Some thoughts from another blog and another project:

(I thought this post, from another blog, fit in on "The View . . ." so I'm double posting it.) 

Old Campers and Old Men, We Have Some Things in Common

June 19, 2021

 No pictures today:

Most of what I have been doing on the little camper has been pretty repetitive and boring. I have new fraining and a new piece of interior paneling on the rear of the trailer. Most of the siding is now off. Though it is pretty clear which piece goes where, I followed the advice of Larry (Mobiltec) (https://cannedhamtrailers.com/) and labeled each piece. (If you are in a project like this, do it on the inside (unfinished side) of the metal 😅). I also have done the same for windows. There is only one door, so I didn't label it. If I get to the point of not recognizing a door I figure Kathy will need to run an ad for an unfinished camper project.

Some good material on abortion:

 Christianity Today sent this article that features an excellent piece by Most Reverend Salvatore Joseph Cordileone Archbishop of San Francisco.

As a conservative, Evangelical Protestant I found the whole compendium of information confirming and helpful. Here are the links to the items referred to in the emailed article from C.T. followed by some quotations I gleaned from it.

https://albertmohler.com/2021/05/06/briefing-5-6-21?mc_cid=ed527e4864&mc_eid=20aa58364c
or
https://sfarchdiocese.org/documents/2021/5/Pastoral_Letter_LetterSize_0501.1.pdf?mc_cid=ed527e4864&mc_eid=20aa58364c
(This article by Cordileone is excellent)

https://albertmohler.com/2009/01/09/a-chilling-account-and-a-word-of-warning?mc_cid=ed527e4864&mc_eid=20aa58364c

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/05/world/the-pandemic-may-have-accelerated-the-american-drop-in-birthrates.html?mc_cid=ed527e4864&mc_eid=20aa58364c

”. . . abortion is not a “Christian” or “Catholic” issue: the dignity of the human person is a value that is, or should be, affirmed by us all.”

“Because an embryo is a unique and developing human organism, it follows that she or he possesses an inherent right to life from the moment of conception. Thus, the violent invasion of the act of abortion ends a human life.”

“This does not mean that we seek to impose our religious beliefs on others, but it does mean that our religious understanding of the human person as created in the image and likeness of God deepens our resolve to join hands with others, regardless of religious convictions or lack of them, to serve, teach, heal, and protect the human community, especially those most in need. We share with others the conviction that human dignity is innate; but we also believe it is of inestimable value.”

“Our increasingly polarized and uncivil society manifests a lack of respect for “the other” across a broad spectrum of issues. . . .”

“Formal cooperation in evil is never morally justified. For decades now western culture has been in denial about the harsh reality of abortion. The topic is swathed in sophistries by its advocates and discussion about it is forbidden in many venues.”

“There are important lessons here, to be sure.  One lesson must be this:  There will be theologians who seem ever ready to find a way to subvert the teachings of their church, even as they seek to remain in its employ and trust.  The second lesson is like unto the first:  There will ever be politicians who are looking for political cover, and will gladly receive this cover from those willing to subvert their church's teaching.  These lessons are by no means limited to the Roman Catholic Church.”

My observation is that people have grown weary of the abortion issue. Other more popular issues now have taken the place of protecting the lives of the unborn in many Christian's thinking. Being-tired-of is not the foundation of good ethics.

Have We Done Any Good, Here?

 Asking myself a habitual question:

Those of you who know me have heard me ask the question, "Have we done any good here?" I'll often pose the question at the end of a counseling session or a discussion/decision-making meeting. Most of the time I ask it to myself as much or more than to others.

Two things prompt me to ask the question this morning. 

1. Kathy and I are about two weeks away from ending a wonderful and unexpected season of our life. Since January of 2017 it has been our privilege to work with a wonderful group of people at Pacific Islands University. I'll tell you more in a minute, but, for now, know PIU is a Christian Liberal Studies and Bible college, reaching out to the People of Micronesia (little islands).
2. Pacific Islanders, and Pacific Islands people seen as a group, have caught my eye in the news recently.

