ride and prejudice

Mr. Levy was a Vice president of Polychrome, and the head man at our new location.  His secretary was Sara, young and attractive, as most of us once were, at least young that is.  Her office was next to his, and it seems her door was always open, and she was strategically placed to see what went on.  All comings and goings went by her office, even trips to the men’s room, and it was rumored she kept notes on all of us.  I had a rule, never date anyone you work with, and although attractive, I had little interest in her.  She came from an old Italian, very Catholic family, and dressed like it.  Quite a difference from the rest of us in our wide lapels, open shirt look just before the disco era.  She was always pleasant, and asked a lot of questions.  Which somehow you felt compelled to answer....We got to be friends, at work, and when I bought my custom van, the 1973 Chevy that Garry Brown had customized for his final project before graduating from Bucknell, she took interest in it.  I was living with my parents at the time due to budget constraints, no money, and she lived with her multi-generational family at home, like I said a very old family.  She had let the word get around she would like a ride in it, and somehow we agreed to go out to dinner, the van as the transportation.  Good girls didn’t ride on motorcycles...but did they in vans?

Picking her up I met a different Sara than the one I knew at work.  Her family was nice, invited me in for a beer, I graciously declined, and as formal as she was at work, she was now attractive and vivacious.  She had gone from professional to attractive.  Did she have a sister I didn’t know about?  So off we went, her asking many questions, mostly about the van, and most of my talking was answers, not questions, or even statements.  Mostly replies.  Dinner at Charlie Brown’s went well, we were actually having a good time, the sun still up on this summer night, and I asked her what she wanted to do.  Too early to go home, both living with our parents, but I did have the van, and she really liked it...so we went cruising in it, which is what she wanted to do.  To be seen in the van, while others jealously looked at her with envy.  Driving Miss Sara if you would.  So off through North Plainfield we went, taking the long way to her house.  No traffic, just cruising when the red lights appeared.  And I was pulled over...for going too slow.  I had a list of ready excuses for going too fast, but none for excessive slowness.  After being told how I was impeding traffic, no cars passed while being detained, and how speed kills....death due to insufficient speed, I can see the headlines now, and left me off with a verbal warning for going 25 in a 30 zone.  But for this innocent girl, this really made me the bad boy she had been warned about, she had never been stopped and it scared her.  She was shaken, and she later settled down, but my reputation as a bad boy now exceeded my riding a motorcycle...I was a law breaker.. a felon at 25 mph.  My ride and prejudice were about to be exploited at work the next day....

Now her girlfriends at work could hardly wait to hear about her date, and when her opening line was the police pulled us over...the imaginations and gossip ran wild.  Instantly a chorus of “I told you he was bad” echoed, some warning her, others wanting a ride.  Tell me more... What is it about good girls and bad boys?  But she never got much further than the being stopped part of the date, and later told me she really had a good time.  Never mentioning her brush with the law.  The last time I ever dated anyone I worked with.  True story, but without the details, it was just another night with police intervention.  And to Sara, I would always be the felon at 25 mph, the slowest man in the van.  Her purity lost for going too slow...go figure.

Today we live in a world of sound bytes, but being misquoted, or not telling the whole story is nothing new.  Started in the Garden, Satan twisting God’s warning to Eve around.  Look at the consequences of a lie.  How many have been told or told others money is the root of all evil?  Not in the Bible, scripture tells us “the love of money is the root of all evil.”  Big difference, money is a form of barter, not evil.. Worshipping it is.  How many have been led astray by asking God for desires, then quoting Philipians 4:13, “I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me.”  Read the verses, Paul was bragging about how no matter the situation, Christ would take him through it.  Rich or poor.  In my case slow or fast.  Not a genie in the lamp as some desire, or aspire to.  The most conveniently misinterpreted verse about judging, usually brought up by people caught in sin, who don’t wish to be judged, but it is OK if they judge your words.  But really here Jesus is telling us to be alert, and discern people and their words and actions.  Good advice.  If only the cop had known to “not judge by appearance, but by my fruits,” as scripture tells us, John 7:24 and Matthew 7:16.  What an outcome difference to Sara’s recollection of our date.  And for her audience.

