Mitchell Way
“Hello. My name is Marty. And your name is. . .”
I leaned forward and squinted to see the name on her identification badge.
“Angus. Nice to meet you, Angus.”
“It’s Agnus, you insulting twit!” she barked as she spun around and walked away.
Iris and Lincoln Stodge live at 1835 Fernhook Lane, a very long drive through fields of corn which ends at the base of the Whatcom Timber Reserve. Iris and Lincoln are fourth and fifth graders.
The effectiveness of a good presentation is solely dependent upon the speaker’s ability to hold their audience’s attention. (A guy named Marty.)
I had an opportunity in my 20s to work with youth groups, kids aged kindergarten through 5th grade. This was done in a church setting at vacation Bible schools, junior church, and AWANA kids clubs.
Cheryl and I have visited four of the Hawaiian islands: Oahu, Kauai, The Big Island, and Maui.
I would rate them as #1 Kauai, #2 The Big Island, #3 Maui, and #4 Oahu. This is based on things that interest me.
In the fall of 1974, at the start of my songwriting career, I was given the song for Christmas entitled “Little Baby Boy.” That was 50 years ago.
As with all the music and stories I have written, I consider them all to be gifts from God and not a talent which I have.
December of 1973, my girlfriend was killed in a sliding accident at the local ski area. The grief for an 18-year-old was beyond belief. It was because of the support of my church, Pastor, and the teens in the youth group who believed in my music that I was able to climb out of the depression. With the backing of our high school youth group, I was able to perform “Little Baby Boy” for the first time at the church in December of 1974. It has always been a favorite that has been requested through the last 50 years.
The video clip filmed in 2022 is of an old me and my wife Cheryl performing the song at Christmas. I hope you will enjoy the song too.
Little Baby Boy (Lyrics)
Little baby boy, dressed in swaddlin’ clothes,
Lyin’ in a manger, so many years ago.
Little baby boy, little baby boy, how I love you so.
Little baby boy, born the highest King.
Through the years we’ve turned around
What Christmas morning means.
Little baby boy, little baby boy, how I love you so.
We took the Christmas story, and we laid it on a shelf.
We traded baby Jesus for a jolly little elf.
But did Santa hang upon the cross and die for all our sins?
And can he give us happiness long after Christmas ends?
Can Santa cause the blind to see and cause the deaf to hear?
Can you get to heaven on a sleigh and eight reindeer?
That’s why I say little baby boy, little baby boy, how I love you so.
Little baby boy, dressed in swaddlin’ clothes,
Lyin’ in a manger, so many years ago.
Little baby boy, little baby boy, how I love you so.
And on that Christmas morning
When the church bells start to ring
I’m going to celebrate that day as the birthday of the King.
Little baby boy, little baby boy, how I love you so.
Little baby boy, dressed in swaddlin’ clothes,
Lyin’ in a manger, so many years ago.
Little baby boy, little baby boy, how I love you so.
Little Baby Boy (c) 1974 P.M. Mitchell
Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes
** The following essay is written from a Christian perspective. If this offends you, please return another day for satire stories.
We are all gamblers.
You might say, “I don’t play betting games. I don’t buy Lotto, Powerball, or scratch tickets and I’ve never stepped into a casino once.”
Well, you start betting the moment you get out of bed in the morning. Betting all your appliances still work in the house; betting if you ride your bike that you won’t get hit by a car; betting you won’t get into an accident with your car. Everything is a bet that things will go your way.
What does it take to turn a dream into reality?
First, you must believe in yourself and, with a little luck, have others believe in you too.
To tell you the truth, it wasn’t until my late 20s that I learned the word hierarchy and the medical term pes cavus weren’t the same thing. I should never trust the images in my mind.
Thirty years ago, there was a different mentality about weddings. It seemed that “most” couples preferred to be married in a church. Nowadays, I really can’t remember the last time we had a wedding in our church.
** The following story is told from my Christian perspective. If you are offended by this, please return next week for another satire story.
I am Soul. Technically, I am Marty’s Soul. I am the center of his being surrounded by bones, organs, and flesh. It is I who confers with his mind to help him make his choices. I was a part of him before he was born, and I will exist long after he is dead because I am Soul. I do not die.
Every person who has ever lived on this planet has a soul too. We were all assigned by God to a specific human. Were it not for us souls, humans would have no ability to communicate with the spirit world. Every human is part flesh and part spirit.
The dictionary defines us as the spirit or immaterial part of man, the seat of human personality, intellect, will, and emotions, regarded as an entity that survives the body after death, capable of redemption from the power of sin through divine grace.
What is ironic about God giving each human a soul, is that the human decides what will happen to us for eternity. In Marty’s case, he gave me to God which will give me eternal life in the Kingdom of God. Many stubborn humans refuse to give their souls to God. This condemns their souls to eternal separation from God. How sad is it that God freely gives a soul to a human being and that human has a lifetime to give the soul back to God but refuses thereby condemning that soul.
So, what is it I do?