One of the core values of PIU is transformation. We thoroughly believe in the life-changing force of the Good News of Jesus Christ. We have seen Gospel-motivated love melt hard hearts. In my short time here I have seen the intellectual, spiritual, motivational change take place in some of the young lives it has been my privilege to pour myself into. I come from an individualistic Western Culture. Most of my ancestors, just a few generations back, were hard-working farmers. I spent most of my adult life ministering in a little papermill town in a rural region of Virginia. Almost all of the people in the church where I ministered owned guns, many of them hunt with those guns. I've eaten hundreds of pounds of the venison they killed. Maybe they didn't pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, but their stories are filled with accounts of taking advantage of opportunities--sometimes slim--to improve their lot. Many built, with their own hands and those of family and neighbors, their own houses. They fixed their own cars and trucks. They made do, did without, and almost universally, made a better life for their kids and grandkids.

For the last four years I've worked among people who are much more communally minded. I've gotten upset, even angry, when I've seen young people full of promise held back by family--and it seems everybody is family--because the cultural norm is that one person, especially a young person, shouldn't get too far ahead of anyone else. I've also marveled at the safety net that these carefully respected relationships provide. I haven't lost my respect and admiration for the world I came from, and to which I will soon return, but I have a new and growing respect for the cultures I've been in for this season of life--a way of living that asks more, "What is good/right for us?" over merely, "What is best for me?"

Yesterday, I read a sad news story, that illustrates the challenges facing so many of the people of these tiny islands. Joe Enlet, a graduate of PIU, posted a link to the story of Iremamber Sykap, a young Chuukese man who spent most of his life in Hawaii. It is the same story that is tearing at the fabric of American life in Minneapolis, Chicago, and Kenosha, to name just a few examples. The only difference is instead of a young black man being shot in an encounter with police, it is a young brown man. Then today, I saw a photo-op announcement on the news. Some people, desperately in need of taking the critical thinking class at PIU, blame Asians, as a group, and Pacific Islanders for the COVID-19 pandemic. The irony runs almost as deep as the tragedy. If you look at a list of places in the world that are COVID-free you'll find nations like Federated States of Micronesia, Palau, and the Republic of Marshall Islands on the list. Yet, it is true, that in many places where Micronesians live in diaspora their infection rate is higher, often far higher, than their neighbors. Dig a bit though and you find explanations that bear an uncanny resemblance to the life stories of my Virginia neighbors. These are folk who are trying to make a better life, in particular, a better for their children and grandchildren, in the face of daunting odds. As is the case with my ancestors, sometimes that journey to the next step up ain't pretty. My loyalty to the institution I'm privileged to work with, causes me to see a deeper irony. If that government task force that is being formed, would simply give PIU their coffee and doughnut budget, we'd actually do something. I know that because we are already doing something.

You can get all the facts, figures, and results of studies you want and more. This morning I'm just speaking as a guy who unexpectedly found himself in a situation where he had an opportunity to make a difference, and who, by God's grace, has endeavored to do so. I'm also a guy who believes in this institution, PIU, and desires for it to prosper after I leave. I desire that, because I firmly believe that the prosperity of this tiny university, that serves the people of Micronesia is good for the people of Micronesia, the world, and the work of Christ. Specifically, here are some things I'd like to say. Really, what follows are bullet-points for further conversation:

• Micronesia is in great need of a new generation of capable leaders. Historically, geographically, culturally, PIU is in the right place to help fill that gap. Yes, this school has made mistakes in the past (Find me any person or institution who is actually doing something that hasn't made mistakes.). Let's get over it and get past it. Let's work together to solve the problems.
• Micronesia is rapidly changing. Half of Micronesians don't live in Micronesia. Every young person in Micronesia, and many who aren't so young, are connected to the world by cellphone. The world of the West and East with all our issues is at the fingertips of these people who don't have the depth of coping mechanisms we have developled in the First World.  Attempts to preserve a way of life that is no longer viable is futile, and not what needs to happen. There are marvelous aspects of the varied Micronesian cultures that ought to be preserved. But the young people PIU are working with live in and will live in a world vastly different than that of their parents and grandparents. 
  Those who say PIU isn't what it used to be, should thank the Lord. No, we aren't. We are helping young adults in the Twenty-first-Century, learn how to be Godly, productive citizens of this rapidly changing world. We do that by holding to that which is changeless.
  
