An Investment In Eternity

Vacation Bible School happened again this year at Westmoreland Baptist Church, and God showed up!

VBS is always a fun time for kids, and an exhausting week for the workers, and this year’s school was no different. It requires months of planning, ordering literature and craft supplies, lots of moving things around, disrupting the status quo and the regular church schedule, decorating classrooms, and publicizing the event in the community. Families involved have their regular home schedules disrupted while VBS is going on.

Furthermore, it cost money to host a Vacation Bible School. It is not cheap. These are monies spent during the Summer months, which are traditionally the weakest financial months in the church calendar year. People are on vacation in the summer months, and offerings traditionally are way down (they shouldn't be down, but alas it is a fact that most churches have to deal with). Utility costs are high, the youth group goes on its usual mission trip around the same time, and frankly, it creates a financial pinch.

Someone at a church I formerly served once asked me if I thought VBS was really “worth the expense” involved. My reply at that time was that VBS is not an expense – it is an investment – an investment that brings huge returns. It is an investment in children that can have eternal consequences. It is an investment in evangelism and discipleship. It is an investment in families that can be, and are, touched by this ministry. This year, 10 precious children accepted Jesus as their Savior. 10 souls have been spared eternal destruction, and seeds were planted that surely will spring up into eternal life in the lives of other children who heard the Gospel, and learned of Jesus’ great love for them.

This ministry would not be possible without the dedication and work of everyone involved, from the VBS Director, to the teachers and classroom helpers, music leaders and A/V personnel. How would we operate without the hard working craft people, the recreation volunteers, the dedicated refreshment and kitchen crew, the people who drive the van, and those who clean up after each night’s activities? Our volunteers ranged in age from13 to several ladies in their 70’s and 80’s. There was dedication, unity, and faithfulness exhibited by everyone involved. We have had some great Bible Schools at WBC throughout the years, but I have not experienced any better than this year’s “Big Apple Adventure”.

It has already proven to be a boon to our new Sunday evening TeamKid Children’s Ministry, as several VBS kids were on hand for the first time, this past Sunday night.

As pastor, I have never been more proud of our people, as they came together to work in harmony to make Jesus known to nearly 100 children. The children’s VBS offering of $226.00 (boys won the contest this year!) will be sent to the Philippines to help with school related expenses for John Carlo and Rhea Mae Zerna, the 12 and 11 year old son and daughter of Joseph and Juvy Zerna. Joseph and Juvy are our Filipino partners who are planting churches in the Mabinay area of Negros Oriental.

Who knows how many future pastors, evangelists, missionaries, teachers, and other church leaders may have been impacted this past week? The old saying goes, “anyone can count the number of seeds in an apple, but only God knows the number of apples in a seed!” We will see the first baptisms resulting from VBS this coming Sunday morning.

I thank God for what He has done this past week, and thank you for giving to the Lord through the ministry of Vacation Bible School!

A Day In The Life...

He pulled his Chevrolet Impala up into the driveway of the house where they had lived since 1952.

"How long are you going to be in there?" she asked in a slightly agitated tone.

"We LIVE here." came the tired reply.

"We do? Since when? I don't live here! I'm not going in. I don't know those people. I'll just wait here in the car."

Whether it's the morning trip for breakfast at McDonalds (she stopped cooking several years ago) or his thrice weekly visit to the physical therapist, or coming back from church, or from his weekly radio program that has aired for 32 years - it's the same scene that plays out every day of the world. He can't leave her home alone, because the cruel disease known as Alzheimer's has long ago robbed her of most of her cognitive ability, and nearly all of her memory.

He is 84, a WWII veteran of the U.S. Navy. After coming back from the war, he answered the call to preach, and had been a bi-vocational pastor and evangelist for 63 years - having retired from his secular job at a local factory way back in 1986. From the 1950's through the 80's he was an extremely busy evangelist, holding two week revival meetings (sometimes as many as 17 or 18 per year) at churches all around the tri state area of WV, KY, and OH. Affable and well liked by many, now his preaching schedule has been reduced to the Saturday afternoon radio program, a homecoming service here and there, and an occasional call to fill a pulpit in a pastor's absence. Due to a major back surgery three years ago, he now walks with a cane for short to moderate distances, and a rollator walker over longer distances, or on uneven terrain. He doesn't do steps anymore. Now he enters his house via a ramp that had been constructed for him by a grandson.

