PB's Writing & Stuff

PB's Writing & Stuff

This is a new thing for me. I will try to add and update some of my writing stuff here for anyone who may be interested in reading it. I expect that I will be adding a wide variety (depending on how the 'muse' hits me!) of styles and types of pieces. They will range from essays and personal reflections to action-adventure fiction.

[alternate opening - Long before God brought my wife and I to The Salvation Army I knew He had brought us together for His Purposes ... His Story. This is a part of that Story. - alternate opening]

Emperor Napoleon gave his wife Josephine a locket with the inscription “to destiny”. At one point in my life I may have wondered what it meant. Today, as I reflect on my own life I see a striking correlation.

It was Christmas vacation 1968 in Niagara Falls, Canada. I was attending a Wesleyan Youth Convention. It was the first time I had ever left the US. I can remember seeing the beauty of Horseshoe Falls lit up at night. It was also the first time I got to hear the incredible evangelist Rev. Jimmy Johnson. So many firsts. Even though it was 18 months before I decided to get serious about having a relationship with God, I was moved by what I heard there.

Years later, I discovered that there was something else of eternal importance that happened there as well. It seems that a young woman from a town near Syracuse, NY (that I had never heard of) was also in Niagara Falls for that Convention. Her name? Rebecca LaQuay. Her importance to me? She is the ‘love of my life’ … my wife since 1975.

This was not the only close encounter we had before we “officially” met. During the summer of 1972 we were, once again, in the same place at the same time.

That summer my brother Dan, who had just graduated from Bible College, got a job at Camp Ladore, The Salvation Army’s camp in northeastern Pennsylvania. At his urging, I applied for a job and was hired as a lifeguard. This was my first experience with The Salvation Army and I met people who had a major impact on my life, like then Captain Bamford, the camp director.

That same summer, Becky was involved in a ministry team that spent part of the summer working in various locations of The Salvation Army. Recently we realized that she had spent a day at Ladore that summer.

Perhaps it was inevitable that, when we finally met in 1973 at Bible College, I was immediately smitten! In fact, I remember commenting to a friend in September that I was going to marry her. At that point in time she had no idea who I was and was “almost engaged” to a long-time boyfriend from home who her whole family loved.

It took me a while to wear down her defenses; in fact, the only reason she decided I was ‘safe’ to casually date was the fact that she had seen me hanging out with so many different girls she figured there was no chance I’d get serious.

It was an uphill battle, but by November 9, 1973 she was wearing my ring. We were married 2 years and 20 days later on November 29, 1075

It seemed like an odd pairing. The Christian Rock Band I was part of while in Bible College in the 70’s had somehow become a favorite of the Mennonite community in our area.

I sure couldn’t understand it! I mean, these were some of the most conservative folks I knew! The women were never without their little ‘caps’, always wore dresses and seemed to have never heard of makeup!

At one of our early events for a Mennonite church (an outdoor festival) I was positively shocked when a sweet older lady came to me and asked if we were going to be singing the “Holy Band” song.

Holy Band was one of the few songs I sang lead for. The others in the band had cultured, trained voices, so I mostly did the ‘rockier’ vocals. This song, by Randy Matthews, had a great message but I couldn’t believe this sweet older lady liked it!
The song began with a minor chord played on the organ, followed by me screeching the opening lyrics …

“Anyone who wants to can, any woman, any man! Anyone who wants to can, take your place in the Holy Band!”

When I think about the way we use music in the church today, I often think of this incident in my young life. I try hard not to judge by outward appearances.

Have you ever noticed that every generation thinks they invented __________? I’ll let you fill in the blank! In fact, when I Googled the phrase “every generation thinks they invented” it found 168,000 references in .24 seconds.

For instance, today’s teens and young adults who hunger for a radical (dare I say “Extreme”?) relationship with God tend to forget entirely (or simply discount) my generation’s “Jesus Movement”.

In my life, I know that those of us who ‘came of age’ in the USA in the 60’s and 70’s felt like we had single-handedly changed race relationships, among other things.

In the last year I have discovered two very interesting things about my own heritage that helps me understand that perhaps we weren’t as ground-breaking as we thought we were!

I discovered the first part in March of 2003 as I spent some time with my father, Lynn, while on vacation in Florida. He told me some stories about life before I was born that I had never heard before.

