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With Mother’s Day barely in our rearview mirror and Father’s Day on the horizon, I admit I’ve caught myself reflecting on days gone by. I find that I do that quite often as the days of my childhood were some of the best. I like to park there frequently and these holidays give me another great excuse to do just that.

Mom went to her heavenly home three years ago; dad ten years ago. They were best friends since five and six years old. Just this week, I heard the story how they came through the back door of Grandma Esther’s house, holding hands. Ruth at six years old announced quite adamantly to Grandma Esther, “we’re engaged.” It had to have been one of the longest engagements in history, but sure enough, in their early twenties they made good on their oath and were married in the little Methodist Church in McLean NE where they had both been confirmed together years before.

A year after they were married, my brother Dave came along. Three years later, I was born and six years after that, Connie arrived. I’ve been contemplating what might have been the greatest influential factor that this couple utilized that contributed to giving us those great childhood memories. We weren’t rich, well traveled, or surrounded by extended family. In fact, just the opposite. After Dad would milk the few dairy cows we had, Mom would separate the cream from the milk. The cream we hauled to town and sold, gave us the means to afford our Sunday trips to church. As far as traveling – we once took an eight hour memorable trip to Wisconsin to see Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila. Memorable because none of us have forgotten how we continuously chewed bubblegum to plug the hole in the gas tank. And extended family? The closest were more than three hours away so and we didn’t see them nearly as much as we would have liked. No…we can’t pin a badge on any one of these things as the reason for a pleasant childhood.

As I pondered this, one word kept coming forward in my mind – predictability. If there was one thing Mom and Dad were, it was predictable. They knew what they could expect from each other and they conveyed to us kids their expectations of us as well. Even if Mom and Dad didn’t agree on something, they could expect that the other one would stand by them. They had that ever-lasting stability that served them well through sixty plus years of marriage. I’m sure they had some disagreements at times, as all marriages do, but their commitment to each other and to us was unwavering.

As kids, this predictability brought safety and security. We didn’t have to wonder how our parents were going to react to situations. They were as steady as Nik Wallenda on his walk across Niagara Falls. We didn’t cause trouble in school; if we were to try that, we could expect it wouldn’t go well at home. Predictability. We knew if we had any extracurricular activity that the public was invited to – they would be there. Predictability. We knew if the neighbors called and needed help, Mom and Dad would be leaving. Predictability. We knew if we knocked the mirror off the Rambler at the mailbox, we’d get a talking to. Predictability. (I only did this once.) Most of all, we knew, no matter what happened – whether good, bad, or ugly – our folks would be there to walk through it with us.

Yes, I think that’s what I liked most about my childhood. There was no need to fear the unknown – we always had at least an inkling ( and most of the time a good idea) of what was ahead. This predictability wrapped us in a snug blanket of security. I doubt my parents realized how much that meant to me. I wish now that I had told them.

How I wish every child could be so fortunate. But of course, that’s not the case. This month as a good friend and I were traveling in search of the northern lights, she pointed out a bar we passed. “My mom used to load us six girls in the car and bring us here. We would stay in the car for hours while she went into the bar. We never knew how long she would be in there.” The only predictability these young girls had were that their mom would come back to the car impaired.

Thank goodness for the parent we can rely upon when we can’t rely upon our own. Psalms 68:5 tells us that God is Father to the fatherless. He promises to do what a parent is designed to do, but for whatever reason can’t or won’t. I like to personalize Psalms 121:7-8. The Lord will keep me from all harm – He will watch over my life; the Lord will watch over my coming and going both now and forevermore. Now that my parents are gone, I find security in that.

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

Who isn’t ready for a good story with a big dose of humanity dumped in? I’d like to give you one today.

This story is about Robert G. LeTourneau. I’m embarrassed to say I had never heard of him until this last week when I found him in the pages of David Jeremiah’s devotional – Moments with God. I became intrigued and did some internet research.

Robert was born in Vermont in 1888 but spent his early years in Duluth Minnesota. In his teens he moved to Portland, OR and began working as an apprentice ironmonger at the East Portland Iron Works. While learning the foundry and machinist trades, he studied mechanics from an International Correspondence School course that had been given to him. He learned from this course, but never completed one assignment. He also learned how to weld and became familiar with the application of electricity. Throughout his young life he worked many different jobs including woodcutting, bricklaying, farming, mining and carpentry. I would describe him as an on hands kind of guy.

Along the way, Robert was offered a job repairing a crawler-tractor. The owner/rancher must have been impressed with the young man when he saw smoke rising from the smoke-stack for he then hired Robert to level 40 acres using that tractor and a towed scraper. RG realized while working on this job, that he found this big machinery exciting and fun. In 1920, he began his own business as a regrading contractor by purchasing a used tractor and hiring a scraper. The next year he purchased a plot of land in Stockton, CA and built an engineering workshop, where he designed and built several types of scrapers.

