There is one thing that Lisa and I have concluded in regards to traveling with her job –  we absolutely need each other.  As sappy as it may sound – we have learned that life apart just does not work as well as life together.  This past weekend I had to return home alone for a friends funeral (see “A Sock Hat and a Sacrifice”) and to take care of some other business.  Lisa stayed back in Cambridge.  It was just strange for both of us.

I have heard it said that occasional separation between a husband and wife is a healthy thing and I agree that couples should have the ability to be apart while maintaining trust and affection.  That being said, Lisa and I have had to depend on one another to such an extent while traveling, it seems abnormal to be apart.  We are all each other has as we settle into one place or another.  Now that we have been here in Cambridge for six months, we have made friends and can now feel safe being separated for extended periods of time.  But separation is not an easy thing – it is an adjustment that does not come without some anxiety for both of us.  We don’t sleep as well at night and find ourselves worried and anxious about each other while we are apart.  The truth is we have so much fun together – life apart just seems incomplete.

My heart goes out to those who have lost a spouse.  I know of several who have had to reset their lives without their lifelong partners and I have a great admiration for their ability to pick up the pieces and carry on. There will come a day when that will happen in our lives – perish the thought.  Knowing that – we cherish the time we have.  We could not wish anything more for our children and their marriages.  Lisa and I have fun together.  We laugh a lot.  We talk a lot.  We dream a lot.  We are aware of many (mostly men working in the oil and gas fields) here in our campground who are alone due to either being unmarried without a spouse or geographically separated from them.  Loneliness must be the most horrible of human experiences.  After my dad passed away, I witness my mother slip into loneliness and depression and was helpless to alleviate the pain in her life.  Looking back – I almost wish I had been more sensitive to her situation and may have even considered moving her into our home.  It was a hard lesson I learned about how life changes can be devastating.  These men in our campground are making enormous amounts of money in the oil fields – but many seem so unhappy as they have nobody to share it with – no one to come home to.  Money cannot buy that. (Well, I suppose money can buy that – but let’s not go there.)

So I write today thanking God for having someone to share my life with.  Lisa is glad I am back here in Cambridge.  I am glad to be back here with Lisa.  It may be she was tired of fixing her own supper and lunch and hated driving herself to work.  I’d like to think that she still thinks of me as that good-looking stud she married thirty-one years ago and missed seeing her hunk of a husband.

But who am I kidding?  It was the lunch.

See Ya’s!

It is the one truth in my life that effects everything.  It is the credo that frames every action, every thought and every regret.  It has changed my life.  That one belief is this:  Jesus Christ died in my place.  Nothing comes close to comparing to that marvelous revelation.  No material good, no honor or award, no accolade or compliment can even be in the same orbit as this profound fact – the most holy God – died for the most unholy me.

But there was one moment long ago that can, at least, be in the same conversation as the ultimate sacrifice Jesus made for me.  It was an event that happened when I was about twelve years old and one that has had a lasting impact on my life.  It is a story about a friendship.

Billy Devine and I were best friends.  Billy grew up, ironically, in the very house that Lisa and I have called home now for the past fifteen years.  I grew up across the street and we spent the better part of our childhood playing trucks and cars in his backyard or throwing a football or walking to school or watching television and just being friends.  His life was not easy.  Certainly not as easy as mine.  He lived through a difficult upbringing and had a strained relationship with his father.  The difficulties of his childhood shaped much of what he became as an adult and his struggles with life would eventually get the best of him.  Even though our lives went in different directions as we lost contact with one another – I always regarded him as a friend.

Billy and I loved sports – every kind of sport.  We played youth football together and attended many sporting events.  We shot basketball on my gravel driveway “court” for hours on end and hardly a day went by that Billy and I did not throw a football back and forth or get a game together with others in our neighborhood.  Growing up in a predominantly Catholic neighborhood there were always plenty of kids to play with and a daily game of touch football was the norm.  Billy and I made sure to always be on the same team – me playing quarterback and he the receiver.  He could catch anything – often willing to dive on the asphalt to keep a drive alive.  He was a superb athlete and we hardly ever lost.

One very cold Saturday Billy and I went to watch a youth football game at a local high school and had gone into a restroom to get warm when we encountered a group of boys who began to pick on us.  Being outnumbered, we knew it would mean either fighting our way out of the situation or be in for a major beat down.  At one point one of the boys grabbed the sock hat off my head and placed it under the sink faucet as if he was going to soak it under the freezing cold water.  I was helpless to stop him.  It was then that Billy (who was a year older and at least a foot taller than me) stepped up and did one of the most amazing things anyone could do.  He pulled his hat off and offered it for their humiliation game in exchange for mine.

