Happy Anniversary!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Flashback Friday...in a snap
I was wondering most of the day what I would put up for flashback friday and then it came to me in a "snap."
After sitting down for some "facebook crap" time (another Sister Susie quote)...what do I see but Sister Susie herself has been loading pictures on facebook of what they have found at the bottom of the pond:
Now, if you were any normal person you would look at this snapping turtle and say, "cool," "wow," "yuck," "creepy," or any other normal turtle adjectives.
But if you're a Vandercar, you immediately go in to Flashback mode and think of a log cabin, a bathtub and Pat Solomon.
Now, I'm gonna need help here...so feel free to comment and fill in the blanks.
One of the many cast of characters that visited the Log Cabin station on a near daily basis was Pat Solomon (Pappy)...(am I right were Pat and Pappy one and the same person?).
I can't tell you where he worked, what he did for a living, how he fits into the Solomon clan, where he lived or even if he ever spoke. I only remember two things about him:
1. He would sit down at the card table in the log cabin with a big onion and peel it like an orange with his fingernails that looked like he never cut them and then he would eat the onion like an apple. Just bite right into it without cutting it up. Did he ever buy anything to go with it? Pop, candy, chips? I don't know...I just remember that onion. Maybe he only did this one day...but it seemed he and his onion were there everyday...that's how vivid it is in my memory.
If that wasn't strange enough here's my second memory:
2. Every once in awhile he would show up with a snapping turtle and "store" it in the bathtub behind the station. Yes, I said bathtub.
(There was an old claw foot bathtub behind the Log Cabin that Dad used to check for holes in tires). I don't know why he brought the turtles to us. I don't know what he or dad or we did with the turtles (i have a feeling onions might have been a part of the turtles destiny as well), but I do know that this was grounds for an immediate call to Kendel (696-0832), with orders to "get over here as fast as you can and don't walk, run." I would find the longest stick in the yard and proceed to poke in the water until the turtle latched on and would pull him up out of the water and tell Kendel he was gonna snap him (all the while hoping and praying that the turtle would let go, because I was just as scared of the snapper as Kendel, but would never let him know that). This torture of the turtle and Kendel would go on as long as Dad or daylight would allow. It never got old.
(the tub (and occasional turtle) was to the left of the chimney right below the electric box)
So, elders.
You have to give the answers on this one.
Who was Pat?
Was Pat, Pappy?
Where did he work?
What was up with the onions?
Why didn't he clip his finger nails?
Did he always wear a conductor type hat?
Did he drive an old pick up?
Did he ever buy anything else or did he just stop in to eat his lunch, snack, huh?
Where did he get the turtles? (Susie you said get off 65 at Solomon's pond...what)? Is that where his turtles came from?
Why did he bring the turtles to the station?
What did he do with them? Other than the obvious...soup???
Did he and Dad have a standing agreement? Got turtles? Come to the cabin???
Where did that tub come from anyway? I would think Grandma and Grandpa's farmhouse, but Grandma Fern had a claw foot tub in the little red house. (But if I'm right, Tom, you have the actual tub in your barn)??
Where did the water come from? (The turtles always just seemed to appear, I don't ever remember seeing Pat bring, hold or move it from wherever it came from...as a matter of fact for years I was kind of afraid of the tub, I just thought they lurked around until it rained and then crawled in there). I think I must have checked it everyday, just to make sure.
How Pat related to the Solomon's from church. Father? Uncle? Brother?
Where can I get a picture of him?
And finally, is the guy in the pic (from the deer hunters) Pat?
I remember him being much older and grayer.
Directions to here:
Put your memory caps on and send me some answers!
After sitting down for some "facebook crap" time (another Sister Susie quote)...what do I see but Sister Susie herself has been loading pictures on facebook of what they have found at the bottom of the pond:
Now, if you were any normal person you would look at this snapping turtle and say, "cool," "wow," "yuck," "creepy," or any other normal turtle adjectives.But if you're a Vandercar, you immediately go in to Flashback mode and think of a log cabin, a bathtub and Pat Solomon.
Now, I'm gonna need help here...so feel free to comment and fill in the blanks.One of the many cast of characters that visited the Log Cabin station on a near daily basis was Pat Solomon (Pappy)...(am I right were Pat and Pappy one and the same person?).