It seems that my Dad was a sub-foreman at the New York Shipbuilding Corp. in Camden NJ during WW2. He worked on ships like the Montpelier, Kitty Hawk and the Independence in the period of 1942-44.

Dad’s older brother (my Uncle Edwin) also worked there and was known as “The Preacher”. Dad was known as “The Kid”. That nickname came from the fact that, although he was only 23 years old, he had 60 men under him.

One of the responsibilities of the job was to recommend when the electricians moved up to second class, first class, etc. This was very important because their position affected their status, pay, etc.

One day Dad’s boss, Al Roberts, asked him who he was recommending to be moved up from 2^nd class to 1^st class. After a moment to reflect, Dad named Herman Scott. Startled, Al said “are you sure?” When Dad said he was, Al asked “would you stake your job on him?”

Al’s surprise stemmed from the fact that among 2100 electricians, only 400 were 1^st class. All were “white”. Herman Scott was black. Mr. Scott became the first black man to make Electrician 1^st Class because my Dad, in his humble way, felt he was ‘the man for the job’.

In my teen years I met my best friend Casper; a friend who shared so many things with me that we started calling each other “Twin”. Through my friendship with Casper and my response to what I saw in society, I found myself drawn to

black culture and racial reconciliation (what we might call "diversity" today) more and more.

I have had many opportunities in the next 30 years to express my opinions and make a stand for racial equality; I think I ‘stepped up’ each time and am proud of the stands I took. These included making people aware of how their comments

were racist; often I tried to use humor, but there was a memorable time in Ocean City, NJ when Twin and I 'put the fear of God' into two racist deliverymen ... but that's another story!) In all of this, with all my occasional bluster and self righteousness I doubt I ever made as significant a difference in the life of an individual or family as my Dad did in his humble way.

The second thing I discovered about my family heritage I discovered just recently. I got a chance to see some of my family tree that I had never seen before, including that my great-grandfather was Eli Stetser and that there was another Eli Stetser who might have been my Dad’s uncle or cousin.

What surprised me most was a copy of a Trenton newspaper from 1913. In this article, I read that this Eli Stetser, serving as a Deputy Keeper at the State Prison, was shot and killed during a prison escape. I was impressed when I read that, although he had been shot in the chest, he managed to shoot both of the prisoners who had attacked him before he passed out. The interesting thing to me is that both of the criminals were black.

I know families who have allowed a single negative experience with a rude person of another race affect their dealings with others of that race for the rest of their lives. But I was proud to realize that, although this tragic incident had to have impacted my family, it had no long-lasting effect (apparently).

I praise God for the legacy and Godly example passed down to me. It is my desire to pass it on to my children.

Even before they first came to America through Ellis Island, the family had always struggled to make a living and to ‘do the right thing’.

Ellis Island, NY March 8, 1906: Salvatore Mazzaralli and his wife Theresa and sons Salvatore Jr., 11, and Luigi, 9, were pressed against the rail of the ship admiring the large statue they had heard called “Lady Liberty”. Sal was a little nervous about the whole adventure but he had no other choice. He had run into problems when he did not show “proper respect” to the local members of the Sicilian Mafia. Then he heard that the local boss had decided he wanted Theresa for his own.

All he could do was finally take that dream trip to America! The trip from Naples had been long and difficult but they were excited to finally be on the verge of their dream … becoming Americans!

The reality was not as wonderful as the dream had been. A government official had changed their last name to “Masorelli”, explaining that their original name would be too difficult for their new countrymen. The family had to wait for four days because Luigi had contracted a cold and they insisted he had to be healthy before the family could enter America.

Finally the big day came; March 13, a date that the family celebrated every year from that day on. Salvatore’s friend Joe Mucci from the home country was easy to find and came through with the apartment and job he had promised.

Salvatore worked hard and saved every penny he could and finally, after five years of scraping, they bought a small grocery store in Philadelphia. It was difficult, but by working long hours and keeping costs down, they were able to make money in a difficult time.

Shortly after they opened the store, they got a visit from the “Neighborhood Vigilance Society”. They were offered protection … for a price. Salvatore refused. He had seen what the “Black Hand” had done in his homeland and he did not want to go down that road.

