An Atlas of the Life and Travels of Howard Merrell

Mental, Historical Cartography:

Posen, Illinois; Huntland. Tennessee;  the cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandy, France; Sterlington, Louisianna; Roanoke. Virginia; Shenandoah Junction, West Virginia; Clarks Summit, Pennsylvania; Elora, Tennessee; a small part of Kiev Ukraine; (I don't remember the name of the community, but) -a large housing complex in Almaty, Kazakhstan; Weno, Chuuk; Harvey, Illinois; Bradley, West Virginia; Lita, Ecuador; Fredrickburg, Pennsylvania; Neuva Ocatepeque, Honduras; Elkhart, Indiana; Imperial Rome; Charlottesville, Virginia; Crescent Lake Bible Camp, near Rhinelander, Wisconsin; an area in the Black Forest region of Germany; Palau; Lawrence, Michigan; Rock Hill, North Carolina; a bit of College Station, Texas, Guam; the route Southeast to Northwest across Ohio; The area around Moody Bible Institute in Chicago; Florence, Italy; Lake Moomaw; Bryansk, Russia; Chuuk Lagoon; Israel; a bike route from Covington, Virginia to Hershey, Pennsylvania (complete with pictures of a hotel room that used to be 8 x14 but is now only 7 x 13, because of the many coats of paint); and several airports around the world. I am taking a few minutes this morning to page through the atlas in my mind. Maps, pictures, reports of traffic conditions, and notations of where to get good chicken, pizza, or sub-sandwiches are included in my one of a kind guide to getting around in this world. My mental atlas is horribly inaccurate. Some of the designations, like "Half-way Hardees," are meaningless to anybody outside my family. Some of its contents, like the memorial marker, "On this spot a drunk driver in a big Buick ran over Howard Merrell on the first day his parents let him cross the road with his bike." haven't been edited for more than sixty years. The information my book contains is utterly arbitrary. It says little to nothing about most prime tourist destinations in the regions it covers, yet it has a notation about the best hoagie shop in Clarks Summit, Pennsylvania--maybe the whole world--Grace's Hoagies. On page xxx you can see a picture of the trailer where Fred wielded his butcher knife and flyswatter making his wonderful sandwiches in a place that was so dirty that I wouldn't let Kathy go in because I knew if she did she would never eat anything from there again. I didn't want to deprive her of that pleasure. "Why do you call the place 'Grace's?" I asked, referring to the sign leaned against the front of the trailer that Fred had never bothered to hang. I was hoping for a deeply Theological response. "Aaagh, it's named after my ex-wife (expletive deleted." Such is the trivia that fills the pages of The Life and Travels of Howard Merrell. The pictures fade, and the data from one location gets confused with another. The compiler of this record makes no guarantee as to accuracy. I had cause to consult my book last night as I rode from the airport to my friends' house in Koror, Palau. Kathy and I lived in Palau for four months. It was the beginning of Act Two of our life, following a very long Act One. I consulted my record because I had the distinct impression that this "feels like home." Only it isn't home. Kathy and I have started referring to "our Virginia home" and "our Guam home." But that doesn't quite cover it either. I could just as easily say, "The place in Virginia, or Guam, that's not my home." Don't get me wrong I'm not looking for sympathy. There is a certain freedom in being "homeless." An old song captures the mood of our Lord's words about laying up treasure in heaven, or the Apostle Paul's words about where to set our affection. I'm content to hang around this world as long as the Lord wants me to. I'm just trying to remember my real address. (Philippians 1:21-15 gives Paul's much more together view of this.) It's Something To Think About.

Something left when you're done

Heritage:

This morning was Friday morning on the side of the world where I live now. It's fourteen hours in the future compared to my home in Virginia. At eight this morning I was beginning a class that I teach at Pacific Islands University. We typically start our classes with prayer. So as we went to the Lord in prayer on Fridaymorning it was six in the evening, back in Virginia. Thursday at 6:00 PM my home church and several other congregations were beginning the last night of a big event for teenagers, TEENWEEK. My class was praying for TEENWEEK. More than three decades ago, Covington Bible Church started TEENWEEK. I was privileged to be instrumental in its beginning and continuation.  Some of the Teens and leaders at TEENWEEK '18   As the class and I prayed this morning, what was going on in Virginia seemed very distant. I guess that is because it is very distant, both in miles and minutes. I don't want to give the idea that I think that doing games in a mud-pit, having a half-court basketball tournament, or serving up fifty pizzas at a time is essential to the cause of Christ. It isn't, and I know that. TEENWEEK, however, is a tool that has been used by God's people and blessed by God. I feel a bit like someone who is attending his own funeral. Normally, we think about heritage as something that goes beyond a person's life. I'm privileged to be alive and see something that by God's grace I was privileged to be involved in, that still goes on. Some of the leaders in the picture above are children the teens I was privileged to work with years ago. They are doing TEENWEEK and, more importantly, taking leadership in reaching a new generation. Thank You, Lord. My advice to you is, Go do something that lasts. It's Something To Think About. To see more about TEENWEEK '18, scroll through the posts at the Covington Bible Church Facebook page.

