car shopping

For a year and a half now I've been without car payments after five years of monthly regular installments; so, of course things are going to go wrong now. Three week-ends in a row I've had my PT Cruiser in the shop for overheating, being forced to drive my mother in law's car about town and to work, making me feel needy. Thank God I at least had that option. The weekly mystery was, why was my PT overheating. After 2500 dollars and two months we got the problem fixed but not without leaving me insecure. Having had a dependable vehicle for seven years it was hard to have perfect trust in something that was now unreliable.

Then I got into my car one afternoon and glanced at the gas gauge on my way to the store. Oops, down to empty. That couldn't be right, after all it was just slightly above that before I parked. Then I noticed the speedometer and every other gauge was on zero. Great, another trip to the mechanics and this time I was encouraged to go to the dealer. Some recall affected the circuit that ran the dashboard lights and gadgets and therefore this repair would be cost free! Yea. But while I was at the dealers......why not investigate a new purchase? After all I had time while my car was being doctored.

Meanwhile, I have been diligently reducing my bills, having paid off five credit cards, saving me fifty to a hundred dollars a piece monthly and my house mortgage no longer exited after twenty five years. (No, I 'm not going to tell you how old I am but I was very, very, young when I bought the house!). This meant a monthly cash reserve of five hundred dollars or so.

Oh, the cars I drooled over! It is so hard to concentrate on one vehicle when you have a complete car lot to browse through. The new car looks, colors smells, gadgets. They really had hooks that get under your skin and reel you in. I couldn't imagine driving out of the dealership in my seven year old car, with the floorboards needing vacuuming and the car seats stained from my doggies. And all the junk in the trunk. I had the salesman run some figures by me and was surprised at how affordable a 2008 car would be, especially since all the afore mentioned riches were now at my disposal.

There was no pressure on me to purchase a car right away, but there was a good sales pitch. The salesman knew how to schmoose. He was ready to let me drive a new Jeep Patriot, Jeep Compass or Pt Cruiser off the lot to run my errands in and show my husband while my car was being worked on. Thank heavens I'm not a impulse buyer. I have actually been considering a new car for some time, while in the back of my brain (on a dusty ledge) a thought tugged at my desire to own one car for at least 100,000 miles. My past history with autos ended every seven years, which is where I'm at now. As I sat in each prospective purchase I envisioned myself to be content with it for years. If I could just own "this one car" I'd be content with it for the rest of my life. I was informed of the life time warranty on the transmission and power gadgets under the hood. When I skeptically asked for whose life time I was told for as long as I owned the car, up to and not limited to twenty years. Now I was impressed. I might actually stand a chance of a life time ownership. But I had thought my last car would be my last car! My baby. I had planned on being buried in my PT Cruiser and now I'm considering dumping her because of what probably amounted to my negligence in powder puff mechanics or a national recall.

Then I realized what I had been struck with....The lust of the eyes. The new car look. The new car smell. The new car colors. The clean spotless interiors. The new car warranties. I would be spending thousand of dollars over the next five years on a car to awe people, myself at the top of the list, without giving this one final repair a chance. And in seven more years I'd be just as tired of the looks and make of any car I got today. In seven more years there would be newer and shinier cars with more glitter that I would be tempted to trade a 2008 model in for.

That would be like God saying, okay, you've disappointed me four times now I think I'll throw you in the trash heap and get a new nation. Oh, wait, didn't that happen once? God doesn't get lustful when he sees a new nation develop. He doesn't get tired of us when we malfunction, He doesn't loathe us for the dirt on us or the junk in our hearts. He repairs, washes and vacuums us, and is ready to pick us up again and again and again.......While we are being overhauled he's not out looking for replacements; He waits for us to get steady and go back to serving him.

Oh, the things we can learn while waiting in a service department while our cars get fixed.

National Day of Prayer.

Does any one really believe prayer changes things? That He will really intervene in our nation’s affairs? That taking one day and using it for pray will really be useful?

