A 'Labor of Love' in Bethlehem

I’ve often heard “the Christmas story” read from Luke, chapter 2, and seen robed amateur actors portray Mary and Joseph by hovering over some child’s toy doll lying in a makeshift manger.

Perhaps you’ve viewed that kind of scene and heard a background choir sing these words from an old Christmas favorite: “Silent night! Holy night! All is calm, all is bright, Round yon Virgin Mother and Child! Holy Infant, so tender and mild, Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.”

Songwriter Andrew Peterson suggests that much of that holy night wasn’t silent. More about that later, but first, let’s trace the trail to Bethlehem.

Luke writes, “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.” (The International Standard Version translates, “…that the whole world should be registered.”)

Rome then governed the known world (all southern and western Europe, western Asia and northern Africa), and Augustus wanted names recorded as preparation for gathering taxes.

Someone said that our poorly-born Christ, by means of Augustus, the mightiest prince in the world, had his cradle prepared in Bethlehem, as the prophets foretold.

Luke continues, “And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.

“And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes (strips of cloth wrapped around a newborn infant to hold his legs and arms still), and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”

Micah prophesied of Jesus’ birthplace: “But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.” (Bethlehem, which lies a few miles southwest of Jerusalem, means “house of bread.” Ephratah means “fertile.”)

I recently heard a recording of Randy Travis singing “Labor of Love,” written by Andrew Peterson. Many of our Christmas songs, such as “Silent Night,” paint a peaceful picture of baby Jesus lying pleasantly in a manger as Mary and Joseph smilingly show him to visiting shepherds. (Even the donkey is smiling on some Christmas card illustrations!) But songwriter Peterson offers a little different view of how things might have been on the night Jesus was born.

Peterson writes, “It was not a silent night / There was blood on the ground / You could hear a woman cry in the alleyway that night on the streets of David's town / And the stable was not clean / And the cobblestones were cold / And little Mary full of grace with tears upon her face had no mother's hand to hold.

“It was a labor of pain / It was a cold sky above / But for the girl on the ground in the dark / With every beat of her beautiful heart / It was a labor of love.”

Peterson attempts to depict the realism and humanity surrounding Christ’s birth. Here’s the second verse of his song:

“Noble Joseph by her side / Callused hands and weary eyes / No midwives to be found on the streets of David's town in the middle of the night / So he held her and he prayed / Shafts of moonlight on his face / But the baby in her womb, he was the maker of the moon / He was the Author of the Faith that could make the mountains move.

“It was a labor of pain / It was a cold sky above / But for the girl on the ground in the dark / With every beat of her beautiful heart / It was a labor of love.”

When an angel told Mary that she would give birth to Christ, she responded, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.” God calls us to serve and represent Jesus, and when we encounter difficult circumstances and relationships, we can remember Mary and her “labor of love.”

A Merry Christmas Dinner at Teen Challenge

Pictured are Debby and Sal DiBianca.

About 280 people gathered recently on the first evening of a three-night “Christmas celebration and fund-raiser” at the Sandhills Teen Challenge Center located near Carthage.

Rows of folding tables placed end-to-end in the center’s gymnasium stood covered with white paper “tablecloths” and intermittently-placed Poinsettias.

The center, 22 years in operation, is part of Teen Challenge, an international Christian drug and alcohol rehabilitation ministry founded 50 years ago by the Rev. David Wilkerson, author of “The Cross and the Switchblade.”

On Feb. 28, 1958, Wilkerson, then a 26-year-old Pentecostal preacher from rural Pennsylvania, disrupted a highly publicized murder trial in New York City. He’d made the 8-hour drive from his village to downtown Manhattan to speak to the seven accused gang members about “salvation.” He rushed to the front of the courtroom as trial proceedings closed and pleaded publicly with the judge for permission to meet the teenage defendants.

Wilkerson became headline news in New York City. The judge had received death threats during the trial, and Wilkerson was almost arrested as a presumed assailant. The judge refused Wilkerson’s request to see the boys and ordered him never to return to his courtroom. Wilkerson founded Teen Challenge (TC), which now helps men and women (in separate centers) of all ages. Wilkerson pastors Manhattan’s Times Square Church, which he founded in 1987.

The Rev. Sal DiBianca, 50, and his wife Debby direct the Sandhills TC Center. They left California 22 years ago to head the Sandhills program after accepting Christ, abandoning drugs and graduating from TC.
After the TC men (about 30 men usually live at the Sandhills center) served dinner, DiBianca spoke.

“I believe the Word of God will transform anybody’s life who’ll allow it to,” he said, noting that about $45 per day is needed to house and minister to each man at the center. “God has called us to be good stewards. We stretch a dollar.”

The Rev. Joseph Batluck, executive director for Teen Challenge Training Center Inc., led a prayer of dedication.

The Sandhills TC men, who ranged from 17 to about 50 years of age, wore dress shirts, pants and ties. They took the stage and sang carols, as Sal directed and his son Brandon played guitar. Staff member Joe Rivera, played drums; staffer Adam Love played bass. The singing men swayed side-to-side, and some raised their hands.

Several men addressed the audience. Kent, a thin African-American from Rocky Mount who “turned forty on Tuesday,” spoke first. His face evidenced healed burn scars, and he paused to pray for help in speaking. He said he was 11 years old when his mother’s boyfriend tried to make a fire in their heater. Flames set Kent afire, and he ran. He spent 14 months in the hospital, and people made fun of his appearance.

“That drove me to be the person I was,” Kent said. “I even hated myself.”

