“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his godly ones.” Psalm 116:15
Last week I lost two personal friends within three days. Well, I didn’t really “lose” them, I know exactly where they are. But they are no longer here with me, and that’s a bummer.
One was Ernie Aparicio, essentially one of the founding members of our church, at least on the Green Gables Chapel side of the family tree. Ernie was born in Walsenburg in 1930 and grew up through the depression years. His dad became ill while he was young, and Ernie had to drop out of high school to help support the family (that was a pretty common experience in the 1930’s).
Right before his mom died, she helped him join the Marines, by adding a fictitious year to his age. I don’t think the Marines asked a lot of questions in those days – if you really wanted to enlist, they winked at your form and handed you a uniform. The Marines were good to Ernie but he returned to civilian life and soon joined the Denver Police Department in 1953. For twenty five years he served his community as an officer and later a detective.
Ernie was involved in a lot of tough police work, but he only pulled his gun a few times. Once, he was the first officer on the scene of an armed robbery in progress, in a butcher shop. The robber was coming toward Ernie with a meat cleaver, and Ernie had to do something. He had a clear shot at the man’s chest, but later said, ‘Aw, I didn’t want to do that – I just shot him in the leg, and that solved the problem.”
Ernie and his wife Rose were one of six couples who went to the bank to co-sign the loan to finance the land on the corner of Kendrick Lake – the land on which our church now sits. Ernie loved his God, his country, his city, his church, and his family. Around here, he will be sorely missed.
My other friend was Bob Chamberlain, a local boy born and raised in Lakewood, Colorado. He didn’t stick around, though, becoming an Air Force pilot in the 1960’s, serving twenty years and setting several records while test-piloting the B1B, now the Air Force’s premier tactical bomber.
Bob then flew for United Airlines for twenty years, rising to Captain and even to Flight Crew Examiner.
He and his wife Huntley were key leaders in the Activation Ministries church plant on Lookout Mountain (in the old Lookout Mtn Church building.) We went on mission trips together, flew together, and I was out at their Mountain Song ranch on many occasions. Whatever Bob was doing, he made it fun. Didn’t matter if he was working, flying, ranching, water skiing… he had that knack for having fun at whatever he was doing – and so everyone around him had fun too.
Bob had some simple philosophies that often sounded like Proverbs. I ran into him at the airport one day, we were flying different airplanes, going different directions. I pointed at a distant storm cloud that concerned me and said, “That weather may be a problem for me.”
“Don’t fly there,” Bob said cheerily. “Fly somewhere else.” You know, it’s hard to argue with that kind of logic.
One day we were on the way to the Philippines to work with our partner church, and I inquired about how he, as a professional, handled the challenge of jet lag. There’s a lot of literature out there about adjusting your eating and sleeping habits while on the road, in order to cope with the time zone changes.
Bob looked me and said, “Eat when you’re hungry. Sleep when you’re tired. Fly when they call you.” Again, it’s hard to argue with that.
My two friends have left me with some good lessons for life. Love your country, and your church, and your community. Make everything fun. Don’t shoot ‘em in the chest if a leg will do. Eat when you’re hungry. Sleep when you’re tired. Finally, when God calls you, fly home.
Blessings,
Jim
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Ah, Summer (Camp Warnecke)
The lingering twilight of recent summer afternoons often calls to my mind, old memories of summers long ago. Back in my childhood days, the 1950’s, there were six of us in a three-bedroom house with one bathroom and no air conditioning—in sultry Austin, Texas. How’d we do that? By today’s standards, we may have been living below the Federal Poverty Line, but we didn’t know or care-- we were having way too much fun.
Dad worked up in the control tower at the Austin airport and that’s where I loved to hang out, watching the planes come and go from that lofty perch in the sky. In those days, air traffic controllers were not allowed to work overtime, so Dad never worked more than 40 hours in a week. That gave him considerable time to coach our baseball team, with our purple tee shirts provided by our sponsor, El Patio Mexican Café. Every player got a free coke after each game, and a free enchilada dinner after the season. Life was good in the 1950’s.
Once a year, we would load the car and head for Camp Warnecke, a family resort in New Braunfels, Texas. They had little cabins all along the shady banks of the Comal River, which was fed by springs over in Landa Park. These were true “cabins,” and didn’t have refrigerators. I remember Dad taking the boys into town and buy blocks of ice, which we would set into the “icebox” that kept our milk and eggs cool. Those 20-pound blocks of ice were heavy to tote, but we boys enjoyed learning to use our ice picks to chip out chunks for everyone to put in their cool-aid. Cool-aid is a lot better if it’s not at room temperature.
