Wait 'til I die?

We studied the story of the Prodigal Son in my online Bible study group this past week. The “prodigal” son represents the tax collectors and sinners mentioned in verse 1 in Luke 15. The elder son represents the Pharisees and scribes in verse 2.

I really like to call this parable “The Parable of the Loving Father” because the Father of the two sons represents God in this story.

Many have called this the best story ever told. Since I was a boy, this story has been one of my favorites. One of my mentors wanted to make sure that Lottie Moon received the bulk of his meager estate, so when he passed away he requested that I serve as the executor of his estate. He also left me several mementos, and one of them was his rendition of The Prodigal Son. This big guild framed pencil and charcoal drawing is mounted on the wall of our home (see below).

Other than the first two verses setting the context for the three following parables, there is not a backstory for this story of the lost son. It jumps right into the son asking for his inheritance. According to custom, he and his brother would receive his father’s estate upon the death of their father. However, the younger son could not wait for his father to die. In essence, he was saying I wish you were dead, father, so I could get your wealth.

During a visit to my parents’ home a few years ago, my dad, Pete, and I were working outside an outbuilding that he called his shop. I asked Pete about an old thermometer that was mounted on the outside of his shop in the backyard. It was a big RC Cola branded thermometer that was faded, but well preserved. And—it still had the correct temperature! My dad told me that an RC Cola representative had given him that thermometer in 1955.

I like doing things with old barn wood, so I began imagining what I could do with that old thermometer. Those of you who have been in our home know that we have 100-year-old barn siding on the walls surrounding our stone fireplace, under our kitchen bar, in the foyer and in the guest bath. You get the idea—I like old barn wood, and I liked the idea of mounting that old RC Cola thermometer on some of that old wood.

Actually, my idea was to find an antique “Moon Pie” sign and mount it on some old wood and hang both signs on a wall in our home.

That night as Cheryl and I were sitting around and visiting with my mom and dad, I asked my dad if he would give me that RC Cola relic. I will never forget his response. First of all, he just looked at me for an instant, and then his face cringed a bit as he looked away. Then he looked back at me and said, “Larry, can’t you just wait ‘til I die to get that thermometer?”

I was heartbroken that I had asked for it. So many things ran through my mind in an instant. I don’t think that since I left home to go to college at age 17 that I had ever asked my dad to give me something. I wanted to apologize for asking. I wanted to take back my question. I wanted to crawl under the chair.

My mother spoke first: “Pete, you don’t need that old sign. Give it to Larry.” I tried to take back my request and say that it was ok to leave it there for the time being, but my mother continued to bark at my dad for not giving up the sign right away. Finally, I managed to change the subject.

The next morning as we were packing the car for our return trip home, there in the back of my car was the RC Cola sign wrapped in paper towels. My dad had removed the two rusty screws that attached the relic to his shop and wrapped it up for me. I knew better than to start another discussion about the old sign, so I just whispered in his ear “Thank you, Pete, for giving the thermometer to me.”

Today when I read the story of the Prodigal son, I think of disrespecting my dad by asking for something that he cherished. I could not wait to get something that I wanted—just like the prodigal son.

Pete was never able to visit our home to see the RC Cola thermometer mounted on 100-year-old barn siding and displayed prominently in our home. I look at that relic often and think about how much I would have liked for my dad to see the old thermometer and know how much I cherish it just like he did.

Unfortunately, I have found numerous Moon Pie sign reproductions, but I have not been able to find that antique Moon Pie sign. But the RC Cola thermometer serves as a reminder of the importance of honoring our parents’ memories and of telling stories to our family about our parents.

The Prodigal Son by Dr. Rolfe Dorsey

Sinai adventure

While serving in northern Africa and the Middle East, our leadership team needed some R and R, some team building and some time focusing on the Word—or as Mike Barnett would say, The Manual. Our team included Mike Barnett, David Bishop, John Brady, Mike Edens, Brian Harper, Elias Moussa, Eddie Pate and me. We also invited Hoyt Savage, a pastor friend from Nevada, on this adventure to help us focus on the Word. Another member of our team, Gerry Volkhart, decided that she would hang out with our wives and not go on what she called a boy’s adventure. She preferred sightseeing and shopping in Cairo with the women.