• Micronesia has been evangelized. Those who think that means that the need for further missionary activity is no more, need to hang out here for a while. The great commission includes more than evangelism, though clearly, that is foundational. 
  Micronesia has a need for a new generation of trained leaders. 
  Opportunities in the Micronesian Diaspora are great.
  Because of their mobility, and other assets, Micronesians could become a force for missionary expansion into unreached and under-reached areas of the world.

As I read the sad story of  Iremamber, I thought of a graduate of ours who lived and worked in Hawaii for a time. She reached out to at-risk youngsters in the Micronesian community, youngsters like Iremamber was, just a few years ago. I thought of another of our graduates who is working with people struggling with drug addiction in an area of the US Mainland where a significant community of Micronesians live. I thought about a couple of other graduates who are involved in crisis counseling with people in the court system, here on Guam. I thought of some of the students I'm privileged to work with every day, students from Chuuk, Yap, Palau, the Marshalls, and various Micronesian communities in diaspora. These young people give me hope. To produce another tragedy like the one that took place in Hawaii is easy. Just do nothing. To make a difference takes a lot of us working together, working hard.

So, have we done any good, here. I believe we have, we are, and by God's grace, PIU will continue to do so. The folk who will remain after I'm gone would love to hear from you. Write me and I'll pass your information along, hmerrell@piu.edu, after 5/5, covbchm@gmail.com.

A Couple of Easter Thoughts

 On something like fifty Easters, it has been my privilege to share the wonderful truth of the RESURRECTION. I have that privilege again this morning. Here on Guam, the COVID situation has gotten better. Easter isn't about Spring--the resurrection of Christ is as relevant in the Southern Hemisphere as the North--and it is not a celebration of relief from a plague. It is a celebration of victory over sin and death, so the return of visible life after the apparent deadness of winter and the lessening of the grip of disease are related, though. Easter is about life--fullness of life here and life for eternity.

The Book of Romans in the Bible has been called the "Constitution of Christianity." The eighth chapter talks about all creation groaning under the ravages of sin. It goes on to talk about the "in all these things we are more than conquerors" victory that was won on that first holy weekend. That victory includes the defeat of all the ravages sin brought to our planet.

For most of those fifty, or so, Easters Kathy has played the piano. She will be again today. As I write I hear her practicing "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. . . . My sins are gone. I've been set free." What a privilege to announce in music and word the wonderful victory. "Jesus Christ is no longer dead . . . He is risen, Halelujah. . . .  Joy to the world.

Happy Easter!

I'll Miss Gerald Sizemore

 Gerald Sizemore was one of the "Lifers" at Covington Bible Church. He was there when I arrived in 1973, and was there when I left in 2015. Gerald is with the Lord now.

People sometimes use the word, "wiry" to describe a man who isn't very big but who exhibits strength and resilience beyond what their size would lead one to believe. Gerald was that to the max. For much of the time I knew him he worked two jobs. Not a "real" job and a part-time gig, but two real jobs. One of his jobs was manager of a lumber yard. Before the big-box stores like Lowes or Home Depot became ubiquitous, lumber yards were where you bought nails and 2x4s and sheetrock. They weren't pretty places. You went elsewhere for home decor. They were what the name implies, lumber yards. Gerald was all over the place. He was behind the counter, he was on the phone, he was loading an order, or unloading a shipment. He got things done.

When we were building the Worship Center at the Covington Bible Church, where Gerald and I worshiped, much of the material came from the lumber yard Gerald managed. He helped me load a lot of 2x4s on my old Ford pickup. I don't remember what it was for, but there was a big order for something. We gave a couple of local businesses the opportunity to bid on filling the order. Shortly after we collected the bids and decided to go with the lowest--Gerald's outfit--one of the competitors stopped by the building site. He saw the pile of whatever it was and said, "Obviously, you must not have considered my bid." The fact of the matter is we had considered his bid. The fact was as soon as Gerald got the word that his was the winning bid, it was only a matter of hours until the material was delivered--so fast that his competitor had a hard time believing it.

