I began preaching when I was twenty years old in a little church in Neapolis, Ohio. I was married that same year. Marilyn and I thought we would stay in that town all of our lives.
It was our hometown, our children were born there and our parents lived nearby. I said, “ I will never live in the city.” Be careful with the “never’s.”
In 1964 the Elders from North Highlands Church of Christ on Archer Avenue in Fort Wayne were determined that we were to come to this church. We prayed over it and felt God’s call, so we moved to Fort Wayne.
The Church flourished and grew and helped spawned Christ Church in Georgetown. We soon had outgrown our building so we made plans to build a million dollar building in the suburbs of Fort Wayne: North Highlands Community.
We went to a bank that promised financing, we had plans drawn and we held a groundbreaking ceremony with the mayor there. There was even a picture in the newspaper and a contractor on the site. That year, 1973, was a severe downturn of the economy. When we went to the bank to obtain our loan for 800 thousand dollars we were told the money is no longer available. What do you do?
We had made plans and promises. What was God thinking? What did God want us to do?
I said, “We are going to prayer.” I had heard about early morning praying in Korea. I said, “we're going to go to prayer at 5:30 in the morning. and we're going to pray until we get an answer.”
That went on for six weeks. You know how early 5:30 in the morning is when you start praying at that hour for six weeks, seven mornings a week? I'm a morning person but I was never consistently up that many mornings, going to bed later every night.
One morning following prayer, I was with a group of pastors who heard the mayor of our city, Ivan Lebamoff , speak and challenge each of us to look at the downtown area of Fort Wayne, where everyone was leaving at that time in 1973. The mayor urged us to look at the downtown as a place of potential, of opportunity. God laid it on my heart to remember the empty church building at the corner of Broadway and Wayne, which had been the old Wayne Street Methodist Church.
That morning I went to that building, opened the door, went in, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There before me was the floor plan that we were going to build and still intact since 1871. It was constructed of sturdy oak, had stained glass, a pipe organ, a wood floor gymnasium, and a commercial kitchen. Altogether it was 48,00 square feet of usable building. For two hours I walked around in there with unbelief, arguing with God, saying, this can't be, how can we do this? I went home and I couldn't talk. Marilyn thought I had been in an some sort of accident.
That night as Marilyn and I walked I said, “Honey, I've dreamed a dream or seen a vision.”
After I shared with her my amazing discovery she said, “Bob I told you two weeks ago we should buy that building when we went past it.”
I hadn’t heard her but God did and the Broadway Christian Church was born.
About eighty families, approximately 300 people came with us from the suburbs to the city. The people who came interestingly enough were mostly the ones who came to Christ during my nine years at North Highlands. Our first service at Broadway Christian was held on January 6, 1974.
I began preaching on discipleship and what it means to seriously follow Jesus. I preached two and a half years on that theme. I preached for seven consecutive Sundays on repentance. I had never done that before in my life.
On one of those Sunday mornings our Church School superintendent came with his wife at his side weeping and he confessed he was a closet alcoholic. His Sunday School class with an elder leading them surrounded that man and vowed to stay with him until he was sober. That morning was a high water mark spiritually for the people knew then it was a safe place to confess sins.
I am retired from Broadway Christian now but we still live in Fort Wayne most of the year. I look back over 28 years at not only the growth in numbers (2,000 people and five services in two locations) but the organizations and churches that grew out of that one as we tried to be good disciples to our neighborhood and beyond.
It is obvious now what happened back in 1973 when the bank failed to give us a promised loan. God saved us from ourselves.
“A man’s heart devises his way; but the Lord directs his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)
Pastor Bob Yawberg
Fort Wayne, Indiana
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
A Raging River
It is June and time for our annual family reunion camping along the banks of the Raven Fork River. Only this one will change the course of my life.
On the drive from Florida to Cherokee, North Carolina my wife and I talk about the offer made by the pastor of our community church in Sarasota. He wants me to serve as Interim Children’s Director on a six-month trial basis. I have served the children’s ministry as a volunteer for several years while my paying position is managing a restaurant for a national chain. My heart is with the children but my head and my wife are saying it would be financially irresponsible to take an interim position for six months while a committee searches for a director. Besides, I would have to take a pay cut and with a wife and two children to support that would be financial stupidity.