She is two years his junior. The beautiful bright brown eyed girl had been an honor student, going straight from high school into the work force in 1947. She had worked in the offices of Island Creek Coal Company until they had moved from Logan County to Huntington in September 1952 with their talkative two year old. For the next 20 years her full time job was that of a mother, and minister's wife. She raised three boys, took care of all the family business, cooked, cleaned house, and drove her sons to all of their activities. When the youngest was in high school, she went back into the work place. First she managed the downtown office of a busy dermatologist, and later worked in the practice of a busy urologist. Eventually, when her husband retired from his job, she left the medical office and worked part time in the neighborhood drug store. When the pharmacy eventually closed down, she decided it was time for her to "retire" as well.

Now her days are spent in a fog. Questions abound regarding what day it is, and about the whereabouts of her parents, and why she hasn't seen them in a while. Her father passed away in 1968 and her mother in 1996. When told of that, she is surprised and wonders "where she was when all that happened".

Now her husband tries to persuade her to get out of the car and go inside their home.

"Pat, this has been our home for 59 years".

"Well it looks familiar, and I may have been here before, but I don't think I ever lived here."

Once inside, the routine continues.

"Are we married?"

"Yes, for 62 years."

"I sure don't remember that! Who married us?"

"Preacher Jeff Curry, at your Mom and Dad's house at Holden."

"You don't look like my husband! How long have we been married?

Again, "62 years."

"Did you have a wife before me?"

"No, just you."

"Did we have any children?"

"We have three boys, four grandsons, two granddaughters, and five great grandsons!"

"Well, they must not live around here. I don't know any of them, so I must not be around them very much."

A surprised look comes over her face, and she asks (as if for the first time) "Are you my husband?"

"Yes, for 62 years."

She shakes her head in confusion.

"Do we have any children?"

"Yes, three boys."

"Did we have any girls?"

"No... just the three boys."

She sits quietly for a few minutes, staring straight ahead. Her once bright brown eyes, now cloudy and empty are fixed on some far away object.

"When are we going home?"

"We are home, Pat. We live here."

"Well it looks familiar, but I don't think I ever lived here."

He sits quietly at the kitchen table, going over the morning paper, closely studying the obituary section. Seems as though there is someone in there every day that he has known through his work or ministry. She goes to the front door to bring in the mail. It comes early in the morning, but even after bringing it in, she will make nine or ten trips to the mailbox throughout the day, wondering aloud, "I wonder when the mail man will run."

After a few more minutes of silence, she asks, "Now where will I sleep tonight?"

"In that bed" he says flatly, pointing toward their bedroom.

"Where will you sleep?" she asks nervously.

"Same bed."

"Not with me, you won't! I'm married!"

"You sure are!" he grins. "You've been married to me for 62 years."

"I have? Do we have any children?"

The conversation loops on, over, and over, and over again. All day. Every day. It would be funny if it weren't so sad.

Back in the day, her spare minutes (rare though they may have been) would have been spent reading. Perhaps a book from the neighborhood branch library, or her Bible, or her Sunday School lesson, or perhaps Guidepost magazine. Now, she sleeps - a lot. She will generally lie down on the bed or on the living room sofa, and she slips off to sleep. One can only wonder about her dreams. What must they be like?

When he awakens her (and he has to awaken her, or she would sleep most of the day), it starts all over again.

At the age of 60, I am very thankful that both of my parents are still with me. Few of my friends have that same blessing at our age. But sadly, it seems that we have already lost my mother, some time ago. We have seen her slip away by degree, deeper and deeper into the fog of her illness. She often asks Dad who he is. A few months ago, she referred to me as "that gentleman over there". She no longer recognizes my youngest brother, and her grand children and great grandchildren are simply strangers to her. Her only surviving sister visited from Houston last fall, and Mom never did grasp who she was. I know that the time is coming soon when we will all just be strangers to her.

Dad stubbornly refuses to have anyone come in to help him. I can't say as I blame him, because I know he wants them to live independently as long as they can. But in reality, we know that he will have to allow someone to help - sooner than later.

It is such a cruel disease. It has robbed my mother of her memory and much of her dignity. But as I watch her face during worship service every Sunday morning, I know that it has not robbed her of her personal relationship with The Father. One day He will make all things new. I take great comfort in that.

My Apology

"And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you." Ephesians 4:32

I have removed the previous post from this blog. It had been written in the heat of anger and frustration. I know better than doing that, but I confess I let my temper get the better of me. There is no excuse for that kind of lapse in Christian behavior. I used poor judgement in my public denunciation of a really rude mail carrier. My reaction was certainly no better than his actions, and I am supposed to be an ambassador of Christ! This is another reminder of how easily our testimony can be tainted by an outburst of anger and frustration.