It isn’t a new thing, this National Day of Prayer. I’m not just referring to it’s fifty seven year history. I recall and old, old story of the Jewish nation being on the verge on eradication, whose last resort was a day of prayer with an added two extra. Last resort? It should have been their first resort, if you’re aware of the victorious out come. People targeted for destruction by Haman, the forefather of Al Qaeda ,were given inner strength, resilience and hope. They didn’t let what appeared on the surface to be the end of their world, be the end of their world. They fought back! I wonder how many participants objected to picking up arms to save their families and way of life? Unfortunately the book of Ester doesn’t reveal those details. Just the fact that victory was quick and sweet. Retaliation, (self defense) only lasted a day or two then partying broke out, with celebration and worship. And giving of thanks to the source of their triumph. They got mad, they got prayerful, they got ready, they got even, they got over it. They never forgot it.

Do those truths apply today? They should. He is after all the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. Like taxes and death, He’s a certain constant factor in the events of history; a much more pleasant constant factor. A ready resource that shouldn’t just be used one day a year. I hope that the Day of National Prayer this May leaves such a good feeling people will carry it on to the other three hundred and sixty four days. After all, batteries need to be recharged to be efficient, recharging our souls regularly, daily, hourly, minutely, and secondly is vital to our success as a nation. We are to pray without ceasing. I’ve heard the adage that practice makes perfect, well it should be modified to “perfect practice makes perfect“. If we keep practicing our mistakes we just make perfect mistakes. If we perfect our prayers we make perfect decisions based on the Source that responds to our requests.

One of the admonitions of Purim (the holy day our Jewish brothers use to commemorate Ester’s heroism in saving her people) is to not read the story of Ester backwards. Meaning, don’t just read it as ancient history, irrelevant for contemporary applications. Well, if you are to any degree a philosopher, you should know that history has a tendency to repeat itself. In Ester’s day there were religious zealots bent on the destruction of other religions, thankfully we know that doesn’t happen today. We all live in peace and acceptance of each other’s views. Not. Just as a day, or two, or three, of prayer and fasting saved God’s faithful millennia ago, don’t you think he can do it now. Look at the World Trade Centers and see if Haman’s evil descendants have experienced success in destroying his foe. Not on your life. It encouraged a nation to band together and fight. To pray. To produce heroes, as on Flight 93, and all the participants of ground zero.

A Day of National Pray is a start. Don’t let it be a one time thing, or merely an annual thing. Make it habitual. We have been warned that He won’t listen to us if we just come to him only in times of trouble. He’ll inform us He has no idea who we are. Times of trouble are when we first meet lawyers and doctors. It shouldn’t be the first time we meet Him.

Ester 4:13-17
Ester 9:1-17
Ester 9:17-19
Isaiah 1:12-15

Buz

I’ve had Buz for fifteen years since he was three months old. I’ve watched him grow from a toddler to adolescent to married man to widow to centenarian in just one third of my life time. I disciplined him when he was young to keep him safe. I played with him to keep him close to me. I talked to him so he knew the sound of my voice. I cared for him so he’d know I was his master. I’m still in my prime and he’s got one foot on the banana peel.

He went deaf first. I thought that was horrible, not being able to hear the sound of my voice warning him of danger or calling him to eat. Yet, he compensated for his handicap. He learned sign language. When I waved him over he would trot towards me voice unheard. He knew who I was and that I was communicating with him so he didn't seem to really miss his ability to hear.
Dinner time? Not a problem, whenever I was just passing through the kitchen was dinner time as far as he was concerned. He could smell me peel a banana three rooms away. When ever I crossed to the pantry, refrigerator or sink he would be under my feet, sometimes literally, yapping for a hand out. You'd think he never got fed, he definitely never went hungry. He made his requests known and I honored them, many times before he even barked. I was always rewarded by his excitement, his eagerness to be near me. His gratitude expressed in wet sloppy kisses that I hungered for.

