Memories and "Correctness"

   Writing yesterday about "old school' brought back many memories of my days sitting at those desks in public and private school. I can still remember things from grammar school, but mostly my High School days at McCallie.

   From the vantage point of time, I can look back and feel extremely blessed by being able to spend 5 years at McCallie. Not only did I receive a great educational foundation for college and beyond, but this was presented with a Biblical foundation. 

   I know it was a different time back then, and some things that were done would be looked down on today in the name of student self esteem or political correctness. One thing especially comes to mind:

   Everybody was known for administrative purposes by their last name. So, for the my first years at McCallie, I was always just listed as "Bowman". When my brother came into the 7th grade, there were two Bowmans and I had to have an initial behind that moniker. I became Bowman, D, and he was Bowman, S.

   In my senior year, my science course was Physics, taught by Mr. Wallace W. Purdy. Now I had heard for years about his classes and the things that went on in there, but then I got it firsthand.

   The head cheerleader (now this was and still is a boy's school), was in my class. One day Mr. Purdy asked him to come up and lead the class in a cheer. He wanted us to remember about isotopes, and I remember to this day the definition he taught us through the chanting of a cheer over and over again, led by Jim Plyler:

      "Same atomic number but different atomic weight, Hey"

      "Same atomic number but different atomic weight, Hey"

      "Same atomic number but different atomic weight, Hey"

   We stood and cheered lustily, stomping the floor in time to the words, but I remember that definition. With the wooden floors in that old building, I never thought about the class below us and what they must have thought. That was just Mr. Purdy.

   This same Jim Plyler was the only basketball player I knew that could form bubbles in his mouth and blow them out as he dribbled down the court. He was also my company commander, a versatile student in many ways.

   There would be shock in the school systems today over this next "Purdy System". It was a rating system of all the boys in his Physics class, changed every two weeks according to the grading period, and posted on the board for all to see. There was no doubt where you stood academically in that class, the chalk board did not lie.

   In our annual that year, there was a rendition of that system.

   If you look down the list, you will not find me at the top, or the bottom for that matter. No. 13 out of 22 was D'man. Mr. Purdy had taken my name, Bowman, D and made Dmanbow out of it, then further shortened it to D'man, the name he used for me all year long.

   Maybe it was not "correct", but it was a pretty good motivational tool. You did not want to get your alias over in the right hand column, and surely not down toward the end of that list. Everyone would know...

   Memories and more memories, and most of them good.

   I was fortunate and blessed to be there and live in that atmosphere.

   

   

   

A New Definition of "Old School"

   Yesterday, our daughter and husband posted a couple of videos on You Tube that featured their son Archer. You need to watch both to understand all of this. Do it!

   The first one showed him winning the State Algebra One contest, and it is here:

https://youtu.be/8XfS-z3-R2g

   The second one shows Archer and his sister Cady Gray where he gives the reason for some of his correct answers on the test.

https://youtu.be/jWVx8Iku90k

   Now I took Algebra I way back when, and it sure does not sound like anything that I ever learned, and, if so, surely do not remember.

   Another amazing thing about that second video is that Cady Gray and her mother act like they understand what he is talking about while I'm stuck in the far distant past, not comprehending a word of the whole thing.

   "Old School" has a brand new meaning for me. I probably took a course with this same number back in the early 50's and even scored high enough on the College Board exams to be exempt from the final exam that year in Math.

   Did I forget that much in the meantime, or did they change all the vocabulary?

   I should mention that Archer and Cady Gray are not so brilliant that they do not enjoy a walk now and then with their Granny Lou.

   Just Bragging on my Grand Kids, again.

Lifetime Guarantee

   In the post yesterday, there was this abandoned store in a small Georgia town.

   As I am a lot of the time, I was drawn to the advertising sign on that building, faded and worn, but important in its day.

   This was a sign that people looked at, and read, and it identified what this store was all about.

