essays on faith

Essays on Faith

By Larry Price, Editor NKUMCRI.COM

A collection of essays which have been printed on this website or in the NKUMC newsletter between 1994 and 2008:

Eulogy for Charles E. Jeffrey

A Celebration of Life Memorial Service

Faith United Methodist Church, Barker, NY

April 19, 2008

By Larry Price, son-in-law

Dad’s two oldest children will always remember the night. It was early in their lives, and they were slow to go to sleep, well past their bedtime. Suddenly, there was a tapping sound on the window of their bedroom and from the dark outside, a voice boomed: “This is The Sandman. Go to sleep!” That was dad.

I love that family story because it says so much about my father-in-law, our dad. He was a tall man, but he had an impish quality about him, and a playful sense of humor.

Sharing small stories—especially the joyful ones—are important. They celebrate a life and soften sadness. So, among today’s tears, don’t be afraid to find the laughter, because most of dad’s life was all about joy.

Thank you for coming today. It’s a privilege to try to tell you about our dad, his family and what we mean to each other. And if I go on too long today, it’s only out of love—for every time I tried to remove a loving thought, another would leap from my heart to the page.

Charles Jeffrey grew up an only child in Norwich, New York. He never knew his father who died when dad was just two years old. So a loving, single mother raised him for nearly all of his young life. Today, our memories are also with her, our loving grandmother, Dorothy Jeffrey.

Dad was just one of many in that now vanishing generation of World War II veterans—heroes who served their nation at a time in the world when there was a clear choice between good and evil. He served on an infantry landing craft with the Navy in the Pacific and he safely made it all the way to Japan. After the war—like so many other vets—he came home to take a bride, start a family, and pursue an education—all at the same time.

By the time he graduated from Hartwick College in 1950, and began his first teaching job, he and mom already had two children in tow and a third would arrive just a year later.

Those early years must have been difficult, but looking back, I don’t think dad OR mom would have traded them for anything in the world.

While he was teaching, dad also managed to get his master’s degree and years later—with great pride—would finally find the time to get his doctorate. Dr. Jeffrey’s life was one of dedication to education—first as a math teacher in Weedsport, NY and then principal in two other tiny towns you won’t find on any world map: Dalton and Barker.

He arrived here 50 years ago as a crew-cut young man of 32, brimming with ambition, to be Barker’s new principal. He hired a few younger teachers who, like him, had dreams of opening opportunities for the next generation.

Dad once shared with me how one student at Barker was struggling and was about to fail. As principal, dad suggested that two of his more seasoned teachers should tutor the young man to help him graduate. For whatever reason, they didn’t. So dad himself tutored him, saw him graduate, and always wondered how he had fared in life. Dad was very proud of that accomplishment.

I was in the sixth grade when I first met this Jeffrey clan. The new principal’s oldest son was in my class. Chuck, Steve and I played together on the same Little League team. And I remember once, their cute blonde sister riding with us to a game. She was very cute—still is.

I always respected teachers and principals, but I also found them a little scary—even former principals. So imagine how I felt six years later when I started dating his daughter, and Mr. Jeffrey would greet me at the door.

Nearly 38 years ago, on the day Charlene and I were to be married, I called him ‘dad’ for the first time. He looked at me sternly, and said, “I’m not your dad, yet!”

I don’t think he was joking. I do think he was reluctant to give away his daughter—too soon.

One of Charlene’s best memories of dad is on that same day when dad leaned over and kissed her on the cheek as he was about to walk her down the aisle.

When Charlene was a cheerleader, and mom and dad rooted for Chuck and the Barker basketball team, Jon, their youngest son, was just an infant on mom’s lap, as they sat in the stands, cheering every basket, at every game.

When Charlene and I started dating, Jon, a young child, would come and plop himself right between his sister and me on the front steps of their house on Pallister Avenue—usually when I was about to kiss his sister. I always suspected dad probably sent him out there on those starry nights to distract us.

One night, as we gazed at the sky, Jon asked—and we both still remember it—“why are there so many stars?” Well, science and astronomy were not my strong suits, so I told him, “If a star is good, it is allowed to come out at night and shine brightly. Those are the good stars.”

Dad was one of those good stars God allowed to come out and shine brightly. He worked tirelessly all his life to brighten his family’s path—and he was always willing to help.

We moved too often, and every time, dad would soon follow to help. Three times, he came to build decks on our homes. He was skilled with his hands. He could fix things. I never could. He had patience—a virtue, my family will tell you, still escapes me. But with dad’s gentle teaching, we built those decks together and I have always looked back at those times—and the days we played golf together—as the best personal moments we shared together.

At our home in Rhode Island, there’s a tree house and swing set dad built for his grandchildren. Heather, Jeffrey and Travis are adults now. The swings are long gone, and the tree house has been vacant for years. It’s 20 years old, the roof is gone and the sides are falling off. It’s weathered, but still standing; And to anyone else, it’s probably an eyesore in our backyard. But to us, it’s still a thing of beauty. And we’ve never discussed tearing it down. Not yet. There’s too much love in it.

This family is close. We’ve done much with each other, but we especially look forward to our annual summer reunion because it’s the one time each year when we all are together—for many wonderful years on Cape Cod, until it became difficult for dad to make the trip. Then, we traded the ocean for the lake and all came back to Barker. It was never really about where we were—as long as we were all together.

At Christmas time, we gathered at the lake to exchange presents, and I learned to accept the Jeffrey family tradition that any gift could and should be returned for something else, the day after Christmas. I learned it wasn’t personal. It was just a fact of life in this family that everyone should get the gift you truly wanted. There are other Jeffrey family traditions: Mom and dad’s required photo of every ice cream birthday cake—always chocolate because, except for me, dad and everyone else in this family loves chocolate. We must have a collection of hundreds of those award-winning photographs of ice cream cakes.

Dad loved this community, and for 50 years, he gave his time and talents—to the Lions Club and to this church which he loved so dearly. When he left as principal, he could have moved away, but he chose to stay. So for 34 years, he commuted day after day to Buffalo to work at the University. He was happy there and his daily drive was a love affair with his cars. He would strap on those driving gloves and log hundreds of thousands of miles on his cars. And every five years or so, he looked forward to swapping cars when he could negotiate ‘the new deal.’ Dad elevated trading cars to an art form.

Dad loved his children.

When he saw Chuck ship off with the Army to Viet Nam, he never let a father’s fear take hold. He just let him know, in his own unemotional way, he loved him and expected him to come home safely. With his father’s strength and wit and his mother’s heart of gold, Chuck is one of those special sons, brothers, and brother-in-law you’re blessed to have. Tomorrow is Chuck’s 61st birthday. Last night, we celebrated with another ice cream cake. I have the photo to prove it. Chuck, know that dad was with us and he will always live in your heart.

Steve’s fondest memory of dad is lying as a small child on his father’s chest as Dad would swim on his back to the deeper waters. To this day, Steve’s swimming, far out in the lake, brings him contentment. When Steve returned to Barker, at a difficult turning point in his life, dad helped him enroll at the University, and Steve, like his father before him, worked hard to get his degree. He went on to obtain an advanced degree, began a new career and started a new chapter in his life. It was a blessing for all three as Steve stayed on and became so important in caring for mom and dad in their later years. And, Steve, we will always love you for it.

Jon, the youngest son, arrived 11 years after Steve’s birth. Mom and dad were 36 years old and raising another child, all over again. Jon’s older brothers argue that by then, dad had mellowed, and Jon got away with a lot more than they ever did. Maybe so, but he also gave as much, or more, than he received and he enjoyed a childhood, blessed by more ‘alone time’ with his dad; And he’s much like his father—right down to the gas mileage book he keeps in his car. Jon, dad was very proud of you and the life you and Janet have made together. Never forget that in your dad’s eyes, your greatest achievement will always be your son John Robert, a miracle blessing to you and Janet and all of us, just four years ago.

Charlene is amazing. She brings out the best in her brothers. Her loving determination binds this family together. She does whatever it takes, whatever her heart tells her is best for her parents and her brothers. I’ve always worried how losing a parent would affect her. She hasn’t been touched by death as often, but she accepted dad’s death with amazing grace. First forged in that old Barker Methodist Church, her faith, and her love, always have been a rock for this family. And ‘Jeff’, to our children and to me, you will always be mom and dad’s greatest gift.

Dad loved all his children, but the love of his life was mom. His greatest joy was making her happy. And her passion was loving him. For 62 years of married life, they jitterbugged, went camping and snowmobiling, and worshipped in this church. They did everything together. And along the way they seeded and nurtured this loving family I’ve tried to tell you about—a family I’ve grown to love as if it is my own.

Janet, Nancy and I were lucky enough to become part of this family simply because we happened to fall in love with a Jeffrey son or daughter. Mom and dad’s love, and the love we all have for each other in this family, were the extra blessings that came with it.

If you’re here with us today, you’ve probably been touched at some time, in some small way, by our father or his family. The Jeffrey family is NOT special. We’re no different than your own family, but here’s the thing: we’re special to each other—and dad was special to all of us.

When we lose someone we love, it’s difficult NOT to hold on—very difficult to let go.

Our father was a strong man with a sharp mind and keen wit. It has been a struggle for our family to see his courageous battle with Parkinson’s deplete his strength and slowly imprison many memories made. We know in our hearts, and by God’s grace, it was his time to go, but it’s difficult to let go.

