I often find myself singing that line when I feel I am nearing the end of something. A good vacation, a good bottle of wine maybe, or as it was this week, the end of another summer.
A post popped up on my Facebook feed on Labor Day that was the top thirty songs of the week of September 4, 1970. The week of September 4, 1970, was significant to me because it was the week that I started high school. My first days at Shore Regional High School in West Long Branch, New Jersey.
Labor Day in 1970 was September 7. My first day of high school would have been September 8 since schools at that time always remained closed until after Labor Day.
Hard to believe that was fifty-three years ago.
Back then we only got new clothes twice a year, at the start of school and at Christmas. And it didn’t matter how silly those bell bottoms looked as you went through your growth spurt, you had to wait it out.
I was fortunate (I guess) to have finished most of my growing early. I weighed 110 pounds when I started high school and 120 pounds when I graduated.
I also got a haircut to go along with those new school clothes and a new beaded necklace.
And that would be another end for me, the end of haircuts, well at least for the next four years. I didn’t get another haircut until sometime after I graduated high school.
The number one song that week of my first day of high school was “Spill the Wine” by Eric Burdon & War.
The photo above was taken by a neighbor on the last Sunday evening of the last unofficial weekend of summer, Labor Day weekend.
The end.
The unofficial end of summer.
I was fighting it a bit, trying to squeeze in some last-minute fishing as the sun went down. Kim and I were leaving early the next day to beat the holiday traffic so this was it for me. And just before the bait ran out, in the darkness, I snagged a keeper.
It was a good weekend, we ate crabs with friends, did some kayaking, rode our bikes to Taylor’s Island, and found a new place called Palm Beach Willies to take a break from cycling.
And I got to fish a little.
So, with the end of some things, there are often new beginnings. In September of 1970 the anticipation of high school, meeting new friends, learning new things, and experiencing growing up outside of my familiar boundaries was high. And I guess, since it was the early 1970’s, so was I at times.
Now fifty-three years later, the unofficial end of summer doesn’t have that same level of anticipation of something new and never experienced. Those familiar boundaries are back, but this time they don’t feel so confining, more comforting really. And who knows what new and unanticipated life change might be waiting in the next season.
I haven’t written anything to share since the end of June when my dad died.
This is the first time I have felt motivated to write.
So hopefully maybe that is the end of that.
The week of September 4, 1970, the number three song on the list was kind of a silly song in my opinion, a song by Mungo Jerry called “In the Summertime:”
When the weather’s fine we go fishing or go swimming in the sea
We’re always happy, life’s for living
Yeah that’s our philosophy
Life’s for living, we go fishing, we’re always happy?
Maybe it wasn’t so silly after all.
And, this, is the end.
Postscript:
After all those years of singing that line from The End, I decided to visit the lyrics for the entire song and Lord have mercy, I wouldn’t recommend doing that.
Carl E. Christiansen, 94, of Woolford, passed away on Thursday, June 15, 2023 at Mallard Bay Care Center. He was married to the former Florence Rosch. A celebration of life will be held at a later date. (From the Thomas Funeral Home, Cambridge, MD)
It’s been two weeks since my dad passed away. When I was tasked with writing my father’s obituary, I panicked a little. The three lines of information on the funeral home website were begging for some detail. But the whole thing sounded depressing to me. I didn’t feel like writing. So, I did what I do best, I procrastinated.
But during that period of procrastination, I did something else that we all do these days when we don’t know what to do.
I Googled it.
Yes, I Googled how to write an obituary.
And I came upon “How to Write the Perfect Obituary, According to Professional Writers,” an article by Nicole Spector. It included lots of helpful information, but the most important point that stood out to me was this:
“…the fact that in the end, we all become stories. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, sure, but also: words to words.”
I liked that.
“…we all become stories.”
My dad had stories. And over the years I tried the best I could to listen to, remember, and document my dad’s words. Some of those stories I have already shared.
I just needed to write another one.
Right now.
I read another article recently that it was on June 17, 1885, one hundred and twenty-eight years ago, the Statue of Liberty arrived in New York harbor from France. Three hundred and fifty pieces of the statue were packed in two hundred cases. The following year it would be reassembled in its new home on Bedloe’s Island. In 1892 not far from the shadows of the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island was established as America’s immigration processing station, and over the sixty-two years that followed the statue would stand watch over the 12 million immigrants who came to the United States through New York Harbor.