The river water was crystal clear and just right for swimming, and the river still had an old mill dam that partially blocked the current at one point,. This created a “white water rapids” effect that made for great tubing –long before anyone invented water parks. Most of the river was a “lazy river” which was also great for tubing. I have now decided that heaven is bound to have such a river, where you can just float along on a hot afternoon, without a care in the world, exerting no energy and feeling no stress.
After Connie and I married, we returned with our own kids, but Camp Warnecke has long since been replaced by a mega-water park, The Schlitterbahn, and San Antonio has overrun the little Bavarian town of New Braunfels.
But the summers keep coming, every year, and I hope you take the time to visit some favorite summer place that will produce the same effect for you. It doesn’t have to be fancy or far away. The key is to find a place where you can just “float along” for a few days, without a care in the world, exerting no energy and feeling no stress. I think that’s why God made the long, lingering twilights of summer afternoons.
A Blessing on Your Summer,
Jim
Dad worked up in the control tower at the Austin airport and that’s where I loved to hang out, watching the planes come and go from that lofty perch in the sky. In those days, air traffic controllers were not allowed to work overtime, so Dad never worked more than 40 hours in a week. That gave him considerable time to coach our baseball team, with our purple tee shirts provided by our sponsor, El Patio Mexican Café. Every player got a free coke after each game, and a free enchilada dinner after the season. Life was good in the 1950’s.
Once a year, we would load the car and head for Camp Warnecke, a family resort in New Braunfels, Texas. They had little cabins all along the shady banks of the Comal River, which was fed by springs over in Landa Park. These were true “cabins,” and didn’t have refrigerators. I remember Dad taking the boys into town and buy blocks of ice, which we would set into the “icebox” that kept our milk and eggs cool. Those 20-pound blocks of ice were heavy to tote, but we boys enjoyed learning to use our ice picks to chip out chunks for everyone to put in their cool-aid. Cool-aid is a lot better if it’s not at room temperature.
The river water was crystal clear and just right for swimming, and the river still had an old mill dam that partially blocked the current at one point,. This created a “white water rapids” effect that made for great tubing –long before anyone invented water parks. Most of the river was a “lazy river” which was also great for tubing. I have now decided that heaven is bound to have such a river, where you can just float along on a hot afternoon, without a care in the world, exerting no energy and feeling no stress.
After Connie and I married, we returned with our own kids, but Camp Warnecke has long since been replaced by a mega-water park, The Schlitterbahn, and San Antonio has overrun the little Bavarian town of New Braunfels.
But the summers keep coming, every year, and I hope you take the time to visit some favorite summer place that will produce the same effect for you. It doesn’t have to be fancy or far away. The key is to find a place where you can just “float along” for a few days, without a care in the world, exerting no energy and feeling no stress. I think that’s why God made the long, lingering twilights of summer afternoons.
A Blessing on Your Summer,
Jim
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Watching and Praying
One of the most interesting things about our church is its capacity to respond to a challenge (and often at the last minute). The Pastor’s Prayer Partners, one of several prayer teams at church, wanted us to do a 24/7 “week of prayer” leading up to Easter again this year. That team really does want us to be a “house of prayer.” They are serious about it.
So they planned the week of prayer, promoted it, publicized it, and posted a schedule on the wall of church. Almost no one signed up. It looked like this was going to be a bust. Until the day it started – last Sunday -- when everyone signed up. We are now well into the week, and prayer is going up from church hour after hour, around the clock. I am still amazed at the last minute sign-up. It was a two-minute drill that would make John Elway proud.
Back to the business of prayer: it really isn’t a business, it’s a lifestyle. But like any business, it does involve some work. At times, hard work. One of the hardest-praying men who ever lived was the celebrated preacher, Charles Haddon Spurgeon, of London, England.
Spurgeon was called “The Prince of Preachers” and his preaching was extraordinary. He began preaching around the time of the American Civil War, and pastured one church for 38 years. He would often preach ten sermons a week, and over his lifetime spoke to ten million people, without the aid of radio or television (but he would have loved pod-casting over the internet).
Spurgeon was also a man of prayer, and believed that his church must be a house of prayer. Here’s what he said about that:
There is no waiting on God for help, and there is no help from God, without watchful expectation on our part. If we ever fail to receive strength and defense from Him, it is because we are not on the outlook for it. Many a proffered succour from heaven (i.e., a promise of help from God) goes past us, because we are not standing on our watchtower to catch the far-off indications of its approach, and to fling open the gates of our heart for its entrance. He whose expectation does not lead him to be on the alert for its coming will get but little. Watch for God in the events of your life.
