If arrested, would there be enough....

I had a preacher in Glendive who had a favorite theme for his sermons, "If you were arrested as a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?"

That's is a provocative statement because as Christians, we are not only called to be disciples (followers) but also apostles (witnesses) of Jesus. Notice the difference? One is passive, one is active.

Last night, Belinda and I went to the movie "Fireproof", starring Kirk Cameron as a firefighter whose marriage was definitely on the rocks and the storm was fierce. There seemed to be no way out other than divorce. Then his parents stepped in, especially, his father.

As you can guess, by the end of the movie, the marriage was healed. But to get from the rocky start to the happy ending is worth the price of admission, because the movie clearly shows the role that God should be playing in our lives and in our marriage. This is no small feat in a fast-paced movie with plenty of action (fires, car crashes, etc.) along with faith-based teaching.

The movie centers around a 40-day program that the dad gives to his son. The program is called the "Love Dare" and its Biblically based. About halfway through the journey, the character played by Kirk Cameron surrenders his life to Jesus.

But enough of the movie, how about us? Going back to the original premise of being arrested as a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict us? Would we willing to open up to others about our faith just as the father did in this movie?

I can't answer that question for you...only you can. I've thought about this a lot since last night. Hopefully, the answer is yes, but there is always something that Holy Spirit is asking us to do. Are we saying "yes" and are we growing in our faith? Or are we ignoring the requests and simply getting by? Are we passive or active?

Do we tell others about our faith with words and deeds or are we content that "Jesus knows, and that's enough." Like the children's Sunday School song implores, let's not hide our light under a bushel, but let it shine, shine, shine.

Why are we so different...

Some people are good at math, some at English...a few are good at everything. Some can sing, some can't and some shouldn't even try.

Even within families there are noticeable differences. Brothers and sisters can be night and day different from each other...even if they have the same parents. Siblings can look at the same situation and see completely different things.

For instance, my dad lovingly remembers his father while several of dad's sisters have told me his father was a tyrant. Dad remembers his father singing so loud in church that the pastor told him to be quiet. When I told this story to one of dad's sisters, she doesn't remember her dad even going to church.

Since you can't turn the clock back 80 years and find out for yourself, about all you can do is chalk these differences up to how people are different and how they look at things differently.

Some of us are romantics, and we tend to smooth over the rough edges of the world and try to put the best face on every situation. I think that's my father. After all, he's one of the few people that I know of that thought his experience in the U.S. Army Air Force during World War II was among the treasurered moments of his life. He liked the other soldiers, the travel to different states and different countries...he even liked the food. His stories of service to the United States are filled with plesantries about checker tournaments, boxing matches, riding trains and ships. He doesn't talk about battles, marching around the barracks or KP duty. Instead, he says he got the "plush" jobs because he knew how to use a typewriter. Uncle Sam even sent him to college in Utah during during his tour of duty.

When he talks about working at the coal mines, his stories are about happy times there. It seems the mines hired just about everyone...as long as they were able bodied. Anyway, some of the miners would tap on the bulbs deep in the black, underground mines to make the bulbs shine brighter. However, the bulbs didn't last as long if you tapped on them. So the miners were tapping and the bosses were shouting because of the number of replacement bulbs needed. Now, that's an interesting story, but no mention of spending long hours bent over digging out coal for hours on end. Instead, dad says working at the mine had its advantages. You didn't care if it was cold, rainy, night time or day time, because in the mine, the environment was always the same. Now that's a romantic.

And his work on the early oil rigs is similarly about the people he worked with. There was Don Soape and L.P. "Peanuts" Anderson and, of course, his favorite subject was Charlie Bellew, the ne'er-do-well driller who was getting picked up by the Highway Patrol for not having a driver's license, because of some previous infraction. Or Charlie, the man with the voracious appetite, who put his fork in somebody's fingers because he thought they were going to steal his food.

No need to talk about the horrendous safety conditions on the old rigs, often called "widow makers" by the rough necks. No need to talk about the weeks away from home while drilling on the Highline of Montana near Havre during brutal Montana winters. Instead, dad talks about finding rare fossils and arrowheads by walking around the rigs. In his stories, the drilling rigs were a way for him to have access to all of this great land to find rare artifacts. This story is similar to a favorite World War II story when he was stationed in India. Instead of talking about the deplorable conditions in the Asian subcontinent, he talks of finding beautiful rubies that he was later duped out of by a crafty trader. However, dad thought it was okay because he might find some more rubies.

Now that's a romantic. So if I sometimes see the world as a green garden, full of friends and wonderful places to enjoy, don't think of me as strange. I come by this naturally. Life is a pretty sweet place, and we need to enjoy it.

Summer observations

A couple of weeks ago, Scott and I were traveling by car and he made an interesting observation, that I'll paraphrase as such, "This person is one of the top 10 reasons why sometimes it would be better to be blind."

It's quite a mouthful and generally we don't think that we would ever want to be blind, crippled, deaf or have any other particular ailment or malfunction, so when he said it, I took notice.