And of course this Good Friday let’s remember Pilate making a sign to hang over Jesus as he hung on the cross.  “The King of the Jews.”  And when the Jews argued, admitting he may have been a king, but not the king, Pilate says “I have written what I have written.”  Not knowing the truth in his statement.  So we do damage to others and ourselves by misquoting scripture.  A good rule of thumb is the 20/20 rule.  Read 20 verses before, and 20 verses after the one you quote, get the whole story.  Don’t base a theology or relationship on just one verse.  Or statement.  Truth be told, I was not a felon, and now laugh about being stopped for going too slow.  Maybe the fact I didn’t get a ticket is the repercussions the cop would have gotten. “Writing a ticket for too slow?  Breaking speed laws by not going as fast as the sign said? Impeding traffic when no other cars are present?”  Thankfully God is always present, and sees all.  And forgives all.  Cops too.

Just another date for me, but an eye opener for Sara.  She knew the truth, yet her interpretation led her to her opening line.  Seeking a thrill, being with a bad boy, but never becoming a bad girl.  But almost, escaping the annals of crime by the skin of her teeth. Her purity intact.  A heroine, how would you have told the story?  How did you hear it?

Remember that when you share Jesus.  Tell the truth, inspired by the spirit.  Too many wanting to hear a lie, or twisting your words.  Let God be God and all men liars.  Even on a first and only date, at 25 mph.   Study to be approved, seek the truth,let it set you free.  And never date anyone you work with.  The walls have ears, and eyes.  And sadly mouths.  Later my boss called me aside, hoping for steamy details of a date in my van.  “Honest Walter, we had a good time.  She is a nice girl.  We got stopped for 25 in a 30 zone.”  I could have said.  But I let him off easy, “that’s the kind of answer a gentleman would never tell about a lady.”  Both our reputations protected.  Only Sara and I will know the truth.  Only the stories have been changed to indict the innocent.

love with compassion,
Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

a tale of two tickets

When the Wildman called and asked a favor of course I answered “yes.”  Without listening first, such is friendship among those who ride.  His friend needed a ride to get his paycheck that afternoon, his car was down, could I take him to get it?  “Sure, no problem,” then he added it was in Newark.  No one goes to Newark, it was still a burned out hull 7 years after the 1967 riots, what was the Wildman thinking?  But a friend in need is a friend indeed, so I made arrangements to pick up his friend on my R90S.  I wanted as little time in Newark as possible, and off we went.  Now only 12 miles from where I lived, it was a seriously old, decaying, and very prejudiced city, everyone avoided it when possible.  So off we went, on a picture perfect New Jersey fall afternoon, grey, with a chance of rain, cool but not cold, and no trace of sunshine.  Riding east on Route 22, we got off at Freylinghausen Avenue, just where it goes from 3 lanes to 2, creating a traffic jam, and there were the flashing lights.  Now I hear light travels faster than sound, but not in police cars, you always hear them first.  So pulling over, Sgt. Attitude gets out of his cruiser.  And the battle for my soul, my license begins.  This guy hates motorcycles, those who ride them, and anyone born on a day ending in Y.  As he looks over my license and registration, he begins to berate my bike, telling me at 120 mph his 440 Magnum will run up my tail pipes.  This guy wanted to race...I just wanted to leave.  Offering little resistance, never argue with an idiot, you will never win, he writes the ticket, delays us just enough so we barely get the paycheck, and we flee Newark for good.  Our good.  But cheesed off, first my speed was not that high, secondly I was targeted on a bike, and third, I was to appear in court, in Newark, at 830pm on December 24th.  Christmas Eve, even in Newark.  A must appear box checked, and for the next few weeks I fumed over it.  Until the week before Christmas I called to confirm...court on Christmas Eve?  The girl who answered the phone, asked for the citation number, and told me it didn’t exist.  When I further explained about the December 24th 830pm court date, she laughed.  “We’re closed on Christmas Eve, all day.  Somebody was funnin’ with you, there is no ticket, no badge number, and no court.  Merry Christmas.”  Sgt. Attitude had gotten me, somewhere in a dingy squad room he was telling others how he had written me a ticket, and I was probably stupid enough to show up, on Christmas Eve.  He had run up my tail pipes, just not at 120. 

