Valentine's Day

I love history and learning.  Many things we learn about history are a bit uncertain, but it is always a little frustrating when you can't find out with any certainty the history of someone or something. The origin of St. Valentine and Valentine's Day is one of those topics.

Who was Saint Valentine?  According to the website Catholics Online, The origin of St. Valentine, and how many St. Valentines there were, remains a mystery. One opinion is that he was a Roman martyred for refusing to give up his Christian faith. Other historians hold that St. Valentine was a temple priest jailed for defiance during the reign of Claudius. Whoever he was, Valentine really existed because archaeologists have unearthed a Roman catacomb and an ancient church dedicated to Saint Valentine. In 496 AD Pope Gelasius marked February 14th as a celebration in honor of his martyrdom.

It is unclear how the modern idea of celebrating Valentine's Day by giving gifts to your romantic partner started and evolved into the commercialized holiday that it is today.  According to market research, Valentine's Day sales reached $17.6 billion last year; this year's sales are expected to total $18.6 billion.

The first time Valentine's Day is associated with romantic love is in the poem titled Parlement of Foules, written in 1382 by Geoffrey Chaucer. Chaucer wrote: "For this was on St. Valentine's Day, when every bird comes there to choose his mate."  This poem was written to honor the first anniversary of the engagement of King Richard II of England to Anne of Bohemia. When they were married they were each only 15 years old.

Valentine's Day is mentioned by William Shakespeare in the play, Hamlet:
To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.

It became very popular for young men to write verses of poetry on a card and give them to their lovers.  As early as 1800, companies began mass-producing cards for those who had poor poetry skills.  In the United States, the first mass-produced valentines of embossed paper lace were produced in 1847.  The U.S. Greeting Card Association says that 190 million valentines are sent each year in the US. When you include the valentine cards exchanged by school children, the figure goes up to 1 billion.



This is My Valentine!

The best decision I have ever made was to marry the girl who stole my heart when she walked into Mr Brost's History class the beginning of my senior year of high school.  I was too shy to talk to girls, so it was almost a year before she had any idea that I was interested.  I think that the good Lord knew that I needed all of the help I could get so he made it so that our paths crossed in a number of ways that year.  Mr. Brost selected five students to work together each week producing learning packets for History class.  Gina and I were both in the group.  We both worked at the Harris Pine furniture factory.  I worked on the dresser jig, and she made drawers.  I would spend my breaks back with the drawer makers, but she still didn't catch on.

It came time for our High School graduation and I still had never gotten up the nerve to ask her out.  Finally I mustered up every ounce of courage I could find and asked her if she would march with me when we graduated.  She told me that she would like to but she had already told Russell she would march with him.  If I would talk to Russell she would march with me.  Once again summoning up every bit of courage I had I talked to Russell.  He was very gracious and bowed out.  I was on cloud nine.



The rest is history. After a year of a long distance relationship, five hundred miles, we were finally in the same place at the same time. I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this girl. On June 15, 1975 we were married in the Denver First Seventh-day Adventist Church. The last 38 years have been an interesting and very fulfilling time.

I know that high school romances are not supposed to be forever and that when kids get married when they are in their teens the marriages aren't supposed to last, but we have proven those things wrong.  It is still awesome to go through each day with my best friend, My Valentine!  I can't wait to see where this journey leads.

Here is an awesome song written by my friend Paul to My Valentine.

Regina Lawry - Polk County Pulse January 15, 2014

Article published in the January 15, 2014 issue of The Polk County Pulse featuring my wife as the Citizen of the Week.  Written by Jaclyn Rose.

Regina Lawry was born in Denver, Colorado and lived in the same house until she was married.  In grade school she attended Denver Public Schools.  Upon entering high school, Regina transferred to a private Christian boarding school in Loveland, Co, called Campion Academy.  It was there that Regina met her husband and made lifelong friends that she still stays in touch with to this day.  “My father wasn't a rich man, he worked hard as a tile layer and took on extra jobs so he could allow my siblings and I to attend this great school.  It was the most wonderful experience of my life.”

