For the last few months, I have been attending the Westminster Presbyterian Church in Lancaster, along Oregon Pike. It was remodeled recently and has a huge new sanctuary. I usually go to the 11 AM service, slip up to the balcony, and unobtrusively find a seat. The choir leads in old-fashioned hymns and the congregation cites the creed and the Lord’s Prayer in unison. The good pastor (or is it vicar?), a middle-aged, rather pudgy man, then delivers his sermon. His sermons are firm and meaty, but not fiery. He usually finishes by 12:10 and as the choir strikes up the closing hymn, I slip back down the stairs and leave. All very convenient and anonymous. Thus I get my spiritual infusion for the week with no fuss or hassle.

I was a bit disappointed with the Presbyterians. At the service, only the pastor and the choir are clothed in flowing robes. That’s about the only sign of formality. I had expected a bit more. I have always been fascinated and impressed by the formality of dress and the icons of the more established and historical churches, especially the Catholics and the Anglicans. There is history in formality and high worship. Tradition is anchored in centuries and millennia of practice. For years, I have accumulated crucifixes, crosses, statues and other iconic paraphernalia, usually from flea markets and yard sales and specialty stores, and now have a respectable collection set up as a small shrine in my house, complete with a little wooden Benedictine monk in perpetual meditation mode.
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In the grim days immediately after we returned from Florida, Ellen and I faced together, as (sort of) allies, the “sturm and drang” around us. Although we knew our union was temporary because she was soon leaving, we faced the adversity as a team. For five long and dreary weeks, the days crawled by, each day a week, each week a month. And yet, for what it was worth, there was some solidarity there, the knowledge that, in this at least, we were together for a time. I cannot speak for her, but during those weeks, it seemed that there was a sort of shield around me, barely perceptible, invisible, protecting. Pastor Dave told me more than once that in such situations, the grace of God specifically envelops those mired in the thick of things, but does not extend to those who are not immediately involved.

During those weeks (and since she left), I never felt really close to or really far from God. Sometimes days passed when I did not even talk to Him. But I had no doubt He was there. I knew He was. But I did not feel this encompassing, healing and calming presence about me all the time or even much at all. Throughout, I focused on my work from day to day. You plug on, you do what you need to do. You work, go to the gym, go home, eat, sleep the night, get up, and do it all over again. Eventually, the sun will rise to a new day and a new beginning, and the flowers will bloom again. I believe that if you are His child, God is there, whether or not you are aware of Him. I know without a shadow of a doubt that His hand protected me from much deeper distress during that time, and continues to shield me from things I do not know and may not need to know right now. It’s kind of like that sappy poem about footprints in the sand, where the Lord carries you through the times you are unable to walk on your own, and you look back and there’s only one set of footprints, His (if I may be forgiven such a tired and vastly overused cliché).

I’ve never been one to cry and moan and get up in church during my pain to be surrounded by others with laying-on of hands (“not that there’s anything wrong with that,” to quote Seinfeld) and great intonations from the preacher and long sighs and “Amens” of agreement from the brethren. Too shy, I guess. What it boils down to for me is an aversion of public spectacle. Anyone can claim anything, thus triggering the laying-on of hands and prayer thing for any slight affliction. Over time, in some groups (no particular group in mind, now), I think the practice of this method has become cheapened to the point where it has lost its power and is not special anymore.
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Me and my Truck

It is an established axiom, at least in my neck of the woods, that a man needs a truck. Not just any truck, but a pickup truck (and an Amishman needs a pickup buggy). A man without a pickup is like, well, like a bird without wings. There are a few such birds out there in nature, and a few, like the Dodo, are extinct, but everyone looks at them with a mixture of horror and pity. Sorry, guys, it’s true. No truck = freak (and muffled snickers when your back is turned). I’ve driven about everything there is to drive at one time or another, from the most rattletrap jalopies to a late-model Avalanche (but not a Lexis, at least, not yet. Still working on it.). But I’ve always felt most secure and comfortable in a truck.

