CHRISTMAS HOPE - PART 4 (FINAL)

CHRISTMAS HOPE – PART 4

After receiving my “surprise gift” I went back to the lodge to make some coffee and read the novella I had been saving for this day.  It didn’t take long to get to know the characters and get caught up in the current of the story.  I really enjoy reading Cindy’s books.  She has a gift of building plots and twisting them with characters who seem familiar.  This one was no exception.  The story took place in a town that I knew from my past.  The towns, highways and buildings came to life in my memories.

The story is built with Biblical precepts and themes giving us a glimpse of what our lives could look like if we lived with grace, love and forgiveness.  Some of the characters have strong Christ-like characters and some are messed up, broken people trying to find their way in life.  It all blends together to show us that hope can be found through Faith in Jesus, even if our faith starts out small (or non-existent) in our brokenness.

This story was very special to me as many of those precepts used in the book were captured from our family!  In each character, I could see the different traits and character qualities from our family members.  My memory was flooded with thoughts of our past family gatherings.  However, I don’t remember anything about a horse making snow angels at any of our parties!!!  J

The book was an excellent distraction for a difficult day.  I felt as though I were home again.  I filled my day with other activities, like a big Christmas meal of Cornish Game Hen that was cooked ALL the way through, this year.  I made calls to family to wish them Merry Christmas.   I had some good conversations with friends here and then more reading.

The day after Christmas brought a feeling of relief, knowing that I made it througha difficult holiday.  Even more encouraging is the fact that I have made it through 4 Christmases and now I only have 3 left to endure.  I looked at my chart I use to track my time and I see that the end of January marks the halfway point of my Federal Timeshare stay.  This means I will be able to change from counting up to counting down!  It’s a big milestone for me.  These last 3 years I have seen people arrive here with longer sentences than I have and I have seen many more with lesser sentences than I have.  I met them on their first day and I said good-bye on their last day.  Now that my remaining sentence is shorter and more manageable, I am seeing guys arrive who will be leaving around the same time I will be leaving or that will be here longer than me.  Knowing that  I am about to be past this point brings me some hope that the end is coming.  I don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel yet, but I can start watching for it!!

In the meantime, I have work to do here.  I know God has things He wants me to do.  I live in a very social environment and I am a person who is energized by getting away from people.  So I’m learning to adapt.  I have come to accept frequent interruptions, overheard conversations, and group discussions when I simply want to read.  So when someone comes to my “crib” (my cube – I’m trying to learn a little ‘gangsta’ speak) to talk to me, I fight the natural desire to ditch the conversation  to be alone.  I have to remind myself that God brought this person to me for a purpose.  This is not always easy, but I am working to be more open to what God has for me.

My countdown begins February 1^st, with about 39 months until my release on May 11, 2019.  Some guys count the days, but I’m not ready for that yet.  Maybe if I had a countdown clock that would track it for me, I would be more willing to track the days.  I’m sure there is an APP for that!!  J

Keep in mind that my numbers listed do not take into account any time for a half-way house release.  The soonest I would be eligible for that is November 2018.  Even then, I won’t know which half-way house I would go to.  My options are as random as a Vegas roulette wheel.  I could end up in Milwaukee, Janesville, or the Eau Claire County Jail.  These are the only options I have heard of that are used by the Federal Prison system.   I can also choose to stay in the Elkton prison and not take the Halfway house option.   Then I will walk out the front gate of this prison on May 11, 2019.  I don’t know yet which option to choose.  What I do know is that God has a plan for me and I will choose to TRUST Him when the time comes. 

For now, I am here and this is where God has plans for me.  So here I will wait…and here I will serve…

McFreedom

Galations 5:1

Here are the lyrics for a song that has real meaning in my life at this point.   It is called, “While I’m Waiting” by John Waller.  (check it out on YouTube)

“I’m waiting,  I’m waiting on you, Lord.  And I’m hopeful, I’m waiting on you, Lord.  Though it is painful, but patiently I will wait.”

“I will move ahead, bold and confident.  Taking every step in obedience.  While I’m waiting.”

“I will serve you, while I’m waiting.  I will worship, while I’m waiting.  I will not fail, I’ll be running the race, even while I wait.”