I can't tell you where he worked, what he did for a living, how he fits into the Solomon clan, where he lived or even if he ever spoke. I only remember two things about him:
1. He would sit down at the card table in the log cabin with a big onion and peel it like an orange with his fingernails that looked like he never cut them and then he would eat the onion like an apple. Just bite right into it without cutting it up. Did he ever buy anything to go with it? Pop, candy, chips? I don't know...I just remember that onion. Maybe he only did this one day...but it seemed he and his onion were there everyday...that's how vivid it is in my memory.
If that wasn't strange enough here's my second memory:
2. Every once in awhile he would show up with a snapping turtle and "store" it in the bathtub behind the station. Yes, I said bathtub.
(There was an old claw foot bathtub behind the Log Cabin that Dad used to check for holes in tires). I don't know why he brought the turtles to us. I don't know what he or dad or we did with the turtles (i have a feeling onions might have been a part of the turtles destiny as well), but I do know that this was grounds for an immediate call to Kendel (696-0832), with orders to "get over here as fast as you can and don't walk, run." I would find the longest stick in the yard and proceed to poke in the water until the turtle latched on and would pull him up out of the water and tell Kendel he was gonna snap him (all the while hoping and praying that the turtle would let go, because I was just as scared of the snapper as Kendel, but would never let him know that). This torture of the turtle and Kendel would go on as long as Dad or daylight would allow. It never got old.
(the tub (and occasional turtle) was to the left of the chimney right below the electric box)So, elders.
You have to give the answers on this one.
Who was Pat?
Was Pat, Pappy?
Where did he work?
What was up with the onions?
Why didn't he clip his finger nails?
Did he always wear a conductor type hat?
Did he drive an old pick up?
Did he ever buy anything else or did he just stop in to eat his lunch, snack, huh?
Where did he get the turtles? (Susie you said get off 65 at Solomon's pond...what)? Is that where his turtles came from?
Why did he bring the turtles to the station?
What did he do with them? Other than the obvious...soup???
Did he and Dad have a standing agreement? Got turtles? Come to the cabin???
Where did that tub come from anyway? I would think Grandma and Grandpa's farmhouse, but Grandma Fern had a claw foot tub in the little red house. (But if I'm right, Tom, you have the actual tub in your barn)??
Where did the water come from? (The turtles always just seemed to appear, I don't ever remember seeing Pat bring, hold or move it from wherever it came from...as a matter of fact for years I was kind of afraid of the tub, I just thought they lurked around until it rained and then crawled in there). I think I must have checked it everyday, just to make sure.
How Pat related to the Solomon's from church. Father? Uncle? Brother?
Where can I get a picture of him?
And finally, is the guy in the pic (from the deer hunters) Pat?
I remember him being much older and grayer.
Directions to here:
Put your memory caps on and send me some answers!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Story for Earth Day
In honor of Earth Day and Verna's wanting to know if she knew who wheelchair man is,
I will:
1. Honor a grassroots group of victorious neighbors
2. Tell you a story
3. share a new year's resolution and the tipping point of how I finally turned green.
I have to dig, but I know that somewhere in mom's photos I have a group of adults dressed up like trash cans parading in, well, a parade. They represented the grassroots neighborhood group SCROD that came together and fought against the corporate world of trash, the clean and dirty politics and amazingly won a battle against a huge landfill which would have changed the landscape of their farms and homes.
Their battle was long and costly with much time, money and blood, sweat and tears sacrificed.
They also backed up their talk and became recyclers before it was hip to be green.
You would have thought that this would have been enough inspiration to make me recycle a coke can or two, but unfortunately, I stuck to all the old excuses and didn't.
Fast forward a few years. I'm at work and a man in a wheel chair wheeled over and asked me if I could help him. I said sure and asked what he needed. He asked if I could hang his bag of books off one side of the back of his chair, which I did. Then he said, "I hate to bother you, but there are two bags on the bottom of my chair. Could you pull the one in front toward the back?" Again, I was glad to help. Then he explained that the clerk at the grocery store had put his six pack of beer under the chair, but the bag in front of it was his recyclables and he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to reach them when he got to the the recycling bin.
