Monday, July 7, 2008
July 4th, 2008
"Oh, say! Does that star-spangled banner yet wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?" I had bought two small flags and hung them out front on the sign-board at Pumzika Acres as preparation for the 4th of July celebration. We had a wonderful time with our kids and their kids and with Frnaces' brothers and sisters and theirs who could come. Thank God we live in a free country where we can celebrate. I know what it means to live in a place where freedoms are restricted. One of the things I missed while living in Kenya, one of Africa's free-est countries, was the feeling of total freedom to do what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it in the way I wanted to do it. Yes, there is a difference, even in the way the people talk - or should I say "Don't talk" about their country's leadership. When they do rise up and speak out against personal injustices they are often over-run immediately by the powers that be. If they criticize the president (yes, I've seen this even in Kenya) they sometimes wind up arrested and find themselves lost, literally lost, in the prison system. During our stay in Kenya we read in the Daily Nation of the arrest of a preacher who had spoken out on Sunday in his pulpit against some things that he saw wrong with his government, and especially in the president's office. He would remain in jail from days to weeks to months before finally the order would be given for him to be released. During our early time in Kenya (we arrived in 1989) the president would read an article in some magazine or newspaper and -- finding it not to his liking -- consequently would declare the magazine "seditious material" and have the editor arrested. Furthermore, anyone who had bought one of the magazines had better destroy it because if you were caught with a copy of that particular issue you would be subject to arrest. It was a requirement that all businesses had to have a picture of the president, Daniel Torotich Arap Moi, on display in their businesses. One paper reported of the arrest of a person who had a picture of the former president, Jomo Kenyatta, displayed more prominently than his picture of President Moi. Under such ruthless leadership the common people really suffer. Here in America the most common among us have the right to dissent. Freedom of speech. Freedom of the Press. Even the right to keep and bear arms is ours. Yes, we are attacked on every side by those who would like to do away with our freedoms - but I think it is important that we NOT forget the great freedoms we have. At one time while we were in Kenya our family group would have been meeting illegally because the law was issued that no more than twelve people were allowed to assemble in one place. We had twenty-eight people at the cabin Friday, therefore we would have been illegal. More treacherous sitll, because we had guns in our possession we would have been arrested. A person could be arrested for having even one bullet in his/her possession - even without a gun - so if you found a bullet you would not put it in your pocket or purse. Why are those governments so repressive? Because they are afraid. Fear hath torment.
Oh, How I do thank God for the "land of the free and the home of the brave!" Faith in God and faith in my country gives me confidence to move into the future without fear. Get a grip on your faith in God and you will not live in fear, even if you live in a repressive and restrictive country. Sin will torment you. Sin will cause you to live in fear. If you repent, that is, if you will be genuinely sorry for and will turn away from your sins and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, You will forgiven and can find the assurance of eternal life. Oh what freedom that is!!!
In the words of one of my favoriet songs, "I trust in God, wherever I may be! On mountain bleak, or on life's rolling sea. Let come what may, from day to day! My heavenly Father watches over me."
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Bridge Complete!
I arrived at the cabin yesterday to find gates which had barred the road removed. At the edge of the bridge is a sign showing a curved arrow. It is really the most awkwardly placed bridge I've ever seen over a creek, but this is what the "Federal People" (to use what the construction crew called them) insisted on. It seems it has something to do with the EPA. Here are a few pictures.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Progress On The Bridge
Yesterday Ed and I stopped in Benton at the IGA and bought chicken tenders from the meat section and four cans of IGA biscuits to take with us to the cabin. I fried two big skillets of chicken and baked the biscuits for the crew who are working on the bridge. It has been moved now and looks much stronger already. It is also much wider than the old bridge. Chub, the forman said, "Should be finished by next Wednesday, Lord willing."
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Work In Progress!