It’s funny – I don’t remember what happened after that.  I don’t remember what the boys looked like or how we got away unscathed.  All I remember is Billy offering his hat so that mine would remain dry and warm.  To this day I don’t know of a single act of kindness directed toward me that has had such a lasting impact.  More to the point – I can’t remember anyone acting more like Jesus.

Billy’s mother was a strong Christian influence in their family’s life and I remember actually hearing his mom praying out loud inside her bedroom from across the street.  She poured her heart out to her God for Billy, his father, and Billy’s two sisters.  I would not be surprised that somewhere in her pleas – my name and our family was mentioned.  Over time Billy seemed to resent religion and the church and it became the tipping point for his rebellion.  I don’t know if he ever reconciled with God – but I do know his faithful mother never stopped praying for him.  It is my belief that Billy knew Jesus all along – he certainly acted like Him that day on my behalf.

During high school Billy was involved in a motorcycle accident and suffered a severely broken leg.  His athletic career sort of ended that day but I remember sitting with him at his home while he recuperated.  We watched TV and talked.  Friends do those kind of things.  We helped each other through some difficult times.  We helped each other grow up.

Years would go by and like many relationships, Billy and I got lost from one another.  After high school – his family moved away from our neighborhood and I only saw him on very rare occasions.  When my brother passed away in 1987, I remember walking to the rear of the funeral home during his visitation and there on the back row, sitting all alone – was Billy.  He had come to the funeral home by himself to pay his respects.  He seemed understandably uncomfortable.  We talked and I thanked him for being there.  I don’t remember ever talking to him again.

Billy passed away on Monday October 13, 2014.  He was 56 years old.

For me Billy was not the gray-haired man in his obituary picture.  He was a boy of thirteen throwing a football with me on 22nd St.  His time was not the day he died but the summers of our youth when three months of vacation seemed stretched into three years where every waking moment was full and alive.  His life was not that of sadness and struggle ending in Hospice care – it was a life of laughing, when metal toy cars and a pile of dirt could bring joy indescribable for hours on end or a trip to the Saturday matinée in downtown Owensboro, Kentucky seemed more exciting than a trip to Disney World.

And Billy Devine’s legacy will not be the mistakes and bad decisions he may have made in his life.  For me – he will be remembered for a sock hat and a sacrifice and the day he became Jesus to me.

I love you, Billy!  Your friend, Steve

A funny thing happened to Lisa and I when we recently went home to Owensboro, Kentucky for a weekend.  We bought a new RV.  After two and a half years of living in our very small, very used, leaky, fifth wheel camper – we finally decided to buy a new one.  It has been quite a journey.

Very soon our new forty-two foot camper will roll off the assembly line and we will move our old camper one last time.  Part of us is a little sad to leave our old camper behind as we move into a new one.  Our adventures in this little RV have been memorable and we will always remember those experiences with fondness.  It was in Abbottstown, Pennsylvania that I had a middle of the night epiphany to purchase an RV even though we did not have a truck to pull it.  Our poor luck in finding an apartment in Hanover, where Lisa would work her first traveling assignment, left us with very little choice and by noon the next day we had purchased this used RV that would, eventually, survive the Arizona desert heat and an unusual snow storm in Atlanta.  It has served our purpose well – but it is time for something new.

It is hard to know how many RVs Lisa and I have looked at over the past two plus years.  Maybe a thousand.  We looked at them in California, Arizona, Georgia, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Ohio.  Twice we attended the nations largest RV show in Hershey, Pennsylvania – but never found one that felt right.  So – we waited.  In the meantime Lisa kept up her chant of “New RV!, New RV!” and I pretended to ignore her pleas.  But I could ignore them no longer.  With winter fast approaching and our stay here in southeastern Ohio now extended until at least February, it was time to find something better able to handle the weather.  We drove to Columbus one Saturday and found one to our liking – but the price was not in our budget.  So we kept looking.  And then we went home.

Never in our wildest dreams would we have thought that the best deal and the best RV for us would be found right in our hometown of Owensboro.  On a whim – we decided to stop in and talk to them not really expecting them to have much or offer much for our used camper.  To our shock and surprise, a new Forest River fifth wheel camper with everything we were wanting was on its way to their lot and before we hardly knew what happened – we bought it.  Actually – we ended up with one with a few changes that is now being built.  We hope to be in it by the early part of November – if not sooner.  Their very generous offer for our trade was the real tipping point and it will be good to deal with people from our hometown rather than in California or somewhere else far away.  The bottom line is – it just felt right to both Lisa and myself.