It started small, with o broken window here and there. Things escalated until Salvatore decided to stop things. He paid a visit to the headman and they ‘came to an agreement’. He never spoke of what happened that night but they were left alone from that point on.

Although he did not realize it at the time, in 1911 events transpired that would dramatically effect his family. In 1911, the Sicilian Mafia sent Salvatore Sabella to Philadelphia to ‘set up shop’. Thus began a chain of events that would have a profound impact on the Masorelli’s.

Early in 1915, Salvatore Jr. and Luigi both joined the military. Salvatore Jr. joined the Army and Luigi became a Marine. Both would see deadly action; Luigi in Haiti before “The Great War” and Salvatore under General John Pershing during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive where Salvatore died on October 25, 1918.

Although he was the younger brother, Luigi actually faced combat first … and earned the Medal of Honor for his bravery. He was serving with a detachment of Marines aboard the U.S.S. CONNECTICUT. They were sent to Haiti because of the violence that was happening on the island. In January 1915, General Vilbrun Guillaume Sam took office as leader. Like too many leaders have been in Haiti, he rule was brutal. He executed 167 political prisoners in July 1915.

The rest is quoted from his Medal of Honor Citation: “The people rose in revolt and overthrew the government, executing General Sam, on July 28. On that same day, President Wilson ordered the Marines to land to restore order and to protect American lives and property. The problem of the Caco Bandits still existed with the new government. It was on November 17, 1915, Masorelli and other Marines attacked Fort Riviere, an old French fort, to cut off the avenues of retreat for the Caco bandits. There was a breach in the wall, which was the only entrance into the fort. Although they were under withering and constant fire from the bandits, Salvatore was among the Marines who entered. The casualties were high; the Marines engaged the enemy in hand- to-hand combat. After ten minutes of fierce fighting, the Caco bandits were defeated.”

In 1952, Luigi’s son Michael found out his business partner was embezzling funds. When he went to the police, the local Mafia tried to pressure him into dropping the charges, as the business partner was a cousin of the Mafia chief. Michael refused and his son was killed in a botched attempt to kill him.)

East Passyunk Avenue, Philadelphia, 2 July 1976: the country was busy celebrating the Bicentennial. In Philadelphia the hustle and bustle was incredible. Since the city had been, in many ways, the birthplace of the Revolution and the new Nation, much of the tourist trade generated by the Bicentennial was centered on Philadelphia.

Nick Masorelli and his wife Maria were so caught up in their conversation that they had essentially tuned out the noise their children were making in the next room. Watching The Rockford Files on television in the living room were Joseph, 14 and Donna, 9. Their brother Christopher, 11, was playing in the basement.

Joseph, known as Joey, was getting annoyed at his sister’s constant interruptions and questions. He wanted to watch his favorite show! He didn’t usually mind hanging out with his siblings, but right now he wished he had not helped Donna finish her homework so she could watch Rockford with him.

For her part, Donna was quite curious about the show; she had only seen it once before and didn’t seem to understand much of what was happening.

Christopher, known as Chris, was playing pool and listening to his favorite radio station. He couldn’t believe his luck tonight … he had just heard all but one of his favorite songs ("Baby, I Love Your Way" by Peter Frampton, "Got To Get You Into My Life" by The Beatles, "I'd Really Love To See You Tonight" by England Dan & John Ford Coley) and he was chanting his favorite song title under his breath, convinced he could get the DJ to play it.

"Play That Funky Music, "Play That Funky Music, "Play That Funky Music" he muttered. Suddenly he heard the telltale opening notes. “YEAH!”

Big for his age, Chris tried to jump in excitement but kept bumping into things in the tight basement. Shrugging, he went back to trying to perfect his pool game, singing along with Wild Cherry (if off pitch!).

Upstairs in the kitchen, what concerned Maria so much was the safety of the whole family. Six weeks previously Nick had witnessed something he should have never seen. Growing up in Philadelphia he knew many of the major players on both sides of the law; both police officers and criminals. On that fateful night he had stayed late going over the books in the back room of his small grocery store. Finishing at 2 AM, he yawned and left via the back door.

Just as he turned into the alley that led to the back door of their house, he saw Jamie Wilson put two bullets into the head of a ‘business rival’. Nick and Jamie had hung out in Junior High School, although they had drifted apart in later years as Jamie’s life spiraled down a much different path.

