in the Nick of time

There is an old Mafia term called buckwheats, which refers to slow beatings, and this has been a week of buckwheats.  Starting Monday with being stung by a bee for the third time in three weeks, to no treatment at the ER, to finally being bullied and lied to when I complained, it has been tough.  Physically I have suffered only mildly this time from the sting, headaches and swelling, but have lost sleep over it.  Emotionally it is tough when you are lied to and then bullied, but somehow my spirits haven’t wavered, well maybe a bit, but God got me through to Friday again. But if it was a stormy Monday, by Thursday I was tired, and then Thursday hit.  It was my mother’s 89th birthday, and her sharp mind didn’t recognize my voice.  Then the news broke about Barcelona, and as Christopher and I watched, he knew the area, it was right where he had lived for three summers.  Fortunately his friends there are OK, some frantic calls to them had good news they were safe.  And he was here and safe, bringing my truck back from LA to help me move a bed for a mom and her two daughters, who had previously been homeless, but now called Dustin Arms home.  I had put the call out for a bunk bed, must be metal due to bugs, and no response for weeks, until Sam and Kay came through.  Two long time street ministers of the gospel, they saw one while driving around and got it, a trundle bed, only God would have thought of that, we were thinking bunks due to room size, but it had no mattresses.  They too fly under the radar, and provide clothes and bedding for us at Dustin Arms, along with the time they spend on the street.  Like me, no income, but God provides all they have and need.  We need more Sam and Kays.  But when I called Nick to bring it down, and he was bummed because of no mattresses, I told him we would go to the Salvation Army where I bought two.  And the bed and mattresses were home, their new home, and I was on my way home.

My ER experience was still being ignored by the hospital, and so I went by, wanting to just end it, but walked into the lion’s den much as Daniel had.  A nurse in charge who had been sorta friendly, now turned on me, tried to bully me, and intimidate me with a security guard.  He was trying to bait me, I didn’t go for it somehow.  And when I confronted his lies, he kept shouting “I don’t like the feeling you are giving me.”  Then told me I was no longer welcomed there, I should leave, and I left.  Stunned and amazed a caregiver would treat me like that, and that a professional would lie when we both knew the truth.  But I was still determined to have justice, and the agencies, both state and federal I had contacted began to call back.  It was then I knew that Jesus had been with me that afternoon as he had all week, for his truth, his light was shining through me, and the darkness couldn’t stand it.  That was the feeling he didn’t like.  I didn’t so much feel God’s presence as I knew he was there, as he always is.  Then just as we are getting ready to eat dinner, I get a fact twisted email from the hospital telling me they have investigated the issue, they did no wrong, and this time a verbal bullying, which I read in dismay.  More lies, more bullying, first the physical, this guy was at lest 5 inches taller than me and looked like Sgt. Rock, now in words.  Then a second email arrived, from the chairman of the board of the hospital, she was looking into it.  I felt some relief, then Nick called.  With great news, and the message I needed to hear.  Just in the Nick of time....

It seems the mother had a restraining order against the father of the girls, and he turned to the courts telling them she was living in squalor, and the kids should be removed.  They had been sleeping on the floor or sharing an air mattress, and the social worker had just shown up to investigate the complaint.  What she found was the new bed, see the pictures, and no evidence of neglect.  The worker later told Nick if there had been no bed, she would have been forced to take the kids.  In the Nick of time, God was there, preserving the family, and showing is love.  From Sam and Kay finding the bed and bringing it to my house, supplying the sheets, bedding, and pillows, to Christopher and I delivering it, to Lucious and Kelly taking it upstairs, and  Nick putting it together and dealing with the social worker, God had used us all to be his hands and feet.  And to reap his blessings.  All glory to him, for in the lion’s den, in the fire, and on the street, he never left us nor forsook us.  A testimony I hope you are encouraged by and share with others. 

Psalm 23 tells us that though we walk through the shadow of death, that death cannot touch us.  The evil that is out there cannot stand in the light of Jesus, and when we walk in that light, it must flee.  God has everything in control, if only we can see that in the process rather than when we look back. 