Somewhere on an interior wall hangs the plaque with the now-famous words of American poet Emma Lazarus:
“Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”
One of those tired and poor included eighteen-year-old Boletta Sophie Jansen who arrived from Oslo, Norway on a ship named the Kristianiafjord on April 15, 1916.
Carl Oscar Christiansen also came from Norway but entered the United States a slightly different way, a little less legally. He jumped ship in New York, then traveled west to Norwegian communities in Minnesota and North Dakota. When he returned to the east coast, somewhere in his travels, he met Sophie. Carl and Sophie were married in the Norwegian Seaman’s Church my dad thought was in Hoboken or Bayonne, but the only one I could find a record of was in Brooklyn.
Carl and Sophie would eventually move to Oceanport, New Jersey close to a community of other Norwegians with another Norwegian Seaman’s church on Atlantic Avenue in North Long Branch. They would have four children together: Evelyn, Gerda, Carl, and Theodor.
Carl Edwin Christiansen was born April 11, 1929.
He was raised in the Hillcrest section of Oceanport, New Jersey, a new subdivision where his father bought a few lots and built a couple of houses.
We always joked about Norwegians having hard heads, I don’t know if that was intended to mean “hardheaded” as being stubborn or hardheaded in the literal sense. It didn’t matter in my dad’s case because he proved to be both. My father told the story of a time when he was very young when his sister Gerda was responsible for watching him and somehow Gerda managed to drop him through the cellar window where he said he landed on his head.
Not only that but in addition to being dropped into the cellar, he said during his lifetime he had been hit by a car, fell out of a tree, fell on his head ice skating, and hit by a baseball bat twice.
And later still that hard head would prove to come in very handy as he developed his Parkinson’s and became prone to falling.
Though he grew up in Oceanport, for a brief period, about 3 years, his father moved the family to the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn, another Norwegian neighborhood, in the 1930s so he could find work. During that time, they rented the house in Oceanport.
Returning to Oceanport the family lived in the house his father built on Springfield Avenue. He told of being raised in the church (that North Long Branch Seaman’s church) and spent Christmases there and remembered how excited he would get when the Oceanport Hook & Ladder fire truck would come by the house on Christmas Day. He said he would run out of the house and leap the hedge to get the candy from the firemen. He attended Oceanport’s Wolf Hill School and Red Bank High School. At the time Oceanport kids could choose between Long Branch High School and Red Bank High School.
One of his buddies growing up in Oceanport was Bobby Rosch. That turned out to be pretty cool for Carl because Bobby had a little sister named Florence.
Carl was active in Oceanport Boy Scouts as an early member of Troop 58 led by Paul Sommers Sr. In World War II he was a member of the Crop Corps and participated in the war effort working on a farm growing food for the troops.
He once told me that at one time he was the strongest kid in Oceanport. I think it was his school bus driver that got him interested in lifting weights. He could arm wrestle, climb a brass fire pole without using his feet, drive a nail with one swing and in the Boy Scouts, he said they called him “One Chop Moe.” He couldn’t remember where the nickname Moe came from.
He worked as a pin boy at the bowling alley in Long Branch and at Wood’s Boat Works and then was drafted into the Army. He enjoyed his time in the Army.
It was while he was in the Army, in 1952, that he married Florence, and they had their first child Patricia (Patty).
My dad always said he had been lucky in life and in his work. My mom thought after the army he went back to work at Woods Boat Works for a bit and then to Bendix as a drill press operator working the evening shift. In his off hours, he had a floor sanding business, a trade he learned from his father. He became a union carpenter in the early ’60s and then to the job he would retire from at the Wolf Hill School as their custodian extraordinaire. But even after he retired, he wasn’t finished working because when he moved away from Oceanport to Woolford on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, he became a waterman and crabbed commercially for eleven years.
It was during the time of shift work at Bendix that he started building his house on Willow Court. He and Florence along with their now three kids, Patty, Carl (Chrissie), and Curtis were living in the rented two-bedroom bungalow next to the property he would build his house on. With the assistance of his wife Flo, his father, his brother Ted, and his many friends skilled in various trades, he built the house he would raise his family in for the next 30 years.
