Howl in the Night

There are some sounds that stir up very basic and raw emotions.  Some man-made while others rise from nature.  The rumble of a motorcycle.  The roar of engines at the drag strip.  The sudden crack of thunder in a summer storm.  The cry of a newborn baby.

As the sun was set, the dark ink-blue sky settled into the tree line and the blue turned black.  Night time settled on rural landscape in northern Ontario.  I was multi-tasking, as I often do.  We had just returned from North Bay, from shopping for back to school clothes and sharing a brief reunion with a girl who once attended our youth program.  I stood outside barbecuing burgers and reading chapter two of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger as the porch light gave the only functional glow.  One of the sounds that stirs a soul rose from beyond the darkened tree line.  The howling of coyotes filled the distant air.

Haunting.

A raw, basic connection was made when the sounds of the wild and heart of man met at a precise moment.  Leaving the urban landscape to spend a weekend in the north reminds me that there is much more to life than the daily grind of work, the traffic, the constant night glow of streetlights and cityscapes.  There is a very basic co-existence with nature.

I felt as though I was thrust back in time to a point where I shared the space with the wild.  In the city, it’s easy.  People rule and nature must adapt to the ‘advances’ of mankind.  Here though, I think I am on their turf, subject to their rules.  With every howl, I was reminded that I was not alone in the darkness.  I am no longer the predator, in fact, I could be prey.

I was awakened at 3:00 a.m.  I was in the house.  I was sleeping, until the dog in the living room barked.  The howling of coyotes was now so loud, it was heard from inside.  I learned in the morning that they were in the yard around the house.  Now, I understand that we were safe and sound in the house, but with only a patio door made of glass separating us, we were like animals in a zoo.  I was on the inside, being kept from the animals.  Maybe they were at the windows and doors looking in on us like circus side shows and their howling were laughs as they shared stories and jokes of other people they had seen in days passed.  Maybe they tried to feed us and get us to wake up and do tricks for their pleasure and entertainment.

Probably not.  But everyone has a story.  Maybe, just maybe, even the coyotes.

It's okay to be a man hater, apparently.

The man haters club.  I know women in this group, and I am told often of their membership affiliation.  “I’m the President of the man haters club.”  Do I need to know that?  Being a man, I wonder why this is acceptable.

I don’t recall the last time it was acceptable to say to a black person, “I am the President of the black haters club” or to a a woman, “No offense, but I hate all women.”  I dare you to try and get away saying, “I hate gays.”  These things don’t happen without recourse.  These statements are seen as racist, sexist or just plain hate-speech.

Help me to understand this, then.  Why is it acceptable to make comments about hating men?  “All men are pigs.”  “All men are cheaters and liars.”  “I will never trust a man.”  “I am the president of the man haters club.”

Do you know what happens if a man stands up for himself?  Is he applauded for his ability to rise up in the face of adversity and the onslaught of criticism?  Is he praised for using his voice to represent men everywhere?  No.  He is told that he is proving an ingrained belief pattern of male supremacy, or that he is proving that he his male privilege.  Really?

I was told earlier this year that by an openly gay man that employers should get to the place where they are able to explain to potential candidates that their beliefs don’t fit the mold and they should look elsewhere.  What beliefs?  Christian beliefs.  Biblically founded beliefs.  He wanted to be heard, respected and listened to.  Me, I couldn’t speak openly because I was being intolerant.  He has his beliefs, I have my beliefs.  His are right, mine are wrong.  Interesting.  I would like to say mine are right and his are wrong, but, once again, I would be considered intolerant and subject to further criticism.

I said to this man, whether anyone is black or white, straight or gay, Muslim or Christian, I really don’t care because we are all people.  I asked what the problem was with this approach.  He told me that I wasn’t appreciative of the plight of the gay culture.  Seriously?

So I called a gay colleague, who is well aware of my beliefs and values, and I of his.  We have talked many times, shared many laughs and talked about our respective families.  I explained my thoughts of this past conversation and he assured me that despite our differences of which there are many, mutual respect rises above the differences.

Everyone has a story.  I wish we could all be open and respectful of our differences.

Church in a bar? Cool!

I found myself at Boomer’s Roadhouse in Waterford, Michigan on Sunday.  I don’t tend to frequent bars, but sometimes a motorbike event takes me to one.  This was different though.  The owner of Boomers opens up his bar one Sunday a month for the Michigan Chapter of the Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry to hold church.  Church in a bar?  Absolutely!  

