touring by motorcycle, but not tourists

While a Service Manager at the Mercedes Benz dealer in La Jolla, we had mostly a local clientele, as La Jolla was isolated. One customer, an elderly woman, called one day, telling me of a trip north she was planning, and could I check out her car for the trip. When she stopped by the next day, we got talking of her trip. Up north, was it San Francisco? The Napa Valley? Maybe Oregon or Seattle? "No," she told me, she was going to Del Mar. Eight miles away! To her, up north, for she rarely ventured from the village. I imagine down south meant San Diego!

Day two with Mary FNY was our planned trip to Montauk Point, as far east as you can go on Long Island. And although Mary had lived there her whole life, she had never ventured farther than Sag Harbor and the Hamptons. So we started our ride, with the backup plan of visiting her cousin who lives in Sag Harbor. Now the ride is mostly four laner, until you get to the outskirts of the Hamptons, then turns into two lane local roads. And I am still amazed at how one stop sign can cause such a traffic jam. So we decided to stop at a deli for something to drink, and a pit stop. The smells from this pizza/deli were contagious, so I advised Theresa and Mary to check it out. Theresa came back, then followed by Mary, with the owner. Who rides, a Harley, and turned us on to some great back roads, to see the real beauty, and miss all the traffic. And so we came into Sag Harbor not as a tourist would, but as the locals do. Breathtaking beauty, lots of green, farms, polo grounds, and things we would have missed on the highway. While stuck in traffic.

While cruising the village, which has people who note an empty parking space, and guide you to it, we stopped in an antique shop, and looked over the local goodies. The woman there was very friendly, and when we told her that we might be staying in Sag, encouraged us to go to the Point. Which was only 20 miles away, and without her encouragement, we would have missed. Again on back roads out of town, and going through the Hamptons and the other small villages along the way. And the point was breathtaking. Blue sky and ocean all around, and the lighthouse. With no people! Surely God had blessed us by encouraging us to go-and taking the roads we did! Then lunch at a clam bar on the way back, and somehow life just doesn't get any better. All because God sent two people to direct and encourage us!

Same destination, different trip. Just like being a Christian and knowing home is heaven. But without the rules and legalism that religion puts on us. Being led by the spirit, trying new things when guided by Him, and allowing God to be our guide-Lord is what we call Him, so why don't we let Him lead?

Why are so many Christians like the woman in La Jolla, and never venture out and into the beauty God provides? Maybe our lack of trust of God, when combined with leaning on our own understanding curtails God's will for us, and robs us of blessings. When just a simple step of faith, or ride of one, takes us into places with Him, and we are able to have a relationship with Him, based on trust and love-His! Not our own understanding. A peace with a security that surpasses any understanding. But you must let Him!

Jay Gatz, aka the Great Gatsby, once noted the rich are different than us. There is truth in that. But even truer is the richness only found in Jesus Christ. A richness not based on net worth or power, not based on social position or fame, but based on the spirit. Not by might, not by power, but by my spirit, says the Lord of hosts.

What does your Lord say? Not sure? Check out the road you are on. Laws, rules, and a performance based atmosphere? Try Jesus. And find true freedom in the Holy Spirit. Roads you would have missed, meals you would have forsaken, and traffic you would have avoided. Just because you would not have let the God you call Lord, guide you. A road not found on any map, but readily available to you when living in the spirit.

On a road to Montauk. Get the point?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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the neighbors are talking in my sleep

Succumbing to too much lobster, along with too much fun, and Mary FNY's great hospitality, we fell asleep early at Mary FNY's the first night. And after travelling through the midwest and south in the midst of a heat wave, here by the beach we were able to sleep with window open, aided only by the ceiling fan, and our covers pulled up. AAAAH! And I had slept very soundly all night when I was awakened by voices. Now at home this would mean the dog was out at 3am, and Theresa was threatening her to come in. Or Andrew had fallen asleep with the TV on, or the party house was partying. But here the voices I heard sounded like they were coming from the next room. And they were. The next room in this case the house next door, about 10' away. So I rolled over while the neighbors had breakfast, and as they continued to talk in my sleep, safe in the knowledge that I could hear everything they were saying-wait a minute? That means they could also hear everything we were saying too! But what is said in the neighborhood stays in the neighborhood, long before Las Vegas made it a tag line, and no home owner association could ever enforce this common sense, neighborly relationship. And as this was probably a seasonal event, as winter would keep the windows closed, and only the silence because of the absence of AC in the background made the voices more pronounced. Good thing I didn't smell bacon, or I would have been right over.

