How Did We Arrive ~~~ Forty-five Minutes with Tony

Both born in the late 1950’s ~~ but immediately in our conversation, it became evident that this is where the similarities end.

Was it because of our recent teaching at church ~~ of ‘Generosity’ – was it because I have the gift of gab – or perhaps it is because I’m your ‘non-conventional’ kind of guy, often living in places and circumstances that most would never venture and likely would not even become a passing thought.

Turning onto Sunnyview, both his sign and panhandling location captured my attention. Immediately the thought crossed my mind ~~ how could two similar aged individuals end up in complete opposite life experiences? So, I turned the car around, drove up to him and asked, “Would you like a meal for a conversation?” With a smile, he said, “Yes”! But, “It’ll have to be something soft, I don’t have teeth”.

With Taco Bell in hand, I returned and offered the passenger seat for our dining room. Over the next forty-five minutes Tony and I chatted about his birth in Astoria, to short stints in South Dakota and Iowa, about a favorite vacation with his brother into the Florida Keys, and his greatest job as a nurses assistant. I wanted this just to be what it was, that is two men in their early 60’s having a conversation. Questions weren’t such as to be prying, rather truly concerned for who he was, and how he arrived. I never sensed that he was threatened by my questions, and he rather enjoyed having a time to talk and be listened to.

He was very vulnerable with both his drug problem, and his twelve year prison sentence and why he was there. He told of life with a seven hundred dollar a month Social Security, and living in his tent. He said that he daily lives with the regret for which he was imprisoned and how he works to overcome placing himself into that position ever again. He offered without even a question that which guides him most ~~ that is knowing that Christ loves him and died for his sins, for which he says, “Are many!”

We are less than a year apart in age, but millions of miles separate our life experience. Sometimes I wonder what more can we ... can I do?

Choices ~~~ perhaps it is nothing more than choices. I don’t know. I can’t figure this one out. What I know, what I believe ~~~ is that generosity flows from gratefulness. This week marks the 32^nd anniversary of my mothers death. And I’m grateful for her choice to work hard and demonstrate it in such way that I/we were never hungry ... never without clothes … never without a roof over our heads. Never! And yet, we could have been. And I’m grateful to a God who created and redeemed this soul. My hope is that generosity will never cease to flow from the gratefulness that has been part of my life … of my living.

Cart in Tow - Tony off to Refund his Cans

I asked if I may take a picture in order to pray for him. And pray, I will! Then offered him my two bags of cans for deposit, the very reason for why I was on Sunnyview in the first place. He loaded them onto his shopping cart and away he went. Might God truly work in his life. And might we invest some moments into the Tony’s of this world. And perhaps into boys and girls, that we can reinforce life-skills in such a way that their choices will be such, as to never experience the most difficult path of Tony. 

 

 

 

Her Smile

 As usual, it was a typical sunny day in Las Vegas, Nevada towards the end of February, 2009. As I reached for the front door, I looked back one last time. Her smile, the very first during this visit, will remain as my very last memory.

She was of direct French decent, not even five feet tall, yet tougher than anyone I ever knew. My memories of this lady are very dear and fond. Especially of those from the 1960’s & 70’s. But as well, throughout her last decade of life from 1999 to 2009. During these years I would often travel to Las Vegas (her home) to check in on her, accomplish some home repairs, and enjoy both our time and chats together.

Her name was Cecile Blanche Bonnette, born to Francois and Delia in southern New Hampshire in the year 1925. Both her stories from her childhood and her marriage (to Harold) present themselves with immense struggle and heartache. That said, she was a fighter, I knew her as such, and one of those who quote, “Would give you the shirt off their back” kind of people. Many knew her as Cissy or Sis. I called her ‘Nana’, for she was my maternal grandmother.

As a child in the 1960’s Christmas was often a celebration with presents under a tree almost bigger than the tree itself. I was too young to know then, that most of those gifts were from Santa herself, aka Nana. At times they were a result from winning at Santa Anita … yes, betting on the ponies. Yet, whether from the horses, the slots, or her own paycheck, she always made sure that our Christmas was a major event for my siblings and I. Even my first car, a Plymouth Valiant, oh baby

Nana (in dark) with sisters

… Green and slant six … was from her and my grandfather Gordon.