Dad would teach us to move forward, to be happy in our lives—to remember the Sandman smiles of his life, not the sadness. He would tell mom: Don’t be afraid to go on alone because our family will be there for you. He would teach us to let go of what had become a painful, earthly life, and embrace his new heavenly life. We know he lives because of Christ’s death and resurrection.

Our dad lives inside our laughter. He’s crystallized in every tear drop. A father is the place we came from, our first home; And he's the map we follow with every step we take. He’s one of our first loves and one of our first heartbreaks—and thanks to God’s grace, nothing on earth can separate us. Not time, not space ... not even death.

Let us pray.

Our loving and gracious Lord, today, we … we let go. We surrender our father to Your loving arms. Embrace him. In Christ’s name, we ask. Amen.

It’s the Season for Clergy Change

By Larry Price

Published March 22, 2008

Last week I received an email that surprised me. The pastor at the United Methodist Church in the small village in upstate New York—where my wife and I grew up, attended worship, and were married—is leaving. Like so many other ministers this time of year, he has been assigned to a new church, about 40 miles away, and in a few months will be moving. Pastors eventually receive new appointments. It is a way of life for these dedicated servants of God. It shouldn't have been surprising because Pastor Daryl has served at Faith United Methodist Church in Barker, NY for many years, but we tend to forget that eventually a pastor must go.

We moved away many years ago so while he was never our minister, we like Pastor Daryl. He’s friendly and caring. He’s been a good minister to my wife’s mother and father and my relatives who still live in the community. He’s married couples and he’s consoled many families who lost a loved one. He celebrated the life of my brother at his funeral, eight years ago and we thought he would be there for my sister-in-law’s memorial service later this year. He devotes a lot of time to his children’s sermon each week. In short, he has tended his flock well for more years than I can remember. That’s what good ministers do.

The email said, “There was sadness and tears,” at the Sunday worship when the announcement was made. No doubt, there was sadness and tears at the church where he’s going too, because that church is also losing a minister who was most likely also loved by the congregation there. And the announcement there was probably a surprise to most of that congregation, too. Typically, these changes are announced in both locations on the same day. It’s like a game of clergy dominoes with one announcement leading to another.

Change is difficult, but if both pastors were well liked, they’ll likely fit in well at their new churches, also. It will just take time for the congregations to realize it.

It’s the season for clergy change. On the website of the New England Conference of the United Methodist Church, I counted 40 pastor appointment changes announced so far this year. Many are retiring—the average age of the clergy in the United Methodist churches is getting older—but there are many who will take on new churches.

I don’t know all the factors that go into deciding clergy appointments, but I do know the changes affect congregations and clergy. Pastors become attached to their flocks and so do congregations to their pastors. I would imagine the longer a pastor has been in one place, the deeper the relationship, and the harder it is to say good-bye. Pastor Daryl has been a fixture in that church for many years.

We have not been members there for many years and there have been several pastors at Faith United during those years. After we got married and began our life together, my wife and I moved many times and attended many churches over the years, but when we go back to visit family in our home town, it still feels like a home church to us and always will.

When we were planning our wedding 38 years ago, The Rev. Alan Foster—you always remember the minister who married you—offered us a choice. The old church on Church Street in the village where we both grew up, worshipping and attending Sunday School, was scheduled to be torn down, to be replaced by a brand new, modern and contemporary, house of worship, a few miles away.

(At left, our wedding at the old Barker Methodist Church, 1970)

We could be the last couple married in the old church before it underwent the wrecking ball, or be the first couple to be married in the new church. We elected to start our new life at the old church. It was an easy decision. Our memories were there and even though it's gone, I can see the image of that church standing there every time I drive by Church Street. Some of the memories, I must confess, were not good ones. When I was a young kid, I accidentally put a small hole in one of the windows while tossing chestnuts near the church. I was terrified walking up to the door of the parsonage to tell the pastor what I had done. At first, I wanted to run, but an older kid convinced me that was not the right thing to do. Fortunately, The Rev. Mucci was understanding. Lesson learned.

Here’s the thing. The few times a year when we go back home and worship in the new church—which isn’t so new any more—it still feels like home, because it’s never really been about the building, but the people. Truly, “The church is the people.” When we visit, there are plenty of new faces in the congregation, but we also see the familiar ones, older now, but still recognizable as the people we have known for so many years.

We’re on the mailing list for the church newsletter and we look forward to reading it each month. We also visit the website and enjoy the photos of all the activities. It's almost like we're cheating on our church here in Rhode Island, but in a good way. My wife is also on the list for Pastor Daryl’s email where he shares an inspiring daily message. After he moves on to his new assignment, the newsletter will still arrive every month and the website will still be there, but I’m not sure about the email my wife enjoys every day. I hope she keeps receiving it, but doesn’t that really depend on whether the new pastor decides to do a daily email? Rightly, Pastor Daryl’s daily thoughts should move to a new distribution list in his new congregation.

We’ll go through the same challenges here at North Kingstown this summer because we know our own Pastor Beverly is leaving after 11 years of faithful service to become a district superintendent in Maine (Related: Pastor's Beverly's Legacy). Some time soon, the other clergy domino will fall when another minister, unknown to us, will stand before a congregation somewhere, and tell another congregation the sad news he or she is leaving to go to a Rhode Island town called North Kingstown.

It’s interesting that these two churches that have been faithful rocks in my family’s life will make the same journey of transition at the same time. Yes, there will be some sadness and tears along the way, but they’ll both come through it because of the strength of faithful congregations and the dedication of good shepherds. That’s what good congregations and good pastors do.

It’s the season for clergy change. Change is difficult, but it also offers new challenges and fresh opportunities that can be exciting in the faith journey for pastors and congregations alike. With mixed emotions, here’s to change along with a few prayers for Pastor Beverly, Pastor Daryl and two faithful congregations.

44-year-old man to sell his life on eBay

By Larry Price

Published March 21, 2008

Here’s one for the digital age. According to press reports, a man in Australia is about to auction off on eBay his entire life’s possessions—an expensive home, car, motorbike, his job, friends and lifestyle.

He says he is surrounded by memories of a failed marriage and is desperate to start a new life so he will put it all on sale for the starting price of one Australian dollar—dependent on a two-week trial period.

The package to mend his broken heart is thought to be worth at least $500,000 (US), according to the newspaper, The Daily Mail, but the article says the publicity surrounding the auction is likely to make Ian much richer. Hmmm.

On his website, he is mysterious about the circumstances of his break up after five years of marriage. To find out the rest of the story, you have to download four parts of his autobiography which promises graphic details—at a cost of $2.95. I suspect he’s about to get richer.

The paper says the details may not be as interesting as he promises. Quoting friends of the man, the story says his wife just told him she no longer loves him and wants to move on in her life.

The man's motives—selling it all to start over because of a broken heart—sound fishy, but his ingenuity may make him richer. The downloads on the website alone could make him a millionaire, never mind the sale of the home, jet ski, motor bike and the rest of his ‘stuff.’ I guess that’s the makings for the start of a new life.

At first glance, the headlines on this story in several publications led the reader to believe that here was a broken man about to give up all his worldly possessions to start a new life. The more you read, it appears it is just a ploy to launch one of the biggest Spring cleaning sales ever. The devil is in the details.

As I read the story, I kept thinking how different his abandonment of his worldly possessions is from the sacrifices made by Christ’s apostles.

It may be a stretch, but let’s assume for the moment his broken heart is sincere. He’s giving it all up because someone doesn’t love him any more. The disciples gave up their worldly possessions because they fell in love with Jesus and His message. And then there’s the wealth issue. This man appears to be well off financially, but may be on the road to become even wealthier. The disciples were not rich, but giving up the meager means of living they had—remember Jesus made the fishermen, fishers of men—and leaving their families behind was a greater sacrifice.

We won’t even touch on the persecution that the disciples faced and the earthly lives lost as they gave up everything to follow Jesus. It’s all there to read in another book—better written I’m sure than this man's autobiography. And you can go online to read it free without paying a $2.95 download charge.

I don’t know all the details of this man’s life so I know I’m wrong in ‘casting stones.’ It would be a difficult choice for all of us to follow the example of Christ’s disciples and truly give up everything—income, family—to follow Jesus. Unlike the apostles, we’re not saints, but I don’t think Jesus is asking all of us to give up everything in our lives. He’s only asking us to love one another as He loves us and to serve with our time, our talents and our gifts, whatever they might be.

I hope the eBay auction gives him what he is searching for, but I suspect it won’t be as satisfying as he hopes. I know he'll probably accumulate wealth—if his two week trial period works out—but I would just feel a lot better about this auction if I knew he was giving something back in his new life startup. Perhaps, a good donation to feed the hungry in America or a few mosquito nets to prevent malaria in Africa? Wouldn’t that help mend a broken heart and offer a fresh start in life?

Unfortunately, it’s not available on eBay this week.

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Palm Sunday Postcard—On the Road, A United Methodist Church Is Always Nearby

By Larry Price

Published March 16, 2008

PACIFIC GROVE, CA—Greetings. It’s Palm Sunday and I find myself a few thousand miles from our home church—on a trip in the beautiful area of Monterey, California. That's me at the iconic "Lone Cypress Tree" along Pebble Beach's 17-Mile Drive, in the photo at left.

Fortunately, the First United Methodist Church of Pacific Grove, California was a short drive away from my hotel, and a welcoming place the morning after a long and tiring cross country air flight. Nestled among pine trees—off Sunset Drive and near the entrance to the renowned 17-Mile Drive at Pebble Beach—it’s a beautiful place of worship.

