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