From the late 1970’s into the early 1990’s moves between Oregon, to Alaska and a return to Oregon provided only a handful of visits. But shortly after the death of her sister and roommate Rita, from 1999 until her own death, I determined to check in on her as often as possible.

~~ A 'slugger' ~~

One of my two fondest memories during those years was at breakfast time. Though I never asked her to do this, I determined that it was her way of remembering how she would do likewise for her love … my grandfather, Gordon Menveg. With the wonderful aroma of eggs, bacon and homemade hash browns in the air, she would ask me to sit at the table, having placed the morning paper (yes, when there actually was a paper) onto the table with the sports section laid to the top. For a breakfast appetizer she would cut a grapefruit in half and delicately slice each section so that every chuck could simply be lifted with a spoon.

My second memory were of the chats that we would so enjoy. At first she was reluctant to tell many of the stories, but with persistence, I was able to convince her, explaining that I would be the last person that she would divulge them to. They told of her childhood, my mothers childhood, of hard work and a difficult life. I had come to see why she was so very reluctant. And now I know that some of those stories, they will forever die with me.

I’m sadden to know that such hardship exist. Such sadness was reinforced this past week. While searching for the spelling of her middle name I came across her divorce document from one of her marriages dated January of 1952. On this document it states, “The marriage contract annulled, for the cause of extreme cruelty”. I knew from stories told, that the particular last episode in question was on Christmas eve of 1951. Even so, to read “extreme cruelty” --- my heart aches for all that she had to endure. I’m so sorry Nana, I’m so very, very sorry!

But here I was, the end of February 2009, positive that this was my last visit. So looking back after reaching for the front door knob, God gifting me with one last smile from a lady who is remembered not for her troubled life. No, she will forever hold the memory of one who was determined, who worked hard, and endured, and gave of herself in such a way, that Nana, I hope to always do likewise.

Forever grateful,

Your grandson, Rick                                 

 

                            

 

I Want to Hurt ~~ No More!

 I watch the absolute foolishness of cancel culture, tearing down of statues, removing the likes of Dr. Seuss ~~ and think ~~ does life not have more serious issues than these? I see with sadness the attempt to make boys into girls, and the removal of “white” altogether. Have we honestly lost all sense of what it means to live ~~ and live in a manner as our Creator intended?

These are but a few of the most insane issues of our time. I hurt for these, I hurt for the political divide, but I wish to ... I Want to Hurt ~~ No More!

My morning has been deluged with bouts of intense & overwhelming grief and tears. No, not for the above, rather for the serious & honest issues in which life … true life becomes reality.

I wonder for the above how many are living in their seventh decade? How many in less than a twenty-four hour period have been burdened with not one, but three critical and personal life events? An uncle with a stroke, struggling to regain mind and strength. A close friend whose threat of suicide is such that they find themselves in a behavioral ward. Another close friend, years younger, who has been in and out of hospital Emergency and ICU departments more often in the past two years than most will ever experience in a lifetime, or even two.

Add to these, the accumulation through the years of stories, history & knowledge given in confidence ~~ the burden of such ~~ well, if you were not broken from your own challenges, these could possibly bring the ultimate in brokenness.

So Rick, what are you driving at? Are you solely unloading your burden in order to create greater burdens for the rest?

No ~~ I write this blog because of the hope that is found in the midst of brokenness. I write with gratefulness to Matthew West, to Bart Millard & Kristian Stanfill whose music, inspired by the life of Christ, this morning has so provided sips of living water and hope even the midst of this brokenness. I’m reminded that if the “Truth Be Told”, I’m broken! That, “Even If” God does not change this moment, this intense season of grief, “My hope is (in Him) alone. I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt – Would all go away if (He’d) just say the word – But even if (He doesn’t), My hope is (in Him) alone”. And Mr. Stanfill writes, “When I was broken, You were my healing. Now Your love is the air that I’m breathing. I have a future, my eyes are open – ‘cause when You called my name, I ran out of that grave. Out of the darkness, into Your glorious day”

If you’ve lived many decades ~~ yet even for some, but one ~~ and the pain, the brokenness is such that ‘You Want to Hurt ~~ No More!’ Please let the “truth be told”. Whatever brokenness that is you, I hope that you can know that He, Christ, was broken on our behalf. That He is worthy to place both our trust and hope. 

