I am going to Pryor on Saturday and will be signing books between 11AM and 1 PM---The new book about my brother, “The Macau Mavrick.”  I hope to see you there.  I probably won’t be back to Pryor again that I know of.    

Because....I have to get someone to drive me.  Friends and family don’t want me on the road in case the car breaks down.  I understand that, but I don’t like it.  As you age, you lose more and more of your freedom because you can’t handle the consequences.

I don’t particularly like it, but I accept it.  I’ve always heard that youth is wasted on the young, and I think it is true.  Not because young people are at fault in any way, but because there is no way--when we are young--that we can appreciate our freedom and health.  We take it for granted because that is all we have known.  

Maybe aging is God’s way of making us accept the next step in our journey.  Maybe that’s why the promise that he gave us was that, in heaven, we would get a new body?  He could have promised a zillion other things, but when your earthly body is growing feeble, a new one is a rather attractive enticement.  And no---I am not depressed.  And I’m not ready to check out.  I’m just irritated with old age.   

Well, I missed blogging yesterday.  Monday.  So I repent.  I am doing all of the exercises that physical therapy has me doing.  And am sore.  Every muscle that hasn’t been used in the last three months is sore.  I am counting my steps.  And I do feel better.  

This Saturday, Feb. 3, I will be in Pryor at the bookstore to sign books.  “The Macau Mavrick” is out.  Reviews from all of you that have read it have been exciting.  I have even convinced my brother Bill Swan to be there as well---since the book is about him.  

I spent three years writing and rewriting it.  And every thing I wrote, I had to rewrite and edit at least a dozen times.  I went to bed every night thinking about how to say something about what he had told me, and I woke up every morning re-thinking it.  Three years.   Writing something that someone will enjoy reading is a lot of work.  When I started, I didn’t know that.  I learned. 

Nobody will probably remember your grandparents if you don’t write about them.  And the generation before them...gone.  My great-grandmother’s name was Sarah.  She was left to raise five children by herself when her husband was convicted of a crime he didn’t commit. (It is a long story--he really was innocent.)  He died in prison.  My grandmother--as a result--was an orphan when her Sarah died.  My grandmother married at fourteen (she always said “almost fifteen) and she and my grandfather also raised five children and put them all through college in the twenties.  Unheard of at the time back then for anyone to go to college. As a result, all five of them stressed education.  I was the only one in the next generation that didn’t go to college right out of high school.  I got married, and didn’t start higher education until I was 27 and Ken had gone to Viet Nam.  I was the family failure because I didn’t immediately go to college.  All of my aunts and uncles kept after me until I enrolled.  When I got my first set of grades, I remember that I brought the report in,  plopped it on the kitchen counter and said, “There.”  Of course it was all A’s.  I may have been late, but I wouldn’t have dared made a B.

I’ve got this song stuck in my head since  I’ve been listen to the Gaither Hour.  Do you ever get a song stuck?  I like this song a lot:

“They baptized Jesse Taylor.....  In Cedar Creek  last Sunday......  Jesus gained a soul and satan lost a good right arm. ........They all cried Hallelujah, when Jesses’ head went under...cause this time he went under for the Lord.

Of course it helps if you like country music.  And when you combine country with gospel, it’s even better.

I record the program and leave it on in the background when I’m doing other stuff.  I’m not a big fan of the constant praise and worship music at church without some hymns.  I like my music to tell a story like they did in the old hymns.  I do the praise and worship on my own.  The music is a big part of going to church for me.

The physical therapist gave me exercises to do three times a day.  I’m doing them, and if the soreness I am experiencing is an indication...it’s working.  I admit, I needed a push.  I had gotten so weak from all of the things that had happened to me...ending with covid, that I was down--which is a place that we get to--that we don’t want to be.  Everyone says I am going to get better if I will get off of my butt and start moving.  But when you don’t feel like moving,  you can think of a hundred reasons to stay in your chair.

I did experience something that we face when we are old.  That is “Why bother if you aren’t going to get better.”  The therapist was a great encourager!  She assured me that I wasn’t done yet.  That I could recover and have many years left if I would get my body back in shape and get some strength back.