“I’m waiting, I’m waiting on you, Lord.  And I am peaceful, I’m waiting on you, Lord.  Though it’s not easy, but faithfully I will wait.  Because I will wait.” 

CHRISTMAS HOPE - PART 3

CHRISTMAS HOPE – PART 3

Even with the bright moon and the uber-zillion candle power yard lights blazing down on me, the stars were equally bright and crisp.  The sky was full of them.  Everywhere I looked, they were endless – like the descendants of Abraham.  Every turn I took on the track, I could see a different section of the sky; unique with its ow arrangements of stars and distant planets.

In the Eastern sky there was a thin layer of a single cloud reaching closer to the camp.  The cloud was ultra thin – even translucent, as it absorbed the light of the moon.  It was like a mist or a fog rising from the swamp, except it was high in the stratosphere.  The leading edge, approaching the camp, extended forward in wisps that appeared like fingers reaching ahead into the night sky.  Could they be from the very hand of God reaching out to his people?  Perhaps a sign showing us that He is here with us?  Does God speak to us in a cloud formation?  He has done it in the past, to lead His people and speak to them. 

I felt overwhelmed by the whole experience.  Did He do this all for me because I was having a bad night?  Did anyone else see what I was seeing?  I’m sure I wasn’t the only person in the world having a difficult time on Christmas Eve.

What if this was the same sky the shepherds saw when the angels appeared to them?  If I was overwhelmed by a cloud that appeared as the Hand of God, how must they have felt when messengers from Heavens Army appeared in front of them and SPOKE to them?  That scene may have caused me to fall on my face in absolute fear!  Why would the God who created the world and designed each one of us in His image care enough to reach out to us?  Certainly He doesn’t NEED us to do His work.  But it seems He “desires” us, and if the God who created us also desires us, then He must have placed a desire for HIM within us, as well.

Therefore, as crazy as it may seem, I will accept the idea that my creator, my God knew that I needed to be comforted that night by knowing that He was with me in my sorrow and pain.  He gave me a sign through His creation, His Word, to remind me that He has His hand on my life, just as he does for my family.

I continued my stroll, basking in the moonlit sky, talking with My God.  My anger and frustration were distant now and my heart felt lighter as He lifted my burdens from me.  I could see more clearly that this night was not about me.  It was about God sending His Son to show us the Way to God.  I needed to see God in His revealed creation.

The night air was so still that sounds carried easily.  Somewhere in the dark a dog was barking.  Perhaps he was outside the house with the Christmas tree in the window.  I can’t say for sure.  It was a comfort to hear him bark, none-the-less.  Then the sound of a motorcycle starting and warming up broke the stillness.  It seemed a sound so out of place on Christmas Eve.  I was waiting to hear the coyote, whom I had heard other nights from the depths of Buzzard Gulch.

Over the loud speaker, the announcement came to tell us the “never-ending track” was closed for the night.  So my night watching God in His creation’s glory was over -- at least for now!  There will be many more, but none like tonight, as this was MY silent night.

My steps were lighter and my spirit was lifted as I walked back to Hog Lodge.  I wished people a Merry Christmas as I passed them in the hall.  A few of them felt obligated to tell me that Christmas was not until tomorrow.  I would not let them deter my mission of sharing Christmas cheer.  Some guys in prison, take joy in being very literal and technical and insist on being “right” all the time.  I was two cubicles away from my “crib”, passing along my Christmas greetings when I noticed Crankshaft hanging out with his friend, who is a natural born Jew.  I wished them both a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukah!   Crankshaft responded to my greeting with a very sarcastic statement about Christmas being a pagan celebration.  It was the last thing I needed to hear and I let him know it!  I reminded him of our fallen nature and how God, yes GOD, has redeemed us into a new creation.  We celebrate the birth of Christ, which is not built on pagan rituals or beliefs.   We do have a responsibility to understand those things that are rooted in pagan origins and guard ourselves from them.  The fact is that God sent His Son, Jesus, to become fully human to save our wretched selves from the pagan practices and sin.  Without Christmas and Easter, this salvation would not exist.  We celebrate that which is good – much as God has redeemed us and uses that which was unholy and makes it holy for His purposes.  Apparently, I was pretty “intense” in my delivery because Crankshaft became very quiet and later came to my “crib” to apologize.  I accepted his apology and offered my own for my outburst.