The current church building was founded just a few years before our church in North Kingstown, R. I., but its history goes back farther—to the 19th century.

The church and the city of Pacific Grove were one and the same, long ago. While most cities or towns are founded by commerce, Pacific Grove was a “child of religious desire” and grew out of a Methodist Retreat.

In 1875, a bishop and group of clergy and lay people of the Methodist Episcopal Church met in San Francisco to establish the Pacific Grove Retreat, which later became the City of Pacific Grove. Chautauqua Hall was built in 1881 with Methodists worshipping in the morning and Episcopalians in the afternoon.

The site of the present church on Sunset Drive was purchased in 1955 and, coincidentally, groundbreaking ceremonies on the new church building were held on Palm Sunday, April 15, 1962. A year later—also Palm Sunday, April 7, 1963—the church was consecrated and the first worship service was held. A 40-year anniversary was celebrated on Sunday, April 6, 2003.

First United Methodist is known as the butterfly church, because gorgeous butterflies gather amid the pines in the winter. The church website address is www.butterflychurch.org.

Photo, First United Methodist Church, Pacific Grove, CA

Thanks to the church locator on the United Methodist Church website, and search engines on the internet, you can always find a place to worship on the road.

This is a lovely spot, a pretty church with a warm and welcoming congregation. It’s not home where I would rather be on Palm Sunday, but it’s nice to connect with other United Methodists. And, it’s always good to be reassured that God is with us, wherever we are in this wonderful world. Speaking of wonderful world, today ended here with a glorious sunset on the Pacific (see photo at right) at 7:01 PM PDT.

Hope you had a joyous Palm Sunday in Rhode Island and we’ll see you at Easter Sunrise worship at North Kingstown Town Beach next Sunday at 6:30 AM.

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So Much of Our Lives is ‘Out of Our Hands’

By Larry Price

Published March 7, 2008

Along with thousands of others, I received an email today from Southwest Airlines assuring me that safety is always the airline’s first concern. This followed news accounts that the airline faces millions of dollars in fines for allegedly flying some of its planes which didn’t pass inspection and should have been grounded.

I’m a frequent flier on Southwest and have always been a fan of the airline. The airline has been more dependable than most on departure times and their employees are always friendly and courteous. I want to be reassured by their email, but the news accounts concern me and leave me wondering if some of those flights I took were really safe.

Statistically, airline travel is said to be safer than driving a car, but I’ve always known that when we board a plane, our lives are ‘out of our hands.’ You like to assume that the pilot cares more about his or her life than yours, so he or she will do everything possible to make it a safe flight. I hope the ground crews and safety inspectors--who don’t fly with us--take our safety as seriously as we do.

This week, I was flying back home to the Providence airport from Atlanta. In order to get the lower fare that my company’s travel agency offered, I had to forego a direct flight and accept a ticket from two different airlines. Here’s the strange part. The route took me first from Atlanta south to Jacksonville, Florida—the opposite direction from Providence. Huh? I will never understand how flying more miles and using more fuel results in a lower fare, but it often does in the world of air travel. It’s ‘out of our hands.’

Once I arrived in Jacksonville, I had to connect to another airline and fly to Washington, DC where we were suppose to land, pick up passengers and continue on to Providence. However, when we landed in Washington, we were told we had to board another airliner for the remainder of the trip to Providence. And the flight was late leaving Washington. A lot of flights are late these days. It’s ‘out of hands.’

Just before we left DC, a man, lugging a suitcase, came running on board—one of those mad dashes to catch a plane. He fell into a seat, exhausted, breathing heavily and clutching his chest. Everyone thought we were about to witness a heart attack—including a flight attendant who asked him, “Do you need a doctor?” He grunted, “No,” but he wasn’t able to get up to put his luggage in the overhead storage bin. A flight attendant stowed it for him and asked him again if he needed assistance. Quite angry now, he again said “No,” and the flight soon departed. We were well into our flight before he seemed to get the color back in his face and began to breathe normally.

Several years ago, I was that man racing to catch a flight because I was in a panic that I would miss my connection. After that experience, I promised myself I would never again run through an airport like O.J. Simpson in those old Hertz car rental commercials. And I never have. I figure I wasn’t meant to make that flight and there will always be another one, and running for one particular one is not worth risking my health. That’s something that is not ‘out of our hands.’

Airline travel is just one example of all the things in our lives that can be ‘out of our hands.’ Every day we face obstacles, troubles and setbacks, some of which we can control or change and many that we can’t. Learning to accept that is a big step in life. Learning to surrender to God what is ‘out of our hands’ is a big step in our faith development.

When I get on a plane, I try to surrender to God any fears I have with a prayer before take off. Trying to surrender to the good Lord all the other things in life we can’t control is harder.

I read today that our government is spending $42 million for postage to send all of us a letter from the President telling us our income tax rebates from the economic stimulus package will be in the mail shortly. That’s right, $42 million to tell us the check’s in the mail—almost. In a political year, it smacks of a self-congratulatory letter to let us know our government is thinking of us. We already know from reading the newspaper, watching television news and reading the internet that the checks will come one day. They’ll also spend millions more to mail a letter to the rest of the people who don’t qualify for a rebate. And then they’ll spend millions more to actually mail the checks. Is this nuts, or am I just crazy? Isn’t there a better way to spend millions of dollars?

Last week, CBS’ 60 Minutes reported the story of hundreds of people without health insurance who lined up in a Tennessee city to receive free medical and dental care offered by a charitable group that organizes doctors and dentists to volunteer for this wonderful service. Some of the people had driven hundreds of miles and waited in their cars overnight trying to ensure that they could see a doctor or dentist for the first time in years. One woman had cancer, but had not had a follow up exam in over a year because she couldn’t afford it. Despite all their work, the volunteers had to turn away many when time ran out at the end of the weekend clinic. I have to wonder: how much more that organization, and many other worthwhile volunteer programs like it, could do with just a token of that $42 million paid in postage stamps?

Where’s our compassionate leadership?

From all I’ve read, President Abraham Lincoln was one of the most compassionate leaders we’ve ever had in America. In a recent column, a popular business speaker, Harvey Mackay, writes that after the Civil War, Lincoln once was criticized for referring to the Confederates in kind terms. The woman critic asked the President how he could speak generously of his enemies when he should rather destroy them. "Why, Madam," replied Lincoln, "do I not destroy them when I make them my friends?"

Where’s the leadership in today’s often greedy world?

Mackay tells another story about Lincoln. “One of Lincoln's neighbors in Springfield, Ill., heard children crying in the street and rushed out of his house to investigate. There he found Lincoln with two of his sons, both of whom were sobbing uncontrollably. ‘Whatever is the matter with the boys, Mr. Lincoln?’ he asked. ‘Just what's the matter with the whole world,’ replied Lincoln. ‘I've got three walnuts, and each wants two.’"

Lincoln understood a world that has dramatically changed in 150 years, and yet hasn’t changed at all. Let’s hope life’s great task of getting some of the ‘walnuts’ out of our hands and into the hands of those who truly need them is not yet ‘out of our hands.’ We know the concern is already in His hands.

The Dance of Life

February 14, 2008

By Larry Price

You’ve seen it at wedding celebrations. Couples go to the floor and dance as the band plays on. The band leader asks couples married fewer than one year to leave the floor. A few leave. Then 5 years and more depart. 10 years of marriage and the number of couples on the floor shrinks. 20 years, 30 years, 40 years and soon you are looking at only a few couples. By 50 years, it’s a handful of couples still dancing. Over 55 years and my brother Tim and his wife Brenda, married 57 years, were always the last couple dancing on the floor.

Proudly posted on the wall of a Florida hospital room wall was a photo of the smiling couple as they captured their last recognition for the longest married couple at a recent wedding. It brought smiles to the faces of two daughters, six grandchildren and extended family who had flown in from distant homes each time they looked at it in those final days.

Once upon a time families were not separated by distance. They grew up together in the same city or small town and we took it for granted. Several generations lived together, often in the same house, but at least growing up in close proximity to each other. Automobiles, airplanes, college educations, and job opportunities changed all that. Each generation scattered to all different parts of the country and the opportunities to see each other diminished to a few times a year—holidays, vacation trips, family weddings and other special occasions, and sadly, in times of death.

Like so many families, death has not been a stranger to our extended family. We’ve lost spouses, mothers and fathers, grandparents, children, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, a nephew, brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, cousins. As family tree branches spread, each family unit naturally tries to spend quality time with its children, grandchildren and great grandchildren and time with extended family is reduced.

A birth, a marriage, but especially the death of a loved one brings us back together, reminding us how precious a life is, our need to celebrate it, and how fleeting it can be.

Brenda, my sister-in-law, was recently diagnosed with cancer, hospitalized in that hospital room with the precious photograph, and despite the best efforts of skilled doctors and nurses was taken from us two weeks later. While we all consoled each other with the comfort in knowing she didn’t suffer for a long time, her sudden death was difficult to comprehend. It left us coping with sadness and an emptiness in our hearts. She had great faith and near the end, said she was ready to go. By her faith, she had made her peace with dying and told her family she was ready to “meet her maker.” Accepting death is hard, and it is even harder on the loved ones left behind.