Wanting his hair to cover some scars, he arrived at Sandhills TC with dreadlocks.

“I found peace by coming to Teen Challenge,” said Kent, whose hair is now short. “On April 18, 2008, I received Christ. Ever since then, I’ve been at peace with Christ. I even love myself, now. I love y’all so much. Amen.”

“Kent was trying to drown the pain of rejection by addiction,” DiBianca said.

Eddie Mitchell, 19, said that 10 months ago he was homeless, had pushed his family away and was sleeping under houses and in cars.

“I grew up in church,” he said. He called his mother and came to Sandhills TC on April 4, 2008. “I was always told I was stupid and would never amount to anything. I have hope and a future.”

He noted that he’s getting ready to take his GED test and that his brother and mother were attending the banquet.

“I go to sleep with hope in my heart,” Mitchell said.

Scott from Sanford, N.C., said, “I started using drugs right when I got into high school…I was raised in a good family.”

His family attended the banquet.

“Last year I was hiding out in a barn behind our house…I’m thankful for TC,” he said.

Scott said he was suicidal and that a pastor friend “came by” and “fed” him enough Word to get him by.

“You were a stepping stone to saving my soul,” Scott said to that pastor who attended the banquet.

Scott asked for Sal’s Bible and then read Psalm 116: “I love the LORD, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications…I was brought low, and he saved me…for you have delivered my soul from death….”

Paul, a 31-year-old who said he grew up in church, spoke next.

“I praise God for being here,” he said. “For 16 years I had a taste for alcohol, and it drove me crazy…I’ve put guns in my mouth (planning to kill himself)…On October 11, I rededicated my life to Jesus.”

All the men told their names (at least their first names), ages and where they came from…Raleigh (N.C.), Morehead City (N.C.), Charleston (S.C.), Kingstree (S.C.), Washington (D.C.), Detroit, Michigan, Pennsylvania…. Most men mentioned their particular additions. One 50-year-old said he spent 35 years battling alcohol.

As the Christmas program ended, Kent, who was burned when he was 11, swayed, clapped and raised a thin hand while he and the rest of the men loudly sang these words: “My dead heart now is beating…My deepest stain’s now clean…Your Breath fills my lungs…Now, I’m free…Lift my hands and spin around; see the light that I have found…sin has lost its power; death has lost its sting!”

Making It through December

While my wife took a turn at driving from Taylors, S.C., to our home in Southern Pines, N.C., I thought about December.

On Thanksgiving Day 2008, the day before Carol and I began our 200-mile trip back to Southern Pines, we enjoyed dinner at the home of our older daughter and her husband in Taylors. Our younger daughter and her husband drove from N.C. for that meal, and my Aunt Frances and Uncle Fred joined our group later on Thanksgiving Day for food and fellowship.

On Friday, after lunch with Aunt and Uncle at the Southern Thymes Café in Greer, we drove north in holiday traffic.

Driving amid heavy I-85 traffic, we saw numerous highway patrolmen and glimpsed a couple of “full to the brim” mall parking lots. I’ve heard that stores slashed prices to lure cautious Christmas shoppers discouraged by our country’s economic recession.

As we drove, I thought about the end-of-the-year month that many love and some find emotionally difficult.

The carpet manufacturer I work for laid off most of its hourly workers during Thanksgiving week, and another layoff is planned for Christmas week. A couple of my friends recently lost their jobs.

Songwriter Merle Haggard tried to express feelings about job-loss and Christmas in a song called “If We Make It through December.” That song contains these words:

“Got laid off down at the factory / And their timing’s not the greatest in the world / Heaven knows I been working hard / Wanted Christmas to be right for daddy's girl / I don’t mean to hate December / It’s meant to be the happy time of year / And my little girl don't understand / Why daddy can't afford no Christmas here / If we make it through December / Everything’s going to be all right, I know…If we make it through December, we’ll be fine.”

Barbara Russell Chesser, author of “Keeping Christmas,” notes that for some people, Christmas is a time to grieve. Memories of a hard childhood, a divorce, or the death of a loved one are often overwhelming – and the surrounding glitter and happiness intensify those memories.

“Christmas rekindles for many people the most vivid memories and evokes the strongest emotions,” she says. “We all long for the perfect holiday…To savor the peace and joy of the season, we must reconcile the disappointments, the tragedies of the past year – indeed our entire lifetime – as well as the triumphs, large and small.”

Christmastime can be tough. Christians have great opportunities to direct attention to Jesus Christ and his birth during the festive season, but we must purpose to avoid falling into despondency because of less-than-perfect relationships or because of the world’s materialistic approach to Christmas. Many may battle personal sadness as the calendar year ends during the short, often-gray days of December.

As Carol and I drove along, we heard the song “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” on our radio. The author of that hymn, written in Latin in the 12th century, is unknown. Here are some words in that song:

“O come, O come, Emmanuel / And ransom captive Israel / That mourns in lonely exile here / Until the Son of God appear / Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel / Shall come to thee, O Israel.

“O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer / Our spirits by Thine advent here / Disperse the gloomy clouds of night / And death’s dark shadows put to flight. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel / Shall come to thee, O Israel.”

That song is based on Isaiah 7:14: “Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign: Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel (or Emmanuel).”

“Immanuel” means “God is with us.” Jesus Christ is our Immanuel, and he said, “In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

With Christ, we can make it through December – and through any other month of the year.

Give Thanks

When I was a child in the Mountain View Community above Greer, S.C., my parents, my younger sister and I usually gathered at my paternal grandparents’ home for our main Thanksgiving Day meal. My Uncle Fred and Aunt Frances Crain usually met us there.