Most all those friends like my father, were Oceanport Hook & Ladder volunteer firemen so when the fire whistle blew all the helpers would drop their tools in place and run the block and a half to the firehouse and climb on the waiting fire trucks.
Carl joined the fire company in 1955. He served in almost all capacities including Chief. He was also a volunteer member of the Oceanport First Aid Squad and once was on the crew of the ambulance that delivered a baby. Carl was very active in both organizations until the time he left Oceanport.
He finished building his house and in 1961 his fourth child, Gary was born.
My dad continued his activities with Oceanport Boy Scouting as an adult and in the 1960s started a second Oceanport troop, Troop 178 that was sponsored by the Oceanport Hook & Ladder Fire Company. In the beginning, Troop 178 was mostly made up of neighborhood kids from Willow Court, Arcana Avenue, and Trinity Place. In that capacity, he mentored many young kids as they rose through scouts which included camping and many backpacking trips on the Appalachian Trail.
Another great memory of many local kids in Oceanport was that of my father bringing one of the fire trucks down to the Fort Monmouth Marina and lighting up the ice on Oceanport Creek so that whoever wanted to, mostly him though, could ice skate at night.
Boy Scout camping eventually led to family camping as my dad convinced my mother to try it, first in a tent and eventually in camper trailers and truck campers. That was the way they got to see the country.
My dad would also eventually convince my mother, who can’t swim, to buy a boat, first a little one, then they got bigger and bigger. Then living full time in Woolford, Maryland on the Eastern Shore, his last boat, called “Pop’s Lady” (my mother’s nickname is Lady) was a thirty-three-foot working crab boat. He and his first mate (my mother) would drop their three long trot lines baited with bull’s lips every morning and take their catch to the wholesaler. The first time I introduced my wife to my parents they were sitting under a tree with a big bucket of bull’s lips rebaiting their lines.
As he got older, crabbing commercially became difficult and he sold the boat but continued to do carpentry jobs for the neighbors on Deep Point and their church, the Milton United Methodist Church building their new sign and a free book exchange library that still sits outside the Woolford Store. Skilled in fine woodworking as well, he made furniture too for my mother.
He liked to ride his bike and would frequently make the almost four-mile round trip up to the post office to pick up the mail. When he started to experience an increased incidence of falling while riding his bike his physician suspected something was wrong and in 2016 Carl was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. Yet, in spite of his diagnosis, his hardheadedness made it difficult to tell him he couldn’t do what he used to do and so he would insist on climbing ladders, using tools, and fixing things that he shouldn’t. He liked to show off by doing squats in the doorway while resting his heels on the door sill.
After his ability to maintain balance and walk deteriorated, he spent some time in the hospital and eventually to rehab and long-term care at the Mallard Bay Nursing and Rehab facility in Cambridge. My mother would visit him there almost every day.
On June 15, after nearly twenty months at the facility, he passed away.
The Obituary
Carl Edwin Christiansen, 94, of Woolford, passed away on Thursday, June 15, 2023, at Mallard Bay Nursing and Rehab. He was married to the former Florence Rosch.
Carl was preceded in death by his father Carl Oscar, and his mother Sophie; his sisters Evelyn and Gerda and his brother Theodor; his son Carl Robert; his grandson Donny and his great-grandson Jaden.
Carl is survived by his wife of seventy years, Florence (Flo, Lady), his daughter Patricia (husband John), and his sons Curtis (wife Kim) and Gary (wife Marie), and Carl Robert’s wife Teesha; granddaughters Chelsea, Alexa, Hayley, Savannah, Jenn, and Kelly; grandsons Jason, Johnathon, Reiss, Kyle, and Gavin; great-grandchildren A.J., Devin, Braylen, Jaxson, Emmy, Isla, Elijah, Isiah, Oscar, Anders, Leona, Cameron, Christian, Ethan, and the most recent, Jack.
He was lucky in life.
And we were blessed to be able to share a part of that life.
The son of immigrants, the last of his family of first-generation Americans, he now rests in his new home where the tired are also welcomed and he can once again breathe freely.
At this time there is not a memorial or celebration of life scheduled.
However, I would encourage you to take Ms. Spector’s advice and if you feel moved, share a story and post it, tag his Facebook page, or forward it to me and I will post it.