Then his sight started fading, he was 105 years old after all. He developed cataracts that obscured his vision and kept worsening. Every day I'd find him standing still in some room just looking ahead, not aware of anything around him, deaf and legally blind. I would walk over him and slightly caress his head and ears to make my presence known. He was never startled. He knew I was around somewhere. Even though his sight was poor he still followed my shadow from room to room. He'd wait by my treadmill as I worked out then follow me to the kitchen for his morning treat. Or should I say for his day long treats that were only interrupted by the night long naps I, his owner, took. Oh, by the way, he sleeps near me by my pillow and hence, my head, all night long, and yes, he snores.

One day Buz was outside barking, looking straight up at the sky with his tail wagging to beat the band. Nothing urgent was in his manner. He just stood on all fours patiently waiting for me to answer his summons. And, just as he expected I came. He caught me out of the corner of his eyes and his face turned in my direction. I lifted him and escorted him to the porch where I set him down and made sure he trotted straight ahead into the house. Once when I was negligent he veered to the right, toppled off the four foot high porch, landed on his nose on the concrete covered ground, cushioned by a leaf covered garden hose. I rushed to his side fearful he'd broken his neck. The seconds it took me to get to his side I administered self flagellation, how could I have been so lackadaisical. I picked him up and cradled him against my chest while he shook his head fiercely snorting to expel grass and dirt from his snout. Apparently he'd survived my negligence without giving my any lectures on my carelessness. I now no longer just settle him on the porch without being assured he goes straight into the house.

Deaf and blind he still enjoys life. He still wags his whole body in excitement at feeding time. He still looks forward to his times outside, in his familiar backyard. When he gets lost coming back to the house he just barks for me knowing I'll come. He just knows it beyond a doubt, that I’ll come without hesitation to point him in the correct direction if not carry him in my arms. He's never had any reason to doubt that I'll be there for him.

Too make a long story short, (oops, too late!) blind and death, he knows I’m there, that I’ll never let him down, (well maybe that once when he plummeted off the porch!) He learned this as he grew up. He remembers it in his declining years. He knows I’ll meet his needs for food, water, protection, that I’ll come when he calls if he is just persistent in summoning me. He has blind faith, and even though he can’t hear my voice he knows how to read my signs, or he did until his vision got clouded with cataracts. Isn’t that how our relationship with God should be? He watches us grow and teaches us things along the way so that in our declining years we can have a relationship that is secure, built on a lifetime of experiences. Our lives are much less than one third of God’s existence as it takes a thousand years to make a day for him, yet we are still important to him.

CHRISTIAN ART

There truly is nothing new under the sun. I went from exhibit to exhibit at the “Picturing the Bible, the Earliest Christian Art” presentation at the Kimball Art Museum in Fort Worth, Texas, totally enchanted. A collection of art from the early church history, starting around the third century when Christianity was sanctioned by Constantine and was allowed to come out of hiding, filled room after room guarded by gallery attendants. The visitors to the museum all walked about reverently viewing the display cases and listening to audio presentations. It was as solemn as a church service.

The early Christians had the same emotions and desires we have in the twenty first century! Things really don’t change as far as humans go. They wanted to bury their dead in style. I thought our coffins could be unrealistically elaborate, but….these sarcophaguses would have been beyond my budget even by the standards of the third century. Marble with detailed carvings of bible scenes depicting salvation. Noah and the ark, Jonah and the serpent, Moses leading his people through the red sea, Jesus raising the dead, Jesus rising from the dead, all images of rebirth, salvation and hope. These were obviously paid for by society‘s elite. We place our 12,000 dollar plus boxes in the ground, while these sarcophagus were placed in catacombs where they could be admired occasionally, at the next burial. Where the dioramas could lead someone else to a life changing decision. I wonder how many artisans came to Christ as they researched their subject matter while etching for long hours bible stories into the marble.

And our mausoleums…nothing compared to the artwork on these frescos in the catacombs. Done by hand they told story after story from the old and new testaments. They were modern day devotionals. Testaments of the faith.