I am not one to trust my emotions.  More often than not they lead me into bad decisions.  But, of all the RV’s we looked at over the past two years, Lisa and I never felt at peace with any until we found this one.  Maybe there was some spiritual guidance that was given us in making this decision – we certainly prayed enough about it.  Peace of mind is a wonderful thing and we have had that ever since we made the decision to buy.  Why should we not believe that God has intervened in this matter?  Our buying an RV is trite in comparison to the problems going on around the world.  Knowing God is moving and doing in matters as small as this – gives us assurance that He also controls the big stuff.  And that is really good to know.

Our new RV will have the capability to sleep up to nine people.  That includes an extra bedroom that can also serve as my man cave and/or Lisa’s sewing and craft room.  It may take us two to three days to get it backed into place.  And I have a feeling my sphincter will get very tight as we move it north here to Cambridge.  That may be the longest six-hour drive of my life and may turn into ten.  It will be ‘slow and steady as we go’.  We have even had to modify our truck to pull the extra load of an RV four thousand pounds heavier and thirteen feet longer than the one we have now.

And finally – mercifully – I will no longer have to deal with a leaky roof or store my clothes in the kitchen cabinets due to lack of closet space.  That will be very nice.  But the nicest part of all is not hearing Lisa chanting, “New RV” – “New RV”.

Come and visit us anytime – we will have plenty of room.

Love, Steve and Lisa

One of my first blogs published here at “trippin” was a story of a man I met in Hanover, Pennsylvania who cared for both his ailing wife and mother in law without help in his home near the hospital where Lisa worked.  We met quite by chance while I played basketball at a church near his home waiting for Lisa to get off from work.  One day he walked over to introduce himself and we soon became friends.  As I wrote then – one never knows what is going on in the houses we pass everyday of our lives nor do we realize the daily hardships some people must endure.  His story reminded me of that truth.

This morning I was reminded of another similar story.  Jean McCarty passed away on Friday, September 26, 2014.  I read her obituary in our local paper on-line and thought back to our first meeting thirty years ago during the summer of 1984.  She had a remarkable story and lived an extraordinary life and I was fortunate enough to have known her.  The story of her life and how she cared for her severely handicapped children is one of the most inspiring stories of a mother’s love you will ever hear.

Soon after graduating college in 1984, I was hired by (what was then) the Green River Comprehensive Care Center in the Mental Retardation/Developmental Disabilities Department.  Our program provided assistance to adults with mental retardation both those residing in assisted living situations and those living at home with their families.  Providing in home support to families was necessary in assuring their children could remain at home and live as normally as possible.  Respite, personal care and in-home habilitation was part of our services and made life a little easier for the family care givers.  During my first summer I conducted home visits to all the families we served and was shocked to realize how many homes I passed on a daily basis where families cared for severely handicapped children.  Many of the homes had been re-modeled to accommodate wheelchairs and other necessary equipment.  But, aside from an outside ramp, one would never know the daily struggle going on behind those doors.  These families were committed to keeping their children at home but needed our help to avoid forcing them to be institutionalized.

But of all the families I met that summer and would work with for the next nine years, none made an impression quite like Jean McCarty.  I remember riding along with my good friend and co-worker, Nancy Whitmer, for my first meeting with the McCarty’s and was surprised to know their home was a little, white house on the left of a particularly busy highway that was experiencing major commercial development at the time.  Theirs was one of the last remaining residences along that stretch of road and Mrs.McCarty greeted us at the door with her high energy enthusiasm that I immediately took a liking to.  She welcomed us inside and started talking non-stop as, I would learn, was part of her personality as we made our way into her kitchen where we sat down.  The older farmhouse was clean and well-kept but I noticed a sort of medical smell – much like a nursing home permeating the spaces but was more taken by Mrs. McCarty to pay much attention.  She was a small, thin woman but wore a huge smile almost non-stop as she asked me questions about myself and my background.  I would learn over time that she was somewhat starved for visitors and conversation since her world was confined exclusively to the little home she lived in and to the children she cared for.  Over the next nine years I spent many hours sitting at that kitchen table talking to Mrs. McCarty about everything going on in the world – as if I was her only source for news.  It became a service that I could provide.

Soon the conversation turned to her twin children, John and Paula, and she then invited us to their bedroom for a visit.  What I saw next made my knees buckle.  The small bedroom contained two hospital beds – one on each side of the room where her two twin children stayed twenty-four hours a day – for most of the twenty-two years of their lives. (if my memory serves me correctly – a third child, also handicapped, had died previously.)  John and Paula had profound mental retardation and physical handicaps.  Mrs. McCarty introduced me to them like any proud mother would of her children and told me they were happy on that day and in a good mood.  I would learn over time to understand their moods but this first meeting was nothing but confused shock.  Never in my sheltered life had I seen a situation like this.  I had no idea people were living with such hardships.  And I thought my problems were bad.