Regina and her husband of 38 years, Richard, or Richie, as he is known by his friends, became friends while in American History class and were assigned to work together on a project.  “Richie was painfully shy but we became great friends and after high school we didn't want that friendship to end.  We started dating and then got married.  The key is to just be best friends.  As life goes on the romance sometimes fades so you have to enjoy being together.”

Regina and her husband have two children, Cynda and Gavin, and family is of extreme importance to them.  “Family has always come first.  When Cynda was little, Richie commuted 50 miles each way to work, so he left before she woke up in the mornings and was home after she was in bed. He came to me at that time and said he wanted to move to Arkansas, where his parents were living.  In two weeks we sold the house and moved to Mena.  It was culture shock to me.  I am such a city girl but Polk County has been so good to us.  We love it here, we love the people.  We are active members of Mena Seventh Day Adventist Church, where Richie is the head elder.”

Regina is now a grandmother to three sweet granddaughters which is a role she cherishes.  “My granddaughters: Autumn, Rebekah and Elisabeth are the light of my life.  I was born to be a grandma.  I waited my whole life for it, I just didn't know it.  I tell my oldest granddaughter that I was so full of joy when she was born that it just kept running out of my eyes,” Regina said with a grin.

Regina ran a fabric shop in Mena for a while before closing it to homeschool her son.  When he left to attend boarding school in Gentry, Arkansas, she decided to go back to work and began working at the USEM Mena Federal Credit Union.  “I’m the CEO and the Janitor.  I love my job.  I love the people.”

In 1975 Regina’s mother was diagnosed with Leukemia and began treatments, which at that time consisted of blood transfusions because no other treatment was available.  Regina’s mother was approached to do a study on the progression of the disease in the bone marrow.  Her family discouraged her from participating, knowing it would likely not help and would cause a great deal of pain.  She insisted on the study, however, and her reason behind it has given Regina her passion in life.  “We tried to talk mom out of the study and her response was, ‘you never know who this will help along the line.’  Twenty years later those studies saved my sister’s life and gave her an additional fifteen years to live.”  Cancer is a disease that has not only affected Regina’s mother and sister, but every member of her immediate family has been diagnosed with some form.  Because of her desire for a cure, Regina has worked tirelessly for the cause through the Relay for Life program.  She was chairperson for the local chapter for five years, has served on the State Leadership Council and is a Hero of Hope for the Mid-South Division.  It is truly her life’s desire to find a cure.  “I've seen firsthand the work the American Cancer Society has done and how it has helped my family.  It may not seem like [cancer] has anything to do with you, it doesn't affect you until it affects you.  But you never know who you are going to help.  If my children or grandchildren are ever diagnosed I don’t want it to be like it was for my mother.  I want there to be a cure.”

38 Wonderful Years

Today, June 15th is a special day. 38 years ago I said "I do" to my very best friend. The best decision I ever made was to marry the girl who stole my heart when she walked into Mr Brost's History class the beginning of my senior year of high school. I know that high school romances seldom last and that when kids get married when they are in their teens the marriages aren't supposed to last, but we have proven those things wrong. It is still awesome to go through each day with my best friend.



This is the girl that took my breath away when she walked into class that morning. I was too shy to talk to girls, so it was almost a year before she had any idea that I was interested. I think that the good Lord knew that I needed all of the help I could get so he made it so that our paths crossed in a number of ways that year.

Mr. Brost selected five students to work together each week producing learning packets for History class. Gina and I were both in the group.  We met in the library and worked on  producing material to go along with the following weeks lessons.  As I think back on it, that Mr. Brost was a smart teacher.  We helped produce his lesson materials and did it willingly.

We both worked at the Harris Pine furniture factory. I worked on the dresser jig, and she made drawers. I would spend my breaks back with the drawer makers, but she still didn't catch on.  Because she was clueless that I was interested in her and I was far to shy to let my feeling be known we were able to become good friends but that was all.

It came time for our High School graduation and I still had never gotten up the nerve to ask her out. Finally I mustered up every ounce of courage I could find and asked her if she would march with me when we graduated. She told me that she would like to but she had already told Russell she would march with him. If I would talk to Russell she would march with me. I'm pretty sure that she never thought I would actually do it.  Once again summoning up every bit of courage I had, I talked to Russell. He was very gracious and bowed out. I was on cloud nine.