Christmas Day in prison is a difficult day for everyone.  It is a day where you are reminded of everything you have lost by going to prison.  To help cope with our losses, we look for distractions to occupy our minds.

I went to breakfast because I heard they would be serving Egg Nog.  They came through with their promise!!  The rest of the meal was standard Bran Flakes and cake. 

Polish Mike sat down next to me and proceeded to hand me a “gift”  as he wished me a Merry Christmas.  It was a packaged brownie from the Prison Gift Shop (commissary), along with a note that read, “Merry Christmas, Father”.   Immediately I felt bad for not having something to offer him in return.  His note was meant to be funny and I took it that way.  But I was also very touched that he thought about me with that gift.  I need to give you some background context before you can see the humor in his note…

Polish Mike is a 24 year old and he is big, in stature.  He is slightly taller than I am and stocky.  He is from the Chicago area and is … Polish!   He has a distinctive accent in his gentle voice.  When he first arrived, he spent much of his time sleeping.  I encouraged him to come outside, but he didn’t have any tennis shoes and didn’t like wearing the prison-issued boots.  So I gave him a pair of my old medical shoes.  They helped a little.  I stopped by his crib a few times to see how he was doing, but we didn’t really develop a friendship.  It was more of an occasional acquaintance.

Then there is an officer who works in the kitchen, whose name is Mr Long.  He is nicer than most of the officers, but is very quirky in a humorous sort of way.  One of his odd quirks is walking along the serving line of his waiting “customers” and “Thanking them for coming!!!!”  This, of course, is done in sarcasm, but is still a nice gesture.  Most guys ignore him or acknowledge him with an uncomfortable smile.  As for me, I respond with equal sarcasm and say, “Thank YOU for inviting us!”  (I choose to fight crazy with crazy!)

Now you know the players, so let me put the story together.  Gee whillickers, this is like a flashback in a movie! 

Last month, it so happened that Polish Mike was in the meal line with me.  As we stepped into the Dirty Spoon Diner, Mr. Long was walking the line, thanking the “customers”.  He approached me and said, “Thanks for coming and bringing your son!!!”  This was an awkward moment that made us all laugh.  There is a little resemblance that can be made in our similar statures.  So from that moment on, we have had fun calling each other with our new titles.  Others, too, have joined in on the game.  Besides the comedy relief this brings, it also forces me to see the reality of age differences in here.  Perhaps I should bear more responsibility with my “advanced years” to help those who are younger.  This is an overwhelming thought!!!  GOOD GRIEF!

To be continued….

(I know, I know…this is getting a little ridiculous…one more Part…I swear, that will be the last!!!!!)

McFreedom

CHRISTMAS HOPE - PART 2

CHRISTMAS HOPE – PART 2

Saturday night we had the 2^nd Christmas concert of the season.  This is unusual to have two in one week.  The Mennonite Choir from Mount Joy performed tonight’s concert.  The Mennonite Choir from Mount Joy is a favorite group of many residents here.  They bring a large choir of about 22 men and women.  They sing without any accompaniment and they harmonize beautifully.  Their Canadian Pastor delivers a message and, unlike most of our outside visiting group, they believe in the Trinity as taught in the scriptures.

The concert was well-attended with most of the chairs filled up.  The chapel orderlies had to bring in additional chairs from the drug abuse classrooms down the hall.  The choir sang Christmas songs with customized arrangements.  It is so nice to hear female voices, and they sounded like angels.  I closed my eyes and let their voices wash over me.  The conversation earlier that day with Crankshaft and the Wizard had been rolling around in my head.  Hearing the choir sing helped to stop these thoughts from moving around.

The message given by the pastor was very good, as he related making room for Jesus in our hearts.  Then he spoke about how we need to clean up our lives in order to make room for Jesus.  I don’t know if he realized what he was saying, but it sounded more like salvation comes by cleaning up our act – instead of letting Jesus clean us.  He gave a muted alter call. (In other words, he encouraged people to accept Jesus Christ in their lives without any sort of challenge to come forward and acknowledge their commitment.