Our adventure was set in the Sinai Desert in Egypt. The Sinai Peninsula is a land bridge between Asia and Africa, and it is bounded by the Mediterranean Sea on the north and the Red Sea on the south. It is a part of Egypt and shares a long border with Israel on the eastern borde

The area where we were trekking is essentially composed of volcanic rock and is sharply incised by deep, canyonlike “wadis” (seasonal watercourses) that drain toward the Gulf of Suez or the Gulf of Aqaba. Hot days and cool nights are prevalent in this parched land.

We hired a team of Bedouin tribesmen, and they served as guides, camel herders for our camels, camp setup team, cooks and storytellers. When we met up with our Bedouin guides, they offered us camels to ride. Those of us who had already experienced this MOST uncomfortable means of transport declined the offer and said that we would walk. The ones who wanted to ride joined us on the ground after a few hours perched on a camel’s back. So we all wound up walking. After all, this was a trekking adventure. The camels were our beasts of burden as they carried all our supplies.

Part of our Bedouin team would ride ahead of us and set up our tents and prepare the campsite.

Our chief guide frequently commented on the beauty of the terrain. He would often say, “Look at this beautiful scene. Isn’t this the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?” We decided that our guide was really into earth tones because all we saw was the same brownish colored panorama. However, there were wide open plains and surrealistic sandstone hills and rocks carved by winds, flat topped ranges and plateaus with dramatic views, rugged mountains in the distance and a maze of long winding wadis and hidden canyons that had formerly carried away rainwater. Beauty is truly in the eyes of the beholder!

I had discussed with our guide about the desire to have some team-building experiences, and he asked me to explain this. He caught on to the idea and carried us through some very narrow vertical openings carved in the sandstone thousands of years ago by heavy rains. They were like 24” wide shafts, and the only way to maneuver up or down was to use your knees, buttocks, shoulders and hands to inch along—with the encouragement of your teammates either above or below you.

The Bedouin fascinated our team with their familiarity of the land, with utilizing the camels, knowing how to make us feel comfortable in a strange desert, but most of all in making bread. They built a fire in the sand, and while one of the Bedouin worked the coals out of the fire into a separate pile, another was making bread. The bread maker looked like he was making a pizza crust—throwing it into the air and rolling it around in his hands. His colleague spread the coals, and suddenly, the bread maker threw the bread dough on top of the coals. Then they spread more coals on top of the bread. The next step convinced all us trekkers that we were not going to eat any bread that night. They covered the coals and bread with sand!!

After a few minutes of sipping hot, sugar-laden tea around the fire, they uncovered the bread and it was golden brown with a crispy crust. One of the Bedouin knocked the bread against his arm and the sand and black ashes fell off.

They served that bread (and several more loaves) to us with wild honey harvested that day. Miraculously there was no sand on the bread, and we all agreed that was some of the best bread that we had ever eaten.

NAME RLT Sinai trekking 1999

Sinai bread

News

Long ago I stopped watching news on TV, so I get most of my news from news apps and news podcasts. I have friends who talk about how good the news is on NPR, CNN, Fox, BBC, Reuters, and others, but frankly they all insult the intelligence of this Mississippi farm boy. I actually prefer to read the Al Jazeera news app, even though it promotes a Muslim worldview, because I don’t get US political party bias. Plus, it has good coverage of world news that our sensationalist US-based news outlets do not adequately  cover.

The USA network newscasts are so politically oriented not just towards political parties or public offices, but to influencing our culture and our way of life. Media companies do not do news anymore. They give opinions! On the news apps I must wade through the “opinion” articles to look for the headlines. Have you ever noticed how much today’s news focuses on what celebrities think about ethical, social and political issues? Who cares what a sports star or media star thinks about those issues!

