Monday Memories: In Memory of Lidia

I’m haunted by Lidia’s face. Is it her gentle, shy smile? Is it her lovely dark eyes framed by perfect eyebrows?

LIDIA LEBOWITZ. Born in Sarospatak, Hungary, in 1933.

The younger of two sisters, Lidia was born to Jewish parents living in Sarospatak, a small town in northeastern Hungary. Lidia’s parents owned a successful dry goods business. At the time, ready-made clothes were still rare in the countryside. Townspeople and local farmers would purchase fabric at the Lebowitz store and then take it to their tailor or seamstress to be sewn into clothes.

1933-39: Lidia was 2 when her Aunt Sadie, who had immigrated to the United States many years earlier, came to visit with her two children, Arthur and Lillian. All the cousins had a good time playing together on their grandparents’ farm. On the trip over from America, Lidia’s aunt’s ship had docked in Hamburg, Germany, and Aunt Sadie had seen Nazis marching in the streets. Aunt Sadie was worried about what could happen to her family in Sarospatak.

1940-44: In 1944 German forces occupied Hungary. A month after the invasion, Hungarian gendarmes, acting under Nazi orders, evicted Lidia and her parents from their home. The Lebowitzes spent three days crowded into the local synagogue with hundreds of other Jewish citizens. Then they were all transferred to the nearby town of Satoraljaujhely, where some 15,000 Jews were squeezed into a ghetto set up in the gypsy section of town. The ghetto residents had a hard time getting enough food to eat.

The ghetto was liquidated in May and June of 1944. All the Jews were deported in sealed freight cars to Auschwitz. Lidia and her parents were never heard from again.

Note: This information was obtained from
the United States Holocaust Museum
Washington, D.C.

Monday Memories: And The Wind Blows

Many years ago I moved around a lot. I thought of myself as helping here and there as needed, but not staying too long in one place. I definitely didn’t let moss grow beneath my feet. I was justified Biblically, too: “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” John 3:8. Perhaps my interpretation just satisfied my desire to travel, to wander. Those travels did allow me to serve GOD through a number of churches in the States as well as in a number of countries. I met wonderful people. I might have even been of some value to them. Some folks, with whom I connected in special ways, I stayed in contact with for a time. Eventually, however, I lost that connection.

Eventually, after wonderful experiences in West Africa, and getting married while there, I settled down somewhat. I say somewhat, as the itch to roam got to me in 2006. I went went over-the-road with Arrow Trucking out of Tulsa, OK. My Biblical justification is found in Luke 14:23: “Go out to the highways and hedges and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled.”

After leaving Arrow Trucking, I focused on raising two children, siblings adopted from overseas. While we attended a large church I got totally lost in the anonymity of it. I didn’t connect with anyone. I stayed somewhat obscure, aloof, writing devotional pieces for a ministry, eventually starting this blog. I made no real connections with people; I made no friends. Many acquaintances came and went, but no friends. I sloughed it off as to my being a loner, generally. I never really learned why this had happened. Until last year.

On March 5^th2022, an anonymous comment posted to JonahzSong, provoked me to look hard at my life and my connections with people. The writer didn’t understand how I could call myself Wil, that that wasn’t my name. The writer said my middle name began with an “M.” The writer went on to say some vulgar, and physically impossible, things that I should do to myself. Eventually the writer acknowledged maybe my middle name is William, Wil for short. The writer said, “But how would I know, I was abandoned and forgotten.” It upset me, to say the least. I tried to find the person by tracing the ip address, as no email address was left in the comment. I wasn’t able find the person. I wondered if the person might have been mistaken. Yet it nagged at me. I wonder now if that commenter drops by once and awhile to see if there might be an acknowledgement of some sort. Not that it makes up for anything if I were able to say to the person that I am sorry. If I offended him or her, I regret it. I regret all offenses to anyone, especially to people who’d thought of me as their friend.

This past year I’ve given a lot of thought to the accusation of abandoning and forgetting people. I’ve not forgotten anyone; they’ve been often in my thoughts and prayers. At least I don’t think so. I’ve certainly lost track of most of those I’ve known, and have only a brief contact with others. On occasion, I’ve felt compelled to earnestly pray for a particular person, throughout the day, for multiple days even. I’ve often searched the internet for news of friends. I’ve felt the joy of seeing a news clipping, or articles in ministry newsletters. Yet I didn’t reach out to those I’d found. I didn’t know what to say after such a long a time. I’ve also felt the sadness when finding an obituary.