I would learn later of another fascinating part of Mrs. McCarty’s story.  Before our program had become involved with helping her family, very few people knew she had this situation in her home.  It was told to me that one day while at church a nun overheard Mrs. McCarty, a devout Catholic, praying for her two children.  From that came a referral to our program to provide her with assistance.  Apparently, the McCarty’s believed their children and their condition was their responsibility alone and to that point had never asked for help.  Over time the hardship became too great a burden and our help was finally accepted.  Of all the families we served none seemed as grateful as hers did for the services we provided.  It really was an answered prayer.  For twenty plus years Mrs. McCarty cared for these two alone – waking every night to turn them over in their beds every few hours to prevent bed sores and every meal feeding them with a turkey baster.  Every night – every day – for twenty plus years.

I left Green River Comp Care in 1993 and lost contact with many of these amazing families as our lives took different directions.  I noticed many years later that ‘the little, white house on the left’ had finally been swallowed up by the advanced commercial development and often wondered what happened to Mrs. McCarty and her two amazing children.  Today I learned that Mrs. McCarty had passed away at the age of eighty-six.  Her obituary stated that her husband and all her children preceded her in death.

I look back on my time those many years ago and wonder what good I really did for those families.  My role was more of case management than actual hands-on services.  I suppose making arrangements for assistance was important – it just didn’t always feel important.  The truth is people like Mrs. McCarty did more for me than I ever did for them.

God – if ever I get to the point of thinking in my life that things are so bad I can’t go on or if I bitch and moan about things not going my way – please remind me of Jean McCarty and her two children inside that little, white house on the left.  And remind me, Lord, that Jean McCarty never stopped smiling.

Love – Steve and Lisa

The fog lays heavy on the eastern Ohio hills as the sun slowly rises upon another day here in Cambridge.  Lisa and I notice the smoky drift of clouds during our morning commute to her work at Southeastern Medical.  This morning on this first day of Autumn, we woke to temperatures in the mid forties and noticed for the first time, the change of seasons.  Many people say Autumn is their favorite time of year.  I agree.  But with every changing season comes a sad sense that life is passing far too quickly.  Traveling has served to heighten that sad awareness and being away from home as one season morphs into the next only magnifies the truth of how long we have been away.  It does not help that my birthday falls during the final days of summer and this morning I woke up to not only a new season but an added number to my age.  Lisa and I left home for Ohio in the spring and now it is nearing October.  Where did all our summers go?

Our pool is now covered and closed for the winter here at our campground and the lush trees surrounding us are just starting to turn colors.  The seasonal campers are beginning to close down their campsites and move back home or to some other (probably warmer) climate.  There remains a good possibility that we will be here through the winter and getting ready for that is on our minds as the temperatures begin their descent.  RV living is nice and comfortable for most of the year, but we have discovered managing during freezing temperatures and snow requires daily attention and a good deal of preparation.  It is comforting to know we have made friends here that can be relied upon for help if need arises.

Friends.  Something about the changing season makes me appreciate friends more than ever.  Perhaps there is some primal instinct that kicks in during the ‘Fall’ that urges us to gather with others – to connect into a community as we brace for the winter.  Maybe that is why communities all over America celebrate with fall festivals, apple festivals, harvest festivals, and other gatherings.  Winter is just not a time to be alone and without a community to depend upon.  We need each other and somebody needs us.  Two very important people in our lives visited us this past weekend and the bond we have established is all about that support and dependence.  When Lisa and I were discussing the possibility of traveling with her job and venturing into RV living, Steve and Michelle Luck had similar ideas.  Lisa and I knew Steve from my job at Owensboro Middle School and had just come to know his new wife, Michelle, when we learned of our common interest in purchasing an RV.  (We also share a common love of Disney World but that is another story for another day).  Taking the bold step to travel full-time is a scary proposition.  Lisa and I were scared – Steve and Michelle were scared.  After we learned of that commonality – we got scared together.  And scared together is far better than scared alone.  Over time we both hit the road but I’m not sure that would have been nearly as easy had we not known personally a couple of people doing the same thing.  I am sure they will echo that sentiment.  Many times I find myself calling them for advice about one thing or another and they will call us from time to time for the same reason.  We are glad to know there are people as crazy as we are.  Our travels have taken us in opposite directions most of the past two plus years – that is, until this past weekend when we finally came together at the same campground at the same time.  It was good to share our war stories of RV living.  It was good to be with our friends again.