Nick backed up quickly before Jamie saw him. Minutes later the police had taken Nick’s statement and were on their way to pick up Jamie. Nick knew that Jamie’s best friend was Angelo Bruno’s consigliere, Antonio "Tony Bananas" Caponigro. Angelo was the ‘boss’ of an extended crime family and would not look kindly at Nick’s cooperating with the police.

Maria was scared and Nick was trying to ease her jangled nerves. Maria was especially frightened because Nick was scheduled to testify for the Grand Jury the next day. For his part, Nick had his mind on the Phillies game that was on that night. He was hoping to get his wife settled and be able to watch the end of the game at least. He was feeling like his beloved Phillies may actually have a chance this year! He found himself daydreaming about the possibility of getting tickets for the upcoming All Star Game that would be hosted at “the Vet” in a week and a half.

Max Cotton had been the Masorelli’s neighbor for 12 years. His brother was a sportswriter for the Philadelphia Inquirer had managed to score two tickets for the All Star Game for him. Max had promised he’d take Nick if it worked out.

Hearing a commotion in the living room Nick found his daydreams fading as he prepared to yell at his kids for fighting. Unfortunately he never got the chance.

The noise he heard had actually been two killers working for "Tony Bananas" entering his living room and murdering his children. Using silenced 22 caliber Ruger pistols, Sal and "Skinny Joey" had entered the room, put 2 bullets in each child’s head and started toward the kitchen.

As Nick saw the gunman and the bloody bodies of his children, he heard his wife scream behind him as Paul, Carmine and Stevie came in the back door. Surrounded now, Nick lunged for the man closest to him but Sal easily avoided his grasp and, using his pistol, cracked Nick’s skull.

As he came to, he was aware of his wife crying. He was horrified to see her being shoved face-first on to the kitchen table as Carmine ripped her dress off and looked at her hungrily. Carmine had always had a ‘thing’ for Maria and saw this as an opportunity to indulge his weakness.

Meanwhile, outside, Vincenzo Caprisi had a bad feeling about this job. Given the job of driver, he was expected to stay in the car and keep it running and ready to go. They guys had already been in longer than they were supposed to be, so Vinnie got out of the car and put his hand on his pistol. He knew there was going to be a problem when he saw the neighbor cut across the yard and start up the steps. Arguing with himself, he finally pulled out his 9mm.

Back in the house, Chris, concerned about all the strange noise upstairs, quickly climbed the steps and opened the kitchen door, wondering what was happening.

· Maria struggled to get away and fell on the floor, scrambling to her hands and knees and trying to get away from Carmine.

· Chris stepped into the kitchen, looked around and, seeing the killers he ran out the back door.

· As Chris burst out the back door, colliding with Max, the killers inside finished Nick and Maria with head shots.

Max and Chris tumbled to the ground, limbs tangled together, Chris crying for help and Max asking what was wrong. Vinnie stepped onto the sidewalk and shot first Max, then Chris in the face.

As the killers ran out the back door and jumped into the waiting car they could already hear sirens as the police approached the house. As Vinnie floored it, it seemed like everyone was yelling at once.

“Quiet!” screamed Stevie, who was in charge of the job. We got the parents and two of the kids in the house. Who were the two in the back yard?”.

“Well the guy came from the house next door and the kid came out of the house just before you guys did,” explained Vinnie. “Allright then,” Stevie summarized, “then that means we got all our targets and one collateral damage. No one saw us … at least no one who is still alive! So how about grabbing a few beers and a cheese steak?”

In the house everything was quiet as Jim Rockford argued with his sometime partner Angel on the TV. The only other sound was the sirens of police cars arriving at the house.

When the police got to the Masorelli home they were stunned. None of them had ever seen anything quite like it. Donna and Joey were slumped on the couch with the TV still on. Each had two small bullet holes in their foreheads. In the kitchen, Maria was still sprawled on the table. The bullet had entered the back of her head and, in exiting, took most of her face. Her body was eventually identified only by birthmarks and x-rays. Nick was stretched out on the floor, trying to reach his beloved Maria. They found Chris and Max sprawled by the back steps.