I’ve met a lot of people here and there in the course of my wanderings. I remember the names of many. Some I can picture in my mind’s eye, at least how they once appeared. Some are in photographs that I’ve taken. None are forgotten. There are a few people with whom I was close. We went different directions, parting on good terms, and for some, for a time, staying in touch. I’ve held hope that one day we’d reconnect, though mostly I didn’t try to do so.

There is one person with whom I was very close. We knew we were heading in different directions, though we thought it would only be for a short time. Just two people blown in the wind—sort of. Just before I was leaving we had a disagreement. I became angry. I left without saying good bye. I didn’t look back, either. She would not have been the person who commented on JonahzSong; she knew me as Wil. I was foolish. And, yes, I abandoned her. Some years later, my Dad forwarded me a letter she’d mailed to me in care of him. It was a nice note, though she didn’t understand my not at least saying good bye.

Paul wrote to the Ephesians to put off their old selves and “put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another. Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil.” Eph. 4:25-27. I failed to put aside my flesh. I failed to speak to her about my anger. I failed to provide an opportunity to be reconciled with her. I held the anger too close, too long. I walked away in abandonment. She didn’t deserve that. In the scheme of things, the disagreement was a foolish one, and I was in the wrong with no right to be angry. I can think of many excuses, but none excuses bad behavior, my bad behavior.

Pauls writings to GOD’s people are only a small part of GOD’s instructions to all humanity. There are so many lessons to learn within the Bible, if one pays attention. Learning them the hard way causes pain, to others, to me. I can’t make up for any of my sins against GOD or against His creation. What I can do, however, is offer a warning to folks to take great care in their connections with people. Be angry. Be honest. Settle it before the sun sets. Settle it before it’s too late.

May GOD watch over you
throughout the days of your life
in all the seasons of your life

LORD Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

###

Monday Memories: Screams in the Night

Dreams. . . All too often they inflict themselves well into the day. Lurking, waiting to capture moments of joy. Willing to toss souls to the ground, to be stomped upon. Over. And over. Again!

BUT. . . in Messiah the willing mind is no longer bound. The Soul is Free to accept not the deceit of the haunted old self.

May all the righteous in Messiah understand from where we’ve come, and Who has delivered us. Thank You Jesus, LORD and Messiah!

Monday Memories: 23 hrs 23 min in a Luggage Rack

Summer 1988 in India. Two Brits. Two Sweds. And me.

We met while clamoring aboard a train headed west out of Raxaul, Bihar, India. By the time we boarded there was no room to stand, let alone sit. We put our backpacks in the luggage rack and climbed up there ourselves.

The two fellows from Sweden were in their late twenties and spoke good English. They had been traveling in India for some months. The two from England had recently graduated from Secondary School, and were new to India. I’d been in India several months, traveling around.

As it turned out, we all intended to go to Dal Lake, Srinagar, Kashmir. I don’t really remember a lot about the trip. It was hot. It was cramped. Despite sleeping, it was exhausting. The company was good, though. We took turns getting off at the stops along the way. I noted the time when we finally left the train; 23 hours and 23 minutes in those luggage racks.

After a short bus ride, sitting in proper seats, we arrived in Srinagar. Some guys boarded the bus, seeing tourists aboard, and we were convinced to rent a houseboat for a week, all meals provided. The boat was large, docked next to the road, and way too close to a culvert that drained sewage from the town into the lake. But the food was good, and delivered to the boat.

During the week we took several boat trips around Dal Lake in long, narrow paddle boats to see the sites, walked around the town, and in the evenings relaxed on upper deck of the houseboat. We talked a lot about Jesus; I hope they came eventually to accept Him into their lives.

At the end of the week we parted ways, the Sweds off in one direction, the Brits in another, and I down to New Delhi.

Monday Memories: First Twenty Years

Some of my favorite photos taken of me and of me with some of my dearest and most loved people during my First Twenty Years. In pictures, from Hemet, California, held in the arms of my folks, Ted and Meg, through to Infantry Basic and Advance Training at Fort Ord, California, 1969.

I remember when Micheal and I dressed like our Dads, though I’ve forgotten the year.