We were a small family, and “Ma,” my Grandmother Lillian, each year prepared a large chicken – no need for a big turkey. Back then, I thought only rich people ate turkey at Thanksgiving. Of course, before Mountain View Elementary School let out for Thanksgiving holidays in the 1950s, we children feasted on turkey, dressing, gravy and all that stuff in the school lunch room. (In those days at school, a fellow could buy an extra carton of milk for three cents!)

Thanksgiving involves fellowship, and one my warmest memories is of gathering – perhaps we met a day after Thanksgiving – at my Uncle Jay and Aunt Nell Crain’s little house on Groce Meadow Road, not far from Faith Temple. My grandfather and the older men went rabbit hunting that autumn morning and brought back some cottontails. Aunt Nell and the lady folk cooked a huge dishpan of rabbits and dumplings. I fondly remember that day of fellowship.

Some say the Pilgrims, central figures in the “Thanksgiving story” most of us learned about in school, weren’t the first to celebrate “thanksgiving” in America. Native Americans celebrated thanksgiving festivals before Europeans arrived in America, says writer Dennis Rupert. He says the Wampanoag (Indian allies of the Pilgrims) held six thanksgiving festivals each year.

Rupert notes that the first recorded Christian thanksgiving in America occurred in Texas on May 23, 1541, when Spanish explorer, Francisco Vasquez de Coronado, and his men held a thanksgiving service after finding food, water, and pasture for their animals in the Panhandle.

On December 4, 1619, two years before the Pilgrims held their Thanksgiving service, a group of 38 English settlers arrived at Berkeley Plantation in what is now Charles City, Virginia. The group’s charter required that the day of arrival be observed yearly as a day of thanksgiving to God. Captain John Woodleaf held the service of thanksgiving. Here is the section of the Charter of Berkley Plantation which specifies the thanksgiving service:

“Wee ordaine that the day of our ships arrival at the place assigned for plantacon in the land of Virginia shall be yearly and perpetually keept holy as a day of thanksgiving to Almighty god.”

The colonists most likely held thanksgiving services in 1620 and 1621. The colony was wiped out in 1622.

Those early thanksgivings probably did not involve feasting but were religious services of thankfulness to God.

Here are some facts about the “Pilgrims’ Thanksgiving,” the one most of us heard about during our school days:

Pilgrim leader William Bradford wrote in his diary that the voyage to America was motivated by “a great hope for advancing the kingdom of Christ.”

The Pilgrims set aground at Plymouth Rock on December 11, 1620. Rupert says their first winter devastated them. He writes, “Weakened by the 7-week voyage and the need to establish housing, they came down with pneumonia and consumption. They began to die – one per day, then two, and sometimes three. They dug graves at night, so that Indians would not see their numbers dwindling. At one point, only seven persons were able to fetch wood, make fires and care for the sick. By spring, they had lost 46 of the 102 who sailed on the Mayflower.”

The Pilgrims needed help, and it came from an English-speaking member of the Wampanoag nation, Squanto. He stayed with the Pilgrims for the next few months and taught them how to survive. The harvest of 1621 was bountiful, and the remaining colonists and over 90 Indian guests celebrated together with a 3-day thanksgiving feast.

Dennis Rupert says, “Our Thanksgiving celebration is a wonderful reminder to ‘give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His love endures forever’” (1 Chronicles 16:34).

Keeping a Good Perspective

Tom, a Gulistan Carpet salesman, shakes my hand and takes a seat in my office.

We converse in Gulistan’s product development building, where I work in Aberdeen, N.C. Our conversation goes something like this:

“You’re taking over the North Carolina sales district, too,” I say.

“Yep, I’m on the go,” says Tom, who told me last year that he’s a Christian. “I’m 56, and when I hired on here some years ago, I told them I was going to retire at Gulistan.”

Tom tilts his head sideways and rolls his eyes, indicating he’s not sure he’ll make it to retirement age without getting “let go.” He recently worked as Gulistan’s South Carolina representative, but the company cut its sales force and told Tom he’d have to cover S.C. and North Carolina, too.

“I’m doing some driving at night, so I can get to a town and be at an appointment early the next day,” Tom says.

He tells of talking recently with a man in his fifties who sells carpet for a competitor. Tom says that man told him, “I work out and try to stay in shape, because I know there are 100 young fellows out there who want my job!”

We have no promise of tomorrow. But, as the late songwriter Ira F. Stanphill advised, we can trust the One “who holds tomorrow.”

I years ago met Stanphill when he visited a small church near Greenville, S.C. He said some people referred to his famous song as “I Don’t Know about Tomorrow,” but that the title is “I Know Who Holds Tomorrow.” He felt there was a big difference between those two titles.

Ira Stanphill (1914-1993) was born in Belleview, New Mexico, and by age 10 became fluent at playing the piano, organ, ukelele and accordion. At 17, he was composing and performing his own music for church services, revival campaigns and prayer meetings.

Educated at Junior College in Chillocothe, Missouri, Stanphill later received an honorary PhD from Hyles-Anderson College in Hammond, Indiana.

Stanphill traveled the U.S. and Canada and visited 40 countries to preach and sing. Many secular singers performed his works. Elvis Presley recorded “Mansion Over the Hilltop” and "His Hand in Mind." Johnny Cash recorded “Suppertime.” Bill Gaither performed “We’ll Talk It Over.”