I had a great graduation weekend, but after it was over I didn't know what to do.  I was definitely in uncharted territory.  I guess she figured that I would never ask her out, so she invited me to attend the Porter Hospital company picnic at Elitch Gardens.  I don't handle amusement park rides well, but I wasn't going to tell her so we rode the rides.  My stomach couldn't take it and I ended up throwing up on her.  I was sure that the relationship was over at that moment, but she took me to her home where she let me borrow some of her Dad's clothes while she washed mine.  We then went back to Elitch Gardens but didn't ride anything other than the train.  I definitely knew that she was a keeper.

Our relationship was a long distance relationship for a year. She was attending Union College in Lincoln, Nebraska and I was living in Loveland, Colorado. We wrote hundreds of letters and I called her every Wednesday night while my family was at prayer meeting; the only time I could have any privacy.  The next year I packed up my things and went to Lincoln.  I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this girl. On June 15, 1975 we were married in the Denver First Seventh-day Adventist Church. The last 38 years have been an interesting and very fulfilling time.  There is nothing I would rather do that take a road trip to someplace I have never been before and spend time with my best friend.  I'm looking forward to the next 38 years together.

Happy Anniversary Gina!

Cardboard Boat Race

Today we had a great time at the annual Arkansas-Louisiana Pathfinder and Adventurer Cardboard Boat Race held at Dierks Lake. My grand daughters and their cousins were participating.  They spent the night before the race at our house and had an cookout and ice cream party followed by a slumber party.

To enter the boat race the kids had to build a boat with only cardboard, duct tape and paint.  It was amazing how durable the girls boats were.   After the race they spent quite some time just paddling around in the boats.  They all had a really good time.

The girls were excited to win trophies and medals for their efforts.

Grandma and Papa had a lot of fun spending the day in such a beautiful place and seeing the girls have such a good time.  After the race we had a picnic and then the kids spent the afternoon swimming.

On our way back home we took a "shortcut" over gravel mountain roads.  Within just a few miles of the highway we came across a bridge that was impassable because there was three feet of water flowing over the bridge.  We had to turn around and go all the way back to Dierks Lake so we could take the paved roads.  On our way back to the lake we followed our GPS and were stymied three different times by locked gates across the roads.  After an hour we finally made our way back.

What an awesome day!

Road of Death

 Pastor Robert J. Martinez Sr. 

R is for Road of Death.  

Pastor Martinez and I attended high school together at Campion Academy in Loveland, Colorado. He recently wrote an article about a personal experience that I found very interesting. I asked him if I could use it on my blog and he graciously agreed.

The Road Of Death

by Pastor Robert J. Martinez Sr. 

This is a true story. It happened to me on Oct. 13, 1987. My family and I were missionaries in La Paz, Bolivia, where I served as youth director for the Adventist Church. I was traveling via bus on the most dangerous road in the world: “El Camino de la Muerte,” the "Road of Death."

My wife had just delivered our daughter three days earlier and I had to travel to a ministers' meeting five hours from the capital city. This meant taking a bus on the most deadly road in the world, “El Camino de La Muerte” or the “Road of Death.” I said goodbye to my young family, but I had a bad feeling about this trip. I could feel it in my gut and I was right.

The "Road of Death" was carved out of the ancient roads of the Incan Empire. It was also dynamited out of the cliffs that demanded some outlet. It is an incredibly busy thoroughfare of trade, large trucks bringing agricultural products to La Paz and more trucks carrying supplies in the opposite direction. The road is narrow and in some places only one vehicle is able to pass, so one of the vehicles has to move dangerously close to the cliff in order to let the other pass.

I boarded the bus. It was an old school bus, painted blue and red. Inside were 50 Bolivians, packed in like sardines. It was a long ride to my destination, so I fell asleep. During my nap, we passed a monument where Communists where thrown to their deaths 40 years before. It was a drop of thousands of feet, I’m not sure exactly how far, but on prior trips on this road I was amazed to see a winding river far, far below.