When Jesus gave the command to go into the world and preach the gospel, He wasn’t talking about building a church building and hope they show up.  It’s not a reality anymore that the church building is the refuge place for those in pain and seeking comfort.  Christians need to get into the world and meet people where they are at.  These Heaven’s Saints are taking the commission and going into the world.

The wait staff are also there voluntarily.  This is one day that they are not paid to work, but they serve us with joy and exemplary service.  The general feeling amongst the bikers is to bless the staff there, with courtesy and great tips.  

At this service, Michigan Chapter Road Captain Roger Crawford shared his story in an interview style setting with Michigan Chapter Chaplain Victor Torres.

Roger is a Vietnam Veteran.  “I was a peaceful man, but Vietnam turned me violent” he said with tears already choking his words.  His first week at war he witnessed 70 men dead in an attack.  Picking up body parts was a part of initiation into Vietnam.

Roger wanted to be a mechanic, instead he was made into a medic.  “I saved some lives, I guess.”  The pain is clear as Roger spoke of his trauma.  Vietnam hurt this man, this brother.  When anyone was killed or seriously wounded in a battle, the front line men were moved to the back for a 3-day break.  Problem is, at the back, there’s ample access to heroin, pot and alcohol.  Roger had his share.  He explained that the troops would get stoned, high and drunk for three days.  “It’s how we handled death.”

This created the foundation for the next 30 years of Roger’s life.  When he returned from battle, he was a violent man.  He knew the drug trade and turned to it as a means of making much needed money.  He became a dealer.  “That’s what I learned in Nam.”

Roger was also abusive.  His voice shook as he opened himself to judgement as he spoke of the abuse he put his wife through, “She should have left a long time ago, but she stayed.”  In 1991, Roger made a “deal with the DA” and had his wife charged, so he could stay a free man.  This was indeed a low point for Roger.

In time, Roger hung himself in an attempt to end the painful life that was all too familiar.  His attempt was unsuccessful and he woke up 8 days later in the hospital.  His first words, “Did I wreck my bike?”

Three years ago, Roger ended up at Boomer’s Roadhouse, much like this Sunday.  Victoria Torres, Victor’s daughter, sang Amazing Grace - which I believe is one of the greatest songs ever written.  Roger shared that his father’s favorite song was Amazing Grace, and he had just passed away.  Hearing Victoria sing the words to the song was “like my dad was standing behind me, talking to me.”  Roger explained at that moment, God’s hand started to work through his life.  In the parking lot at Boomer’s, amongst the chrome and shine of polished bikes, Roger asked for God’s forgiveness.  His life began to change, he hasn’t smoked pot since that day.  Roger says, “You have to want to change.”  Despite all that he has been through, it was three years ago that Roger heard God’s call on his heart, and he wanted the change.  

John 10:7-10a says, Jesus therefore said unto them again, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep.  All that came before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not hear them.  I am the door, by me, if any man shall enter in he shall be saved.

Roger has a story.  A story with a blessed lesson.  No matter what, no matter the mistakes, the pain, the drugs, the alcohol, the violence, God is calling in your life.  You have to want to accept, you have to want to change.

Everyone has a story.

A Day of Firsts

It was indeed a day of firsts.

Last year when we traveled to Cuba on a missions trip, I shared with the younger team members that they would get out of the trip just what they put into it, and encouraged them to embrace the opportunities that lay ahead.  It’s a philosophy that could really be carried out in daily life.

This morning we attended the fair where my HSMM brother, Super Dave, was sharing the message.  I had not heard him speak before in a public setting and was pleased with his God-given confidence.  Hearing Super Dave share a message - a first.  Afterwards, some of the other HSMM brothers and sisters were talking about our experiences in the past and how blessed we are to be in fellowship with one another.

As my family and I walked through the fair we came across a fry truck selling poutine, and we wanted some.  Let me tell you, many places claim to have poutine, but these guys knew what they were doing.  Real hand cut home fries, hot gravy - not lumpy or with the skin floating on it - shredded white cheese on a plate well worth the $5.  If you ever run across Mustards Last Stand, stop in try the poutine.

The usual petting zoo was at the fair; the one with the goats, the pigs, the llama, the alpaca, the porcupine, the....wait a minute.  Those two porcupines were there only to look at.  They really are quite adorable creatures.  Also there was a two week old lion cub.  We each took the time to pet this little guy.  If you have ever pet a young sheep, it feels much the same.  Tight fur that feels fresh and new.  He had playful eyes and sharp claws.  The pads on his feet were like soft leather, much like those on my childhood pet raccoon, Mandy.  Another first for the day.