We arrive at the campsite in a steady drizzle. Most of the families are gathered under a large tent fly. After lunch I decide to go fishing and thinking. The Raven has eight-foot banks opposite the campground and is relatively shallow ranging in dept from calf deep to waist deep. I put on waders and rain gear and proceed into the calm water. Most of the adults
are playing cards under the tent fly while Pete, my brother-in-law, watches me fish from the bank.
I was so engrossed in fishing that I didn’t notice what was happening around me. I should have known if it is raining here it is pouring up river in the mountains. Within minutes the river rises from waist deep to chest deep and the water turns brown. Finally I realize what is happening and I turn toward the near bank. This is a big mistake. The river is deeper on this side and my waders quickly fill with water and drag me under like a sinker. My waders hold me down while the rushing river pushes me downstream. I am struggling to regain my footing and get to the surface. Suddenly I hit a rock with such force that it pops me upright like a bobber. I stand there, breathing heavily and deliberately leaning forward with the water pushing against my chest. I am unable to move. This is serious.
My brother-in-law is frantically yelling for the other men who soon appear on the bank above me. They lower an inflated tube with a rope tied to it but it doesn’t reach. me.
Next they throw the inner tube but it blows past me and is punctured downstream when it hits a sharp rock or pointed stump. Someone finds another piece of rope and ties it to the first rope. The men lower a
now deflated tube tied on the longer rope. After a couple of attempts this one reaches me and I wrap the rope around my hand. When the men pull on the rope I am immediately projected prone in the water and with the river pushing me and with my extra weight my rescuers are nearly pulled in on top of me. It takes all the strength of those ten men and older boys to hold me against the current. Gradually they ease me to the bank, which is terraced with rocks held in place by a wire mesh. I am able to grab a tree growing out of the bank and I hold on while some men crawl gingerly down the bank and help me out of the river.
Later standing on top of the embankment several of us watched logs, branches and other debris being propelled down river by the rushing water. A large log shot right over where I had been standing helpless against the river. That could have been fatal. I learned first hand the power of water and how fast things can change. I see now
how people can be caught in a flash flood.
Pete interrupts my musings.
“Chris you have to see this,” he says holding the rope in his hands, “this is how close we came to losing you.” What had been my lifeline is frayed so badly that the rope in one spot is down to a single strand that my brother-in-law proceeded to snap with his fingers.
On reflection I think God was testing me that afternoon. I could easily have drowned if I hadn’t hit that rock, which stood me up providing time for others to help me in my distress. As I thought about my life ending in that river I asked myself, did I want to be just a restaurant manager or did I want to be a teacher of God’s children? I decided to take the position of Interim Director of Children’s Ministry.
Chris Cahill
Bradenton, Florida.
(He has been Pastor of Children’s Ministry at South Shore Community Church since 2003-Ed)
On the drive from Florida to Cherokee, North Carolina my wife and I talk about the offer made by the pastor of our community church in Sarasota. He wants me to serve as Interim Children’s Director on a six-month trial basis. I have served the children’s ministry as a volunteer for several years while my paying position is managing a restaurant for a national chain. My heart is with the children but my head and my wife are saying it would be financially irresponsible to take an interim position for six months while a committee searches for a director. Besides, I would have to take a pay cut and with a wife and two children to support that would be financial stupidity.
We arrive at the campsite in a steady drizzle. Most of the families are gathered under a large tent fly. After lunch I decide to go fishing and thinking. The Raven has eight-foot banks opposite the campground and is relatively shallow ranging in dept from calf deep to waist deep. I put on waders and rain gear and proceed into the calm water. Most of the adults
are playing cards under the tent fly while Pete, my brother-in-law, watches me fish from the bank.
I was so engrossed in fishing that I didn’t notice what was happening around me. I should have known if it is raining here it is pouring up river in the mountains. Within minutes the river rises from waist deep to chest deep and the water turns brown. Finally I realize what is happening and I turn toward the near bank. This is a big mistake. The river is deeper on this side and my waders quickly fill with water and drag me under like a sinker. My waders hold me down while the rushing river pushes me downstream. I am struggling to regain my footing and get to the surface. Suddenly I hit a rock with such force that it pops me upright like a bobber. I stand there, breathing heavily and deliberately leaning forward with the water pushing against my chest. I am unable to move. This is serious.