The Lord has called me to be a advocate to those who don’t have anyone, and in the ER situation I had to be my own advocate.  At first I felt alone, and I was wrong, as he was my advocate the whole time, and justice will be done.  Jesus is my defender, and his strength is made perfect in my weakness.  This week we took on the government, ER abuses, and the lies of the world and God has strengthened us because we turned to him and let him.  Even when being physically bullied, I could stand firm, and even when a family was threatened by breakup, God was right there.  With this closing note.

The numbers of those killed by terrorists is staggering.  We focus on them, but neglect to remember the individuals involved.  Those who died, those who were maimed, and those emotionally scarred for life.  Scripture tells us about Jesus returning for the one in 99, and we are that one he returned for.  His love is individual and personal, intimate.  Don’t be wowed by statistics, God isn’t, and the polls don’t effect him either.  He is there for each one of us, no matter the crowd size, the casualty list, or the size of the lion.  Today, Friday, I can look back and know that.  I only wish I had that same confidence on Monday.  For like the old blues songs says, “they call it stormy Monday, Tuesday’s just as bad.”  But for every Good Friday Jesus has promised an Easter morning.  Two little girls and their mom slept good last night as a reminder of how he never forgets.  And how he never is late, but always there in the Nick of time!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

fast aid

Theresa and I were riding Highway 25 on our way to a Hollister Rally when we came upon two bikes off the road.  One was a shiny new a Harley, the other a dented and dirt covered Harley laying on its side in the weeds.  Stopping immediately, the man covered in dirt and clutching his arm to his chest explained he had overshot the corner, slammed on his brakes, in Harley speak his rear only, the rear end came around and he went down.  He was shaken, in shock, we got him calmed and they admitted they had no cell phone service, big surprise for where we were.  So I hopped on my Bonneville and sped off, passing two farmhouses where no one was home, finally finding two men working in a machine shop adjacent to a ranch who had a land line.  They never looked up as I asked to use it and told of a biker down, they kept at their work, almost as a request to use their phone happened all the time.  I was able to contact the sheriff, who dispatched an ambulance, and thanking the men, I took a slower ride back the twelve miles I had gone to find a phone.  Even at a slower pace, I still beat the ambulance coming from King City, and we prayed with the men while we waited.  We had no means to give first aid, but had given fast aid via our motorcycles, with my adrenaline pumping it never felt like the almost 100 miles per hour I had sped looking for a phone, and 25 can be a wicked teacher if you mess up, as the Harley rider found out.  A quick but less stressful ride took us the final miles into Hollister.

But talking with both men while waiting, they both confessed they had only used their rear brakes, Harley guys don’t use the front for fear of doing a stoppie, and had slid sideways, over compensated, and slid off the road.  An accident that didn’t have to happen, his speed may have been too fast, but if he knew how to brake he wouldn’t have crashed and would be riding on two wheels instead of a passenger on a gurney on four.  Throughout the  weekend I saw the same rear braking applied a few times with almost the same results, one time narrowly avoiding hitting a line of parked bikes, the driver laughing at his stunt.  It’s bad enough we have to look out for cars, but not another motorcycle!  Maybe it is true, if you have to ask you wouldn’t understand.  The guy who got the ride in the ambulance knows better, ask him.

When we got home a few days later, the downed rider’s wife had called and thanked us.  He had a separated shoulder-OUCH, lots of bruises and scratches, and his bike was totaled.  He would heal, but probably wouldn’t ride again, and all because of not having braking skills.  We can accelerate fast, corner hard, but how many can brake hard?  When I first learned to ride we played a game of who could stop the fastest, invented by me who had the slowest bike, I got my revenge by braking better, but the lesson learned form that game 46 years ago has saved me a few times.  With only a stoppie or two to show for it.  Maybe a lesson for life as well.