I recently bought a pickup from a friend who got a new one and sold his three-year-old model to me for a very reasonable price. It’s a 2004 Chevy Silverado 2500 HD with club cab, full tow package and only 53,600 miles. Very clean, always serviced. If I’m starting to sound like a used-truck salesman, maybe it’s because I am one. I love the truck in every way except for one thing. Fill up the tank for $60, get in and drive and watch the gas gauge literally creep to the left. It’s a guzzler. Causes heartburn to a man on a budget. So, after checking with my friend to make sure he wouldn’t be offended (he claimed he wouldn’t be.), I’ve decided to look around for a 1500 model with similar options, the same amount of or fewer miles, and the same year or newer. I’d like a Dodge. After getting my truck professionally cleaned, this weekend I’m going to see a few dealers. Meanwhile, if anyone out there needs a clean, heavy-duty Chevy with tow package, email me ASAP. Step right up, do I ever have a deal for you.
Truck for Sale

Last Sunday, I did not go to church, but went hiking instead. My planned Saturday hike did not materialize because of rainy weather. Sunday dawned with blue clear skies, so off I went with my little waist pack, water, energy bar, and hiking boots. The Tacquon (Seven Falls) Trail was wet, mildly soggy and picture perfect, and, best of all, almost devoid of other hikers. I went mid-morning, before the sun reached the apex of its heat. It’s too early in the season for mosquitoes and other bugs, so it was about as enjoyable a hike as I’ve ever had. The loop took a bit longer than I remembered, around an hour and 15 minutes. And because this took the place of formally attending church, I did commune with and talk to God. On the way home, I stopped at my brother Steve’s place for a good, home-cooked Sunday dinner. Hiking season has officially begun for 2007.

FOR LANCASTER COUNTIANS ONLY: My favorite local politician, Heidi Wheaton, recently compared the Lancaster County Republican Party selection process to that of a communist apparatus. From all the vile and vitriolic reactionary attacks on her by a host of local party hacks, her point is pretty well proven. These are the same spiteful people who managed to successfully demonize her in the last election and get the pasty-faced, colorless yes-man, Mike Brubaker, elected to the state Senate for the next term. As we all know, he sure has done a lot since then (NOT).

The local Republican Party abhors and despises its conservative members. If you are conservative, you have one choice and you can have the joy of poking the Republican Party in the eye while making it. Vote Heidi Wheaton for County Commissioner in next Tuesday’s (5/8) Primaries. So go forth and poke some eyes.

FOOTBALL NOTES: The NFL held its annual draft last weekend. While I’m not quite nutty enough to be glued to ESPN for the entire first round, I did keep an eye on it. Brady Quinn was a steal for Cleveland and was drafted way too late. He should have been the first or second overall pick, not the 23rd. I predict he will be the most productive quarterback in this draft, with the proper coaching, of course. He is a pure pocket passer, and will not run around and get hurt, like JaMarcus Russell will.

I also noted with great glee that the Eagles (thugs that they are) drafted Kelly Kolb, a high-second-round quarterback from Houston, to torment McNabb. Poor Donovan, to quote the poet Andrew Marvell, at his back now always hears “time’s winged chariot hurrying near.” I’ve said it before a thousand times, but what the heck, here’s the thousand-and-first: McNabb will never win a Super Bowl as the starting quarterback, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is (already have, in fact. Right, AJ?). Looks like the Eagles are finally reaching that conclusion as well. Meanwhile, the Jets shored up their defense with Derrelle Revis, the best cover man in the draft. Preseason games start in August. Can’t wait.

So far I have not installed a lot of new pictures on this site, because I don’t have a digital camera and have to bother my friends who own one. Rosita Beiler, office manager (and the one who really runs the place) at Graber, provided the last few. That’s about to change. I plan to go shopping this weekend (or soon after) for an economy grade digital camera with all the doohickeys needed to transfer pictures from camera to my computer. So you may soon see more pictures than you care to.