Here are some words – good words for the troubled days we live in – contained in “I Know Who Holds Tomorrow”:

“I don’t know about tomorrow, / I just live from day to day. / I don’t borrow from its sunshine, / For its skies may turn to gray. / I don’t worry o’er the future, / For I know what Jesus said, / And today I’ll walk beside Him, / For He knows what is ahead.”

Refrain:
“Many things about tomorrow, / I don’t seem to understand; / But I know Who holds tomorrow, / And I know Who holds my hand.”

Stanphill’s third verse of his famous song seems fitted for “these days”:

“I don’t know about tomorrow, / It may bring me poverty; / But the One Who feeds the sparrow, / Is the One Who stands by me. / And the path that be my portion, / May be through the flame or flood, / But His presence goes before me, / And I’m covered with His blood.”

Refrain:
“Many things about tomorrow, / I don’t seem to understand; / But I know Who holds tomorrow, / And I know Who holds my hand.”

Someone recently sent me these statements to help me keep a good perspective during “days of change”:

“Whatever happens in our country, Jesus is still King. Our responsibilities as Christians have not changed one iota.

“The greatest agent for social change in America is still this: winning the hearts and minds of men and women through the gospel, not legislation.

“My primary citizenship is still in this order: (1) the Kingdom of God, (2) America (and not vice-versa).

“The tomb of Jesus is still empty.

“The cross, not the government, is still our salvation.

“God is in control.

“It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man” (Psalm 118:8).

'Hold and Die'

A war hero who faced almost certain death in Vietnam died in his sleep as an old man, the Associated Press reported on Nov. 3, 2008.

Retired Marine Col. John Ripley, who was credited with stopping a column of North Vietnamese tanks by blowing up a pair of bridges during the 1972 Easter Offensive of the Vietnam War, died recently at home at age 69, friends and relatives said.

Ripley’s son, Stephen, said his father was found at his Annapolis, Md., home Saturday after missing a speaking engagement on Friday. His father appeared to have died in his sleep.

The story goes that Ripley and about 600 South Vietnamese were ordered to “hold and die” against 20,000 North Vietnamese soldiers with about 200 tanks.

“I'll never forget that order, ‘Hold and die,’” said Ripley, who figured the only way to stop the enormous force with his small group was to destroy the bridge. “The idea that I would be able to even finish the job before the enemy got me was ludicrous…When you know you're not going to make it, a wonderful thing happens.” He said that the essence of that “wonderful thing” is that your mind is no longer cluttered by worrying about how you’re going to save yourself.

A Virginia native, Colonel Ripley dangled for three hours under a bridge near the South Vietnamese city of Dong Ha to attach 500 pounds of explosives to the span, ultimately destroying it. His action, under fire while going back and forth for materials, is thought to have thwarted an onslaught by 20,000 enemy troops and was the subject of a book, “The Bridge at Dong Ha,” by John Grider Miller.

After reading about Col. Ripley, I thought about the order he received – “Hold and die.” That sounds a bit like Jesus’ words: “Be faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life” (Revelation 2:10).

St. Paul wrote something similar: “…I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award me on that day, and not only to me but to all who have loved his appearing” (2 Timothy 4:7).

Sometimes Christians die for their faith. Someone said that most of us are required only to maintain our faith until we die. We are, however, to have an attitude of “Hold and die.”

Sometimes the “holding” part is hard. The tedium of day-to-day living can “get on our nerves,” to use an old expression. We may be able to envision ourselves dying some kind of heroic death for the Lord more than we can picture enduring day-in, day-out tensions and trials. But a different kind of dying takes place when we rely on the Lord to endure difficulties. As we “hold,” we learn to “die” to “self.”

“Self” involves one’s “flesh.” The Bible sometimes refers to “flesh” as literal human flesh that covers our bones, but spiritually speaking, “flesh” can refer to one’s physical desires and one’s soul (some say the “soul” is generally made up of one’s mind, will and emotions). “Flesh” can refer to “physical and mental desires in opposition to what God wants for us.”

Paul writes in Galatians 5:24: “And they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with its affections and lusts.”

Jesus said, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abides alone: but if it die, it brings forth much fruit” (John 12:24).

Jesus also said to his disciples, “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it” (Matthew 16:24-25).

When a Christian commits to “hold” and learns to “die to self,” he is free to experience wonderful things that will take place. His mind is no longer cluttered by worrying about how to save his own life, and his heart’s cry becomes “for me to live is Christ.” When that happens, there’s no telling what “strongholds of the Enemy” he may pull down!

St. Paul said, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).

Sending 'Envelope Hugs'

Carol E. Crain of North Carolina

Carol E. Crain of Southern Pines, N.C., sends “Envelope Hugs” to her friends and to some people she doesn’t know.

A retired elementary school teacher, Carol, 61, is my wife and the mother of our two daughters, Janelle and Suzanne.

“I send hand-written, hand-created notes, often including songs and poems I’ve written and quotations I collect,” Carol says. “What I send depends on a person’s situation – whether he or she has cancer, has lost a child, is going through divorce or whatever the need is.

“I write my letters, my ‘Envelope Hugs,’ in longhand. I think this means more in a day of e-mail and junk mail. I hand-make some cards, using magazine pictures. I’ve been doing this off-and-on since I was in college in S.C.”

As a college student, she wrote to friends and relatives who lived in Pennsylvania, where she grew up.

“Steve and I married after we each taught school for a year,” Carol says. “He left for a year in Vietnam only months after our wedding. I wrote him many letters during his time overseas, and I continued writing to college friends and my relatives.”

Carol sometimes reads a news article about someone going through problems, and she writes to that person.