During my years as an administrator in Richmond, I was tasked with the responsibility of facing news outlets when there was a tragedy with some of our personnel overseas. There was loss of lives in several countries during that time, including Yemen, Philippines and Iraq, and all the national and international media wanted an interview. I do not have fond memories of interviews and press conferences during that season. Of course, the loss of lives—some of them my friends—was tragic and that is definitely not a good memory, but neither was relating to the media folks.

We were so fortunate to have Wendy Norvelle working in PR during that difficult time. She and I had received some crisis communication training prior to these tragic events, and we were usually able to steer the interview back to the message that we wanted to get out to the public. But it was a huge challenge as many of the big names in the media world were very talented at trying to get us off our message and onto their slant on how they wanted to report the news.

One time when Cheryl and I were serving with NAME and visiting with a family who lived in the West Bank, the TV was on in another room in the house and one of their kids called to us to come and look at what was on CNN. There was a riot going on as protesters were clashing with authorities and the news announcer made it sound like the beginning of World War III. According to the newscaster this “riot” was going on two blocks from their house, and we did not even know anything was happening. When we looked outside, we could see a satellite truck and a small group of people down the street, but it was definitely not a riot.

People love sensational news. Look at how much more our TV shows are graphically violent and look at all the crazy reality shows on the air.

In late October and early November of 2010, I led a team of Owner/Operators and home office staff from Chick-fil-A on a discovery trip to Haiti. We were looking into the possibility of partnering with a ministry with orphans in western Haiti. In January of that year Haiti suffered a devastating earthquake, and our team was also setting up a project to help build some homes for people who had lost their homes to the earthquake.

While we were in Haiti, hurricane Tomas hit western Haiti, and we were forced to ride out the hurricane at an orphanage in Port-au-Prince. The winds and rain subsided, and we needed some food, so we found a restaurant that had a generator and we ate a meal there. The owner of the restaurant had a television tuned into CNN International. We could not believe what the reporter was feeding to the world. He was reporting live from Port-au-Prince where we were, and he looked like he was about to be blown away. He was stumbling to stay on his feet. The reporter’s microphone was picking up strong bursts of wind that altered the transmission. We all looked at each other, and then we looked outside, and one of the team said, “He must be on another planet.” The winds had never reached the strength that the TV was displaying. But he was a very good actor with some very good props—all to produce some sensational footage for a hungry audience.

The Bible is a collection of newscasts that tells many stories, but the main story is about the Good News that God loved the world so much that He sent his son, Jesus Christ, as a one time sacrifice for the sins of all mankind. Now that is Good News!

When I was in college I bought a copy of the Good News Bible.  I still love that translation of the Bible. I love to talk about the Good News message of the Bible. Too bad that our newscasts are more interested in sensationalism and opinions than good news.

Guest Story by Elias Moussa

Guest story by Elias Moussa

After reading my blog entitled “LOT memories,” Elias Moussa sent me this story. Enjoy.

Did I ever tell you about what happened in Djibouti when John Brady, Jeff Pearson, Jay Owens (chairman of committee for NAME) and myself?   We traveled from the capital to the small town of Tadjoura by car to stay at the house of Joe Dobbs who was on STAS.  It was a hot day, as usual.  Upon entering the house, we checked and agreed on the sleeping arrangement.  We agreed that John and Jeff would sleep in the master bedroom sharing the king size waterbed in the air conditioning.  Jay Owens would sleep in the other bedroom with a single bed and air conditioning.   I volunteered to sleep on the couch in the living room without an air conditioning.

After supper, we retired each to his place.  I managed to sleep well until about 4 a.m. when I heard some really strange noise— very close to me— in the same room.  I stretched my legs and I felt something soft at the end of the couch.  Noise and something soft under my feet. Scary!   You have to remember that the house was not airtight and there were all kinds of noises throughout the night.    I wondered if an animal managed to creep in, but why my couch where I am sleeping.  I gently lifted my head to see what was that thing at the end of the couch.   It was John Brady sitting in his stretchy style when he sleeps--snoring away. As you rightly said, “he can sleep anywhere.”

