July 2016 – The Turning Points of Life

My Dad and Fishing

I can’t remember the very first time my dad took me fishing, but I suspect it was when I was about five years old and got a very old, rudimentary black casting rod and reel from my Uncle Arno. Uncle Arno was my mother’s brother and he and Aunt Helen lived on the street next to ours. I do remember going to their house and going into the garage. He took down a dusty old black fishing rod and reel. My dad agreed to clean it up and take me fishing one day.

We went home and dad and I went to work cleaning up the old fishing rod. The first thing dad did was take the reel apart and clean up the parts. He reassembled it and oiled the gears and bearings and put new fishing line on it. Now I was ready to go fishing.

However, it wouldn’t surprise me that in reality, the very first fishing moment in my life was with a long bamboo pole with a piece of fishing line, a hook at the end and a makeshift wooden bobber about a foot or so from the hook. It probably took place at the “pump house”, the nickname we gave to the small lake at the end of our street and just across the railroad tracks. The lake had a small population of carp, many of which were gold fish, likely planted there by people who got tired of their pet goldfish.

The “Pumphouse”

There are a number of fishing experiences with my dad that I remember vividly, two of which involve that old black casting rod and reel from Uncle Arno.

The first I recall was when our family visited my Uncle John and Aunt Elsie. They lived in a house on the banks of the Passaic River. I remember my brother and I fishing along the raised bank of the river using dough waded on the fishing hook for bait. My dad set up the rigging and we caught three catfish that day. One was large, about a foot long, one was smaller about nine inches long and the third was small and about five inches long. We boasted that we caught the whole family! My brother Roy and I both agreed that they were really ugly with their long black whiskers. I don’t remember if we threw them back into the river, but I am sure we didn’t eat them.

My next fishing memory was also with the old black fishing rod. This time my dad and I joined some of our neighbors and their sons at a lake some distance from our home. We rented two row boats and fished most of the day. I don’t recall if I caught any fish while in the boat, but my most vivid memory was when we returned the boats.

While my dad was taking care of our things and getting them stowed in the trunk of the car, I was still trying to catch fish. There was a park bench set between two large oak trees at the edge of the lake. Our neighbor, Mr. Barton, was sitting on the bench while I looked into the clear water of the lake. I could see a whole colony of sunfish. I couldn’t resist trying to catch one. I baited my hook with one of the last worms in the bait can and tried to cast it out to where the fish could clearly be seen.

Frustrated at being unable to get my baited hook close enough to the fish, I attempted to reach them by wrapping one arm around one of the oak trees. Steadied by the tree, I swung my fishing rod in a wide arc hoping to get the bait farther out into the lake. Alas, I lost my grip on the tree and tumbled into the water still gripping my fishing rod.

Fortunately, Mr Barton saw the whole thing unfolding before his eyes and his fast reaction saved me from possibly drowning. The water there was deep and I didn’t know how to swim, plus I was weighted down with all my clothes. Mr. Barton rolled off the bench and on his belly reached into the water, grabbed my collar and lifted me out of the water. I stood there shaking and grateful for Mr. Barton’s rescue.

When I was a little older, Mr. and Mrs. Herold, owners of the local German butcher shop and members at our church, rented us their bungalow at Greenwood Lake for a week one summer. That was a real adventure in fishing for me. Even though we didn’t have access to a boat, every day I joined my friend Dickey on a nearby dock and fished till our hearts were content.

Dock Fishing at Greenwood Lake

Many fishing days were spent with my dad in various locations over the ensuing years. We fished for fluke in Manasquan River that lead into the Atlantic Ocean. We fished Greenwood Lake with my Uncle Bill and cousin Herb who had a rowboat on the lake. We fished the lake for bass, perch and pickerel. These trips were very memorable and imparted a real love for the sport of fishing.

When I reached the age of twelve fishing with my dad suddenly changed. Dad’s job as a refrigeration engineer at Country Club Ice Cream Company changed to partial shift work. He had to work every Saturday and had Sunday and Monday’s off. That removed the possibility of fishing since Monday’s were school days for me.

That’s when my Uncle Henry stepped up and stepped in for me. All of us called him Uncle Henny. He was a painter by trade but was a master trout fisherman. He offered to take me fishing with him on Saturdays when he fished the many fast moving streams in northwestern areas of New Jersey. Places with names like Sparta, Lafayette, and Berkshire were old towns in the area that had streams flowing through them. The venues we fished were right in town, in open fields or farm pastures. Uncle Henny had a scheme for where and when to fish each spot.

When fishing with Uncle Henny became a reality, Dad took me to Meltzer’s Sporting Goods Store and bought me a fly rod, the required fishing equipment for fishing for trout in a fast stream. Along with the fly rod, we bought a reel, special floating fishing line and a wicker creel. Uncle Henny donated his old trout fishing vest to hold all the spare hooks, flies and spare line and leaders. He also gave me a used pair of hip boots.

Fully outfitted for trout fishing in fast moving streams, I was ready for Uncle Henny to teach me the fine points of the art of trout fishing.

The first day of trout fishing began with Uncle Henny picking me up at my house very early on a Saturday morning. We loaded my fishing gear into his car and off we went. The first stop was the Berkshire Valley. Uncle Henny parked his car in a dirt turnoff in an old residential area of town. Across the street from the houses was a stretch of the stream that gave access for fishing. Under the trees, Uncle Henny showed me how to bait the hook with night crawlers. I had caught my own supply of the large worms the night before by snatching them up from our backyard lawn after dark.

