I worked traffic detail during football and basketball games for the Michigan State University public safety department while an undergrad.  I had the BEST job for football games as a flagman.

There were two railroad tracks between the main parking lot and the football stadium, and the buses had to cross both.  The law says that a bus has to stop at the train tracks unless there’s a flagman watching for trains. 

I developed an art form waving that red pennant on a pole with a flourish, a dance, and a smile. By the third or fourth game, I was a fan favorite. Since the busses did not start until 11 or 12 and we were paid beginning at 9, I would show up early, read a book, do my homework, eat a snack and jump up in time to wave all the fans to the game. 

Once the riders were delivered, we could walk over to the stadium and get in for free to watch the second and third quarters.  Finish the afternoon back at my post and wave the returning Sparty supporters back to their cars.  And the finest meal of the week in the dorms was the hamburgers on soft buns after every home football game.  Hunger enhances any meal. 

Of course, times have changed.  The university and the state decided that those railroad tracks were a public safety hazard because trains could block them for twenty or thirty minutes and prevent ambulances from getting onto and off campus.  SO, they built lovely bridges for the trains, and the road now goes under the tracks. The bridges are nice and all, and the area is hailed as a beautiful entrance to campus, but they don’t need a flagman anymore.

 

In the book of Mark, Jesus often teaches large crowds.  Twice, he and his disciples found themselves far from any village, surrounded by a multitude of hungry people.  Both times, Jesus had the disciples feed the people by multiplying the loaves and fishes so that all had enough, and basketfuls were left over. (Mark 6:32-44; 8:1-10).  It is understandable that the disciples had no idea what to do the first time, but one wonders why they were so perplexed the second time.  Unfortunately, we have seen ourselves act the same way…

 In the fall of 1989, Diane and I had taken steps toward moving to a new house. The catalyst was the closing of the Holmes Street School across the street from our Hazel Street house, requiring first Linnea, and now Jesse, to ride a bus to Mount Hope School on the other side of the Red Cedar River.  By moving closer to Mount Hope School, the kids could walk to the Elementary, and when they moved up to Pattengill Middle School, they could take a bus. The walk to Pattengill from Hazel Street was not a pleasant prospect. 

 I was reluctant to make the move.  Since A K Consulting was still a new company I felt we could make the old house payment but I was worried about a larger one.  Diane was confident.  Her dad, Tom Clark, gave encouragement, “you do good work, you will be able to make money and make the payments.”

 We realize NOW that part of God’s larger purpose was to build our trust in Him.  Events happened quickly as we found a house on Sunnyside.  The day the family explored the new house was magical – it seemed so big; Linnea announced the room above the garage would be hers; we could see opportunities in the back yard and with updates to the house.  We enjoyed meeting the owner, who had just moved to an assisted living facility.  We found out later that a younger childless couple toured the house right after us, and their strategy was to mention all the things they would have to change.  The other couple offered more money, but Mrs. Small chose to sell to us because “the house needed to have children in it” and “that other couple had been mean to me about the state of the house.”

 We put our house for sale and at the first open house received a full price offer.  We contacted a bank and started the financing process.  Things were sailing along.  Then a series of setbacks tested whether we would rely on God or on ourselves.

 First, the buyers of our Hazel Street house had already put down a deposit but were backing out of the purchase.  They said they could not live in that neighborhood.  What would we do? What would we do?  We worried and made phone calls and worried some more.  After a day, we decided to stop and pray together about the problem.  Shortly after we prayed, our realtor called, said she had phoned a couple who left their name at the initial open house.  They had made an offer, for MORE than the original price!  We accepted and thanked God.  In the process, we received part of the deposit from the first couple.  Bonus.

 Second, we soon got a call from the bank.  They were requiring information about Diane’s father’s business that we did not feel we should have to provide.  Without that information, the bank would not provide a mortgage.  So, we worried and made phone calls and worried some more, for about half a day.  Then we decided to stop and pray together about the problem.  Shortly after we prayed, the realtor called and said she had located a different bank who would process the loan quickly. We started the paperwork and thanked the Lord.  In switching banks, we received a lower interest rate!  Bonus.