This weekend (May 5-6) we (Steve’s family and me) are looking forward to seeing my brother-in-law and sister, Marvin and Rhoda Yutzy from Kansas, for a few days. Marvin and I go way back as best friends. He is in a lot of the old pictures on this site, and I look forward to spending some quality, putzing-around-being-lazy time with them both. They plan to drive all the way in, stopping in the northern Indiana area to visit his brother and family. I am hosting a cookout Saturday evening in their honor, and much as I’d like to, no, you are all NOT invited.

The sun is out, the sun is out, or at least it was out before it rained today (Friday, 4/27). All things look fresh, the grass is growing, and Lancaster County’s farmers are bustling in the fields. Last week, after about the 250th consecutive sunless day, I told a guy at the gym that I’m about to go berserk if the sun doesn’t shine soon. This was a few days after the Va. Tech massacre, so my remark was perhaps a bit untimely, as reflected by the guy’s dubious look (Is he serious? Should I call the cops?). I now understand a bit better why the ancient Egyptians worshipped the Sun God Ra. Sunshine bestows life, and to the heathens, such a provider of all life was quite worthy of worship and adulation.

If the sun returns after the rains by this Saturday (if not, next Saturday), I plan to go on my first hike of the season at the Seven-Falls (Tacquon Glen) trail in southern Lancaster County. The trail is beautiful, and as the name suggests, has numerous waterfalls and many rock formations. It even has a forlorn stone chimney standing by itself in a small clearing, the remnant of a now long-forgotten dwelling (either that, or a whiskey still). Often in the summer, the trail is quite populated with many hikers, their children and lots of dogs, about which I am less than enthusiastic. The dogs, I mean. Hopefully, this early in the season it will be relatively private. The loop takes about an hour to walk and it takes me 45 minutes one way to get there, so I actually spend more time on the road than on the trail. But that’s OK.

It was a long and unusually draining week. The viewing for Merv Esh was Sunday late afternoon and evening at Spring Garden Church, and, not wanting to go alone, I asked my brother Steve to accompany me as a protector/bodyguard from unwanted solicitations and other overly aggressive expressions of sympathy/good wishes. We got there a bit before 4 PM and went through the line before the major crowds arrived. Steve didn’t have much body-guarding to do, as we spoke to very few people. It’s not that I dislike folks or crowds, it’s just that in a time such as this, most don’t know what to say (as I wouldn’t in a similar situation), and want to say something, so often the words come out, shall we say, a bit awkward. But I appreciate the thoughts and the heart behind them. And I don’t discount the sincere prayers on the behalf of all involved.

Merv’s funeral was Monday, so Graber Supply was closed for the day, the first time ever (in my memory) that it was closed on a regular business day. Merv was one of our main guys, and we all wanted to show respect in any way we could. The service was at the Pequea Baptist Church, with a large crowd attending, including a lot of builders and customers Merv had dealt with over the years at Graber. Merv was laid to rest at the grave yard at Spring Garden Church. At the office, it’s starting to sink in that he is really gone.
Tribute at Merv’s work station

We have several local celebrities to announce. First, my sister-in-law, Wilma Wagler, was featured in the “Who’s Cooking” section of last week’s Sunday News. The article detailed how she likes to cook, her favorites, and even had a full color picture of her standing in her kitchen holding a family favorite, a Pizza Casserole (here I pause to drool.). To read the article, see my Links page. Congrats to her and Ella Lapp (her daughter) for nominating her.

Then I opened Tuesday’s New Era, with nothing more on my mind than perusing my favorite section, the comics, and checking the baseball box scores, when I saw a long article entitled “Packing Heat in Plain View.” It had a full color, full length picture of one of my friends (who for now will remain anonymous), sitting at the Friendly’s Restaurant in Gap with an automatic pistol holstered in plain view on his belt. After I picked myself up off the floor, I discovered that my friend has a habit, now widely publicized, of walking around the mall and other public places fully and openly armed. After the Va. Tech tragedy, the article detailed how most states have “open carry” laws, and how most people aren’t even aware of it. To the reporter’s credit, he provided a fair and balanced (No, I am NOT Fox News.) perspective of those, like my friend, who cherish their rights to carry arms for protection. My friend even came across as a sane and normal person, which is unusual for a newspaper article on this subject.