   A lot of the sign can be read in the picture above, but the last line at the bottom has been partially obliterated by time and weather. The only part I can make out is:

   "…..OF YOUR CAR FOR AS LONG AS….."

   Now I can speculate the it refers to the Lifetime Guarantee mentioned above under the picture of the shock absorber, but I'm left to wonder of the terms of that same guarantee.

   Whose Lifetime?

      The Car?

      The Owner of that Car?

      This Store?

      The Company that manufactured the product?

          "…FOR AS LONG AS…"

   Is there still a one-owner car driving around town, that has this brand of shocks installed on it, purchased from this auto supply store?

   He's Covered…I Think..

 

A True Story and A Sheepish Reminder

   When we got home last evening, and I unloaded the pictures from my camera, I knew what I wanted to write about this morning. Let me put it in perspective:

      The Story

   In the process of completing our courthouse picture journey, I had noticed on one county website, the story of an old 1858 courthouse that he been removed from its spot when a new one was built in 1919. This older one, one of the oldest frame courthouses left in Georgia, had been purchased by a resident of the town, moved from the old courthouse square and was, even today in 2015, being used a a private residence.

   It was the only story like this that we found, so, when we were in the area yesterday, we drove to that small county seat, to find that old building.

   What better place to ask about the story and get directions than the "new" 1919 courthouse?

                                Locked up tight, no one around.

   How about the city hall right up the street?

                                Same story, second verse.

   No one at the insurance office either.

   Really no activity here…

   Finally an unlocked door and a real person. But there was a problem even here. The lady inside this combination hardware and plant store had only lived in town for 8 years or so and, even though she had heard the story of the old courthouse, she had no information as to its whereabouts.

   She did know, however, who might be able to give me the answer to my question. An older lady, who worked in the bank up the street, would surely know. Another potential problem, the bank closed at 3pm, and it was 3:05 already. But, alas, the three cars parked in a lot south of the bank belonged to the employees, and they were still there. If I hurried I might catch them as they left the bank building to go home.

   Sure enough, as I walked across to the vacant lot, three ladies came out of the bank, locked the door and started toward their cars. Stopping their progress, introducing myself and my question, I got the answer I was seeking. Sure enough, the story was right, the third house to the north, on the left side was the building I was looking for. Hidden behind some big trees, you would not be able to identify it as an old courthouse.

   Mission accomplished…

   But there was more. As I emptied my computer bag this morning, a folded piece of paper dropped out. It was a church bulletin from 2013 when we had visited in North Carolina with friends..

   On the back page was a long prayer list, I counted 90 names, and at the bottom a little quote that made me step back a bit.

   "Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
                           T.H. Thompson and John Watson

   Here I was, poking fun at a sleepy Georgia town that clearly had seen better days, but what did I know of the individuals who lived there?

   It was a true account of my time there, sure, but who was I to throw stones? I had enough battles of my own to fight, and some not too successfully.

   A reminder to look at other's lives with respect, especially when I can only see the outward circumstances.

A Stress Free Island, and Thanksgiving...

   As I sat in the stands at the back of the 11th green yesterday, one thought came stomping through my mind:

   NO STRESS

   Now, it sure was not in the faces of some of the players in the RBC Heritage Classic in Hilton Head. They were intent on making the cut to get into the weekend pairings. I had watched as one golfer almost made a hole in one, rolling right by the hole and ending up a couple of feet beyond. He carefully lined up a sure birdie putt, and then missed. He walked around, he knelt to get a new line, he walked some more and then missed the par putt coming back, settling for a bogey. He was not happy.

   He was stressed.

   But I did not have to make the cut. I did not even have to make a club choice. I did not have to do anything but watch, and the feeling was great.

   All of this was not even on my radar just a few hours earlier.

   I friend called on Thursday night, offering a ticket and a ride to the PGA tournament just a few hours drive up in South Carolina. He was driving up, would give me the ticket and the ride up, and my wife insisted that I go. With my arm properly twisted behind my back, I agreed, and at 10:30 the next morning, we were on the bus from the parking area, heading for the Harbor Town course along with a bunch of other fans.

