Fellowship of Christ's Servants
For we preach not ourselves,
but Christ Jesus the Lord; and
ourselves your servants for
Jesus'sake. So then death worketh in us,
but life in you.
Therefore seeing we have
this ministry, as we have
received mercy, we faint not;
But have renounced the
hidden things of dishonesty,
not walking in craftiness, nor
handling the word of God
deceitfully; but by
manifestation of the truth
commending ourselves to
every man's conscience in the
sight of God. But if our gospel be hid, it is
hid to them that are lost:
In whom the god of this
world hath bl
Ideological "good vs evil" morals are clearly represented by goals set by each political party.
Voting Democrat is like a battered wife going home from the hospital to the abuser.
DEI, in mocking Christianity, gave CHRIST more world-wide attention than all the combined Church. Be not afraid!
Happy Father's Day to all fathers and to all mothers who doubled as fathers.
Donald Trump is the world's greatest threat to bureaucracy!
Mother’s Day, 2024: She is in YOUR nursery.
Dear Momma;
Happy Mother’s Day. “THANK YOU!”, Allie Bell Nichols Adkins, for taking time for me.
Momma said she, at 15-years-old, would sit on a split-rail fence and wait for 17-year-old Dave Adkins to come walking around the turn where the path became visible to her. She said she could tell it was him by the way he would swing his foot when he walked. He would wear denim jeans, motor-cycle boots, a leather jacket and leather hat. She waited for him to walk by, and she would say, “Hello.” In her words, she said, “I thought he was the prettiest thing I ever saw.” She didn’t go into detail about their courting, only that her father was violently opposed to their being together.
That would have been about 1927, or close to it. They eloped in 1929, and were married by the justice of the peace in Gate City, Tennessee. The sheriff found them together: he was sent by her father to bring her home to Appalachia, Virginia. When they showed the sheriff their marriage certificate, he left, leaving her with her new husband. She would not speak to her father again. He died shortly afterwards. The same sheriff came to tell her of her father’s death.
Her story, from that time til she and my father moved to Bishop, Virginia, is unknown to me. But she did relate to me the living conditions of Dad’s home, somewhere near Wise, Virginia. I assume she and Dad visited there before he came to the organized coal fields at Bishop. (Once, on a trip to Norton and Appalachia, where some of Mom’s brothers lived, Dad, Susie, Dwight and myself stopped at a restaurant built on the side of a mountain. {There is no flat place anywhere near-by.} My father said he, with his father and his brothers, built that long, white, clap-board building. We were in Russell County, Virginia, at the time. I was about 8-years-old.)
My parents oldest child, Della, was born in Bishop, as was Alma Jean, JD, Don, and Kenneth. It was a time when those rugged women did not go to a hospital to have their children. I am unsure of where Dwight was born, but Mom assured me I was born in Amonate, in the living room of our house across the street from the Davis and Morris families.
I was born into a family of 6 siblings, Mom and Dad. My comprehension of what Mom did as a wife and mother in Amonate, and before, lacks true understanding.
Many people who came from slavery from the time our country had official slaves and slave owners, now want repatriation. In other words, they want money for their ancestors being slaves. Believe me, even with my poor understanding of what the women who reared and supported their families, laboring for them in, what would now be considered, slavery-conditions: There is no way to fully comprehend this, much less make repatriations.
My only conclusion, on behalf of my Mother, is that what she did for all those years, is a labor of love. She had a ball of nurturing attached to her heart by a chain of love.
Can you imagine, before the convenience of disposable diapers, what our parents did just to keep us smelling tolerable, much less, fresh. Incorporated with the need for a change of diapers is a diaper depository, also a depository for the content of “dirty” diapers. Don’t forget the washing and drying prior to the convenience of a washer and dryer. Washboards and clotheslines in hot and cold weather; scrubbing and rinsing, sometimes by hand, for hours, for years, before the baby cycle would end.
While you are wearing your thinking hat: What about the feeding of a child before the baby formula, when milk was not available? What else is motherhood besides being the food for a baby? Prior to having to provide meals for a family, a mother had to take time from chores to feed that child.
Did you forget the cook-stove and the heat needed for cooking and baking? Even in the hottest days of summer?