And I wondered, when we met the neighbors, how much had Mary told them, or had they overheard from conversations? Big brother may be watching, the neighbors are always listening.

Now this being the Thursday before the 4th of July, in California the place would be overwhelmed. Three day weekends here start on Wednesday, and end the next Tuesday. Figuring travel and prep time for whatever you are going to do takes a full week. But it was very quiet, no extra traffic yet, and since we had last eaten before going to bed, off we went to eat breakfast at the Beach Diner. I can still taste the pork roll-fortunately not from indigestion. And then on to the Hamptons and Montauk Point-120 miles away. A great day was ahead of us.

Most of us don't talk in our sleep-fortunately. But we make up for it while awake. And being of the persuasion of sometimes only opening my mouth to change feet, I had felt like I was invading on someone's privacy while listening to the neighbors talking in my sleep. But I wasn't snooping, but still couldn't not listen. I think Elijah, when in the cave would be able to associate with this. While looking for God in the wind, and thunder-he was quite the drama king, God spoke in a still, small voice, so that Elijah could still hear Him despite the noise. A voice Elijah knew, a tender voice, familiar. The way the Holy Spirit still talks to us today. And like a shepherd talks to his sheep. Even though they are in pens with others, they know the shepherd's voice, and only his sheep will come when called. And for those of us who responded when the Spirit called us, we know that voice. It is sweet unto our ears, calming and providing security in times of need.

Yet we discount the fact that we can control our tongue, but not our ears. God doesn't waste words on us, but we do on others. Allowing us to fall away from Him, a wall built up between us of sin. But He hasn't left the relationship, we have, and He is there to welcome us back-open arms, not closed fists. To forgive and forget, and to carry on with us. Safe in the fact that He is there with us, and nothing can separate us from His love.

And that is why I fell back to sleep that morning. It was nice to hear signs of life, even that early, but the peace that God gives surpasses anything else-including trying to understand it. And a quick lesson to remember-you never know who is listening-but God always is.

And He loves us anyway! Need a miracle-here is a good one to start your day with. Despite what He knows about us, Jesus loves me! His window is always open for me to call on Him, and for Him to answer back. So next time you wonder is someone listening, don't look around, look up. Right into the face of a loving Father. He not only hears, but listens. And is always listening to us, and for us.

A lesson learned at Mary FNY's house. While asleep/awake with the windows open. Good things the blinds were closed!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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life's a jolly holiday with Mary-part one

After riding over 4200 miles to my parents house in New Jersey, you would think that the 56 mile ride to our friend Mary FNY (from New York) out on Long Island would be no big deal. And you would be wrong. After riding at speeds up to 95mph, for hours, and temperatures over 100 degrees, 400 miles of rain and lightning, and time zone sleep depravity, I feared this last leg of the trip. But we did it, and we're glad we did. Even got the t-shirt to prove it.

I promise you this ride will never show up on any list of favorite roads. Within this 56 miles you get to go through Rahway, past the prison, take US 1 through Linden past the empty GM plant, and all the other empty businesses that closed when it did, street signs that say exit left lane, then at the last moment appear on the right, and within this mileage cover three islands, three bridges, $10 in tolls-the Verrazano alone was $13 for cars, and a route that is perpetually under construction. Consider the view of the Bayway Refineries a free bonus, shed the paranoia about the drivers being out to get you and your motorcycle-they're out to get everyone, and that combined with potholes that eat Toyotas and you get why I was looking for any excuse to go back to Jersey. I was even told once that if you break down there, don't call a tow truck, call your insurance agent. And report it stolen, for it won't be there when you get back. And people complain about LA freeways? But we soldiered on, the Lord giving us three days of weather in the 80's, cloudless skies, low traffic-it was a weekday, and getting to visit and ride with Mary.

Which we almost bailed on. When I called her to find a place to meet, she didn't know. And had to call me back. I figured OK, she only lived there for 30 years....but somehow we made it to the White Castle she decided on, and the two hours and 56 miles of hell was over.