That was how Gerald was. As the saying goes, "He didn't let any grass grow under his feet. No doubt, that get it done, and get it done now, style rubbed some people the wrong way. Gerald had some rough edges. Like me, the request was appropriate. "Please be patient with me. The Lord's not finished with me yet." I'm as confident as I can be about someone else that Gerald is with the Lord. Though we didn't spend much time together, Gerald was my friend. The last time I remember seeing him, he was sitting toward the back of the Covington Bible Church Worship Center, surrounded by lumber and sheetrock and sitting over plywood he had helped supply. He asked me when I was coming back. My wife remembers that he stopped by the house one time while we were in Covington. He told us he'd see us when we got back.

I don't regret what I'm doing, but I do wish I had been able to chat with Gerald as he dealt with the cancer that took him away. I confess that I don't know much about heaven. I don't figure there is brush to be cut. Are there trucks to load? I don't know. I'm reasonably confident there is stuff--good stuff, rewarding stuff--to do. Gerald'll get it done. Or maybe we won't really get finished. Perhaps, unhindered by time, artificial schedules, and cancer, we'll just keep on getting it done, without delay, without rush. I don't figure we'll have sore backs and strained shoulders, but will there be the satisfaction that seeps into a wiry body when it does a job well? Perhaps. If so Gerald will tell me about it when I get there.

Thanks Gerald for who you have been to me. Tell Cleva hi. 

Thoughts from The Dermatology Clinic

 "Howard Merrell

Closure

Margins clear"

I'd been sitting in the treatment room at the dermatology clinic for a while when the little clipboard on the table to my right caught my eye. The above three lines, hand-written, on a legal pad, brought a lot of relief.

To quote the dermatologist that I usually see, I have, "bad skin." I'm naturally fair-skinned. As a boy, I spent lots of time outside. If sun-block had been invented back then, I don't think my family had heard about it. I remember episodes of sunburn that left me with large blisters.  It was at least a once-a-year occurrence. It's odd that insult to my skin that took place sixty-years ago should have present consequences, but it does (That's fodder for another post, sometime.) 

Because of COVID, Kathy and I didn't get back to Virginia last summer. Also because of the Pandemic, it was hard for me to get an appointment with my skin doctor during our shortened visit to Virginia at Christmas time. I wasn't able to see him until just before I returned to Guam. I've lost count of all the precancerous places the doctor has frozen off my face. Suffice to say, if they were all put together, they would equal a blast from one of Batman's Nemeses, Mr. Freeze.

On occasion, occasion the doctor will find a place that he judges to be beyond "pre." He cuts it out and sends it to the lab. Usually, the report comes back basal cell carcinoma. A couple of times it has been squamous cell, a step worse. Usually, the good doctor estimates correctly--he knows how much tissue to remove and "gets it all"--so nothing further is required. Dr. T. found a cut-it-out place at his last exam. I received the report after I was back here in Guam. It was a squamous cell and the margins weren't clear. There were cancerous cells at the edges of the piece of skin he had removed, indicating that he didn't get it all.

Usually, I'm not a worrier, at least not about medical things. In fact, my sin about such things is more apt to be complacency. After all, I only have one body. I'm responsible to care for it. Good stewardship begins with paying attention. There is a dear lady from my church in Virginia. The last time I saw her she was in a hospital bed in her living room. For most of the conversation, she kept her cheek covered with a handkerchief. When her hand slipped or she moved her head too quickly, I'd catch a glimpse of her teeth through the hole that cancer had eaten into her cheek. It didn't keep me from my work or anything, at least I don't think it did, but I looked at the picture on the hard drive of my memory a good bit, after reading that report from my dermatologist. 

So, I made an appointment with a local doctor, sent him the reports, and showed up in his office. He scheduled a surgery (in his office) for the following week and cut out a piece of my face about the size of a dime. I went back a week later. That's when I read the line, "margins clear." He did some more cutting so the hole could be sewn up properly and performed "closure." I'll go back in a week to have the stitches taken out. 

I don't need to tell you that I'm relieved and thankful. Before I go, though, let me share two thoughts that might be useful to you.

