The Green Truck

The Green Truck

We had a couple of agreements with our kids when they began buying cars/trucks. One big one was, they could not buy them over time. In other words, no borrowing and no payments. They had to pay cash for their vehicles. Cheryl and I did not want them experiencing debilitating debt at such a young age.

Proverbs 22:7 was a key verse in my mind for my kids to understand and avoid: "The borower is servant to the lender."

Our son bought this 1976 pick up his freshman or sophomore year of high school for $600. Cash. He drove it until he graduated then bought a much nicer truck to take to college. It was a cash transaction using money he saved while working through high school.

He sold the green pick up to his sister for $400 when she was a sophomore from money she had earned. (Both kids are pictured in the picture at the left). After graduation she sold the pick up to a friend for $500 and bought a nice car. Cash.

For six years my two oldest kids drove this old vehicle around town: to school, sporting events, jobs. They stood out in this old vehicle!

When it was finally sold outside of the family it was a major event, as you can tell from the crew of friends that turned out for the sale (see the pictures below).

Teens do not have to go into a world of debt to have "wheels," and parents don't need to shoulder a heavy debt burden so they can have them, either. (I'm working on an article, "Enslaved to a Car" which I'll post soon, hopefully).

If parents buy their kids a beautiful new car when they turn 15 or 16, what expectations are they setting for future vehicles and purchases? When they get out on their own and have to buy their own car, will they be able to adjust down to one they can afford? Or, will they be enslaved to the idea that they must have something newer and nicer, even if they can't afford it and have to go deeper in debt, becoming a slave to the lender?

Driving an old vehicle THEY have paid for will give them a sense of pride and accomplishment, even if it isn't as snazy as some of the other vehicles in the school parking lot. They will learn discipline, self-control and money management. They will also learn that they can stand on their own, even if it means learning to be satisfied with less (which the Bible says we all need to learn, anyway).

With the strain in the national economy and family budgets, driving an old green pick up might be a good option for many of us, not just the kids!

Warren

MARRIAGE VIDEO - Dancing in the Minefields

Dancing in the Minefields

Enjoy a neat video by Andrew Peterson, Dancing in the Minefields.



If you have a moment, visit Julie's blog, Come Have A Peace for Marriage Mondays.

Warren Baldwin

TESTIMONY FROM A PROSTITUTE

Testimony From a Prostitute

When I worked in drug and alcohol rehab we had several patients who were prostitutes. I learnd several things from them. While these things may not be true of all women in this profession, they were true of the several we counseled.

One, none of them enjoyed this line of "work."

Two, they were all prostitutes by necessity, either forced into it by a boyfriend so he could make money, or forced into it by their own dire circumstances.

Three, they were all under twenty years of age, one as young as 14.

Four, all of them were average looking girls, some even rather unattractive, probably due to the abuse they suffered before or during their period of prostitution.

Five, they all suffered neglect, abandonment or abuse of some kind prior to working as prostitutes. In fact, these are often the reasons they were prostituting themselves. The 14 year old girl ran away from a bad home situation. She went to a city where she didn't know anybody. She would go to the mall each evening to find a man she could go home with for the night so she could have a meal and a warm bed. Fourteen years old. At the time of that counseling session I had three kids at home, a couple of them not much younger than this girl. I nearly broke down. I rushed home to hug my kids and let them know I loved them. And I grieved mightily for this young girl. As I write this that same sorrow overwhelms me and I know I must pray.

Six, prostitution become a mind set deelply ingrained in their minds. Some couldn't see leaving it. One girl was going to go back to her home, a car under a bridge, and prostitute herself again so her boyfriend would take care of her.

Seven, they all had incredibly low self-esteem. Some that were still tender oozed shame from their pores. One was so hardened, or at least pretended to be, that she showed no emotion or sense of concern. She was the 14 year old.

Eight, they were all victims. Yes, I knew what they were doing was illegal and immoral. But I also learned that none of them would have been doing that work if they had not been mistreated, beat down and abused before they became prostitutes. They were victimized, and the life they were currently living was an extension of the inhumane treatment they had received.

Nine, prostitutes, like any sinners, need kindness, understanding, and love. They can change. I've seen it. Sure, they have to be ready to take the steps and do the work to allow their lives to transform. But they need someone to believe in them, someone to care, someone to love them with the love of the Lord. Lust they have seen and understand; godly love may be new to them. Judgment they have endured from many who disapprove of their lifestyle; acceptance from those same people will be new to them, also.

Ten, they need Jesus. Of course, this one I knew before, but it certainly became evident as we worked with these girls in rehabilitation. It struck me that these are the very people Jesus came for! I could now see the woman of Luke 7 with more compassionate eyes: the brokenness, hurt, shame, victimization, perverted view of love and deep need. But I could also see something else now, too: that ray of hope in her eyes that maybe, just maybe, Jesus could make a difference in her life. And did. And he still will, for all of these girls and the many other broken people in this life.

