Mitchell Way
I knew a man named Bud. He was one of my scout masters. Bud was average height and build. He had little hair left on his head and what he did have, he combed over his bald scalp. Bud also had a glass eye. How he lost his eye, I do not remember, but some nights as we sat around the campfire, he would pop it into his hand just to gross us boys out.
“On December 29th, 1973, I took my girlfriend along with 15 kids from two church youth groups to the Mt. Baker Ski Area for a day of inner tube sliding in the snow. After lunch I took the group to a hill outside of the ski area. It was a hill which we had nicknamed ‘Deadman’s Run’ for its length and steepness.
My sister Tricia recently brought me a manila envelope which she had been keeping in storage. The envelope was stuffed with memories of my dad, Paul Phillip Mitchell. I poured the contents out onto the floor. Included in the pile were newspaper clippings of his life and his important documents from WW2.
It was a resounding crash. Life would not be the same. Not by my own choice, I became retired.
Thanksgiving 1965, my mom and my cousin Gae were alone in Gae’s kitchen. The buzzer on her counter sounded and Gae rushed to the oven door, looked through the glass window and announced, “The turkey looks done. Yell down the stairs and tell everyone to come up to the table.”
I wake up each morning to face a life which is the result of the choices I have made in the past. Of course, some choices were good, and some were bad, but the result of those choices is what life is today.
I was an eleven-year-old in sixth grade All City band. It was two hours each Saturday that the family would not have to listen to me practice my trombone. There is only so much a parent can do to encourage a child. After that, they play a game called, “Hide the Slide.”
Author’s note: In April of 2005 I had the opportunity to perform this song for Ralph Pauley at the Alumni Band’s spring concert (video is below). I was helped with the talents of Alumni Band members and the BHS Swing Choir. In August of 2005 he passed away. It was an honor to play for the Music Man.
I knew a man who had his own band, the Bellingham High School Red Raider Band. The first time I met him I was the young age of ten. He marched his whole band to the far side of town, and he showed my small school how big band should sound. He showed off each instrument and he challenged the children to play. The thing that I saw in the eyes of his band when he raised his baton and he tapped on his stand was a sense of respect and admiration for the man and I knew . . . it was an honor to play for the Music Man. They marched straight and tall for the Music Man. They gave it their all for the Music Man was their mentor, their teacher, their friend.
Author’s note: In 1990, I wrote this bedtime story for my two year old daughter. Tucked into the covers next to her were Mr. Monkey and the Wooly Bear and on her bedroom floor, the biplane. I hope that your children and grandchildren will enjoy hearing it too.
Rocking horses and Teddy Bears are scattered around the floor in her room upstairs and little Kalene lies sleeping in her crib. There is an airplane mobile flying overhead, protecting the airspace above her bed and a music box across the room plays gentle music.
It was a time in life that every boy either looked forward to or shuddered to think he must be a part of. It was a freshman class in high school that every boy had to participate in to graduate. It was a required class and girls were not allowed. They called it Boys’ Health and, Sex Ed.
Isaac Newton’s 3rd Law of Motion is: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
I have been known to be a grouch at times, maybe even a curmudgeon or as my kids likes to call me, Debbie Downer. I tend to pessimistically see the glass as half empty.
I have been blessed.
I have been given a job and an income my whole life.
I have been given a strong body and health.
I have been given a family who loves me and grandchildren to love.
I have been given friends who have stayed close through the years.
I have been given all that I need: food, clothing, vehicles, and a warm home.
I have been given talents: music, writing, creating.
I have been given assurance of everlasting life.
Though I may go through great trials, I have been given the assurance that I will wake up the next day and in all the days of my life, God will not once leave me.
And yet, I am a shell. I am absolutely nothing.
I am only what God has given me and what he has made me.
To God be the glory!
Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Serving Others Snips Tributes
A wonderful, Godly, woman friend of mine shared with me a message she had received in a deep conversation with her Lord. She was asking for guidance in a situation which was causing her much heartache. She pleaded with the Lord to guide her down the right path. God’s Holy Spirit came to her during this time of deep prayer. He opened her eyes to the reality that God was not just guiding her down a path.
The Lord Jesus is my shepherd. I lack for nothing!
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He gives me rest and he restores my soul.
He guides me on the paths of righteousness that I might make him proud.
Do you ever feel underused by God? Like everyone else is being used in mighty ways and your job is to sit and watch.
“What’s the matter with me? Why don’t I get the gifts?” you ask.
Ah, but there is only one “you” and what God has given you is extremely specific and to be used in a specific way when he needs it.