And I guess it comes down to that same issue....is it better to look stylish or be cool in the summer heat.

Now, I'm probably as guilty as anybody as summertime often finds me in a pair of shorts even though my legs are far from being outstanding specimens of manly physique.

However, they could be worse. One person golfing in a tournament in July gained the nickname "Keg on Legs" for his portly physique as he pushed around his golf clubs in brutal heat and humidity while wearing a dashing pair of green shorts and bright yellow shirt.

But enough about outward beauty, lest someone thinks that I'm shallow. Let me go now in a different direction, which, of course, leads me back to Scott's list of 10 things. I got to wondering what other lists could I compile during the summer.

Here are a few:

• 10 worst persons to be caught in a conversation with at family picnic, renunion, etc.
• 10 dishes that you wish were never brought to another potluck.
• 10 drivers that you hope get their drivers licenses taken away for being idiots on the highways.
• 10 boaters that should hit an underwater tree stump because they are scaring the fish away while you are angling for walleyes on the Missouri.

I suppose I better quit now before one of my two faithful readers comes out with their own top 10 list and it's "10 bloggers who I'm getting very tired of hearing whine."

Don't take the little things for granted....

Today, I gave Ken Miller a ride to church from his home at the MedCenter One Care Center. Ken will turn 90 in a couple more weeks. He used to live alone and drive himself to church, but with failing health, he had to relocate to a nursing home and gave up his pickup. Since learning that he wanted to attend church, I have brought him the first Sunday in May, June, July and now August.

Ken generally gets around either by wheelchair or with a walker. I'm not a doctor, but I would say the arthritis in his legs makes it very difficult for him to walk. So far when he goes to church, he chooses the walker over the wheelchair.

On the way home after church, he told me that while he has appreciated me bringing him to church, this is the last time that he will accept a ride because it's just too hard for him to get around.

I let the words sink in and then I told him that I would come back in about a month and see if he changed his mind. He laughed and said, "That's probably a good idea...maybe I'll be able to get around a little better in a month."

His comments made me think of some specific words that I heard my mom say within the two or three-month time frame before her death.

She said, "I never thought about getting old. I guess I thought I would stay young forever."

On the surface, those words simply sound foolish. After all, we all celebrate a birthday every year so we know we are getting older...or do we?

A couple of weeks ago, the doctor who gave me my physical also gave me some words of advice. He said, "Steve, your body is nearly 50 but your mind thinks you are 18. So before you do physically strenuous work, such as lifting heavy boxes, be sure to stretch your muscles, or you are likely to tear something."

Fifty - why I don't feel 50 - I play tennis with my teenage sons. I walk four miles a day with my wife. However, the doctor is right, my body is getting older but my brain says that I'm 18. I feel young. I don't have aches or pains...generally.

I think that's the way my mom felt most of her life. She felt young - like she could do everything she could when she was young. But then something happens. Maybe it is arthritis for Ken, or congestive heart failure for mom...but one day we can't do the things we once did and our brain finally catches up and tells us so.

We are getting old, whether we want to admit it or not, so for today and the next 30 or 40 years, let's be young and do the things we want to do. Grow a garden, ride a bike, go for that walk at sunset hand-in-hand with the one we love. Go fishing, explore an old building...and go to church. Because someday, we just might not be able to.

Today, we're young...let's enjoy it.

Memories of Solberg Cabins

My first trip to the cabins, nestled along the north fork of the Musslshell River in a pine-covered valley near Martinsdale, Montana, occurred when I was about five years old. That was probably our family's second vacation. The first was a year earlier when we borrowed a neighbor's tent and camped out on Smith River -- not far from the cabins. Anyway, in the ensuing year, somebody must have told the folks about renting a cabin instead of pitching a tent.

In those days, lunch consisted of either a baloney or salami sandwich, a bag of Goodies potato chips and a can of Shasta pop -- all bought on the way out of town at Ray's grocery where Gene worked. By the way, you needed a church key to open the pop -- the poptop was still to be invented. The cans were also steel, not aluminum.

My first trip to the cabins was spent snuggled between Mom and Dad in a double bed in the cabin made of logs. Janet and Susan had the trundle beds and Gene and Randy had the little red, tar-papered cabin to the west. On that trip, there was no volleyball, badmitten or other sport, except fishing. Dad and my older brothers went fishing and Mom and the girls and I walked up to the highway or dangled our feet in the cold stream waiting for the boys and the fish to arrive.

After that first trip, we made several more to the cabins as I was growing up, but there were always fewer of us going because brothers and sisters were getting married. In fact, Susan and Rich spent their honeymoon at the cabins -- which makes them honest to goodness Montanans! Camping on their honeymoon!

Eventually, it became my turn to get married. And along came two children. So following David and Cathy's wedding in 1993, someone had the glorious idea of leaving Roundup after the ceremony and heading up to the cabins. I think that first year might have been just the folks, Rich and Susan and their family and mine. I think Randy, Janice and Gary joined us because it seems Janice's Dad, Bernard, came that year, too.