And maybe enjoy a Manhattan while you are writing.
Postscript:
We would like to thank the staff at the Mallard Bay Nursing and Rehab for their care during Carl’s stay, as well as the many residents who supported my father and became our friends too.
Carl E. “Moe” ChristiansenAppalachian Trail“One Chop Moe”Flo and Carl at Springfield Ave houseEarly Troop 178 photo, Larry on the right was this only kid not from the neighborhood.Wolf Hill SchoolCarl and ChrissieCurtis, Chrissie, Patty, and Gary on the front lawn of the house he built. The bungalow in the background.
Pop’s LadyThis is What an Amazing Father in Law looks likePop and his LadyMy Pop the Waterman
Saturday June 10 was my good friend Matt’s birthday. We exchanged some text messages. I wished him a happy birthday, he lamented about how old he was “68…years old, what the hell?” I concurred, turning 67 years old in a couple of weeks. “We just have to go with,” I replied.
Heck when we first became friends, we had grandparents younger than we are now. Where did the time go? Seems like only yesterday we were watching the ’69 Mets win the World Series. Now I am sitting here fifty some years later, trying to write about memories as hazy as the skies this past week, the pain in my fingers and knuckles particularly bad this morning as I push on the keys and learn to “just go with it.”
Saturday June 10, I received some news about another old friend. This being the season of thoroughbred horse racing’s Triple Crown, I reached out to Marilyne Kilchriss to find out about how Sid (Sir Sidney) was doing. I got an email back on Saturday:
“Hey there!! He’s doing amazing! I adore that horse and hope to have him for the rest of his life. The racetrack did a cool video on his career and trainer this spring and I’ll send you the link to it! In the meantime, enjoy some pics of the dramatic, handsome boy. My goal is to show at the WEC sometime this fall! We will see how we progress in our dressage training. Marilyne.”
The sport of horseracing has suffered in recent years. In 2020 the Horseracing Integrity and Safety Act was passed to help protect thoroughbred racehorses. After twelve horses died over a relatively short period of time at Churchill Downs, the home of the Kentucky Derby, Churchill made the decision last week to shut down racing and move the rest of the meet to Ellis Park to give them the opportunity to review operations.
A great decision by Churchill Downs to protect horses and the sport of thoroughbred horse racing.
Saturday June 10 was also The Belmont, the last leg of the Triple Crown. Though we didn’t have any contenders this year for a single horse to win all three races, the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont; it was still a big day. It was the fiftieth anniversary of Secretariat becoming the 1973 Triple Crown champion, winning the Belmont by 31 lengths, a feat I have referred to in my writing a few time before.
Saturday’s Belmont was also historical because this year’s winner Arcangelo was able to hold on to beat the favorite Forte, making Arcangelo’s trainer Jena Antonucci the first female trainer to win a Triple Crown race.
Very exciting.
Goosebumps.
And speaking of goosebumps, I would encourage you to watch the video about Sid. There are some good horse racing stories too.
And it just goes to show you that old guys like Matt, and me, and Sid can still enjoy life after working hard for many years. In spite of some aches and pains, we have great memories, and we are lucky enough to each have those who want to have us for the rest of our lives.
Sometimes in life, there are those things that make all the difference.
Just go with it.
Postscript:
The photo above is brat pack circa 1974. My friend Butch on the left, Matt to his right, me next, and my friend Joe on the right.
Marilyne and SidSir Sidney (aka Jonas as Marilyne calls him) enjoying retirement
Until then I will keep warm and wait for the day when the first martin returns.
And I will pray that in those six months, time doesn’t change me too much.
And I will be allowed to write about another beautiful day, in another season, in another year, in time.
I wrote that while experiencing a beautiful day last October, yet realizing all the signs indicated that the season would soon be gone. The purple martins, now removed from their houses, were on their long journey back to South America. On that weekend I had lowered the martin houses for the winter. In the coming months just as the martins do, I also would be retreating to places that would keep me warm as I waited for a new season to return.
Removed
Vanished
Gone
They’re just gone.
He’s just gone.
One day there, the next day gone.
Have you ever experienced that?
Someone or something you had one day but were removed from your life the next.
Sometimes, like the purple martins or the seasons, it’s temporary and they return.
Sometimes however, as with death, it is not temporary.
But is it not?
