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Category Archives: Vehicles

The Dog Who Drove

07 Tuesday Nov 2017

Posted by chaplines2014 in Faith, Gullibility, Travel, Vehicles

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Tags

A License to Preach, life experiences, Memories, Serendipity

Needels Highway   In our first trip through the Black Hills back in 1976, Jan decided to take the wheel, since it was nerve-wracking for her when I tried to drive through the mountains and sightsee at the same time. I took the passenger seat where I could look to my heart’s content and take all the photographs that I wanted. The evidence shows up in our photo album from that year.
There in that album is the picture that I had taken of a dog happily driving a convertible down a mountain highway. I took it while we passed this car that had no passengers except the dog who was driving. The dog seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. His paws were on the steering wheel. His mouth was open in a wide grin, his tongue hanging out. His head was swaying in the wind that was also whipping his long hair. All the dog needed was a pair of goggles.
I wanted to stop our cars and ask to see his driver’s license. But he was a large unidentifiable mixed breed, probably weighing as much as I did, and I knew I was no match for him.
Not seen in the picture was the large motor home which preceded the car and to which the car was firmly attached. I wondered how the drivers of the motor home had discovered how much their dog enjoyed the experience of driving the car. Perhaps the car was pushing the RV instead of the other way around? The dog did look like he knew what he was doing. As we passed the RV, I wasn’t so sure about the person in the driver’s seat of that vehicle. I could not actually see anyone there.
It is a matter of faith I suppose. There are a lot of unseen connections, a lot more unseen controls than we are aware of as we travel along. There are more actors that are not obvious to our eyes, and our eyes are often tricked or misled by the way things appear. There is intelligence and compassion in charge, even beyond what we contain in our canine skins, isn’t there? Isn’t there? We just about have to assume so and believe so if we are going to enjoy the ride.

The Tale of the Peddlin’ Parson

21 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Faith, People, Seasons, Small town life, Vehicles

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A License to Preach, Serendipity

cropped-3-trees-lighted-in-different-colors2.jpg

It’s not much of a tale, but it’s about one Christmas that stood out for this preacher. I had lived in Tilton only a few months, serving my first “called’’ and full-time pastorate at the United Church of Tilton. The start of work was not auspicious. The new church building had been completed the year before, with a lot of volunteer work from the congregation. There were only thirty-some members, and the Sunday School participation continued to be much larger than the worship attendance, as it had been for years, for worship began at 8 A.M., when families wanted to sleep in, and the people were accustomed to having a part-time pastor who served a larger church somewhere else, so the early hour was the only time that their pastor had been available. The new parsonage had finally been finished so my family—my wife and two small children—could move in. Our second car, “Sam,” had burned up with an engine fire, so we were back to having one car to share between my wife and myself. The youth group, built around the sports enthusiasms of the previous part-time youth worker, had fallen apart.

The leaders of the congregation were eager to encourage me, and they somehow had faith that we could make this new organization self-sustaining with a truly community-serving and Christ-centered purpose. There were few traditions, although we built on some that had begun in each of the fore-runner congregations that merged and began anew with their thirty combined members. We observed Advent with the lighting of Advent candles, collected gifts for the Delmo Community Organization, went caroling at nursing facilities and the homes of shut-ins, and prepared a children’s musical program for the Sunday School. In worship, the Sunday before Christmas, when all the singing, preaching, and praying was over, the congregation presented me with a gift.

Don Dunavan was one of the sturdy deacons, chief at the fire department, busy creating equipment at one of the local machine shops, raising four children, caring for his elderly mother, always available at church for  jobs that needed doing. He came riding down the aisle on a bright red Schwinn bicycle. “We understood that you needed some transportation to do your visiting around town, so we bought you this bicycle. From now on, you will be known in Tilton as the peddlin’ parson.”

Visiting with people in the town, finding needs and filling them, had become my primary occupation. The bicycle became my main mode of transportation. I did a lot of cold calling, getting to know people and what they were interested in, talking about the church’s new start and hopes to serve the needs of the community. For the most part people were receptive. When I heard of someone wanting to talk, or a problem that had arisen for anyone, I made a contact and arranged a visit.

One man, Albert Cox, lived by himself, had no family, and had never had a relationship with any church. He didn’t have any interest in taking part in any group either, but he did like the idea of a church that would respond to people’s needs and try to serve the town. He hadn’t known any preachers before, he said, but he welcomed me into his home, and we talked about ways things could be improved for people’s lives. He was concerned about the town cemetery, which had fallen into disuse and decay, without a supervisory board to take care of it, and about the youth not having Scouting or recreational organizations to channel their energies. He had a lot of good ideas, though he wasn’t ever comfortable joining with other people in trying to implement them. Still we were able to find ways to work on them.