Friends, Not the TV Show

Friendship:

I was down to the point of sniffing socks this morning. It's the last day of this trip. I look forward to heading home and being with Kathy. As I reflect on my time in Chuuk, I am struck by the power friendship. I have been able to spend time with a couple of friends who are my allies in ministry. The currency of friendship is clear between us. Each of us has his own work. There are areas of our ministries that overlap, and so an outsider could look at some of the conversations that have taken place the last few days, and say, "I understand. The work missionary number 1 is doing has this common interest with missionary number 2, so it makes perfect that he says good things about what Number 2 is doing, because if Number 2 succeeds it will help Number 1." That observation is technically correct but entirely wrong. The fact of the matter is, the three of us are friends--friends in the way that comes through in some key passages in the Book of Proverbs. Proverbs 17:17 speaks about the consistency of true friendship The ESV translation of Proverbs 18:24, brings out the distinction between those we call "friends" in the casual sense and those we can count on even when times are hard. Proverbs 27:6 points out that this is the kind of friend who will "wound" his friend rather than let them go the wrong way. In addition to spending times with these friends, I was able to make some new friends. Friendship transcends national boundaries, skin color and, though it makes it harder, even differences in language. While I was here in this little corner of the world, I was reminded about a friendship that has even survived death. Three decades after Dave's death, his friendship still feeds my soul. I am convinced that in heaven we will still be who we are. If that is so, then might it be possible that friendship, unhindered by distance, time, language, or death, will continue? It's Something To Think About.

When I honor others I am the one who gains the benefit.

One of the criticisms that I have read of 21st Century life in the West is that we tend to give undue preference to those who happen to be alive right now. We think we are smarter than those who have gone before us. When there is a way that things used to be done, and a way that we do things now, our default position is that the current procedure is better. "We finally got it figured out." When have you heard an advertisement bragging that a business or organization is on "the back side of the knife"? Everybody wants to be "cutting edge." The Edsel was new, so were 8-track tapes, and Beta video recorders. How'd that work out? Clearly, the cell phone most STTA readers use to access these thoughts I offer represents an incredible technical advance over the front porch where people used to share something about which to think. We ought to ask, however, "In the biggest sense of the word, is the pocket device that connects me to the world better?"  Does it connect or separate?

I'm in Chuuk as I write this. Technically Chuuk is one of the four states that make up the Federated States of Micronesia, a collection of Islands in the Western Pacific. In the way the Bible uses the word, Chuuk is a "nation." It has its own language and culture. People here aren't FSM-ers, they are Chuukese. I'm here to honor a church leader who recently died. The body of the deceased arrived by jet airplane and was transported to his home island on a boat powered by Yamaha, but the ways of honoring his memory, and seeking to comfort his family are rooted in ways that don't require gasoline or a battery. Physical presence is maximized. A willingness to put other things aside is evident. There is a deliberate focus on reconciliation and learning lessons from the dead that will help us move forward with life.
When we think of honoring someone our initial thought is that the benefit is given to the one honored. I'm being reminded that honoring another--even, perhaps especially, when the one being honored is no longer here to receive the honor--means those of us who slow down and take time to show-our-respects receive much more than we give. 
I wish we could sit down on the porch and talk about it. It's not cutting edge, but it would be better.
It's Something To Think About.

Life is Short

I apologize. STTA hasn't provided much to ponder recently. Today, though life--or I suppose I should day "death," got me to thinking. A friend of mine, a fellow pastor, about ten years younger than me died. My friend graduated from Pacific Islands University and served as the chair of our Board of Trastees, so I thought it my duty to let others know of Hiob's passing. I realize that most of you weren't Hiob Ngirachemoi's friend, as I was. Still, I think what I had to say about his passing might give you reason to think about life and death, and perhaps make better use of the former.   I only have a few minutes to write about my friend and colleague, Hiob. My time constraints, as Hiob's passing, remind me of the vapor-like fragility and brevity of ur time on earth. I am privileged to call Hiob, "My friend." That is a privilege that Hiob shared with many. As one who worked with him as well as enjoyed his friendship, I both enjoyed and was frustrated by Hiob's ability to focus in on the person in front of him. Sometimes that focus caused him to forget other things, but for the person who was the recipient of his attention, it was like a good satisfying meal--all you could want and more. In 2010, Hiob spent a day showing Kathy and me around the island of Babeldaob. We heard the story of how he broke, and almost lost, his arm when he was a boy. I also know that in spite of that stunted, misformed limb Hiob was a respectable athlete. It certainly didn't prevent him from doing what he wanted to do. Over the last couple of years when I talked to Hiob on the phone I would always ask him if he had been fishing. Fishing did his heart good. When Hiob showed me around his home island and then later when he took a group of us camping in the Rock Islands (one of Palau's treasures), Hiob's pride in, and love for, Palau was obvious. I once commented to someone else who knows Hiob, that he might be the most Palauan person I know. At the time of his death, Hiob was Pastor of Koror Evangelical Church, Chairman of the Board of Trustees of Pacific Islands University, and involved in many other organizations. His counsel was sought by various leaders in Palau and beyond. Most significantly Hiob was wife to Leah and Daddy to Micah and Jireh. They are in California. Hiob had been traveling in the States when the illness that took him suddenly came on him. Please pray for those Pastor Hiob left behind. Pray for those who will be called on to speak at the services that honor him and point others to the Saviour Hiob loved. I look forward to the day when I will see a big smile, hear a hearty "Alli," and be engulfed in a hug from two big arms. There is a river of life in heaven. I don't see why there won't be fish to catch. I look forward to sitting next to my friend and catching a few while we catch up.  The picture above is of Hiob on the day eight years ago, when we toured his home. The one on the left is of the PIU Trustees at our last meeting. Often my parting words to people are, "Live for Jesus." Thinking of life's here-and-then-gone quality, those three words make all the more sense.   It's Something To Think About.