I cocked my head to the side and asked him:
"You recycle?"
Wheel chair man looked at me incredulously and answered with an emphatic but not condemning..."uh, yeah!"
Now again, you would think, yeah, I know, you would think that this incident would of had me running home and bagging up all those coke cans.
No, I didn't, but I did start to make a plan and think about resolutions.
So then, fast forward, I dunno another 6 months and Sister Susie and I are in the car again...and maybe Dave and Sandy are there and we are talking about recycling and I announce, "I don't know...I want to, but my kitchen is just too small, Carmel doesn't have recycling pick up, Indianapolis only takes 1's and 2's and you have to sort it all out, blah, blah..blah...I just can't do it.
Insert approximately 15 seconds of silence, then Sister Susie quietly states:
"Wheel chair man recycles."
Dammit!
Why I did I ever tell her that story?!
I had successfully rationalized my guilt away and deleted the whole incident from my memory bank.
But there it was staring me in my huge carbon footprint face.
So...it took awhile, but I made the resolution.
Less Black
More Green
And even tho it makes more piles in my already cramped apartment, it has been 5 months and it seems to have become a habit....if not an obsession. Not only those coke cans go, but also cardboard, paper, plastic and glass which makes the black garbage amazingly little.
So hail Scrod members and Wheel chair man!
Thanks for the inspiration!
(and the guilt)
I will:
1. Honor a grassroots group of victorious neighbors
2. Tell you a story
3. share a new year's resolution and the tipping point of how I finally turned green.
I have to dig, but I know that somewhere in mom's photos I have a group of adults dressed up like trash cans parading in, well, a parade. They represented the grassroots neighborhood group SCROD that came together and fought against the corporate world of trash, the clean and dirty politics and amazingly won a battle against a huge landfill which would have changed the landscape of their farms and homes.
Their battle was long and costly with much time, money and blood, sweat and tears sacrificed.
They also backed up their talk and became recyclers before it was hip to be green.
You would have thought that this would have been enough inspiration to make me recycle a coke can or two, but unfortunately, I stuck to all the old excuses and didn't.
Fast forward a few years. I'm at work and a man in a wheel chair wheeled over and asked me if I could help him. I said sure and asked what he needed. He asked if I could hang his bag of books off one side of the back of his chair, which I did. Then he said, "I hate to bother you, but there are two bags on the bottom of my chair. Could you pull the one in front toward the back?" Again, I was glad to help. Then he explained that the clerk at the grocery store had put his six pack of beer under the chair, but the bag in front of it was his recyclables and he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to reach them when he got to the the recycling bin.
I cocked my head to the side and asked him:
"You recycle?"
Wheel chair man looked at me incredulously and answered with an emphatic but not condemning..."uh, yeah!"
Now again, you would think, yeah, I know, you would think that this incident would of had me running home and bagging up all those coke cans.
No, I didn't, but I did start to make a plan and think about resolutions.
So then, fast forward, I dunno another 6 months and Sister Susie and I are in the car again...and maybe Dave and Sandy are there and we are talking about recycling and I announce, "I don't know...I want to, but my kitchen is just too small, Carmel doesn't have recycling pick up, Indianapolis only takes 1's and 2's and you have to sort it all out, blah, blah..blah...I just can't do it.
Insert approximately 15 seconds of silence, then Sister Susie quietly states:
"Wheel chair man recycles."
Dammit!
Why I did I ever tell her that story?!
I had successfully rationalized my guilt away and deleted the whole incident from my memory bank.
But there it was staring me in my huge carbon footprint face.
So...it took awhile, but I made the resolution.
Less Black(my regular trash can)
More Green
And even tho it makes more piles in my already cramped apartment, it has been 5 months and it seems to have become a habit....if not an obsession. Not only those coke cans go, but also cardboard, paper, plastic and glass which makes the black garbage amazingly little.
So hail Scrod members and Wheel chair man!
Thanks for the inspiration!
(and the guilt)
And Happy Earth Day!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Picture Roulette # 10
Directions to here:
Today's pic roulette also reminds me that I missed wishing Matt and Chari a Happy Anniversary back in March....so Happy Anniversary!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Flashback...too much...not enough.