 

She Chose Me

There are times that we see… we read … or we hear that which can bring the sense of gloom, or possibly a new and clear revelation. One such reading came in September of 2010, only days after the death of my father. A story that is told of events which occurred some sixty-three years ago this month. For in January 1958, this story tells not only of my conception into this world on Signal Hill, but the ensuing months of their struggles, their decisions of life and of … a life. That life is mine.

Much could be told of that story and that time from his perspective, yet it is the likely, though fictional, story of the fifteen year old girl, of whom I call mom, that I would like to tell.

How she must have been scared. She must have wondered, why? Why, is this happening to me? How? How will I care for a baby, for this baby? What were her nights like? Could she run? Where could she run? There was no job. And there would no longer be any school. What kind of life can I bring to this baby.

Will it be a boy? Will it be a girl? Will he, will she have light hair, or dark? Will this baby love me? Or want to be far, far from me? Will this baby be a joy? I don’t want to regret this baby. Oh God, I feel like I’m lost. I don’t know what to think. This life, this life that grows within me. I don’t know how … I … don’t … know how. How can I … how will I … ever ... care ... for this baby?

Were these her thoughts? Thoughts, which I can only imagine have flowed through thousands, no … through millions upon millions of lives before.

And though … I don’t know her exact thoughts, or those fears that must have been hers during those months in 1958. I do know EXACTLY my thoughts here in January, some sixty-three years later. Mom, I’m so very glad that YOU CHOSE ME! Life, is far from perfect. But, because you touched my life … I have likewise been able to touch countless others. And I promise this to you … Because of you, because ... of ... you ... I will continue to do so until the very end … the very end of my days.

I love you mom, Your son, Ricky

This pic ... because she loved laughter

This story was inspired by that story of Kourtney Rae Chapman. Thank you Kourtney, thank you for being vulnerable to tell your story. And likewise to sing it through a most beautiful song, “Me or You”. I know that Jack … when he is sixty-three ... will look back … look back ... and say, “Thanks mom, that it was you”!

Tears of Honor

Yesterday I had the privilege to join with family and friends as we celebrated the life of Bill. The songs that were sung ~~~ the stories that were told ~~~ the honest message of brokenness, yet of hope ~~~ these all provided the atmosphere and the opportunity to rejoice and remember Bill’s life.

Yet, it was the very first part in the Memorial Service of ‘Billie Ralph Higdon’ which brought some moisture to these eyes of mine.

As a fellow Veteran of our United States Air Force, as well as a thirty-two year veteran in the Fire Service, I have frequently experienced the dedication and professionalism of our Military Honor Guard. Yesterday was no exception. Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever been so emotionally effected. Perhaps some of it has to do with the events of our recent week. Yes, that has something to do with my emotion. Perhaps it has to do with myself now being an ‘old man’ --- Yes, I'm old :) and effected emotionally in a much greater way. Yet, I believe more than these ~~~ it has to do with ‘Honor’. Honor, to have likewise served this great country of ours --- the United States of America! Honor in realizing that both Billie, myself and thousands upon thousands of men & women have served these United States in order to continue to provide the most precious aspect we so enjoy ~~~ that is ‘freedom’.

Thank you to the two young Airmen who were very professional in their presentation of the colors. Thank you for the beautiful and clear playing of ‘Taps’, only but a few feet behind my ears. Might you likewise continue to serve with great honor. And thank you Billie for having served!

Respectfully,

Rick Williams, Sgt USAF 

 

Life's Observations ~~~

Calle Juarez in Puerto Vallarta

How often is our observation of life blocked by that which surrounds our moment. One such particular moment for me came on November 7^th, our first day of six weeks in Puerto Vallarta. I was returning from an evening stroll along PV’s famous ‘Malecon’. The picture to the right stood out with it’s striking detail. Though I was sadden by the reality of a young boy playing or communicating on his cell phone. “How times have changed”, I thought to myself.