As a Christian living in the world but not of it, too many times I feel I have to keep up.  I like nice things as well as the next guy, but have learned that too many things get in my way of Jesus and me, and I have to put on the brakes.  Sometimes hard.  And with a family, sometimes the extra weight of trying to stop can be overwhelming, and God reminds me of why he is trying to slow me down.  He knows what lies ahead, and although the road looks clear, a bear with her cubs could run across it like a ride in Yosemite once.  Or being chased by an eagle riding through John Day in Oregon, fortunately the FJ1100 could outrun it, but one ride to Hollister, we couldn’t outrun a duck who flew into our path, I ducked, it hit Theresa in the helmet.  We were OK, but the joke that weekend was “I said duck!  And you didn’t!”  You never know...

But God does, and when thinking in the spirit as he does, we can avoid problems and inherit blessings instead.  We get to see ourselves as we really are, how our families are, and how God is at work in the world despite our short sidedness.  We are on our way back to the original relationship with God we once had in the garden, sometimes a stop along the road that is unexpected remind us like it did me.  When we divest ourselves of myths like rear braking only, we can live and ride in truth as opposed to a myth.  Ivan Stewart once told me “it wasn’t the bumps along the way, it was the sudden stops at the end that hurt.”  My Harley ride would agree, as would any of us who has been down.  When we abide in the vine as Jesus tells us, we live in grace as opposed to ending up wrapped in a vine.  When we see how God is working in us, wholeness, healing, and love will abide in us.  When the spirit is at work, when we participate with him, we can pick our lines better, ride safer, and enjoy the ride more. 

That morning I supplied fast aid, after first aid.  Prayer is like that, HELP! can be the best and quickest prayer we need in the situation, the longer, drawn out response in praise later.  What we didn’t know, the downed rider’s wife told us later.  The two men were Christians and prayed for help.  We showed up. We didn’t panic, and the Bonneville earned its name in speed and grace.  God always answers the same way, but at his speed and in his grace.  Fast aid, there before you ask or even know you need him.  Something to remember every ride we take.  Never ride faster than your brakes can stop you or your angel can fly.  Whether fast or first, keep Jesus first and he will do the rest.  Which brings up the question, has anyone ever seen a Harley do a stoppie?  Send picture if you have one.  If you have to ask, I’ll understand.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

time to hit the rails, there's a train a comin'

My parents never seemed to be rich to me, as a school teacher and my mother staying at home, we very rarely if ever ate out.  It seemed that whenever we did, it was visiting my Grandparents, which meant eating at Keenan’s in Bangor, which said Iris Lunch on the outside.  It took me well into my teen years to figure out Phil Keenan owned the place, and the reason we ate there was because my Grandma and him were friends back in high school.  So many a Friday night was spent at Keenan’s, where the two would talk old times, they were maybe in their late forties at the time, and it meant an extra bowl of ice cream for me.  But the real treat for me was my Grandpa taking me next door to the roundhouse, where the trains were stationed.  In the pre-Chinese clothing manufacturing days, the area was covered with small mills that made everything we wore, plus towels, sheets and blankets.  But the real reason was the coal region they lived in, and coal was big back then, and hand in hand with my Grandpa, we would be allowed into the roundhouse, where the big engines seemed bigger than life.  A brakeman would wave us up into a caboose, we looked into boxcars, knocked on the side of tank cars, and climbed up without trying to get too dirty looking into the coal cars.  It was just like our train set in his basement, and many times I would compare what Lionel had made against the real thing.  Seeing the real thing made the train set layout come to life, the names on the box cars seem real, and add in the diesel smell, the coal burning, and all the other roundhouse smells, it was an hour on Friday nights well spent.  Grandma had her old stories, Grandpa and I were making ours.

Bangor Park used to have a train, a long train around the public park, and many a summer evening was spent riding on it.  A scaled down version of the real thing, I always sat in the last seat in the last car, at 10 cents a ride, I know many dollars were spent on me, and even though he was too big, sometimes my Grandpa would join in, then I knew it was time to go home where the train set in the basement waited.  We were always the last ones to bed, being quiet not wake anyone, a special time for both of us....