When I was tending clay-kilns, especially doing Raku, where the red-hot clay is taken from the hot kiln and put into an oxygen source to bring out the iridescence colors, I would wear protective clothing to protect me from the intense heat, and still be bothered by the heat: that is what our mothers suffered by cooking on the most modern of stoves during their motherhood.
Some of our mothers even tended to us while we were ill.
Some people were blessed with guarding angels, and some with great Mom, giving the guarding angels the day off.
Thank YOU, God, for my Mother. If you want to know in which part of heaven she resides? She is in Your nursery, tending all Your babies.
Red Flag. 4-19-24
An old man was invited to his son’s house for the holiday. He thought it would be fun to make a mess of the bathroom: it would teach his son to appreciate how much work his parents had done cleaning up after him as a child.
He pulled all the toilet paper off the roll, leaving it on the floor. He didn’t flush the toilet. He went to the sink and washed his hands, leaving the soap turned upside down in the sink and the towel on the floor. He put shaving cream in the sink, on the sink top and made a smiley face on the mirror. He put hand lotion all over the hair brush, and sprinkled the whole room with with powders.
On his way home, he chuckled to himself silently, thinking of how his son would realize this was some of the same things he had done as a child. He was sure his son would call and apologize for all the work he had created for his mother and father.
Back home, as he was going to bed, he was still chuckling about the son finding the mess and wondered why he hadn’t called. He thought the call would come and he could tell his son how mischievous he had been as a child, and “How do you like the payback?”
The call did not come, however, the next morning the swat team showed up to confiscate the old man’s gun collection. LA.
Have you never read your Bible about how God kept His promise to the Jews, even after 400 years?
Congress sees crimes of the other party and are blind to their own. They are all capitalist: making money.
Joe Biden has kept more promises he made then did Donald Trump: you just don't listen well.
If you think Biden is a failure, you don't know his intentions.
March Madness 3-28-2024.
Easter is almost here. It’s 3 days away. It’s Thursday. It’s time to plant your potatoes; the old farmers wanted them in the ground by the Friday before Easter Sunday. They had in mind if they planted on Good Friday, their harvest would as fruitful as the resurrection of Jesus from the dead.
Jesus dying on the cross, being buried in a sealed tomb guarded by soldiers, walked out of the tomb as a living person, brought back from the dead, still causes non-believers to question and some to shake so badly, you might say, “to quake”. However, Christians rejoice and celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, but few know the significance of the event.
Of course, anyone being brought back from the dead is a miracle. Other accounts of people being revived from the dead are used as arguments against the resurrection of Jesus as being unique. If the resurrection of Jesus were the whole of it, His resurrection might be numbered with the few returns from the dead recorded by history. However, the restoration of Jesus to the realm of living beings, is the first of a pattern God intends to use for all those who accept the death and resurrection of Jesus as their payment for trespasses against God and God’s laws. Because of this, those other accounts, whether real or imagined, do not carry the same weight as does the resurrection of Jesus, the Son of God. God’s greatest gift to humans.
As the preacher might preach, Jesus died for our sins, and Jesus was raised from the dead that we might have life eternal thru Him. His death, resurrection and translation to heaven are unique to Jesus.
Passover is the part of Jewish law that represents the sacrifice of Jesus as substitution for sin. The little Passover lamb, a lamb without blemish, was taken into the Jewish home to live as a family pet. The sacrifice of the lamb was heartbreaking, as the family grew to love and accept the lamb as being dependent on them for its food and life, the lamb also showing it’s trust and affection. The lamb was to die for the sins of the family which had nurtured it, feed it, loved and played with it.
After the sacrifice, the blood of the lamb would be applied on both sides of the door entrance, as well as over the door: the body of lamb was to be roasted and was to be wholly consumed by the family. Non-family members could also enter the protection of Passover: the blood was sufficient to protect anyone who was in that house.
Unlike the body of Jesus, the little lamb was not abused. No one beat the little lamb’s face and body. No one pulled at the little lamb’s wool until they opened a wound. No one put a crown of thorns on the lamb’s head. The little lamb was put to death quickly, according to Jewish law. Not so with Jesus. Jesus was tortured. He was beaten, He was abused beyond recognition. Jesus suffered the hatred of His fellow men: He suffers yet from that abuse. That suffering, that hatred, was not, and is not now, necessary for the death and resurrection of Christ Jesus to be a sufficient sacrifice for our salvation.