It wasn't until the following year that David and Cathy came along, which led to the fire incident. And the fire incident led to the naming of the years as in -- that was the year of the fire. For those who weren't there, David and Cathy were staying in a pop-up camper which caught fire and burned. To my boys, I'm sure they compare it to the burning of Chicago. It was quite exciting as we formed a water line and handed buckets of water from the creek to the person throwing the wet stuff on the burning camper.

The next year -- 1995 -- was even more famous because it was the year that Scott and his Dad nearly drowned. Well, not really, it's hard to drown in a foot of water, but we did our best as we sunk an intertube after hitting a pointed rock. What made the incident famous was Scott's "man-on-the-street interview" with Uncle Rich, which was caught on videotape. There he told the world that the only thing that saved him from perishing was grabbing on to "my dad's icky shirt."

Other memorable "years" were when Rich spun Dylan's inflatable raft upside down in the corner of the stream. There was also the year of Spencer as he followed Missy and Lindsay around like their shadow, and the year Gary directed all the kids in an epic movie, "Where's Timmy," which we still have. And it was a great year when indoor toilets and running showers arrived. There was also the year Belinda drove the car off the bridge -- well not entirely, but close enough for me.

As the years passed, the talk of the fun we had begun to circulate and every year we seemed to get more and more people coming. However, the fun ended -- at least for my family -- in 2002. By that time, I had lost my job with MDU and had started with the Bismarck Tribune so lacked both time and money for a trip to the cabins. The year after, Mom's health began to fail and it didn't seem like anyone wanted to leave Roundup.

Like Jim Croce said, if we could "put time in a bottle", I think a lot of us would like to return to the cabins for another jaunt. However, the next time I might be the Grandpa, and it might be someone else who snuggles between their parents on a double bed. I hope all of you cherish your cabin memories, and feel free to share some by commenting on this blog.

High, wide and handsome...

Former Great Falls Tribune reporter Joseph Howard Kinsey wrote the classic history book, "Montana - High, Wide and Handsome." And after driving 1,300 miles this weekend, most of it in Montana, I'd have to agree with Kinsey. You forget how far towns are away from each other until you start driving from Winnett, to Jordan and on to Circle.

Oh, I miss the mountains, the streams, the evergreen trees, but in fairness to my adopted North Dakota, I've got to tell you that if I was a farmer, I would find it easier plowing the rich, tree-less plains of North Dakota as compared to a forested mountain side in Montana. Still, Montana's scenery is easy on the eyes -- even at 80 mph.

Here's a couple of observations from the weekend about the Treasure State:

1. I still enjoying buying things in Montana and not having to pay a sales tax. The price on the item is the price you pay -- not an extra six or seven cents on the dollar.
2. Two-lane highways are scary after you're accustomed to driving on Interstate highways. I about met my maker between Great Falls and Lewistown on Saturday afternoon trying to pass a semi-truck. A pickup surprised me -- even though there was a dotted center line -- as it came up really fast. However, I managed to pass the truck and duck back in ahead of a head-on collision. I was glad my car had lots of horsepower and could accelerate very fast. Still, I was looking at the ditch in case I was needing to head in that direction.
3. There's no better company than family. It didn't matter if it was my inlaws in Glendive, Aunt Ginny in Billings, Connie in Roundup or Nancy -- Rich's cousin -- in Great Falls, the welcome mat was certainly out.

I might devote another column to Shorty's funeral -- it was memorable and impactful -- but let me just say the phrase that stuck in my head was this one by the preacher: "There are two kinds of people. One kind enters a room and announces, "Here I am." The second comes into a room and says, "It's sure good to have you here with me." I agree with the preacher that Shorty was certainly of the second kind, and he's a good role model to follow.

You can't go home again

Thomas Wolfe wrote a novel titled, "You can't go home again" meaning that you can't recapture the past. This weekend, I'll be heading back to Montana -- my home state -- for the first time since July 2006 when I brought my father to live with us in North Dakota.

I asked Dad if he would like to come with me to Montana, but he didn't think he was up to the long drive. "I better stay here and take care of my cat," he decided. Oh, he also wanted to know if my wife was going to Montana with me. When he discoverd she wasn't, he said, "Well, if she'll stay home and cook for me, I guess I better stay home and eat it."

If I had my druthers, I would love to be driving to my hometown of Roundup to visit my parents in their big blue, ranch-style home on the edge of town. Maybe we'd be bringing some kites along to fly in open fields nearby or baseballs and gloves to play catch in the street in front of the house.

But the blue house is sold and my mom is buried in the cemetery near her brother's grave plot. So instead of going to their home to visit mom, I'll be going to the cemetery on the edge of town to put some flowers on her grave.

Certainly, there will be people to visit -- uncles and aunts and a hardworking cousin -- all who have meant so much to me and my family. But still it won't be the same. As Thomas Wolfe said, "You can't go home again."