So when Christopher, my older son turned three, on his first trip back east, his Great Grandpa took him on his first train ride.  Squeezed together in the last seat in the last car, saved just for him, another generation of Mohns was riding the rails, and home to a special HO set made just for him in the basement.  Our old Lionels had long gone into storage, I still have some in my attic, but this set was their set, just like ours had been ours.  Today Phil Keenan is long gone as are my Grandparents, she and Phil were the last ones in their class circa 1920, almost 100 years ago.  The trains pulled out long ago before that, the Park is not what it used to be, the train gone, but the tracks still there, and Iris Lunch, well five years ago the building was still there but empty.  I never knew Friday nights and trains would still be precious memories some 50 plus years later, as a new Grandfather I only hope to do as well, just gotta find me some trains, I know where the motorcycles are....

It wasn’t until I came to Jesus that I understood how special relationships were.  And are.  We all take things for granted, I did, and so many good times growing up were normal to me.  I thought all kids rode trains, all kids had cool Grandpas, and all ate at Keenan’s where your Grandma knew the owner.  It was the joy of the Lord that brought it all home to me, how special those times were, and how special times spent with him are.  Many times we seek happiness outside of Christ, and find it to be cheap thrills just for a moment, and the moment passes.  Too many times our selfishness overwhelms others, “why don’t they like what I do?  What’s their problem?”  Joy is confused for happiness, based on the emotion of the moment, and soon, like the Bangor Park train ride, it is over, the park closed and dark, the train empty, and so are we.  My first description of joy was “joy is not the absence of suffering, but the presence of God.”  And it seemed the harsher the suffering, when I looked to him, the greater the joy.  It was personal, not taught, and as I began to see things through God’s eyes, his spirit dwelt in me, and I saw things his way.  I let his joy in, and began to heal the wounded areas, so much I wanted to see him heal others’ wounds too.  So much that when I was not in his will, I felt lonely and alone, like I was missing someone, and I was.  But I had turned from him, he never turns on or from us.  Looking back a simple meal out with my family, an hour at the trains, a few train rides, and hours spent in the basement were all supplied by God, for all of us.  A time to relax and enjoy being together, not all holy and churchlike, but where we could relax and enjoy each other.  Just like God wants us to be with him, ourselves, and to share that joy with others. 

Life has taught me we will have many tough times, but his joy is always there, and if you think being a Christian is tough, face eternity without Jesus, now that’s tough!  And stupid, because you don’t have to, and his joy is available right now, no matter where you are or what you have done.  His forgiveness allows us to love him, to love others, to bring joy with us, and when walking with him, you just have to share him.  Don’t worry about the words, he’ll supply them, just as he supplies the joy of the Lord, and the strength we find in it.  When we start to put others first, when we care more about them, when we mourn with them and then rejoice, we see a side of joy that without Jesus you cannot have.  Sometimes I only want to look back, Jesus gives me the hope to look ahead.

Today may be the time to hit the rails you have been dreaming of, to experience Jesus and all the joy of him first hand.  He just isn’t in church on Sunday, but available walking, riding, running, or sitting.  His joy knows no bounds.  Climb up in the caboose and sit a while, look at all the power the locomotives have, consider how much the rail cars hold, and see how it all compares to his love for us.  “All Aboard!”  And like the old Negro spiritual says “there’s a train a comin, you don’t need no baggage, you just get on board!”  Jesus and trains, no wonder they both seem so much to me....

love with compassion,

Mike

mattehw25biker.blogspot.com

 

bedside manners are no substitute for the right diagnosis

I was reminded yesterday that not only doctors, but hospital personnel practice medicine.  And some need more practice than others.  I was out riding, it was a beautiful, cool morning, when I got stung, again, for the third time in four weeks, and about the 20th time in five years.  No one can explain to me why, but bees love to sting me, the last two in the face, this on the back of my neck.  So off to Palomar I go, reluctantly, because I know of the questionable care they give, we usually drive 20 minutes to another hospital if needed, but I was very close, so in I went.  Now I am allergic to bee stings, and have almost died from them before, one visit spending time in the ER cardiac ICU, not my favorite place.  So in I go....and I wish I hadn’t.