My brother-in-law is frantically yelling for the other men who soon appear on the bank above me. They lower an inflated tube with a rope tied to it but it doesn’t reach. me.
Next they throw the inner tube but it blows past me and is punctured downstream when it hits a sharp rock or pointed stump. Someone finds another piece of rope and ties it to the first rope. The men lower a
now deflated tube tied on the longer rope. After a couple of attempts this one reaches me and I wrap the rope around my hand. When the men pull on the rope I am immediately projected prone in the water and with the river pushing me and with my extra weight my rescuers are nearly pulled in on top of me. It takes all the strength of those ten men and older boys to hold me against the current. Gradually they ease me to the bank, which is terraced with rocks held in place by a wire mesh. I am able to grab a tree growing out of the bank and I hold on while some men crawl gingerly down the bank and help me out of the river.
Later standing on top of the embankment several of us watched logs, branches and other debris being propelled down river by the rushing water. A large log shot right over where I had been standing helpless against the river. That could have been fatal. I learned first hand the power of water and how fast things can change. I see now
how people can be caught in a flash flood.
Pete interrupts my musings.
“Chris you have to see this,” he says holding the rope in his hands, “this is how close we came to losing you.” What had been my lifeline is frayed so badly that the rope in one spot is down to a single strand that my brother-in-law proceeded to snap with his fingers.
On reflection I think God was testing me that afternoon. I could easily have drowned if I hadn’t hit that rock, which stood me up providing time for others to help me in my distress. As I thought about my life ending in that river I asked myself, did I want to be just a restaurant manager or did I want to be a teacher of God’s children? I decided to take the position of Interim Director of Children’s Ministry.
Chris Cahill
Bradenton, Florida.
(He has been Pastor of Children’s Ministry at South Shore Community Church since 2003-Ed)
Friday, October 3, 2008
"Bob"
Incredible true stories that touch the heart and tug at the soul. Are they chance or destiny, coincidence or fate? Do you have your own Go Figure story? Want to share it? E-mail us at gofigureamerica@yahoo.com
“Bob”
I was going through a really difficult time. I was recovering from a divorce, my daughter was living away from home at school and the bank I was working for was going under due to big mistakes in real estate lending.
Then the unthinkable happened. My male friend committed suicide. I found his body slumped over in his garage still in his car. He was a colleague at the bank and I cared for him deeply. I never felt more alone.
The following evening a dear friend from the bank, Noreen, came to my apartment with her husband David. They gathered up a few of my things, literally carried me to their car and drove me to their home.
Noreen was also a good friend of the man who had tragically taken his own life. She made a wonderful bed for me out of the couches in her living room, make a fire in the fireplace and instead of bringing me a box of tissues she brought me all her frilly hankies. She also made a pot of my favorite tea.
While Noreen and I talked about our deceased friend and some of the times we spent together, her son Paul, who was probably five or six at the time, kept coming in and out of the room. Each trip he brought a handful of toys or stuffed animals, which he lined up next to me on the couch. The more I thanked him the more things he brought me. Eventually the couch was filled up and he began placing the toys on the floor next to me. In his little boy way he was bringing everything he had to comfort his mother’s friend who obviously was crying and sad. Lastly he brought into the room his most precious possession-his baby blanket.
I’m a major baby blanket person. When I was a child I had a crib-sized blanket that was very much a part of my life until I was fourteen. I would hold it to my nose; suck my thumb, especially in turbulent times. That blanket brought me comfort and joy. It had been loved to death and by the time I was 14 it had been reduced to the size of a silver dollar.
I understand all things baby blanket. Those of us who were baby blanket people have a way of finding each other. We have a language that only we understand. So little Paul and I immediately had this bond and he showed me his baby blanket that looked like a large blob of shredded rags tied together in large knots.
He called his baby blanket “Bob.” We agreed that the very worse thing that can happen is when well meaning moms wash our baby blankets.It takes weeks to get them back in shape and to properly smell again.
After a while, Paul and “Bob” went off to bed.
When the house was quiet I began reflecting and I began to cry and even sob. My shaking with grief was interrupted by the sound of shuffling little feet. It was Paul walking towards me carrying “Bob.” Without saying a word, he gently laid “Bob” in my arms, turned and left the room, closing the French doors behind him.
At that moment, I knew that God was using this child to comfort me in my time of pain and sorrow.