These folks are not likely to wander into our buildings. We have to wander into their paths, extend the hand of Christian compassion and fellowship, and let them know that Jesus sent us.

Warren Baldwin

Note: I first saw this video on Steve's blog at Sealed Unto the Day of Redemption.

PLANT A GARDEN

Plant a Garden

Economic conditions have many more people planting gardens. That's not a bad idea. Backyard gardens have long been a blessing during economic downturns.

After WW2 much of Europe's population was starving. Germany, in particular, suffered greatly from hunger. Food was scarce, and the occupying armies rationed food to the citizens, sometimes as low as 1,200 calories per day. Also, one of the armies (France) lived off of German produce, further reducing the food supply for the country's people (see Crimes and Mercies by James Bacque for this and many more incredible stories). Thousands of people died of starvation, and millions more were perilously close.

Fortunate were the German citizens who kept back a supply of garden seeds. Any spot of dirt in a city became a potential garden, even if only to raise a few potatoes or ears of corn. Flower pots became indoor gardens to grow a few carrots. These simple gardening techniques became a lifesaver for many of Europe's post WW2 citizens.

Economic conditions in America are certainly not like the mass starvation situation of Germany in 1945. But, enough people have felt the pinch in the pocketbook that they have started tilling the ground and growing some amount of their own food.

I am one of them.

But my return to gardening (something my family did a lot of when I was a boy) is not for economic reasons. I am gardening again because of numerous other benefits of raising your own food.

For one, gardening is a great stress-reliever. It gets you out of the books (one aspect of my work) and away from the computer. It lets you get your hands dirty. I'm finding it exhilirating to dig around in the dirt transplating roots or burying seeds.

Secondly, gardening enhances anticipation while demanding patience. "Will this seed really germinate and pop up out of the ground? Will this tomato plant bear a lot of ripe, juicy fruit? Will watermelon really grow in Kansas? The prospects are exciting, the hope is high, but you have to wait. Farming may be the best way to test (or even produce) some of the spiritual graces, especially patience.

Thirdly, gardening produces food that is delicious to the taste and nutritious to the body. You can leave your tomatoes on until they ripen, allowing them to fully mature and develop their nutrients. Also, if you garden organically (which really isn't very difficult to do), you know the food you produce is of the highest quality possible.

I ventured back into gardening three years ago. For years I resisted because we have a very small backyard, home to two dogs. There was no room for a garden and no way to protect the plants from the dogs, unless I built a fence inside the fence. But the other problem was bermuda grass: it is hard (impossible!) to keep that stuff from creeping into the garden.




My whole garden is raised in pots, as you can see from these pictures made of my garden in 2009. The pots protect the plants from dogs, spreading bermuda grass, and weeds. They also allow me to concentrate watering.

There are some downsides to pot gardening, such as the pot getting to hot and killing (literally cooking) the roots. I planted 6 red raspberry plants last year. Three survived and 3 died. I observed that the three that died were in a different spot than the ones that lived, a spot where they were subjected to intense heat reflected from the side of a shed, causing the dirt temperature to rise and stay hot for several more hours during the day than in the pots of the 3 plants that lived. Simple remedy: I have several pots that I mulch in, and I moved them to the hot spot, speeding up the mulching process.



My gardening efforts have evolved slowly over the last three years. This year I am raising squash, watermelon, several varities of both tomatoes and peppers, asparagus, rhubarb, red raspberries, blue berries, cucumbers, beans, carrots, beets, watermelon and even one dwarf apple tree (a big experiment!) all in pots of varying sizes. My watering time is about 15 minutes every other day, my weeding time is about 10 minutes a week.

I'm still learning alot about pot gardening, but I'm having a wonderful time while I'm learning. And here is a picture of the "fruit" of my work:


Summer is almost over, but in many places it is not too late to plant a fall crop. Yesterday I planted beets and carrots. What if the temperature drops at night and threatens the vegetables before they are ready? Simple: I'll just move the pots into the garage at night and move them out again when it warms up the next day.

If you intended to plant a garden this year but didn't get the ground tilled and thought it was too late, think again. Go buy a couple of big planting pots (I like the ones they use to start trees. Some tree nurseries have so many on hand they will give you some) and some potting soil and plant some seeds today. Get your children involved. When my college daughter saw my garden, all in old nursery pots, she said, "This is neat!" Pretty good affirmation.

In a couple of weeks I hope to post some more pictures of this years success. In the meantime, go get your fall garden started! (And try to find a nursery that sells seed that will reproduce itself. You want plants from which you can harvest the seed to plant next year's garden).

Happy-healthy gardening!

Warren Baldwin

Nick Vujicic

Nick Vujicic

We really can do all things through God who gives us the strength.