It was slow, only one person in front of me, I went directly to a male nurse, told him my condition, and he waved me through to the receptionist.  Who signed me up, then told me to have a seat.  He obviously didn’t think I was serious, he explained the chest pains of true anaphalaxia, and so I sat.  No blood pressure, no vitals taken, I sat.  After 20 minutes I finally went to him, my hands were starting to itch, I also told him I had a plastic aorta and look at my history, he went to get someone in triage, after checking my lungs.  Who five minutes later took me in.  Neither one looked at the sting, or looked to see if the stinger was still in.  By now over 30 minutes had passed since I was stung, no treatment offered or rendered.  I asked multiple times for a Benadryl, he finally went to see if he could fine one, returning almost 10 minutes later, unable to locate one.  BP was 133/87, high for me, nothing mentioned, or treated still.  He kept looking at my arms, they are bruised, I bruise easily from a puppy playing and from a hail storm I was in in June,which left my left arm black and blue.  Add the scars from pre-cancerous skin tags being removed, my arms looked like a junkie. And then it dawned on me, they were blowing me off, as a junkie, and had no intention of dealing with me.  I was never offered to see a doctor, nor did I ever see one!  But when I left he insisted I sign a sheet saying I left on my own, which I read later,it stated, they offered to have a physician see me.  No they didn’t!  I wasn’t even triaged properly!  From the meds I am on, I can get sleepy, I told him to check the records, and I needed to eat, or I get faint.  No treatment, no food offered, I told him I was going home and getting a Benadryl, eat, and if the problem got worse, I will call 911 as I had before, they take things more seriously.  Last time I had an IV and meds from them before I reached the hospital, all of three miles away!  After the Benadryl and meal, I laid down, my neck hurt from the sting, it had swelled, my eyes were glassy, so I slept.  I did what they should have done, and they are supposed to be trained.  What if like one time my tongue swelled and couldn’t swallow?  Or breathe?  Or if my eyes swelled shut again while riding home?  The only thing I was offered was to stay a half hour to see if it changed, no way, and by the way, per doctor’s orders I am to stay out of hospitals because I am ripe for infection.  Both nurses never listened....Never go to the hospital alone!  Take an advocate if you can, and avoid Palomar!

We need an advocate for our sin, and God sent his only son Jesus to make the way.  While many are looking for God or the way, Jesus is the way, and his spirit understands exactly what it takes to see you saved.  He is personal, comforting, and a friend, shows you the way, and leaves the decision up to you.  He stands in for you, and pleads your case, for when judgment day comes, we will need that advocate, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.  But on that day, Jesus will stand in for us, for we belong to him, and we will hear “enter in my good and faithful servant,” all others go to hell.  They neglected to take the advice of the spirit, rejected Jesus, and stand alone, and will be forever alone in torment.  Sadly knowing why without an explanation, their knew bowed confessing Jesus as Lord, but having none of the benefits.  They rejected him on earth, he will not represent them in heaven, they will never get there.  And it doesn’t have to be that way.

When leaving the hospital I complained and a Lead Nurse talked with me, admitting they had screwed up, their fault,and offered assistance.  His bedside manners were caring, but a poor substitute for the right diagnosis.  So often well meaning people come in after someone else has created a problem, he and I should never had to meet under the circumstances, if only they had done their job.  After a rough night of sleep, the side effects are different each time, I still hurt today, but am alive and doing well enough to ride and be stung again.  Why, I don’t know, but I know that although doctors practice medicine, I have an advocate who knows what is best for me and cares.  From the start, who listens and diagnoses the problem, not just treating the symptoms.  Not all who practice medicine lack, sadly I met two at once, I hope you never have to.  But God got me through, sometimes it is better to go the extra mile to Pomerado than to go to Palomar.  Jesus goes the extra mile for us, and he is a place of healing.  I only wish Palomar was.....