The only homely proverb says: “They that watch for Providence will never want a providence to watch for,” and you may turn it the other way and say, “They that do not watch for providences will never have a providence to watch for.” Unless you put out the water-jars when it rains you will catch no water.
Spurgeon might have been thinking of a bible verse from Habakkuk 2:1. “I will stand upon my watch, and set me upon the tower, and will watch to see what he will say unto me.” How thankful I am, to be part of a church where we are “watching” for God 24/7 this week.
A Blessing on all of our people who are watching and praying for Providence!
Pastor Jim
So they planned the week of prayer, promoted it, publicized it, and posted a schedule on the wall of church. Almost no one signed up. It looked like this was going to be a bust. Until the day it started – last Sunday -- when everyone signed up. We are now well into the week, and prayer is going up from church hour after hour, around the clock. I am still amazed at the last minute sign-up. It was a two-minute drill that would make John Elway proud.
Back to the business of prayer: it really isn’t a business, it’s a lifestyle. But like any business, it does involve some work. At times, hard work. One of the hardest-praying men who ever lived was the celebrated preacher, Charles Haddon Spurgeon, of London, England.
Spurgeon was called “The Prince of Preachers” and his preaching was extraordinary. He began preaching around the time of the American Civil War, and pastured one church for 38 years. He would often preach ten sermons a week, and over his lifetime spoke to ten million people, without the aid of radio or television (but he would have loved pod-casting over the internet).
Spurgeon was also a man of prayer, and believed that his church must be a house of prayer. Here’s what he said about that:
There is no waiting on God for help, and there is no help from God, without watchful expectation on our part. If we ever fail to receive strength and defense from Him, it is because we are not on the outlook for it. Many a proffered succour from heaven (i.e., a promise of help from God) goes past us, because we are not standing on our watchtower to catch the far-off indications of its approach, and to fling open the gates of our heart for its entrance. He whose expectation does not lead him to be on the alert for its coming will get but little. Watch for God in the events of your life.
The only homely proverb says: “They that watch for Providence will never want a providence to watch for,” and you may turn it the other way and say, “They that do not watch for providences will never have a providence to watch for.” Unless you put out the water-jars when it rains you will catch no water.
Spurgeon might have been thinking of a bible verse from Habakkuk 2:1. “I will stand upon my watch, and set me upon the tower, and will watch to see what he will say unto me.” How thankful I am, to be part of a church where we are “watching” for God 24/7 this week.
A Blessing on all of our people who are watching and praying for Providence!
Pastor Jim
The Day of the Fool
The Day of the Fool pastor Jim
April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four. ~Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson, 1894
The trouble with practical jokes is that very often they get elected. ~Will Rogers
I do miss those old-time humor guys. Max Eastman was another humorist. He said, “It is the ability to take a joke, not make one, that proves you have a sense of humor.”
Oh, I do so remember that infamous day, when the joke was on me, and a whole grandstand full of people were busting their gut. It was during my Instructor Pilot days in the Air Force, when they would give me a jet plane, a student pilot, and a government credit card, and say, “Be back Friday.” And I quit that job (what ever was I thinking?).
Our flying school would graduate a class of cadets every so often, and we instructors were forced to either march in the big parade or do some other deed of service for the occasion. On a day, I opted to serve as a driver in the motorcade, using a sky blue Air Force Rambler station wagon (“for official use only”), to deliver some VIP to the front of the reviewing stand. On this (dark) day, my Rambler was a ramblin’ wreck, and my passenger, was the Wing Commander’s wife. (Think: First Lady of the whole base.)
That was cool; I picked her up at their home by the main gate (the only time I ever visited that home) and we joined in the line of Air Force blue cars cruising slowly across the tarmac. Because the back seat of this ol’ heap didn’t look clean, the First Lady had opted to ride shotgun (a small fact that will soon be crucial to this story).The car ahead of me pulled up in front of the grandstand and three Colonels hopped out. That car moved ahead so I pulled up in front of the crowd, and stopped. The First Lady did not hop out. She just turned and looked at me. A light came on in my head: she needs someone to open her door for her. Aha! I can do that. Quick as a flash, I released my shoulder belt, threw the door open, and stepped out on to the concrete ramp. I turned to my left, to walk behind the car, and noticed that the car was now moving ahead – on its own! I had left the thing in DRIVE. “Oh God help me.”
I spun back around as the car cruised by my left shoulder. I ran up into a position where I could leap into the moving car. But just as I leaped, the left rear tire ran over my right foot, pinning it to the ground. I did a face plant on the cement. My hat and my sunglasses went flying off. The car was still moving, picking up speed.