Here is the end of the story as told by John Brady over breakfast. “Jeff Pearson turned over, causing a huge tsunami which sent me tumbling to the floor. “ 

How can you ever forget such travel with people you love and admire? Thank you, John and Larry, for unforgettable days.

Pay It Backward and Forward

I was on the phone today with a friend who has a ministry with high net worth families. He and his colleagues send couples who have successfully charted legacy plans to meet with other couples who are struggling with how to balance their wealth and their desire to use it for God’s glory.

My friend said that his ministry is able to provide these services to build enduring family legacies with no charge to the recipients. Their secret sauce is this: families who have been helped in the past give to the ministry so that others can benefit from the ministry. That is called “paying it forward.”

After we finished our video meeting, I thought about what was often reported in the Chick-fil-A family when I was working with their ministries. It was always good to hear reports from the Customer Care department about stories from a drive-through customer (and sometimes even at the checkout counter inside—remember when we could do that?!) who would ask to pay for the order of the car behind them in the drive-through line. That was also called paying it forward, but I never understood that one. The drive-through customer was actually paying for the person BEHIND her/him, so how could it be paying it forward. Anyhow, I called that paying it backward.

That’s what happened when I asked Jesus to come into my heart. He took upon himself the burden of my sins of the past—paying it backward—and my sins of the future—paying it forward. Thank you Lord that you paid the check backward and forward, and my part of that transaction is to confess, repent, believe and transform to live to be more like You every day for the rest of my life.

LOT memories

I was on the phone today with John Brady, and afterwards I was reminiscing about some good times our old NAME team had together. We were given a difficult task, but God brought the right team together to change the culture and focus on people groups in our part of the world.

I have so many stories about working with this team, but here I will only share a few.

Mike and Madelyn Edens lived in the Middle East for 25+ years, and Mike had traveled extensively in that part of the world. However, he became persona non grata in a couple of those countries. I learned the hard way that it was best not to go through immigration with him. Yes, I was detained along with him just because I declared that I was traveling with him. I thought that would be a good thing since he was so experienced, and I was a novice in that part of the world. Wrong! It was a liability.

Mike Barnett declared to our team during our first retreat in Kandern, Germany that he would not be traveling. He was adamant that he “did not do travel.” While we were walking back to our lodging from the Italian ice cream shop in the small village of Kandern, we saw that people had placed unwanted things on the curb for pick up by the recycling people the next day. Someone had decided to give away a piece of luggage, so one of our team members picked it up and stopped and made a presentation to “the man who does not travel.” From that point on Mike B was referred to as the man who does not travel. Interestingly, during his service on our team, he traveled as much as his teammates.

John Brady and I were traveling together in Chad. Our family had lived in West Africa, and Chad is so similar in many respects to where we lived in Burkina Faso. I was enjoying introducing John to some foods and culture in Chad. We stayed in a guest house that had fans—a much appreciated luxury where the nightly temp may be 100 degrees in the house at bedtime. During the night, John woke me up, and said, “Your computer is making a beeping noise.” I told him that it wasn’t my computer, but it was fruit bats. I went back to sleep, but in less than an hour I was awakened by John asking me if I would do something about my computer. “John, that is not my computer. They are fruit bats.” Before another hour, John woke me up and said I can’t sleep because of your computer noise. Now, anyone who knows Brady knows that he could sleep through a hurricane. He is the only person I have ever traveled with who goes to sleep on the plane BEFORE the plane takes off! Finally, I sat up on my bed and gave him a short lecture on the nocturnal sounds of fruit bats.

Elias and Linda Moussa had lived for years in Cyprus. Getting them to move to London where our team would be based was a challenge, but they are team players, and they made the move with less than expected anxiety. Elias was trying to fit into the British culture, so he was wearing a tie to the office each day. One day while leaning over the paper shredder, his tie was caught in the shedder. Fortunately, he was able to quickly shut it down. Elias is such a good sport, and he wore the six-inch tie for the rest of the day.