Meanwhile, Chaplain Johnson (the staff chaplain) had been hiding in the office of the psychiatrist during the concert.  He made his way to the front of the room and made some odd comments to guilt inmates to come forward.  He lacks any sort of tact, compassion or empathy.  He spoke as if this was an inconvenience for him.   Even if someone did want to come forward, they likely would not make a move out of fear that he would go out of his way to embarrass them.  He is good at singling out people in a crowd.  Despite his cold approach, the concert was well-received.  Most people here have learned to look past the side-show he puts on.

The weather up on Elkton “Mountain” has been unseasonably warm, so there hasn’t been any snow.  The absence of the white powder made it feel like just another Fall day.  Christmas Eve was no exception.  It was warm enough to walk the track wearing only a sweatshirt and shorts.  It was a beautiful day; the first of a four-day holiday weekend.  It was going to be a LONG weekend.  Many guys were dreading it as time passes so slowly on the long holidays like this.  This wasn’t my opinion however.  These long weekends are a welcome break to my routine.  The weekend would be special for me as I had a brand new Christmas novella to read, “An Endless Christmas”, waiting to be read.  The novella was written by one of my favorite authors (who just happens to be my sister-in-law, Cynthia Ruchti….[insert shameless plug].)  She writes books that leave me encouraged, inspired, and filled with hope.  This novella was no exception.  I had the book in my locker since the beginning of December.  Knowing I would have a long Christmas weekend, I decided to wait to read it until Christmas Day.  After all, the book was influenced by traditions from my wife’s family Christmas gatherings.  The Binder family in the novella resembles the love and grace of the Johnson family.

Christmas Eve was a warm day.  After lunch I took a walk wearing a sweatshirt and shorts.  The sun was warm on my head making me wonder if I should have put on some sunscreen.  I wasn’t that worried about it.  The day was surreal, melancholy and exciting all wrapped up in anticipation.

Chaplain Johnson, our resident purveyor of heresy, was hosting a special service today with his wife…err..excuse me, “Sister” Johnson, as he calls her.  It always sounds creepy when he refers to his wife as “sister”.  It sounds like something Abraham would say about Sarah.  Normally, I don’t look forward to his services, but this one would be different.  Back in October, Chaplain and Sister Johnson took a trip to the Holy Land.  This service was to show the pictures and video (on VHS tape) of their trip.  My interest was in the Holy Land, as I would like to visit the area someday (if I am able).  For now, though, I will settle for a video of someone else’s adventure.  Chaplain and Sister Johnson were “unique” tour guides for us as they narrated their adventure.  She has a warm and kind personality whereas he is bristly and stiff.  At one point they were at the Dead Sea taking turns filming each other bobbing in the buoyant waters.  He chose to walk into the water at a place that was quite rocky and he was taking quite a long time to get into the deeper water where he could float.  Sister Johnson was “coaxing” him to hurry up and get wet.  She said, “Hurry up Commandant!” and repeated that several times to him.  He remained silently stoic with a look of fear in his face.  He finally gave up and went back to the area set up for tourists to enter the Dead Sea waters safely.  This area was equipped with hand-railings and steps.  All of us inmates got a good laugh at this demonstration of his pride.

There were many other fascinating venues on their trip to the Holy Land that they shared with us.  They took us to the Sea of Galilee, Petra, Mount Nebo – where Moses saw the Promised Land before he died, the tomb of Jesus, the Garden of Gethsemane, the Wailing Wall and some ancient churches.  Despite Chaplains oddities and his heretical teachings, he did a good job of sharing his experiences of the Holy Land with us.  I really enjoyed the time watching and listening to the stories of their trip.

After supper, the air was chilling down but it was still warm and pleasant.  It seemed like a perfect night to sing Christmas Carols on the bleachers by the softball field.  I mentioned this to a couple of inmates and got a half-hearted response from them.  I also realized that we didn’t have printed lyrics to keep us from mumbling some made-up words.  The idea of singing Christmas Carols dissipated quickly, like the hope of a presidential pardon!!