The family that surrounded her in those last days was loving and strong. Two daughters, a son-in-law, her six grandchildren and a devoted husband maintained the vigil and said their loving goodbyes. A few members of the extended family also gathered in the final hour. In her final days, Brenda had worried about the husband and family she was leaving. Caring doctors and nurses assured her that right now, “It’s all about you.” When her mother passed, Pam, the eldest daughter, told her father, “Now, it’s all about you.”

As we gathered together in the days following Brenda’s death, we shared our emotions and our memories—both poignant and humorous. And for brief periods, we were able to bring smiles to her husband’s face, my brother Tim. We knew great sadness was constantly in his heart between the smiles and laughter, but celebrating a life through laughter amid the tears helped.

We laughed about how early in their marriage, Tim several times loaned his car to his kid brother George and how his wife Brenda, a good sister-in-law, would slip him spending money for the dates. Twice the car came back damaged, but it never stopped the young couple from helping a brother.

We talked about the youthful escapades of Tim and his brother and sister. How they grew up poor, but never felt poor, because they always realized the richness of a loving divorced mother and a caring grandmother. How the siblings worked from the time they were young to help out a struggling family growing up in the depression of the 1930s and the decade that followed. How their mother worked long hours in a five and dime store to pay the bills and then labored in an aircraft factory during World War II. She eventually married again to a good and hard working man with whom she had two more sons. My brother Frank and I were both much younger than our older half-siblings. We four brothers and one sister never considered ourselves half of anything, but rather full brothers and sister because we shared a love for each other and for the same loving mother. Because my late brother Frank and I were younger, we became uncles when we were still kids--thanks to Tim and Brenda, brother George and his wife Pat, and our sister Beverly and her late husband Bob. I’m now blessed with grand nieces and nephews and even great grand nephews and nieces. Most of my nephews and nieces are only a few years younger than me and their parents, my siblings, are old enough to be my parents, which they were in many ways when our mother died when I was 17.

Together, we all talked at length, reviving long ago memories that Tim and Brenda’s grandchildren, assembled around us, had never heard before. My brother George—I tell him he got the talking genes in our family--regaled three generations of family with humorous stories as only he could tell them. The times Timmy hit him on the head with the Sears catalogue. “See, I’ve still got the indentation,” he claimed, pointing to his head. He worried later that some of his stories may have been inappropriate for the occasion. They weren’t, of course. They all helped, triggering laughs and smiles that for a time wiped away tears. One story would lead to another and Tim’s face suddenly lighted up and he laughed out loud as he began to recount his own version of the stories of his youth like when he threw a clothes hamper at George and they both threw tomatoes at sister Beverly while she danced. How the boys quickly ate their chocolate pie and their sister finished hers slowly, all the time teasing them about how good it was as they watched her. His grandchildren marveled at a side of their grandfather they had not seen before. One said it was like watching and listening to an episode of The Little Rascals comedy.

When the laughter stopped, the pain and sadness returned and we know there will be many difficult days ahead for the family--especially Tim. Losing a spouse is the most difficult thing in life. Tim’s oldest daughter Pam knows. She lost her husband and raised two sons by herself with help of her parents, her husband’s family and many friends. The sons grew up and Brenda was proud of them. She was proud of all of her grandchildren and especially her two daughters, Pam and Vicki. Her emails and conversations always related all they were accomplishing. My sister Beverly knows how difficult it is too. She also lost her husband and, tragically, a son too. She says the sorrow never leaves entirely, but you learn to cope with it, one step at a time, one day at a time.

Everyone has to grieve in his or her own way. It is a long and very personal journey. Others can help, but you have to travel that road largely on your own, one step at a time. With God’s help, you get through it, still carrying an empty place in your heart, but committed to going on because your loved one would want you to do that. God’s love gives us the grace to celebrate and honor the lives of those who go before us and eventually the happy memories over take the sad ones.

I am fascinated by how from humble beginnings, couples like Tim and Brenda can create and build amazing legacies through their children and grandchildren. Family trees sprout and grow from one generation to another until most of us reach the point where we don’t know and have never met the distant cousins. Grandparents of several generations ago fade away without us ever learning much, if anything, about them. Interest in genealogy often comes too late in life and those personal stories that are never told are lost forever because families don’t spend time passing them on to the next generation. Telling stories is part of the celebration of life.

Never forget that each life is a celebration to be shared for we are all precious children of God. The life of the dance will one day end for all of us, but the dance of life never stops.

Pastor Beverly’s Legacy at North Kingstown United Methodist Church

By Larry Price

Published January 8, 2008

Beverly Stenmark came to North Kingstown United Methodist Church in July 1997. She will leave in July 2008 to become the superintendent of the Mid Maine district of the New England Conference, closing out a remarkable 11-year run as our pastor. Eleven years in one place is unusual for a Methodist minister. After all, they trace their roots from the Wesley tradition of circuit riders. We all knew, including Beverly, that her time here would end some day. We just didn’t know when that would be, choosing to enjoy it while it lasted.

Her appointment was historic. Beverly was our first female pastor, but more importantly, she brought us together at a difficult time in our church. She went on to lead us through the tragedies of 9/11 and the Station fire, grew our congregation and added a second Sunday worship service, helped one young child receive a life-saving liver transplant and another a second chance heart surgery and new life in America. She was here for the celebration of our church’s 30th, 35th and 40th anniversaries. She celebrated with us weddings and wedding anniversaries, births and baptisms and helped us understand the deaths of loved ones.

She found financial help for people in need—many of them anonymous to us. She constantly educated us on issues of justice---domestic violence and the need to correct the injustices of society. Without counting them all, I would guess that by the time she leaves in July, she will have written more than 470 sermons for our congregation, delivering most of them twice a Sunday since 2001. Even more impressive, over 470 inspiring and often humorous Sunday lessons for the children of our church. If you think it’s easy, try to do just one a year and then you’ll appreciate the math.

She pushed us to be good stewards with our time, talents and gifts, always relating it to the Glory of God and thanksgiving for the blessings we have. She encouraged us to help flood victims, to feed the hungry and buy blankets to keep people warm in dark places. She laughed with us at talent shows and encouraged us to reach out to our community and beyond wherever there was need. She saw the need for a Learning Team to plan the future of our church while always remembering our blessed history as a church.

She embraced the new technology of email and website to improve efficiencies and grow our mission, but she still had an amazing way of remembering everyone’s name as we filed out of church on Sunday, whether or not we wear name tags. Most of the teenagers and young adults in our church grew up while Beverly was their pastor. She knows them all and cares about each one of them. For Beverly, this church has been family now for over 10 years. And that’s why it will be difficult to say goodbye in July. But Beverly’s greatest strength may be how she has always led us by giving our church congregation the faith to get things done. That faith will remain with us as we transition to a new pastor. She will leave us better than we were when she arrived and she knows we will carry on because she has instilled in all of us the solid belief that “We are the church and part of the body of Christ.”

Pastors come and go---and we have been blessed with some very good shepherds over the years---but our church always endures, in good and difficult times. Each pastor becomes part of our church’s DNA, but a few are always remembered in our hearts long after they leave to accept God’s next call. Pastor Beverly will be one of them.

To the pastors and congregations of the Mid Maine District, we can assure you one of God's wonderful gifts will arrive in July.

Prayers for Mary Fran and Dave

By Larry Price

Published March 23, 2007

Your editor was on business this past week in one of the most beautiful places on earth – Pebble Beach, California. And no, I didn’t get to play golf, but I did almost come into play on one shot. More about that later.

During a break in our business conference, I took Dave, a business associate, for a ride on the beautiful 17-Mile Drive that stretches along the Pacific coast. That’s Dave in the photo at right as we stopped to view the famous Lone Cyprus Tree, one of the most photographed spots in the world. He had never seen this beautiful part of the country before. I’ve been fortunate to have been here about five times now. I’m still in awe every time I see the majesty of this part of the world.

But this story is not about me. It’s about Dave’s wife Mary Fran and about what she and Dave are about to go through. Next week, Mary Fran will go into a hospital to donate a kidney to save her brother’s life.

In her sermon this Sunday, Pastor Beverly speaks of risking 'extravagant love,' relating the scripture when Mary knelt before Jesus and poured expensive perfume on his feet in an act of love and kindness at a time when Jesus knew he would face death on the cross. While others questioned Mary's action as wasteful, Jesus recognized it as an act of love. Pastor Beverly says, "Mary shows us here that sometimes it’s okay to be extravagant because God’s love is extravagant beyond imagination. There is an extravagance in God’s actions that unlocks doors that have been locked, breaks down barriers that have been built through the years and offers a new and exciting way of life."

Donating a kidney to give life. Wow, talk about a courageous and extravagant gift of love. I ask your prayers for Mary Fran, her brother, and Dave, too. May God be with them all. Amen.

On our trip last week, I also took Dave to the Pebble Beach golf course. We walked the cart path along that famous 18th fairway that dog-legs along the Pacific Ocean. It was a beautiful day until we heard someone shout, “Fore!” We stopped, but before we could take cover, a ball bounced about 3-feet in front of me, bounced over my head and then careened off the cart path, and back onto the fairway. It was then we spotted the golfer, who apparently has a slight slice to his stroke, emerging from a sand trap about 100 yards ahead. When the concerned golfer got closer and offered an apology for the errant shot, I recognized him as a customer of mine from San Diego. I matter-of-factly said, “Mike, I know you don’t like paying those bills we send you each month, but did you have to take it out on me?” He laughed and said, “Let that be a lesson to you.”

Lesson learned: No more walks on the cart path. It's said ‘close’ only counts in handling hand grenades and the game of horseshoes, but I can tell you it counts in golf too. And closeness matters even more in the life of a family.