Years later, when Albert died and I was long gone from the community, his will designated his estate (a half-million dollars) in equal parts to a historical museum for the town and to the United Church of Tilton to be used for a community fellowship hall and gym. When I returned to the church thirty-five years later, I learned that I was remembered for three things—being a peddlin’ parson who visited people in the community, running a school-outside -the-walls activity program for youth, and visiting Albert Cox.

Steering from the Front of a Canoe

11 Saturday Jul 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Church, Gullibility, Learning from mistakes, Life along the River, People, Vehicles

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Tags

A License to Preach

Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.com

David was a cheerful, gregarious, easy-going young man who came to the congregation as a pastoral intern one summer after his four years of undergraduate work and one year of seminary. Three other ministerial students had interned in the congregations I served, and because of his temperament David was the easiest to tease.

Showing a willingness to tackle any task, it was no surprise that he wanted to go with the youth group on a camping and canoeing adventure, even though he did not have canoeing experience. He was a swimmer, his family had a cabin on a lake some distance away, and he was familiar with rowboats and motorboats.

Everyone partnered with someone who had experience, and most of the young people on that trip had been canoeing on a river before, so little training was necessary for that trip. I chose David as my partner. I had no intention of losing him, but had every expectation of getting him wet on a sultry summer day. Since he was young and strong, and I was old and tried, I explained to him, I would put him in the bow of the canoe to provide both forward motion and guidance. You guide a canoe from the front, I said, testing to see if he caught my misdirection, but catching no indication of it. We must, of course, keep up with the rest of the group to make sure that everyone was proceeding safely down the river, through its rapids and many boulders. Meanwhile I rested in the stern, barely putting my paddle in the water. Soon we were zigzagging our way from one bank to the other, and we were lagging behind. David was beginning to show his frustration and asked what he was doing wrong.

“Not a thing,” I said. “You just need help.” I admitted that I had given him the wrong instruction. You can indeed propel a canoe forward from the bow, but it is difficult to guide from there. The stern provides the guidance. This is one example where leadership comes, not from the one in front, but from the one in back. When I did my part, we soon caught up with the rest, and managed to get as wet as we wanted to be.

That was a theme we pondered on other occasions during that summer, as we worked with would-be and effective leaders, and tried to practice leadership ourselves, not always from in front of other people. David just celebrated thirty years of effective leadership in several congregations. He has somehow maintained his sense of humor and eagerness for his work, which is still exercised from the front sometimes, and sometimes from the rear.

Quirky Fuel Gauges

09 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Learning from mistakes, Vehicles

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

A License to Preach, Serendipity

cropped-img_38291.jpg

The fuel gauges on my vehicles behave oddly. I did hear recently, however, that my observations about fuel gauges compare well with many other peoples.’ With the tanks starting at full, they remain full for a long time, and then move gradually down the gauge until the half-way point. Then they drop precipitously. The last half tank goes twice as fast as the first half, and the gauges speed up as they approach empty. When the needles reach the empty mark, two or three gallons remain in the tank, but I do not feel secure in depending on them. My riders, feeling even less secure, insist that I refill instead of driving on empty. One of my riders (who can remain unnamed), aware of the odd behavior of the gauges, always insists that our gas tank should be filled just before we drive into a city, because that person believes that at some point in our trip I will always get lost in the worst slums of that city. To be fair, she also gets nervous when we are driving across the vast expanses of the Great Plains.

The ornery behavior of my gauges parallels my soul. If a spiritual supply gauge could be affixed to my body, it would probably behave in a similar way. Filled up with an awareness of abundance and grace, well-rested in mind and body, I would register full for a long time, probably long past the time that my resources begin to diminish. Gradually I would indicate the ebbing of my awareness of grace until I reach the point at which I notice that I am only half-full. Then in a frenzy of activity I would use up my reserves and register empty before I actually am. The challenge comes to refill before I run out of gas completely.

Maybe I need such a gauge, but with or without it, the use of my time, talents, and energies depends on my awareness that the gifts I contain are limited, while the source of the supply is unlimited. Filling up is a regular undertaking, and I must allow time for the rest, worship, meditation, and recreation that fill me and others around me. Running in empty may be possible for longer than anyone has a right to expect, but it really is not worth the risk of getting stranded where we do not want to be.

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