And the statures they used for funerary art, spectacular, intricate in detail. Jonah and the Good Shepherd were popular themes. The statures could also have set on end tables in some family’s house to remind them of the bible and its truths, just like we decorate our homes with crosses and angels. They had lamps to burn oil in, made of silver or clay, shaped like ships with Peter and Paul in them, or the ark with Noah and the animals, similar to our novelty lamps. Ornately engraved silver platters like you can find at any modern day department store to add festive touches to dining. Goblets with Christian symbols for church. Crosses? Oh they had some fantastic crosses. One reliquary gold cross with forty or so semi precious jewels that once held a splinter from the cross of Jesus was specially cared for in a temperature controlled display case. I’m no big believer of things that once belonged to the dead having any miraculous significance but I do know God had the Israelites set up stones in the red sea and alters along the way for memorials, so little reminders of our loved ones go a long way.

Two of the saddest tombstones I saw were of a 22 year old wife and a six year old child (not related). Even back then, especially back then, death hit early and hard. Even back then some parents cried: Why me? Why my son? Why so young? And a husband went to bed alone one night, saddened by loss but proud he was able to provide a marble headstone for his loved one who he knew he’d see again some day.

One question that came to mind though as I walked past sarcophagus after sarcophagus, was …where are the inhabitants. Some one paid dearly for their cherished one to be properly interred and now, the sarcophagus is empty and where are the remains? I see the possessions of deceased people, but no people. How long after death does grave robbing turn into an archeological excursion? If I spent tons to bury someone, I’d want them to stay buried. If I paid for a luxury coffin, I wouldn’t want it to be used freely for show without my permission, something that would be hard to acquire millennia after I die.

Other Items that interested me included the reliquary boxes, made of sheet silver with elaborately embossed scenes from the bible. A reliquary box held the remains of martyrs, or pieces of cloth that might have come in contact with the apostles, or even actual pieces of the apostles. Some reliquaries were buried under churches named in honor of it’s contents. How different are we today? We bury prestigious people in the National Cathedral where the public has access to pay eternal respects. Why? They’re dead. There is nothing special about their bodies. No special dispensation will fall on us for touching their remains. We carry hair snippets of our kids, place cremated remains of dad and mom on our mantels, and get personal belongings of loved ones to hold on too.

The early Christians even wore jewelry just like you and I do. Rings with saints and bible characters. The third and fourth century James Avery’s were kept busy with a growing market. Jewelry made of gold, and silver. Nothing has changed. These were real people who were born, lived, loved, married, had their own children, worked, bathed, dressed up, dined, worshiped and died. They craved the same things we do. Food, prestige, adornment, illumination for their homes, freedom to worship, and a place to be buried where they could find their bodies again at the resurrection.

Yes, I disapprove of grave digging, of intruding into the personal lives of the deceased, but nothing has changed. I’m just as much a voyeur as the next person. Count me in the long line of hypocrites because I do recommend this display of our early church family’s lives as worth paying to see.

Heart Health

(this is a true story)

It started with her carotids; no, it started with her eyes. Ellen (not her real name) had been complaining of seeing spots or floaters in her vision so she made an eye appointment. The eye doctor examined her then referred her to a vascular doctor, go figure. It seems something in the eyes’ blood vessels signaled vascular problems. The tests ordered by a vascular surgeon revealed 90 percent plus clogged carotids( the main arteries to the brain) . In the case you don’t know, that’s not good, it means the brain wasn’t receiving adequate nourishment and could precede a transient ischemic attack (TIA, mini stroke) or full blown stroke. After the studies she was kept in an observation unit till she was fully recovered from the sedatives she’d been given for the tests. When she called me to come pick her up she was scared and refusing to go home. It seemed her blood pressure was too high for her liking and she feared a crippling brain infarction. When I got in to see her, I agreed, her blood pressure needed to be evaluated. The doctor that had ordered the tests informed us that her high blood pressure was a good thing at this point since it was keeping her brain perfused (oxygenated), sending vital blood flow past the clogged passageways.