The lambs for sacrifices under the law were to be pure and unblemished. For the sacrifices to suffer abuse would nullify their authenticity. But, there is one great difference in the sacrifices of animals and the sacrifice of Jesus: Jesus was resurrected from the dead. Not only was Jesus the sacrifice, but Jesus was also the High Priest Who made the sacrifice and carried out the Holy Rituals of the sacrifice as required by God in the heavenly sanctuary.
Not only is Jesus the Passover sacrifice; His sacrifice is sufficient forever, because Jesus also acts as the High Priest in the Heavenly Temple after which the earthly Temple was patterned. The Bible Book of Hebrews teaches us the lineage of the Jewish Priest was thru the tribe of Levi. But Jesus was of the lineage of Judah, the tribe with the lineage of Kings, of which there is no priest. Jesus was not a priest after the order of Aaron, the first priest and head of family of priest, the Levites.
Old Testament studies show there were priests and prophets, holy men of God, that were not Jews. Abraham was not the first to do God’s bidding. The Book of Job is said to be one of the oldest books in the Bible. Job was not Jewish. Job lived and died before Abraham was born, before there ever was a Jewish nation with the written Laws of God, or the 10 Commandments. We know that God and Job had a relationship, that it was not the first or the last, but a relationship that existed prior to the time of the birth of the nation, Israel.
Genesis tells us of the King of Salem who was also a High Priest of God during the time Abraham was just settling in the land of Canaan. Hebrews tells us that because Abraham paid tithes to this Priest, proved that this Priesthood to which the King of Salem belonged, is of a higher grade of Priest than the not-yet-born Priests of the Jews which were given by the Laws of Moses, ie, the Levitical Priesthood. The King of Salem’s High Priest’s name was Melchizedek. Hebrews declares the Priesthood of Jesus superior to the Jewish Priesthood. Because Jesus is a High Priest after the order of Melchizedek, His Priesthood also serves Jews and Gentiles.
From Hebrews we learn that Jesus is a once-for-all-time Sacrifice for sins of the whole Human population of all time and of every race. Being sinless, Jesus need not make a sacrifice for His own sins, since He was sinless, and only needs make the one-time sacrifice for sin for all humans. We also learn that Jesus makes intercession for humans before God, being a High Priest Forever after the Order of Melchizedek, an active position in which Jesus functions to this day.
We call this holiday Easter in celebration of Jesus being able to be our sin sacrifice and our only Priest.
Further: an enlightening of the God given gift for His Creation to have free Choice, and the subsequent knowledge of that power, empowers the individual human to create a real mental state having no tethers, sans victim-hood. This enables humans to consciously change their minds, to choose the most important priority, casting off the toxic burdensome thoughts and fears that engulf our whole being. A good example: Say a person is called for a tax audit. They can think of nothing else and it is consuming their every waking thought. On a scale of 1 to 10 in priority, it is probably registering at an easy 12. Then a call comes with the message, "If you ever want to talk to ___________ again, you must hurry to the emergency room." Now the priority of the tax audit drops from 12 to not very high. Why? Because you made the free choice to change that priority because of an emergency. If you can change the priority because of an emergency, YOU CAN CONSCIOUSLY CHOOSE TO CHANGE THAT PRIORITY WITHOUT HAVING AN EMERGENCY! What a great power over our own thinking God has given us! Do not be a prisoner of circumstance: God has got this, WHATEVER it may be. Some people call it faith.
Virginia has 47 bills passed that will disarm you, take away 2nd amendment rights. Up to Youngkin to veto.
And just like that, you realize Disneyland is more real than Washington DC.
America is Alice's Restaurant: You can get anything you want.
Warning:
Teach your children how to make fire, how to cook w**ds to survive: American are going to need to know soon.
Jesus' Name cannot be mentioned by Democrats: it might be offensive. That means they abandoned me too.
Here’s a hint. If you have 205 bones, you are a male. If you have 206 bones in your body, you are female. You can verify this by your X, Y chromosomes.
Females have XX, males have XY. Every cell in your body, unless chemically distorted, will have the same X and Y chromosomes. Wow!
The Amonate Dinosaur.