To this day, I am blown away by that precious little one obeying the prodding of the Lord and lending me his most cherished possession that evening. God manifested his love that night to me.
Joy Holloway
Granby Ma.
“Bob”
I was going through a really difficult time. I was recovering from a divorce, my daughter was living away from home at school and the bank I was working for was going under due to big mistakes in real estate lending.
Then the unthinkable happened. My male friend committed suicide. I found his body slumped over in his garage still in his car. He was a colleague at the bank and I cared for him deeply. I never felt more alone.
The following evening a dear friend from the bank, Noreen, came to my apartment with her husband David. They gathered up a few of my things, literally carried me to their car and drove me to their home.
Noreen was also a good friend of the man who had tragically taken his own life. She made a wonderful bed for me out of the couches in her living room, make a fire in the fireplace and instead of bringing me a box of tissues she brought me all her frilly hankies. She also made a pot of my favorite tea.
While Noreen and I talked about our deceased friend and some of the times we spent together, her son Paul, who was probably five or six at the time, kept coming in and out of the room. Each trip he brought a handful of toys or stuffed animals, which he lined up next to me on the couch. The more I thanked him the more things he brought me. Eventually the couch was filled up and he began placing the toys on the floor next to me. In his little boy way he was bringing everything he had to comfort his mother’s friend who obviously was crying and sad. Lastly he brought into the room his most precious possession-his baby blanket.
I’m a major baby blanket person. When I was a child I had a crib-sized blanket that was very much a part of my life until I was fourteen. I would hold it to my nose; suck my thumb, especially in turbulent times. That blanket brought me comfort and joy. It had been loved to death and by the time I was 14 it had been reduced to the size of a silver dollar.
I understand all things baby blanket. Those of us who were baby blanket people have a way of finding each other. We have a language that only we understand. So little Paul and I immediately had this bond and he showed me his baby blanket that looked like a large blob of shredded rags tied together in large knots.
He called his baby blanket “Bob.” We agreed that the very worse thing that can happen is when well meaning moms wash our baby blankets.It takes weeks to get them back in shape and to properly smell again.
After a while, Paul and “Bob” went off to bed.
When the house was quiet I began reflecting and I began to cry and even sob. My shaking with grief was interrupted by the sound of shuffling little feet. It was Paul walking towards me carrying “Bob.” Without saying a word, he gently laid “Bob” in my arms, turned and left the room, closing the French doors behind him.
At that moment, I knew that God was using this child to comfort me in my time of pain and sorrow.
To this day, I am blown away by that precious little one obeying the prodding of the Lord and lending me his most cherished possession that evening. God manifested his love that night to me.
Joy Holloway
Granby Ma.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Last Flight Home
There are four of us waiting standby at Chicago's O'Hare airport for the last flight to Bradley Field serving Hartford/ Springfield, Ma. We had all arrived late from the west coast and missed our connections.
The other three men are travelling together and look to be 20 to 30 years my junior.We all surrender our tickets to the agent to see if any seats open up. We are warned that it doesn't look good. Afterall it is a Friday night and people are trying to get somewhere for the weekend. If I can't get on this flight it means spending the night in Chicago.
The waiting room fills up with booked passengers.Where did all these people come from? Couples with little children. Why are they taking such a late flight. Certainly I can't expect to take a seat away from a child. Besides it is past her bedtime. I'm mentally preparing myself for night on the waiting room floor.
The boarding process begins. It seems to take forever. Some more passengers arrive and check in during the boarding. Finally the waiting area is empty except for four
stadbys. The agent sends a colleague down the jetway to see it there are any empty seats. We wait in silence by the ticket counter. I say a silent prayer that we will all get aboard.
The door to the jetway finally opens and the agent announces, "There are three empty seats."
The three men make a bee line for the open door leaving me standing by the counter.
The agent with the tickets turns to me and asks, "What is your name?"
I tell her and she motions for me to follow her. We walk down the jetway to the door of the airplane. She stops and smiles, "You get to sit in first class."
Sam Retlas
West Sprinfield, Ma.
The other three men are travelling together and look to be 20 to 30 years my junior.We all surrender our tickets to the agent to see if any seats open up. We are warned that it doesn't look good. Afterall it is a Friday night and people are trying to get somewhere for the weekend. If I can't get on this flight it means spending the night in Chicago.