“It depends on what I feel led to do in reaching out to a person,” she says. “After I went through malignant melanoma cancer in 1985, I’ve tended to notice people going through any type of cancer. I know how they feel when they’re told they have cancer. When you’ve been through something like that, you belong to a club you never wanted to join, but since you belong, there’s some good that can come out of it, since you understand.

“I put lots of different things in envelopes. It depends on how well I know the person, as to what I enclose. If I don’t know a person, I’ll tell them, ‘Even though I don’t know you personally, when I heard about your situation, I wanted to share with you, and I hope the things I’ve sent to you will be a blessing to your life.’

“I go through songs and poems I’ve written, especially those written since around 1974, and I think about which one/ones might help them. I’ve learned it doesn’t matter if I hear back from people. If I feel the Lord puts it on my heart to write to them, then that means there is a reason for it. I think the fact that I don’t know them is what sometimes ministers most to them.

“I may read an obituary and call the church where the funeral was held or call the funeral home. (You can send your envelope to the church/funeral home and let a pastor or director give it to the family of the deceased. A church or funeral home probably won’t give you a family’s address.). If it’s local, I look in our phone directory.

“I received a touching response from an elderly man who had been married over 60 years when his wife passed on. He approached me at church after I’d sent him something almost every day for several weeks after his wife died. He told me how much my cards had meant to him. I sent cards with pictures of dogs, boats, lighthouses, nature scenes, etc.”

“I have them standing up in each room,” he said tearfully, “and when I go from one room to the other, and I look at your note cards, they’re like company for me.”

Carol has sometimes written to famous people, but mostly writes to “everyday people.”

“I often include cards with quotes inside bills I pay,” she says. “God may use a devotional quote to encourage someone going through a hard time.

“I wrote to a lady who was going through cancer, and she said that she kept my envelope hugs in a box. When she felt especially down, she’d take my letters out and reread them. She said they ministered to her, again, and even in a different way.

“A day hardly goes by that new contacts don’t come across my path. Here’s one of my favorite poems by an unknown author: ‘It was only a kindly word / And a word that was lightly spoken / Yet not in vain / For it stilled the pain / Of a heart that was nearly broken.’

“I want my envelope hugs to do that – to still the pain of hurting people,” Carol says.

Bobby Richardson and Mickey Mantle

I met Bobby Richardson, former second baseman for the New York Yankees, in Pinehurst, N.C., in 2004, when he, then 68, spoke to a church group about his life and Mickey Mantle’s Christian conversion.

Richardson signed with the Yankees at age 17. He led the American League in double plays four times, played in seven Yankee pennant-winner games, kept a .266 lifetime batting average and led his league with 209 hits in 1962.

At age 31, he retired from the Yankees and devoted himself to family and interests, including a run for Congress and work with the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. He coached baseball at the University of S.C. (record: 51-6) and Liberty University. He retired from coaching in 1990.

He was a 14-year-old baseball player when his mother invited his family’s pastor to visit their home on a Sunday afternoon.

“He opened his Bible,” Richardson said, “and started sharing verses like when Jesus said, ‘I am the way, the truth and the life; no man cometh unto the Father but by me.’”

The pastor pointed out that the Bible says, “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God” and that there’s a penalty – “the wages of sin is death.”

“Then he shared the good news that Christ died for our sins and was buried and he rose again the third day, according to the Scriptures,” Richardson said. “I responded, and the verse that sealed my decision was John 1:12: ‘But as many as received him, Jesus Christ, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.’”

At age 17, the day he graduated from high school in Sumter, S.C., he signed with the Yankees. Days later, he checked into a New York City hotel and attended practice. He recalled that power-hitting outfielder Mickey Mantle, 5 years older than he, put his arm around him and said, “Come on, kid; step in here and take some swings.”

Richardson said he could name a dozen occasions when Mantle and he talked about “things that matter.” Mantle’s father had died young, and Mantle wondered if his time might come early.“

At 51 years of age, Roger Maris went on to be with the Lord,” Richardson said. “I had a part in that funeral.”

Mantle served as a pall bearer at Maris’ funeral and told Richardson he wanted Richardson to someday conduct his funeral.

In June 1995, doctors discovered cancer had destroyed Mantle's liver. He received a transplant, but cancer remained in his body, and he began chemotherapy. Mantle called Richardson and asked him to pray for him over the telephone. Weeks later, nine years after Maris’ death and after doctors discovered the cancer had spread, Richardson received a call.

“He’d taken a turn for the worse,” Richardson said. “The family wanted us to come. Immediately, Betsy and I were on a plane flying toward Dallas. One more time, I wanted to be bold.”

A smiling Mantle greeted Richardson and said, “I can’t wait to tell you. I’ve accepted Christ as my savior.”

Richardson “went to crying a little bit” and said, “Mickey, let me go over this just to make sure you understand.” He told Mantle, “God sent his son, the Lord Jesus, to shed his precious blood, and promised in his Word that if you would repent of your sins and receive him as Savior, you might have everlasting life.”

“That’s just what I’ve done,” Mantle said.

Richardson said his wife Betsy told Mantle about her conversion and asked Mantle how he knew he would spend eternity with God in heaven.

Mantle paused and began quoting John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

“He had a real peace,” Richardson said. “We found out he’d been listening to Pete Maravich’s testimony.” (Maravich, a pro basketball standout, “found Christ” at age 35 and died at 40 in 1988. Mantle had watched a video of Maravich telling of his Christian conversion.)

Mantle died a few days after he talked with Richardson.