Jesus suffered death on the cross.
He was laid in the tomb only to be found removed a few days later.
But he wasn’t removed as Mary had thought.
“Woman, why are you crying?” asked the angels.
“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.”
No one took Jesus away.
As was promised, as was the purpose of his crucifixion, he was risen.
Now as Easter approaches, it is April and another beautiful day, in a different season, and in a different year. It has been almost six months, and as I prayed for, time hasn’t changed me too much. On a recent weekend I cleaned out the tiny rooms where the birds would live and raised the three purple martin houses back to their high perch on top of the poles. It was warming up, and like the new season, the martins should be back soon too. In fact, three or four days later, I spoke with my mother, the martins had returned. The older ones go ahead first, returning to the places they are familiar with, places where they had nested before. They would soon be followed by the younger birds breeding for the first time.
In the coming days we will celebrate the resurrection of Jesus and we will return once again to a place we are familiar with.
The story of the tomb.
Jesus was gone, but he was not removed.
In this single event we are given hope. Hope of life eternal as was promised, hope of being reunited with those who went ahead first. Hope that maybe he’s not just gone forever.
And as we are reminded in Philippians Jesus is not a dead martyr to be pitied, but a living, reigning, returning Lord to be loved and emulated, both in present suffering and in future reward.
So as this beautiful day comes to an end, in this Holy season, this Easter season, I pray once again that time doesn’t change me too much, and for the hope and faith everlasting that this new season brings.
Postscript:
On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent I was participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is Removed . This post concludes my participation. Thank you for reading. If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link here in this postscript.
I kissed him on his forehead to say goodbye as I typically do, but this time, in his wheelchair, he raised his left arm and tried to reach around my back like he was attempting to hug me. I was surprised. I got closer to allow his arm to rest on my back and I put my face against his as he pulled me in. We stayed in that position for a while. It was comforting, it had been a long time.
Thanks, Dad, I really needed that.
Needs.
We all have them.
We all need them fulfilled.
Jesus once said, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone…”
My mother would probably finish that statement by saying, “yeah how about I make a pork roll, egg, and cheese to put on that bread.”
That’s one way I suppose.
We might think our needs are all different, but they are probably surprisingly similar, never the less, they are ours.
And they change from year to year, month to month, and even day to day.
The truth is we are born into this world needy.
As infants and children, unable to take care of ourselves, we rely on others for even our most basic needs.
Feeding, housing, safety, learning, emotional support, and development, are provided to us by our mother, our father, or sometimes another family member or other loving person. They are our lifelines.
Let’s face it, even Jesus needed his Eema and his earthly Abba.
Then the day comes when we have children of our own and we become their lifeline.
And we begin to better understand what our parents did for us.
How much effort it took, how much time, and how much money.
How much joy it provided.
And as our kids grew and got more independent, we saw their needs change, but our needs changed too.
We still had those basic requirements needed in order to live, but as we aged life got more complicated.
And sometimes, as it might be with an aging parent, unable to care for him or herself, the parent becomes like the child again.
As a result of my father’s inability to care for himself, as his age advanced and his disease progressed, the decision had to be made to place him in a facility where he could be taken care of safely. My mom, not able to physically manage him at home, now spends each day with him at the nursing home providing those things the staff may not be able to. Things like conversation, memories, games for stimulation and thought, and of course, love. The rest of us, challenged by geography and the continued need to provide for ourselves, do the best we can.
The last few visits I had had with my father, I left feeling greatly depressed. My visits were met with silence, eyes that wouldn’t open, the inability to make any connection. On one visit in fact he was even trying to hit me with his fists, which I attributed to him acting out a dream, something not uncommon with my dad’s condition. Though I didn’t take it personally, it was another missed opportunity, and yeah, I guess I did take it a little personally.
Last weekend, however, he was different. His eyes were wide open though his sight is still limited. He was participating in conversation, smiling and laughing at things I said, and laughing at himself at times for things he said.
And he initiated that hug.
It was awesome.
I needed a weekend like that with him and, I am guessing, he felt like he had a similar need.
However fleeting the event or the moment may have been, or prove to be in the future, I was grateful.
We all have the need to feel loved, no matter how old we get.
Jesus said, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone…”
But there is more, the scripture goes on to say “… but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
You see Ma? Not everything can be fixed by pork roll, even when you are from New Jersey.