So here comes a new season in all our lives and with it the anticipation of both good times and challenges.  Though, for me, season changes seem a little sad.  There is also great hope in what is to come.  How colorful will all the trees be?  How blue will be the sky?

And what friends will we have to share it with?

Love, Steve and Lisa

Lisa and I are back in Ohio after spending the weekend driving home and then to Atlanta for training Lisa is required to have for her registry.  It was good being back at Stone Mountain where we lived for eight weeks earlier in the year.  The landscape was far greener and trees much fuller than we remember them being in January and February but one thing that has not changed is the driving conditions in Atlanta.

Her training was in the “Buckhead” area of Atlanta and required navigating rush hour traffic taking her to and from the hotel.  I have chronicled our experience with driving in Atlanta in previous posts but had to share one very funny story about our most recent driving blessing.

On our way one morning to her training, we had managed to survive the interstate and had begun the final leg of our journey toward her hotel.  On this part of the trip we traveled on a road that was six lanes but not quite as manic as the interstate since the speed limit was only 45 mph winding through both residential and business sections of “Buckhead”.  At one of the major intersections we were forced to stop (though we had the green light) while traffic slowly moved along in various directions.  To block the intersection during this brief delay would have been a deadly mistake as drivers in the early morning do not take kindly to being cut off or blocked off from their destinations.  Besides that – it is illegal.  While we waited for the traffic to clear, we noticed a young lady trying to turn left in front of our vehicle and watched as she moved across the intersection in an attempt to see the oncoming traffic.  As I mentioned this was a six lane road and the three lanes she was trying to cross was packed with cars making it impossible for her to know when it was clear to make her move.  Lisa and I almost did not want to watch as she continued to inch her vehicle as far forward as possible.  Finally, she decided to just go for it and (I promise this is true) she turned her head away slightly so as not to see what may be coming toward her and literally took her hands off her steering wheel and gunned it.  We both sort of held our breath and listened for squealing tires and ripping metal – but, apparently, she made it safely across and continued on her way.

We laughed for the next two days and are still laughing at that image.  I have to wonder if the poor woman experienced that thrill every morning on her way to work and could almost hear her shouting, “Jesus – take the wheel!”

Having experienced Atlanta driving ourselves I think Jesus may have said, “Lady, I’m sorry. But even I can’t drive in this town. You are on your own.”

Have a great day!  Steve and Lisa

Lisa and I consider ourselves southerners.  Being from Kentucky may create some debate in that discussion since our home state is more middle America than north or south.  Other known qualifiers such as a states allegiance during the Civil War will also not help here since the “Bluegrass” remained neutral in terms of official declaration during that great conflict in US history.  All we really have to go on in determining our “southern-ness” is what other people think about us and here in Ohio (as was the case in Pennsylvania, Arizona and California) we are definitely from the south.

The only place we have lived where people did not seem offended by the way we talk was in Atlanta.  Although a true Georgian may not think of Kentucky as southern, we felt more at home there in terms of our dialect and mannerisms.  (Plus – they eat grits and a lot of fried foods.)

There are times that Lisa and I feel like foreigners in a strange land.  When our southern hospitality clashes with the ‘cut and dried – to the point’ way of people here in Ohio – we feel sympathy for people from other countries.  Recently, while ordering a hamburger at a local fast-food restaurant here in Cambridge, I asked that my burger be “dressed”.  The man behind the counter leaned closer to me and turned his ear as if he did not hear me correctly.  “What did you say? Dressed?”  “Yes Sir!” I explained.  “You know, through the garden – with everything.”  He looked at me like I had two noses and informed me that in all his years he had never heard of a “dressed” hamburger.  I have to wonder what image was going through his head at that moment.  Did he think of a burger wrapped in paper?  Or was there an image of a sandwich with clothes on?  I wish I had responded with, “You know – put a little shirt on it and make sure it’s shoes are tied.”  The man never lost the confused expression on his face even after my explanation and I think it may have messed with his entire shift behind the counter.  I did tell him, “I’m so sorry!”  Which leads me to the next point.

More than phrases and wording, southerners are put off by the abruptness and unfriendly manner of people from the north (or I should say – non-southerners).  Recently I was having lunch at an outdoor deli (notice all my examples have something to do with food?) and before I ordered I laid my backpack at one of the tables to reserve my spot.  A man watched me do this and said, “We already reserved that table.”, and he pointed out a little box that had been placed on the table.  I actually thought it was part of the condiments sitting in the center but apologized and moved to a table inside.  The man offered no “Thank-you” or no “I’m sorry!” And certainly he never considered a, “Go ahead and sit there – it is fine.”  At that moment another side of my “southern-ness” kicked in.  That ‘other’ side is – I will be nice and I will be cordial and giving – to a point but if you push me too far – I will fight back.  Nothing in the southern code of conduct manual is more irritating to a southerner than doing something nice and not getting, at least, a ‘Thank-you’ or ‘I’m sorry’ in return. I fought the urge to stuff him into the trash can next to the table he (so-called) reserved.