“I had the humbling experience of conducting his funeral on national television,” Richardson said.

TURN YOUR HEART TOWARD HOME

Autumn may cause you to “turn your heart toward home.”

Years ago, my wife and I heard Steve and Annie Chapman in concert at The Church of the Nazarene in Greenville, S.C. They sang “Turn Your Heart toward Home.” The chorus of that ballad, as I remember, contains these words: “Turn your heart toward home; turn your heart toward home. You’ve been gone so long; turn your heart toward home.”

That song often plays in my mind when summer leaves begin turning to shades of yellow, orange, crimson and brown.

Autumn signals that the year is drawing to a close. Homegrown tomatoes sliced for sandwiches slathered with Duke’s Mayonnaise have gone the way of summer. We want warm soup and maybe a fire in the fireplace.

Many churches hold autumn homecoming services and invite former members and friends to return and enjoy fellowship. And, as someone said, “Homecoming is not homecoming without dinner on the grounds (even if it is on tables).”

A minister told me that people don’t like to return to churches they once attended and find change. They want to hear the same hymns and see the same people they saw in days gone by.

I suppose we all grow nostalgic, at times.

After President Abraham Lincoln visited the place where he grew up, he wrote “My Childhood’s Home I See Again.” That poem contains these words: “My childhood home I see again, / And sadden with the view; / And still, as memory crowds my brain, / There’s pleasure in it too.”

In one verse, Lincoln called “memory” a “midway world” between earth and paradise, “Where things decayed and loved ones lost / In dreamy shadows rise….”

He wrote of “woods and fields, and scenes of play, and playmates loved so well.”

He recalled leaving his childhood home and the passing of time: “The friends I left that parting day, / How changed, as time has sped! / Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray, / And half of them are dead.”

Lincoln concluded his poem with this verse: “I range the fields with pensive tread, / And pace the hollow rooms, / And feel (companion of the dead) / I’m living in the tombs.”

In 1688, Johannes Hofer, then a Swiss medical student, reportedly coined the word “nostalgia,” to describe “a longing for the past, often in idealized form.” The word is made up of two Greek words that mean “returning home” and “pain/longing.” It once referred to a serious medical disorder, but the word nostalgia entered everyday language and is now used to describe a yearning for a lost time and place. The Spanish call nostalgia “el mal de corazón” (heart-pain). We often call it “homesickness.”

When I return to Faith Temple, the interdenominational church I attended while growing up in rural Greenville County, S.C., I enjoy worshiping with present-day members; and sometimes, even as we worship, I envision a joyful groundbreaking ceremony held on Sunday morning, December 30, 1956, when I was nine years old. In a dream-like mental photograph, I see cars parked along Highway 253 (now called “Rev. James H. Thompson Road”) and see Pastor “Jimmy” Thompson ditch a shovelful of dirt as church leaders stand around him. Then I feel “heart pain” as I see the faces of my parents, grandparents and friends who once worshiped at Faith Temple but have passed on.

Turning one’s heart toward home may bring pain, but as President Lincoln said, “There’s pleasure in it too.”

When I think about my childhood church and about places where I’ve lived, and I begin to feel the pain and pleasure inherent in memory, I often recall these words found in an old hymn: “O think of a home over there, / By the side of the river of light, / Where the saints all immortal and fair, / Are robed in their garments of white. / Over there, over there, O think of the home over there.”

The 'Powers that Be' and 'Are'

“Be patient with the ‘powers that be.’ They are not the ‘powers that are.’” Chad, our daughter Suzanne’s husband, sent me that quote by e-mail.

My wife Carol and I recently visited them at their home, about an hour’s drive from our residence in Southern Pines, North Carolina. During our visit, I mentioned what I perceived to be an insensitive remark made to me by one of my overseers at the carpet manufacturing company where I work.

“That’s the kind of thing I have to put up with,” I told Chad, who teaches math to public school sixth-graders. Suzanne instructs third-graders.

After receiving Chad’s e-mail, I felt bad that perhaps I had conveyed to him that I didn’t seem to believe that God’s “powers that are” are greater than this world’s “powers that be.”

That term “powers that be” is dictionary-defined as “the established government of authority” or “any group that holds power over a certain entity.”

Often used as a reference to supervisors, “higher-ups” and “those in charge,” the term “powers that be” comes from Romans 13:1, as translated in the “King James Version” of the Bible: “Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God.”

Because of our fallen natures, we tend to rebel against “the powers that be.”

Years ago I sat behind a thin, old designer named Charlie Younkers in the Bigelow Carpet design studio. A native of Brooklyn, N.Y., Charlie, who never married, turned toward me one morning as I worked on a design and said, “I don’t like George (our supervisor).”

“Why not?” I asked.

“He’s the boss,” Charlie said.

That said a lot about human nature. Like ungrateful Israelites wandering in the wilderness after being delivered from slavery, we tend to complain about “the powers that be,” no matter who they are. We may wonder how they could be “ordained of God.” Even if we believe they are God-ordained, we may murmur about them anyway, just because we feel like grumbling!

Is God in control of all things? Let’s look at these verses:

“For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the earth, to show himself strong in the behalf of those whose hearts are perfect toward him” (2 Chronicles 16:9).

“The earth is the Lord’s and all its fullness, the world and those who dwell therein” (Psalms 24:1).

“Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting thou art God” (Psalm 90:2).

“And Jesus…spoke to them, saying, ‘All authority has been given to me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:18-19).

“God, who at various times and in various ways spoke in time past to the fathers by the prophets, has in these last days spoken to us by His Son, whom He has appointed heir of all things, through whom also He made the worlds” (Hebrews 1:1-2).