The next step was scheduling surgery to get her carotids cleaned out. One at a time is the safest approach, leaving one artery alone to work while the other healed. So one side was repaired and six weeks latter the opposite side was fixed. She was off work for two weeks each time, and since we carpooled that gave me a wonderful break even though I checked up on her regularly. Now, I’m no doctor, I’m just a "dumb" Registered Nurse, but I suggested to my friend, Ellen, that if her carotids were so bad maybe she needed to have her coronary arteries (arteries in the heart itself) investigated, they were after all smaller than the carotids. Ever hear the word stubborn? In the dictionary, my friend’s picture is on the same page. She insisted that wasn’t necessary. Well, okay, it was her life so I let it go…until…

A year later, Ellen, now in her early 60’s, started complaining of an ache, not a pain, in her left arm that went up her neck and through her left shoulder blade, she blamed the problem on her trip to Houston and the high humidity. I begged her to go to the emergency room for days. She argued; “I can’t just walk in there without seeing my primary physician!” She was right, she could barely walk from work to our car in the parking garage without getting short of breath. With the shortness of breath came anxiety. Something was wrong and yet she refused to get medical help till she contacted her primary physician who was out of town, she wouldn't see his backup, it was her primary or no one! She saw our insurance rules in black and white. Some people feel like insurance companies get the final say.

“Yes you can! Call his office and the answering machine will say ‘if it’s a medical emergency go to the emergency room!’ ” She wouldn’t do it because it wasn’t a medical emergency! Denial in progress. She was smarter than me. (interpretation, more obstinate )

Did I mention, we’re both nurses, and we both work in surgery? That gave me lots of resources. I got three doctors to try to persuade Ellen to go to the emergency room. No good. Then I got the director of surgery to talk to her, still no good. She finally decided to go after her favorite anesthesiologist persuaded her. I accompanied her and waited till she was assigned an examining room,(after an hour wait in triage, women's symptons aren't always taken seriously!) then told her to call me to come pick her up.

After three hours I called the E.R to check on her only to find out that no one knew who she was. Now I was furious, she must have called a taxi after I left and went home! I called and left several messages on her machine. She didn’t have the nerve to call me back. Then an idea came to me. I called our department conveniently located right above the E.R and had someone go down. There was Ellen still waiting for all her tests results. The emergency room personal didn’t know what the right hand was doing!! At least I was no longer mad at my dear friend. It had been loving anger, but it was anger just the same. She was admitted to the hospital that night. I didn’t feel any better about being right when the next day my supervisor popped into my room at work and informed me Ellen had three severely blocked coronary arteries and was scheduled for emergency bypass surgery later in the day. If she had ignored me and her symptoms much longer she‘d being sitting with Jesus now. Not a bad thing, but why rush it, obviously he still has work for her to do down here. Though her physical heart was damaged her spiritual heart keeps me going, she is the most generous person I’ve ever met and this world would not be the same without her.

That has been several years now, and she is still working and praising the person who saved her life. Me?Of course not, I was the nagger. One of the doctors I convinced to talk to her had become her hero! I may have been the one who pleaded and begged with her, and then got the doctors and director involved but she credits her favorite doctor for saving her life!!

This whole story is to illustrate how important it is to watch out for ourselves. Women, we have different symptoms than men and need to take charge of our health. Our greatest deterrent to self care is denial. We don’t have time to be sick, we care for our husbands, kids, pets ect. The world can’t go on without us so we put our care last. Stop it. The world won’t come to a screeching halt if you step back and look after yourselves but it just might stop if you drop dead in your tracts before your appointed time. And so many things can be done to postpone sudden death. Not all risk factors can be changed, (like age, heritary, sex) but following a regular exercise and diet regimen, and of course giving up smoking, can certainly add years and quality to your lives!