Leaving Gainesville under the watchful eye of the Florida State Police, I felt safe at 55mph, scared at 56, petrified above 60.  Revenue enhancement per the 55 mph speed limit was creating revenue spikes in many states, Florida was no exception.  But somehow I got careless outside DeFuniak Springs, and got pulled over.  Maybe it was my Jersey tags on again the R90S, or creating a public endangerment at 60, but again the flashing lights told the story.  After writing me up, he told me again since I was out of state, I would have to a personal appearance.  He didn’t care that I was on my way to New Mexico, the law was the law.  Reminding me of Newark, all over again.  I made Albuquerque fine, no further police escorts, and was fuming over going back to Florida.  It was then John pointed out the court date, November 31st.  Even in New Mexico calendars only had 30 days in November, so I wrote to the court, telling them I was busy on the 31st, my calendar was full, please advise.  And never heard back, either the cop became a joke, I was the butt of the joke, or there really were 31 November days in Florida, either way I was off the hook.  And would ride again, to receive more side of the road introductions from law enforcement, adding revenue to many state and local coffers.  A sad tale of two tickets, does the term I have a badge and a gun mean anything to you?

Pilate had power as governor over Jerusalem.  Weak in character, he wanted nothing to do with Jesus.  But to avoid any more public outcries, had him scourged, hoping the Jews would feel that was enough.  Declaring three times he was innocent, to the cries “crucify him!” he finally relented. He knew Jesus was innocent, but was afraid for his position and reputation.  Think of politicians today.  He even made a sign, “The King of the Jews,” upsetting them more, the Jews would admit he might be a king, but not the king.  But he said, “ I have written what I have written.”  Déjà vu ahead to Newark and Defuniak Springs.  Proclaiming the truth, just not knowing it.  And we all know the story of Good Friday, and of Easter.  But we forget how Jesus laid down his life, no one could or did take it from him.  Perhaps enforcing the scripture “greater love has no man than to lay down his life for another.”  To the end, Jesus was in control.  Innocent, no fault found, yet convicted.  Unfairly tried by those he came to save, giving “to protect and serve” a whole new meaning, rather than the one mimicked on police cars.  Times and dates matter to him, and so do we.  A fact to remember on Good Friday, and every day.  It was Good Friday for me when I got pulled over, I couldn’t see what was ahead, but God knew.  And my day of vindication, my Easter, was when I was forgiven by the courts.  My license resurrected.  Jesus rose again so we can be too, daily and eternally.  He is with us always, even until the end.  He says so, so it must be true.  A fact I remember every December 24th around 830pm.  And celebrate on November 31st. If I could only find it on the calendar.

We need the police, they have a tough job, just look at their customer base.  But only Jesus forgives, the law brings death.  Or court.  On Judgment Day I will be found innocent, my Jesus paying the fine, forgiving me.  Clean and white as snow, even in New Jersey where it is light grey. Even in burned out Newark, sunny Florida, and everywhere men are found.  Your sins are forgiven, beautiful words to hear, I know.  Both in court and the heavenly courts.  Turn to Jesus today, he understands lynch mob mentality, prejudice, and injustice.  He is love, and all the sins of my tickets are wiped away. 

Come to think of it, I should have been suspicious of Sgt. Attitude.  If he had really run my license, he would have found I was on probation, going to Court appointed traffic school in Rahway State Prison.  Too many points...Let Jesus resurrect your life and maybe your license today.  Start new and fresh every morning with his blessings.  Remember the date he came into your life, and if it falls on a November 31st, there’s this clerk in Florida who can advise you on the calendar.  I find it easier just to trust Jesus.  You never know who you’ll meet along the road, just ask Paul.  A public service message from another rider who cares.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

would you ride with you?

I have a new movie for them, call it "Easy Driver."

I have a new accessory for my bike, his name is Mike.

Mama Cass

An old French saying tells us “to never criticize a man’s love making or his driving, and not necessarily in that order.”  I will never know if, or care if someone’s amorous affectations are of noble or skilled effort, but your driving skills may come into question at any given time.  One afternoon I went to look at the new 280Z, stopping at the local Datsun dealer.  An attractive woman salesperson approached, offered me a test ride, so I took her up on it.  She was new to sales, and kept touching my arm, telling me how “men are such better drivers,” and making me feel uncomfortable.  When I had finally had enough, and the exit was coming up, I dropped down a gear, hit the throttle, picked up 20 mph, and went into the exit hard and fast.  Slamming on the brakes, exhibiting perfect oversteer, we slid sideways coming to a stop, just short of the light.  She was shaken, and quiet the rest of the trip back to the dealer.  And when she got out, I saw why.  The seat she was on was wet, and her denim skirt had the same wet mark as the seat.  Fast girls and cars....