After the initial lesson, Uncle Henny set me loose and suggested I fish a stretch of the stream about twenty yards long. He assured me that there were lots of trout in that stretch. He left me there and headed downstream to fish.

For the next hour, I fished the stream but came up empty. Not a single bite could I get in spite of following Uncle Henny’s instructions. I was so disappointed. Uncle Henny eventually returned and asked how many trout were in my creel.

Reluctantly I said, “None.”

He paused and laid his fly rod with a still baited hook on the ground at the edge of the stream. He proceeded to take a fresh pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Unseen by either of us, the baited hook slipped into the stream when he laid his fishing rod down. Just as he pulled the red strip from his cigarette pack to access a cigarette, his rod began to jump around. Quickly he picked it up and reeled in the trout he had caught without even trying!

Uncle Henny

Now the lessons from my uncle became more detailed and the location and method of placing the baited hook into the stream made all the difference. By the end of the day, we both had our limit.

For the rest of my teenage years, Saturdays during trout season were spent with Uncle Henny fishing the streams of Northwestern New Jersey. Each Saturday afternoon I returned home with the limit of fresh trout that my mother masterfully turned into a delightful meal for the family on Sunday after church.

Turning Points

Dad’s introducing me to the joys of fishing was a turning point in many ways. It was an experience that bonded us together and introduced me to a sport that I enjoy to this day. Its rewards also helped me create a special bond between me and my son Randy.

The unexpected turn of events with Dad having to work on Saturdays, opened the door for me to learn a new venue of the sport of fishing and to build a rewarding relationship with Uncle Henny.

I began to explore other venues for fishing beyond lake and stream and river fishing. I discovered surf and deep sea fishing. All of these I eventually shared with Randy.

The Judas Goat

My dad often took me places that were profound learning experiences for me. I don’t know if they were part of a deliberate plan of his, but regardless, I learned lifelong and life changing lessons as a result.

I remember one day, probably a Saturday afternoon he took me and my brother to the last place I would have expected. He took us to a slaughterhouse in Secaucus, New Jersey. I don’t recall how old I was at the time, but most likely I was eight to ten years old. It was for me a very interesting experience.

We arrived sometime in the early afternoon in summertime. The sun was high in the sky. It was hot and very humid, typical of a New Jersey summer day. Dad parked the car amidst a sprawling complex of wooden corrals. The smell of farm animals permeated the air. The corrals were jam packed with animals waiting for their turn to enter the bowels of the slaughterhouse. Pigs populated some of the corrals we saw and lambs others.

Dad led us to a large corral that had hundreds of lambs housed within. As I looked over the crowded arena, I noted that there was one animal that stood out. It was bigger and had curled horns and a long white beard hung from its chin. It also had a bell hanging from its neck. I recognized it as a goat.

I asked, “Dad, why is there a goat among the lambs?”

He said, “In a little while, you will understand why he is there.”

Dad reached into his pocket and retrieved his pack of Camels cigarettes. He removed a cigarette and reached over the top of the corral. I climbed up onto the bottom rung of the corral’s railing and hung my arms over the top. It didn’t take long for the sensitive nose of that goat to smell the tobacco aroma from dad’s little unfiltered cigarette.

Quickly, the goat weaseled his way through the crowd of lambs and snatched the cigarette from between dad’s fingers. He ate that thing so fast that in a split second it was gone. The goat stayed there, looking at dad as if to say, “Can I have another one?”

My dad pulled another cigarette from the pack, carefully keeping some distance from the goat. I imagine he was fearful that if he were to get too close the hungry goat eyeing him with anticipation of another treat would snatch the whole pack from unsuspecting hands.

Dad and the goat entertained us with a few more cigarettes for the next few minutes. Then the real purpose of the visit began to unfold before my eyes.
I don’t know what the signal was that caused the next activity to commence, but suddenly the goat began to prance around the corral. The bell around its neck announced that something was happening and it attracted the attention of every lamb in the corral. They all began to move about; increasing their speed, the activity became more and more agitated.

That is when my dad began to tell us what was about to happen.

He explained that the goat was a Judas goat. For some reason, the lambs instinctively followed the goat. The goat was trained to lead the sheep and in this case, lead them to slaughter.

I watched as the Judas goat made his way through the throng of lambs. Soon he had all of them following and he made his way to the edge of the corral. He passed by where we were standing and I saw a gate open a short distance from us. The goat led the lambs through the gate and into a narrow chute. Suddenly, another gate opened and the goat returned to the corral, but none of the lambs returned.

Dad explained that as soon as the goat got the lambs into the chute, the goat was diverted and the lambs went into the slaughterhouse.

We watched as the last of the lambs entered the chute. Dad summoned us to return to the car. Dad of course didn’t want us to witness the actual slaughtering process. That was not part of this lesson. He was very wise that way. What we witnessed, however, was a lesson that evolved over years to come, providing understanding that proved to be a blessing in many circumstances of life.

TURNING POINT

This turning point was one that developed over many years. One crucial lesson it taught me was not to be sucked in by what everyone around me was doing. Peer pressure was a powerful force, especially in one’s youth. The desire and need to fit into the “in crowd” was very deceptive in so many instances. This lesson gave me courage to be different and not follow blindly the course taken by those around me. It caused me to seriously and deliberately consider the potential consequences of actions, and equipped me with the wherewithal to make wise decisions in life.