It was not until Lisa and I started traveling and living in an area for several months that we became aware of how we talk to people.  When we are home in Kentucky we talk like everybody else at home in Kentucky.  Interestingly, our ‘southern’ way has been endearing to most people and all of our “Thank-you”, “Bless-you”, and “I’m sorry” statements have been surprising to some but, I think, appreciated.  Lisa has been extended in all of her assignments to date in large part because she is really good at her job.  But, had she never said, “Thank you so much” or “Bless your heart” with that southern drawl everyone teases her about – I’m not sure they would care too much if she stayed or not.  They like her work ethic but they love her mannerisms.  We both have learned to never lose or try to hide that part of who we are.  In fact, we have now made it a point to always say when we arrive -“How y’all doin?” and when we leave – “See y’all later!” – even throwing in a little extra twang to the “y’all” just for good measure.

But people here in Ohio better start saying “thank-you” to Lisa and I now and then or they may find themselves head first inside a trash can – bless their hearts!

See Y’all Later!  Steve and Lisa

Sundays have been different and difficult for Lisa and I during our travels.  In most cases Lisa has been off work and the off day is always a relief.  But in our lives, Sundays were always about going to church at Bellevue Baptist in Owensboro, Kentucky and there meeting up with family and friends while experiencing life with people who love God and one another.  We have desperately missed that.  In different places we have experienced welcoming congregations and warm, sincere believers more than glad we were in attendance.  But, when a church has shaped life to the extent that Bellevue has shaped ours – nothing can compare.  That is not to say ours is the best church.  It is not.  But, it is our church – and that will never change.

So, it was wonderful being home this past Labor Day weekend and stepping through the doors of Bellevue once again – just like old times.  As I have written before, Bellevue is the orbit in which our lives have rotated since Lisa and I first met there thirty-one years ago.  At Bellevue our children were taught scriptural truths from their first weeks on earth and it is a place where now our grandson will follow the same path.

One of the first people we met up with was a dear matriarch of our church family, Jean Howard, who taught both our children at different times and places in their lives and Lisa and I hugged her as she sat on the back row of our sanctuary.  Age has, perhaps, limited her mobility but her spirit and dedication to the church have never wavered.  People like Jean have helped sustain the tradition of Bellevue for nearly sixty years and Lisa and I cannot begin to thank people like her who have been steady and steadfast in their love of Christ and His church.  Whatever good things come out of our lives or the lives of our children, is in large part a credit to the people of Bellevue.

When Lisa and I walk into Bellevue we feel like we are home.  It is not the house we live in or the streets we drive on – it is, for us, the church we worship in.  I know that the church is much larger than the local body of believers in which one may be associated and it is true we have had wonderful experiences visiting churches of different denominations and worship styles.  But walking into Bellevue is like walking into a living scrapbook of our lives.  We spent thirty minutes after the service hugging old friends who genuinely care about us – these are the people who celebrated with us many, many good times – and these are the people who held us up during tragedies.  These people decorated the church for our wedding day and prepared meals when we lost family members.  For me personally, Bellevue gave me confidence.  It chose me to serve as a deacon in 1985 and allowed me to be part of many important decisions that not only moved our church forward, but me personally.  Not only did Bellevue grow me spiritually, it grew me as a man.  Men like George Thompson, John Worth, Kenny Baughn, and Paul Daniel are just a few who were part of that “great cloud of witnesses” in my life who showed me how to lead my family and lead that church.

Lisa and I made our way to our seats and began singing along with the others in attendance.  I immediately began looking for my good friend, Tim Hicks, on stage playing his guitar – unfortunately Tim had the day off.  I looked at the choir and missed being a part of the music ministry that had been so important to me for so many years.  I marveled at the stage lighting and backdrop that Alicia Berry, a talented young lady who we love dearly, designed.  We sang and smiled and clapped – I even whistled on a couple of occasions.  We were so happy to be back – it was impossible to contain the joy.

Our pastor, Greg Faulls, then stepped up to share his message and I could not help but feel proud remembering I was part of the committee that recruited him to Bellevue some sixteen years ago.  He and I (along with hundreds of others) worked very closely to relocate our church and we served side by side for many years as pastor and deacon.  Beyond his preaching skills and leadership, I sat there most proud of him for never making me regret that decision.  I miss serving with him.