It was a couple days later while walking down the same street, that the full illumination was literally brought to light. ‘Darkness’, easily “blocks” our ability to fully observe or understand the significance. But it is not alone. Our calendar and ‘to do’ list often prevent us from enjoying the most simple and beautiful aspects of life. And as ‘Jupiterfab’ has revealed in this and many of his ‘Modern Society’ paintings, technology, though powerful and resourceful, can so block our awareness of life’s wonder.

Writing from our balcony, enjoying the sounds and sites of Vallarta. None greater than our -- árbol de aves – that is, our bird tree. Where countless birds with intense colors … hummingbirds, orioles, finches, doves and more have provided a refreshing joy while observing their using this tree as a momentary place of rest in their journey. The irony of their refreshment, providing me with the same.

Life will not fully return to those pre-techno days. Nonetheless, I choose to be intentional … to have moments when I set down the cell phone, pick up the tin can, and be refreshed from that which blocks our observation to enjoy a simple and tranquil moment. 

 

Cell Phones down - in Sheffield, England

Bogota, Columbia

 

Bogota, Columbia

The inspiration of this blog came from two things ... 1) Juniperfab, an artist from Italy who currently lives in Mexico. He paints with great detail and in regards to 'Modern Society'. He writes, "The project wants to create reflection and inspiration for each of us to find a balance between real and virtual life."

Please visit his site in order to view more of his amazing art and how he captures our fascination with technology. www.jupiterfab.com/en/murals-about-modern-society 

2)  I learned long ago the value of 'simplicity' --- the value of 'wonder' --- A favorite author, Ravi Zacharias writes 'Recapture the Wonder' https://www.rzim.org/read/just-thinking-magazine/chapter-one-of-ravis-new-book-recapture-the-wonder --- Those values have been further appreciated as I sit on the patio of our condo enjoying the árbol de aves.

 

                                                               A new song ...

                                                           An old favorite ...

Does The Election Matter?

It’s Tuesday the 3^rd of November, 2020. Yesterday I made the decision that I would not succumb to any TV or media on election Tuesday, remaining distant from the chatter. Whereas many, perhaps most, are caught up in today’s very important and very divisive election. I decided that prayer was my best option.

Fortunate to have traveled to many ends of our world, I have been witness to those who lack the freedom’s we so often take for granted. And yet, even in those countries, those lacking freedom’s we so cherish, yet when they are found to be in Christ continue to have hope … hope precisely because of the freedom that He so grants. One such person who lacked that very political freedom, yet had freedom in Christ, is my dear brother Dr. Asabi Pierre Misambo. Escaping such a country, in turn arriving and becoming a citizen of these United States of America. Now, able is he to cherish both … the freedom found in Christ … and the freedom of his newfound citizenship.

Still … my question is, “Does The Election Matter”? Will God not be in control tomorrow, as I believe that He is this day, regardless of the victor?

By asking the question am I saying that our being involved is null and void? Absolutely not! Having been granted both freedoms, we must “be involved”. Martin Niemöller, friend of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, recognized his misguided involvement in his famous quote: “First they came for the socialist, and I did not speak out --- because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out --- because I was not a trade unionists. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out --- because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me --- and there was no one left to speak for me”. Surely, be involved! Surely, speak out!

Tomorrow I will awake, most likely view the results --- hoping that they are conclusive. Yet regardless of the victor, I will continue to place my hope in Christ --- not in Trump, nor in Biden. And once again, as Paul directs, I will pray … First Timothy 2:1-2, ... for those in authority, that we may lead peaceful & quiet lives in all godliness & holiness. And on the fifth of November… I hope to do the same. 

 In thinking of this blog I was inspired by back to back songs while listening to the radio. The one has become a staple to many churches around the world. Matt Redman writes, "The sun comes up, it's a new day dawning, it's time to sing Your song again. Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me --- Let me be singing when the evening comes." Amen to that! Tomorrow will be a new day.

The second song by 'King & Country' says, "And life is a race we run, So run till the race is won, Don't you ever give up ... Oh no never give up --- And oh, to everyone who's hit their limit, And even when you think you're finished ... It's not over yet ... It's not over yet"

 

 

At the conclusion of this blog ... I still do not know who America has chosen as their President.

What I know ... God is still in control ... & to Him will I pray. Amen!