Honoring Zoey

Whenever I exercised retroactive self discovery, it revealed that people were brought into my life and were profound blessings. These people were significant players in the turning points in my life. When through purposeful deliberation I considered the treasures these souls were to my unfolding life, I began to find ways to express my sincere gratitude for them.

Since I acknowledge the part that I believe God had in engineering their presence in my life and the purpose behind it, I first expressed my sincere gratitude to Him. But I felt that my gratitude remained incomplete. I needed to do something more to acknowledge these souls in hopes that I could give them some sense of how they touched my life and so blessed me.

One such soul was a young girl named Zoey. From before her birth until her untimely passing as a teenager, she somehow found many ways to touch my life. The more I looked back the more I discovered that in her humble way she taught me things I needed to understand. So it was not surprising that I found a special way to honor her.

Zoey

Working with the Garden of Innocence, and seeing the ways Zoey seemed to visit me there, (See: “The Feather from Heaven” March 2016 post) I decided to name a baby in her honor. I placed her name on the list of requests at the Garden. I also requested to conduct the sermon for the future Baby Zoey’s funeral service.

Months went by and finally in early February 2016, I received word that a new baby had arrived for burial in the Garden and her name would be Zoey. It turned out that the day for the funeral was my 73rd birthday. I was humbled that this very special day for me would be extra special.

I informed Zoey’s mother, Dawn, of the date for the Ceremony at the Garden for Baby Zoey. I invited her and her family to join us in the Garden of Innocence on the Saturday morning honoring her daughter and Baby Zoey.

In the weeks prior to the funeral service, I prayed often for divine guidance and inspiration for the thoughts to express in the sermon. It was a busy time with other activities each day, but I refused to allow them to distract me.

A little more than a week before the service, I sat at my computer and wrote the Bible text word and theme for the sermon that had come to me in the middle of the night before. The text was John 13: 34-35 in the New King James Version (NKJV):

34 A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. 35 By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Another Biblical text kept rising up in my heart. This one from Ezekiel 22:30 in The Message (MSG) version:

30 “I looked for someone to stand up for me against all this, to repair the defenses of the city, to take a stand for me and stand in the gap to protect this land so I wouldn’t have to destroy it. I couldn’t find anyone. Not one.

I spent a few days making iterations until I found a sermon outline that satisfied my soul. I printed it and planned to read it daily until the day of the service.

One of the activities a few days prior to the service was a Chinese New Year celebration at my mother-in-law’s assisted living facility. It included dancers, music and a Chinese cuisine dinner. The dinner concluded with fortune cookies. I loved Chinese fortune cookies since my childhood so I greedily took two.

I don’t give much credence to the fortunes in fortune cookies, but when I opened the first one it read, “YOU WILL SOON WITNESS A MIRACLE.” I ate my cookie and proceeded to open the second. To my surprise it read the same, “YOU WILL SOON WITNESS A MIRACLE.”

Skeptical, I waited for the others at the table to read their fortunes and surprisingly not one had the same as mine. That was the last I thought of what I deemed simply a coincidence.

On the morning of the funeral, February 20, 2016, Carol and I made our way to the Garden of Innocence. Zoey’s family arrived along with our volunteers and many guests.

The proceedings began as usual with the casket bearing Baby Zoey to the Garden in the arms of the Knights of Columbus. Once in the Garden, she was passed around our circle of loving attendees including Zoey’s family and some of my friends.

Dawn holding Baby Zoey in her arms

I prayed the opening prayer followed by the musician and singer Ken Murrell who offered up his first song. I listened carefully to the words and I found that they perfectly fit into the theme of the sermon. The thought the lyrics contained that so struck me was we are stepping in to love this baby.

Another friend of Zoey’s, Brigit, who lives in Germany and has been a volunteer with the Garden of Innocence, wrote the poem for Baby Zoey. A young boy read the poem.

I listened carefully as he read the poem with deep emotion. It occurred to me that a particular phrase was exactly the theme of the sermon, just like the lyrics of the first song. The specific phrase in the poem was:

Right at the last moment
When you thought nobody loves you –
To be surprised by all of us
As we step in to love you.

For me, I had just witnessed the second “miracle” predicted in the fortunes of my fortune cookies.

After the poem, I presented the sermon. The theme, corroborated by the texts, the song and the poem made clear that in the plan of God, who is Love, a little baby is born to experience the love of their mother. This is the great blessing from God for every child. When, however, something unusual happens and a baby does not experience that love, God needs someone to “step in and step up” to love that child in place of the mother.

I reflected on the experience related in Ezekiel 22:30, where God searched for someone for a certain task, but sadly found no one. I proposed that all those who had assembled to honor Baby Zoey that morning had in a way answered that call. In essence, God found each one willing to step in and step up to love her. As each of those present momentarily cradled the casket bearing Baby Zoey in their arms, she surely felt the embracing love emanating from such loving hearts.
When the ceremony progressed to the dove ceremony, Dawn released the dove for Baby Zoey.

Dawn releasing Baby Zoey’s Dove

We released the three doves for the Trinity and then volunteers read the names of all the babies in the Garden. At the end when all 159 names were read, two large baskets of doves were opened. Beautiful white doves filled the sky as they took flight homeward bound.

For me it was a special day and opportunity to honor my friend Zoey whose life and our friendship will always be my treasure.

But the miracles were not limited to the common threads of Bible texts, a song, a poem and a sermon. I soon discovered the miracles were not yet over.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, a gentleman in his 90’s approached me. I later learned he was Leo White, the father of Suzy Foster a Garden of Innocence volunteer.