I was new to selling motorcycles, and new to dirt bikes.  The only dirt in Jersey was gravel about to be paved over.  So riding the new Suzuki RM370 in New Mexico was an adventure to me.  And when a young kid wanted to see how it ran before he bought it, I ran it around the dirt lot in back.  Sliding sideways, under control, my adrenaline pumping, I decided one last roost, as he shouted encouragement.  I hit the pavement too fast, sled sideways the length of the store, across 3 lanes of traffic, and stood the bike up after hitting the curb, and accelerated off.  Scared to death, and with my pants worn off, I returned ego bruised as well.  “That was cool, do it again...” was all he asked.  No encores that day, and I forget if he bought the bike.  Yet something inside us makes us show off, and in most of my cases show what a fool I am.

Sometimes it isn’t all about the rider, but the equipment.  I know guys whose wives refuse to ride with them because the seat is too thin and not padded.  For some reason sitting n a 2x4 the long way for hours doesn’t thrill them.  A concession to style, they don’t get it.  Same with choice of clothing, leathers look good when cold, but at 90 degrees...and who wants to ride on the thin veneer of a seat on the back of a sports bike?  Yet many do, in bikinis.  Only once after a fall...or catching too many bugs and gravel.  Many men still wonder why they haven’t had that elusive second date, all because she wants to ride, just not with them.  She too wants to feel the wind in her face, the freedom of riding, just not in mortal fear.  With eyes open , not shut, and holding on in the curves, just not for dear life.  Pay attention guys, a free dating tip....don’t ask me how I know.  Ask yourself, would you ride with you?

A younger friend of mine loves Jesus. He goes out witnessing, not sure how you can turn the spirit off and on, and will stand on street corners yelling the gospel.  And wonders why he gets no takers.  Even when I tell him that whenever I hear someone yelling, no matter the message I cross over to avoid them, he carries on.  Zealous, caring, about himself, just not in the spirit.  No one wants to come to church with him when he invites them.   Another friend is always telling people about the sin in their lives.  That they are going to hell, and even though his message is accurate, his attitude and processes show no love.  And many avoid him.  I have seen well meaning men carry Bibles into outlaw biker groups, who avoid them, yet when I just sit and visit, they open up.  Spending time with me should tell you more about Jesus in me than any shouting. Yet some feel compelled to push people into heaven, while really pushing them away.  Jesus invites...you make the choice.  If you are a representative of Christ, would you want to be like you?  Or are you the one we avoid?  A few years back I encountered two Boozefighters at a national rally.  Both national officers, when they saw my Christian patch, one put me in a headlock.  “I have a question for you..” and all my theological juices were flowing.  Here was my chance to show him what I knew...yet the words God gave me came out different.  He asked, “could God make a rock so big he couldn’t pick it up?”  And my words surprised me as much as they pleased him, “you don’t ask God foolish questions like that.”   He liked the answer, signed his book, gave me his email and we became friends.  God knew the right answer, I was more concerned about me.  I don’t know where he is with Jesus, I am only a messenger, but if they don’t like the message, or you, they will never hear it.  So God tells us to be a doer of the word, not just a sayer.  Show compassion, listen, then speak.  And feed the hungry, give drink to the the thirsty, welcome the stranger, and don’t forget those in jail or who cannot get out.  Show love, that covers a multitude of sins.  What do you see when you hear Jesus mentioned?  I see him walking through the crowd while feeding the 5000, offering seconds, visiting with people, talking to kids, and listening to their parents questions.  Showing love the whole time...is that what people see in your Jesus?  Or do they run and hide...like I do when I see them coming?

Some ride alone WTO, and wonder why.  Some Christians live the same way.  Consider a piece of advice given me long ago.  People will care about what you say when they see how much you care.  About them.  Do you care for the lost?  The poor and hungry?  Maybe a test ride in a 280Z can change your attitude.  Or one fast lap around a dirt track.  When your passenger is comfortable, feels safe and secure, you both enjoy the ride more.  Works with Jesus too, would you wheelie with him on back?  But would you trust him to wheelie with you on back?  Base your ability to show love on him, and no one will ever criticize your God.  Make it all about Jesus, leave the decision up to them, it is between them and Jesus just like it is between you and him.  Life isn’t all about the ride, but who you ride it with.  The ride the destination, with more life to follow after.  A change in seats may be just what your marriage needs, listening to the spirit is what we all need.  And when she says “let’s ride some more,” or you hear “tell me more about Jesus...” let God have control.  Day rides become overnighters, overnighters become vacations, and soon become life.  For riding too.  Ask yourself, would you ride with you?  And I’m not criticizing you, just describing you.  And not necessarily in that order.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

do something Ward...