Pro. 11:14
Mark 2:17Luke 5:31
Acts 28:8-9
James 5:15

Heart Attack Symptoms in Women

Heart attack symptoms are different for men and women. some warning signs for women. Very few pre-menopausal women have heart attacks, unless they smoke, have diabetes, or are on birth control pills for a long period of time.
Smoking seems to be the biggest risk factor:
• Nausea and vomiting that won’t stop • Breathlessness (but not sighing) with exertion or especially if it wakes you up at night
• Chest discomfort that starts behind the breast bone and radiates to either shoulder or arm, neck, or to the lower (but not upper) jaw
• Discomfort in the lower jaw especially if it occurs only with exertion or will not go away
• Discomfort in the upper back especially if it occurs only with exertion or will not go away
• Discomfort in the chest or back that occurs when doing usual chores after a large meal • Sudden onset of weakness that won’t go away
• Sudden racing heart sensation with a very fast pulse
• Sudden loss of consciousness
• Physical inability to perform usual household chores Who is most at risk with these symptoms? The more of these factors that apply to you, the greater your risk:
• Menstruation has stopped
• Smoking • Family history of arteriosclerotic heart disease before age 60
• High blood pressure (even treated)
• Diabetes (even mild, even treated)
• Obesity
• High cholesterol (even treated) ???

WWPD: What Would Patrick do?

Over some 1500 years ago a young sixteen year old was kidnapped from his family and country and transported to a land of pagans where he was enslaved. He was taken from a wealthy family, his father was a deacon of sorts, probably for the tax incentive, so Patrick’s home wasn’t necessarily Christian, yet he had exposure. While enslaved as a shepherd for six years young Patrick developed his own personal relationship with God. Hardships and difficulties tend to either make or break the spirit, with Patrick it made him seek God out for consolation. Eventually, God told Patrick it was time to go home,(I wouldn't have needed any prompting on this score!) so he traveled 200 miles over hostile lands to reach safety, from there he returned to Britain and studied religion, a free man again.

Now once home you think he would stay put, but no. This ex slave, this rich boy turned shepherd, turned bishop received a vision to minister to the very people that had snatched him from those he loved and stole six years of his life. I would have questioned that vision. I would have asked, “Why tell me I could come home just to send me back? I was already there!“ I would have argued with that vision. I would have begged for another assignment, but it seems that Patrick was more obedient than I am. After fifteen years and with some learning under his belt he went back to the hills of his oppression. Oh, my gosh, what bravery. What love. No mention of post traumatic stress syndrome here! He spent twenty years, building monasteries, schools, churches and fighting the Celtic druids, Satan’s servants and winning. Sound familiar, read I Kings 18, yet, I haven't heard of a St. Elijah's day, have you? Patrick won souls for God among those that had treated him poorly. He was a exemplary missionary. He had more love than I. Wait! Maybe that is what the six years of slavery were for, to make him aware of Ireland’s lost souls. Providence? Remember the story of Joseph being sold into slavery and saving his family? Have you heard of a St. Joseph's day? Me neither.

Patrick died on March 17th and that has been made into a holy day in his honor. A day for prayers to missionaries world wide. That is well and good, missionaries need our prayers, we all know that. But….where do the green beer, the shamrock and leprechaun come in to this celebration. Once again, Americans have taken something holy and turned it into some thing secular. Something politically correct. The shamrock a sacred symbol representing the birth of spring by the Celts, is now the representation of the God head. Leprechauns, grouchy little Celtic spirits who used their magical powers for good or evil, walk around pubs handing out green beer, after all Ireland is the green land. Oh, and they hide their pot of gold, whereas God wants us to find his riches. Where are the crosses, the signs of Christianity being brought to the lost, remembrances of God’s divine providence? What would Patrick think of this day set aside for him? I’m guessing, and this is just a guess, that he would have favored the day if God was given top billing. If the day brought thoughts of God and our reconciling ministry to the lost. If we used the day going door to door, or country to country, trying to save souls from spiritual death, rather than pub hoping and drinking green beer,(that doesn‘t even sound appetizing to me!)