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

God is ultimately in control, though we may not like present circumstances or the “powers that be.”

While serving almost two years in the U.S. Army during the Vietnam era, I saw this quotation scrawled on a wall: “We are the unwilling, led by the unqualified, to do the impossible for the unthankful.”

(Get that thought into your spirit, and your morale will be lower than a snake’s belly.)

I’m learning that Christian faith has a lot to do with practicing patience when I’m inconvenienced or think “the powers that be” are undeserving of respect. If Romans 13:1 (“the powers that be are ordained of God”) is true, then I can “Be patient with the powers that be. They are not the powers that are.” God is in control.

When Life's Winds Blow

The sound of a large tree crashing in the woods behind our Southern Pines home woke me before daybreak on a recent Saturday.

Hurricane Hanna assailed the North Carolina coast, brought over six inches of rain to parts of Moore County, and left a scar in our neck of the woods.

After that falling tree interrupted my sleep, I glanced at our clock and saw “5:46 a.m.” in digital, glow-in-the-dark numbers. I heard rain descending in torrents and figured a diseased or dead tree had become waterlogged and fallen prey to the amount of wind needed to bring it down. Then I wondered if maybe that tree had been healthy, but, due to a weak root system and wet ground, its water-weary top-parts “gave up the ghost” and plummeted to the forest floor.

I often see “the human predicament” reflected in nature, and in the few minutes between hearing that tree fall and drifting back to sleep, I envisioned that tree as a person, a person overwhelmed by life’s storms.

I suppose most of us at times experience discouragements that can cause us to feel as though we want to give up, quit resisting life’s wayward winds and fall over in defeat.

When difficulties come, I try to reaffirm my belief that God has my life in his hands and that my successes and failures are his to use to mold me into a person of positive purpose.

When trials arrive, I sometimes recall these words from “Stand by Me,” a hymn written in 1905 by Charles A. Tindley, an African-American:

“When the storms of life are raging, stand by me…When the world is tossing me like a ship upon the sea, Thou Who rulest wind and water, stand by me.”

That song’s second verse can comfort those who feel isolated:

“In the midst of faults and failures, stand by me…When I do the best I can, and my friends misunderstand, Thou Who knowest all about me, stand by me.”

The third verse addresses opposition:

“In the midst of persecution, stand by me…When my foes in battle array, undertake to stop my way, Thou Who saved Paul and Silas, stand by me.”

The final verse of Tindley’s hymn serves as a prayer for a person negotiating old age:

“When I’m growing old and feeble, stand by me…When my life becomes a burden, and I’m nearing chilly Jordan, O Thou ‘Lilly of the Valley,’ stand by me.”

As a teenager, I sometimes heard the Rev. R.B. Hayes sing “No, Never Alone” at Faith Temple Church in Taylors, S.C. Hayes, elderly and thin when I heard him sing, could touch hearts when he intoned that hymn, which was written in 1897 by Ludie D. Picket. The song contains these words:

“I’ve seen the lightning flashing, and heard the thunder roll. I’ve felt sin’s breakers dashing, trying to conquer my soul; I’ve heard the voice of my Savior, telling me still to fight on. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone.”

As Hayes sang that song, I’d hear a few “amens” and see some folk raise hands as he launched into the high notes that conveyed these words in that hymn’s chorus:

“No, never alone. No, never alone. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone.”

Another verse contains these words:

“The world’s fierce winds are blowing, temptation’s sharp and keen. I have a peace in knowing my Savior stands between – He stands to shield me from danger, when earthly friends are gone. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone.”

As the world’s winds blow, I often draw comfort from these words: “…for he (Jesus) hath said, ‘I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee’” (Hebrews 13:5).

Pastor Jimmy Celebrates 80 Years

Photo of Dr. James H. Thompson (Pastor "Jimmy")

Dr. James H. “Jimmy” Thompson, my childhood pastor and the founder of Faith Temple Church in Taylors, S.C., celebrated his eightieth birthday on July 8, 2008.

Jimmy grew up on his father’s dairy farm, across from Double Springs Baptist Church, north of Greer, S.C. His father Lawrence and mother Esther Rosella Wood Thompson raised five children (listed in birth order): Jimmy, Nell, Betty, Tommy and Judy.

Ms. Nell wrote recently, “One of my earliest memories was sitting with him (Jimmy) at Double Springs Church. I think we were five or six years old. He went up to put his birthday offering in, and I went with him. It was not my birthday, but wherever he went, I thought I was supposed to go, too.

“We used to pick cotton and sing ‘Jesus Saves.’ Neither Jimmy nor I were blessed with a talent to sing; we just made a joyful sound, and it echoed in the valley.”

She and Jimmy rode together when both were day students at Furman University.

“Before he married Joanne, I used to go with him through the countryside to pick up children for Sunday school when he pastored Gum Springs,” Nell says. “We filled his car full of children (no seatbelts then). This was Jimmy’s little bus.”

My Uncle Fred Crain, 83, attended Mountain View School with Jimmy.

“He was in the eighth grade; I was in the eleventh,” Fred says. “He was nice, clean-cut, polite, every hair in place. He was smart and studied. He later drove the Double Springs school bus part of the time and, I believe, managed the candy store at school.”

Fred says that, as far as he knows, Jimmy was one of the few Mountain View students who went on to college in the 1930s and ’40s. “About the only place they could go was to Holmes Bible College,” Fred says. “They could go there ‘on faith’ (and pay whatever they could).”