Gerry Volkhart was a real trooper to put up with five male extroverts who all talked excessively and usually very loudly. In more meetings than I can count she was the wise one with her infrequent, but potent counsel.

This team was given the task of blending personnel from four different “areas” of the world who came from different work cultures and had different strategies for reaching their part of the world. It was a difficult time of changing directions in mission and strategies, and there was resistance from some long term workers, but the Lord provided the grace, patience and wisdom. This team put their hands to the plow and set the pace for other regions of the world in moving towards a people group focus with a vision of church planting movements in our part of the world and beyond.

This was the most intense team that I have ever worked with. As long as he was alive, Mike B liked to call our team “LOT”—Larry’s old team. Mike would be happy to know that some of our old team still likes to get together at least once a year.

Remembering Pete

Today would have been my dad’s 93rd birthday. He rests in his eternal home with the Lord since September 9, 2019. I don’t just think of him on his birthday. I have missed him.

While I was growing up, my family went to church regularly, and my parents even made sure that I was in church on Sunday night. It was in Training Union that I received my first exposure to getting up in front of people and feeling comfortable, and it was in Royal Ambassadors on Wednesday nights where I first learned about missions.

My folks become even more serious about their involvement in church work when they agreed to be the first members of a new church plant in our town. It was there as a teenager that I first felt that the Lord wanted me to do something vocationally in ministry.

My dad worked his way into being the treasurer of the church, so he could influence giving to the Cooperative Program. In his retirement on limited income he never stopped tithing, and he always made sacrificial gifts to missions offerings.

I never in my life met or heard of a person who did not like Pete. Everyone knew Pete as a man of integrity and a man who kept his word. His given name was James Wesley Cox, but not many people ever knew that name. They all knew him as Pete Cox. People would say his name so fast and run the name together so that many people thought that he was called by his last name: Peacock!

When I was a boy, I noticed that Pete would raise his pointer finger from the top of the steering wheel when he was driving. One day I asked him why he lifted his finger every time we met a car while driving. He told me that was his way of waving at the driver of the other car, and that he was just trying to be nice to everyone. When I received my driver’s license at 15, I started the same practice, and you know what—many people responded and waved back at me. If I did that today… What a shame that simple things have become complex and even offensive in our culture.

When I was 10 years old Pete started coaching baseball. He loved baseball, but he loved working with boys even more. He coached for about 10 years as one of my brothers is five years younger than I am, and Pete also coached some of his teams. At Pete’s celebration of life service last September, there were several older men at the visitation who were telling baseball stories about Pete and reliving their Little League playing years. Pete had coached all of them.

My dad trusted everyone, and most of the business deals that I recall him making were done with a handshake, not paperwork. One of those handshakes turned out very badly for him. He helped a man start a food vending company, and for 26 years he managed that business and grew it from a small business to a medium-sized business that made a lot of money for its owner and employed 20 people. Pete never received any retirement benefits during those years because the owner promised that he would always take care of him. After Pete had invested 26 years of his life in that business, the owner sold the company to a chain of food vending companies. The owner told Pete not to worry because he would continue to work for the new owners. However, there was never any mention of any pension or retirement payments.

If that happened to me after investing 26 years and expecting someone to “take care of me,” I would have lost it. But not my dad. To make matters worse, the new owner fired Pete a year after he purchased the business. By that time Pete had introduced him to all of his connections and relationships in the vending business.

We were living overseas at that time, so we only had the “air letter” version of the struggles that Pete had getting a new job at age 56. It was a crisis in his life, but his faith kept him focused on the Lord, and his character kept him from living in the past of what could have been or what should have happened.

The Lord was faithful to my dad and mom and they had 72 years together. They did not have a lot of money for retirement, and they were not able to have many of their “wants” during retirement, but the Lord took care of them, and I never heard my dad say that they were short of money or that they could not buy something that they needed.

My dad, Pete, taught me about integrity and having character that others would respect.

He helped me as a young boy to understand that I must have a moral compass that does not waver but holds steady no matter what the situation may be.

Proverbs 28:6 states it well: “Better is a poor man who walks in his integrity than a rich man who is crooked in his ways.”