June Bronson was raised by the family matriarch Aunt Martha in a world of ethics and codes becoming of only the most ladylike of ladies.  The book of etiquette advising the proper way to behave and handle any situation any young lady would ever encounter.  She went to finishing school, fell in love, married and had two sons.  Although her husband was from a bucolic background, he did all the right things, and treated her as she was expected to be treated.  Settling in Mayfield, he had a great job, made an above average living, and she was the prototypical housewife of the late fifties, early sixties.  Never a hair out of place, with the ability to handle all types of housework without breaking a sweat, or her string of pearls, she lived in a world today we celebrate and look back on fondly.  But growing up in that era, I find she was more the norm than the exception, with one notable exception...she never had any fun, and raised her two sons by the book.  Even if they were boys and not girls.  It took her loving husband, Ward to strike a balance, so they could grow up normally, and many a cold night was spent on a hot August eve after he intervened.  “Do something Ward,” she would whine when not getting her way.  And her gestapo attitude towards raising children showed.  More rules meant more rules to break.  She may be praised today, but one look at June Bronson Cleaver may have you thinking twice as your Mother of the Year choice.

How many embarrassing situations did she create when common sense should have dictated otherwise?  Making Beaver eat Brussel Sprouts publicly, and making Wally the first one home on date nights.  Her sons would not embarrass the Bronson heritage she was forced with passing on, and dirt had no place in any young boys life.  Three course meals for every dinner in the dining room, breakfast the same three course affair but restricted to the kitchen.  Tolerated, not enjoyed.  Using the right fork, napkin on lap.  “Thank you Mom, can I have another?”  Friends only gaining access to the boys’ room or the patio, and being treated like 8 year olds through out junior high and into high school.  Beaver would prove to be a handful, but Wally still had hope...until he got to high school.  Girls and cars were suddenly more interesting, and her whining would escalate.  Fast girls and cars were never meant for Bronson blood.

She couldn’t understand why Wally would want a car?  Was he heading towards juvenile delinquency?  She would cut that off, when could he drive it, 24 hours of his day were spoken for.  And when a jalopy shows up for $25, she stands there in her mink stole ashamed when the neighbors walked by.  He is dirty, greasy, having fun, and the envy of all his friends.  And more whining, “Ward make him sell it.”  Ward this, Ward that, and went off pouting when Ward’s fatherhood skills won out over her Bronson desires.  They had been raised right, now wanted to be normal, and cars and girls were normal then and are now.  Rolling her eyes, pouting, off she would go, pearls and all to her next trained response.  Never enjoying fully all she had, and not knowing what she was missing.  A life of rules, social consciousness, and standing, fun was never included in all the above.  She had wanted girls, or rather Aunt Martha had, and every visit it was evident two normal boys were tolerated, but not her first choice.  Ward running interference the whole time, boys wanting to be boys, June wanting Aunt Martha’s way, and never the twain would meet.  All would live happily ever after, but the joy of life was missing.  Fun wasn’t permitted, and living by the book was mandatory, even if it was only a guide. 

Today we encounter June Bronson and her attitudes within the church.  No freedom in the spirit, it is all about rules, and legalism.  Show me your rules, I’ll show you a good church.  But not a healthy one. Forgiveness is taught, but never exercised, as she demands perfection.  That is the church, and when someone dares to operate outside of its rules, trouble begins.  We see its roots in the Pharisees, who had a rule for everything.  The Bronsons had that same attitude, hell to pay if you used the wrong fork, talked with the wrong crowd, or didn’t get your way.  The Pharisees were really to be pitied, as although they thought themselves better, they were slaves to the law, then Jesus came along.  He not only preached freedom, but lived it, and taught it coming from within, from a changed heart, not a set of rules.  That we all sin, but that all could be forgiven.  Even little boys.  That religion binds, rules control, and freedom and fun are allowed, and not just behind closed doors. That any good Pharisee who was more concerned with their personna, than their souls, even though they believed after all God had made them special, special enough to not have to deal with the lower classes, the poor, or the non-Jews could be saved.  Jesus upset them, they wanted his freedom, or wanted it to go away, it was a threat, so instead tried to do battle with him, forgetting sin will never win out over grace.  They wanted what he had, just not for everyone else.  And without changing, until one Passover weekend changed it all.  The spirit had been set loose, the spiritual captives were set free, and the Messiah had come, and gone.  And would return, allowing them to change, God’s patience being extended even to the last sinner Pharisee.  They thought that by killing him they had killed the spirit, but the spirit of Jesus is still alive and well today, calling all, Bronsons and Pharisees to repentance.  Extending grace, and bringing joy to lives.  Yet many cling to their old religion, and deny Jesus.