Father Bernie made an announcement that he was about to begin a Christmas Mass in the Tower Chapel.  I knew they would be singing some Carols at this service, so I headed over to the chapel.  I have been to a midnight mass in St. Paul, MN and have watched a few on the television.  They are so peaceful and reverent, with beautiful music.  Father Bernie seemed to be in a hurry as her rushed through the Mass.  My friend, Logan, had made copies of the common Carols during their days of practicing and had invited the inmates in attendance to hang around after the Mass to join him in singing Carols.  My hopes of singing Carols on Christmas Eve were restored and I was looking forward to the opportunity.

Father Bernie ended the Mass and promptly disrobed from his priestly garb.  He then marched out to his office.  There were approximately a dozen inmates who elected to stay and sing Christmas Carols together.  We immediately began singing the Carols without accompaniment.  It was a very special time as we did our best to find the notes and melody.  My hope was being fulfilled and I was really enjoying the time singing praises to our Savior.

Then it happened!!  Father Bernie told the Chapel Orderlies he wanted to leave so they needed to clean up the chapel.  Now, we all respect the Chaplains, as they are officers first and then chaplains.  We respect their requests, but we know there is some latitude to make accommodations in cases like this.  Instead, our Chapel orderlies responded as though Jesus was returning RIGHT THAT MOMENT.  So as we were singing the carols, the orderlies went into “Rapture mode” and started to stack up the chairs in record time.  The metal rungs of the chairs made a loud clanking sound as they stacked them with fury.  Meanwhile, we continued to sing, despite the disruption of our reverent worship.  My frustration and ire was growing as they moved closer to my row.  I determined not to let the actions of our blind zealots keep us from our last song of “Silent Night”.  I remained immobile in my seat, as they pushed the stacks of chairs into the hallway.  I could see they were frustrated with my lack of cooperation, which gave me very brief satisfaction.  One of the robotic orderlies hovered over me resembling a vulture circling over his next meal.

We finished “Silent Night”, so I stood up and relinquished my rebellion.  No sooner had I stood up than, the swarming, chair-stacking vultures captured my chair.  The chairs were whisked away to the storage chamber to be brought back out in the morning.  Even though we had to compete with the clanging of the chairs being stacked, we still managed to enjoy the singing of Christmas Carols!

Perhaps what made me most angry about this was that they (the robotic orderlies) would not ask for our help after we finished singing.  Or perhaps it was that they were unable to deviate from their routine to allow these few men to enjoy singing Christmas Carols one night a year.   You see, the only reason they took the chairs out was so that the room would be ready for the Muslim prayer service the next day.  The robots could easily have removed those chairs before the service in the morning.  The static routines of prison cause some guys to stop using simple reasoning skills.

I walked back to my cube, feeling angry, as my hope of a peaceful Christmas Eve was stolen from me.  I walked past the bocci court where a few had gathered to enjoy the warm night.  I stopped by one of my friends and began to ‘belch’ out my swelling frustration to him.  Nothing is private in prison, so just as I vented my anger, one of the chapel robots passed by and overheard my rant.  He continued walking and raised his finger to announce my “number one” status and proceeded to tell me off.

The stress of this milestone Christmas escalated to a new record.  I went back to my humble cubicle and laid down.  My misery turned into depression and the quickest remedy was sleep.  After a while of restlessness, I had to get up.  I put my headphones around my neck and grabbed my MP3 player, only to realize I had left it on and the battery was nearly in the “dead zone”.   I was living a Charlie Brown moment…GOOD GRIEF!!!!

I forced myself to the track and tuned in my new Christmas playlist.  I maxed out the volume, but left my headphone off my ears and around my neck.  I could hear the music comfortably, without bothering the others walking the track.  But then again, my surly mood prevented me from caring if I did bother them.

The air was chilled but comfortable.  I wore my jacket unzipped and a hat to keep my bald spot warm.  I found an apple in my jacket pocket from the “Dirty Spoon Diner” earlier that day and ate it as I walked.  I would have preferred a peanut butter chocolate kiss cookie that Jeannie makes every Christmas, but the apple would have to do.