A.I. duPont Children’s Hospital, Wilmington, DE <maybe Strong Memorial Children’s Hospital in Buffalo> September 9, 1976: As Chris opened his eyes he realized he had no idea where he was. He seemed to remember that something very bad had happened but he couldn’t quite remember what it was. The next thing he noticed was that he could not open his mouth.

He lay in a bed in a white room with lots of strange equipment. He tried to sit up but his head started to hurt and the room started to spin so he gave up.

Suddenly a nurse came in the room. A large black woman, Barb Johnson had the kind of smile that can make a person feel comfortable no matter what the circumstance.

“Well, look at who is finally awake!” she exulted. Noticing the questioning look on his face, she continued, “honey, you been sleepin’ a long time. Almost 2 months! I don’t really know your story, but you have some important people coming to see you soon. You got hurt, so your mouth is wired shut, but they are gonna take care of that in a month or so. But right now you should try to rest, okay honey?”

Late that night he woke with a start from a nightmare. Lying on his bed in the middle of the night, he could hear his breathing as he relived the nightmare he had just had.

He could still see the men with guns. The next thing he remembered was seeing a gun facing him and feeling like he had just gotten punched in the face.

In the morning, a strange man and woman in suits came into his room. They identified themselves as Special Agents Malle and Soong. They had been specially prepared by the FBI Psychiatrist on the best way to handle Chris in telling him that his entire family had been murdered.

As it turned out, they probably didn’t need the training. All Chris got from the 45 minute visit was that he was now an orphan and under the protection of the Government. When he thought back it seemed like they had said he would eventually be provided a new name and foster parents who would protect him.

After the FBI Agents left, Barb stealthily brought Chris a McDonald’s milkshake. “Here honey, this will taste better that what they’ve been giving you! Do you like to read? We have lots of books here… “ her voice trailed off as she retrieved a cart of books and rolled it into his room.

Still confused but wanting to show he appreciated her good intentions, Chris grabbed the closest two books. They happened to be novels: The Godfather and Shogun.

Over the next weeks, with no TV or visitors, Chris found himself reading whenever he was awake. Although he had no way of knowing it at the time, both of these books would have a profound effect on his life.

Spring Valley, NY November 13, 1976: Chris was trying to absorb his new surroundings. As he sat in his new room looking out the window he thought back to all the things that had happened in the last few months. It was amazing to think about everything that was different now.

He went from being a member of a happy family to being an orphan with new foster parents. He went from being a happy little boy to a young man whose memory was seared with the images from his last night at home. He was no longer Christopher Masorelli. Now his name was Sammy Dukes. He even looked different. The surgery that repaired his wounds had changed his face. He was convinced his mother wouldn’t recognize him even if she was alive.

His new ‘parents’ were nice enough. Apparently Brian and Sarah Dukes had wanted children but had been unable to have any. Married for 15 years, they were happy to take him into their family. Brian was an FBI Agent working in the New York City office and Sarah was a history teacher at Spring Valley High School.

In a concession to all the trauma he had undergone, the authorities had arranged for him to be tutored at home for the rest of the school year and to meet weekly with a counselor to try to work through his damaged emotions.

He soon discovered that having a law officer for a parent had it’s benefits; by the time he was 14 he was winning shooting championships and had had the unique opportunity of firing many different weapons at the FBI range, including (with close supervision) fully automatic weapons like Uzis and M16s.

His father also encouraged his interest in the martial arts and he was able to study Kenpo Karate and kendo (Japanese fencing). After seeing the movie “Pumping Iron” on HBO one night, “Sammy” researched bodybuilding and started following workouts designed by athletes like Arnold Schwartzenegger and Lou Ferrigno.

By the time he was in his senior year of High School, Sammy decided he would follow his ‘real’ family tradition and enlist in the Navy. He was especially interested in trying out for the SEALs program. He decided to honor his real family by entering the Navy’s Delayed Entrance Program on March 13, 1984, the 78^th anniversary of when his real family became Americans.

From all outward appearances Sammy was a “regular guy”. He had good grades, dated a cheerleader and seemed normal in every way. He had dabbled in a few sports, played guitar with some friends in a local rock band and worked after school.

Although he had earned a 2^nd degree black belt in Kenpo he had never been in a fight. His study of kendo lead him to do comprehensive research on Samurai culture. He even wrote a paper for school on the subject. In his research he had come across a Confucian teaching that resonated deep within. It read something like this: “Do not live under the same sky with the murderer of thy lord or father”. Sammy took that to heart.