Leo walked up to me and asked, “Do you know Jean Landis?”

I was shocked as I quickly processed the import of this query. You see, Jean Landis was the aunt of Daylene, Zoey’s grandmother. She and her family were standing just a few feet away!

I excitedly replied, “Not only do I know Jean Landis, but it is my pleasure to introduce you to her niece and her family.”

I proceeded to introduce the members of Zoey’s family to Leo. A wonderfully unexpected union of two families ensued. It soon became evident that Leo and Jean had attended flight school together during World War II. He became a pilot and she became a WASP flying airplanes in support of the war effort. Just the week prior, Leo and Jean met for breakfast after so many years.

Dave, Daylene, Devin, Leo and Dawn

After all the greetings were exchanged I asked Leo, “What possessed you to come to me and ask me if I knew Jean Landis?”

He said, “I noted on the back of the program that you were a minister in a church in El Cajon. Since Jean lives in El Cajon, I just took a chance that you might know her.”

Turning Points

Once again, I stand in awe of how God goes to meticulous lengths to affect His will for our blessings. The whole series of events that I have attempted to pen here seem to me to be quite extraordinary. His weaving of the message He intended to instill in each of us that day was so thorough. I consider these points: He woke me in the middle of the night to enliven two particular Bible verses; He moved the singer’s choice of song and lyric; He guided the poet’s creative verses and He inspired the sermon’s message that brought it all together. As wonderful as that was, He continued with His workings and brought two families together as a crown to the day’s event.

When Man Fails, God Prevails

One of the great joys in my life was to volunteer with the Garden of Innocence. The part I played was to lead the dove ceremony, an integral part of the burial of abandoned babies at the Garden. During each funeral service, there is a moment when the baby or babies are honored with the release of a beautiful white dove along with three doves for the Trinity. Then the names of all the babies in the Garden are read followed by the release of 50 or more doves to honor them. It falls upon me to maintain the list of names of all the babies in the Garden.

On Friday, January 16, 2016, I had just prepared my documents for the next day’s burial of three babies at the Garden when I got a call from Rebecca, our president. She said that the second of the three babies, Hollis, was the 150th baby to come into the Garden. I was shocked.

She asked if I had made any special arrangements for this occasion. Since it hadn’t occurred to me when I prepared the documents, I had to answer, “No.”
I felt terrible as I realized I failed to make anything special to recognize this milestone for the Garden.

Graciously, Becca said, “That’s okay; just make special mention of it in your address during the dove ceremony.”

With a heavy heart and much guilt weighing on me, I walked up the hill to the Garden of Innocence at El Camino Memorial Park on Saturday morning. When I reached the Garden I stood in awe and amazement.

The Garden was strewn with a massive bed of flowers. In the circle of the graves, a large number of huge flower arrangements were laying amongst the 100 plus grave stones of our babies. Apparently, someone of great honor was interred the day before. They had so many flowers that someone was moved to place the excess flower arrangements on the graves of our babies.

Array of Flowers at the Garden Of Innocence – San Diego

I was astounded. Here, in the midst of my failure, God stepped in and touched the heart of someone to step up and honor our Garden babies.
But it wasn’t too long thereafter that I discovered this was not the only miracle of the day where God moved hearts and minds to overcome my failure to recognize the 150th baby.

As planned, I did make note of the 150th baby during the dove ceremony and acknowledged God’s part in the amazing display of flowers in spite of my failure.

The Bed of Flowers Blanket the Garden

Caskets of Babies Dorothy, Hollis and Murray

Flight of the Doves

During the proceedings I noticed someone filming the ceremony with what appeared to be professional grade equipment, something not normally present for a Garden event. When the program was over, I realized that it was a local News Station photographer that was there documenting the proceedings for the evening news.

Curious as to how that came about, I asked the gentleman the question burning inside of me, “How is it that you are here today?”

He replied, “One of our new employee’s saw the announcement for the babies in the newspaper’s obituary column yesterday and, having never heard of the Garden of Innocence, sent me out to document the event.”

Another gift from God!

That night, the local NBC News television station presented a wonderful documentary reporting on the day’s event and the 150th baby entering the Garden of Innocence.

TURNING POINT

How gracious is our God, that when we in our weakness fail in something that has some significance for others, He kindly steps in and moves hearts and minds to make our failure of non-effect. When man fails, God prevails is not a simple adage, but a precious truth. Experiences such as these help us to boldly engage our calling without the fear of failure compromising our passion.

(See Garden of Innocence Website at www.gardenofinnocence.org for more information regarding our mission.)

The Power of Three

When Sunday mornings dawned, I awoke and made my way to the kitchen to brew some coffee and prepare an English muffin for breakfast. Once all was in the works I made my way to the driveway to retrieve the morning newspaper.

I returned to the kitchen to a fresh brewed pot of coffee and a golden brown toasted muffin. Coffee cup of steaming coffee and a buttered English muffin in hand I made my way to our kitchen table with the Sunday paper. After a prayer of thanks, I sipped my coffee and opened the bundled newspaper and searched for the Parade magazine.

I made it a habit every Sunday to read a particular column in the PARADE magazine, one written by Marilyn vos Savant. She was known for having attained the highest IQ score ever recorded. Most of the questions posed to her that she answered in her weekly column had to do with solving puzzles, riddles or other mathematically oriented challenging queries.

Marilyn vos Savant

I was not looking for those when I read her column even though some were quite entertaining. What I looked for was her views on life issues.