I walked off my frustration for two hours, until they kicked me off the endless track.  I walked the laps slowly, listening to my new, but old Christmas tunes.  I sang along to the ones I could remember.  They helped to sooth my aching soul from its misery.

The night air was fresh and clear.  There was a faint smell from a distant fireplace.  The South side of the track looks over “Buzzard Gulch”, where the homesteads are only visible by the yard lights.  One stood out brighter than the others.  I stopped and walked up close to the chain link fence to focus through one diamond-shaped hole.  The light was not a single light, but rather many lights in the shape of a Christmas tree.  They were all white and sparkly.  I concentrated my eyes longer and was able to determine that this was indeed someone’s Christmas tree inside the large picture window.  Meanwhile, I was hoping the officer sitting in his pick-up truck 50 yards from me didn’t have his gun aimed at me thinking I was trying to escape.  He would have been right, if he could read my thoughts!  The only problem is…I had already left…I just let my body stay behind to be counted 8 times a day, as my mind transported to that family home Christmas scene.   I cherished the sight of that tree and stopped several more times just to study it.

Except for the lack of snow and the abundant razor wire, it was a perfect Christmas Even night.  The moon was full and it was big in the night sky.  It was bright and crisp as it reflected the Sun from the other side of the Earth.  It was bright enough that they could have turned off our “uber-zillion candle power night lights” and still see our every moves.  The craters in the moon were easy to see without difficulty.  It was an amazing sight to behold.  I can’t remember the last time I saw the moon so big, bright and crisp, as it was that night.

To be continued….

McFreedom

CHRISTMAS HOPE - PART 1

Christmas Hope – 2015 (Part 1)

Christmas is a special time that marks each year.  It means something different for different people.  For some, it is an exciting time of the year with family, special lights, gift-giving and great food.  For some it brings feelings of sadness and dread, as the day approaches.  For Christians, we see Christmas as a time to remember the birth of our Messiah, Jesus and we seek to bring Him honor through our worship, as we retell the story of His birth.

My Christmas was very different this year compared to the past 3 years.  It wasn’t a “bad” Christmas and in the same token, it wasn’t the Best Christmas.  It was just…different…with a life of its own.  The largest impact of this Christmas is that it would be my fourth Christmas in prison.  It is hard to believe that so much time has passed by.  Where has it all gone?  It passes by like "water over stones".

I looked at my chart that I use to track the months that have passed by and the months remaining.  This being my fourth Christmas means there are only three Christmases remaining here at Elkton.   Studying my count, I could see that, as of January 31^st, I will have served 39 months of my sentence and will have 39 months left to serve.  When I realized this would be my half-way point, it felt like all time had simply stopped!  A sense of panic swept over me as I tried to grasp this reality.

This new reality opened the door for the Christmas “blues” to enter.  Could I make it through this Christmas?  What about the next three?  My soul was troubled with these thoughts, as they began to consume me.  I needed comfort, but I was pretty sure the warden would not let me go home, to be with my family. 

Little King David, in the Bible, was a great musician and could really bend those strings on the old lyre.  He played music that really touched the soul and soothed the pain inside of his rival King Saul.  So I turned on the radio station that played 24-hour Christmas music.  Some was good, but it didn’t sooth my Christmas Blues.  Normally, I don’t purchase Christmas music for my “P-pod” (Prison MP3 Player), but this year I splurged and binged on Christmas music that struck the right chords in my soul.  I found some blues-y, jazz-filled Christmas music by artists such as:  Dianna Krall, Etta James, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, various choirs, Vince Guaraldi, Dan Fogelberg, Barlow Girls, Go Fish, Amy Gill, Kenny Loggins and a few others.  These artists struck the chords of my soul like David did for Saul.  They made some classic Christmas music come alive, as they reverberated in my soul.  They invoked memories of many Christmases past and the warmth of being with my family and friends.  The flood of memories brought comfort to my heart, as the sounds ministered to my soul.  Only three more to go, I kept telling myself.  But first, I had to get through THIS one.