It would be early in the morning, just after the rooster’s first crow. It could be raining, snowing, frost on the ground waiting for the sun to make it disappear: it made no difference if the weather made the trip tough, the chickens had to be feed and watered.
This chicken house was further up the hill than the previous one behind the former Davis’, then Adkins’ house, just across the creek. There, water could be dipped from the creek for those chickens. But the easiest way to get to this later coop was to cross the creek on the bridge in front of the Methodist Church, veer off to the right, follow the well-worn path thru the sage marsh, take the left up the hill and walk a little more up-hill. You had to being the water and the feed from the house.
Given that chicken coops have an oder, these chickens had “breathing room” being far from the main-road hustle and bustle. The walk without the two five gallon buckets was about five minutes from the church. One bucket was full of water, about 40 pounds, not including the weight of the metal bucket. The other, the one with the feed and scraps, was a little less heavy, but most of the time, some of the scraps fell on the edge of the bucket and would rub off on your pantleg, no matter how far out you stretched your arm. And the water would splash and slosh with each step, but you were careful, you didn’t want to have to make a second trip.
Back then, I knew when the school bus ran, and whether I had to hurry or if I had time to wipe the scraps off my trousers. If I didn’t, it would be on my mind all day long.
On the very cold mornings, there was no water in the trough that was not frozen. On the not so cold days, I could just break the ice and then pour the water into it. But to give the chickens a chance to drink, I dumped the ice on the ground. The water trough almost always had food in the bottom because the chickens drink by opening their beaks in the water, closing their beaks and raising their beaks above their heads. It’s the perfect backwash kind of drinking. So, when I dumped the ice, there would be some chickens which would peck at the bottom.
Chickens seem always to be hungry, ravaging hungry. There was not one green thing in the chicken coop lot. From early spring, we pulled the ever-present rag w**d and threw the whole stalk over the fence. It would be jumped on almost as quick as they would jump on a June bug. Over the summer, all the local rag w**d would have been fed to the chickens.
On special occasions, determined by Mom, the chickens would get a full twenty-five pound bag of crushed shells, a source of calcium to make thicker egg shells. The crushed sea shells also had to be carried thru the marsh and up the hill. That meant an extra trip; it could also wait til after school.
At that time, I think we only had a hundred chickens, In the other coop, we had over 200.
The job I hated most was when Mom would send me to get a chicken for frying. I hated the getting and then killing the chicken, but even then, with the distasteful duty of killing and plucking (removing the feathers) of the chicken, did not kill my appetite for Mom’s fried chicken. Her fried chicken would make a chicken-plucking killer out of almost anybody. Still, it was not something I liked. After I killed and plucked some of her egg-laying hens, she would send Dwight or Ken to bring home the chickens.
Before we raised our own chickens, live chickens would be brought home from the store or from a neighbor who raised chickens, like Granny or Cephus Robinson. Those chickens arrived with their feet tied together. If it were a Friday or a Saturday, the chicken’s feet would be untied, a dish of water and a biscuit, or piece of corn-bread would be put down, a large wash-tub would be turned up-side down, becoming the chickens’ temporary home. We only had fried chicken on holidays and Sundays, and when company came for supper.
It took some dexterity, coordination, to catch the chicken while not raising the edge of the tub enough for the bird to escape. And you should know, the chicken had made a chicken mess under the tub, and that your arm was going to get into the mess as you tried to catch the chicken by the feet. On some unlucky occasions, the chicken would escape, and all the kids would be expected to chase it down. But chickens will always come to free food.
I know some people eat chicken feet, heck, they even sell them in the grocery store. I’ve never eaten them, but I suspect they taste like chicken. I can see is the chickens walking thru their own filth. But, just one joint above their nasty feet, and, when properly cooked, the chicken leg is some of the best eating the south can provide.
It seems chicken is a universal taste: when a new meat is tried, and people inquire how it taste, the common answer is, “It tastes like chicken.” meaning, it was good for eating.
When I discovered that dinosaurs were birds, perhaps even ancestors of the chicken, I no long search for the reason of their extinction.
Dawn Meinel Layne
·
Someone once said when you love someone with Dementia you lose them more and more everyday. When they are diagnosed, when they go through different stages, when they need treatment and when they die. This is called "Ambigua Loss."
