Me?  I’m what some people call a ‘loner’.  And I usually describe myself as one who can be alone, even in a crowd.  Not that I’m not friendly.  I just like being alone.

When I started working in banking in 1972, I was kind of forced to do what was very uncomfortable for me – work with, deal with, and converse with people, mostly strangers. Again, it’s not that I’m not friendly.  You see, I have a bi-lateral hearing loss, and I don’t always hear exactly what people say.  For example, when I was young, someone commented about a relatively new piece of apparatus, called a ‘tv’.  I heard ‘tb’, and started talking about the disease my one uncle had.  Needless to say, that conversation went south in a hurry.

Well anyway, let’s get to my topic – Christian friendships.  Most Christian folks are the greatest!  My friends accept people as they are, without trying to ‘convert’ everyone they meet.  We joke, and laugh, and really take interest in others.  Eating out seems to be a favorite activity.  Not only do we enjoy the meals, but usually (it seems) people are just more relaxed and at ease while sitting around the table.  Conversations flow without those long ‘dead air’ gaps when folks are trying desparately to think of something to say.  Christians also have the luxury of automatically having something in common with other Christians.  And if we run out of things to share, we can always discuss God, His Son, His Spirit, His Word (the Bible), His promises, His purposes … the list goes on and on.  You see the subjects are endless because we’re talking about God, and He’s timeless, having always been and will always be. 

Before I became a Christian, I thought I had friendships.  But (in my case) most of them were only ‘moochers’, trying to satisfy their own wants and needs, without ever really giving anything in return.  Plus we usually ended up doing things that left me feeling sick (hungover in my case).  The only hangover I have now is from experiencing joy in the company of my Christian friends.  If you haven’t experienced that kind of pleasure, contact me at garnet@pa.net.  We can e-talk about it!

More about the Pleasures of Being a Dad, continued

In April 2002, my father passed away at the age of 89, almost 90. My son, Deron, bought Pap’s house, which Pap had built in 1944. It was OK for Mom, Dad, and us three boys, but in 2002 … ? Well, let’s just say it was OK for us. Deron, who got a degree as an electronics technician, and later began training as an electrician, bought Pap’s house as a ‘project’.

Pap was a lifetime carpenter, who would take the child, Deron, with him during school breaks and weekends, doing odd jobs for his friends.

As Deron proceeded with remodeling his house, I was amazed at how much he had learned about carpentry from hanging aroung with Pap. Deron started renovating the entire house, one room at a time, tearing all the walls off, re-wiring the entire house, replacing all the windows, putting insulation everywhere (because there was none or very little previously), then hanging drywall, doing the spackling and the painting. He even ended up doing some minor plumbing, which he’ll tell you, ‘I can do it but it’s not something I like to do’.

Anyway, when Deron was finished with his project, he had the house reappraised. When we three sons of Pap had it appraised for estate purposes, it was estimated at $50,000. You’ll never believe what Deron’s appraisal came to when it was done – $140,000!!! Not much in the scheme of things in today’s society. BUT, from $50,000 to $140,000, in just over a year, ought to give you some idea of the efforts he exerted.

Well, I’ve about exerted all the effort I’m going to for this article. So, you all come back now, hear?

continued

Last article I wrote about the pleasures of being a Dad. Though it was almost 37 years ago that Deron was born, it seems like I just blinked my eyes and, ‘poof”, he’s all grown up, married, 2 step children, and a terrific wife! All those years passed so quickly, but I cherish each moment that I spent with him.

When Deron was about 9 years old, playing little league ball, I did such a stupid thing that almost destroyed our family. I believe it has affected our relationship to this day. Deron quit playing ball and started working for an Amish family, picking various produce in their fileds. He has never been shy when it comes to hard work.

Our interests were almost totally opposite. I love baseball; he quit playing. I hated hunting and winter sports in general (too cold). He became and is an avid hunter; he even learned to ski (burrr), and pretty well, too, having tackled the slopes of Mount Killington (I believe in Vermont).

Well when he turned 21, I realized he’d be going out on his own soon, so I decided to go hunting with him so we could do something together that he enjoyed. I learned a lot over the years, but never really developed that burning desire to hunt like he has. We probably hunted together for about 15 years. Then I quit because prescription medications I’m taking cause my feet to swell, and I just have too much difficulty getting around in the mountains.

Well, before this article turns into a mountain of words, I’ll sign off for now. Catch you later.

It all started on the morning of January 11, 1973. (Well technically, it started before that, but for this article, we’ll stick to January 11, 1973.) My wife tells me, “It’s time!”. So without hesitation, we jump in the car and rush to the hospital. Having already picked out a boy’s name 6 months earlier, I decided to look through a book of girls’ names while I’m waiting. Turns out I didn’t have to do that, because the nurse comes out to announce, “It’s a boy, and everybody’s fine”. I’m led back to a room where Mom and Deron are. I look at him and think, ‘I hope he doesn’t look like that forever.’ Well the hospital has a no visitation policy in effect because of some outbreak (can’t remember exactly), but I don’t see Mom and son till 3 days later, at their discharge. Boy, has he changed! What a great looking kid. And a smile that just lit up the room! I grab him up, we go to the car, and he lays on my shoulder as I drive to Gram’s house. After a visit there, (long enough to get a lifetime promise for free baby sitting) we head home to begin my journey of parenting. Thank goodness for God’s grace, mercy, and forgiveness , because I was (and am) in need of all of them. I’ll have more  to share in future articles of the adventures of being a Dad. But I’ll say this in closing: it has been one of the greatest pleasures in my life, for which I am most thankful.

Now, right away, I just know there are some who are saying, “You can’t know God. He’s invisible, His ways are so far beyond our ways, there’s no way you can know Him.”  Well, that may be what keeps a lot of people from even seeking to know Him. When I accepted Jesus as my Saviour, I developed an insatiable desire to read the Bible. I read It from cover to cover several times. And I believe I learned a lot about God. But something just didn’t seem right. Then it dawned on me. I knew about Him but didn’t really know Him. So I started to ask myself some questions, like, “How do I know Mom, Dad, George, Jerry, Doris, Deron, Bill, Jack, Rex, Theresa, or Teresa?” Well, it came to me, that I knew them because I spend time with them, whether sitting in a room talking, or going out to eat, or participating in activities together, etc.  So I decided to approach God in that attitude: I’m going to talk to Him, take Him with me when I eat out, and take Him along when I go to the game. Whatever! You know what? I believe I can say I’m getting to know Him, not just know about Him. Try it. It might work for you too.