Last time I was at the cabin the O'dell Construction Company were building the bridge. It was different than I had imagined it would be. I thought they would possibly build piers on both sides of the creek, then build the bridge in place. However, they put down three dump truck loads of gravel, then started bolting together pieces of curved heavy metal which appear to be 3 feet by six feet in length. I'm told that once this is complete they will take out the old bridge and then lift this one with heavy equipment and put it in place over the water. After that, they will fill in with dirt and rock, and finally pour concrete on both sides. I'll try to get more pictures and show you the progress as it goes along.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
They're Tearing Out My Bridge
Monday the Forest Service sent a crew to Loss Creek to start replacing the old wooden bridge. The foreman told me that they were putting an iron-bar gate across the road on both sides of the creek -- so looks like things will be messy around the place for a few weeks. They have given me a key to the gate, so as long as it's crossable I can still get to the cabin.
As it turns out, the foreman of the crew was a teen-ager when I pastored my first church in Tellico Plains. He is the one who taught me to take off my shoes and slip up on a squirrell; how to tell the difference between a male squirrell's bark and a female squirrell's bark; and led me around on his Dad's farm near the community of Rafter. What a pleasure to have Chub O'dell and his two sons (William and Wesley) come down to the cabin and join Eddie and me for lunch. Also working with them was another man who was a youngster when we were at Tellico Plains: Kenneth Woods. Frances had sent a huge bowl of chicken & rice and garbonzo bean soup, plus I had two cans of store-bought biscuits with half a jar of molasses, so there was enough to share with everyone. We had a very FUN day.
Pictures next time.
As it turns out, the foreman of the crew was a teen-ager when I pastored my first church in Tellico Plains. He is the one who taught me to take off my shoes and slip up on a squirrell; how to tell the difference between a male squirrell's bark and a female squirrell's bark; and led me around on his Dad's farm near the community of Rafter. What a pleasure to have Chub O'dell and his two sons (William and Wesley) come down to the cabin and join Eddie and me for lunch. Also working with them was another man who was a youngster when we were at Tellico Plains: Kenneth Woods. Frances had sent a huge bowl of chicken & rice and garbonzo bean soup, plus I had two cans of store-bought biscuits with half a jar of molasses, so there was enough to share with everyone. We had a very FUN day.
Pictures next time.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Reflections On My Pocket Knife
I love carrying a pocket knife. A man’s pocket knife is a wonderful instrument, useful for all sorts of good things from cleaning fingernails to cleaning squirrells. However, it can be a dangerous instrument in the wrong or in-experienced hands. I have two scars from accidental cuts on my body which will be with me throughout my lifetime – both self inflicted. The first caused by lack of understanding, the second caused from carelessness. These scars are mine mainly because I did not realize the danger which I held in my hands.
Dad was so proud to have a son. He wanted me to be his little man. He was determined to teach me all the “manly" things to do. Therefore, when I asked to borrow his pocket knife, he handed it to me with the instruction, “Now son, be careful. It’s sharp!” When I started whittling on the stick I had picked up, I was bracing one end against my chest and drawing the knife towards my body.
“Hold it, Son. That’s the wrong way. Turn the stick over…Always whittle away from your body.” So, holding the stick tightly in my chubby little left hand, so that the long end of the stick was pointed toward my body, I turned it over, and – starting from the part closest to my body – began with a mighty push of the knife towards my fist ...... slashing a deep gash at the base of my thumb.
Following Dad’s teaching, I cannot really remember how long I have carried a pocket knife in my pocket. I remember having several different ones before reaching the age of 10. Knives are used for cleaning finger nails. They are handy for making a tooth pick when out hiking in the fields and woods. They are helpful for opening cardboard boxes, cold drinks, and even potted meat. “Always keep your knife sharp” was Dad’s advice. Naturally they become dull after much use. But Dad always kept his knife sharp, thus he always said, “Be careful, it’s sharp.”
The second scar I gave myself was many years later after I had been in full time ministry for several years. I had been squirrel hunting and had killed three. We were at a minister’s retreat at Fall Creek Falls and one of the men who had hunted with me suggested that we should clean the squirrels before returning to camp. My pocket knife was not sharp because I had been cutting wire with it the previous week and had not re-sharpened the blade. I borrowed Paul Fritts knife and it was razor sharp. Moving from my dull knife to my friends sharp knife, I placed the leg bone of the squirrel across the knife, blade and leg between my thumb and index finger, applied pressure, and cut clean through the bone and meat on the squirrel and deep into my right thumb! I quickly wrapped it in my handkerchief and headed for camp and the first aid station.