Keep Mary Fran in your prayers this week. She's one brave and gracious lady. May her extravagant gift of love unlock doors and may the Lord be with her and her family.

By Larry Price

Editor www.nkumcri.com

editor@nkumcri.com

The Faithfulness of Ken Green

Published October 18, 2006

The next time I wake up tired on a Sunday morning and contemplate skipping worship service, I’m going to think about Ken Green. Except for the times he was hospitalized, I hardly remember a Sunday that I didn’t see Ken sitting in a back pew when people gathered to worship at North Kingstown United Methodist Church. Over the past several years, despite Parkinson’s disease steadily wearing down his body and his mobility, Ken still made it to church each Sunday as he has for forty years – the entire life of the church he loved. If you’re looking for inspiration to make it to Sunday worship, remember Ken Green.

Ken and his wife Ida are charter members of our church, a small select group of dedicated people who built our place of worship, nurtured its growth, saw it through the tough times when the Quonset Navy Base closed, and remain active today. When we held our annual yard sale just over a week ago, Ken was there with Ida, offering coffee and doughnuts.

When Ken Green died Wednesday, October 18th, only weeks before the 40th anniversary celebration of the church he loved, we lost someone special, a part of the soul of this church.

Ken was part of the fabric of our church tapestry. Over the years, he served our church in many capacities. He served on committees and held positions, but often his time was spent performing the hard tasks that bring no recognition – the kind of work that is necessary to make a church function, but often fails to be noticed. Even when his health began to slow him down, he would be the first person to carry tables into the fellowship hall to set up dinners and special occasions. And he was there to take them down at the end, too. In recent years, he would pause and rest from the heavy lifting only after someone insisted that he take rest.

I found two references to Ken Green in the history pages of our church website. Nora Almond is the wife of The Rev. Jonathan Almond, who became our part time church pastor when we were forced to ‘yoke’ with another church in Wakefield after the Navy base closing in the early 1970’s. Jon eventually became our fulltime pastor and led us through the difficult times. In her note to our church during our 35th anniversary, five years ago, Nora Almond recalled with fondness the choir rehearsals back then “in Jon’s office, no bigger than a closet, but then the whole choir was Jon and Ken Green.” In his account on how our church found an available pipe organ at a church in Newburgh, New York, Syd Gledhill writes how a hearty band made the trip, took apart the organ, “loaded the pipes, console and blower on a van and sent it to Ken Green’s attention at a warehouse where he stored it until the new sanctuary was completed years later.”

Ken sang in the choir for many years and that pipe organ he stored for several years is the same organ in our sanctuary today. Ken Green never sought fame or recognition. He was truly an unsung hero for this church and the God he loved. Faithful to the end. His faithfulness to worship. That is what I will remember most about Ken Green. For most of us, it is easy to get to church and get home. For Ken, it was a struggle in recent years, but he did it, faithfully.

I’ll also always remember the dedication the couple had for each other. Each weekend Ken would help his wife of over 61 years, Ida, set up the coffee for Sunday fellowship. In more recent years when his health became an obstacle, he would sit in the Narthex and wait for Ida to finish cleaning the coffee pot that they used to prepare together each Sunday for fellowship, year after year. Another example of the work that gets done without much recognition. And then together – after most people were gone – Ida would help Ken, aided by a four-wheel walker, negotiate the slow and careful walk to the car. And if you offered to help, they usually declined, choosing to make the trip together -- as one -- just as they have lived throughout their married life.

In January 2005, the church celebrated the couple’s 60th wedding anniversary. The wedding in 1944 was actually held in December, but snow storms postponed our celebration for a few weeks. When they got married, it was wartime and Ken was in the Navy and Ida was in the Army-Air Corps, the forerunner of the Air Force. As she cut the cake during their 60th anniversary, Ida remarked “we didn’t even have a cake when we got married.” Cake or no cake, the marriage lasted. And the couple’s love for each other is an inspiration for all married couples. Each lived to serve the needs of the other. Each lived to care for the other, in sickness and in good health. Each made the other complete.

When we pause to reflect on our church’s 40th anniversary on November 5th, take a moment to think about Ken Green and celebrate his life -- his love for Ida, his love for his church, and his love for the God he worshipped every Sunday. Whether he was young or old, in good or failing health, Ken Green was faithful to all of his great loves.

Tribute to a Friend

By Larry Price

Tribute to my friend and colleague Bart Swenson – announcing to his colleagues at AP his death June 29, 2006, after a 19-month battle with cancer.

Bart Swenson

We have prayed for a long time that this day would not come, but I knew that if it did, I would not let Bart’s passing go without letting you know how we who worked with Bart at The Associated Press, felt about him.

Bart had friends throughout The Associated Press and at TV stations from across the country. But the small circle who worked with him on a daily basis at AP had a special bond. There has always been a joke around AP that the band of TV sales people always travels in a pack. Whenever, we are together –- those few times each year at conventions, meetings -– we always do everything together. There’s a reason for that. The fact is we talk to each other every day by phone and through email, and when we are together, we like to spend time together because we genuinely enjoy each other’s company. We joke with each other, we argue with each other, we care about each other. We’re just like brothers and to us, Bart was our youngest brother.

Bart’s memory will always be with us -- his friendship, his passion for what he did in life, his smile, and his humor.

Before we joined AP Television’s sales team, we all had a previous life in TV journalism. We covered stories, managed newsrooms and dealt with daily deadlines on stories that we thought mattered. It was exciting, but we all learn too late in life that those are not the really important stories. The really important stories in life are the marriages, the births of our children, the baptisms, the graduations, the family holiday celebrations, the celebration of the lives of family and friends who pass from this earthly world; the faith we have in the God who made us, the kindnesses that human beings do for each other. These are the really important stories of life.

When Bart’s mother passed away, I shared with Bart some of my feelings when my mother died many years ago. I was 17 and I remember feeling anger, extreme sadness and great love all at the same time. I shared with Bart that losing a loved one requires a period of grieving and it is different for each and every person. It is a process we all have to go through. But I also told him that I found that in time God has an amazing way of changing that grieving to good memories. And that in his own time, he would feel more good memories than sad memories. When you lose someone you love, there will always be a part of your heart that feels empty, but there’s a larger part that will carry good memories and allow you to celebrate that person’s life. In time the tears change to smiles when you remember.

All of us who cared for Bart are from different parts of the country, different families, different backgrounds, different faiths. But we are all connected today for one reason --- we all loved Bart. He touched each and every one of us. He made a difference in all of our lives.

I remember a specific time when Bart and I were in Washington together. We had finished a day of work and we went to see the new World War Two memorial, and then stopped by the Lincoln Memorial. Bart got a phone call from one of his children who had been dropped off at the wrong athletic field back home in Minnesota and wanted dad’s advice on what to do. We sat down on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial while Bart made some phone calls and reached his brother Jeff back home who could pick his daughter up. When she was safely in the hands of his brother, we both sighed with relief and we talked about how this was the part of the our jobs that was most difficult -– on the road, away from family. Bart said to me, “I’m fortunate, I have a lot of good family back home to help in times like this.” In this case, a good brother. There in the shadow of one of America’s greatest monuments, our thoughts were properly centered on what’s important in life – family.

To us, Bart was also that good brother. And we celebrate his life and the time we had together.

A noted preacher once said:

“I have concluded that the accumulation of wealth, even if I could achieve it, is an insufficient reason for living. When I reach the end of my days ... I must look backward at something more meaningful than the pursuit of houses and land, of machines and stocks and bonds. Nor is fame of any lasting benefit. I will consider my earthly existence to have been wasted, unless I can recall a loving family XE "a loving family" , a consistent investment in the lives of people and an earnest attempt to serve the God who made me. Then, nothing else makes much sense.”

Bart measured up to that --- a loving family, an investment in the lives of all of us, he served the God who made him. And we are all better for having known him.

We thank God for allowing us to be part of Bart’s life. We ask His grace and love for Bart’s family. May He wrap His arms around them and comfort them. Give them strength and the support of family and friends. Lord, we ask that you work your wondrous ways to change the pain we feel today to good memories of Bart, our friend, one of your children and loyal servants. Amen.

A New Appreciation for “The Fonz”

By Larry Price

Published May 7, 2006

I have a new appreciation for actor, producer, director Henry Winkler and I think a few thousand other Rhode Islanders do too. Winkler, better known for his long running role as Arthur Fonzarelli, aka “The Fonz”, in the popular television sitcom Happy Days, was the speaker at New England Institute of Technology’s commencement at the Providence Civic Center on May 7^th.

Winkler’s speech would have been enough to impress the graduates and parents, faculty and staff assembled. He was eloquent, humorous and had a telling message about how everyone has a talent. “If you will it, it is not a dream,” Winkler told the graduates. You only need to never finish a negative thought to make a contribution.

He talked about growing up and his struggle with education -- how he had to work so hard to learn and how the arts and in his case, acting, provided him with an avenue to focus on the positive. Despite parents not understanding him, he graduated from Emerson College and went on to Yale’s drama school and began his career by doing commercials. He eventually landed the role on Happy Days and more recently has been a successful producer and director.

He related how he had to work so hard to achieve success because of a learning disability never understood and never diagnosed until much later in his life.

The epiphany came in the moment he realized he was suffering from the same symptoms diagnosed in his step son.