   With no agenda for the day, we watched a local St. Simons player for a few holes, then found another local and followed him. Neither did real well, and we realized that we sure were not bringing them any luck on the course. We just watched whoever came through where we found ourselves. I watched on several holes, while he went to a different spot, meeting up again after a couple of hours.

   No line at the concession stand, a BBQ sandwich, a bathroom break, some more players played by, crowds moved back and forth on the cart path, cheers for good shots, oohs for near misses, and the action swirled around my little island of stress free living.

   Even as our day on the course was ending around 5PM, the walk from our last stop to the bus stop was easy, the busses were ready, and the line moved quickly. The bus ride was nice, the seats were comfortable, we found our car, and we were on the road home without a hitch.

   We stopped for gas, and the station had run out.

   MacDonald's milk shake machine was broken.

   Nothing could break into our day. A laugh, and we were on our way again.

   Another gas station, with fuel this time, and a DQ with working equipment,  an Interstate highway with swiftly moving traffic, good conversation, and home by 8:30.

   What a day.

   The psalmist says to honor God with sacrifices of thanksgiving, and I do.

   And my friend as well.



 

Three Books on My Table...

   I got up this morning with a blank page on my calendar. Now that is not too unusual these days. I have less meetings I need to attend, less physical activities since the shingles with its reduced energy level, and less responsibilities at church these days.

   So, one of the things I am doing is reading more, but I may need a psychiatrist to tell me why these 3 particular books are on my table at the same time, all in the process of being read.

   There is a book on my Kindle app: Walking the Bible, the true story of the author's search for a personal God connection, through the means of a walking through Old Testament sites in order to connect with his Jewish roots and thus to the God of the Bible.

   There is another book: Searching for Sunday, a new book by a thirty-something woman talking about her search which takes her from her upbringing in church, to leaving the church, to rediscovery in her young adult life. I have not gotten that far into it, but it is a title that I wanted to read.

   Book number three: A book by the Congressman, now Governor of Ohio, John Kasich, entitled Every Other Monday, another book dealing with some sort of religious search for meaning in life during a 20 year stretch in a small group of men who meet every other Monday to talk about how to apply Biblical teaching to life as they were living it.

   There does appear to be a theme in these three titles.

   Maybe it has to do with those blank pages on my calendar and a search for relevance in my modern world. Perhaps it is a search through books on searching,

   Hopefully, it is a process, led by God, to show me my path in these days.

Jordan and Sawyer, Two Lives, One Prayer

   It was a quiet walk around the 3 holes of our golf course this morning. No one playing, not even any mowers or grounds people moving about. Just me and the birds.

   A question was on my mind, and I wondered how Jordan Spieth woke up today with a green jacket on the hanger in his closet. I did not know the answer to that, but I did know what I wanted to do.

   I spent some of that early morning walk, praying for Jordan, and for his life.

   Now, I can't really know any more about him that what CBS portrayed and what the media has written (and will really put out today), but I was impressed with his style and demeanor on the course and in the Butler Cabin yesterday. I liked his smile and his family hugs. It was a "feel good" moment for all of us.

   I have a grandson who is the same age as the Master's Champion, and I would pray the same things for him as he leaves the known of college and goes out into the world of the unknown, of life with that degree.

   Neither of their paths will be the same in the future.

   I prayed for God's protection over their lives.

   I prayed that they would stay grounded in their family.

   I prayed that they would stay strong, and that the deception of sin and Satan would be known for what it is, and what it can do to a life.

   I prayed that both would seriously look for God's leadership in the decisions that they will be called upon to make.

   I prayed that God would bring into their lives, people who could counsel wisely, and who would live that wisdom out in front, and beside them.

   And I prayed that they would both find the joy that comes from serving their Creator, living in His will, and serving others in the process.

   Lives with promise. Lives with opportunity.

   What a time to be alive...

An Inmate On My Path...