The local reporter was certainly more respectful of gun rights than the skewed and hysterical blathering of those in the national press. The Va. Tech massacre is bringing out the usual rabble of loony anti-gun nuts, clamoring for more gun control, as if that would have kept the lunatic from carrying out his destructive and psychotic plans. Our society as a whole has deep and entrenched moral problems, as more and more disconnected and utterly soulless people commit more and more heinous crimes, each one seemingly trying to gain more notoriety than the last with a more shocking and bloody deed. It seemed to me that I remembered some Old Testament warnings about what would happen if a nation turns its back on God. After a bit of searching, I found the verses that had stirred in my memory:

Leviticus Chap. 26:
15. And if ye shall despise my statutes, or if your soul abhor my judgments, so that ye will not do all my commandments, but that ye break my covenant: ………
22. I will also send wild beasts among you, which shall rob you of your children, and destroy your cattle, and make you few in number; and your high ways shall be desolate.

The young man who killed 32 people at Va. Tech was a wild beast, and no, we should waste no energy or effort in trying to “understand” his motives. I would not say that he was sent by God, but he certainly was permitted by God to do what he did. This may seem simplistic to some, but I believe that after all the courts have done in this country during the last four decades to wipe out every reference to God from our schools and in the public square, our nation now stands naked before and unprotected by the God it scorned. My conclusion is not rocket science, which is probably why so many people discount out of hand such a black-and -white analysis of cause and effect.

What happened to Don Imus several weeks ago is the result of another great boil in the psyche of our society, the power trips of the “cry racist” hustlers. I’m no fan of Imus, but the public lynching triggered by his gaffe was despicable. My hero Fred Reed addressed the issue of Imus and others who suffered the same fate in his latest column, and I can add absolutely nothing to what he wrote. Please check out the April 21st column on his site on my Links page. It speaks for itself.

Ellen and I have been communicating regularly, mostly via email, and she recently informed me that she has been offered employment at the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, AZ. Ellen is one of the most natural, caring and highly-skilled nurses in the world, and with this position, she has reached one of the pinnacles of the Nursing profession. I’m very proud of her, and she will be the most outstanding nurse at the Mayo Clinic, of that I have no doubt whatsoever.

After I bashed the Phillies in my last blog, they have pretty much done nothing but win. This is a disturbing and distasteful turn of events. Next thing you know, they’ll go on a prolonged tear and win their division. The gloating from the local hooligans would be intolerable. Oh, well, at least the Yankees are still having serious bullpen problems. May their woes continue (Save it, Thorne). Now that I’ve said that, they will probably do nothing but win for the next few weeks.

I have been taking my drugs as needed to sleep. With them, I sleep soundly, but feel tired and unrested the next day. For several nights this week, I decided to go without. On those nights, I had vivid and irrational nightmares. Usually I remember them as I wake up, but they fade into oblivion during the day. So I’m between the proverbial rock and hard place. Sleep well with drugs and be tired, or sleep without and be tired with nightmares. This only reinforces my deep suspicion of all pharmaceuticals.

Thanks to Thorne Warner of New Hampshire for emailing me several links to Monastery retreats in the New England area. I am in contact with two such and hopefully will be able to make a trip this fall for a week of quiet reflection, writing and worship.

Finally, the windows of Heaven, at least those located directly above my house, opened up a crack this week and poured out such a blessing of food that I was barely able to receive it all. Well, perhaps that is a bit dramatic, but many thanks from my heart to those who shared, most notably Dave and Darlene Flaud, who were the first to give a large box of delicious goodies that provided several meals. Lancaster County rocks!

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