One of her most fascinating columns was a turning point for me because it was a perfect illustration of the power of three as applied to the process of learning. The question posed to Marilyn was this: If you were on your death bed and had but a few moments to speak your last words to your child, what would you say?

Marilyn’s answer was something I wish I had known when I was a student in school. She said she would tell her child the rule of three in the learning process.

Marilyn explained that the first step was to read the lesson the day prior, in advance of the next class. While reading, the student needed to record any questions that arose and prepare to get the answers during the next day’s class lecture. The key element in this step was reading or seeing the lesson.

The second step was the class lecture itself. Listening during the class lecture the student needed to find the answers to their questions. Any questions not answered, the student needed to get answered either by asking in class or speaking to the teacher afterward. The key element in this step was listening or hearing the lesson.

The third step was to do the homework assignment that applied the lessons presented in the class fortified by the answered questions. The key element in this third step was writing or doing the lesson.

These three steps provided exposure to the essence of the lesson in a threefold manner. First was reading, the second listening and the third doing. The result was not a memorizing exercise but rather a learning one.

I came to realize that this “rule of three” had very interesting effects on getting information into our subconscious mind.

While taking a series of seminars for training budding entrepreneurs, I witnessed a demonstration that I have since performed hundreds of times to the astonishment of those who were willing to engage my little test.

It went something like this:
First I explained a situation that my subject was willing to embrace. I asked them what they saw as their profession and then posed this scenario. If for example they said that they saw themselves as an accountant, I told them that their role in the test was as follows: You have just lost your job; your spouse is in the hospital with a severe illness that has sapped your insurance and life savings. Your children are in great fear; you have no way to pay your bills and you are desperate. I meet you and explain that I am a billionaire and in need of an accountant with your specific background. I am willing to hire you with a $250,000 up front signing bonus. All you need do is pass a simple two part test. My subject normally quickly agrees to the test.

Before I would begin the test I ask them to identify their strongest hand. Part one of the test was using that hand they held their thumb and ring finger tips together. I tell them that at some unknown time during their recitation I will attempt to pull those two fingers apart. If I succeed, they fail the test.

I instruct them to recite the phrase, “I am the best accountant in the world!” five times, using enthusiasm and inflection to convince me of their sincerity. While they are speaking the phrase, I wait till they have recited it at least three times. I attempt to pull their fingers apart, usually as they are saying it the fourth time. When I perform this part of the test, regardless of the gender, age or physical attributes, no matter how hard I try, I fail to pull their fingers apart. Then I move to the second part of the test.

I tell them that they now need to repeat the fivefold pronouncement except that they now add the phrase “I will try to be . . . ” the best accountant in the world. After they say it three times, I easily pull their fingers apart to their great astonishment.

They will usually be thinking, “Wow, what just happened?”

I explained, “When you state the first time that ‘you are’, your conscious mind registers it. When you say it the second time, your conscious mind says ‘Okay, I heard that.’ The third time you said that ‘you are . . . ‘, your conscious mind disregards it and it registers in your subconscious. After three times, I attempt to pull your fingers apart. You use 100% of you strength, and no matter my strength or yours I will never be able to pull your fingers apart.”

I continue, “In the second part of the test, when you insert the phrase ‘I will try . . . ‘ into your pronouncement something interesting happens. In your childhood, when you came running to a parent or teacher facing a failure, they would ask, ‘Did you try?’ and you said, ‘Yes! I tried!’ They said, ‘Well as long as you tried, it’s okay.’ In other words, this childhood programming taught you (and your subconscious) that trying is an acceptable excuse for failure. In the second part of the test, because your subconscious allows it, you subsequently do not give 100% but rather something less, thus allowing me to easily pull your fingers apart.”

Here the rule of three works together with a person’s experience growing up and illustrates the power of three and how negative experiences can influence our subconscious minds.

I applied this lesson often when I was engaged in learning an important subject. I also had opportunity to share this bit of wisdom with others.

One such experience confirmed the truth of the power of three applied to learning. It came when a business colleague asked me to talk to one of his daughters. She was attending college and had serious trouble with her classes. At her mid-term break she had three D’s and two F’s on her mid-term exams. Her dad hoped that I could help her with her grades.

I spoke with the young lady and asked how she was dealing with the process of learning. She had no understanding of how to approach the art of learning in a college environment. She was frustrated with her inability to gain a sufficient understanding to effectively take an exam. Her poor grades threatened to cause her to leave school.

I explained to her the rule of three as described by Marilyn vos Savant. I encouraged the young lady to take this seriously and told her it would make a big difference. I asked her to share with me the results at the end of the semester and the final exams were completed.

When the result of her finals came in a few months later, she very excitedly called me to report the results. She had diligently followed the principles I outlined in the rule of three. The final exam scores resulted in her grades for two of the mid-term D’s becoming B’s, the other D became a C and the two F’s became C’s.

The rule of three when applied to any learning experience proves to be very effective. What is important is not memorization of facts, but rather an understanding of the essence of the material. That is true learning.

Sometime in my deliberations over the power of three, I considered the importance of understanding as opposed to memorization in the learning process. I delved into the meaning of three words: Know and Comprehend and Understand.

To “know” something implies that we perceive the fact of something. For example I considered a spoon, a fork and a knife. When I looked at these utensils I “know” that they are distinct items that differ from each other.

When I “comprehend” them, I appreciate that they have different functions as eating utensils. For instance, I would not use a fork to eat soup or a fork to cut meat.