The waiting room fills up with booked passengers.Where did all these people come from? Couples with little children. Why are they taking such a late flight. Certainly I can't expect to take a seat away from a child. Besides it is past her bedtime. I'm mentally preparing myself for night on the waiting room floor.
The boarding process begins. It seems to take forever. Some more passengers arrive and check in during the boarding. Finally the waiting area is empty except for four
stadbys. The agent sends a colleague down the jetway to see it there are any empty seats. We wait in silence by the ticket counter. I say a silent prayer that we will all get aboard.
The door to the jetway finally opens and the agent announces, "There are three empty seats."
The three men make a bee line for the open door leaving me standing by the counter.
The agent with the tickets turns to me and asks, "What is your name?"
I tell her and she motions for me to follow her. We walk down the jetway to the door of the airplane. She stops and smiles, "You get to sit in first class."
Sam Retlas
West Sprinfield, Ma.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Grandmother's Advice
My grandmother gave me a Bible when I went off to college. She said, “Read it when you feel down or need a lift.” I thanked her politely, packed it away and frankly went on with my life.
Years later, after a marriage, several children and many job changes, I found myself in a bad place. I was really down, lacking direction in my life and I was bordering on serious depression. I really needed to change.
While rummaging through a closet I moved a towel and there was the Bible my grandmother had given me when I was leaving for school. I felt the hairs standup on the back of my neck. I took the advice of that gentle sweet lady and I began reading the Bible.
A few days later, I was visiting my parents and I told them about finding the Bible and what grandmother had said when she gave it to me.
“What day did this happen,” my mother asked?
When I told her my mother had this knowing smile on her face.
“That is the anniversary of when you grandmother died,” she said.
I can say the advice my grandmother gave me did a lot more than give me a lift, it has changed my life forever.
James Cooper
Dayton, Oh.
Years later, after a marriage, several children and many job changes, I found myself in a bad place. I was really down, lacking direction in my life and I was bordering on serious depression. I really needed to change.
While rummaging through a closet I moved a towel and there was the Bible my grandmother had given me when I was leaving for school. I felt the hairs standup on the back of my neck. I took the advice of that gentle sweet lady and I began reading the Bible.
A few days later, I was visiting my parents and I told them about finding the Bible and what grandmother had said when she gave it to me.
“What day did this happen,” my mother asked?
When I told her my mother had this knowing smile on her face.
“That is the anniversary of when you grandmother died,” she said.
I can say the advice my grandmother gave me did a lot more than give me a lift, it has changed my life forever.
James Cooper
Dayton, Oh.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Two Wheelchair Stories
My flight home has been canceled because of bad weather in the Northeast. I call Joy (my wife) and tell her the bad news.
“Well do God’s work,” she responds, “look around and see who needs help.”
While still holding the telephone I notice a man in a wheelchair staring at his flight ticket. I approach and ask if I can be of help. He nods explaining his flight has been canceled and he needs to be re-booked.
We make our way to the appropriate counter stopping at the end of a long line of disgruntled travelers. The agent at the counter looks up and notices Earl in the wheelchair (yes we are on a first name basis by now.) The agent motions for us to come forward.
The agent takes Earl’s ticket and begins tapping the keys on the computer in front of him. After a few minutes he hands him a boarding pass. “You are on the next flight to Philadelphia with a connection to Dayton. Should be leaving in about forty minutes”
The agent takes my ticket and looks back to his computer. “Can’t get you to Sarasota today,” he says, “but how would Tampa do?”
That will do fine. My wife drives the hour from Sarasota to Tampa and we have dinner together because I did what she suggested and helped someone in need. By serving others we are ourselves served.
I share this true story during a moment of sharing at South Shore Community Church.
After the service a young lady comes up to me and says, “You need to hear my wheelchair story.”
“I’d like to hear it.’
Over a cup of coffee she tells me. “I was new to this area and I had a medical problem. I had no family or friends here so I drove myself to a nearby clinic. After a preliminary check I was told to sit in the waiting room.
“I was scared to death and shaking with fear. I bowed my head and began praying. I heard God say that He is sending me an angel. I look up. Nothing has changed. People are sitting or leaning in chairs in various degrees of discomfort. I notice an older gentleman in a wheelchair. He smiles when our eyes meet and I decide to go over and talk with him.”