Like many churches Bellevue members enjoy hanging out together and I said before Lisa and I hung around between the services to greet friends we had missed, share a laugh, take a few pictures, hug a lot of necks and shake a lot of hands.  We really felt like we were home.

And here is a shock – Bellevue is not perfect.  As a matter of fact there have been times that the church angered me beyond what I care to admit.  Not to compare myself with Christ – but I know a little of the emotion behind His charging into the money-changers in the temple.  I have had my table flipping moments through the years and have damaged relationships with other members in the process.  There are struggles in being the community of faith just as there are struggles being any other type of organization.  Where there are people – there will be conflicts.  And the truth is Bellevue is like all other churches – full of failed human beings who can be petty and selfish and mean and – well, human.  Some say the music is too loud, the sanctuary too dark, the sermon too long, the parking lot too small, the seats too hard, and the air conditioner too high.  We expect the church to be all things to all people.

Scripture calls the church the Body of Christ.  That is true.  But, at times, it feels more like a zoo.  Every zoo I have been through includes fascinating animals that are beautiful and exotic and draw people to them.  And then there are those strange animals that look funny.  Zoos house animals that are bizarre looking and act crazy.  We move past those quickly and gather at the cage where the animals are more interesting and appealing.  The challenge for Bellevue and all churches is to embrace all the animals – including the unappealing ones.  The church is a zoo and Bellevue is no exception.  But though Bellevue is flawed – it is also an amazing place.  Those strange animals of the church have been the greatest asset in our lives, our marriage and our home.  We miss Bellevue and all those wonderful animals inside – even the strange ones.

Lisa and I are now back in Cambridge Ohio and will be for at least the next two months.  We will continue to attend different churches around Cambridge and Guernsey County and I know there are good people here that would do anything for us – we have already met many.  But six hours from here in western Kentucky is another church that we will be thinking about.  And like every Sunday – we will, again, wish we were home.

Love, Steve and Lisa

It is time for my annual cleaning of the junk drawer of our little blog.  Like anyone’s junk drawer at home, ours tends to accumulate to overflow capacity in a very short amount of time and it becomes necessary to throw some things out – eventually.  Here there is a lot of “this and that” and a few “thingamagigs” along with several “doo-dads”.  Lets take a look inside.

Going Home.  First up we find this little item.  We are going home.  After being here in Ohio since early May, we have been home only once and that was a very quick overnight trip.  This upcoming Labor Day weekend allows us to be home for a few days and it will be good to see everyone.  Can’t wait to see Conner Jack and Agnes (the family dog).  Oh yeah – It will also be good to see our other family members.

It takes us a couple of months to make friends.  Everywhere we have traveled with Lisa’s job we have made friends.  Lisa and I realize that it usually takes us a couple of months in one place to really make friends that we are comfortable hanging out with.  I don’t think we are hard to get to know or are unfriendly.  It just takes at least that long to know who we want to befriend.  There is a selection process that takes place in settling in with people and at the risk of sounding snobbish, there simply are some people we just don’t connect with as well as others.  Now that we have been here in Cambridge, we have made friends and they are people that we care about and who care about us.  Nothing makes us feel more at home than that.

Pumping Up.  Lisa has now got us involved with an exercise program through the hospital where she works.  We went for a preliminary assessment and are now involved in the program twice per week.  Her assessment determined she was in the moderate or mid-range category as far as fitness.  I tested out in the “low” category.  Well, of course I did.  Lisa only bragged on that for the next four days.  The problem for me has always been that dreaded BMI chart that has determined that at five foot seven I should weigh about 160.  WRONG!  I have not weighed 160 since the sixth grade.  One of the things I inherited from Tom Lea was a set of legs that look like tree stumps.  Each one of those suckers must weigh seventy-five pounds.  I’m not saying I don’t need to lose weight.  I do.  But to get to 160 will require amputating something.  Anyway – we have scheduled our thirty minute work-out appointments and Lisa was first to experience the thrill of starting the journey of getting into shape.  She returned from that first work-out looking like she was about to pass out and could barely lift her leg to get into the truck.  My thought was – how bad could thirty minutes be?  Let me answer that: BAD!  Holy Crap!  Josh, our really nice, Christian, fitness trainer turned out to be pure evil as he put my body through torment that only Satan himself could appreciate.  I came close to punching him in his smiling, enthusiastic face as he urged me on from one very simple exercise to the next.  The thirty minute work-out felt like three hours and it was all I could do to walk to our truck and drive home. Yep! I’m out of shape.