 Third, word of these first two incidents reached Mrs. Small’s son. He had not been happy that his mother sold the house for less than she could have gotten. The fact that we were having trouble frustrated him because he imagined we would not be able to close on time.  We heard that he was threatening to renege on the offer and sell to someone else.  So we worried and made phone calls and worried some more, for about an hour. Then we decided to stop and pray together about the problem. Immediately, the realtor called, who had spoken to Mr. Small and explained the situation.  Once he understood that everything was moving in the right direction, he was satisfied.  We were relieved and thanked God.

 Those three incidents always remind us of the advantages of turning immediately to God for help.  Even though we often forget in the heat of the moment, we know that He alone is able to do things more than we can ask or imagine.  In fact, during the move He was working on another blessing we had not asked about…

 A year before the move, I had done some work for a company from California, through a friend in Detroit that I had worked with previously.  I was not paid when the work was completed.  I asked several times and after a number of months with no response realized the money was not likely to show up.  We considered legal action, but the California company was far away, we had no idea how to proceed, and the legal bills would likely exceed the money owed. The amount was left on the books as an accounts receivable item.

 A week after moving in, a check arrived unexpectedly in the mail, from the company in California.  I called to ask about it and was told that they had sold several subsidiaries, had some cash available, and would like to pay this amount for several months until the debt was covered.  I agreed joyfully and we thanked God.  The amount they were paying was the difference between our old and new house payments! Super Bonus!

 

 Sometimes an angel walks in and out of your life before you know it.  One summer we took Diane’s family’s wonderful big silver Buick on a cross country tour.  Linnea was still a toddler; we had family to visit in Connecticut and friends in Boston.  We turned the pages on our AAA TripTik and headed East on Interstate Toll Road 80 across the top of Ohio.  We pulled in to one of those service plazas that make sure you stay on the toll road so they can charge you the right amount when you finally exit, and I calmly set up a near disaster.    

 I had been driving.  I opened the trunk to get into the cooler; set the keys IN the cooler while I pulled out a soda (it might have been a pop; I can’t remember what they call the stuff in Ohio), some sandwiches and veggies.  Then I closed the cooler and closed the trunk.  Oops.  Where are those keys?  The car doors were open, but the keys were locked in the trunk.  Not just in the trunk, but in the cooler in the trunk.  Argghhh. 

 We tried pushing the yellow plastic unlabeled trunk opener button, located inside the glove compartment.  Repeatedly.  One of the things I liked about my newer big Buick was that the trunk opened when you pressed the inconspicuous Trunk button, whether or not the ignition was turned on.  Unfortunately for us, that yellow button only worked in older cars if the engine was on or at least the ignition switch was in the on position; this required the key that was in the trunk.  We tried going in through the back seat – we could see the metal frame blocking our path.  We tried pulling the trunk open with our hands – it sounds dumb, but we did not have many options.  We wished we had brought an extra set of keys. 

 The service station people offered to call the State Police; “I think they have a special tool to get into car trunks.”  It was so cool, encouraging, and uplifting when the police car rolled up and the officer, wearing regulation dark sun glasses, emerged and said he has the special tool in his trunk.   He pops  open the boot (he had the key to his trunk!), reaches in, and pulls out a CLOTHES HANGER!  “Uhh, will that work on the trunk?”   “Oh,” he says, “I thought it was the door.  Sorry, I can’t help you. “ Then he just drove away.  Discouragement, disappointment, and incredulity were left behind by the confident defender of the people whose hanger was not the right tool for the job.

 Diane picked up Linnea and the sandwiches and said, “we are just going to go over under that shade tree, have a little lunch, and pray for an angel.”  I paced; I grumbled; I walked back and forth to the service station; I tried calling people.  There were no cell phones in those days; only pay phones.  Nobody was open on a Saturday. 