Back at the camp we found that not a single person at this camp had so much as a band-aid or piece of gauze. One of the Hurst twins (Can’t remember if it was Arville or Barney) who said, “Here, Brother Fred. Hold it in the sink and let me help you get that bleeding stopped.” I closed my eyes and held it under the water in the kitchen sink. The water stopped – and the man poured a whole box of kitchen salt over my bleeding thumb and wrapped it back in my handkerchief. This slowed the blood some but soon it continued to drip out of the handkerchief, we decided to drive down to Pikeville (about 15 miles away at the bottom of the mountain) and get a doctor to sew it up. The bleeding did not stop until the last of 8 stitches were applied and the thumb was wrapped in gauze and medical tape.
Now I’ve told you all of these things in order to tell you that all of you carry an instrument that is so sharp that it can and does deliver wounds that will last for a life-time. This instrument is the tongue. When used correctly it is a powerful instrument for good. When used incorrectly or perhaps carelessly it can produce permanent scars. Perhaps that is why the Psalmist prayed thusly:
Psalm 141:3
"Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips."
Dad was so proud to have a son. He wanted me to be his little man. He was determined to teach me all the “manly" things to do. Therefore, when I asked to borrow his pocket knife, he handed it to me with the instruction, “Now son, be careful. It’s sharp!” When I started whittling on the stick I had picked up, I was bracing one end against my chest and drawing the knife towards my body.
“Hold it, Son. That’s the wrong way. Turn the stick over…Always whittle away from your body.” So, holding the stick tightly in my chubby little left hand, so that the long end of the stick was pointed toward my body, I turned it over, and – starting from the part closest to my body – began with a mighty push of the knife towards my fist ...... slashing a deep gash at the base of my thumb.
Following Dad’s teaching, I cannot really remember how long I have carried a pocket knife in my pocket. I remember having several different ones before reaching the age of 10. Knives are used for cleaning finger nails. They are handy for making a tooth pick when out hiking in the fields and woods. They are helpful for opening cardboard boxes, cold drinks, and even potted meat. “Always keep your knife sharp” was Dad’s advice. Naturally they become dull after much use. But Dad always kept his knife sharp, thus he always said, “Be careful, it’s sharp.”
The second scar I gave myself was many years later after I had been in full time ministry for several years. I had been squirrel hunting and had killed three. We were at a minister’s retreat at Fall Creek Falls and one of the men who had hunted with me suggested that we should clean the squirrels before returning to camp. My pocket knife was not sharp because I had been cutting wire with it the previous week and had not re-sharpened the blade. I borrowed Paul Fritts knife and it was razor sharp. Moving from my dull knife to my friends sharp knife, I placed the leg bone of the squirrel across the knife, blade and leg between my thumb and index finger, applied pressure, and cut clean through the bone and meat on the squirrel and deep into my right thumb! I quickly wrapped it in my handkerchief and headed for camp and the first aid station.
Back at the camp we found that not a single person at this camp had so much as a band-aid or piece of gauze. One of the Hurst twins (Can’t remember if it was Arville or Barney) who said, “Here, Brother Fred. Hold it in the sink and let me help you get that bleeding stopped.” I closed my eyes and held it under the water in the kitchen sink. The water stopped – and the man poured a whole box of kitchen salt over my bleeding thumb and wrapped it back in my handkerchief. This slowed the blood some but soon it continued to drip out of the handkerchief, we decided to drive down to Pikeville (about 15 miles away at the bottom of the mountain) and get a doctor to sew it up. The bleeding did not stop until the last of 8 stitches were applied and the thumb was wrapped in gauze and medical tape.
Now I’ve told you all of these things in order to tell you that all of you carry an instrument that is so sharp that it can and does deliver wounds that will last for a life-time. This instrument is the tongue. When used correctly it is a powerful instrument for good. When used incorrectly or perhaps carelessly it can produce permanent scars. Perhaps that is why the Psalmist prayed thusly:
Psalm 141:3
"Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips."
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