Mary lives in Long Beach, NY. A seaside community of quaint old neighborhoods, quite isolated from NYC, except for the occasional jet flying over enroute to JFK. Almost close enough to recognize passengers on board. But somehow very quiet otherwise. Tiny streets, built in the twenties, many one way now, and once off the main streets, very little or no traffic. And as she says, is seven minutes from the beach-walking, may take 30 minutes if you drive, and worth the trip, I decided, to get there. But we were there, in one piece, and Mary, the perfect hostess was glad to see us. She doesn't get many visitors from the outside-the trip may explain why. For once there, were dreading the ride back.

A much different land was found by us. Secluded on the island, because of how you get there, many people never leave the area. They think it is the same everywhere, so why go anywhere else. And they are wrong, and right. For this area has some of the best varieties of food to offer within a small area anywhere in the US of A. From lobster bars to Nathan's to Marvel's for ice cream, no wonder all they do is eat. So for three days, we ate like the locals. But we still need an interpreter to understand what they are saying. Thankfully we had Mary.

Dinner the first night was at the Jordan Lobster Farm. Which seats 200-outside. You go up to the window and order the lobster by weight-up to five pounds, and within a few minutes pick it up at the next window. Mary and I shared two 1 1/2 pound lobsters for $44, compare that to the $35 meal of a 6 oz. tail anywhere else. By the way Mary, Happy Birthday, how was the 5 pounder for your birthday dinner? Anyway, you eat the whole lobster, except for the green stuff inside, and it was great, along with the fries, coleslaw, and corn on the cob. We even took a walk through the back, where they keep the lobsters alive in tanks, marked by 1/2 pound increments. Which is where we met Lobsterzilla-the 16 pound lobster-see picture. We'll call it a draw between the lobster and the guy with the tattoos-seems they were evenly matched. And watched as they let huge crabs out for us to see. Only New York-but not NYC! So after this filling meal, we went to Marvel's, remember all they do is eat, for strawberry soft serve-YUM! And then back to Mary's. To plan our trip out to Montauk Point via the Hamptons the next day. A full day, that within 12 hours we had both endured the ride, and the meal-successfully, and were ready for more. The key ingredient, Mary FNY and her hospitality.

Truly we were strangers in a strange land. And having a friend there made all the difference. Jesus in Matthew 25 talks to the church, and asks them where were they when He was hungry, thirsty, naked, and sick or in prison-true ministry is done to all these least ones. But He also says we were once strangers, and He took us in, setting an example for us. Maybe as simple as hospitality, opening your house for friends or a Bible study, or maybe as much as taking someone in who is having a hard time. Baking cookies for these, and seeing they are welcomed, and setting an example for them to show others. We felt as strangers in New York-and dreaded the ride there. But when Mary opened up her home, and heart to us, we saw the gospel in action. Actions that no preaching or scriptures could have expressed the love of Jesus better. We walk by faith, but it is the actions based on faith in Christ that are the most effective witness. And so by her kindness, we saw the gospel in action.

We were all strangers once, some stranger than others. But Jesus loved us all equally, and still does. We spent a lot of time praying on the ride, and a lot of time thanking Him once we arrived. The road was rough, but we were on the right one. If your road is rough, maybe you are too. It brought us closer to God, as we really needed Him. If you are going it alone, stop and reconsider what is at the end. For us who ride the trip is many times the destination, but we all will have a final destination. Your choice is which one-heaven or hell? God has laid out a road and a trip before you today, maybe even with a Mary included. Take it. The one with Jesus. And like the poet said, taking the road less taken has made all the difference. Even if it is called the Belt Parkway!

Life was a jolly holiday with Mary-let eternity be a holiday with Jesus.

love with compassion,

Mike FC (from California)

matthew25biker.blogpsot.com

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fixing problems-Jersey style

Jason and Ryan, from the Triumph store in Metuchen, NJ were cool and took the Tiger in late in the day without an appointment for an oil change. While the bike was being serviced, two women came to pick up the one woman's Honda. She was very loud, an obvious drama princess, not quite a queen, more of a dictator, and while waiting for her bike told me how her and her friend were riding to Niagara Falls that weekend, and then we got on the subject of riding in West Virginia. The three of us sharing road stories, and becoming friends. Then Ryan wheeled up her bike and her whole attitude changed.