 I was weighing four options.  First, we could try getting a locksmith, who were all closed at this time on Saturday and the phone book had no after hour numbers to call. Second, we could contact a Buick dealership; they must have a record of what key would fit our trunk.  They weren’t open either.  Third, we could call Diane’s parents and ask them to bring their extra keys to Ohio.  They were three hours away.  Fourth, we could sit there until shops re-opened on Monday.  Our sandwiches were almost gone already. None of these options were very appealing. 

 We were just about to call the Clarks when the angel, disguised as an older gentleman, strolled by and asked what the problem was.  After a quick explanation (it does not take long to say the keys are locked in the trunk), he asked three questions: 

 “Is the car locked?” No. 

“Do you have a button inside the car to pop open the trunk?”  Yes, but it doesn’t work if the ignition is not on.

“Do you have a long piece of wire?”  Huh?

 The last question was unexpected. It turns out this angel was an engineer who knew that you can pop the trunk by shorting the circuit between the yellow button and the car battery.   The service people were happy to sell me a large coil of wire.  The angel opened the hood, cut a piece of the wire, peeled off the insulation, hooked one end to the battery and touched the other to the screw on the side of the yellow button.  POP!  What a glorious sound.

 The keys were retrieved. We thanked the angel profusely, offering sandwiches, soda, and even animal  crackers.  He declined our offer, said he was glad to help, but he needed to get back to Grand Rapids after vacation.  This is another reason why cell phones were invented – so you can take pictures of the angels that help you at turnpike rest areas. 

 

 I know that God wants me to work, and He has certainly provided entertaining occupations. My first paycheck came as a Turkey Herder on a chicken farm in St. Louis County.  Prior to that I had been paid with a baseball glove for scraping and painting the gutters and asbestos siding on our Selma Avenue home in Webster Groves; I still have that Ken Boyer baseball glove which was so big that it works great for softball games.  And even prior to that, when I was six and Sister Cindy was an infant, I was put in charge of the baby while Mom made a quick trip to the store.  Evidently I got the instructions wrong because Mom was really mad when she returned to find me playing ball in the street with Cindy sitting on a blanket in the front yard. 

 Anyway, my friend Don worked at the Four Winds Farm as an egg processor/egg distributor person – he would deliver chicken eggs sort of like a milk man delivered milk. Both of those professions are gone now and we are sad for the loss. Besides the egg business, the farm bought little tiny turkey chicks and raised them indoors in wire cages until they reached a certain size.  Then they moved the birds out to the open fields to grow plump and tender for your Thanksgiving dinner.

 Don recommended me for the specialty job on the days when they needed to move the white, domesticated birds out to the field. We had to go early in the morning to move the herd because as the day got hotter those turkeys didn’t want to move.  Each of us had two red flags on sticks that we were to wave gently behind to move the group along.  We were sort of like sheep dogs, but really just turkey flaggers. 

 As little chicks these turkeys’ wings and beaks had been clipped.  So they couldn’t peck the herders and they couldn’t fly away.  Ground transport was their only option.    Some birds were not persuaded by the flags; maybe they didn’t like red but more likely they just didn’t want to move.  The remaining option was the punt – catch them just right with your boot under their butt and you could send them to the front of the crowd.  They would flap their short wings just a bit and drop quickly to the ground. When they landed, they took several steps to get their balance and the herd would follow. Turkey punting was a great game.  Distance was valued and direction was important, but you had to be gentle to not bruise the valuable meat.  A shanked turkey punt did not look pretty.