I wouldn’t wish Dementia on anyone. As the brain slowly dies, it changes physically and eventually forgets who their loved ones are. They can end up lying in bed not moving and not eating or drinking.
There will be people who will scroll by this post because Dementia has not touched them. They may not know what it's like to have a loved one who battled or is fighting Dementia.
To Raise Awareness of this Cruel Disease, I'd like my Friends to Put this on their Page Today.
Hold Finger on Post to Copy and Paste to Your Timeline.
A Special Thank You to All Willing to Post This On their Timeline for Alzheimer’s Awareness Week 💜💜
Two left feet.
Christian, don’t forget, the Bible Book of Daniel foretells the plans of God for the non-Jewish nations of the world in chapter 2. Foretelling which nations will have the most power at what time, until God establishes His rule thru Jesus Christ over all nations and peoples of the earth. God continues to reveal pre-history thru the New Testament, culminating with Revelation of Jesus Christ, the 66th book of our Bible. It is astounding some of you have never read the book of Daniel, never studied the prophecies, don’t have a clue to God’s plans or purposes, yet love your station in congregations that, overall, are not founded on Biblical principles.
Though Daniel’s teachings are clear, there are other Books that have prophecies that are still not-yet fulfilled. With this age of the internet and ready information, there is no excuse for a Christian not to be knowledgeable about what God is doing in Heaven and Earth at this time. Another great technological advance is the archives of teachers of the past that have devoted their lives to learning and teaching Bible truths. Once teacher I would recommend is the late J. Vernon McGee and his “Thru the Bible” program. No teachers of God has a private interpretation of the Scriptures: Dr. McGee has accumulated knowledge from the archives of many libraries, both secular and Christian.
I am writing to refresh your thoughts, to bring to light what seems a slight in the teachings of even the most fundamental Biblical Prophetic teachings, especially of Western civilizations. To do this, I must go back to the definitive teachings of Daniel Chapter 2.
The conditions under which Daniel interprets the hidden dream of King Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, is under the threat of death to all the wise men, wizards, astrologers, sooth slayers, magicians, and even the petty advisers, and their students. The King had ordered their deaths for failure to interpret the King’s dream, which he refused to tell them so they could interpret for him.
A great truth was proclaimed by this group of men in their defense: To interpret this dream would have to be supernatural, it would not be of this world, but would have to come thru the spirit world. (Which claim lay at the foundation of the whole school of spiritualist, often claiming their magic, cunning and trickery to be of the spirit world.) This truth is basic to the interpretation and understanding, underlying the importance of the King’s dream: in other words, the knowledge of the dream, it’s interpretation and the understanding of the meaning of the dream would have to come supernaturally, thru the spirit world, and not thru any understanding or cunning of man. And Daniel made it clear his knowing of the dream and its meaning came from God, not by any special talent possessed by Daniel; every one of them knew the dream would have to come from the spirit world, as did Daniel and the King with all his court.
I wont take the time to reinterpret the dream or expound on the accuracy of how history has proven the foretelling to be exact. That fact alone, is a living, on-going miracle. The prophecies of the “latter days” are still in play, not yet concluded, as real today as they were in Daniel’s day.
Do not forget, the Lord Jesus Christ, verified Daniel as a prophet and alluded to Daniel’s teachings as being of God. This is recorded in the New Testament.
The part of the prophecies that is being overlooked today, at least in the West, is the separation of the last global empire, which we refer to as “The Roman Empire.” It is after the 3rd Century of its existence that confuse some scholars. The West thinks the Roman Empire only existed as long as Rome, and later, the Vatican exist. That is not true.
Remember the statue that represents the gentile rule of the world? Remember how, even the detail of their being two players in the breast area of the statue, a left arm and a right arm, one being the Medes and the other being the Persians? Well, the same is true of the Roman Empire becoming two entities; the two legs of the statue being the Eastern Orthodox Church, known in history as the Byzantine Empire, and the Roman Catholic Church, known in history as the Western Roman Empire. Many want the Roman and Byzantine Empires to disappear, but that is not what prophecy says happens. Secular historians want the modern world to not have anything to do with the “age of the gentiles” prophecies of Daniel.