"I tol him da lights were wacky, stupid, he dint fix nuttin. Idiot." And then proceeded to call him a list of unprintable names, insulting his heritage and accusing him of physically impossible acts. Then when Ryan walked into the room, she jumped him, thankfully only verbally. "I knew ya was lazy. You dint fix the wacky lights." To which Ryan replied, "we checked them out, and they work." She replied, "they're bent." Wacky obviously meaning something other than what Ryan thought. She had obviously hit something and damaged them, equating her riding skills with those of her lack of social graces. So Ryan took the bike around, as she continued to berate him to anyone who would listen, sadly I was her audience. And I wondered, if he was so bad, why did she bring her bike there? And better yet, why did he take it in?

To calm her, I told her they would bend them back, and they would be fine. And that wacky obviously meant something different to him than her. And me-she was wacky. So as we watched, just as I told her, some big guy bent them back, and then she rode off-I can't say happily, and I don't think thanks was part of her vocabulary, but at least she was gone, probably in search of her next victim, to deal with another wacky problem. And I wondered if I should call ahead and issue a warning to the Falls of her planned ride, but then I was reminded of three things about the Garden State.

One-Archie Bunker once remarked to Meathead, "no one wants to live in Jersey, but someone has to." So she did.

Two-on all toll bridges and tunnels leaving Jersey, you pay leaving the state. No one pays a toll to get into Jersey. They are only set up to pay to leave. A comment I was told by a Port Authority worker. He thought it was funny.

Three-a repairman told Theresa while we were there, after being yelled at, and her explaining she wasn't used to such rudeness. "I'm from here, I'm used to people being rude all the time." Why be nice when a good insult will do just as well?

So I guess all was OK in Jersey that afternoon, and being a stranger in this strange land, I was the one out of step with local customs. Maybe I was wacky. But I also know Ryan could have avoided the whole issue if he had asked questions about what wacky meant. Or at least identifying her as wacky. While at Mercedes Benz, we took the attitude that many times the customer needed fixing, the car was doing what it was trained to do. For instance, a conversation I had many times, mostly with women, who were more attuned to their cars than the men.

Woman-"My car makes a loud buzzing noise all the time.'

Mike-"Will it do it right now?"

W-"no."

M-Well than it doesn't do it all the time. Do you notice it more when just starting, or after driving?"

W-"Just starting. Then it goes away."

And I would be able to explain it was an air pump, part of the emissions, perfectly normal, and some were louder than others. Not a problem. A customer fixed, they always thought I was so smart-an illusion, and they loved their car again. Just because I asked questions.

There are three key ways to effectively minister-which you cannot do outside of the spirit's guidance. Most important to note that first.

One-identify the problem. They may not be mad at you, you are just the audience. Sometimes they will tell you, sometimes you have to listen, and sometimes you have to ask. But first-deal with the problem, and not the symptom. And without knowing the problem you can't help.

Two-How can I help? Again, they may or may not tell you, so be aware, and don't be afraid to ask "how can I help?" Still listening. Still praying.

Three-where are they with Jesus. Once you find out, then you can address the problem. You can't address a spiritual problem by erasing a symptom. It won't work. Band aids hide the wound, but the scars remain. Let God guide you, give Godly advice-NO preaching, and ask to pray. Be courteous. Godly advice only works if taken, and works more often when given in love. Then follow up-give of yourself, just as Jesus did to us. Greater love has no man than to lay down his life for a friend. Even when it means going out of your way. That's love. Even in New Jersey.

I hope this woman made it to Niagara Falls, and they both survived her visit. Fixing bikes should be left to a pro-even wacky lights can be repaired as she found out when the real problem was identified. But things of the spirit should be left to the one who created, knows, and loves you the most. Seek Jesus today for even the smallest thing. Make the three ministry guides part of your lifestyle, and watch as you too fix people, but only with God's help of course.

I hear it even works in Jersey. Bet yas dint know dat?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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plains, canyons, rivers, and peaks

US 6 in the Keystone State proved to me once again that you can turn a boring 280 mile freeway ride into an almost 500 mile trip of joy when on a motorcycle. And be glad that you did. For where the Interstate Highway System smoothes out hills, and eliminates curves, Route 6 follows the contour of the countryside, which means bridges over rivers, many altitude changes, and enough curves to keep any sport bike rider happy. Add to that very little traffic, at least during the week, picturesque small towns, old diners, and you can take your time, and miss the stress of the freeways. And see some beautiful countryside along the way.