“Do something Jesus,”  they whine when not getting their way.  But a hardness of heart reveals their motives, and all who can see, see what they can’t.  And still Jesus is patient, so that none should perish.  It all goes back to the cross.  Where the word became flesh, and the book he is written about brings life.  But only through the spirit, for it takes the spirit to reveal the mysteries of Christ.  Even pretty pictures don’t help, it takes the spirit.  Available through Jesus Christ.  Not a set of rules, but the person of God, personally guiding us.  Jesus hanging out with the hookers, bikers, hot rodders, and welcoming the Bronsons.  Yet many choose to follow a matriarch, or a family patriarch rather than Jesus.  They gain the world, but lose their souls.  They lose it all....yet never know it until it is too late.

Where the spirit of the Lord is there is liberty.  To be who God has called you to be.  To enjoy life, and have fun, bringing joy to others as you live for Christ.  Bronsons need Jesus too, Ward knew this and his tireless love for his family showed great rewards.  Finishing school may have been a good thing, but when Jesus said “it is finished,” things changed.  Hearts changed.  The world changed.  And every Easter we celebrate his return.  And look forward to his final return for us.

As children we remember more the actions of our parents than we do their words.  Same with God.  Yet he writes his words on our hearts so they are always with us.  Part of us, part of who we are.  In Christ.  He forgives, we forgive.  He loves, we love.  It always begins with Jesus, and not of ourselves.  Looking back, maybe our parents didn’t do such a bad job, particularly with what they had to work with.  A sign over a man’s desk reminds me.  “The true measure of success is how your children describe you to their friends.”  Jesus Christ is that success, and when he describes us to his father, our father in heaven, he smiles.  But is patient for that last Bronson to arrive.  The Cleavers had it made, June had it all, or thought she had.  She had gained the world, Aunt Martha should have been pleased.  If only she had let go and gone with the spirit guiding her, she would have had joy too.  The spirit brings life.  Life has too many rules, which means there are too many rules to break.  June should have known that, but Aunt Martha left out that chapter.  Don’t let Jesus out of your life.  His hands were tough and dirty, his spirit meek and mild.  His heart tender for you, some leave it to Beaver, I prefer to leave it to Jesus.  Now about that Eddie Haskell guy...

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

blessed are the piece makers

At one time Made In America was no big deal, it was the deal.  From cars made in Detroit, to luggage made in the South, to linens and towels made in the Carolinas, we had shoes made in New England and clothes made in the East.  Factories dotted the countryside of many small towns, some truly company towns as one business dominated the economy there.  Where my family was from in Pennsylvania, the area was known for making ladies clothes.  My Nana worked in one her whole career, making blouses, being paid per piece, a piece maker, and helped support her two girls.  My Pappy away at war, heading up the Red Cross in Alaska.  During the Big War, WWII.  The war we won.  In their small town was a toy factory that made plush animals, and at Christmas guess what we got many times.  Women would shop in local stores, no Wal-Marts yet, and buy clothes made locally, maybe by a neighbor.  Men shopped at Pritchard’s, women at Suzanne’s, family clothes from Yeisley’s, and shoes from Oyer’s.  They were businessmen and neighbors, I remember one Sunday morning Mr. Oyer opening up his store on the way to church because I needed a pair of Keds.  During layoffs, if there were no savings, the stores would help issuing credit, knowing once the mills started up again the bills would get paid.  No one skipped out on a bill, it would hurt your neighbor, and he could also be family.  No one wanted the reputation as a dead beat.  Churches made lunches, hot and fresh and delivered to the mills, selling them at cost, a ministry.  No salads or yogurt here, it was pasties, and good sandwiches, protein was needed to fuel the body, and few got fat.  Hard work took care of that.  Money came into the community from exporting goods, and the economy though seasonal was dependable. 