It’s the word of God that fulfills our needs.
That’s what keeps us living and loving.
But sometimes a little hug doesn’t hurt either.
On Saturday I was trying to get him to look at old photos on my laptop. The next thing I knew he had his face planted in the side of my face. I asked him what he was doing and he said, ” I looking at your face.” Fair enough.
Postscript:
On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is Needs . If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
I remember the first time I met Pastor Jim Snow. Kim and I were just starting to go out together and she brought me to a Sterling United Methodist Church picnic at Claude Moore Park in Sterling. As a kid, in my experience attending Sunday School at the Lutheran Church of the Reformation in West Long Branch New Jersey, pastors always wore long black robes, collars, and were a bit intimidating. Jim on the other hand had a mustache, was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and a driver’s hat and he was cracking jokes. And best of all, I was able to call him “Jim”!
Kim had two requirements of me if I wanted to get to know her better, she wanted to be courted and I had to go to church.
I was prepared to do whatever it took.
The first time I attended church at Sterling UMC, I remember we sat about four rows back from the front on the center aisle on the left side. I think I wanted to sit on the end in case I had a panic attack. I don’t think that at the time I had attended church as a worshipper in thirty years. Hayley and Alexa were raised in the synagogue so I had spent some time in temple. But church, only for weddings and funerals.
I remember looking up at the ceiling and hoping the roof didn’t cave in. But when it was over, also I remember feeling good, like I had been lost, but now I was found.
I was supposed to be in this place.
We would continue to go to church as our relationship developed and I would continue to push my comfort levels as I got reintroduced.
I had never in my life taken communion and my hand would shake as I took the cup and raised it to my lips.
In April of 2000 Kim and I stood at the rail with our hands on Donny and Savannah as they were confirmed.
And thankfully, I met the requirements imposed on me as a suitor and our courtship worked out, because we had it all arranged for Jim Snow to marry Kim and I on the first day of July that year. But Jim’s cancer had other plans and he passed away that spring. Instead, we were married by Lee Crosby on his first official day as a pastor. And with Alexa, Hayley, Donny, and Savannah beside us, we stood in front of the cross and were married.
We continued to go to church and I continued to get reacquainted with being a Christian.
For a brief period, because we wanted Donny and Savannah to be active in Youth Group, we started attending Herndon UMC because the kids had school friends in that group. But whenever I could, if for some reason I found myself alone on a Sunday morning, I would dip back into Sterling UMC and sit in the back row. It felt more like home.
I had never been baptized so in January of 2002 I requested of our pastor at the time, Alan Reifsnyder to join the church and be baptized on the next available date. On January 27, 2002 in front of my family, except for Donny who was away that weekend, but including my parents and my new church family, I was baptized at the age of forty five.
In June of that year we met the new pastor Ralph Goodman and his family, who would be starting on the first day of July. Donny was really excited because Ralph had two very pretty daughters.
Not too long after that, on July 23, 2002 Kim and I would stand at the rail again and place our hands on Donny, this time for the last time. A tragic accident had taken Donny’s life on Friday, July 19th. On that Tuesday we celebrated Donny’s life and gave his spirit up to God. The church overflowed with people that day. Even the Sterling Volunteer Fire Department came because mysteriously the fire alarm went off in the middle of the service.
Ralph Goodman, in his first month on the job, walked that walk with Kim and I, and with the Herndon community that surrounded Donny. He joined the impromptu gatherings of grieving kids, walked the neighborhood, spent time at “the rock” at Herndon High School. For that we will be forever grateful. I cried on his last day preaching at Sterling UMC.
A life event like that couldn’t be survived without friends, family, church family, and most important, God and faith. To this day however I struggle to attend funerals at the church and generally find myself staying as busy in the background as I can, and fighting back tears whenever I hear “Amazing Grace.”
But with Jesus and Kim’s faith as our rock we kept moving, becoming more active in church.
My level of comfort was greatly tested when Kim and Savannah signed up to participate in a week long mission trip to Jamaica and Savannah dropped out at the last minute.
“Curt will go” Kim said.
“But Kim, I don’t want to go on a mission trip” I pleaded.
But all she would say is “Then you need to pray about.”
So, I did.