Pulling into Wellsboro, Pennsylvania, we were enamored by the charm of the town. Even an old train car, which is now the Wellsboro Diner, made us hungry-we were already thirsty. But the full seats viewed through the windows made us ride on, the road called. Until we noticed a huge mural painted on a building across the street. "PA. Grand Canyon-10 miles west." Here was something I had never heard of, and so with Theresa's fascination with Grand Canyon, we were off.

PA.'s Grand Canyon is really Leonard Harrison State Park, built back in the thirties by the CCC over an eight year period. And the ten mile ride to get there takes you through Wellsboro, and a view of the 150 year old houses with their immaculate grounds, through farm land, then finally into the forest and state park. Where two things greet bikers-one parking for motorcycles only, and second-no entry fees. Had time stopped for me, or had I gone back almost 70 years? Clean, immaculate, and with many trails to hike-some other time, the views are awesome. The air so clean, as it is at 1833 feet, one of the highest points in the state. And with a gift store-we collect magnets, and one worker telling us about a short cut going west, this short excursion made the day that much brighter. By going just 10 miles out of our way, which when riding means along the way. For oft times it is the things we experience along the way that are more pleasing than the destination. Something any traveler, or biker can tell you, it is that the ride is really the destination. A good Samaritan in the form of a sign, reminding us not to be in such a rush. And just another reason that Pennsylvania is one of my favorite states to ride in.

By contrast, there are places you wish to get through as fast as possible. One is western Kansas, out on the plains. Pretty country, but nothing out there, except for the small towns with only a store to show at the intersection of two highways. And one stop stands out, as along US 54 there is not much more than cows and country. The only building in the area was an old gas station, turned into a restaurant, C-store, and info center, so popular along these roads. The only person there was a woman, who I can't get out of my mind. A shut in of sorts, as the only company she has is the occasional traveler, and not many of them. Her travel history based on stories of those passing through. And I think of all the beauty, and places, and people to see, and I felt bad for her stuck there. A choice she may not have made if she knew the consequences when she made it. And her whole outside world based on what she sees on TV, never knowing more than what the program had to offer.

And I contrasted that with both Grand Canyons, destinations for a vacation or a ride. And thought of how no one goes to see her as a destination. She is just a non-descript stop on the way to somewhere. A forgotten place, with a forgotten woman. And I still thank God for how He has blessed me in my travels. But still can't get her out of my mind.

Life without Jesus Christ can be like this stop along the road. A non-descript location, with no hope, and not realizing there is a way out. Life without existence, or is it the other way around? Being trapped into a mindset that it is the same everywhere, so why leave. Why trust God, all churches are the same. All people are hypocrites. I'll just stay here, miserable until I die. God doesn't care, and all religion is worthless. Sad. Definitely not life as I would want it, or as God has planned for us.

His plans include a hope and a future, plans that go beyond anything asked for or even imagined. Plans that only with Him you can accomplish, and places and people to go and meet that He has already arranged for you. Just to bless you. For instance, it reminds me of stopping for a root beer on a 100 degree day in Hunterdon county, NJ. On old 22, the Stewart's stand there long before I was, and sitting along with Theresa drinking cold root beer. When a man sees the bike, and wanders over to talk. And how his face lights up when we tell him how we travelled through the south, and how he beams when we mention Wytheville, pronouncing it correctly-Withville, and how it made his day as he grew up there. And how he would love to move to Savannah. And how God allowed this meeting, just to bless us all. No sermons, no scripture, just a loving God who wants to see His children blessed. And we thank Him. This man once just a stranger, now a friend, and we never did exchange names.

Your life will take you many places. Only in God will you see the peaks and valleys-both great places to visit. But you can also get to see life without Him, alone, deserted by a life choice you make. So the choice is up to you. So many roads, so little time, but such a great and awesome God. May all your canyons be grand, may there be ample places to park your bike, and may the root beer be cold and refreshing. Just like a relationship with God.