“How are we doing do here?” I ask.
“I’m doing fine. With God’s help I’ll be walking again in a few months.”
He is easy to talk with and we are quickly engaged in a friendly conversation. After a while I hear someone call my name. It is time to see the doctor. At that moment I realize that my fear is gone and talking with this man has made me feel better.
“I have been talking with you all this time and I don’t even know your name. My name is Sherry,” I say holding out my hand.
“Oh,” he smiles taking my hand in his, “My name is Angel.”
Robert Salter and Sherry Sargeant
Sarasota County, Fl.
“Well do God’s work,” she responds, “look around and see who needs help.”
While still holding the telephone I notice a man in a wheelchair staring at his flight ticket. I approach and ask if I can be of help. He nods explaining his flight has been canceled and he needs to be re-booked.
We make our way to the appropriate counter stopping at the end of a long line of disgruntled travelers. The agent at the counter looks up and notices Earl in the wheelchair (yes we are on a first name basis by now.) The agent motions for us to come forward.
The agent takes Earl’s ticket and begins tapping the keys on the computer in front of him. After a few minutes he hands him a boarding pass. “You are on the next flight to Philadelphia with a connection to Dayton. Should be leaving in about forty minutes”
The agent takes my ticket and looks back to his computer. “Can’t get you to Sarasota today,” he says, “but how would Tampa do?”
That will do fine. My wife drives the hour from Sarasota to Tampa and we have dinner together because I did what she suggested and helped someone in need. By serving others we are ourselves served.
I share this true story during a moment of sharing at South Shore Community Church.
After the service a young lady comes up to me and says, “You need to hear my wheelchair story.”
“I’d like to hear it.’
Over a cup of coffee she tells me. “I was new to this area and I had a medical problem. I had no family or friends here so I drove myself to a nearby clinic. After a preliminary check I was told to sit in the waiting room.
“I was scared to death and shaking with fear. I bowed my head and began praying. I heard God say that He is sending me an angel. I look up. Nothing has changed. People are sitting or leaning in chairs in various degrees of discomfort. I notice an older gentleman in a wheelchair. He smiles when our eyes meet and I decide to go over and talk with him.”
“How are we doing do here?” I ask.
“I’m doing fine. With God’s help I’ll be walking again in a few months.”
He is easy to talk with and we are quickly engaged in a friendly conversation. After a while I hear someone call my name. It is time to see the doctor. At that moment I realize that my fear is gone and talking with this man has made me feel better.
“I have been talking with you all this time and I don’t even know your name. My name is Sherry,” I say holding out my hand.
“Oh,” he smiles taking my hand in his, “My name is Angel.”
Robert Salter and Sherry Sargeant
Sarasota County, Fl.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
A Glass of Wine
My wife and I are dinning out with her best friend and her atheist husband who is also a cynic. He knows I am a Christian so every chance he gets he needles me about
faith.
The waiter comes to our table and askes for our drink order. Three of us order ice tea and the skeptic orders a class of the house wine. When the waiter leaves the man says mocking me,“too bad Jesus isn’t here, he could turn my cheap glass of wine into the best vino.”
I say to myself, I’m not going there, Lord you handle this. I ignore the comment and the ladies engage in a conversation.
The waiter soon returns with the beverages and says to the cynic, “I’m sorry sir but we are out of our house wine. My manager apologizes and said to give you a glass of our best wine with his compliments.”
“Answer a fool as his folly deserves,that he isn’t wise in his own eyes.”
(Proverbs 26:5)
Robert Morgan
Los Angeles, Ca.
faith.
The waiter comes to our table and askes for our drink order. Three of us order ice tea and the skeptic orders a class of the house wine. When the waiter leaves the man says mocking me,“too bad Jesus isn’t here, he could turn my cheap glass of wine into the best vino.”
I say to myself, I’m not going there, Lord you handle this. I ignore the comment and the ladies engage in a conversation.
The waiter soon returns with the beverages and says to the cynic, “I’m sorry sir but we are out of our house wine. My manager apologizes and said to give you a glass of our best wine with his compliments.”
“Answer a fool as his folly deserves,that he isn’t wise in his own eyes.”
(Proverbs 26:5)
Robert Morgan
Los Angeles, Ca.
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