It had been raining that morning and the unpaved road was muddy and there had been some small landslides. The bus driver should have gotten out and cleared the landslide with a shovel. It would have taken only 20 minutes or so, but he chose instead to drive the bus over the loosely packed dirt. It was a mistake he would never forget.

The screams woke me just in time to pray what I thought would be my final prayer — “Save us, Lord!” was all I could think of saying. At first the bus tumbled over and fell 20 or so feet and hit hard on the roof of the bus. This short but violent fall fortunately opened the top of the bus and people began to be thrown out of the bus. I hit the roof hard with my head and fell unconscious and then drifted in and out of consciousness as the bus began its 2,000-foot trip down to our certain demise.

We were fortunate. Most vehicles that fell off the “Road of Death” were unlucky enough to fall down sheer cliffs; we, on the other hand, rolled violently down a very steep mountainside. It is estimated that for every mile on this twisting road, that 20 people have lost their lives. All we could expect was to be another statistic and we were all sure that we had experienced our final journey.

It was strangely silent as the bus rolled, and then hit the ground hard, then continued its rolling. It seemed like time stood still and gave us precious moments to contemplate our mortality, our vulnerability, our ephemeral nature. My thoughts turned to my newborn daughter, Natalie. She was all of three days old. My wife, Velia, and I had wanted her so badly and now she had arrived. Now that I was sure of my death, as time seemed to stand still, I thought how I would never see her crawl, never see her take her first steps, never hear her say “Daddy,” never see her off to her first day at school, never see her graduate from high school or from college, and never get to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day.

The top of the bus opened like a can of sardines and twisted open and then shut as we continued rolling down the mountainside. Each time the bus rolled, people were flung out either to their death or to their salvation. At about 1,000 feet down the mountainside, the bus flung me out with tremendous force, sending me flying ahead of the bus. I fell on some bushes with a broken scapula, back injuries and a concussion. The lady beside me was cursing at the Virgin Mary; with my peripheral vision she seemed to be folded together like a tortilla.

As I lay helpless there on the bushes I saw an amazing sight: a red and blue bus flying through the air 30 or so feet above me. As I contemplated the strange sight, I wondered about the fate of the people inside.

A co-worker of mine, Eduardo Patsy, was still in the bus as I watched its trajectory from the cold ground. As the bus continued its death tumble, Ed felt leaves and branches moving across his face … so he grabbed for whatever he could find and he was pulled out of the tumbling bus by a stationary tree limb. Ed hung on to the tree and found that he was 20 feet in the air. “I’m safe,” he thought. “No injuries.” Just then a heavy tree branch landed on his right leg as he dangled there. His leg was broken.

I had been shot out of the top of the vehicle and had landed on the brush below. I looked at my right arm, then my left arm, then I inspected my legs — yes, they were still connected. I was still in one piece. “How did I get out of a flying bus in such good condition?” I thought to myself. I wondered how I could have fit through the window and had still survived without becoming an amputee. I found out later that the roof of the bus had come off and that most of the passengers had been thrown out with violent force all way down the mountainside. One father searched for his son, saying with a sad voice, “My son’s head has been smashed when the bus rolled over him.”

As my thoughts turned again to my newborn daughter, I was overjoyed to realize that I was still alive. I would see my family again! I began to sing praises to God for His deliverance. “You are my hiding place. You always fill my heart with songs of deliverance. Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in you. I will trust in you. Let the weak say I am strong in the strength of my Lord.” As survivors heard my song, I heard them say, “What’s wrong with this guy? Why is he singing?” Someone responded, “Oh, he hit his head when the bus tipped over.” They couldn't understand the joy in my heart of just being alive and able to see my newborn girl again.

Two friends of mine, both pastors, began rescuing as many people as possible. A lady began to cry out for her baby, who had been sitting on her lap when the bus fell off the cliff. “Where is my baby? Where is my baby?” she yelled. The minister looked about and spotted the baby, buck naked sitting on the freshly cut branches. He picked her up with his right hand and as he did he heard the bones of his own arm breaking. He put the baby down and picked her up again, this time with his left hand. He handed the baby back to her mother. “Thank you,” she said. “Now where is my husband?” He looked around and found her husband a few yards behind the woman. He was dead.