Being a receipent of God's grace, my desire is to also be a conduit of that grace, and I failed terribly on that one. I humbly offer my apology and repent of such an unchristlike exhibition.

Beginning Our 41st Year Together

It's hard to believe that it has been four complete decades since that photo was taken on June 19, 1971 at the Thomas Memorial Free Will Baptist Church in Huntington, WV. That was the day I promised to bestow all my worldly goods upon Linda Bowling, of Pike County, KY. (all my worldly goods at that time consisted of a small 1966 Opel Kadett four speed station wagon, some bedroom furniture, a small stereo, and a big stack of 33 1/3 RPM record albums, ranging from Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, to Simon and Garfunkel, to Iron Butterfly, and the Grass Roots). We took a brief (one day) honeymoon to South Point, Ohio, then it was back to work on Monday. She in the Credit Department of Anderson Newcomb Department Store, and me at the Big Bear Supermarket in Fairfield Plaza.

A lot of water has flowed under the old 6th Street Bridge, and the new Robert C. Byrd Bridge since that day 40 years ago, but the memories are as vivid as if it all happened yesterday.

I had met Linda just after a church service in a revival meeting at the aforementioned church, back in October of 1969. It was the week before my 19th birthday, and I was in my freshman year at Marshall University. She had recently come to work at the department store in the city, following her graduation from Belfry High School, one hundred miles down the Tug Fork of the Big Sandy River from Huntington.

I don't know if it was truly "Love at first sight", but as Kenny Rogers sang back in that day, "Love or something like it, had a hold on me!" First time I had laid eyes on her was earlier in the night toward the end of the church service. It was one of those "bapticostal" type churches and the service had been an emotional one. I had grown up in that church and knew most everyone there that night - except that girl in the short black dress.

She was in a group of people who were walking across the front of the church, shaking hands with the new converts when she caught my attention. I was standing about two thirds of the way back on the right side of the church (with my girlfriend at the time) when my eyes zeroed in on Linda. She looked good in that little black dress (I confess I've always had a thing for black dresses). She had been crying during the service and her mascara had run a little bit, in sort of a Tammy Faye Baker fashion, but that was OK. SHE was something else!

"Wow", I thought. "WHO is that? Furthermore, what am I doing here with this "girl" when there is a woman like THAT in the place?"

I didn't know who she was, and there was no way to find out diplomatically, so when the service closed, I took my girlfriend home, yadda...yadda...yadda. She only lived a block away, so after the "good night pleasantries" I drove back around the block, passing the darkened church building, headed for home. That's when I saw my friend, Jackie Black, standing there under the street light. I pulled my old car over to the curb and got out to talk to Jackie for a few minutes. As fate would have it, that is when Dorla Hagley, pulled up and the person in the front seat with her rolled the window down, and Dorla called us over to the car. To my amazement, it was THE WOMAN IN THE BLACK DRESS there in the passenger seat.

"How old is Jim Vallance?" the girl asked us.

Now, Jim Vallance was the pastor's younger son. He was eight years my senior, and had just come back from a tour of duty with the U.S. Air Force. Most of the young girls in the church had gone goo goo over this tall handsome guy, and the rest of us guys were feeling a tad jealous. Now here is the new girl, asking how old Jim was. My heart sank.

"Don't tell me you are in love with him, too!" (those were the first words I would ever speak to my future wife)

"Oh no!" she quickly replied. "I want to find out for my room mate, Sandy. I think he is about her age."

That was all I needed to hear. The chase was on. The next few weeks and months were spent in a fervent effort to find out more about this mystery woman.

She became a regular at the church. She got involved with our group of young adults, and we often went to one of the local diners or pizza shops after church as a group. She had me hook line and sinker, and didn't have a clue at the time.

I was confused from the start. She told us she was from Matewan (a small coal mining town in Mingo County, WV), but she said she graduated from Belfry High School (in Pike County, KY). Yet she wore a large class ring (with yarn wrapped around it to make it fit her small fingers) that had a "P" on it. When I questioned her about the Matewan, Belfry, "P" inconsistency, she explained that she had been born in Matewan, grew up across the river in Kentucky, where she went to school, and it was her boy friend's class ring from Phelps High School (also in Pike County). She explained that he was in the Air Force in Dayton, OH.

"Drat!" This was going to be a problem.

We began seeing more and more of each other, and I kept putting on the pressure for her to go out with me. (I had dropped the other girl by then and was honing in on this one!) Problem is, she really didn't like me much...

I know. Hard to imagine, isn't it?