After a summer enjoying himself he reported to Recruit Training Command, Great Lakes, Illinois for Naval Recruit Training. It was a very full nine and a half weeks. Sometimes it seemed like he could hardly breath without being told to!

The first few weeks he was surprised that what seemed most odd and out of place was his lack of a weapon. Since he had been 14 he had made a habit of carrying a 4 inch blade knife on his belt. Since it was in a horizontal sheath, no one ever noticed it. Not he ever used it for anything inappropriate (opening packages, etc.); it just made him feel safe.

He did okay the first 2 weeks, which were mostly physical conditioning and classes. He started out in better shape than anyone else in his group and continued to make progress.

Then the 3^rd week, things got very interesting (and a little harder). That week they were introduced to The Marlinspike, a land-bound trainer ship located indoors where they learned Seamanship.

The 4^th week was his favorite by far … they finally progressed to weapons training. They started with M16s and shotguns reconfigured with lasers and then graduated to live ammo. Once again, he was “top of the class” and then he was issued his 9mm! Even his instructors were surprised at his marksmanship.

Week 5 was when they had a Career Path and Advancement workshop where he was able to research how to reach his goal of entering BUD/s SEALs training. Week 6 brought the traumatic experience of the Confidence Chamber. Sammy and about eighty other recruits were lined up. They had 30 seconds to put on a gas mask when a tear gas tablet was set off. Then when it was his turn, he was ordered to remove his mask and throw it into a trashcan, while shouting his full name and social security number. Although he started to feel a little claustrophobic at first, he got through it okay, along with the majority of his fellow recruits.

(gulf war, trains self, stalks 6 who killed family, goes thru prep, etc. then gets saved, maybe has to kill 2 or 3 in self defense)

Growing up in the 50's and 60's I knew that certain things were expected of men in modern American (western?) culture. To be brave, to love sports, to not show emotion (except at the forementioned sports), etc. So, being a 'child of the 60s' I proceeded to dismiss these things from my life.

Early on I realized the importance of crying. Now I'm not talking about a whiny 'crying when things don't go your way' or when you skin your knee type crying. I'm talking about heartfelt pain or other emotion that seems to find it's best expression in tears. My mother used to tell me that God gave us tears as a release valve and I still believe that.

As to sports; I did love baseball, but until after my youngest daughter was born I had not ever watched a whole football game. I preferred sports that were somewhat eccentric (at least in the 70's) like karate and soccer.

But when I got serious about the girl I married, something happened. I suddenly saw myself as "The Protector" (did I mention I started reading comic books at age 3?). Whenever she seemed to be distressed, somehow it was my job to take care of it. We met in college and I remember once being sick with a fever somewhat north of 102. My dorm room was only 20 feet from the lounge and she was given permission to bring meals to me (a real breakthrough at a conservative Bible College circa 1974). After bringing me my dinner, she was in the lounge joking with a guy she worked with in the kitchen and he, like guys do, was tickling her or doing something that made her cry out. Suddenly a feverish version of "The Protector" stumbled into the lounge to protect her! As you might imagine, she was singularly unimpressed with my feat of heroism.

After our marriage "The Protector"'s methods shifted somewhat. The biggest alert seemed to be when she had to run an errand and was late returning … have you ever had a police officer laugh at you when you want to report that your wife is 20 minutes late?

Then came our first child, a beautiful little girl named Jessica. She only weighed a little over 6 pounds at birth and she looked like a doll (especially when I held her!).

I remember many, many nights when I just couldn't go to sleep until I stood by her crib, asking God to protect her (and making sure she was breathing!). In fact, that evolved into a practice I carried on with all 3 of my children for the next several years. Every night when I put them to bed I told them "Daddy will check on you later". If I failed to say it, they would ask for/demand it!

In their waking hours they had plenty of opportunities to see "The Protector", especially when playing outside. If you have not had the privilege of hearing little girls use their unique 'playing scream/shriek' you've really missed out! In one of our houses the front door was very difficult to open. My youngest daughter and some friends from the neighborhood were playing just outside the front door when "The Protector" was roused by a bloodcurdling shriek. As I tried to tear open the door (unsuccessfully) I seriously debated breaking the window. There were several anxious seconds until I heard the girls all laughing. Shakily I made my way outside and pleaded with my daughter to reserve that particular scream for appropriate occasions (such as someone trying to cut her arm off, etc).