When I “understand” these utensils, I see beyond the obvious name of them and their differences but I see their implications for other diverse uses and applications. These implications could be, for instance, using the knife as a screwdriver, the handle as a hammer, the spoon as a shovel and the fork as a weapon.

Understanding value and importance then is the more complete appreciation of something and the fullness of its potential scope of utility.

Turning Point

Appreciating and understanding the rule and power of three creates a change in how one approaches the learning experiences that life brings. After all, I am convinced that when we are through learning, we are through! The knowledge and experience with the power of the rule of three make the learning process thrilling and exciting. The younger one is when understanding the rule of three, the more profitable it is for them.

The wisdom in the rule of three is quite compelling. I have witnessed and experienced repeated success when the rule of three is diligently followed and exercised. The truth of this rule can be applied to many learning venues with success.

The Six-Month Prayer

I was scheduled to conduct a Wednesday evening church service in our local congregation. The schedule indicated I was to be assisted by our deacon Bill. Deacon Bill had a unique talent, being gifted to see things “outside the box” as one might say. Thus, he gave a thought provoking twist on whatever topic was being presented.

On this particular Wednesday evening service, everything progressed as usual. We sang together an opening hymn. As officiate I prayed an opening prayer. I read the text word from the Bible that was also read in all our churches across the globe for that midweek sermon. The choir sang a hymn as the congregants prepared for the sermon. Following the choir hymn I proceeded with my delivery of the sermon.

The sermon developed along the lines outlined in the minister’s guide that served to unify the spiritual message throughout the international church. When the main points of the sermon were covered, I called on our deacon to assist. I always anticipated the interesting and inspiring facets of the spirit of the service that Deacon Bill would present.

In preparation for the deacon’s serving the choir sang another hymn.

Deacon Bill began to serve and true to form touched my soul in a way that caused me to recall an experience I had not thought about for probably 30 years or more. I sat listening intently to the deacon’s serving. The impact of my past experience conjured up in my mind by the deacon’s words was profound. However, my intellect told me that it was irrelevant to the spirit of the sermon. I subsequently decided not to mention it when the deacon completed his serving.

The deacon concluded and I returned to the altar.

I stood there absolutely empty, in fact I was speechless. For me, that is a very rare occurrence. I stood silent for what seemed to be a long time when I began to tell the story of my experience inspired by the deacon’s words. The story flowed effortlessly from my lips to a congregation intently listening to every word.
When the story ended I concluded the service.

After the closing hymn I stepped down from the altar. Immediately one of our members ran up to me. She grabbed my hands in hers and thanked me profusely for telling the story at the end of the service.

Before I could say a word in response, she said, “That story was an answer to a prayer I have prayed for the last six months. Thank you!”

I said, “Please wait because we need to talk. Thanks must be to God, not me. I must share with you what extraordinary lengths God went to in order for you to realize this message from heaven.”

I greeted the other members and then returned to our sister.

I explained, “God prepared my soul for this divine service, giving me the necessary thoughts and feelings to present the spirit of the sermon. These words opened thoughts in the heart of our deacon. When he served, the words opened an experience in my life I had not thought of for thirty years or more! However, as impressive as the experience was to me, in my mind I dismissed it as being irrelevant to the sermon’s message. I decided in my mind not to tell it. But when I returned to the altar, God emptied my heart and mind and I was compelled to relate the story which ultimately contained the answer to your six-month long prayer vigil!”

Together we gratefully rejoiced in the love of God that this experience revealed in such an impressive way. It is difficult to find appropriate words to describe the deep feeling such experiences create in our hearts and minds. The Father’s relentless pursuit of blessing us in spite of our own weaknesses is evidence of His eternal love.

Turning Points

We exercise our faith and trust in God by bringing to Him through prayer the things of life that tell us we need His help. Prayers though are not always answered in the timeliness we desire. We usually want some instant response from heaven. Coupled with this are our expectations as to what means the answer comes to us. This turning point revealed that the perfect answer in the perfect way comes at the least expected time and from the most surprising source. Further, we may not be aware when God uses us to be the harbinger of His answer to someone’s prayer.

Clara’s Story

For 38 years after she was widowed, my mother-in-law Clara lived alone in an upstairs apartment in New Jersey. It was a small flat in the house of her nephew and his family. Her younger sister lived just across the street so Clara was surrounded by loving and supportive family members. Carol and I lived 2800 miles across the country in San Diego. Carol’s brother Rudy lived about an hour’s drive away from Clara in Sussex County in northwestern New Jersey.

In early June of 2014, Carol and I had just returned from our Alaska vacation when Clara’s sister Helen called. She told us that Clara’s loss of short term memory was in her opinion becoming a safety issue. She asked Carol to visit and make her own assessment of the situation. Carol and I discussed the situation and decided that Carol needed fly back to New Jersey and get a firsthand view of Clara’s true state of health.

Soon after her arrival, Carol realized the situation was indeed a cause for concern and something needed to be done. She collaborated with her brother Rudy and embarked on a thorough investigation as to how they would deal with Clara’s short term memory issues.

First, Clara needed a thorough physical and medical evaluation. They met with an elder care professional to get an understanding as to how best to deal with the results of the medical findings. It become very clear that Clara would need to have some level of assistance in her daily life.

Various scenarios were considered. It was concluded that the most appropriate course of action was to find an assisted living facility. But the question was where?

The two options were somewhere in New Jersey or a move to San Diego. While Carol and Rudy investigated details of available facilities in New Jersey, I embarked on an investigation of facilities in the San Diego area.