Yay!For those of you who have heard my ponderings by the tree at Orchard Grove Cemetery,
I think I may have figured out who Martha Vandercar was.
The visit with Ruby and the powers of the magic box (Internet) are making me wish I could be on a permanent Heritage Vacation....everyday...and scan, scan, scan...and hunt, hunt, hunt and write, write, write.
But alas there is too much info and not enough time.
And now it's almost 5 a.m. and the genealogy bunny trail must end for now.
But I'll be back.
Love,
Your Nostalgic Nerd
Directions to here:
This is how Ruby did her genealogy research...old school style.
I'd love to put the internet at her finger tips.
This is one of her books. There's a similar one on ABE books, listed at $375.00.
oh, and Susie and Bobby, it's four hours later and I'm still not sure when the cabin was built!
But I might know who Martha is!
I remember reading it, maybe in one of the 4-H books you guys did. Also, is there a book that has a picture of Carl Kenney on a horse. Seems I may have read it there, since he supposedly had the station for awhile.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Flashback Friday...Remembering Dad with hope and assurance.
After Dad's funeral, I did a series of Flashback Friday's and shared what was said at his funeral and thoughts on his life. I wrote about how we remembered his life and his service to his country, but I never finished the rest of the story.
With this weekend being Good Friday followed by Easter Sunday, I thought that it was an appropriate time to remember the rest of the story.
Many of you know that I was a missionary for Campus Crusade for 12 years after college.
I had traveled the world talking to people about their beliefs about God, the Bible and faith, but I never knew for sure what my Dad believed. He had told me once that He believed in God.
But I had heard him tell preacher after preacher...that he didn't think he belonged in church because of the things he had to do during the war.
I was torn, because I knew my Dad was a good man and wanted to believe, but did he understand the message of forgiveness?
Being a missionary, I was trained to bring people to a point of decision. To lead them, if possible in a "sinner's prayer"...a specific moment that the person can look back on and say that is when I "became a Christian." I was pretty sure my Dad had never grasped or said such a prayer. I was worried.
It was shortly after having open heart surgery that my mom showed me a letter my Dad had written. A letter he wrote to God:
After reading this letter, I looked up and my mom was beaming.
It answered my questions.
I said to God, "I know he may not understand everything, but he understands he is guilty and is asking you for forgiveness and for you to accept him. If that's not a good enough prayer, then I don't want to believe in you."
After that, I stopped worrying about my Dad.
I knew in my heart that God had given Dad what he asked for..."just as he was."
However, it is one thing to intellectually know what the Bible says.
It is another thing to be assured of it.
I do believe that my Dad knew he wanted to be forgiven and asked God for it in his own way, but I don't believe he ever experienced or was assured of that forgiveness and I think that is why he continued to put off being baptized or go to church or take communion, because he said "I don't want to push my way in."
Several years later, found him at the end of his days.
I will now, turn the story over to my brother Mike and his account of the last days of my dad's life on earth.
Here's Mike's story as read by Pastor Morrow, at Dad's funeral service:
"Here's my Testament:
I’ve a story to tell about my Dad, who we’ve come here today to pay our last respects to. As we’ve heard earlier my Dad was a very honest, hard-working man who took great pride in his family and lived a long and interesting life. The story I would like to tell is of his spiritual beliefs and of the amazing things that occurred within the last 24 hours of his time here on earth. My Dad was never much of a church-goer and as any of you who knew him knows he did not express his faith to others. Growing up Mom always made sure that we were in Sunday school and Church as often as was possible, but about the only time she could get Dad away from the Log Cabin or the farm to go to church would be for Easter Sunrise and sometimes Christmas services. Several years ago before Mom went to be with Jesus in heaven she showed some of my sisters a letter that Dad had written that started out 'Dear Lord,' in it he gave thanks to the Lord for being with him through his recent Heart By-Pass surgery, and for the wonderful wife and family that he had. Continuing on he writes, and I quote from the letter: 'Was called to the service of our Country, done my best, a lot of very hard times Killing our enemies was worst, you never forget so many, hope you understand, it’s impossible to forget our sins. Hope you can forgive, and the future will be all right.' end quote.