So.....I’m doing what they tell me to do.  I finally believe I can get stronger.  I’m going to do the exercises to strengthen my flab.  I can’t get out because it is so cold so I am walking 1000 steps a day and increasing it.  Amazing what an encourager can do for our attitude. 

I don’t know about you, but I am really tired of the cold weather.  At least the wind isn’t sweeping down the plain.  Nobody can match Oklahoma for wind.

I’ve been reading the letters that Peter wrote.  It is interesting the different styles of the New Testament writers.  I know the Bible is inspired by God, but the men who wrote the books are identifiable by their writing style.  Or women?  The book, “A Conspiracy of Breath” by Latayne Scott approaches Hebrews from a possible female direction.  

I still haven’t figured out who wrote Hebrews.  I know what all of the scholars say, but they haven’t figured it out either.  It doesn’t fit any of the other styles in the New Testament and has a soft tone.

Of course, Paul has the most educated, elite, Jewish approach.  He studied at the feet of the most brilliant educator of his day while he was growing up.  John has a more loving approach.  And then there is Luke.  Precise.  As a doctor, he wants the exact prescription when he speaks.  It doesn’t matter who your favorite is.  We just need to read God’s word.  And read. We have to have a habit or we won’t get it done.  You will plan on it....but....

I went to the doctor this morning and he told me that I had to get moving.  That sitting all day wasn’t going to cut it.  Problem is, after being sick so many months, my energy level has gone kaput and I don’t want to get moving.

So...I have to do what he says if I want to do better.  A physical therapist is going to come and get me going...the doctor says I won’t like it, and I already know that.

Seems like anymore, everything good for me is something I don’t want to do.  And to be honest, I don’t want to do what I don’t want to do.  I don’t imagine any of you are like that????

However, I am a rule follower.  Once I make a rule, I will do it.

This is going to be hard.  My mind is willing.  My body isn’t.

I’ve been listening to Joyce Meyers lately.  One thing I really like about her style is that she makes a statement, and then she waits.  She doesn’t seem to find it necessary to fill the air up with words.  She gives you a moment to reflect on what she has said.

I get tired of preachers that never take a breath.  And preachers that use so many adjectives you can’t keep up with them.  Better to have one point and do it well than to blanket the pulpit with words and words and more words.

I had never listened to her before.  I had heard people talk about her, but I’ve never had much use for those programs that spend most of the time asking for money.  I heard one guy the other day say that if you didn’t send him support that God wouldn’t bless you.  Good grief.  Who does he think he is?  Joyce said something yesterday that was refreshing... “If you don’t feel like giving something, don’t do it.  God will take care of it.  Somebody else will.  I don’t ask for money.  That’s not what I do.”

 

    Our lesson Sunday was about Jesus getting into an empty boat to teach on the sea of Galilee.  Peter, his crew, and James and John were washing their nets after a night in which they caught zero fish.  Zero.  Jesus told Peter to cast the nets out again.

    Can’t you just see Peter’s face.   “Lord, we’ve fished all night.  There aren’t any fish.”  And in his mind saying, “I’m an expert fisherman Jesus, and you aren’t.  You are a carpenter.  I know what I’m doing.  You don’t.”

    But Peter said, “If you say so, I will do it.”  We know the rest...there were so many fish the nets began to break.  James and John and Peter couldn’t bring the nets in.  I bet people on the shore were scrambling to grab fish and stuff them in whatever they were carrying.

    Peter fell to his knees and said, “I am a sinful man.  But from now on I will follow you.”  The three men left the boats to the rest of their crew and went with Jesus to be fishers of men from then on.  One of my members said, “I wonder what Peter’s wife said about that?”  When we follow Christ, it will change everyone’s lives.

 It was hard to go to sleep last night with the picture of that wreck in my mind.  We came so close to death there wasn’t even time to touch the brakes.  “God is an ever present help in times of trouble.”  He sends his angels to protect us.

I am transcribing Ken’s letters from Vietnam onto the computer.  It is a huge job, even though I am only writing the lines that would be interesting in the book--not too many since his days ran into each other for thirteen months.  He was so lonesome.  I am almost half way through and it is like slugging through quicksand trying to decide what to keep and what not to keep.