As Daniel chapter 2 continues down the legs and to the feet of the statue, and to the “Stone cut out of the Mountain without hands (of Man)”. The Divine Stone destroys the gentile empires, the whole of the statue, as the stone smashes the feet of the statue, causing the whole to fall be pulverized into a fine dust that is blown away by the wind, ending the rule of the gentiles over the earth forever, making the way for Christ to rule.
It is important to note the iron of the pelvis area begins to mix with “miry” clay as the legs extend to the feet, showing the dissipation of world dominance, a weakening of the power of some state.
Perhaps some anatomy lessons might be in order for the understanding the prophecies. Thigh bones consist of two large bones, go to the knee, down the shin to the ankles, then to the many bones of the foot, culminating in the five toes of each foot, the left and the right. It is here the prophecies seem to be dismissed by even the best prophecy scholars. They seem to jump to the Book of Revelation of Jesus Christ, overlooking the anatomy of the duel kingdoms that rival each other, both gentile by nature, both claiming the blessings of God over their empires because of their third century separations and division of the Eastern and Western Churches.
This being said, reasonable, within the bounds of accepted doctrinal truths documented by history, we must deal with the miry clay mixed with iron of the feet and toes of this prophecy with it’s on-going drama in today’s world.
But first, consider the nature of the Statue, a head of Gold, then breast of Silver, torso of bronze with its quadrants, then the lesser metal of iron, and finally, the lesser quality of the miry clay mixed with the iron. As the prophecies become history, we see the nobility, the honesty, the uprightness of rulers, dissipating into a lesser honor with each change of metal.
It is the iron that gets mixed with the miry clay. You are familiar with iron. It is breakable, it is not strong unless mixed with other metals that change the character of the iron into steel. Steel is not one of the metals of the statue. The iron is mixed with wet clay. Wet clay is clingy, it can be pushed, spun, shaped, and reshaped, never stable until it drys and then fired in a kiln, but is still brittle, though useful as a cheap utility, much cheaper than iron or metals less brittle than pottery. The mix of iron with wet clay indicates some strength, but never in the wet clay which clings to the iron, cannot be separated from the iron, and is finally terminated in the toes of the statue.
I propose the two thigh bones to be religious and political entities that culminate in the knees of the statue. As the bones of the shin are planted in the ankles, and from there into the toes of the Statue. There is the big toe of each foot and there are four smaller toes in each foot. I do not propose which is which, just that there are two of them. The west seems to think they are not part of the feet, but all of the nations of the earth are represented in the feet of the statue. (And yes, each foot has a heel: I will leave that interpretation and representation to your imaginations, but the toes are the culmination of the statue.)
Without much controversy, Biblical scholars have identified Russia as Gog in Ezekiel 38 and 39. I propose Russia and its leaders represent one of the big toes and that America is the other toe, be it the left or right foot. Allies of the two empires make up the miry clay/iron mix of the rest of the toes and the feet. Even China, with its vast population is part of that clay/iron mix. At this time, China, North Korea, Iran, and all of Islam seem to be allied against America, England, France, Germany, and the European Union.
It is well to remember these states are part of the gentile statue, and not of a protected entity that survives the stone that smashes all the nations of the gentiles.
It is not by coincidence that Vladimir Putin, one of the world’s richest men, and one of the most corrupt, vicious world leaders, calls himself, and is referred to in his own country, a Christian. Not only does he see himself as an Eastern Orthodox Christian, but he is self-righteous in thinking Russia is morally superior to any Western religion or philosophy. Putin sees himself as a “savior” and a “soldier” in the army of his religion, the big toe of the Eastern Orthodox Church, the foot of the Byzantine Empire. It is a dangerous, erroneous belief that emboldens evil treachery. This is the same attitude of the leaders of the West, be it America or European Union; they believe themselves to be morally superior, saviors and soldiers in the army of God.
May God have mercy on our souls, forgive the failures of the Church which has come short of their potential salvation of mankind, as did the nation, Israel and Judaism before us. It will take the rapture of the Church, the tribulation period, the subsequent return to Earth of Jesus and His Church, the establishment of the Messiah, Jesus Christ as King over all nations. to set things right here on planet Earth, at least for a 1000 years.
Come Lord Jesus.
Missing my friend, George Ross today. Enjoy.
Missing my friend, George Ross.