There was an elephant at the fair this time as well.  Such amazing creatures.  Giants, but gentle at the same time.  I know guys like this.

The afternoon and evening were spent with friends.  Sue and John are a great couple.  They are real, down to earth, honest friends.  We laughed, we shared stories of our work in ministry, our kids played together, played cards and ate good food.  Sue and John are Mennonite, not horse and buggy mennonite, but Mexican Mennonite.  I tried these cheese stuffed peppers that were deep fried in dough.  Thems is some good eatin’, and another first for the day.

John recently bought a .22 caliber shotgun.  I have never shot a gun, aside from a pellet or BB gun, so we took the time to get armed and do some shootin’.  There it was, another first for the day and I gotta say, I quite enjoyed it.  Makes one feel like a man!

As we headed out for home around 9:00 p.m., I took a road that is mainly inhabited by horse and buggy mennonites.  It would seem the Amish were all heading home from church at this hour, I had not seen this many buggies before on one road.  Horse and buggies on the road at night is different than in the daytime.  I was on my motorbike and didn’t want to scare the horses, who are pretty comfortable on the roads anyway, so I took it slow.  I was distracted at one point with a seemingly random light shining in amongst the trees.  As I rode closer, I saw that it was an Amish lady, dressed in black, using a flashlight to lead another Amish Mennonite in a wheelchair.  That’s not a sight you often see.

All in all, after the 15 or more buggies, we made it closer to home, only to hit rain, but we arrived safe and sound.

The evening ended with word that my HSMM brother, Campy, had lost his 93 year old mom this afternoon.  He was able to be with her, holding her hand as she died.  God bless you and bring you peace Campy.

No matter our age or the life we have left in us, we just never know the day or time when it will come to a close.  Embrace each day you have.  Take the ‘firsts’ in you life and make memories.  You get out of life what you put into it.

Everyone has a story.  Make yours.

Friday the 13th

It’s a strange phenomenon, this biker brotherhood.  Friday the 13th in Port Dover was a spectacle to be experienced.  There really isn’t anything to do there aside from the repeated walk through the village admiring bikes of all kinds, all sizes and makes, stock to tricked out customs that only the rare gifted mind can create.

In Dover, we are all bikers, or at least, bike enthusiasts.  Colours or not, affiliations or not, Harleys or Hondas we all get along for this special day reserved for the small port side town of 4000.  The town swells to well over 100,000 people with some estimates upwards of 250,000 people with over 15,000 bikes.  All for one day, then we go home.

While we were immersed in the sea of people, handing out free water and Barry Mayson DVD’s (former Hells Angels President turned Christian and founder of Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry), we shared laughs and stories with our own ministry brothers from Windsor, Tilbury, Harrow and Michigan.  We packed it in around 4:30 p.m. when the crowds grew smaller but the parties pick up and the shirts come off.  This definitely isn’t a family event after a certain hour.

We continued the next day in Tillsonburg with The Day After, held at the Upper Deck Youth Centre.  It was a day of socializing and relaxing.  We see each other at rides and the occasional barbecue, but often we miss the chance to get to know each other by embracing the down time.  That’s what this day was for.  And it was a good day.

We learned later that it was tragic for others.  

International Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry President Curtis Jamieson and his wife Patty were in a car accident that totaled their truck.  Other than Curtis’ pulled back, the couple is fine.  Brothers TT and Lamar were riding in Alabama on Friday when a car pulled out in front of them.  Lamar clipped the car and was injured, but is generally alright.  Tommy “TT” struck the car straight on the side and later died on Saturday of his injuries.

I know Curtis, Patty and TT.  They are brothers and sisters in the ministry and they all have a heart for God.  Curtis and Patty are two of the most enthusiastic people I have ever met.  Their love of God is contagious! 

TT was always smiling, moving around and may have needed a bit of Ritalin, but he was a joy to be with and his sense of excitement spread wherever he was.  His passing brings a loss to the Saints, especially the Phenix City, Alabama chapter, from which he was the President.  TT joins fellow Saint and founder Barry Mayson in Heaven.  We can be sure the two of them are drinking in the pure joy of the heavenly brotherhood.

Everyone has a story.  How will you be remembered?