After learning of this letter all of us tried on several occasions to witness to Dad that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ understands that the things he was commanded to do by his government were contrary to what Jesus would like, and in Jesus’ eyes are no different than any of the other sins that we all commit on a daily basis in our lives. Our human nature separates all of us from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and it is only through his death and resurrection that we can be assured our sins have been forgiven. This was a major stumbling block for my Dad to overcome he just felt that for all he had done he was not worthy of being forgiven. Well let’s fast forward now to the afternoon before Dad’s death.
He had the opportunity to receive God’s forgiveness through the Sacrament of Baptism. Verna and I were with him at the time and immediately saw a peace come over him that brought us great joy.
Later that night we got a call from the nursing home that Dad was not doing to good and that we may want to come in. David and I spent the night with him and Nancy and Janet came early in the morning to give us a break.
When I left Dad that morning I put my hands on his shoulders and told him I was going to leave for a little while and that if Jesus came to get him he needed to go with him because he was going to take him to a much better place and to be with Mom.
Shortly after I left he was visited a second time by the Pastor from the nursing home and also by a Chaplin from hospice.
These men both welcomed Dad in to the Brotherhood of Believers and assured him of Christ’s forgiveness. Shortly after the Hospice Chaplin left Dad’s room an Aid from the Hospice came in to tend to Dad. She asked my sisters if they could step out of the room for a few minutes.
They tell that while they were out of the room almost instantly the wind picked up and started blowing, it started to rain very hard and almost as quickly as it started it stopped, and the sun came out.
They saw the aid back out in the hallway and so they started back into Dad’s room but was then told that Dad had just died while she was with him.
The hospice Chaplin had not yet left the building so he came by to see my sisters and to comfort them. When they told him of the timing of the wind and the rain and Dad’s death, he was not at all surprised. He said just as it is written and just as he had told Dad a few minutes earlier, the Lord sends the water (in the rain) to cleanse of our sins and the Holy Spirit (in the wind) to be with us and take us to heaven when our days on earth are done. So I would like to close by saying Praise God for the gift of Salvation he has given us through the Death and Resurrection of his Son Jesus Christ and Praise God for giving my Dad the opportunity to receive his salvation from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen."
So, dear reader,
it is with hope that I remember my Dad, especially on this Good Friday.
I hope that you too...have hope.
And not just hope, but assurance as well.
Assurance that the message of Good Friday and the forgiveness it brings is Real.
And that the message of Easter Sunday and the Resurrection unto life eternal has and
will conquer all fear of death.
With this weekend being Good Friday followed by Easter Sunday, I thought that it was an appropriate time to remember the rest of the story.Many of you know that I was a missionary for Campus Crusade for 12 years after college.
I had traveled the world talking to people about their beliefs about God, the Bible and faith, but I never knew for sure what my Dad believed. He had told me once that He believed in God.
But I had heard him tell preacher after preacher...that he didn't think he belonged in church because of the things he had to do during the war.
I was torn, because I knew my Dad was a good man and wanted to believe, but did he understand the message of forgiveness?
Being a missionary, I was trained to bring people to a point of decision. To lead them, if possible in a "sinner's prayer"...a specific moment that the person can look back on and say that is when I "became a Christian." I was pretty sure my Dad had never grasped or said such a prayer. I was worried.
It was shortly after having open heart surgery that my mom showed me a letter my Dad had written. A letter he wrote to God:
After reading this letter, I looked up and my mom was beaming.It answered my questions.
I said to God, "I know he may not understand everything, but he understands he is guilty and is asking you for forgiveness and for you to accept him. If that's not a good enough prayer, then I don't want to believe in you."
After that, I stopped worrying about my Dad.
I knew in my heart that God had given Dad what he asked for..."just as he was."
However, it is one thing to intellectually know what the Bible says.
It is another thing to be assured of it.
I do believe that my Dad knew he wanted to be forgiven and asked God for it in his own way, but I don't believe he ever experienced or was assured of that forgiveness and I think that is why he continued to put off being baptized or go to church or take communion, because he said "I don't want to push my way in."
Several years later, found him at the end of his days.
I will now, turn the story over to my brother Mike and his account of the last days of my dad's life on earth.