Is it any wonder that Jesus spent most of His time on the road? And that He sent his disciples out on them? Maybe, just maybe, there is something to life on the road. I am assured there is with Jesus. I only hope that the woman in Kansas finds out someday soon. Don't wait. Don't you fall into the same trap. Make the choice to travel with Jesus today.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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the red Chevelle

Our 4th of July again this year was spent in Quakertown, Pennsylvania at their annual Family Celebration Day. From early pancake breakfasts, to the late fireworks after dark, the day is filled with Volunteer Fire Department competitions, ball games, band concerts, lots of local food, and a great car show-limited to 450 cars! So after making our first trip through the cars, the smell of roasted peppers and onions and Italian sausage finally got to Theresa, so we had our first meal. Later that afternoon when I got a sno-cone, the man suggested I get a red one to match my red shirt, and compliment the other food colors on it! But for now, sitting in the picnic pavilions at picnic tables, we were joined by an older lady who was a local. And while talking with her, another younger man joined us, somehow balancing pizza, fries, a hamburger, and a Coke. And you could tell there was something physically different about him, and when his wife joined him, she introduced Tony to us. And how he had had a brain tumor. And how they come out every year to enter their car in the car show, a 1969 Chevy Chevelle, a modified dragster.

"Did you see it?" Tony asked. "Yes," I lied, and he went on telling me all about it, and how he won best Modified Muscle Car in 2009. This car had consumed seven years of his life in building it. Precious times, maybe not then, but looking back now they were. And after visiting, we assured him we would find him and the car again.

By this time dozens more cars had arrived, but we had no trouble finding Tony's red Chevelle. It was just like he described it. And we found him sitting in the shade behind it. As we looked through his photo album of the restoration, and he told us of how he had raced it in the 10's, we were somehow taken by this car and this man. A car that wouldn't normally appeal to me, now somehow was interesting. It was Tony's car-and now it was personal. And somehow this car was a source of comfort to them, a place to remember better times, before cancer had robbed them of life, and a lifestyle. And they reminded me of why I go to old car shows, for as much as I like the cars, it is really the people that bring them alive.

And as I look back at how many travelling veteran's walls I have looked at over the years, my heart remembers. How I would stand and gaze at the endless stream of names, looking for one I might recognize, but thankful there were none I did. Until two years ago, when Capt. Joshua Meadows name appeared. A BMW rider, and friend of Theresa and Kelly, as I touched his name, now it was personal. And I thought of his wife Angela, carrying their daughter, Olivia, who he would never know, and a daddy she would only know in pictures. And the horror she must have felt when she saw the two men from the War Dept. coming up her walk-she knew why they had come. So now I listen more to men who share stories of fallen comrades at the wall. When a Korean or WWII vet tells the stories, I listen. For now, they are more personal, too.

Travelling in the south on a Sunday morning, you see many small churches with a handful of cars in front. Many denominations, and even branches within them. My favorites, the Burned Out Missionary Baptist Church in Mississippi, and the Regular Baptist Church in North Carolina-that name really scares me. And as I think of how denominations and doctrines separate us from each other, I am thankful that Jesus Christ is in my life. He made it all personal, and rescued me from the depths of religion. So when someone asks me what I do for a living, I say "I'm a Christian," for I have life in Jesus. And I hope my actions say more about Him in my life than words.

Cars and walls, like the food history on my shirt, only tell part of the story. Memories that are fonder when recalled and remembered. That when recalled take on a new life-no matter how many years later. But only in Jesus do I have memories yet to be told. A hope and a future. And I can look ahead, instead of back. He's that personal.

So next time you see me in a trancelike state at an old car show, I am remembering the Tony's, and many like him, who have given life to cars. Who bring life to a vehicle with personal memories, not found on any spec sheet or road test. They are that personal. Maybe that is why I go. But no matter where I go, Jesus is always with me. He's that personal. Bet you never thought Jesus and cars had so much in common?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

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the ballad of Gavin and Lynsay

The ballad had already started by the time I met Gavin and Lynsay. One night I received an e-mail forward about a biker down, to which I always respond immediately. It only mentioned his name and Palomar Hospital. So the next morning I went down, and found out he was in ICU on the third floor, and they let me in. Sound familiar, Bill? I don't like or use titles, but many know me there as a chaplain. Knocking on the door, I walked in and found two young women reading their Bibles. In bed, with tubes and on a ventilator, was Gavin. One of the women was his sister, Cassandra, the other Lynsay, his wife. They explained about the accident, it was about two weeks before he was found in a ditch with his Triumph Speed Triple on top of him-unconscious. No one was sure what had happened, but the CHP felt he may have been run off the road. He was air lifted to Palomar, and Lynsay was told he had a 5% chance of living. And if he did, he would be a vegetable. They are a young couple, about 24 with two small kids.