But my prayers weren’t answered. I found myself in Jamaica that summer.
And in the end, it was a life changing experience.
And we even went back the following year.
Our church life continued. We would share our Jamaica experiences with Pastor Randy Duncan and his wife Robin and get to know them better. Randy came to Sterling after Ralph left and remained for eleven years, the years Kim and I were most active in the church.
I would have another “first” at the rail when we took Cameron up for Communion for the first time. He took the bread, but when offered the cup he said politely “no thank you, I don’t like grape juice.” The server told him “that’s okay, you don’t have to drink it.” But after some hesitation he did anyway, and when we returned to our pew in the back, he asked Kim and I if he could say another prayer. Then he had us bow our heads and fold our hands and Cameron prayed “Dear God, thank you for bringing me back to church, Amen.”
I cried that day too.
On Easter Sunday April 16, 2017, I was a proud dad whose family practically filled the whole pew. Savannah and Cameron were there. Hayley and her new family with her husband and two stepchildren were with us too. Pastor Steve Vineyard delivered the sermon called “Who Will Roll Away the Stone,” the stone representing the heavy weight keeping us from facing all those tough things we had going on in our lives. A month or so later I would get a phone call from Hayley asking for my assistance to help her get out of the physically and emotionally abusive marriage she was in. Hayley attributed the courage she needed to make that decision to Pastor Steve’s sermon that Easter Sunday. “Who Will Roll Away the Stone” may have saved Hayley’s life.
In October of 2021 our entire family would return to the rail once again and witness the wedding of Savannah and Leon performed by Pastor Linda Monroe.
Kim and I have been less active the last few years. The Pandemic, trying to care for aging parents in different states, the challenges sometimes of working and worshipping in the same place.
But I was blessed to have been given a second chance in life to find love in this church.
The love of a new marriage.
The love of a new blended family.
The love realized in the experiences of my kids, the joyful ones and the sad ones, and learning love overcomes the sad ones.
The love of a church family I had never experienced.
And most importantly, the Love of God.
For me, Love was lost, but then I found it again.
I was lost, and somehow, I was found.
Because God’s Love and God’s Grace,
Are Amazing.
Postscript:
On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is Love. If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” (John 9:1-5)
If you know me, you know I am big fan of horse racing. In the world of horse racing when you talk about works, it is referring to the training runs, the workouts the horse performs typically in the mornings. For instance, the trainer may have the horse “work” four furlongs (a half mile) to keep the horse in good condition in between races. These works are typically timed and published for handicappers. A bullet work occurs when a horse runs the fastest work of all the horses training that particular morning.
Bullet works are good works.
Afleet Alex like all other thoroughbreds born in 2002, as far as the racing world is concerned, turned three years old on January 1, 2005. After winning a couple of Grade One stakes races as a two year old, he went on to win the Arkansas Derby and qualify to be eligible for the Kentucky Derby.
In the traffic of the Kentucky Derby Afleet Alex finished third. Two weeks later in the Preakness Stakes, Afleet Alex, stumbled at the top of the stretch and nearly dropped to his knees with his nose almost going into the dirt, but miraculously he recovered. Jeremy Rose, the jockey, had no idea how he was able to remain on the horse. He did, and not only did they manage to recover, but they also went on to win the Preakness Stakes by almost 5 lengths.
Three weeks later Afleet Alex would win the Belmont Stakes, the third leg of the Triple Crown by exploding in the final turn and winning by seven lengths.
Three of the children of the ownership syndicate of Afleet Alex were named Alex or Alexandria which is how the son of Northern Afleet and grandson of Afleet earned the Alex portion of his name.
Alexandra “Alex” Scott was born in January of 1996. Shortly before her first birthday Alex was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a type of childhood cancer. In the year 2000 after her fourth birthday, she received a stem cell transplant and told her mother if she if she got out of the hospital, she wanted to have a lemonade stand. She wanted to give the money she earned to the doctors to “help other kids, like they helped me.”
Later that year she held her first lemonade stand and raised $2000.
Despite her battle with cancer Alex and her family would continue to hold lemonade stands to raise money to fight childhood cancer. As news spread about the little girl with neuroblastoma who was dedicating her frail life to raising money to help other sick children like her, more lemonade stands popped up with the proceeds going to Alex’s cause.