In 1935, Robert built a manufacturing plant in Peoria, IL and later in Toccoa, GA, Rydalmere, New South Wales, Australia, Vicksburg, Mississippi, and Longview, TX. These factories would go on to supply nearly 70% of the earthmoving equipment and engineering vehicles used by the Allied forces during WWII. This seems amazing in itself, but then I also learn that Robert was awarded 300 patents for his innovations in earthmoving equipment, manufacturing processes and machine tools. 300! That’s impressive in my book.

Just when you think the story can’t get much better – it does.

When interviewed by writers and asked what made his business successful, Robert told them all – “God runs my business.” He would eventually become known as God’s Businessman.” Many of his 6000 employees would tell how Mr. LeTourneau would walk around with a slide ruler in one hand and a Bible in the other. He lived Matthew 6:33 – Seek first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you. The verse was so much “him” that it is inscribed on his statue located on the campus of LeTourneau University in Longview, TX.

According to biographers, RG and his wife, Evelyn, (in fact, it was her idea) gave 90 percent of their income to Christian charities, leaving the remaining 10 percent to live on. They had a combined heart to reach others with the saving grace of the Gospel. LeTourneau University – an interdenominational evangelical Christian school was founded by Mr. and Mrs. LeTourneau in 1946 and was then known as LeTourneau Technical Institute. It’s initial goal was to educate veterans returning from WWII.

Before you begin to think that the LeTourneaus’ lives were never touched by hardships, think again. In 1927, at age 40, RG was $100,000 (1.5 million in today’s economy) in debt when a large construction job went bad. But by grit and hard work that was characteristic of RG, by 1959, the LeTourneau Foundation was worth $40 million.

And just when you think this has to be the end of the story – it gets better.

RG struggled in school – so much that he dropped out when he was in the 6th grade and went to work instead. All of these great accomplishments came through the mind of someone that never made it into Junior High. That slide ruler he carried around was a self taught instrument. I hate to admit, I had trouble with that thing even under the tutorship of an algebra teacher. What this story taught me is that when there’s meaningful motivation and a willingness to keep God in the driver’s seat, we can do anything. Let’s not sell ourselves short.

Until next time, keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

I have a comfortable average sized guest room with a large closet. It sits adjacent to the second bathroom. No one uses this bedroom unless I have a guest. Except for a dusting, it’s always ready for someone. I keep clean sheets on the bed and bath towels in the closet. There is minimal preparation needed would I get a call from someone wanting to spend the night, as I did this last week when a high school friend was passing through.

Miriam Huffman Rockness, Christian author and pastor’s wife, has quite a different story to tell about a particular host she encountered many years ago. She and a friend were assigned to this certain residence after their high school choir group had put on a concert – too far away to return home for the night. Miriam and her friend had no idea what to expect once they arrived at the host’s home, but she admits that any fantasies of grandeur were dashed when they stepped through the elderly woman’s doorway. She describes the place as shabby and crowded. The old lady was pleasant enough but even the hot chocolate she graciously served was not enough to take away the Canadian chill of the unheated apartment.

I can imagine these teenage girls may have felt put upon. They had after all, came into the community to share their talents, and in so doing, had given up their nice cozy homes and beds. All they were hoping for was a decent place to lodge for the night.

The choir members had all been instructed by their leaders that “service” did not end with the concert but extended into the homes of those that volunteered to house them. Miriam and her friend tried to suppress yawns as their host produced pictures of her geographically distant family and told stories of each one.

Finally, they were shown to their tiny room with a double bed, separated only by a curtain from the kitchen. Once the woman finished cleaning up the kitchen, the house became quiet. The girls assumed she had gone off to her room.

In the night, Miriam woke and needed to use the bathroom. She tried her best to feel her way through the pitch-black kitchen but stumbled into a large object. Once her eyes readjusted to the moonlight coming through the small window, she peered at the object. To her utter surprise it was the old lady, fully dressed and wrapped in a blanket – asleep in a straight chair.

I Peter 4:9 tell us to offer hospitality without grumbling. My idea of hospitality is so far removed from this woman’s in the story. What I have to offer are “extras” I seldom use, but this woman gave of herself and all that she owned to give someone else a bed for the night. I give a wee morsel compared to her. What an impressive reminder of how little I give and how much more I could be doing.

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

(Miriam Huffman Rockness story taken from “Opening Windows” – a collection of stories from various authors.)