All of this transpired over two and half months. Considering all of the information that was gathered, it became clear that the best course was to bring Clara to San Diego. But that posed some challenges.

Clara suffered from claustrophobia so flying was a big hurdle that had to be overcome. Carol was under a lot of stress because there were so many details weighing on the decision. She called me for support and I told her what I had learned from two previous experiences (See “The Volunteer” and “Make-A-Wish” posts).

I told her, “Carol, pray about the decision you need to make and faithfully place it God’s hands. Then make a decision. If it is the right decision, God will bless and support it. If it is the wrong decision, He’ll change things.”

Carol prayed and handed it over to God. She then made the decision to bring her mother to San Diego.

Once the wheels were in motion, everything went smoothly. The family helped move Clara’s furniture into storage and Carol made arrangements on Southwest Airlines for the trip to San Diego. The trip went very smoothly, as the airline personnel treated Clara with utmost care and respect. She never even thought about her claustrophobia and didn’t need any medication to counter it.

When Clara arrived at our home, I told her she could live with us as long as she wanted. So Clara stayed with us for a few weeks. One of Clara’s character traits is that she never wants to put someone out of their normal routine. So for whatever reasons she asked for her own place. That was not surprising as she cherished her independence.

I told her that there were a number of Assisted Living facilities nearby. We arranged to take Clara to view two of them. I thought that if she saw one large and one smaller facility we could get a gauge of what would make her comfortable and happy.

First we visited a small facility, the one nearest our home. Then we went to a large luxury facility a few miles further north. As we were leaving the large facility Clara said, “This place is really nice but it is so big I would feel lost in here. I want to go to the smaller place.”

So the stage was set to move mom to the assisted living facility nearest our home called The Arbors. We met with the staff and made the arrangements for Clara to move in. She would have a newly renovated room with a private bathroom. The move date was set and Carol and I set out to buy the furnishings Clara would need to furnish her room.

The day before the move in, Carol prayed and asked, “All I ask God is that my mother can find at least just one friend at this place so that if a day comes that I can’t visit her, my mother will have a friend.”
The next morning I went to the facility with the furniture kits we had purchased and the tools to assemble them. While I was busy with that effort Carol and her girlfriend went to get mom’s bed.

By the early afternoon the room was arranged and ready for Clara’s arrival. We returned home, packed Clara’s clothes and we headed off to The Arbors Assisted Living.

Clara’s Room at The Arbors

We were standing in Clara’s room when the manager from The Arbors came in to make sure all was well and to offer her personal welcome. She invited Carol and me to join Clara for dinner that evening. Unfortunately I had a business appointment that evening so I couldn’t stay.

I took my leave and went home. Carol remained with Clara to help her assimilate her new home. At dinner time Carol joined her mother for dinner in the dining room.

Carol and Clara enjoyed their first meal together at The Arbors. As the other residents began to leave and pass by their table, Carol stopped them and introduced her mother, “This is my mother Clara. She’s just moved here from New Jersey. This is her first day at the Arbors.”

After a few such introductions, one lady replied, “I’m from New Jersey! I lived in Union City.”

Carol said, “We lived in Gutenberg, right next door!”

The lady said, “I worked in Gutenberg at an embroidery factory.”

Carol said, “My mother and father worked in an embroidery factory too, it was called Solar-Bell.”

The lady said, “That’s where I worked too! My name is Dorothy.”

It soon became clear that over 70 years before, Clara and Dorothy had worked side by side in that embroidery factory. They were friends. Now all those years later they came together in their 90’s almost 3000 miles away from their early life in New Jersey.

Solar Bell Factory
Dorothy upper left, Clara upper right and Clara’s future husband Rudy upper center. (Circa 1940)

When Carol told me this story later that evening, I wrote a report to the local news station telling this amazing story from Carol’s point of view. We were contacted by a reporter from the news station the next day and within a few weeks a meeting was arranged at The Arbors.

The reporter and her camera man from the News Station arrived and we set up for the filming in one of the offices at the Arbors. In the days leading up to the meeting I obtained from Dorothy some old photos that she had from the days in the factory. I made a number of copies and even had some of the photos enlarged.

Carol, Clara and Dorothy were arranged around a table with the photos I had made strewn across the table. The reporter asked the three women questions that inspired nostalgic conversation among them as the cameras rolled.

Dorothy, Clara, Carol & Abbie (News Reporter)

The amazing story broke on the news broadcast a few evenings later. It was such an amazing story it aired on national TV a day or two later.

Quickly social media became a buzz with the amazing story as well. The family members in New Jersey were shocked that their Aunt Clara, who lived in New Jersey for almost 90 years and never made a wave, now in less than a month in San Diego made national news!

Dorothy, Carol and Clara

Turning Point

Once again the turning point experienced with my marine friend years before served me when Carol needed support in making a critical decision. As the numerous events that followed that decision attest, God supported it in so many ways. The most amazing being the answer he gave to Carol’s simple and humble prayer. I am always moved when I witness God’s hand in our life, multiplying blessings for us without end.

My Son is an Angel

Decades after we opened a congregation for our church in Linda Vista to accommodate the large number of new members from the Hmong tribes of Laos and Vietnam, some of the families moved to Temecula. Temecula is a town about 45 miles north of San Diego.

One Hmong family that moved to Temecula was the first to have joined our church in 1980. They were instrumental in helping us start our congregation among the Southeast Asian refugees that included people from Laos and Cambodia. This family had moved to the central valley of California in the mid 1980’s along with many of their relatives.