My friend George Ross, originally from Horsepen, Virginia, and finally from Winter Haven, Florida, where he had founded and ran a successful business called, “Ross Log Homes”, came home to Horsepen, to his Mother and her log home in which he had been born and where he had been nurtured into adulthood by she and the late Earl Ross.
Much water had passed under the bridge of our friendship. We had both chosen to work in the Newspaper industry, he as an editor for the Bluefield Daily Telegraph, and later, The Sentinel of Orlando, Florida, and me as a printer at the Clinch Valley News in Tazewell, 3 Army years, the Lynchburg News and Daily Telegraph, and lastly, the Roanoke Times and World News. George left the Sentinel to work full time in the Log Home business, and I, after a long legal battle and settlement, had quit being a printer and was then selling art work up and down the eastern seaboard.
I got news of George discovering he was dying of brain cancer; he was moving back to Horsepen, and could I come as soon as possible for a visit. Though Horsepen is a side-trip from Roanoke to Pittsburgh, I would visit him the night I was to drive to Pennsylvania for a show in the 3-Rivers, brass and glass mall, the following weekend.
Cancer or not, George still had an acute mind. He was just beginning the ravages of chemotherapy, still had his thick head of blonde, wavy hair, and his broad smile that showed all his teeth, from jaw to jaw. Florida had not succeeded in taking the country out of the boy; he was the same Ol’ George, just a more mature version. Another friend, Harless Neil was there to help with his medical needs; George and Harless had been friends since high-school. I am thankful Harless was there for George and his Mom.
That night visit was the last time I drank coffee form the gallon pot that use to sit atop the stove that heated the house. There were no longer inter-workings in the coffee pot: put coffee grounds in the bottom, fill it with water, put it on the stove, and in about 15 minutes there would be fresh coffee. In about an hour, the coffee would be so strong and hot, it would take a dipper of spring water to make it drinkable. This pot had been there all day, with water and grounds added as needed to keep the pot full. When I left Horsepen, driving back to Bluefield to pick up I-77 North, I noticed I was wide awake, even though it was past midnight. I was still wide awake at six AM when I crossed the River into Pittsburgh. I had told George I would come back for another visit after a three-show trip to New York, about a month from that time.
New York in the 1990’s was still dangerous, but nothing like it is today. On my way into the city to find my first show in Smith Town, I hit a pothole that threw me into the roof of my van, putting a knot right in the crown of my head. I wondered if I had really left West Virginia. The roads into the city were all to pieces, and no wonder, the traffic was a steady raceway; to slow down, was to be ran over.
Smith Town was not so bad, but I had to go to Long Island next, all the way thru New York City to the very tip of Long Island. That trip left me with one impression: New York City was a foreign country that needed missionaries to be sent by our Churches to preach Jesus to them.
The Central Park Art show was the last of the three. I was on Laguardia, next to the Park and in sight of New York University. (Later, when I described the area to my son, Simon, he informed me he had climbed the outside of that building to the top. He did that without my permission. He had biked to New York and became a bike messenger in the Twin Towers. He earned enough money to visit Europe. He folded his bike, went to England and biked into Germany, just in time for Oktoberfest. He doesn’t recall much of the trip after Germany.)
Parking was at a premium, there were no designated places for vendor vehicles. It was first come, first serve. I got there at 4:00 AM and drove right up to my designated place on the street, a ten-by-ten area for two days, costing a puny $800 dollars. No sane person would leave their art on the street overnight, not even camping inside their tents. Next to my booth was a fellow Virginian from Charlottesville, a cool dude who set his boombox on the sidewalk, playing music while he was setting up his area. The radio was not there long. It disappeared while playing. He told me to go left, and he would go right. Nothing. It simply disappeared into the dark underworld of New York City, in the bright, early morning sunlight.
The show closed at six PM. It was summer-time and still light outside. All the artist had put their art into vans, and some had driven away. I wasn’t about to give up my cherry parking place. I broke everything down, loaded it on the van, and was going to sleep in the van that night, fool that I was.
By my size, by my having being raised in Amonate, you would have thought I would be voted, “the least likely to be mugged”. I had just gotten into my van and ready to have a sandwich, when I heard a commotion behind me, loud profanity was coming from the van from the guy from Charlottesville. He had been sitting in his van, counting his money, when someone opened the back doors. He simply picked up his pistol, pointed it right into their face. They quickly closed the door and fled. Wow! I had racks behind my back doors: it would take a lot of work to open my back doors, so I was still staying at that point.