Mills would sponsor baseball teams, maybe donate cheerleader’s uniforms, and make prom dresses at a reduced rate for the local girls.  Construction companies supplied flat bed trucks for the parade, the VFW or American Legion rented out the halls, and many a family reunion was held at the Park.  Also many a romance, and many a summer spent at the pool.  Though small, the towns were self sufficient, they knew each other, and depended on each other.  Some men would work for a brother in law, most businesses were family owned, and when needing a car, trade-ins would be resold as Mrs. Petchel’s sedan, or Bill Fedon’s touring car.  You probably knew the previous owner, and knew the car too.  This was America, we were Americans, and we led the world. 

But something happened in the 70’s, the mills shut down, jobs left for overseas, and communities once prosperous died.  With no economy, where once generations worked for the same company, young adults had to leave town to find work.  Soon the small businesses left, and the people with them.  Business wasn’t done on a handshake, as now strangers from the next town over, or next county were shopping there.  With no economy, the tax base eroded, streets didn’t get repaired, and blight took over.  For the ones who remained.  Once proud towns that could have been Anywhere, USA were now filled with people on relief, with their checks cashed at the liquor stores, no bank accounts so no reason to go to the bank.  Company towns vanished, and pieceworkers like my Nana either retired or stayed home.  No money and no place to go.  Churches became empty, and along with that the morals went too.  We had lost a self respect, and so it was hard to respect others.  I cannot imagine how my Nana felt the first day she bought a blouse that wasn’t Made in America.  That was shoddlily made, that wore out too soon, who seams didn’t match.  But did cost less.  Where cost was more important than quality, you cannot have both.  We had lost more than an economy or a small town, we had lost ourselves.  We had lost our identity.

Blessed are the peace makers for they shall inherit the earth.  Looking around I see very little earth worth inheriting anymore.  The piece makers of my Nan’s generation were certainly blessed, but when robbed had to survive.  Most of the world today is in a survival mode.  We just don’t know it.  But fortunately the earth Jesus promises to us is a new world.  With new bodies, but the same God as our forefathers.  A good thing he never changes with the economy, or social trends.  Jesus is the same today, as yesterday, and can be depended on to be the same tomorrow.  The way we do business, from raw materials to finished product may have changed, but he hasn’t.  It is us who have changed, and we need a change to Jesus  if we are to make it. Times are tough, families strained, but by the grace of God we go on.  It is the tough times we remember fondly when looking back, where testimonies began, and if not for God intervening, disaster would strike.  Persecution of believers, many falling away from the church because it loses its power.  But when God is head of that church, history tells us something unusual happens.  Consistently.  The church grows.  It spreads out, taking the gospel to places if content it would not have.  Just like many piece makers were forced to move elsewhere to survive, the church has taken the gospel out the same way.  Blessed are those peace makers who thrive in the adversity, who lean on Christ, and not the economy.  Who in tough times are rescued, and in good times are thankful. 

No one likes to be fired, to lose their job.  Their way of life.  But God is true to his word when he tells us “all things work together for those who love the Lord and are called according to his purpose.”  Maybe that is why James exhorts us to rejoice in hard times, because he knew God’s promise to be true.  And a blessing to us. If only we follow Jesus.  The ultimate peace maker.  Hard times can tear us to pieces, only Jesus is the glue, the peace that holds us together.  The joy in the adversity, the hope of tomorrow, today.

We are not promised tomorrow, so enjoy today.  Be all you can be in Christ, and have fun.  For what good is fun if you don’t enjoy it, and being a Christian we should have the most fun.  We have Jesus, we know the end, we just have to get there.  So many don’t have hope, it is our job to show Jesus in our lives and give them hope.  Loving them one person at a time, like piece work.  And being blessed.  So truly blessed are the piece makers, and as we inherit the earth to come, encourage someone to come with you.  Share Jesus, it’s simple.  Feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, visit those in jail , and those who cannot get out.  Welcome strangers.  All the things we used to find in small towns.  Export love, import blessings, and let Jesus take care of the rest.  A lesson learned at church, but proven by my Nana and all the other piece makers.  Wake up America, it’s not too late....

love with compassion,

Mike

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