© Copyright 2005 Bill Nesbitt

March 27, 2006 — Cool Spring so far with plenty of rain. The canoers are having some pretty good luck. I doubt I'll be among them this year.

God is good. My oldest son, Evan, asked me the other day, "Dad, why do you believe in God?" The only answer I could come up with was, "Sometimes I don't." Not the best choice for an answer, but a truthful one at least. Sometimes I have a really hard time (as the astute reader probably has surmised by now from some of my previous postings) with basic theism.

My history with God can be summed up in four steps which have repeated themselves time and again over the course of the past thirty-three years.

• Step 1 — Go to church, learn neat things and talk a good talk.
• Step 2 — Go about my normal business as if there's no God, which actually works so long as things are going well.
• Step 3 — When things turn sour, shake my fist at heaven and complain to God about why He's not more "real" to me.
• Step 4 — Go back to church and resolve to try again next week.

Lately I've begun to see the correlation inside the pattern. As it turns out, experiencing the presence of God is directly related to basing my decisions on His reality. The more I believe in Him, the more real He is to me. The more I act out my belief in Him, the more He affects my life in tangible ways. The more I act according to my flesh and make decisions based on my five senses, the more remote He becomes to me. Turns out I should be shaking my fist at myself for being so addicted to my flesh.

So I've decided, after only three-and-a-piece decades to repent in dust and ashes and turn my face back toward God. This involves four steps:

• Step 1 — Pray
• Step 2 — Read, study and meditate upon His Word
• Step 3 — Hang with my fellow believers (yes, in spite of my chronic doubt, I do consider myself a "believer" or I wouldn't be doing any of this) as much as possible.
• Step 4 — I don't know what this step is yet. It involves some sort of service. I'm involved in it now to a certain extent, but I see it growing and bearing different fruit in the near future.

By the way, Evan, I believe more than I don't. And the times I don't are the times for you to pray for me that I'll humble myself and repent.

More while I'm on a roll. God Bless You, Bro. Jim and Bonnie, for all the years and being such examples of faith for me. By the way, the 1935 Epiphone Zenith guitar is a hoss, but it probably isn't worth more than $1,000. As if you were going to sell it anyway. It's still an incredible guitar and I enjoyed playing it for three hours the other night.

And John, I'm afraid the 1920's Vega "Soloist" tenor banjo isn't going to be worth as much as I had originally thought. There were some fancier models with more elaborate carving and inlay that might go for a couple thousand, but I think this one won't be worth more than $1,500, if that much. Sorry, it's such a cool banjo.

Speaking of the banjo — Kyle, you are a joy and inspiration for me. To hear you get such a good sound from your banjo while I accompany you on guitar means I'm succeeding not only in helping you play, but in helping you enjoy playing.

May 26, 2006 — I know there is a reason the Little House on Massie Street became the Nightmare on Massie Street. I know there's a reason, but I just can't figure out what it is.

It has been a learning experience. I have learned to check for mold, even in the smallest, most out-of-the-way places, like the inside corner of a mop closet. If you don't and it is spotted by the Great Inspector, you immediately are transferred from the Dominion of Light into the Dominion of the American Mold Removal Industry (motto: "Run for your lives!"). There you will likely languish in Mold Limbo for an indeterminate period of time paying the Mold Man to measure your Parts Per Million till he gives you the All Clear. Even then, please always remember, It Might Come Back. Like a bad penny, at which point the buyers' lawyers will swoop in to take your last penny, bad or not.

I have learned to negotiate the very smallest possible crawl spaces, Nod "howdy" to the spiders and use duct tape for (of all things) its intended purpose.

I have learned that money is not the issue. Even when we're out of it; the bank account gets overdrawn every couple of months; the interest rate on the ARM continues to rise (the very ARM we were going to amputate using proceeds from the sale of the Nightmare); there are red door hangers indicating the kind folks from the Utility Godhead have been by to cut you off; the phone just stops ringing — that's the time to examine your heart rather than your bank account. Get your accounts straightened out with God first, then attend to the other stuff. Notice I didn't say, "Then the other stuff will take care of itself" because it won't until and unless there is ever a lottery in Arkansas and I happen to win it. Otherwise, it is a long, painful slog back to the State of Standing Erect.

So there the Little Nightmare on Massie Street sits, representing all the mistakes and omissions of an elderly couple with ignorant heirs. The elderly couple is gone now, and the heirs might be somewhat less ignorant by the time they get elderly. Thanks, elderly couple.

Just look in the closet next time.

<<Back  •  Journals>>    Home>>