   During the night I woke up from a dream, and this morning as I got out in the coolness, the story line was still there. It looked like this:

   I was somewhere I did not recognize; it seemed like a third world country. I had gone into this small school for some reason, and the teacher, who was also the local priest or pastor, came over to talk to me. He shared about his community and how they were destitute and suffering.

   All of a sudden my wife and I were in a room with a bunch of ladies trying to sell us something. One of these women presented us with a bill for $58 for something we had not even thought about buying. We saw the scam and refused to pay, getting up and leaving in a huff.

   In the dream, I walked outside into the street and looked around at all the poverty of the place. The thought hit me, and, indeed stayed with me as I woke up, what could I do to help these people? What was my responsibility to those that I saw in need? How could I even begin to help those masses of needy, in my dream place, or anywhere for that matter?

   As I sat and thought and prayed, I looked over and saw a letter on my table, one that had come a few days back from an inmate in one of our Georgia prisons. Even though I knew the individual, I had not responded. We had corresponded occasionally over the years since I had met him, but we were not close.

   He told about his life there behind bars, his attempts at getting a new trial, and his families' shunning of him in his situation. In reality, I guess he was just looking for someone to care.

   And there the letter sat, unanswered.

   It was as if God had moved my eyes toward that spot on my table. Sure there were masses of people around the world that had needs, but here was a man that was right in my face, and I did not respond. All I needed to do was look around, even sitting in my condo, on my couch. there he was.

   There are times when the masses of needs out there can paralyze us into inaction on the ones we can minister to in some way. I just needed to see what was right in my path and respond.

   Any inmates on your path?

A Memorable Day, For Sure...

   Sometime back in the previous century, probably around the late 70s or early 80s, a friend called me and said that he had an extra ticket to the Masters for the next day, and he also had plane transportation to and from Augusta. Could I go, he asked? My answer: "What time do I need to be where?"

   I thought about that trip to Augusta National as I looked at my computer this morning. This was Day One for the 2015 Masters, and I had been there for this day so many years ago.

   I can't really remember who won that year, or even which players I got to see, but I do remember the course, how green it was, how the azaleas colored the grounds, how the crowds were so hushed, almost reverent, how good the $1.00 egg salad sandwich was, and how thrilled I was to actually walk on such a course.

   In subsequent years, after we moved south, I have been able to go a couple of times, but always on a Tuesday, the practice round day before the opening of the tournament. It is always great to see the course and the players, but it makes a difference when you watch a golf shot being hit and know that the result actually counts.

   I remember, too, the special transportation we had that earlier day. We flew to Augusta that day on a Lear jet and flew home on a Beechcraft Queen Air. Not a bad way to get down and back.

   Thirty or so years later, these are the things that I most remember. All because of a friend's invitation to watch some golf on a beautiful day.

   I remember it fondly, I wonder if he does?

College Professor Wins Bowmanor Challenge

      In one of the premier NCAA basketball pools for the 2015 National Championships, a contest that draws contestants from all over the country, the winner for this year is a college professor at the University of Central Arkansas. Correctly calling the Duke Blue Devils win over the Wisconsin Badgers, she finished on top of the very competitive Challenge.

   The confinement of space for this blog post restricts me to the top ten finishers, but here they are in descending order:

1. A College Professor from Conway, AR
2. A Retired Pilot from St. Simons Island, GA
3. A High School Chemistry teacher and Track Coach from Cornelius, NC
4. An Eighth Grade Soccer Player from Blacksburg, VA
5. An Eighth Grade Math Wizard from Conway, AR
6. A Freelance Writer from Conway, AR
7. A College Professor from Blacksburg, VA
8. A Retired Middle School History Teacher from St. Simons Island, GA
9. A Fifth Grade Honor Student from Conway, AR
10. A High School Math Teacher from Blacksburg, VA

   The Bowmanor Challenge is an exclusive, invitation only, contest open to qualified individuals residing in the United States. For information on joining the group for the 2016 Challenge just comment on this post in the proper section. Applicants will be screened and notified in time for the 2016 contest.