One of the women in that family, Tang, called me with some tragically sad news. A single mother, Tang was distraught over the death of her only child, her son Joseph. I was deeply saddened as she told me the tragic story of his untimely death in a motorcycle accident. Since I had lost touch with the family for a number of years, Tang filled me in on what had happened and the background I had missed since our last meeting.

The family had been living in Temecula for a few years where some of the family members found employment at the local Indian Casino. Joseph was in his late twenties and married with two children. At some point, Tang bought her son a motorcycle. While riding one evening, he was hit by a drunk driver and suffered fatal injuries. The tragedy created immense guilt in Tang that seriously exacerbated her grief. She insisted on blaming herself for her son’s death because she bought him the motorcycle.

I immediately made arrangements to visit Tang the next day.

When I arrived the next day I found Tang distraught and visibly shaken as she explained to me the circumstances surrounding Joseph’s death. Amidst her outward grief, Tang explained that prior to his death, during a heart to heart mother and son talk, Joseph said that should he die, he wanted to be cremated. He wanted his ashes scattered at sea. At first, Tang dismissed this statement as her son was still very young and she didn’t anticipate such an early death of her son. When he was killed in the accident, Joseph’s words came ringing back to her.

To honor her son’s wishes, Joseph was cremated. During my visit, I attempted to comfort Tang and convince her that she was not guilty. I couldn’t convince Tang that her son was at peace. I offered to pray with her and the family in hopes that it would bring her some measure of peace and comfort.

After we prayed together, Tang asked me if I would join her and her father when Joseph’s ashes were to be buried at sea. Of course I agreed. We made plans to meet at their home a few days later for the journey to Newport where they had contracted a yacht for the scattering of the ashes.

The day of the scattering dawned and I drove to their home where I found Tang still in anguish, weighed down with incessant feelings of guilt. Before we left I prayed with her and the family, seeking to help her deal with such oppressive guilt.

We traveled to the mortuary in the town of Lake Elsinore and picked up Joseph’s ashes. Then we drove toward Newport marina some 85 miles north. Along the way I continued to work with Tang, gently seeking to help her with her deep emotional struggle. She kept saying to me, “If only I knew that my Joseph was an angel.”

After almost two hours on the road, we reached the marina. We walked along the docks until we reached the yacht that the family hired. Apparently, this yacht was frequently hired to perform the task of scattering a loved one’s ashes at sea. Since I was the only Caucasian with the family the Captain spoke to me first, not knowing that Tang spoke perfect English.

I realized by his sensitive demeanor that he was well experienced in providing a dignified procedure for scattering ashes at sea. He explained to me the procedure that they follow according to the legal requirements and his specific plan to maintain a very solemn and respectful program.

I explained to Tang and her father what the procedure would be and we took our places on chairs near the bow of the ship. The crew disembarked and we headed out into the bay.

There was a cool gentle breeze that wafted over our faces and gave us a refreshing feeling as we sailed out. We were approaching the spot for the scattering when the captain came to the bow area where we were sitting. He carried a basket that contained Joseph’s ashes now wrapped in a white cloth scarf neatly but loosely tied together at the top. He said to me that in a few minutes, the ship would be turned around and be positioned to be pointed toward the shore.

With the ship in position, the captain asked if we wanted to say anything. First, Tang’s father offered up a prayer in his native Hmong language. Then Tang knelt down behind the basket of ashes and wailed, crying out, “Please let my Joseph be an angel!”

After Tang arose, she looked over at me and I offered up a prayer, specifically asking God our Father to bless Joseph and to give his mother Tang the peace that defies our human understanding. I asked too that He would send His Holy Spirit, the great Comforter to comfort Tang and her family as only He can do.

At the conclusion of the prayer, the captain led Tang to the basket that held Joseph’s ashes and instructed her how to hold the white scarf at the corners and position it over the edge of the ship’s bow.

Tang held the corners of the scarf that held her son’s ashes just as the captain had directed. The signal was given to the crew and the ship began to slowly move backward. At the captain’s word, Tang released the scarf and the ashes gently dropped onto the surface of the sea.

Tangs’ father, the ship’s captain and I stood at the railing watching as the yacht continued to slowly drift backwards. The ashes floated on the surface for a few moments before beginning to sink into the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, as the three of us and now Tang stood at the railing watching the ashes float upon the waters, they created the perfect form and image of an angel!

The captain of the ship poked me and whispered, “Do you see what I see? An angel!”

I said, “Yes! I see it too.”

For a brief moment I stood their stunned until the eerie silence was broken when Tang saw it too. I heard her excited scream declaring, “My son is and angel!”

In that miraculous moment, the oppressive weight of guilt was lifted from Tang’s heart and she was finally at peace. I rejoiced that God had answered our many prayers.

Slowly the ashes settled into the depths and the image of the angel drifted away, only to remain indelibly etched into our memories.

On the way home Tang asked me if we could have a memorial service for Joseph at our church in Vista. I told her that we would plan it as soon as possible.

Shortly thereafter we conducted a memorial service. I explained to Tang that Joseph was more than an angel; he was a child of God and as such was in a very special place in the heart and love of God.

Turning Point

It never ceases to touch my heart when I witness the extraordinary means that our God exerts on behalf of those He loves to comfort and sustain them in their most difficult days. These experiences are evidence of those famous words God gave to Paul when He said, “My grace is sufficient for you.” In our struggles of life, prayer changes us and our situation. We should not underestimate what God can and will do for us, if we will only believe and trust in Him.