Heroes

A friend asked me to listen to a presentation by a former worker in a restricted access area of the world. The presentation was made in a church and my son and I watched it on YouTube. Let us call the former worker “Alex” in my story.

After a glowing five-minute introduction by the pastor, Alex took the stage and began talking about himself. Fifty minutes later he closed talking about himself! To make his speech more appropriate for a church setting, he wove in a scripture passage every now and then. Otherwise, he could have given the same speech to the Rotary Club—but they would have cut him off after 20 minutes because the members only meet for an hour and that includes eating and all their business discussions.

I know—I have already set the stage for a negative story about Alex but hold on because I will finish on the positive side.

Alex based his speech around an encounter that he had with some purported government authorities who wanted to take his life because he was affiliated with the CIA. He drug this story out so long by adding humor to the life and death situation. Then he told the story of his life backwards ending up with yet another story about him—of course—when he was 17. I won’t bore you with any more details of his self-gratifying stories.

Jason and I fast forwarded the video occasionally, but we listened to most of it mainly because we wanted to see if he breeched security with his stories. However, that was not the major concern. More uneasiness was caused by Alex’s implications and hints that he was with the CIA while serving as a worker.

Alex’s speech did give Jason and me an opportunity to have a conversation about heroes. An amazing thing is how much the congregation seemed to enjoy his stories even though the focus was clearly on him. Much of today’s culture promotes heroes. The challenge is that most of America’s heroes are celebrities—those who sing or rap about a myriad of themes (some decent and some indecent), those who play professional sports making and spending exorbitant amounts of money and having lifestyles  that we don’t want our children to emulate, political figures, tele-preachers, and on and on.

Who are the real heroes? I loved listening to Paul Harvey on the radio while growing up. He actually talked about good news and told stories about people who in my mind were real heroes.

Later that day the Lord brough to my mind a person from my past, and I think it was because he was a real hero. When we arrived to serve in Burkina Faso in 1980, our family was met by Ina and Bryant Durham. This is one of the most unassuming couples that I have ever known. They were soft spoken, but Bryant could raise his voice when he thought it was necessary. Their southern drawl gave away the Georgia roots, and it made you relax when talking to them. Bryant was a southern gentleman, but he was no county bumpkin. He had a PhD, but his wisdom was not all classroom based. He was a wise man who made hard decisions based on the facts and occasionally threw in a bit of compassion and grace.

Bryant and Ina stayed in Nigeria serving the Lord and the people they loved when the Biafran War broke out. They wound up being on the wrong side of the war when the war was over in January, 1970, and they were never able to return to Nigeria to serve. The mission board asked them to come to Upper Volta to open work in this country for the first time. Bryant served in Ouagadougou as the Mission Treasurer and in many other leadership positions until their retirement in the mid-1980s.

Bryant will never be recognized by those who did not know him. He was not a pastor or polished public speaker, and I doubt that he ever gave a speech promoting himself. He never called attention to himself. He was a quiet reserved gentleman who walked with the Lord and made sacrifices to serve the Lord in West Africa for 30+ years. To me he was a hero.

Who's listening?

While waiting for my PET and CT scans at Emory recently, I was frustrated about wearing my mask. I was alone in a small examining room for two hours because the scanning machine was malfunctioning. They had already injected the radioactive substance for the PET scan, so I just had to wait for them to get the machine functioning properly.

I had to wear the mask because one of the technicians would come into the room every 10-15 minutes to check on me and give me a report. The problem with the mask was not being uncomfortable. The problem was that my iPhone would not recognize me with the mask on.

I was alternating between doing some work, working a word puzzle, reading the news and dozing off. Every time I dozed off or paused for a few minutes to think about something, I had to take the mask off to get back into my phone.

We are so wed to our devices! I am guilty. As you probably do also, I get a weekly report on my screen activity on my iPhone. I am stunned some weeks by the average number of hours I spend on the phone each day.