Some folk called the Rev. James H. Thompson simply “Preacher Thompson” or “Jimmy” when I benefited from his pastoral preaching during the 1950s and ’60s.

My parents, sister and many of our extended family attended Gum Springs Pentecostal Holiness Church in the Blue Ridge area of Greenville, S.C., when Pastor Jimmy, a Holmes Bible College and Furman University graduate, accepted the pastorate of that church in the mid-1950s.

Jimmy became a pilot, and the story goes that after he began dating Joanne Upton, he flew over her mother’s house and yelled down to Joanne who was watching his plane, “I’ll see you tonight at 7:00!” They married on April 22, 1955.

Jimmy envisioned the Full-Gospel message reaching beyond denominational lines. On Sunday, December 16, 1956, he preached to over 200 people gathered in an old building on the Ben Paris farm in the Blue Ridge area. That day, the group donated $7,000 in gifts and pledges to create an interdenominational church, which became Faith Temple Church of Taylors, S.C.

Jimmy founded Faith Printing Company. I worked there, mostly part-time, for over seven years and financed my college education. I’m grateful for that opportunity.

Jimmy founded WGGS-TV in Greenville, S.C., and he, Joanne and their sons, Gene, Dante and Dwayne, along with grandson Shane, a staff of workers and many loyal financial contributors, are still sending out the Gospel.

During Faith Temple’s early days, Jimmy often took the church’s young people to a park in Greer to play softball, and he organized yearly 2-day trips to Camp Arrowhead (for boys) near Tuxedo, N.C. Most of us who attended that camp were mill-workers’ sons who’d never seen a real camp. Jimmy played ball and swam and ate with us. He cared about us rag-tag boys.

I learned much from Pastor Jimmy’s Gospel preaching and from how he interacted with people. Some folk I knew years ago may have thought Jimmy was too nice to people, that he too often gave people the “benefit of the doubt,” that if he made a mistake in dealing with folk, he tended to err on the “kindness side.” I liked – and still like – that trait in him. Years ago, I thought of Pastor Jimmy when I found this poem written by an unknown author: “I have wept in the night / For the shortness of sight / That to somebody’s need / Made me blind; / But I never have yet / Felt a tinge of regret / For being a little too kind.”

As Long as I've Got King Jesus

Music boomed from a nearby white compact car as I exited my truck before 8:00 a.m. at Gulistan Carpet, the carpet manufacturing company I work for in Aberdeen, N.C.

That small vehicle almost rocked. I heard melodic phrases I couldn’t quite understand and then “be-bop, be-bop” percussion accents. When that musical pattern stopped, a young African-American lady with her head covered by a do-rag stepped from the white car.

“That’ll get me motivated to go in there,” she said, smiling and nodding toward the large manufacturing building located across the parking lot from us.

“What’s the name of that song?” I called to her, as she headed toward the brick structure housing our company’s yarn preparation and tufting departments.

“‘As Long as I’ve Got King Jesus!’” she called back.

“All right!” I said. “I’ve got Him, too!”

“That’s what it’s all about,” she said. “A lot of people don’t have him.”

I walked toward our company’s product development building, located on the opposite side of the parking lot from the manufacturing plant.

I wondered if that young woman worked in “tufting” and might face a day of “creeling,” a process that involves lifting and positioning 12-pound cones of yarn onto metal “limbs” welded onto vertical posts. Each cone of yarn feeds into a plastic tube that runs to a needle. There are about 144 needles placed side-by-side across each tufting machine, and those needles punch yarn into a “backing” during the manufacture of 12-ft. wide “greige” (pronounced “greyzh”). Greige goods, or “gray goods” (a term for un-dyed textiles) are then dyed, latex-backed, sheared and inspected before they’re shipped as carpets to retail flooring stores.

Tufting workers wear earplugs because noisy tufting machines can ruin eardrums. Perhaps a worker might experience loneliness by wearing earplugs during most of an 8-hour shift. I’ve worn them a few times, and they seem to isolate me and cause me to “hear” my own thoughts more keenly.

If that young woman worked in our company’s yarn department, she’d also need earplugs. The roar of twisting-and-winding machines can deafen, too. And she’d need a good spine, as “doffing” (taking 12-pound cones from machines and replacing them with empties) while making rounds on cement can take a toll on a back and a body.

I suspect that hours of standing on cement, lifting heavy cones and hearing the steady hum-roar of machinery – earplugs can’t totally block noise – could drive a person to seek consolation from King Jesus.

Sometimes a crisis event challenges one’s faith in God, but daily routines, toilsome environments and backside-of-the-desert duties can also sap one’s soul. Faith-threatening thunderclouds may pour gully-washers into our lives, but the steady, monotonous, drip-drip drizzle of daily difficulties can just as surely erode our fields of faith.

I recall seeing this sign in a shoe repair shop: “It’s not the mountain ahead that gets you – it’s the grain of sand in your shoe.”

During a difficult trial or even a run-of-the-mill life experience, I often determine to pace myself and cross the finish line with enough reserve left to smile and pose for pictures. But all too soon I find myself huffing and puffing on some lonely backstretch of my “race,” and tedium lays heavy hands on the shoulders of my soul. I feel strength drain from my spirit and, in my tired mind, hear these words spoken by a despair-filled voice: “What’s it all worth?”

But then I remember these words penned by St. Paul: “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?...Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us” (Romans 8:35, 37). And I recall that Jesus said, “I’ll never leave you nor forsake you.” And then I know, deep down, that I can face all of life’s challenges, as long as I’ve got King Jesus.