You see, Henry Winkler is dyslexic. He reminded the commencement audience that people with learning disabilities are no less intelligent than anyone else, they merely learn differently.

His message gave hope to a few thousand graduates that they can overcome what life deals them in the future. Yes, the speech alone would have been enough from Henry Winkler, but after the speech, The Fonz went the extra mile.

As the graduates began to parade across the stage at the Civic Center, one of the early parade of graduates reached over and shook Winkler’s hand as he sat nearby. Winkler stood up and then did something I have never seen a commencement speaker do before. He remained standing and personally congratulated every graduate after he or she received the diploma. Winkler congratulated each graduate by name –- shaking a hand, accepting a kiss on the cheek from the girls. For nearly two hours, he stood and personally sent each student on to their new life.

While the governor had to leave early, while parents left for the restrooms or the coffee stand, or to stretch their legs, Winkler remained on stage, standing and shaking hands. It was quite extraordinary.

Henry Winkler’s accomplishments are well know. His sitcom was on TV for years. The black leather jacket he wore as The Fonz is in the Smithsonian. He’s lesser known for his important work in creating books to help children learn. And his motivating speech and his selfless gesture in personally congratulating hundreds of graduates will not be widely known outside the Civic Center audience on this day, but I’ll bet everyone in that audience has a new appreciation for Dr. Henry Winkler.

Commencement speeches often can be empty clichés, but Winkler’s message clearly was spoken from the heart of a man who has lived its meaning. When he began his speech, Winkler said, “I can’t think of another place where I would rather be today than here.” At the end of the day, it rang true.

A Lesson from the Good Lord: When You’re Angry, Make Something Good Happen

Published April 19, 2006

I love Easter Sunday and always find it to be a joy to get up early to catch the Easter sunrise worship. Mondays are a different story. It’s back to work and some times I find it difficult to start the new work week. Remember that feeling as a kid when you had to go back to school on Monday morning?

This Monday, a day after Easter, was particularly difficult because I had to get up at 4 AM to catch a 6 AM flight at the airport. If you’re a regular business traveler you know Mondays and Fridays are the busy travel days you try to avoid at the airport, but it’s often impossible because you can’t always control your appointments.

I got through the hassles of airport security and was glad to see that my flight was scheduled to be on time. The plane was full, but we did take off on time and arrived safely in New York City on time. I had an hour wait at LaGuardia, but my connecting flight to Richmond also looked to be on time.

We boarded and taxied toward the runway. Then the problems began. The pilot announced that because we were a few minutes late in leaving, we had missed our assigned departure window and would be penalized by the flight controllers. We would be moved back in line. Our plane sat and then would move ahead slowly. As the minutes clicked away, I started to stress about making my 12 noon appointment in Richmond. I had scheduled an early flight in the first place to account for delays, but as the parade of planes ahead of us slowly marched forward, I began to realize that the appointment was in jeopardy.

We left about an hour late, made up some of the lost time in the air, and I arrived in Richmond a little after 11 AM. With a 20 to 25 minute ride to downtown, I should be okay. When the plane landed and I turned on my cell phone, there was a message from my business colleague who was flying in from Atlanta to meet me for the planned meeting. His flight was running late, but he thought the delay would be minimal. He asked that I wait for him. He had our rental car reserved. Now do I wait for him and risk being late for the meeting or jump in a cab? I decided to wait. As the clock ticked away, more stress.

Well, he arrived about 11:30 AM. I called ahead and told one of our customers we were running a little late but we expected to be there by noon. We got the rental car and headed out of the airport. My colleague who was driving turned to me and said, “Do you have the directions?” I stared at him and replied, “You were supposed to have the directions.”

As he headed the car toward downtown, I quickly called another colleague and said, “Are you sitting by your computer?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Good, please look up on Map Quest how to get from the Richmond airport to this address.” I proceeded to give him the address for the meeting. After a few minutes, we got the exit number and the street turns and, well, we arrived safely at our destination.

We quickly found a parking spot. While my colleague fed coins into the meter, I went inside and began checking us through the company’s security. Four quarters later, he was there and we jumped in the elevator and arrived at the meeting room just strokes before noon --- to find that two of the three meeting attendees had not arrived.

They came in about 15 minutes later and we began a two and a half hour meeting. The meeting went well. It was a working lunch meeting and the only problem was the sandwiches arrived late too. But that was only a minor problem.

We left for the airport about 3 PM. We both had booked 6 PM flights because we weren’t sure how long the meeting would last. We felt lucky because we were both able to get on earlier flights. It was a race to the gates since the flights were leaving about 3:50 PM.

Both our flights left on time and we were heading home, always a great feeling when you travel nearly every week. I arrived in Philadelphia thinking I’ll be home about 7 PM instead of 9:30 PM.

The connecting flight from Philly left on time --- or at least left the gate on time. However, as we taxied out, the pilot announced there were about 25 planes ahead of us and allowing about two minutes in take off time for each plane, we faced a delay of --- well, you do the math. A note here. If you travel and someone tries to route through Philadelphia, avoid it. Philadelphia’s airport is notorious for delays. Congestion between New York and Washington? The slightest rain? Too many flights? No one knows why. It’s just a fact of road warrior life. Philadelphia always seems to have its problems, but some days you can’t avoid changing planes in Philadelphia. About an hour later, we finally reached the runway and took off.

The flight had its bumpy moments, but we arrived safely, and any flight that arrives safely, is – in my book -- a good flight. We taxied up to the airport gate and I thought “home at last.”

Then the voice of the pilot came on the intercom. “Folks,” he said, “We have a slight problem. We apparently got a bad gate. They can’t seem to get the moving jet way to the plane’s door. We may be here for awhile. Welcome to Providence!” By now frustrations were setting in among the passengers. And it didn’t help when the pilot came back on and said, “Any one want to go back to Philadelphia?”

To myself, I was screaming, “Just open the door and I’ll jump out.”

After twenty minutes in a hot cramped airplane, they finally got the moving jet way to move, but the flight attendant warned that the door could not open all the way so “be careful on the way out.” As I was about to get out of my seat, a passenger in the row behind me stood up, and in his rush, swung around and hit me in the head with his elbow. It hurt. He apologized and I just nodded an acknowledgment.

When I finally left the plane, I was tired, frustrated, and quite frankly, angry. My day had begun at 4 AM and it was now after 8 PM and I had had very little to eat all day. I began walking quickly down the airport corridor. I had one thing on my mind --- get to my car and go home. As I rushed down the corridor, I started to pass an elderly lady. I had remembered seeing her on the plane sitting in the first row. She had boarded the plane early – that time when people who have difficulty can get some extra time to walk down the jet way. Just as I was about to race past her, I noticed she stopped and put down her bag and gave an audible sigh. I was about to keep going, but a voice inside me said, “She’s having trouble carrying that bag, stop and help her.” I stopped, turned, and asked her, “May I help you carry that bag?”

She looked up at me somewhat surprised and said, “Oh, would you?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to.”

I reached down and picked up the bag and we slowly resumed our walk.

“That was a tiring flight,” she said.

“Yes, flying is always an adventure,” I replied.

“She’s my baby,” she offered.

“Excuse me?”

"In the bag, that’s my little dog in there,” she said.

I had not realized her bag was one of those mesh carriers that people use to transport small dogs on airplanes.

“What kind of dog is she?”

“A Pekinese, she explained.”

We walked along and talked and when we got close to the terminal waiting area, she said, “I can carry her now. Thank you so much for helping.”

I told her it was my pleasure and we said our good-byes and went our separate ways.

As I continued on to the parking garage, the frustrations, the stress, the anger melted away and the tired body felt renewed. And I slowed down and thought to myself the good Lord taught me another lesson tonight. If you want to change your disposition, do something nice for someone and make something good happen. A good deed has its own reward. At the end of the day, that's what it's all about.

God uses talents and kindness of strangers to save a 12-year old girl

By Larry Price, North Kingstown UMC website editor

In a world of religious strife, the Lord has used the kindness and talents of strangers from many faiths to marshal a miracle in providing life-saving heart surgery for a Muslim child half-a-world away.

12-year old Saffiatu Bah from Sierra Leone, West Africa, finally had a second chance at life in March when surgeons repaired two faulty valves and a hole in her heart at a hospital in Israel. Saffiatu’s story can best be summed up in the words of that great hymn, Pass It On: “It only takes a spark to get a fire going … that’s how it is with God’s love.”

Saffiatu’s condition was first diagnosed in the summer of 2005 at her home town of Kabala, Sierra Leone at the NarSarah Clinic, operated by Cranston, Rhode Island residents Daniel and Dorcas Kamanda. Dorcas also grew up in Kabala and founded CITA International, a charity that supports the clinic which provides basic health care in the remote rural town. Dorcas related Saffiatu’s plight in the weekly bulletin of the North Kingstown, Rhode Island United Methodist Church where she and Daniel are members. The "spark" was ignited.

When 11-year old Samantha Dallas read the item, she told her mother Lisa, “Saffiatu should not have to suffer because of where she was born. If she lived here, she would have had surgery by now and would be playing with her friends.” Samantha’s caring wisdom touched her family’s heart. Lisa, mother of four daughters -- including Samantha’s twin sister Abbey, Carly 8 and Grace 4 – and her husband Jeff decided to do something about it.