Warren Baldwin

Listening

LISTENING

Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in grief." Prov. 14:13

I lost my first baking contest to cardboard. I made a plum cake, one of my mother’s specialties. I followed her recipe and her advice as I cut the plums, set them in the batter, heated the oven, and timed my masterpiece. I didn’t get to sample my own cake until all of the entries were cut and we all got to eat from each other’s creations.

Everyone liked the plum cake and assurances abounded that I would win the contest. But then one more cake was produced. It was chocolate, and I have to admit that it looked delicious. Everyone gathered around the table as the chocolate masterpiece was cut. And it was at that moment that I knew who won the contest.

There are different ways of determining the winner of any contest. For a cake baking contest I thought it would be the taste of the entry, and initially that was to be the determinant of this competition. But the rules changed in midstream and humor became the determining factor. It seems my fellow contestant simply applied chocolate icing to a round-shaped heart box. He did so with such artistic flair that the cake truly did look amazingly delicious. And it was not until the lady tried cutting into the dessert that she, and all of us, discovered the true nature of the enticing entree: cardboard.

The laughter that followed won the day, and the contest was decided on the basis of creativity and humor. Taste was no longer a factor.

I think of this story when I read that "Even in laughter the heart may ache." Laughter can be like a coating of enticing chocolate: creamy, dark and inviting. But it may mask a deep incongruity - there is no substance to the appeal. What looks tantalizing is really fake, fraudulent and terribly disappointing. It isn’t fluffy and tasty; it is cardboard.

How much laughter do we hear from people who are using the appearance of joy and levity to mask inner pain, guilt and shame? How many people find it easier to force a fake laugh than to admit to their true, painful inner dispositions? Even in laughter the heart may ache.

Laughter is good and healthy, but only when it is honest and genuine. Icing on a real cake is not only inviting; it is enjoyable when the inner substance is real cake. But when it is mere cardboard, it disappoints. And if you lose a contest because of it, it can even be annoying.

Listen to the laughter of others; listen for any signs that the laughter may be masking greater hurt. You may be able to help. And, let’s listen to our own laughter. Let’ learn to gauge our own hearts, lest our apparent joy end in grief, grief that could have been avoided.

God promises that one day all tears shall be dried. In that day, laughter will emanate from the depths of our hearts and reverberate with genuine joy and celebration. Until then, we continue to do the work of sorting through the content of the heart, turning our bruises and aches over to the heavenly father, who heals them with his presence in our lives.

Warren Baldwin

THE GLOVE

THE GLOVE

"Let’s go get you a baseball glove," Grandpa said.

I was in the second grade when my grandfather took me to a department store to buy my first baseball glove. I felt like a king setting beside him in his pickup as we drove to the store, and felt rich when I actually held the glove. My glove.

I slept with the mitt that night and for several nights after. It was more than a baseball glove. It was part of an experience I shared with my grandfather as he treated me to a very special evening.

The euphoria was short lived. The second grade classes made a trip to a park for a picnic and day of games. "Bring your baseball gloves, bats and balls," the teacher said. I did. After a game of ball I took my new glove onto the bus and hid it under a jacket. I was careful that no kid would steal the glove my grandfather bought me.

I wasn’t careful enough.

When we got back onto the bus I ran to my seat, looked under the jacket, and my glove was missing. The glove my grandfather bought me. I was devastated.

"Mrs. Greene, Mrs. Greene! Somebody stole my glove!!" Mrs. Greene came back and looked.

"I’m sorry," she said, very sympathetically. "But there is nothing we can do about your missing glove. We have three buses full of children here. It could be on anyone of these buses, and we don’t have time to search all of the children. We have to leave now."

I protested, "But my grandpa bought me that glove. It’s brand new. It’s my glove. It’s not fair. You have to help me find it." But she didn’t have to help me find it, and she didn’t. Even then it seemed to me it would be a simple thing for a teacher to check every kid who filed off the bus to see if they had my "grandpa" glove.

Seven years of age is mighty young to be introduced to the painful, devastating affects of sin. I realize it was only a glove, and since that time I have owned many baseball gloves. But in another way it was more than a glove. It was an experience I shared with a very special man in my life. It was a gift from grandpa, and that could never be replaced.

I don’t think we realize the harm we do to the innocence and security of others when we steal from them. We make them so vulnerable, scared, and hurt. Some kid got a new glove; I got a broken heart. Was it a fair trade?
____________

I shared this story with a group of high school kids at Nebraska Youth Camp last week (see picture). After the students filed out at the end of the session one boy came in with something in his hand and said, "Here, this is for you from the first session class." It was a baseball glove.

Some of the students had gone into the camp rec room and gotten a glove that was either donated or left years ago and gave it to me. "It’s for the glove you had stolen," the boy said.

Who would have thought that 44 years after crying on that bus over my stolen glove, I would be overjoyed by the thoughtfulness of a bunch of teenagers replacing it for me?

Thanks guys, I will always remember you with gratitude and fondness.

(Me pictured with two boys from the class)

Warren Baldwin