Across the street was a restaurant, with steps from the street. A black man escorting a white lady came down the steps, the couple was stopping to exchange words with a white man. The white man then sprinted down the steps, found a table left by one of the artist, turned it over and broke off one of the legs and headed back up the steps to hit the other man. The other man dodged a swing and ran to the table to break off a leg for defense. The two of them, and the on-looking lady, moved down the street out of sight, still swinging their “swords” at one-another.
The reason I lost sight of them was a very large pile of trash. You could tell it was trash from the show, mostly cardboard, banners, and lots of paper. I was sure the trash would be removed, it being only moments since the show had closed. It was not uncommon for show vendors to leave trash from the show to be picked up by the venue managers. I was glancing in my rear-view mirror when I saw the pile of trash going up in flames. I said to myself, “Good, the fire department will arrive and extinguish the flames.” I was wrong. No one showed, not a firetruck, not a policeman, not even a pedestrian. In the mainwhile, something was happening in front of me.
Movement caught my eye; people were walking down each side of the street on the other side of NYC University, the park running parallel, but being fenced off by an eight foot, wire fence. During the show, the gates were opened for use of the restroom facilities of the park, but were now closed.
Two gangs, one on each side of the street were warring with each other, throwing anything and everything that was not buried in concrete. The cross street was becoming impassable. They did not quit, they only moved their war down the street away from my angle of view.
I noticed a well-dressed man, carrying a briefcase, walking in the direction of the University, along the cluttered street. I thought, “Finally, a human-being. A gentle person.” As the “Gentleman” approached the gate to the park, he became very animated, dropping his briefcase, waving his arms and opening his long coat, he was screaming profanities as he approached the gates and began kicking them violently with his raised legs.
Okay. I needed to leave this area. I was armed only with a long butcher knife. I had told Beverly I wanted a gun. Her response was, “What? Are you going to kill someone over a piece of art?”
“No.” I said emphatically, “I will only defend myself.” So I had settled for the long butcher knife, which meant “close combat”. I never liked close combat, and I was getting too old for it.
I turned the van into the parking lot where the pile of rubble was still burning, not a person seeming to care. I was leaving NY City for the night, be back at 4 AM. I drove across the river into New Jersey. There was a super-large truck stop very near the bridge, on the Jersey side. I knew I was in Patterson, New Jersey, but was unaware of Patterson’s bad reputation. I pulled into one of the empty places among the large rigs, it was dark, but I felt it was a little safer than the street I had just left.
I had almost drifted off when a knock on the window came. I looked up and there was the first of a string of lot-lizards, prostitutes who serviced truckers in the parking lots of truck stops. When the third one woke me, I decided to move. I could see the bridge I had just crossed, had a road right up to the peer, I pulled as close to the peer as possible, backing into the end of the road. There was no one near, it was quiet and peaceful.
My knife was in arms-reach. A hard knock on the window awakened me, I clutched the knife, but knew better than to raise it up. I looked out the window by lifting my head off the hand-rest and small pillow. The largest red-headed, Irish policeman I had ever seen, was rising up as I rose up, only when I finished setting up, his face was above the window on the van. How big was this man?
He said, in a deep voice that almost had an echo, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m trying to get some sleep.”
“You need to go into the truck stop. This is where they come to dump the dead bodies.” He was smiling at my shocked reaction.
“Thank You, I will. Thank You.” I said as I started the truck. I went back into the lot. I was only bothered a couple more times. I finally got to sleep about 2 AM.
After talking with Harless by phone, I made a special trip to see George. George and I sat on his Mom’s front-porch, in a swing that was too tall for my feet to touch the floor. George asked me about my trip to NYC. I told him about the events and then I told him, “Churches need to send missionaries to New York, just like they do to Africa.”
George turned his head and looked at me, his broad smile still bright and boyish, he pointed to the little Baptist Church just the other side of the Horsepen intersection. He said, “We have a missionary there. He’s been there for years. We send him money every month.” And he named who was that missionary, but I failed to let it register.
Talk about David and Goliath! Horsepen, Virginia vs. New York City.