I have never been partial to bugs of any kind. You may remember my blog about ticks and how I and my siblings would pull the engorged ones from behind the ears of our dog. We would pop them with a pliers to see how far the blood would shoot. As a young child, I would sit cross-legged on the south side of our farmhouse where the daddy long legs liked to hang out on the warm foundation. I hate to admit it, but for whatever reason, I found it entertaining to pull a leg off of the spider and watch how it could still scurry up the wall without an appendage. (My siblings were not involved in this venture. I’m sure I felt some guilt and shame about this and didn’t wish to admit my fixation.) And of course, I have swatted my fair share of deerflies and houseflies along with listened to the crunch of beetles and crickets beneath my shoes.

But now, I’m nearing my seventh decade, and my thoughts seem to be getting scrambled in my head. Not overall – but regarding bugs. I am finding them quite amazing. I wonder if God is showing me that no matter how insignificant we feel at times, we always have something amazing to offer.

Here’s a few astonishing features of our little creeping companions that you may not know:

1. The cochineal insect is loaded with a beautiful crimson fluid that gives us the red dye that is used in our textiles, cosmetics, and yes…even foods. (When smothering your hamburger in ketchup, you can thank the cochineal insect for that nice red color.)
2. Bees are not only useful for pollination. Their venom is being used to treat arthritis, sclerosis, and tendonitis.
3. Praying mantis eat the bigger agricultural damaging insects and lady bugs feast on the smaller ones.
4. The silkworm greatly affected human history. When the Chinese used them to develop silk, the silk trade connected China to the rest of the world.
5. Although an ancient practice, the use of maggots to treat gangrene is still being employed today. Maggots only eat dead flesh so do an excellent job of debriding wounds.

This list is only the benefits of a select few insects. Experts tell us that less than1% of insects are considered harmful. Www.sciencefocus.com tells us that it takes 200,000 insects to raise a swallow chick to adulthood. And without any insects at all, most birds and amphibian species would be extinct in two months.

What can I say? It looks like God had a good plan when he created these miniature organisms. It might be best for us and our environment if we can learn to live with them. Let them also remind ourselves that no one is insignificant. We all have a role to play in God’s plan.

Until next time….keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

Early scales were balance scales, consisting of a beam with a pivot point and two pans hanging from each end. Objects were placed on one pan and weights on the other until the two pans balanced, indicating that the weights were equal. The earliest known center-beam scales were used by Egyptians in 1878 BC.

I remember the use of scales from an early age. We would go to town once a week to do our weekly shopping. Nearly every business we went into had a scale and I soon realized these devices were very important. Our first stop was often the hardware store. Dad would grab a handful of nails out of the bin and place them into the scoop on the scale. He would write the weight on the paper bag and the clerk would calculate the cost at the register. Our next stop was the grocery store. This time, I tagged along with Mom. She would put her apples in the pan of the scale and once the arrow was still, she would mentally tally how much the apples were going to cost. If it was more than she liked, one would go back into the bin. The pie would still be flavorful, but not quite as robust. Our last stop in town was always the Coop. Dad would drive up onto the weighbridge. The attendant inside would weigh us (the truck plus all its contents), then give Dad a two-finger salute and a smile when he was finished. (That’s Sandhills sign language for “pull ahead.”) Dad would drive forward towards the loading augers, pulling directly under the spout.

Scales have advanced over my lifetime, just as most other things have. Now, most scales are digital and use what’s called Strain Gauge technology. Instead of using a metal or wooden beam, they use transducer beams that are specially engineered to bend in proportion to the weight of the load placed on the scale, making them exceptionally accurate.

In Biblical times scales would have been used for much the same things they are today. It’s not hard to imagine scales at many booths in the open market. Figs, pomegranates, and precious metals may have been a few things sold by weight. Just like today, the more the item weighed the greater its value. In our culture this concept has overlapped onto even those things that are not weighed on a scale…the more powerful, wealthier, and famous one seems to be, the more value we allot to that person.

Imagine now that you have you been invited to step up onto God’s scale. Surely, God will be pleased with the accomplishments that have brought you wealth and prestige. But, to your astonishment, the scale does not move. How can this be, you ask? We only need to look as far as Psalm 62:9. From the greatest to the lowliest – all are nothing in his sight. If you weigh them on the scales, they are lighter than a puff of air. God’s scale obviously measures differently. Those that have obtained power, wealth, or prestige carry no more weight than the homeless man under the bridge. What then, does His scale measure? We find that answer in Eph. 5:22-23. It’s not apples, but spiritual fruit. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control – those are the things that “weigh” to God. It’s not impossible to tip God’s scale, but it won’t be with power, prestige, and wealth.

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin.’