Since I was given as a gift back to God, he gives me guidance and instruction which I try to convey to Marty’s brain. Of course, Marty’s brain may choose to ignore my suggestions, which has continually got him in trouble and put him in danger.
You see, also in the spirit world, are those sent from Satan . . . demons. We see them even though you cannot.
It says in the Bible that all believing humans should put on the armor of God for your battle is not with flesh and blood but against the spirit world. (Eph. 6:11-13)
From where I live in Marty, I can see them as they wander about looking for those that they may devour and destroy. They are here 24 hours a day. They never rest.
Even when Marty is resting, they attempt to break into his mind and into his dreams. Were it not for God sending his mightiest angels to drive them away because of my calling, he would be lost. The more God uses Marty, the more the demons attack to cripple him. It is not uncommon to see Marty completely surrounded by angels to protect him.
God’s spirit has given me the responsibility of urging Marty to learn and use the fruits of God’s spirit. These fruits include love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control. As I work with Marty’s brain, which controls the rest of his body, and we learn to use the fruits, other people see what God can do in a person’s life. Other souls try to convince their humans that they could live like that too.
Sometimes, we get into situations that God wants to handle himself. It has happened many times that God has said to me, “I’ve got this, please step aside for a moment.” He takes my place and takes control of Marty and speaks or acts through him. Only God himself can express his love through someone and to someone.
And so, I have lived inside Marty since the day he was born. I have seen the bad, and the ugly sides of his life for the choices he has made, ignoring me. But I have also seen the good and how God has used him. And Marty’s gift to me was giving me back to God.
One day, when his days on earth are through and his body and brain die, I will be released to return once again to the Kingdom of God from where I came. This time I will be a child of God and I, and the rest of God’s children will live in his presence for eternity.
That is my story. I am Soul.
Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes
Cow tipping is nothing about slipping a cow a $5.00 bill after a nice fresh glass of milk.
The term Cow Tipping is an urban legend thought to have been started sometime in the 1970s. It involved going out at night and searching the farmlands to find a cow that was sleeping standing up. (This was usually done by inebriated high school, or college age boys.) The legend has it that two or more boys snuck up to a slumbering cow and pushed it from the side causing the cow to topple over onto the ground.
“Good evening, sir. My name is Officer Luke. My partner, Officer Lease, is in the next room talking with your wife.”
“Talking about what?”
“The hospital,” Officer Luke continued, “is required to call us when they suspect domestic violence.”
“What are you brooding about today?”
I am standing in the kitchen staring out the back window at the lawn. Cheryl has snuck up behind me with a steaming cup of coffee.
“I want five months, just five months. Is that too much to ask?” I grumbled. “I mean, it’s October 14th. I should have mowed the lawn for the last time but look at it. It’s still growing! It’s got to be that flippin’ El Niño.”
“Are you wishing for cold and rain?” she asked.
“No, but I am wishing for less work and I’m on a time schedule. You see, I know that in late March or April the spring grass is going to start madly growing and that will begin my seven months of yardwork, so the sooner it stops growing now, the more time off I’ll have until it starts growing again. I also told Chris at the mower shop that I would bring the mower in as soon as I stopped mowing so he could winterize it, but each week I look at the lawn and it needs a mowing again.”
“Yes, but look at the hanging baskets. They still have blooms on them. Don’t they look pretty?”
“It’s mid-October! We don’t need hanging baskets. We need frost on the pumpkins. We need birds in the feeders. We need squirrels skittering around the porch eating from the plate of corn I set out for them. And another thing – look at the leaves on the birch tree. They are still hanging there.”
“They are so pretty. Don’t you love their golden color?”
“It’s all about mother nature’s delay of game. You see, once a year I clean out the gutters. I can’t clean them out until the leaves have fallen off the trees. What would be the point? I could clean them out today and next week we will get a strong south wind which will blow the leaves off the trees and fill the gutters back up again. I’m only doing it once. I’ve got half a mind to go out there and slap the trunk of the tree with a stick to shake those darn leaves off.”
“I can see someone with half a mind doing that, dear. Think of the positive attributes of a mild fall – we don’t have to run the furnace yet. You know how you always go into a coma when you see the heating bill each month. When El Nino really gets started, it’s the same thing each year – you stand here in the kitchen staring out the window at the rain or the snow and you are in a fowl mood because it is cold and wet outside, and you wish the weather would just warm up again.”
“Four seasons. That’s all I ask. Four on time seasons. I’m on a schedule.”
“Well since you have nothing to do but to stare out the window, why don’t you help me to move some furniture?”
“You know if I had time, I would definitely do that dear. I think the first thing on my agenda today is to go out into the front yard and beat that birch tree with a stick.”
“My creatively impatient husband. I’ll make you some cocoa.”
Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes
It was 5:45 on a Friday night as we smoked up the North State Street hill in our 1953 Buick. My best friend, Chuck, and I were sitting in the back seat. Mom was driving. We were on our way to the Bellingham Armory for the annual Alderwood Elementary School skate night.
Four men stood facing the wall shoulder to shoulder. They looked very unsure of themselves. Two others had decided to sit this dance out. It was called the Line Dance on the High Seas.