And then...I will start editing and trying to make it into a story that a person would want to read--which is the hard part.  Carolyn keeps telling me that writing is hard when you do it right.  And she is an expert--having been an English teacher for over 30 years.  Oh how many papers she had to grade.  I would have pulled my hair our one hair at a time.  Anyway, I am trying to do a month of letters a day from December, 1966 to January, 1968.  Thirteen months.  I’ve found that I can only do a half a month at a time so it is going to take me awhile.

    Every now and then you see something that will be etched in your  memory forever.  I had gone to the doctor this morning...Becky was driving--thank God--in the middle of three lanes of traffic going east when a pickup going west--the wrong way--on a major highway--cut in front of us and the other two lanes, and hit the barrier on the other side of the right lane--missing cars in all three lanes of traffic.  There was no time to react it all happened so fast.  I saw the driver’s head hit her windshield and the back end of her pickup go up in the air and then we were past it all.  Becky just called to tell me that the traffic report said she was killed.  I never saw anything like that before in my life and hope never to see anything like it again.

    How precious life is.  How quickly something can happen to end it.  Becky didn’t even have time to brake.  Anyone who says they are going to wait to give their life to Jesus should take warning.  We never know when the end will be, and a life spent with Christ as your savior is so blessed--why would anyone want to wait.  And nobody knows when the end will be.  Got sent angels to guard us today.  He is so good to his children.  I am so thankful for the split second of protection that he gave us that saved our lives.

The only thing I have to do--to get back in the habit of blogging--is to get the time of day right when I do it.  Early morning.  But my habit lapsed so I have to get it back in order.

I have been fighting with Direct TV for the last two months.  They have sent me 3 new remotes, (which have to be programed--which I have done and detest doing) 2 receivers and finally--finally--a human.  You name it, my TV has experienced it--on the down side.  The last problem was that the receiver made a clicking sound all of the time.  Enough to drive me nuts.  Click, click, click.

I’ve thanked God for the parts of my body that work well--my eyes, my fingers (to type) and my hearing.  Most people lose one of those (at least) by the time they are my age (86 in March!)  But all of those parts of me work as intended--so the click, click, click of the receiver had me pulling my hair out.  So the human they sent me put another receiver in.  It worked for three days and now, it is clicking again.  I’ve never been able to give up on anything in my life, but I’ve reached that point.  Problem is--I don’t know what to do next.  My choices are limited--and everyone I know doesn’t like the group they are with and have changed at least once and still aren’t happy.  We are at the mercy of big business.

 After promising to blog again, I forgot to do it yesterday.  Guilty.  I have to insert “doing it” right after taking morning pills, making tea and feeding the dog.  I am very system oriented.  It used to be an automatic habit, but when I got sick, everything got out of whack.

My second book is out.  Cris Hardy has it at the Pryor bookstore and plans are for me to be there on second of Feb. to sign them.  “The Macau Mavrick.” About my brother’s (Bill Swan) years in China.

Right now, I have spent the last two weeks reading letters Ken wrote me from Viet Nam.  I had never read them again and after 57 years, it is hard.  I hear his voice.  He was so miserable being away from home.  He was gone 13 months.  But the nice part is to hear him saying he loves me...I know that, but he’s been gone for ten years--and it’s nice to hear it again.  He was excellent at expressing himself on paper--and terrible in person.  All of you who knew him know how little he spoke.  But when he did, everyone listened.  

 My publisher wants me to finish a book about Ken I have been working on...I had covered his exploits on the war in Korea and she wants me to include Vietnam.  So.......I dug around in all the stuff I have about the USMC and found letters Ken wrote me from Dec. 66 to Jan 68---the time he was gone.  I hadn’t read them in 55 years and didn’t know if I could.  But I am trying--and it is hard.

There were so many pilots I knew that got hit.  And there were those who were killed, and those that ended up in a prison camp and those that weren’t found for weeks and weeks.

Ken said “I have to take back every bad word I ever said about helicopters.  They are in so much more danger than I am.  They fly low, get targeted and many times hit.  Those of us flying escort take out the VC that are firing at them, but many times its too late.  And if they survive, they do it again and again knowing they are sitting ducks, but they are going in to pick up wounded, stranded and sometimes captured.  God is truly their copilot some days or they couldn’t do it.