I leaped up and tried to catch up. Running left and looking right, I caught up to the open door. Just as I was in position to leap again, I collided with one of those Colonels from the preceding car. I went down again; fortunately, he did not. Again I was up and running. Ahead of the car there was a formation of troops standing at attention, but now they broke ranks and spread open for the approaching car. It was like Moses charging toward the Red Sea. I was almost in position to make another leap. What I didn’t know is the First Lady had released her seat belt and was sliding across the bench. Just as I leaped toward the open door, she hit the brakes. I smacked into the end of the door, and went down a third time. Down for the count. The car stopped; I lay face down, eating concrete. Waves of laughter poured down from the grandstand. It was the most exciting moment at any graduation parade in the history of Reese Air Force Base. All the people loved it. The First Lady loved it, she was laughing so hard she was in tears. I hated it. I who had been the proud jet pilot, was now the Fool of the Year. “Why, O God?” I cried. “Why would you let this happen to me?” I lay on the ground like a wounded insect, knowing I would never hear the end of this.
“Ah, Grasshopper,” the small still voice seemed to say. “Pride cometh before the fall.” Oh, so it does, and every year around April 1st, I am reminded of the awful truth: There, but for the grace of God, go I, the Fool.
A Blessing on Your April…Jim
April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four. ~Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson, 1894
The trouble with practical jokes is that very often they get elected. ~Will Rogers
I do miss those old-time humor guys. Max Eastman was another humorist. He said, “It is the ability to take a joke, not make one, that proves you have a sense of humor.”
Oh, I do so remember that infamous day, when the joke was on me, and a whole grandstand full of people were busting their gut. It was during my Instructor Pilot days in the Air Force, when they would give me a jet plane, a student pilot, and a government credit card, and say, “Be back Friday.” And I quit that job (what ever was I thinking?).
Our flying school would graduate a class of cadets every so often, and we instructors were forced to either march in the big parade or do some other deed of service for the occasion. On a day, I opted to serve as a driver in the motorcade, using a sky blue Air Force Rambler station wagon (“for official use only”), to deliver some VIP to the front of the reviewing stand. On this (dark) day, my Rambler was a ramblin’ wreck, and my passenger, was the Wing Commander’s wife. (Think: First Lady of the whole base.)
That was cool; I picked her up at their home by the main gate (the only time I ever visited that home) and we joined in the line of Air Force blue cars cruising slowly across the tarmac. Because the back seat of this ol’ heap didn’t look clean, the First Lady had opted to ride shotgun (a small fact that will soon be crucial to this story).The car ahead of me pulled up in front of the grandstand and three Colonels hopped out. That car moved ahead so I pulled up in front of the crowd, and stopped. The First Lady did not hop out. She just turned and looked at me. A light came on in my head: she needs someone to open her door for her. Aha! I can do that. Quick as a flash, I released my shoulder belt, threw the door open, and stepped out on to the concrete ramp. I turned to my left, to walk behind the car, and noticed that the car was now moving ahead – on its own! I had left the thing in DRIVE. “Oh God help me.”
I spun back around as the car cruised by my left shoulder. I ran up into a position where I could leap into the moving car. But just as I leaped, the left rear tire ran over my right foot, pinning it to the ground. I did a face plant on the cement. My hat and my sunglasses went flying off. The car was still moving, picking up speed.
I leaped up and tried to catch up. Running left and looking right, I caught up to the open door. Just as I was in position to leap again, I collided with one of those Colonels from the preceding car. I went down again; fortunately, he did not. Again I was up and running. Ahead of the car there was a formation of troops standing at attention, but now they broke ranks and spread open for the approaching car. It was like Moses charging toward the Red Sea. I was almost in position to make another leap. What I didn’t know is the First Lady had released her seat belt and was sliding across the bench. Just as I leaped toward the open door, she hit the brakes. I smacked into the end of the door, and went down a third time. Down for the count. The car stopped; I lay face down, eating concrete. Waves of laughter poured down from the grandstand. It was the most exciting moment at any graduation parade in the history of Reese Air Force Base. All the people loved it. The First Lady loved it, she was laughing so hard she was in tears. I hated it. I who had been the proud jet pilot, was now the Fool of the Year. “Why, O God?” I cried. “Why would you let this happen to me?” I lay on the ground like a wounded insect, knowing I would never hear the end of this.
“Ah, Grasshopper,” the small still voice seemed to say. “Pride cometh before the fall.” Oh, so it does, and every year around April 1st, I am reminded of the awful truth: There, but for the grace of God, go I, the Fool.
A Blessing on Your April…Jim
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