Lisa began making phone calls and sending emails in an effort to secure the life-saving heart surgery Saffiatu needed. The North Kingstown UMC congregation began responding with donations, and The Rev. Beverly Stenmark, pastor of the church, approached her flock about using a few thousand dollars -- what was remaining from a fund that had been raised a few years ago to provide successful liver surgery for another child in the congregation – as seed money to start a new fund to pay for Saffiatu’s travel, surgery and medical care. The congregation unanimously agreed.

After months of hard work, cutting through red tape and securing passports, Lisa found, through Save A Child’s Heart foundation, a hospital in Israel willing to accept Saffiatu for evaluation for the heart surgery. A doctor accepted Saffiatu’s case despite the fact the most basic of routine heart examinations could not be secured in her native country.

As the summer stretched into autumn and winter, the North Kingstown congregation raced against time and Saffiatu’s deteriorating health to raise the estimated $25,000 needed for Saffiatu’s travel, medical care and surgery. They made homemade bracelets and Valentine cards which were offered for donations at the church, in local schools and at tables outside a local supermarket. A complete stranger taking his jar of coins to the supermarket to exchange them for paper money, instead gave the money to Saffiatu’s fund. The youth in the church began work projects for donations.

By now, the local news media – newspapers and television stations – had begun picking up the story from church news releases and updates on the church website www.nkumcri.com. The church secured enough donations from a generous public to pay for Saffiatu and her mother to travel to Israel for a medical evaluation; but more money was needed. Jeff Dallas' employer offered a generous donation.

An 8-year old boy in the congregation, Hudson Reynolds, came up with the idea to ride his bike for 16-miles to collect donations from sponsors. Hudson, his sister Miriah and mom, Melody, and Lisa Dallas and her twin girls, finished their ride on a cold February Saturday, just hours before a huge snow storm blanketed the state. A local toy store donated 10 per cent of its day’s receipts to the cause. Teachers at Hudson’s school donated their “casual dress Friday fund” and gave Hudson scores of balloons to mark the site of his ride. Another perfect stranger stopped by prior to the bike ride and said while he couldn’t ride with Hudson, he had a check for him. When the donations had been collected, Hudson stood before the congregation on a Sunday morning and reported he and his friends had raised over $1,700 for Saffiatu.

By early February, Saffiatu had endured more than 16-hours of air travel to arrive in Israel and began undergoing medical evaluation. Her condition was worse than expected. In addition to the hole in her heart, the young child had two faulty heart valves which were leaking. She was jaundice and weak from rheumatic heart disease. The congregation was worried, but could only wait and pray. The child’s fate was in the hands of doctors and God.

More anxious weeks passed with little news on the condition of the little girl whom the church congregation members had never met, yet held close to their hearts.

Finally, in March, word came in an email to Lisa Dallas. Surgeons had successfully repaired Saffiatu’s heart. Saffiatu was recovering in intensive care, and while she faced a long recovery period, the first critical step had been taken. She would have the best chance of a full recovery.

The church is celebrating by sending “get well” cards to Saffiatu, and encouraging people of faith everywhere to look for ways to serve the Lord by helping others. In her weekly sermon on the weekend following Saffiatu’s surgery, Pastor Beverly Stenmark encouraged the congregation: “Each of us has the same 24 hours in every day. The world is quick to tell us how to fill those 24 hours, just as the world was quick to tell Jesus what was important from their perspective. One of the lessons we can learn in the wilderness is not to let others tell us who we are and what is important. Let us use this time (Lent) to discover or rediscover our priorities in life.”

Pass it on. “It only takes a spark ... that's how it is with God's love."

Pass It On: God Uses the Kindness of Strangers to Make Miracles Happen
By Larry Price

Published Saturday, February 11, 2006

8-year old Hudson’s Reynolds’ email address (thereynoldsbarn@cox.net) in box has been working overtime, accumulating messages of support and promises of donations. His Stony Lane Elementary School presented him with 500 balloons. Teachers at the school donated their weekly “Friday casual dress” fund to his cause. A local toy store owner pledged 10% of today's business to Hudson's ride. And before the start of his 16-mile bike ride to raise $1,000 to help pay for Saffiatu Bah’s heart surgery, a man and his daughter showed up to tell him they would not be able to ride, but they had a check for him.

The outpouring of kindness from friends and perfect strangers has been astounding and will likely allow the youngster to reach his goal. At the start of his ride today, Hudson said he had pledges amounting to close to $800.

Hudson, his mother, Melody and sister Miriah were at the Kingston Amtrak station early Saturday morning, braving the chilly temperatures to erect an arch of colorful balloons to mark the start of the bike4heart ride along the Kingston Bike Path. Also there, Lisa Dallas and her daughters, Abbey and Samantha. Lisa has been devoting herself to the mission of providing Saffiatu with life-saving heart surgery. Spurred on by her daughters and husband Jeff, Lisa has spent months arranging the necessary travel papers and securing a hospital and surgeons in Tel Aviv, Israel where Saffiatu is being evaluated to determine if they can save her life with surgery to repair a hole in her heart. The 12-year old girl from Sierra Leone, West Africa arrived in Tel Aviv earlier this week after enough funds were raised to put the miracle in motion.

The North Kingstown United Methodist Church congregation has been making home-made Valentine cards, bracelets, and crafting work projects to raise the estimated $25,000 in donations needed to provide for Saffiatu’s travel, surgery and extended medical care. Lisa Dallas said this morning the effort is within striking distance of its goal.

The church earmarked a special fund for the mission and members of the congregation have donated generously. Thanks to local television and newspaper reports, the public has responded with much needed donations to help make the fund raising successful.

The Lord truly does touch hearts. It has been a loving time since church members Daniel and Dorcas Kamanda first appealed for help to save Saffiatu months ago. In the words of that great hymn Pass It On, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going, and soon all those around can warm up in its glowing. That’s how it is with God’s love once you’ve experienced it.”

(Editor's note -- Hudson's bike ride raised over $1,700 --- exceeding his $1,000 goal)

Waiting for News about Saffiatu Is Difficult

Published February 18, 2006

Waiting for good news is difficult. So it is on the watch for Saffiatu Bah, the 12-year old girl from Sierre Leone with an ailing heart who waits in a Tel Aviv hospital for surgery to save her life. Lisa Dallas, the mother of four who has tirelessly led the successful effort to get Saffiatu from her home in West Africa to the hospital in Israel, described it best when she said it has been a “roller coaster ride of hope.”

Saffiatu arrived in Tel Aviv on February 7, and an anxious congregation has waited for word on the condition of their little friend. The first real update on her condition arrived this week when doctors reported she has several serious heart ailments – more than the hole in her heart -- that are being evaluated to determine a course of treatment. Doctors remain hopeful they can treat her successfully, but the evaluation needs to be thorough and it will take time. It may be some time before we know more.

Born and raised in a country where modern medical care is not readily available, Saffiatu Bah is a victim of circumstances and as a result her health has been endangered. Lisa’s daughter Samantha, with wisdom beyond her years, put it in perspective when she said at the beginning of this effort, “If she lived here, she would have had the surgery by now and would be playing with her friends.”

We are all looking for a happy ending to this miracle and remain prayerful that it will be written; but the waiting, the worrisome waiting, is difficult. In times like this, we can only pray, and leave it in the hands of God, and skilled doctors.

I am reminded of that wonderful Serenity Prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.” The congregation of this church, and a generous public, has had the courage to change Saffiatu’s chances for life. We continue to pray and labor each day for that happy ending, but we also need to have the serenity to accept the waiting, knowing that God is with us, and more importantly, with Saffiatu and her family.

Look how far God has taken us. In a world of religious strife, the congregation of a Christian church has placed a precious Muslim child in an Israeli hospital, securing the best of hope for life. Now we pray and wait. “Wait patiently for the Lord, be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.” – Psalm 27, verse 14.

"WHATEVER WE GIVE OF OURSELVES ALSO BELONGS TO GOD"

Published October 15, 2005

When I read Pastor Beverly’s sermon this week, before publishing it to our website, it made me think about an experience at work this past week. I was making sales calls at television stations in the Los Angeles area with a colleague who handles a 9-state sales territory in the west and reports to me. We visited several stations in that city which is the second largest TV market in the U. S., but the most interesting visit to me was a stop at Biola University in La Mirada, just outside Los Angeles. I had never heard of Biola before this week, but it was on our schedule because they have a fledging journalism department and expressed interest in our products.

Before our meeting with a professor, we were invited to join the dean and the journalism students who were attending one of several 'Chapel sessions' they are required to attend as part of their education. Biola is a Christian university, and there was no hesitation or embarrassment about inviting two businessmen to the hour of prayer and discussion even though they knew nothing about our personal backgrounds. My colleague and I, both Christians, jumped at the chance to attend. The lady who first greeted us introduced herself as 'V. J.' "As in the first name of the golfer," my colleague asked? She replied: "I like to think of it as in "victory in Jesus." Biola’s stated mission for its mass communications students is (1) to develop personal and professional communications skills, (2) the ability to develop personally and professionally after graduation, (3) offer entry level skills for employment, and (4) expose the students to communication industry contacts and experience --- pretty much what all journalism or communications colleges and universities hope to offer their students.

What was different about Biola were points 5 and 6 in its mission statement. The school also expects that when students graduate they will have (5) “a workable worldview which unifies your life’s work and your Christian faith and (6) Christ-like attitudes and habits.” This particular Chapel meeting dealt with ethics and included the opportunity for prayer.