The week before Christmas we were treated with two Christmas Choir Concerts.  The first was a performance by the Trinitones on Tuesday.  It is an Inmate Only production hosted in the Visitation Room.  I was asked to be the Lead Speaker – the one who ties the 9 Carols together with the associated Gospel messages.  I graciously and discretely declined this opportunity, as last year’s experience was not honoring to God.  I could not be a part of something that was built on pride, ego and dysfunction behind the scenes.  After my experience from the previous year I simply could not in good conscience, align myself with the production.  Yet, I also did not want to speak negatively of the performance, as the end product truly is good and well-attended by inmates who will not normally attend any chapel sponsored events.  They are not aware of the toxic attitudes brewing behind the scenes.  I did, however, attend the concert.

Friday was pretty exciting here at the “camp”.  This was the day set aside for our gift exchange.  Under heavy security, we line up on the sidewalk to pick up our bag of Christmas Junk Food which the B.O.P. (Bureau of Prisons) hands us.  The bag has a variety of off-brand snack chips, cookies, and fun-sized sweets.  This year’s theme was Extra Spicy!!  Hot Funyons, spicy peanuts, and even a jalepeno bagel!!!  This may have been part of the plan to lure “El Chapo” out of hiding.  LOL.  Despite the jalepenos in the bagel, it was the best item in the bag.  I was able to trade other items from my bag to swap for more bagels.  I think I ended up with six of them.  They were pretty good if you heated them up in hot water and melted margarine and added some cinnamon and sugar from the kitchen to them.  It was a nice treat to have the chewy bagel.

Saturday was an interesting day.  There is a young man here from a small town near Madison, WI. (A “home-y”!!!)  The name of his home town starts with the Indian name for corn and has four syllables (can you figure out this riddle?).  He even had a short career with a company in that town that I once worked for.  I will use comic strip names for these two characters from here on out.  “Crankshaft” and the “Wizard of ID” are these two men.  The first man, Crankshaft, has become good friends with another young man here who is a former pagan who was deep into the “dark world of Wicca”.  He still bears the tattoos of the symbols of Wicca on his arms and hands.  Let’s just call him the Wizard.  I have had several conversations with the Wizard since he arrived.  He has told me of the dark ceremonies he partook of in his past and also of his amazing change of belief to follow Jesus.  Oops, I should be using the Hebrew name of Jesus for this part of the story – Yashua.  You see, the Wizard converted to Christianity but aligns himself with the Messianic Jewish community – albeit with a “twist”.  The twist is that you must always use the “proper” Hebrew names for God and Jesus.  There I go again!  I mean  Yahwey and Yashua.  Everyone has to be different, I guess.

So to continue….The Wizard has become friends with Crankshaft and is training him to teach Christians the proper way to address our God.   Crankshaft had asked me if he could have a discussion with me about this and I obliged him.  So Saturday, I met with Crankshaft and the Wizard.  It felt like I was used as an Amway training dummy.  Crankshaft was awkward and clumsy in his presentation while the Wizard was growing frustrated.  I challenged their premise respectfully, which took Crankshaft off script and he seemed to lose interest and started a conversation with someone else.  The Wizard then took over the discussion and proceeded to explain the heavy influence of paganism on our Christian belief system and therefore we must be very cautious not to allow them into our worship.  We had an engaging, intense, and yet friendly conversation for a couple of hours.  It appears that Crankshaft and the Wizard love God, but they clearly miss the point about how God has demonstrated how He redeems what is unholy and makes it holy.  He brings life out of death.  He makes the unrighteous to be righteous.  He gives us freedom from our bondage.  This is the Love our God has for us, which transcends any barriers to us, including the limitations of our human languages.

As we wrapped up our discussion, I asked the Wizard how he plans to solve the problem of our language barrier?  Does this mean that in order for us to address our God, we all must learn the original Hebrew language?  He explained that we must use the correct Hebrew names of God and Jesus, and if we don’t use the correct Hebrew names, we are in violation of the 3^rd commandment.  After hearing his response, I felt a little guilty, as I had been using the English names for our God during our conversation and they would quickly correct me with the Hebrew names complete with the guttural pronunciation.  I no longer carry that guilt because I trust the English scriptures along with hundreds of theologians over a former Wiccan with his prison theology.

To be continued….

McFreedom