 It is important to note these were “domesticated” birds, since all wiliness, courage, and other good qualities Ben Franklin saw in wild turkeys when he recommended them for national bird had been bred right out.  Some training was needed once they moved outside, to keep the birds from piling up on each other against a fence and to show them where the food was located.  As soon as they learned where to eat and that they shouldn’t make a mosh pit, they mostly walked around and gobbled and ate and pooped without any sense of danger. But possums were a real threat;  they would come in the field from the surrounding  woods next door, walk up behind the turkey, grab hold and just start eating turkey butt.  The turkey would  gobble, Gobble, GOOBle, GOOBLE as distress mounted but would just stand there and be eaten!

 Some employees would periodically take a weapon in a golf cart to patrol the perimeter.  The one time I went along, the unnamed but ever after remembered ranch hand wounded a possum with the rifle, wacked it on the head with a big pair of pliers, and declared, “I don’t think you’re playing possum now!”

 Once the herding was done, the rest of the day was spent cleaning out the trays where the turkeys and pullets were raised. For the littlest birds, there were columns and columns of trays upon trays of little pooping machines.  Pull out a tray, scrape the poop onto the floor, and rinse the sloped floor out the door into the small stream that flowed down to the appropriately and affectionately named S_ _ _ Lagoon.  I returned several years later to find the farm had been sold for a housing development with a fine “pond” in the middle of the houses.  I suspect the weeds and fish grow quickly in that pond.

Someone once asked me if there was any evidence that God liked jokes.  “I know that ‘Jesus wept ’ (John 11.35),” he said. “And I know God laughed, although it seems like He was usually laughing at uppity rulers who took a stand against Him (Psalm 2.4) or scoffing at foolish nations (Psalm 59.8). So, we can read about emotions including mirth. What about jokes?”

First I thought of Balaam’s ass, which is a pretty funny story when you picture the poor donkey stopping in the road because it could see the angel even if its master could not.  “Quit hitting me,” says the donkey.  “Hunnnh??” replies the less insightful one with the whip.  I think God was being funny with the Balaam story, although it doesn’t seem to quite be a joke.

And this may not be a joke either but God definitely showed me a sense of humor back in the mid-1980s when I was driving our brown Plymouth Reliant back and forth to New Hudson for work.  This was the K-car with the droopy large letter K on the back panel of the trunk.  A couple of the rivets had given way, so the K was tipped over on its back, prompting our friend Bob to dub it the “Lazy-K-car.” It was an hour’s drive each way to New Hudson, taking longer than it does today because back then Jimmy Carter’s gas rules were in place and the Interstate speed limit was 55.  Not that most people drove 55 but I discovered that if I stayed in the right lane going close to 55 I did not have to worry about passing anyone – I once made it from the Milford exit on I-96 to the Pennsylvania exit on I-496 on cruise the whole way without having to hit the brakes once. 

For enrichment (the cruise control game had abundant amusement but little enrichment) I had gotten from church a set of “Bible on Tape” cassettes. It is true that our Lazy-K-car was sweet, but it only had a radio.  So, I used a portable cassette player and flipped the tapes over when they were done.  New Testament first, of course – no sense slogging through Leviticus unless you know the whole tape thing is viable.

I had indications that the batteries were wearing out – the tape seemed a bit sluggish – on the morning I started Acts chapter 2 – Pentecost.  The fire of the Holy Spirit came upon the disciples; they began speaking in tongues which the visitors to Jerusalem could understand; and many of those who heard were “amazed and perplexed.” But some made fun and claimed the disciples had too much to drink.

Peter stood up to answer the crowd.  He began one of his most powerful evangelistic messages. His voice started strongly with verse 14, “Fellow Jews and all of you who live in Jerusalem, let me explain this to you; listen carefully to what I say.”  Then the batteries let Peter down, as he slurred out the next half sentence, “Theessse mennn aarrre notttt ddrruuunnnkk…” And the tape stopped.

I was stunned.  The moment was gone before I could appreciate it completely.  I chuckled a little bit then, and the story always gets a good laugh in the retelling.  But I appreciate the great love God showed me by arranging from before time for those batteries to fail on that tape at that point just so I could know that God does have a sense of humor.