Doing the Right Thing.  Some of our family visited a couple of weeks ago and during a trip to a local department store, Lisa’s dad, Vernon, discovered someone had left their wallet in one of the stores electric scooters.  He and I went immediately to the service desk and turned it over to the store manager.  We were unable to find a phone number but did find the owner’s name.  The wallet contained several thousand dollars in cash and we saw that he was a veteran.  Our daughter, Heather, found a web-site that could locate a phone number and she paid a two dollar fee for that information.  We left a message with him that we had found his wallet and had left it at the store where it could be picked up.  We also left our phone number and address with the store manager in case he had questions.  About thirty minutes later we received a call from the man.  I was expecting him to thank us for our honesty but instead he accused us of taking some of the money. I explained that we never counted the money but could see there was a significant amount of cash.  I further explained that we had paid two dollars to locate his phone number.  None of that seemed to convince him that we had not stolen anything.  The question remained: Why would we leave our phone number and address if we stole your money?  No ‘thank-you’ was given – he just hung up on me.  I wonder if the original good Samaritan got a thank-you?  P.S.  We later learned that the man had sent a “lady friend” to pick up the wallet for him.  Maybe he should check her pockets.

New RV!  New RV!  Yes Lisa is still chanting those words on a regular basis.  We drove to Columbus this past weekend to scout out the new models.  All I can say is:  I wish I had kept that man’s wallet.  Would have made a nice down payment.

Coming Home!  Love, Steve and Lisa

I was standing in the lobby of the Holiday Inn here in Cambridge, Ohio when I learned that Robin Williams had died.  Immediately I turned to the woman working behind the check-in counter and relayed the news.  I did not know her and she did not know me – but for some reason I thought the news worthy of telling a stranger.  Her reaction was one of shock and disbelief.  Like me she could not believe that the greatest comic genius of our generation had died.  It all seemed surreal.

I thought back to that moment a few days later and realized that Robin Williams had touched the lives of every day people all over our country and, probably, the world and this woman (who I did not know) and I were now strangely connected to this sad, grievous moment.  We were connected by this shared experience and we never knew each other’s names.  But more than that – and this may sound strange – it felt like we wanted to be connected even if in a small way during this moment.  This was news that one just does not want to experience alone.

As Lisa and I travel around the country we have learned how very much alike we are to people we meet.  Friends we have made along our journey have made us laugh, cry, become angry with, frustrated and inspired by.  People may have different accents everywhere we have been and different parts of America have different interests, styles and eating habits.  But mostly – people are just like us.  They love their families, work hard, want what is best for their towns, and many, if not most, love God and love their country.

Perhaps the most important learning in our journey has been that most people want to make connections with other people.  I know there are exceptions to this rule.  Trust me, we have met a few people in the various RV parks where we have stayed who make it very clear they don’t want to talk or be talked to.  But most are people who do want to connect with others.  In fact, we have discovered that there seems to be an epidemic of loneliness and isolation among many of the people we have met along the way and that is both sad and disturbing.  Some people seem absolutely starved for companionship.  Even though we are surrounded by people everywhere, loneliness seems to be at an all-time high level and as we become more connected through social media, we seem to be growing more estranged from one another.

Recently Lisa and I visited the Cambridge Glass Museum and were amazed at the collection of glass products that were produced here in Cambridge from the early 1900’s up through the 1950’s.  The glassware on display harkens back to a day and age when people dressed up for their meal and tables were set with elegance and style.  Serving meals during that time was the social connection of the day and meals were eaten slowly and often would take a couple of hours to complete.  Our guide made the comment that people hardly talk during meals today or they are staring at their smart phones instead of interacting with one another.  (In fact, it is sad to say, many children will grow up not knowing what it is like to eat food from a glass dish.)  Before television took over our schedule and rushed us through our meals, people savored food and conversation.  I also wonder if blood pressures were lower then.   Sometimes I wish I could experience life at a slower pace without technology.  Who knows?  Maybe food tasted better and people felt less lonely.

Lisa and I are now entering another thirteen week stay here in Cambridge.  We have made some connections with people – we have made friends – but our lifestyle is as fast paced as ever.  We eat off of plastic plates and drink from cans or plastic bottles.  Often we go into a restaurant and look at our phones rather than each other.  We did buy a piece of vintage Cambridge glass – a finger bowl from 1926.  I don’t know who owned the bowl originally or what it was really used for.  It is too small to eat cereal out of and not much good for soup.  It may have very little practical use.

But maybe it will remind us to put our phones away while we are eating.  People ate from this bowl when there was no television or internet.  And they seemed to get by just fine.  Maybe this “finger bowl” will remind us that we can survive a thirty minute meal without “Facebook” or “Instagram”.  I’m glad we made that connection.

Love, Steve and Lisa