Here's Mike's story as read by Pastor Morrow, at Dad's funeral service:
"Here's my Testament:
I’ve a story to tell about my Dad, who we’ve come here today to pay our last respects to. As we’ve heard earlier my Dad was a very honest, hard-working man who took great pride in his family and lived a long and interesting life. The story I would like to tell is of his spiritual beliefs and of the amazing things that occurred within the last 24 hours of his time here on earth. My Dad was never much of a church-goer and as any of you who knew him knows he did not express his faith to others. Growing up Mom always made sure that we were in Sunday school and Church as often as was possible, but about the only time she could get Dad away from the Log Cabin or the farm to go to church would be for Easter Sunrise and sometimes Christmas services. Several years ago before Mom went to be with Jesus in heaven she showed some of my sisters a letter that Dad had written that started out 'Dear Lord,' in it he gave thanks to the Lord for being with him through his recent Heart By-Pass surgery, and for the wonderful wife and family that he had. Continuing on he writes, and I quote from the letter: 'Was called to the service of our Country, done my best, a lot of very hard times Killing our enemies was worst, you never forget so many, hope you understand, it’s impossible to forget our sins. Hope you can forgive, and the future will be all right.' end quote.
After learning of this letter all of us tried on several occasions to witness to Dad that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ understands that the things he was commanded to do by his government were contrary to what Jesus would like, and in Jesus’ eyes are no different than any of the other sins that we all commit on a daily basis in our lives. Our human nature separates all of us from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and it is only through his death and resurrection that we can be assured our sins have been forgiven. This was a major stumbling block for my Dad to overcome he just felt that for all he had done he was not worthy of being forgiven. Well let’s fast forward now to the afternoon before Dad’s death.
He had the opportunity to receive God’s forgiveness through the Sacrament of Baptism. Verna and I were with him at the time and immediately saw a peace come over him that brought us great joy.
Later that night we got a call from the nursing home that Dad was not doing to good and that we may want to come in. David and I spent the night with him and Nancy and Janet came early in the morning to give us a break.
When I left Dad that morning I put my hands on his shoulders and told him I was going to leave for a little while and that if Jesus came to get him he needed to go with him because he was going to take him to a much better place and to be with Mom.
Shortly after I left he was visited a second time by the Pastor from the nursing home and also by a Chaplin from hospice.
These men both welcomed Dad in to the Brotherhood of Believers and assured him of Christ’s forgiveness. Shortly after the Hospice Chaplin left Dad’s room an Aid from the Hospice came in to tend to Dad. She asked my sisters if they could step out of the room for a few minutes.
They tell that while they were out of the room almost instantly the wind picked up and started blowing, it started to rain very hard and almost as quickly as it started it stopped, and the sun came out.
They saw the aid back out in the hallway and so they started back into Dad’s room but was then told that Dad had just died while she was with him.
The hospice Chaplin had not yet left the building so he came by to see my sisters and to comfort them. When they told him of the timing of the wind and the rain and Dad’s death, he was not at all surprised. He said just as it is written and just as he had told Dad a few minutes earlier, the Lord sends the water (in the rain) to cleanse of our sins and the Holy Spirit (in the wind) to be with us and take us to heaven when our days on earth are done. So I would like to close by saying Praise God for the gift of Salvation he has given us through the Death and Resurrection of his Son Jesus Christ and Praise God for giving my Dad the opportunity to receive his salvation from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen."
So, dear reader,
it is with hope that I remember my Dad, especially on this Good Friday.
I hope that you too...have hope.
And not just hope, but assurance as well.
Assurance that the message of Good Friday and the forgiveness it brings is Real.
And that the message of Easter Sunday and the Resurrection unto life eternal has and
will conquer all fear of death.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Saturday, April 04, 2009
In memory of Carl Brown
Once upon a time three American girls and three American boys crossed the ocean to study abroad and met by "accident" in a park in Bucharest Romania.
At least that is what our story was for anyone who would ask.
In reality, we met in Germany and were a part of a covert campus ministry back when the iron curtain was still solid iron, email was a thing of the future, phone calls home were limited to two or three a year and Romanian grocery stores were filled with 3 items...ketchup, jam and bread.
There are many stories to be told.
But in the light of this week's news, I will focus on one.