I found that "The Protector" was with me at all times. Sometimes he tried to use a sense of humor. One day Jessica told me a boy she worked with wanted to take her to a Bible Study at his church. At this point, Jessica had not been on a date with someone who could provide their own transportation and my wife and I were a little cautious.

So I told her to bring him in to the Family room to meet me. When he came in the room with her, I remained in my usual seat. After the introductions I explained to the young man that she needed to be home BY 10 PM. I then casually directed him to look at the wall above me. On that wall was part of my collection of exotic weapons. There were swords, daggers, machetes, bowie knives, throwing knives, martial arts weapons like a three sectional staff, manriki kusari and the ubiquitous nunchakus.

As I repeated Jessica's curfew, I gently told the young man I knew how to use all of those weapons. After they left, I was very pleased with myself. I had protected her and was funny at the same time! To my surprise, my wife was somewhat horrified when I told her about the incident and to this day I'm not entirely sure that Jessica has forgiven me for that incident yet (although it happened over 7 years ago).

While training in the martial arts I had discovered that you could achieve a point where you simply reacted to stimuli … you did not have to think each move through independently. For me, this even applied to my driving. I had learned how to handle corners and skidding, power slides, etc. in my go kart when I was very young. Living most of my adult life in 'the great white north' (upstate NY) it came in handy because I simply reacted when snow or other conditions caused my vehicle to skid or go out of control. Without conscious thought or effort I could correct my course automatically.

This was especially important for protecting my family. Around 1988 or so I developed some severe health problems. Later we found out it was Fibromyalgia. All I knew at the time was I went from weightlifting and playing soccer to being unable to walk a block or carry a gallon of milk within a few short weeks.

Because of this my driving skills became a primary way of serving as "The Protector". Although my physical abilities were diminished, I knew I could still do my "job" while driving. For years I had determined that, if ever we came upon a situation where we could not avoid an accident, I would maneuver the vehicle so that I took the brunt of the damage.

One night, after many years of preparing mentally, I got to put this into practice. As I was driving on a rural road in Big Flats, NY I caught sight of a deer just as I came to the crest of a small hill. It was right in the middle of my lane and only about 100 feet in front of me. Without thinking, I executed that which I had planned for many years. BAM! I put the van into a skid that caused me to slam into the stubborn deer, hitting it squarely with my drivers door.

As I sat there watching the deer get up and limp away a few things became suddenly clear to me:

2> The passenger side door was damaged and if I had hit on that side the insurance would have paid to fix it!

That night was a beginning of a realization. Although I saw it as my most important job, I was not able to adequately protect my family. This realization was nearly as devastating as my Fibromyalgia had been.

As I write this, there is a popular TV show that uses a theme song by Lazlo Bane. Some of the lyrics are "I can't do this all on my own, no I'm no Superman!".

I had to realize I wasn't either! This was very difficult! Suddenly I realized that the role I had carved out for myself was 'bogus'. Even the super heroes I had read about in comic books all my life were not always able to protect their loved ones. How had I expected to do it?

What I came to realize was that this was just one of the roles I had tried to take away from God. I finally started to realize that all those years I thought I was fighting Fibromyalgia I was actually fighting God! Paul talked about it in 2 Corinthians 12:9 "But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (NIV) Or, as the NLT puts it, "My power works best in your weakness". In The Message it is even more powerful:

· "My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness. Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. 10 Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size - abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.“

WOW! Weakness can be good? The weaker I get, the stronger I become? How simple is that? Well, the concept seems simple to me, sitting here reflecting on the last 25 years of my life. But in real life, "in the trenches", it is SO hard to see it!

I think that Paul was writing about much the same thing in 2 Corinthians 4:8&9 "⁸ We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed and broken. We are perplexed, but we don't give up and quit. ⁹ We are hunted down, but God never abandons us. We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going."

After all these years of struggling and trying, I am finally getting close. I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I have to say it looks great!

To Destiny	Holy Band	My Family Legacy	The Protector
	Best Served Cold