Lots of people were praying for me. Kathy and I are really blessed to have friends and colleagues who regularly bring us before the Lord. If you are one of those folk, THANK you! One prayer, offered so I could hear it, is indicative of many, "Lord, heal Howard." Did the Lord heal me? I think He did. You may reply, "Wait a minute, Howard, there were two doctors, several nurses, a lab technician or two, and even the janitors who keep the clinics clean and sanitary. Give them the credit. Thank them." I do. I am thankful to all of them. They did their jobs well, and I am the recipient of conscientious competence. But the reality is God often uses means in accomplishing His work. God is not only over and above His world casting down thunder-bolts of judgment or mercy from time to time. He is in His creation (see here). In regard to the current pandemic, Tish Harrison Warren talks about this, God's immanence, to use a fifty-cent word, here. Thank God and thank those He uses.

The question hangs out there, "Why did that sweet lady have a hole in her cheek that led to her death, and Howard had a dime-sized piece of meat removed, got sewed-up, and sent home?" My answer may sound trite and unthinking, but it comes from a lifetime of experience with such things and no little thought on the matter--they do let me teach Theology, you know. Here is my answer, "I don't know." I do know it is not because I am a better person than that dear lady or more deserving than she. Nor is it because God abandoned her or because her case was beyond His ability to heal. In the end, I just don't know.

So I start with a haunting fear and end with a confession of ignorance. Perhaps you need to find a braver smarter blogger next time.

Fiat Spyder Convertible, A Classic F150, Dreams, and Reality

 About twenty-five years ago my younger son and I were car shopping. Chris was a new driver. He was a good kid, the kind of young man that makes his dad want to do something special for his son. Chris's driving career had been behind the wheels of the "Blue Bomb," the "Gray Ghost," and the "Preacher Car." These names were given to well-used used vehicles that made up the wheels available to my son. They were named as sort of an act compensation. These weren't the kinds of vehicles that made a young man's heart pump faster. They were utilitarian vehicles. They weren't pretty. Mostly they would get you where you were going. That was their chief virtue.

We were looking for a car that would be Chris's. I don't remember whether it was Chris or me who saw the ad for the Fiat Spyder. Kind of as a father-son adventure we took the hour trip to see the little Italian sports car. Both of us really liked it. Chris wasn't real good with a stick-shift, yet, so I drove it. I wanted the car. More than that, I wanted Chris to have it. There was a sticker on the window of the little car that referred to some church or Christian ministry. Chris turned the radio on to check it out. The radio was already tuned to a Christian radio station. "Dad, it's a Christian car."

Maybe, but it was also a car that cost more than I could pay at the time. So the last time we saw "la macchina" was as we drove away, both of us disappointed.

The other day I saw a picture of a 1978 Ford 150. Shiney blue. Incredibly low mileage. Chris's daughter is learning to drive. She is the kind of young lady that makes a dad proud and a grandpa brag. She has been in business for a couple of years. She cuts grass and takes care of people's yards. She has saved her money and bought her own equipment. She doesn't want a car--I don't think the little Spyder would get a second look from her. She wants a TRUCK. She is, after all, a Texan. I haven't talked to her, but I'm confident she would like to have a truck that's more twice as old as her, and would cause people to ask, "Where'd you get that. I'm even more sure that her dad wanted her to have it. But alas, like the Fiat, the Ford wasn't to be. The Fiat cost too much, out of sight from the camera the Ford has too much rust and some other problems associated with old-age.

Reality. Most of us confess to being realists. We clearly want others around us to keep their feet rooted

in what is, not in what they wish it were. But deep down, I wanted the little convertible for my son, and the big Ford for my granddaughter. I'm almost 71 and I'm still working on the balance. Having dreams keeps me going. Not dealing rightly with reality makes me starry-eyed and useless. When I'm thinking clearly I realize that dreaming of Fiats, Fords, and big victories is OK, even good. I've seen a lot of dreams come true, but living as if the fulfillment of my dreams is what I have coming, or thinking that there is some magic formula that makes Pedro's campaign promise--"All your dreams will come true."--a reality is a sure route to frustration or worse.
Kira, make me #3. I would have liked for you to have truck, but trust God. Know that Romans 8:28 still applies. It covers Italian cars, classic trucks, and old men's dreams. welcome to the club.