We three girls were teamed with possibly three of the most radical boys to ever answer the call for mission work in Eastern Europe. They were from Colorado. Mountain men. With faith, dreams and commitment as high as the mountains they came from. High country livin' they called it.
All three were equally exceptional in their vision, pioneering spirit and zeal for the unreached of the uttermost parts of the world. On the flip side, they were equally able to frustrate we three girls to no end. Or maybe that was just the stress of living in close quarters in a country that appeared as first world, but really was more third world.
Two weeks ago, while on vacation, I opened an email from an old friend only to be stunned at it's content.
Carl, who was presently living in Germany, had died from a heart attack at the age of 43, leaving his wife, Angi and four children.
On Thursday night there was a memorial service for Carl at his home church in Eaton Colorado. And thanks to today's amazing technology, I was able to watch the service via a live feed on the internet.
I listened as person after person gave testimony of how Carl and his family had touched their lives. His family and people from every corner of the world, spoke of his love for God and for people. They mentioned his vision, his passionate heart, his dry sense of humor, his antics, his faith, his humility.
I had not seen Carl for more than 15+ years.
One would think that I would have a different memory of the 23 year old boy than the those who were describing the 43 year old man, but not so.
Every story, every characteristic, every word that honored him, did not surprise me in the least bit, for even tho we were all so very young and had so very much to learn about life and relationships, I knew even then that Carl had a heart that was pure and his vision was incredibly large and his commitment was tenacious. It did not surprise me to hear that he had not only finished seminary, but went on to grad school and also completed his doctorate. It did not surprise me to hear of his teaching, preaching, language learning, mentoring, church planting and evangelism. It didn't even surprise me to hear of his incredible adoration of his wife and his love and pride for and of his children. I may not have kept up with all the details of their comings and goings...but it did not surprise me to hear that wherever he went he continued to "be all there." It didn't surprise me at all, because I had watched the way he lived that first year overseas. If he changed at all, it seemed, it was only to grow deeper and firmer in his convictions.
The only thing that did surprise me, of course, was the news itself.
That someone so totally alive could be gone so sudden.
If I could have been present at the memorial, I would have said what a privilege it was to live that year and watch him prepare for a lifetime of ministry.
And that if I could have one last conversation with Carl...
it would have been one of telling him thank you.
Before I left for Romania, Carl, whom I had never met, was one of the two who helped top off my financial support that made me able to meet the deadline and get on the plane. He supported me all thru the year, helping me stay and he gave at the end of the year to help me get back home.
While in Romania, it was Carl and his willingness to serve our team that made our year bearable.
For Carl was not just with Campus Crusade, but was also on a Fulbright scholarship.
Because of this, he had connections that were not available to the rest of us and certainly not available to the Romanians.
If you remember getting a letter from me or writing to me while I was in Romania, it was because Carl carried the mail to and back from the diplomatic pouch at the American Embassy.
If we ate meat, cheese or eggs, it was because Carl got us groceries from the American dollar stores.
At least that is what our story was for anyone who would ask.
In reality, we met in Germany and were a part of a covert campus ministry back when the iron curtain was still solid iron, email was a thing of the future, phone calls home were limited to two or three a year and Romanian grocery stores were filled with 3 items...ketchup, jam and bread.
There are many stories to be told.
But in the light of this week's news, I will focus on one.
We three girls were teamed with possibly three of the most radical boys to ever answer the call for mission work in Eastern Europe. They were from Colorado. Mountain men. With faith, dreams and commitment as high as the mountains they came from. High country livin' they called it.
All three were equally exceptional in their vision, pioneering spirit and zeal for the unreached of the uttermost parts of the world. On the flip side, they were equally able to frustrate we three girls to no end. Or maybe that was just the stress of living in close quarters in a country that appeared as first world, but really was more third world.
Among these three guys,
was Carl Brown.
And my post today is simple.
I want to say thank you.
was Carl Brown.
And my post today is simple.I want to say thank you.
Two weeks ago, while on vacation, I opened an email from an old friend only to be stunned at it's content.
Carl, who was presently living in Germany, had died from a heart attack at the age of 43, leaving his wife, Angi and four children.
On Thursday night there was a memorial service for Carl at his home church in Eaton Colorado. And thanks to today's amazing technology, I was able to watch the service via a live feed on the internet.