How refreshing. Not only does the college endeavor to train professional journalists, but also hopes to unify the professional skills with a Christian faith and Christ-like attitudes. When their lecture on ethics ended, I was surprised to be given the opportunity to speak for about 10 minutes. I told them how important I thought ethics should be to journalists and how wonderful it was to again see the passion for the craft that you see in young people just starting out – the kind of passion that kindled in me at about 8 years of age watching Huntley-Brinkley and Cronkite. I started to tell them to balance that passion for a profession with a passion for Christ, but the hour ended and the lecture hall was needed for another meeting. I know they wanted to hear some tips on how to get started in journalism, but I wish I had talked about Christ first. I wish I had talked about what God wanted me to talk about. I encouraged them to invite us back. Next time I will put God and Christ first and I hope the students will move items 5 and 6 in the mission statement to number one in their hearts. As Pastor Beverly would preach tomorrow: “In the church we give to God what is God’s …. and in the world whatever we give of ourselves also belongs to God.” Amen.

This place of worship which our hands have made

(November 2004)

On the eve of the 2004 presidential election, your historian and website editor was looking back rather than looking ahead. We have begun the ambitious project of preserving our history by scanning into digital images the fading photos and documents that tell the story of how North Kingstown United Methodist Church was born, how it grew and took roots through faith. It's a story of stewardship.

One of our charter members of the church, Eleanor Bourn, tells the wonderful story of this church on the history page of this website. And we’ve marveled at the story of dedication, perseverance and love of God that built this church. Take the time to read Eleanor’s account if you haven’t already. We also offer a timeline on our history.

History is important because it tells us where we came from and gives us the inspiration to build upon the dreams and hard work of those who came before us. When Vivian Flade, another charter member of this church, told me there was a box in a church closet that might be of interest to me, I decided it was important to start preserving some of the original source material of our church’s history before it fades away.

So we began digging into a box of photos, bulletins, newspaper articles, building plans and assorted papers that was tucked away in that church closet about to cleaned and painted.

We scanned a Providence Journal article from October 13, 1966 announcing the formation of the North Kingstown United Methodist Church. A program from April 1983 detailing the Service of Consecration for “This place of worship which our hands have made.” There was a membership directory from 1975 complete with black and white photos of the families of the congregation. Syd Gledhill looked a little younger --- didn’t we all in 1975 whether we were here or somewhere else. There are photos of every stage of the building program in 1993 when the Narthex and Sunday School rooms were added.

As you look through these first hand glimpses into our church’s creation, you gain a new appreciation for what many hands have built, the stewardship of an ever-changing congregation that has never changed in its dedication to a place to worship our God. If you look through the historical records, the photos of people working hard to build something, you’ll gain a new sense of faith and you’ll never look at our church on a Sunday morning in quite the same way again.

WITNESS GOD’S BEAUTY AND LIVE THE HISTORY OF THIRTY MILE POINT

August 2003

The natural beauty created by God is all around us along Rhode Island’s ocean shoreline. It’s easy to forget that His creating hand also stretches beyond our little part of the world. On a small point of land in Western New York , the dedication of many people has retouched and restored the beauty of God’s natural canvas for future generations.

Built in 1875 at a cost of $90,000, Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse has proudly held her ground on the stunning shore of Lake Ontario for more than a century and a quarter. The Light’s name comes from its location --- a point on the lake (in the town of Somerset, NY, near the village of Barker, NY), exactly 30 miles east of where the Niagara River joins Lake Ontario.

Up the spiral steel staircase in its uppermost lantern room, the powerful six-sided Fresnel lens, turned by a clockwork movement of counterweights, could magnify a kerosene lamp to more than 600,000 candlepower. The beacon was visible for 18 miles warning ships of the dangerous sandbar off its coastline. In later years, electricity replaced the counterweights and a 500 watt bulb replaced the kerosene lamp.

From 1875 to 1958, when the light was decommissioned and replaced by a steel tower and automated beacon, a succession of eight stalwart keepers-of-the-light lived and labored at the lighthouse. In pleasant summers, cool autumns and stormy winters, they ensured the light was turned on each night, the fog horn was sounded when needed, and in between, tended vegetable gardens and raised their families.

My late brother-in-law Bob Elmer’s parents, Oscar and Mildred Elmer, kept the light burning from 1954 to 1957. On a few occasions, as a youngster, I saw Oscar ascend that spiral staircase in his woolen Coast Guard-provided uniform for the nightly ritual of turning on the light. Oscar and Mildred kept the lighthouse, its grounds and family living area spotless, always in readiness for a surprise inspection by the Coast Guard which had taken over responsibility for Thirty Mile Point from the U. S. Lighthouse Service in 1935.

As the sandbar eroded, Thirty Mile Point’s purpose came to an end. By 1984, the U. S. government surrendered the great lady and its property to the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation. Thirty Mile Point and its history became part of the National and New York State Registry of Historic Places; but without its keepers, the buildings fell into disrepair.

Thirty Mile Point’s fate could have been sadly sealed had it not been saved by several factors. The growing popularity of lighthouses, a 1986 grant, some hard work by Somerset Town Historian Lorraine Wayner and the staff at Golden Hill State Park where the lighthouse sits, and the labors of a non-profit organization of volunteers called The Friends of Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse, successfully restored her.

In 1995, the U. S. Postal Service selected Thirty Mile Point as the Lake Ontario representative for its commemorative Lighthouses of the Great Lakes stamp series. Since then The Friends and New York State have championed the lighthouse, raising funds for continued restoration and preservation, holding an annual July Celebration Day, an October Christmas at the Lighthouse and offering weekend tours where you can climb the spiral staircase and take in the spectacular view from the deck, just outside the giant light.

During the summer, in the shadows of the lighthouse, the grounds of Golden Hill State Park are dotted with RVs, camper trailers and families enjoying boating, hiking, picnics and feasting on God’s beautiful sunset slowly sinking into Lake Ontario . And one lucky family or group is usually seeing it all from the restored second floor living quarters that once was home to the keepers of the light. For a modest $125 a night, you can rent the living area. Called the Cabin, it comes complete with the restored 1930’s style living room with fireplace and window air conditioning unit, kitchen, bathtub-shower and three bedrooms with queen beds. It accommodates a maximum of 6 family members. is heated and available for rent year round. You only need to bring bed linens.

The grounds include the original foghorn building, now a converted recreation room for campers and the original outhouse --- a classic two-holer. During the summer months minimum one week stays are required. After Labor Day, individual day rentals are accepted --- a perfect time to catch the gorgeous changing colors of the crisp autumn days or sample the apples, peaches and pears that are grown in abundance on the nearby farms in this heart of Western New York’s fruit belt.

Availability and reservations can be checked and made online through the New York State Parks Department’s booking agent at www.reserveamerica.com or by calling 1-800-456-CAMP. Specify The Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse cabin at Golden Hill State Park . Located about half way between the Greater Buffalo-Niagara Falls and Rochester , NY airports, Golden Hill State Park is about an hour’s drive from either airport and is accessed off Lower Lake Road in the town of Somerset , NY.

The view of Lake Ontario can be especially breathtaking in Winter when the sunlight can sparkle off the frozen ice and snow that forms on the lake near the shoreline. That’s one reason why I’m planning to go back to my home town and stay in the lighthouse for Christmas. I think Oscar and the other keepers of the light would be pleased to know that Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse is beautiful again and her history is now open to all.

If you make the trip, ask the locals how Golden Hill got its name? There are two versions that date back to 17^th century French explorers and include tales of sunken ships, buried treasure and golden rod blooms, but that’s a story for another day at Thirty Mile Point Lighthouse.

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In Praise of Mothers-In-Law

When we honor our mothers on Mother’s Day, I think we should also honor all the mothers-in-law. After serving as the target of jokes for decades, it’s about time mothers-in-law got the recognition and the love they so richly deserve.

Think about it. It’s not easy being a mother-in-law. After raising a child, giving him or her a mother’s love and nurturing care, a mother has to relinquish that son or daughter to a virtual stranger and hope that her new son-in-law or daughter-in-law will care for that child as much as she has. She also has to know when to offer advice and when to stay silent, letting the new couple manage their own new lives together. To quote Proverbs 1:5, "A wise person will hear, and will increase learning; and a person of understanding shall attain unto wise counsels." Roughly translated: "The first step to wisdom is silence; the second is listening."

The job becomes more difficult when grandchildren are added into the mix. How tempting it must be to pass judgment on how your grandchildren are being raised, to offer advice and how difficult it must be to remain silent and to listen.

When a mother welcomes and accepts that new son-in-law or daughter-in-law into her family as one of her own, it is a gift of unequaled love. If you’re fortunate enough to marry into a family with such a woman as your mother-in-law, you are truly blessed.

My mother-in-law to me is mom. She takes on too many concerns and worries too much, but it comes from love. She’s never been controlling, and always supportive. She’s also a lot of fun to be around. The family parties and gatherings are best when she’s around. The conversation and laughing only stops when she’s not there.

She has a keen sense of humor and the boundless energy of a woman half her age. When she last visited us, my father-in-law promptly announced they had been stopped on the eight-hour drive from Upstate New York by a state trooper. Mom had been driving and was speeding. It seems she was traveling at about 75 in a 65-mile-per-hour zone. Mom had discovered the re-instituted 65-mile per hour speed limit and figured if she used to drive 65 in the old 55-mile per hour zone, well, you know, 75 was okay. The trooper disagreed. He took one look at her license -- and according to dad -- probably figured out her age and decided not to interfere. He simply said, "Lady, if you promise to hold it to 70, I