   The 2015 winner will receive the Bowmanor Revolving Trophey along with a cash stipend donated by an anonymous donor, the amount to be determined.

   (Pictured above, from left to right, is A Fifth Grade Honor Student, the winner, and an 8th Grade Math Wizard)

   Congratulations to all who finished in the top 10, and the reporter apologizes for not having room for more. No persons were disqualified for shoddy workmanship this year.

Easter and Kenya

   Easter Sunday, 2015

   The crowds poured into and out of church yesterday morning. People were dressed in their finest, kids all looked great in new outfits and bright colors. The weather was absolutely beautiful and even the gnats were not too bad.

   The message was good, the music uplifting. It was a good Sunday to worship the Risen Christ and the life that He gives to those who believe.

   The contrast was striking with the news out of Kenya of the massacre of the 147 college age Christians by Islamic militants in the north of that country.

   I tried to imagine what the parents of the killed and the other students who knew them at that university were dealing with on this same Sunday.

   We get in the habit of thinking that all Christians, no matter their home country or area, are all in the same boat, and in some ways we are because of what we believe. But in so many places around our world, Christians are being singled out and persecuted for their faith.

   Persecution in those places is not just a degrading remark or a hard look, but physical harm and death.

   How would the American church fare in these kinds of attacks? How many of those people who only come on Easter and maybe Christmas would show up for services if a threat of death hovered over just getting out of the car to go inside? How about even those of us who show up every week?

   Jesus told his followers that as the world had persecuted Him, so they would be also.

   God, give us the strength that we read about in those lands overseas. May we be steadfast and true when and if it comes to us.

A Great Stuckness

   My thoughts as I walked this morning early were on the events of Easter, and particularly on the lives of those disciples of Jesus as they woke up and lived through Saturday, the day between the awfulness of the crucifixion  and the glories of Easter, a day they could not see yet.

   ?here was probably not a "one size fits all" type of reaction to the events of that Friday. It was certainly not a "good Friday" in their minds. They may have been emotionally drained, they may have wanted to stay in the bed and pull the covers over their heads, they may have spent this Sabbath Day worrying about what was ahead for them.

   In the words of the old golf saying, they were like "a lost ball in the high weeds".

   They were stuck in Saturday, a day they did not particularly want to live in.

   These 11 men, and the others who had been close to Jesus were stuck, like we were yesterday in Savannah.

   We were driving to some friends house for lunch, our lives moving along the expressway, when all of a sudden both lanes of traffic going east, stopped. There was only one road to get to our friends, and lunch, but we were in a great stuckness.

    Looking in the mirror, all I could see were cars sitting behind me. Ahead I could see two lanes of eastbound traffic sitting still, all the way to the bend where the road curved. What was the problem? What was beyond my vision?

   As the minutes ticked by, and the cars along with me inched forward, I did not know what we could do. "Just wait it out, I guess". Lunch was up there somewhere, but it was unknown to us at the time.

   Those disciples, if they ventured out of the house on that Sabbath, could see others going about their day, just as we could see cars heading west on that road, going about their business. They were not stuck.

   As we sat there, I'm sure there were people wondering about their shrinking gas supply. Were they scared? Were the disciples scared of what might happen to them on the morrow? Their hope gauge was sitting on E.

   We could see cars making U-turns, heading back to their lives before the jam, and giving up on their plan to get to the beach. Did some of the disciples think about that?

   Our problem was temporary, the traffic eventually moved, and we got to our destination. God was in control through it all.

   He was in control way back then on that first Easter weekend, too, but, to those followers of that Rabbi, Jesus, those hours between that dark Friday and that eye-opening Sunday must have been long and hard.

   They were in "a great stuckness".

   And we, like them, can joyfully say:

   "Thank God for Sunday"

 

 

5,000 Word's Worth

   If a picture is worth 1,000 words, this is a 5,000 word Spring essay.

Easy on the Eyes

and

A Short Read, Too