At Northwestern Military and Navel Academy, Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, in 1963 with best friend Keith and a “blind” date, Jill, at the Fall Military Ball.

In the back of our camper, with Mom and friend Livia.

On a small island in Lake Tahoe with Mom and brothers Mark, Grant, Randy.

With daughter Miki and her Mom, Sharon, on Miki’s first Christmas.

Monday Memories: Milk Tea Cups

Some years ago, in Calcutta, India, an old woman sold milk tea on a sidewalk, along a busy street. Her stand was a block or so from the Salvation Army Youth Hostel, and on the way to Mother Theresa’s home for the dying. Many of the young folks staying at the hostel would also visit the home, to offer help or just to see it. On their way, these visitor often stopped for milk tea.

The old woman poured the tea into cups that looked a bit like small bowls. These cups were made from clay. They had no glaze on them, rather just a the rough, porous surface.

An old man sitting near the woman made the clay cups. He’d gather a handful of wet clay, crudely form them into the tiny bowls, and put them next to a fire, which hardened the clay. Once hard, they were ready for use.

Once a customer was finished drinking the tea, the cup was thrown next to the old man’s pile of clay. Every so often, as needed, the old man would crush the used clay cups, add some water to it, and put it in his pile of clay. It was the ultimate recycling program.

It’s hard not to think about Bible verses comparing us to vessels made of clay, and our Heavenly Father as the Master Potter. Yet there is a crucial difference between the old man and woman selling mild tea and our Creator.

The milk tea sellers illustrate the way the world so often sees human beings—GOD’s creation: Unfinished and useless, discarded and reformed into more useless creatures.

We who are Believers in Jesus know that in our life as sojourners on Earth we often feel like those milk tea cups. We feel rough, crudely formed. We feel like we’ve been set in into flames and hardened. We feel used, discarded, broken. In Jesus we are never simply discarded, thrown into a pile with broken pieces. Once our time is complete on Earth we are transformed into a finished product, glazed and beautiful—we will be like The Master Potter.

We will be in our true and permanent home, then. We will be in a settled place with King Jesus in His Kingdom.

Jeremiah 18 This is the message that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: ²“Jeremiah, go down to the potter’s house. I will give you my message there.”

³So I went down to the potter’s house and saw him working with clay at the wheel. ⁴He was making a pot from clay. But there was something wrong with the pot. So the potter used that clay to make another pot. With his hands he shaped the pot the way he wanted it to be.

⁵Then this message from the Lord came to me: ⁶“Family of Israel, you know that I can do the same thing with you. You are like the clay in the potter’s hands, and I am the potter.” This message is from the Lord. ⁷“There may come a time when I will speak about a nation or a kingdom that I will pull up by its roots or tear down and destroy it. ⁸But if the people of that nation change their hearts and lives and stop doing evil things, I will change my mind and not bring on them the disaster I planned. ⁹There may come another time when I speak about a nation that I will build up or plant. ¹⁰But if I see that nation doing evil things and not obeying me, I will think again about the good I had planned to do for them.

¹¹“So, Jeremiah, say to the people of Judah and those who live in Jerusalem, ‘This is what the Lord says: I am the potter preparing troubles for you and making plans against you. So stop doing the evil things you are doing. Each person must change and start doing good.’ ¹²But the people of Judah will answer, ‘We don’t care what you say. We will continue to do what we want. We will do the evil our stubborn hearts want.’”

LORD Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

Monday Memories: San Jose

San José. Being young. Lisa. Love. Living in my trailer behind a fruit stand in a field. Being a Psych EMT at San José Ambulance. A preacher’s suit. Bostonian dress shoes, now forty years old still occasionally worn. Church at Calvary Community. The pier at Santa Cruz. A Preacher’s Conference. Praise songs and camp fires. Good people. Denny’s Restaurant at 2 am.
That Was Then!

Timber Creek. Feeling older. Sitting in the keeping room on a leather chair. View of the garden, with the woods and creek beyond. Early morning fruit. Then prunes Ten prunes, brought almost to a boil. Taylor’s English Breakfast tea, with raw sugar and milk. Reminds me of being Welsh. Granola and yoghurt with turmeric. Inflammation fighter. Green tea with honey. Noisy joints complainin’. Prayer at 2 am.
That Is Now!