Instead of walking up to someone and pinching them for not wearing green on St. Patrick’s day, surprise them with something from God. A testimony to save their souls, or a prayer for their health and safety. Give them an opportunity to find what Patrick brought to the lost of Ireland, the gospel of Christ. Or...send money or gifts to your favorite foreign missionary or charity. Saint Patrick’s day is about a man who died for all people everywhere, Jesus Christ himself. It should be a day for all missionaries. Paul, Peter, the apostles; none of them sought extra favors, they knew they were just men doing a king-size job for the King himself.

Oh, and the story about Patrick expelling all the snakes out of Ireland being just a legend., it's true, Patrick practically single handedly (with the help of  his higher power, of course,) banished the old serpent, Lucifer, and his wiggly little minions, from the green isles.

Gen 45:1-8
1 Kings 18:20-40
Math. 28:19-20
Act 10:10-26, 34
2 Cor. 5:18-19

the send off

What a send off. There was standing room only. At the back of the church people were standing two upon two. I went up to the front to view the body. He was lying there with a green t-shirt that says "love is everything", a qoutation from First Corinthians. I don't care what people say, he may have looked good but he didn't look like the pictue that was on three screens around the auditorium's stage. He was simply a shell. The sourse of his beauty was his spirit and that was gone.

There were many flower arrangements, some with photos, some with memorabilia hung to them. I could have set up shop with all the blooms lining the platform. God help anyone with allergies. Beside him was a podium with his bible and some batman paraphanalia. He was a batman fan. Some of the attendees to this event wore their batman t-shirts in his honor. Others wore the identical green t-shirt he had on.

The occasion got initiated with six youth walking down the aisle, wearing shorts, sandals, jeans and tennis shoes, carrying huge drums. After they played cadence they marched off stage to the right.

Then began the slide show that filled in the past fifteen years. Some pictures made us laugh, especially the one with him tackling a super huge pizza by himself. We saw him standing next to the roped off batmobile when he was younger. We saw him hugging his mother, friends, cousins. We saw him semi-naked as a infant. How would he have responded to that?

The eulogies came next. Given by his father and grandfather. We laughed at their memories. It was appropriate. We reflected on his mission. His mission was to follow the Lord. If no one was saved during this time at least a seed was planted to grow latter. That would have meant everything to him.

Why did God take him so soon,especially since he was committed to be a minister for him? Did God see something in his future that he would be spared from? What must he have thought as he was running with his pals that Thursday and suddenly found himself running through the clouds to the pearly gates. No time to suffer. What jubilation. He got a first hand experience of all he'd learned about heaven. No warning. Isn't that what we'd wish for all our relatives and loved ones? If he'd been asked he might have said, "Not now, my family needs me and I have people to save and messages to preach." We're never consulted by the big guy. He knows what's best. None of us would want to pick the time of our departure. No matter we know the outcome, we don't want that power. Its done best by the one who knows all. Wait a minute. This was an sermon unequaled. How else to get so many teenagers together in one place? To hear about the young man's faith and hopes. To show each and everyone of them of the urgency of accepting Jesus. There may not be a tomorrow for them, either. If it hit one of them suddenly whose to say whose next? What a wonderful plan. God used him to preach to these teenagers in need of salvation! When they get saved the word will spread faster than it would by the actions of one! God is all knowing an all loving! His ways and thoughts are still higher than mine! He still gives answers to seekers.

After all was said a group of thirty or so youth stood. They lifted their brass instruments to their lips and emitted a touching instrumental. It was loud. It was emotional. This is where my eyes misted. The service was timed so his band could attend. He had played with them. Now their ranks were down one because he was off somewhere learning the harp.

We all walked by his coffin to say good bye. Outside numerous students were hugging an crying and being instructed in time management, getting ready for their time. We only have today,and we're not guaranteed the full twenty four hours. Behold, now is the day of salvation. Don't let his passing be without purpose. Let the seed grow into a Mighty oak planted by the waters of life. That would have pleased him.