Anyhow, to make a long story short, eventually I apparently wore her down. I chased her until she caught me.

On June 18, 1970, sitting on the steps to her apartment, I asked her to marry me, and she said yes! (a response that still amazes me over four decades later). The next day, on her lunch hour, I met her downtown at Roger's Jewelers where we picked out an engagement ring. I slipped it on her finger in the romantic setting of 3 1/2 Alley, behind Anderson Newcomb. With a kiss,we both headed back to work.

Real storybook stuff - huh?

One year later, on a sweltering evening in June, we stood at the altar at Thomas Memorial Church - the place where I had first seen her. My Dad, Rev. Caudle Adkins, Jr. read the vows which we repeated nervously. Linda was attended by her sister, Violet Bennett, as her matron of honor. Other bridesmaids were her cousins, Brenda Huddle and Joyce Pope, along with Lois Conn Vallance (who had married Jim a year earlier), and the late Sandy Chapman Harbour. College friend, Doug Goolsby, stood as my best man (a favor I returned for him in Green Bay, Wisconsin three years later). My brother, Bruce, stood with me, as did long time friends Don Smith and Phil Cheek. College buddy, Larry Gunnoe rounded out the line of groomsmen.

With vows made, and a kiss, we turned, faced the full house, and headed down the aisle on a journey that has lasted forty years and two days - so far.

It seems like a lifetime ago... yet it seems like yesterday.

We've seen the "better and worse". We've been through the "sickness and health". We've certainly been through the "poorer" but are still waiting for the "richer" part (financially, that is). But in terms of blessings, we are two of the richest people I know!

Thank you, Linda, for investing your life in me. Much like God's Grace, your love has been something I have never deserved.

Please note: For some reason in my last two posts, some words are being highlighted as links to some other websites. I have no clue why this is happening (since I am not doing anything any differently than before). Trying to find the problem and get it corrected, but just want my readers to know this is not intentional!

Happy Birthday, West Virginia!

148 years ago today, during the dark days of the American Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln signed a proclamation, designating West Virginia as the 35th state in the United States of America. The Mountain State owns the distinction of being the only state that came into being through a Presidential Proclamation.

The 55 counties that make up our beautiful state are as varied as the peoples who populate it. From the high mountains of Pocahontas County to the wide rolling Teays Valley; to the steel mills of Wheeling to the coal mines of McDowell County, West Virginia is a special place. Aging urban areas such as Huntington and Charleston have a rich history, and the growing, thriving areas of the eastern panhandle point to a bright exciting future. The good, God loving, family oriented people from Ohio County to Mercer County are a treasure which is unsurpassed by any population - anywhere!

I love West Virginia. And even though I have made my home just across the border in the Bluegrass State of Kentucky for three decades, I am still a West Virginian at heart. The words of "The West Virginia Hills" (our state song) still echo in my memory, all the way back from 3rd grade music class at Gallaher Elementary, where we learned it from Mrs. Susie Jimison. "... If o'er sea or land I roam, still I think of happy home, and my friends among the West Virginia hills!"

My love for West Virginia comes honest. My parents were born here. Many of my ancestors from the Adkins side of the family migrated here from England and Wales, by way of Henrico County, Virginia. My maternal Grandfather, Jerry Stidham, dearly loved the Mountain State. He came here as a young boy from his birthplace in "Bloody" Harlan County, Kentucky. He grew up in the coal camps of Logan County. A self educated man, who worked in the mines, he built a network of friends and acquaintances, and rose up the ladder of success. He went to work for the United Mine Workers of America, and eventually rose to a position as an International Representative with the UMWA. He served three terms in the West Virginia House of Delegates, and at the time of his death in 1968, he counted many past Governors, Congressmen, state legislators, and United States Senators as his friends.

Papaw Stidham dearly loved West Virginia, and in the early 60's he wrote this poem that showed his devotion to the Mountain State. He was named Poet Laureate of West Virginia, by then Governor Hulett C. Smith. I think it appropriate on this 148th birthday of the state he loved so much, to publish once again his poem, "A Particular Place".

A Particular Place

When God made the earth, He looked out in space,
And graciously blessed a particular place.
Some mountains He molded to begin His plan,
As He knew they would be cherished by mortal man.

The valleys He shaped so deep and so wide,
And the streams so swift, never to hide,
The sparkle or ripple from man's sharp eye,
So crystal and clear as if dropped from the sky.

The seasons He made, our desire to delight:
With light of the day and darkness at night,
Overcast with stars and a silvery moon
The sun in the heavens every day at noon.