The owners of Afleet Alex had become aware of the efforts of young Alex and her lemonade stand by reading an article in a local newspaper one day. They felt some connection between their Alex and the little girl working to help fight cancer and they began to donate a portion of Afleet Alex’s winnings to Alex’s Lemonade Stand. At first the donations were anonymous but as Afleet Alex became more successful a partnership was established and little Alex’s cause was shared with the world.
In August of 2004 Alex passed away at the age of eight years old. Up to the time of her death, her charity had raised more than one million dollars.
But even after her death, Alex’s parents continued the Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation Through their association with the owner’s of Afleet Alex they were invited to set up Alex’s Lemonade Stand at the 2005 Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont thus exposing the foundation to world.
After winning the Belmont it was determined that Afleet Alex had a leg injury that would end his racing career and he was retired to Gainseway Farm in Lexington, Kentucky.
When Afleet Alex stumbled and jockey Jeremy Rose surely should have been thrown from that horse, he would say “An angel kept me safe.” That angel in his mind was little Alex.
Alexandra Scott was very special, and to many so was Afleet Alex.
One of the owners tells a story of a visit to Gainseway Farm where she found two women openly weeping while standing in front of Afleet Alex. They were sisters and one of the sisters had recently been diagnosed with cancer. They had driven all the way from Maine to see this horse. The owner explained that the sister with cancer truly believed that if she could just touch the horse, she would be cured.
We don’t know why Alex Scott developed the cancer that took her life after just eight short years. But as the scripture above explains it wasn’t because she sinned, or her parents sinned. With her cancer Alex recognized the need to help other sick kids and the doctors working to find a cure. She answered her call to perform good works. As a team, the two Alex’s raised a lot of money to help to find cures for pediatric cancers. You might say the works of God were displayed in the efforts and generosity of the pairing of Alexandra Scott and her family with the owners of this horse and Afleet Alex himself though surely, he didn’t understand how much his work mattered in the cause. But others, like the sister who thought touching him might cure her cancer, understood how special he was.
I have read that Methodists believe “Faith is necessary to salvation unconditionally. Good works are necessary only conditionally, that is if there is time and opportunity.” We might find some comfort in that since we don’t always have the time or the opportunity to serve at certain stages of our lives, yet our faith remains strong.
For Alexandra night came sooner than expected, but she made the best of her opportunity.
“As long as it is day, we must do the works of Him…”
And they did.
You might even call them bullet works.
To find out more about Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation or to donate here is a link.
Afleet AlexPhoto of me and my son in law Namaan in the Paddock at Gulfstream Park with other owners of Iron Works this past Sunday.
Postscript:
On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is Works. If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:13-14)
Spring.
A word that can have many interpretations and meanings.
A mechanical spring tightly coiled ready to burst out with energy at any moment or one that is stretched and returns back to the shape it started from.
Maybe it is the time to “spring” forward providing more hours of daylight and more time for outdoor activities such as exercise.
Or maybe for you it brings to life images of daffodils, digging in the dirt, planting your gardens, and cutting the grass.
Or for you it might be pollen and allergies.
Since I have grown to dislike winter so much, I have used the analogy of winter for me to be like Jesus’ time in the wilderness and spring marking the end of my wandering.
Or maybe it makes you think of the reason I am writing this…Lent, the Holy Week, and Easter.
The Merriam Webster dictionary defines spring in many ways as well. As a transitive verb and an intransitive verb, or as a noun.
I don’t know all about that transitive and intransitive stuff so my simple mind will stick to the noun.
The act of moving forward.
A time or season of growth or development.
A device that recovers its original shape when released after being distorted.
A source of supply as it applies to water from the ground or action or motion.
The days and the events leading up to what we now call Good Friday and Easter in Jerusalem may have felt like a coiled spring ready to burst out at any moment.
And for the world there was little chance it would ever return to the shape it was before.
It was the fulfillment of prophecy.
Jesus’ mission on earth was winding down.
He had shown them many signs, yet still for some, their eyes were blinded and their hearts hardened.
But we know the story.
We know how it ends.
We also know that was just the beginning.
The spring of water Jesus describes is not one found in Merriam Webster. Being born again in the spirit, drinking the water that has us never thirsting again.
“A spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
Spring.
Postscript:
On Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is spring. If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