Over the weekend we were playing Mexican Train with Jason and family. It was fun and no one took out their devices during the long game, but the minute the game was over, and the dominoes were stored away, all of us checked our phones.

Allison gave me an Amazon Echo for my birthday. We still have an old stereo system that has a six CD changer and good speakers, but now I would rather ask Alexa to play some of my favorites.

Cheryl does not like Alexa. She declares that Alexa can hear our voices all the time. I know she does not like me keeping it plugged in all the time, and I have not seen her giving commands to Alexa—except “Alexa, stop” or “Alexa, pause.”

I did some research on the web—where you find everything!?—and it is true that Alexa and other devices are listening. However, they are not recording until they are awakened. So there are some risks.

This morning I was reading about David’s flight from Saul, and this verse grabbed my attention:

“In my distress I called to the Lord;
    I called out to my God.
From His temple He heard my voice” 2 Samuel 22:7

The original voice recognition, pupil recognition, and facial recognition was owned by the Lord God Almighty. God not only recognizes our voices, but He hears our voices as we communicate with Him. That brings peace to my heart and soul.

P.S. I am unplugging Alexa right now and only plugging it back in when I want my music.

Follower

Due to some family health challenges, our family departed Burkina Faso in 1987 and returned to live in the USA. On the return trip, our family met Cheryl’s dad and stepmother in Paris for a vacation in Europe. We rented a van and toured France, Germany, Austria and Switzerland.

Cheryl’s dad, Maurice, had served in the army in Germany, so he wanted to retrace some of his experiences. He was one of the guards at the Nuremberg war criminals’ trials. He served as an officer in the compound where Speer, Hess, Goring, and other Nazi leaders were held in jail for the post war trials.

The court room in Nuremberg where the trials took place is not open to the public, and that was a huge disappointment for us. Maurice was a determined man, and he persisted, using broken German he retained from living there forty years before this visit. Finally, he convinced the guard that he had served as an officer for the famous Nuremberg trials, and the guard called for someone to come and give us a personal tour of the courtroom.

Maurice took us to the historic parade ground just outside Nuremberg which was Hitler’s most powerful pulpit where he amassed troops covering the 7-acre field. He told us about US troops blowing up the giant marble swastika that overlooked the stadium and parade grounds.

In Berchtesgaden Maurice directed us to the site of a former retreat for German officers. The retreat compound is located below “Kehlsteinhaus,” Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest. Before all the buildings were destroyed after the war, it was used as a retreat for R & R for Allied officers. Maurice remembered where every building stood and where he stayed. He pointed out an indentation in the ground and told us that had been a swimming pool.

As we walked over the grounds, I noticed that an older couple was following us closely and listening intently to what Maurice was saying. I turned to face them and smiled and greeted them, and they returned the smile and greeting.

When we returned to the van, we were getting refreshments for the kids, and the couple who had been following us approached us. The woman did the talking and told Maurice that he did a good job describing the retreat grounds. She went on to inform us that they were Austrian, and both were physicians. Then she said something that surprised us: they were not only Nazis, but her husband served during World War II in the SS. That was an eerie feeling, but then she showed us an old photograph of Hitler with a girl with braided long blond hair and blue eyes. Then she told us that she was the girl in the photograph. Many German troops carried a copy of this photo in their pockets as a reminder of the Ayran race and why they were fighting.

We were already blown away by all this information that she shared with us, but as they said goodbye, the lady leaned in closer to us and said, “If Hitler were alive today, we would still be his followers!!”

Now that was an unnerving surprise. I wondered how many other people today shared their conviction about being a follower of Hitler.

I thought a lot about that word “follower.” In many parts of the world a believer does not identify himself as a Christian because that word is associated with the slaughter of tens of thousands of Muslims during the crusades of the Middle Ages. Particularly in the Muslim world believers identify themselves as “followers of Jesus.” For those who declare themselves as followers of Jesus there are great sacrifices—their family usually disowns them and shuts them out of their lives; they are unable to find a job because they are branded as rejecting the true faith of Islam; they have difficulty finding a place to live; and their personal property is attacked.