During the conversation they told me they were from Ramona and went to Calvary Chapel there, and knew Pastor Rob and Mari-way cool people. After a short visit, and explaining who I was and what I did, we prayed. As Gavin still rested, but comatose.

I continued to visit, for weeks, and finally he awoke, and was transferred to the seventh floor, CCU. And one afternoon I got a call from Pastor Rob, who was glad I was ministering to Gavin. "Did Lynsay tell you the good news?" She had given her life to Jesus the day before! And was more confident than ever that Jesus would heal her husband. And as I continued to visit, Gavin continued to amaze the doctors. Coming out of the coma, he only had a feeding tube in him. And Lynsay had so impressed the nurses by her love and compassion for Gavin, they told her she should become one. And so when they told her about another brain injury patient that just came in, 17 year old Conrad, they asked her to visit the family. As she told Theresa and I, she was excited but scared, until Theresa offered me to go with her. Fifteen seconds later, we are on our way, with Theresa watching Gavin whom she had just met ten minutes ago.

As Lynsay and I walked into the waiting room, it was filled with the Murphy family-Conrad's. She sat down and started sharing who she was, what had happened to her husband, and how Jesus was healing him and changing her life. I watched in wonder, this two day old Christian ministering to others, while still in need of ministering herself. We visited Conrad in his room in ICU, and then prayed with all of them.

Fast forward to last Saturday-Gavin went home, to Ramona. Less than four months after his accident. His back is still broken, and he still has a long way to go with physical therapy, but he is talking, eating, communicating, would go on visits and pray with me for other patients, and when I asked how he was the day before he left, he told me how Jesus had changed his life, and he was saved! In less than four months, what wasn't supposed to happen did. From 5%, to vegetable, to saved and going home-Jesus Christ had changed his life.

Conrad was given a likewise bleak future. But we prayed, and God heard and answered. As of last Wednesday, he is sitting up, and talking, eating, and doing PT. On the ninth floor, like Gavin was, for rehab. When I asked him if I could pray, we grabbed hands, and the first words from his mouth were praise to Jesus for what he is doing in his life! Keep praying, for this young man was also drafted by the Seattle Mariners-we hope to see him play baseball again someday.

But the healings weren't over. Just a few weeks ago, while going to see Conrad, I talked with his mom Wendy and one of his sisters while they were in the hall. His sister kept insisting "tell him Mom what you did with the couple. Tell him how you talked to them like that girl talked to us!" So Wendy explained how when standing in the hall, she heard a couple talking of a decision they had to make to pull the plug on their brain damaged son from drugs. Wendy shared about Gavin, Lynsay, and her son, Conrad. They admitted to her they had no hope, but now did due to her visit.

And two days later, their son was sitting up in bed and eating! They had come that close to pulling the plug! Now he lives!

Today you may be wondering where does Jesus want me to go and do. And how you might spread the gospel. You might hear the story of his advice of going from Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and into the outer reaches spreading the gospel. This time it only went from the third, to the seventh, to the ninth floor, and then Ramona! No preaching, just the love of Jesus shown to a dying world. And watching as He changes lives and saves souls! A simple example of preaching the gospel, and when needed using words. A lesson for all of us who are called as His ambassadors. A great commission.

Seek God, and watch as He will guide you through to where He wants you to be. Showing love to those hurt, and sharing it with those who don't know Him. Watch as He will change their lives, and yours also! All wrapped up in 25 words, the gospel. John 3:16.

The ballad of Gavin and Lynsay isn't over yet. Or is Conrad's, or the other family's. God's work is never done. And like Jesus said, if all the things He did were written, no library could hold them. I am so thankful for these three volumes in my personal library. May they encourage you to start your own, or add to it.

Just like Gavin told me when I asked what could I do for him? "Just be you, " he said. Which is what God wants us to be. Just you. His child. A sinner saved by God's mercy and grace. And a family that has changed my heart, just by being themselves in Jesus. A story that must be repeated to all who will listen. Jesus Christ changed all the words and the tune to their ballad. May he write as beautiful a song for you.

love with compassion,

Mike

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