As I assessed the carnage all around me, I felt that it must have been like the aftermath of a firefight in the jungles of Vietnam. Fifty people were scattered down the mountainside, some dead, others seriously injured and still others walking about dazed and confused.

The accident drew looters to our valuables and they rushed to ransack our luggage. They scurried around their plunder, searching for loot instead of assisting the injured. One young pastor had been carrying the tithes from his church district; several thousand dollars were on his person. He was seriously injured. While the bus rolled downward, two heavy seats came unbolted and smashed together. He was between those seats and his lungs burst with the impact. When he arrived at a small local hospital, he was dead and the money was gone.

The hours passed slowly as the passengers were forced to rescue themselves. A light rain fell. As I lay on my back, friends encouraged me to get to my feet to begin the long climb to the treacherous road a thousand feet above us. I refused. I knew my back was injured (it turned out that I sustained a broken left scapula and compression fractures in T6 and T7 in my back) and I feared that I might sever the spinal cord if I moved. “I’ll just wait for the helicopters to arrive and rescue us.” I said. There was a chorus of laughter from the people around me. “The only rescuers you’ll ever see are those vultures circling above us,” one person said. “We’re not in the United States. Get up and start the climb up the mountain.” I still refused and moved my toes to make sure I wasn’t paralyzed. Finally I accepted reality and agreed with them that we should not expect to be rescued and that I should accept the limited help I’d receive from my friends. I tried to get up but crumpled to the ground in pain. “Can you find a blanket and help me up to the road?” I asked. Someone found a blanket and four people, themselves injured, dragged me upward a thousand feet. I felt guilty to ask these traumatized people to carry me on that makeshift gurney.

When we reached the road it was another four hours to a hospital in La Paz. I was loaded onto the truck bed of a small Toyota, where two other injured people were waiting to be driven to the hospital. One lady lay quietly in pain and an old man lay next to me. I tried to take in the scene when a rooster popped up between me and the old man and I just had to laugh to myself at the absurdity of the whole strange “rescue.”

I watched the old man as the life slowly left him. The trip seemed interminable. As we entered the outskirts of La Paz, people began to greet us, for they had heard of the accident. I yelled to a shop owner: “Sir, call my wife and tell her that I am not injured seriously. Tell her to meet me at Hospital La Paz.” My wife had heard of the accident and had been waiting by the phone for news of my condition. She knew that the accident was serious but somehow knew that I was alive.

She arrived at the hospital shortly after I did. Minutes before this the old man beside me died. Nine passengers died on that fateful day. I felt that I had been spared for a reason. Life took on new meaning to me; life was precious to me now. My children and wife needed me. My work was not yet finished. My last sermon had not yet been preached.

“You are my hiding place;

You shall preserve me from trouble;

You shall surround me with songs of deliverance.”

Psalm 32:7, New King James Version

The ABC Wednesday Meme is a fun way to see some great blogs.

A Mulberry Manor Easter

A couple of years ago, my daughter and her family moved from the hustle and bustle of Baton Rouge, Louisiana to the very small rural town of Castor, Louisiana.  Castor has a population of about 300 people, and town life centers around the Castor General Store and the Castor Cafe.

Because the area that their house is in was at one time the town of Mulberry, they have named their place Mulberry Manor.  Over the past two years they have been working hard on Mulberry Manor, doing lots of repairs and remodeling on the old farmhouse, putting in a big garden, clearing land, planting an orchard and raising chickens.

This weekend we visited Mulberry Manor for Easter.  We had a great time.  We attended the Marthaville SDA Church where I had been invited to speak.  The topic I spoke on was Who Do You Think You Are?  My son-in-law's grandparents were instrumental in starting and building the Marthaville Seventh-Day Adventist Church.

My grand daughters had a great time dyeing and decorating Easter Eggs.  Easter morning the rain held off long enough for hiding and finding the eggs out in the garden.

Even though it rained most of the weekend, it was beautiful.  Spring is much further along in North Louisiana than it is here in Western Arkansas.  The dogwoods, redbuds and wildflowers are in bloom. Mulberry Manor is a beautiful place in the spring.