I listened as person after person gave testimony of how Carl and his family had touched their lives. His family and people from every corner of the world, spoke of his love for God and for people. They mentioned his vision, his passionate heart, his dry sense of humor, his antics, his faith, his humility.
I had not seen Carl for more than 15+ years.
One would think that I would have a different memory of the 23 year old boy than the those who were describing the 43 year old man, but not so.
Every story, every characteristic, every word that honored him, did not surprise me in the least bit, for even tho we were all so very young and had so very much to learn about life and relationships, I knew even then that Carl had a heart that was pure and his vision was incredibly large and his commitment was tenacious. It did not surprise me to hear that he had not only finished seminary, but went on to grad school and also completed his doctorate. It did not surprise me to hear of his teaching, preaching, language learning, mentoring, church planting and evangelism. It didn't even surprise me to hear of his incredible adoration of his wife and his love and pride for and of his children. I may not have kept up with all the details of their comings and goings...but it did not surprise me to hear that wherever he went he continued to "be all there." It didn't surprise me at all, because I had watched the way he lived that first year overseas. If he changed at all, it seemed, it was only to grow deeper and firmer in his convictions.
The only thing that did surprise me, of course, was the news itself.
That someone so totally alive could be gone so sudden.
If I could have been present at the memorial, I would have said what a privilege it was to live that year and watch him prepare for a lifetime of ministry.
And that if I could have one last conversation with Carl...
it would have been one of telling him thank you.
Before I left for Romania, Carl, whom I had never met, was one of the two who helped top off my financial support that made me able to meet the deadline and get on the plane. He supported me all thru the year, helping me stay and he gave at the end of the year to help me get back home.
While in Romania, it was Carl and his willingness to serve our team that made our year bearable.
For Carl was not just with Campus Crusade, but was also on a Fulbright scholarship.
Because of this, he had connections that were not available to the rest of us and certainly not available to the Romanians.
If you remember getting a letter from me or writing to me while I was in Romania, it was because Carl carried the mail to and back from the diplomatic pouch at the American Embassy.
If we ate meat, cheese or eggs, it was because Carl got us groceries from the American dollar stores.
If we were to use everyday essentials, like toilet paper, we did so because Carl carried it to us, every week, roll after roll. And when I say carried, I mean carried. For it was all public transportation. He was a pro at delivering uncracked eggs to us, despite the overcrowded trams and subway.
If I drank Coke, it was because of Carl being able to order from an international food company two times a year.
We had Bibles in the Romanian language because of Carl being able to ship them in the country using his scholarship to get "research" shipped in thru the embassy (Dud, i just figured this out...after hearing you speak, good job keeping it from us so as not implicate us!).
The stress of being away from family, friends and living in a communist country was very much alleviated because of Carl's connections and most of all his willingness to use them to make our lives easier.
And can you believe?
I can't recall if I ever even once said thank you.
So, Carl.
That is what I would say.
Thank you.
Thank you for being the mailman...and our lifeline to our families.
Thank you for carrying all that food back to us every single week and never even asking for one red cent.
Thank you for letting us put God's word in the Romanian language into Romanian hands.
Thank you for your vision,
your passion,
your high country livin'
and for living a life that even after 20 years, I am not surprised in the least to hear that hundreds and I'm sure even thousands have been changed because of your life.
Thank you, Carl.
We had Bibles in the Romanian language because of Carl being able to ship them in the country using his scholarship to get "research" shipped in thru the embassy (Dud, i just figured this out...after hearing you speak, good job keeping it from us so as not implicate us!).
The stress of being away from family, friends and living in a communist country was very much alleviated because of Carl's connections and most of all his willingness to use them to make our lives easier.
And can you believe?
I can't recall if I ever even once said thank you.
So, Carl.
That is what I would say.
Thank you.
Thank you for being the mailman...and our lifeline to our families.
Thank you for carrying all that food back to us every single week and never even asking for one red cent.
Thank you for letting us put God's word in the Romanian language into Romanian hands.
Thank you for your vision,
your passion,
your high country livin'
and for living a life that even after 20 years, I am not surprised in the least to hear that hundreds and I'm sure even thousands have been changed because of your life.
Thank you, Carl.
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