

On the Field of Battle - The Story of a Father and Three Sons

Helena Arkansas was a town on the Mississippi River, about 50 miles south of Memphis and 100 miles southeast of Little Rock (as the crow flies). Helena was a town of wealth, and a major port on the river. In 1862 the Union Army marched in Helena without opposition, and fortified the town for occupation.

On July 4, 1863 the Confederate army executed an attack on Helena. Under the impression that most of the Union forces in Helena had been relocated to join General Grant in the Vicksburg campaign, they thought the recapture of Helena would be successful. They split forces into three, attacking at dawn from three different directions.

But two things thwarted their plan. First, the Union army had not reduced troops in Helena as they had thought – at least not to the point of weakening it. And second, the Union soldiers had felled trees along all the passages into town. This prevented the Confederates from moving their wagons or artillery up the ridge.

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A father first loves his son, then tries to understand him. But war provides no answers...

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The siege on Helena was a dismal failure. Of the 7,646 Confederate soldiers who marched into the July 4th battle, 173 were killed, 687 wounded and 776 missing; a total of 1,636 men. The Union side fared much better. Of the 4,129 Union soldiers engaged, 57 were killed, 127 wounded and 36 missing; total casualties of 220.

Amos Pitts was the first born son of Levi and Elizabeth Pitts of Clarksville, Arkansas. Amos was born and raised in the USA – specifically in the state of Arkansas. But when Amos was 18 years old the State of Arkansas declared its succession from the Union and became a part of the Confederate States of America – which was at war with the United States of America.

So Amos Pitts enlisted in the Confederate army; specifically Company I, Arkansas 35th Infantry Regiment. The 35th was among those who marched on Helena, and Amos F. Pitts was among those brave Confederate soldiers who fought on that hot July day. And on that day, July 4th, 1863, Private Amos F. Pitts was counted among the 173 Confederate souls who perished on the field of battle.

While Arkansas was a southern state and a part of the Confederacy, being of the “upper south” many of its populace were not keen on the succession, and clung to their unionist sympathies. Arkansas was truly a state where brother was pitted against brother.

With Helena as its base of operations, the Little Rock Campaign was launched. The fall of Vicksburg had freed up thousands of Union troops, and 6,000 infantry were dispatched for the purpose of capturing Little Rock. In September 1863 Maj. Gen. Fredrick Steele’s Union army marched into Little Rock and accepted the surrender of the city. Along the way he lost only 137 men. And having a strong Union presence in Arkansas, and with many of the locals sympathetic to the North, the Union army established several regiments in the state.

Perhaps Levi Pitts of Clarksville, Arkansas pitied his firstborn son Amos for having given his life for the wrong cause. A father first loves his son, then tries to understand him. But war provides no answers – much less, logic, and now this son was lost forever. But Levi had other sons, and his influence over those boys was strong. And so it was that, on the 13th day of January, 1864, Levi Pitts, at the age of 45 left his wife Elizabeth behind to watch over the five youngest kids, and enlisted as a private in the UNION army - 2nd Arkansas Infantry Regiment, Company H. And he was joined by his sons, Hiram K. Pitts, age 21, and Elijah D. Pitts, age 19, who both enlisted in that same Regiment on that same day.

The military operations during the initial days of July 1864 consisted primarily of scouting parties for the Union. On July 9, 1864, Colonel James Stuart dispatched one lieutenant and twenty men from the Tenth Illinois Cavalry Volunteers to scout the area from Huntersville - present-day North Little Rock  - to Little Rock. The Union forces came across a small Confederate party twenty miles north of the city, taking one prisoner and wounding/killing four (the total is unclear in the official records). 