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

 

what it takes to belong

“For the LOVE of money is the root of all evil,” scripture tells us, not just money as it is usually misquoted.  God does not hate the rich and love the poor more, as some think, but it seems even in some churches and denominations money makes the world go round.   When God was moving my heart to full time ministry, I was told by some experienced men I needed to establish a donor base, I had given to many before, so it seemed like a good idea.  At least to me, but no one wanted to contribute, so I wondered if God really wanted me to minister.  Was that the proof I needed, no one wanted to support me?  And one afternoon on my front porch, I was seeking an answer, and God answered.  I had prayed “I like to work, I had a good work ethic, had a good record, and felt the desire to serve, but without an income, how would I get by?  I had a mortgage, a family, and bills.”  And I can still hear the answer he gave me, “I will provide manna for your mortgage, in your refrigerator, and for your garage.  If you have to ask it is not a gift, and I like to give good gifts.”  And so he has, and so we have never solicited any money, nor will we, as God provides, my Jehovah Jireh, my provider.  Which has upset a few church men....

One man who has a national radio program advised me that without a donor base, I will fail.  When I told him how God had answered, he looked at me like I was crazy, and couldn’t wait to get away, I wouldn’t back down, and he finally cut me off.  One other man who does professional fund raising for churches, had his booth set up to sell his gift of fundraising to those who needed it.  Again I shared my story, and was blown off, it seems I was cutting into his income, obviously the manna from  heaven was different than the man who was selling it.  One more experience had me wondering, when I was part of a national ministry, and they told me I had to tithe to them.  Or I couldn’t play their game, and then later denied it when I called them on it.  It was in their handbook, was I the only one who had read it?  Does it take money to belong to the elite in God’s kingdom?  Or had I confused his kingdom for the kingdom of man, on earth known as the church?  Or had they...

Until a story got back to me this week, how a man wanting to fill a position in a church as worship leader was told he “didn’t tithe enough to earn the position.”  It seemed money again reared its ugly head, the sad thing being at all three churches, they teach the Bible verse by verse, they are known as Bible teaching churches, yet each one depended more on the income from man instead of the outcome from God.  The spirit was not in them, I wonder if it ever had, and questioned God to make sure I was in the spirit.  His answer was simple, “these things shall follow those that believe,”  and I could look anyone in the eye and no owe them anything but love.  No one had a stake in my ministry and any success except God himself.  I had built my house of ministry upon the rock of Jesus, and it withstood.  While these men and their types were out begging for money, I was out spreading the gospel, with God providing every need.  He did then, he does now, and he will continue if I seek him, so I do.  With the blessings of seeing how the Lord uses our little to do much, and we get to see him at work, instead of doing it by ourselves.  Sadly the pastor of one of the above churches when asked how their year was, he readily admitted “we have met all our financial obligations.”  To quote a line from Seamus in True Confessions, he tells the Cardinal, “I thought we were supposed to be in the business of saving souls?”  To which he is answered, “don’t tell me my job.”  The same answer we give to God many times...

Last year when a friend was in he hospital, I encountered his wife and two of her friends.  Her friends had just spent a weekend at a conference on heaven, taught by the radio personality who had never been there.  They knew my story, and all but called me a liar, because this man told them anyone who has seen heaven is a liar, for no one has ever seen it.  Paul records seeing it, and he denies it?  I have seen it, I know of others, and it is up to God, not man to make the rules, his first rule being love.  At least they didn’t ask for me to contribute...

So beware of pay to play Christians, who maybe really aren’t.  God says seek him first, then all things will be added unto him. Today he still loves to give good gifts, as a couple dropped by a truckload of clothes and a bed that is needed.  We have a pastor who gives us free food we distribute each week.  Where others see money, we see needs, and see Jesus meeting them one on one.  Either Jesus is the way or he isn’t, so beware of men and teachings that twist scripture for their benefit.  No one robs God and gets away with it, yet they are offered the same forgiveness as we all are.  Maybe a quick question will remind you of how temporary money is, but grace is eternal.  John D. Rockefeller was once the richest man in the world, with inestimatable wealth.  How much did he leave when he died?  Everything!  So why hang onto something that will flow through your fingers, and have no value in heaven?  You cannot take it with you, but you can send it ahead.  Love that is, the gift that keeps on giving.  God loves a cheerful giver, if interested ask him how he feels about a bitter tither.  And if you have to ask, it isn’t a gift, and he still loves to give good gifts. And yes he is still in the business of saving souls!

Psalm 37:25  I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread. Amen to that.

love with compassion,

Mike 

matthew25biker.blogspot.com