With seeds of summer's green grass to grow,
Sleeping under the beauty of a winter's snow.
The gorgeous spring flowers for all to see,
And the abundant color of the autumn tree.

Game creatures for the bow and fish for the rod,
Rich fertile soil for the tiller of the sod.
Great beds of coal and timber galore,
Limestone and gas, very much in store.

So great, so fine, wonderful and rich,
A pleasant surprise in each corner and niche.
Nowhere you go will be the same,
For West Virginia is its name.

- Jerry Stidham

No Hanging Chads

You're never gonna believe this one!

I spent nearly an hour typing a post that recounted my experience today counting ballots as a substitute Teller at the Southern Baptist Convention.

It was a most interesting experience, and a really great, in depth post. Unfortunately, Blogger's autosave feature apparently didn't work, and I LOST THE WHOLE THING!!!

You would think that after all these years I would remember the one symple thing regarding computers as to WWJD?

Jesus Saves!

I give up. It's after midnight and I am going to bed.

A Piece of History

I am in the beautiful city of Phoenix, Arizona for the 2011 annual meeting of the Southern Baptist Convention. This is the second time I have been to Phoenix. The convention was held here seven years ago. My son, Jay, and I stayed together here at the historic Hotel San Carlos when we were in town for that convention. We liked it so much, that when we learned that this year’s convention would be held in Phoenix, we decided to stay again at the old hotel.

It’s a far cry from the gleaming towers that house the nearby Sheraton and Hyatt Regency hotels, where many of the Convention people are staying. This is a classic old hotel with a rich history, and a throwback to days gone by. Don’t get me wrong. It has all the amenities one would expect from a downtown hotel in a large American city. It is just a classic in architecture and style from the early 20th Century.

I checked in late last night and Jay will arrive here in town in an hour or so. Our room is easily identifiable from the street. It’s on the 5th floor and it’s the room you can see in the photo with the little false balcony and awning (left side of the photo).

There is lots of history here and there are plaques, photographs, newspaper articles and other information posted around the hotel, which point out historic events and famous people who have stayed here over the years. One interesting thing I have noticed is the bistro off the lobby which is known as “The Ghost Lounge”. It draws it’s name from the legend associated with the hotel’s history.

I did some research on the hotel and found this interesting article:

“The site where the hotel sits was the location of the first school in Phoenix. The four room adobe school was inaugurated in 1874. It was replaced with a larger structure in 1879. The school was enlarged several times but was condemned in 1916, with construction of a luxury hotel in mind. In addition, many area children died during the 1918 flu epidemic that attacked the United States.

In 1919, the land was bought by the Babbitt family (relatives of Bruce Babbitt, former Secretary of the Interior and Arizona Governor, who intended to build a hotel. The San Carlos Hotel project was finally begun by Charles Harris and Dwight D. Heard who purchased the property from the Babbitts. Construction began in 1927. The hotel was designed by Nationally known architects in the Italian Renaissance style. The hotel was state of the art with air conditioning (the first in Phoenix), elevators, circulating chilled water in the rooms and steam heat. The hotel grand opening was on March 19, 1928. The hotel was built at a cost of nearly $850,000.

The hotel competed with the posh, nearby Westward Ho hotel, completed the following year, which was located on what once was Phoenix's first radio transmitter and whose list of clientele include such celebrities as Jack Dempsey and John F. Kennedy. The San Carlos had its share of celebrities such as Mae West, Clark Gable, Carole Lombard, Marilyn Monroe and Gene Autry.

On May 7, 1928, “The Arizona Republic” reported the death of Leone Jensen. The article's headline read "Pretty blonde jumps from (the) San Carlos (hotel) early today". Based on what she wrote on her death note, it could be assumed that the 22 year old woman was physically abused by her boyfriend, a bellboy at the Westward Ho. Speculations have been made as to whether Jensen was pregnant and/or her boyfriend was having an affair with another hotel worker. Because of these theories, the way she died is also debated. While most evidence pointed to suicide, many have said that she could have been pushed off by her boyfriend or her boyfriend's other girlfriend.

Another ghost frequently mentioned by hotel employees is that of a little girl, possibly around six to nine years old, who is rumored to visit hotel rooms at night and sit crying. Ghost believers think she was probably one of the area children affected either by the school's closing or the flu epidemic.

On December 9, 2004, yet another death happened at this hotel, when an unidentified man jumped to his death from the hotel's roof.”

Quite a history, huh? So far we havent seen any ghosts here, but it is a nice break from the modern cookie cutter convention hotel, (and much more reasonably priced!).