Skirmishes like this one broke out around the periphery of Little Rock following its fall to Union forces in September 1863. At times, the commanding officers of Confederate and Union forces fighting in these skirmishes knew little about their opponent, as evidenced by the official reports.
 - www.encyclopediaofarkansas.net 

On September 20, 1864 at Huntersville, AR (now North Little Rock) Levi Pitts fell, apparently killed by skirmishers loyal to the Confederacy. Then, on December 8, 1864, again at Huntersville, young Elijah Pitts followed his father in death, in like manner.

Of this father and three brothers, only one survived that awful war; Hiram K. Pitts. Hiram went on to marry, and had a daughter they named Lura Lea. Lura Lea Pitts became Lura Lea Kepler when she married my grandfather, John Franklin Kepler.

I lost my 2nd great grandfather Levi Pitts, and two great grand uncles, Amos and Elijah Pitts to the Civil War. In fact, most of us have ancestors whose lives were forever changed by that war. And while my family tree holds others who served, this father and two sons paid what Lincoln called “the last full measure of devotion.”



Sources: 
http://deltabridgeproject.com/assets/Civil-War-Helena-Part-2-History.pdf 
http://couchgenweb.com/civilwar/2arcoh.htm 
http://www.civilwararchive.com/Unreghst/unartr.htm 
http://www.encyclopediaofarkansas.net/encyclopedia 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arkansas_in_the_American_Civil_War 
http://www.ancestry.com 

Illustration: Sherman at Atlanta, by George N. Barnard (in the public domain)

Black Mass Hysteria

The Devil as depicted in the Codex Gigas

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As I write these words certain individuals in my fair city are preparing to worship the Son of Perdition.

Satan, Lucifer, El Diablo; perhaps you call him Beelzebub or the Prince of Darkness.  Maybe you just refer to him as the Devil.  But (with apologies to the Bard) a devil, by any other name, still smells of sulfur.

 A Black Mass is a ritual whereby those who would pay homage to Satan mock the traditions of the Catholic celebration of Mass, usually by stealing a consecrated “host” and desecrating it in ways best left unspoken in this venue.  For my unlearned protestant friends, the host is what we would refer to as the bread in Holy Communion (except for the consecration of said host, which gets into a whole other discussion on transubstantiation vs. consubstantiation, which discussion we shall save for another time).

Of course, there are other individuals - Christian Leaders - who would see this worship service banned.  They have started an on-line petition to the city fathers requesting they withdraw access to the city’s civic center.  Were such a petition to be successful, I would anticipate a similar petition when one of these church fathers tries to rent that same public facility for a Christian worship service.  Such are the ways of a society that practices freedom of religion.

This attempt to fight the Satanists got me thinking – battling the devil in a court of law – wouldn’t that be fighting a spiritual battle in a natural arena?  I would think the best way to stop a satanic ritual is to introduce the Satanists to Jesus Christ as their own savior.

I’m reminded of my friend Joey.  Joey is the pastor of a church in a small town in a small county; a county to which thousands of fans of the rock and roll group Insane Clown Posse would converge annually for several days of drunken debauchery.  Joey and other spiritual leaders of the area tried to stop this yearly desecration of their homeland. They signed petitions.  They fought in the courts. They prayed for hours on end.  But the Juggalos kept coming (Juggalos are fans of the Insane Clown Posse).

Then my friend Joey got a revelation.  “Hey,” he thought, “Instead of fighting this, why don’t we embrace it!”  So Joey got permission from the Insane guys to set up a tent and feed the Juggalos. 

Sandwiches and Salvation!  Joey learned that a couple of sandwiches went a long way with a group of kids that had remembered their beer but forgotten there are no McDonalds in the middle of the forest.   And lo and behold, before the end of the Insane party, my friend Pastor Joey was baptizing ex-juggalos in the Ohio River!

The wisest man who ever lived, Solomon said it best, “There’s nothing new under the sun.”  There aren’t any new devils, just the same old bunch, regurgitated into a new generation of idiots.  And so we have Black Mass Hysteria!  You would think that by now we Christians would have learned how to deal with them.


Illustration from the Codex Gigas, in the public domain.