I looked up synonyms for follower in the dictionary: acolyte, adherent, convert, and disciple. The dictionary also stated some words related to follower: apostle, missionary, proselytizer, soldier, loyalist advocate, backer, champion, devotee, worshiper, and zealot.

As I typed those words, I had to stop and think about my own commitment to Jesus related to each of those words. Wow! The question still lingering in my mind is this: How does my journey as a follower of Jesus stack up to each of these words? Am I really a soldier for Christ? A zealot? Would anyone say that I champion Jesus?

May the Lord renew my heart and mind to be a true follower of Jesus Christ!

One potato, two...

After a year of language study in Tours, France, Cheryl and the boys and I were anxious to move to our assignment in Abidjan, Ivory Coast. We had to vacate our apartment in Tours as another family was arriving to begin studying French. They had to move in on a certain date in order to have time to begin the new semester of language school. However, our house in Abidjan would not be available for us to move into until two weeks after the departure date from France.

We decided that since we had to depart France and could not arrive in Abidjan that we would spend the two weeks of waiting with our friends in Lomé, Togo. Rex and Sherry Holt’s year in French language studies had overlapped with our first six months, and this couple had become very dear to our family.

Our time in Lomé was so refreshing as it was our introduction to the continent of Africa, and it was spent with good friends. Plus, we were able to meet some new friends who have been significant in our lives to this day.

One night our family and the Holts were having dinner with Bill and Evelyn Bullington and their two sons, Kirk and Bryan. Evelyn had prepared a great meal, but to this day, no one remembers what we had except for the baked potatoes.

Something I understood early on living overseas is that you do not learn everything by mastering the language and culture alone. I do not mean to minimize the importance of language acquisition and cultural understanding, but there are other important things to learn—like when your host in West Africa serves you baked potatoes, you are a special guest. Potatoes are not a staple in West Africa, so the only potatoes grown are usually sold to westerners. They are small potatoes, but they cost big bucks.

Evelyn served everyone a baked potato along with what I am sure was a delicious meal. My potato looked delicious, but when I cut into it I discovered that it was bad. I did not say anything, but Evelyn being the great hostess that she is asked if my potato was ok. I had just become acquainted with these wonderful folks, so I could not say to her that it was fine.

She quickly removed the potato from my plate and served me another one. I cut into the second potato, and I was really embarrassed—it also was bad. Then I cut into the third potato, and I could not believe it. The third potato was also unpleasant. Now the irony of this situation is that I was the only person at the table set for 10 people that received a bad potato.

Evelyn told us that she had cooked extra potatoes because they were so small, but she had no idea that she was cooking extra spuds for me. I recall making a comment something like this, “That’s ok, Evelyn, it is not your fault because it looks like I attract bad potatoes.”

I was talking with a friend today about this—not the potatoes, but the attraction. It seems that when we are doing our best in following the Lord that the devil seems most attracted to us, and he works the hardest to distract us from our loved ones and tries to draw our attention to something else that is trivial, off color, unprincipled or maybe even immoral. Satan wants to get in the middle of what is right and sow seeds of doubt, despair, doom or maybe even seeds of temptation.

Our job is to stay focused on Jesus who will pilot us through these challenging times when we doubt our ability to stay the course. “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.” I Corinthians 10:13.

Scans update

I had a CT contrast scan and PET scans of my head and body on June 29 at Emory, and I had an appointment with my radiation oncologist yesterday at Emory. His very first words upon arriving in my exam room: “I have an encouraging report for you today.”

With the help of research on the web, I have read the scan reports a few times, and here is my layman’s summary: No evidence of recurrent disease in the primary site (sub-mandibular salivary gland). No abnormal lymph nodes in the neck. No suspicious lung nodules. In the brain, spine, and digestive tract there are no aggressive lesions suspicious for metastatic involvement.

We are grateful to the Lord for this good report. So many of you have been such an encouragement to me and my family during the past nine plus months. What a blessing to have our common bond through Jesus Christ. Thank you!

Red and yellow, black and white

When it comes to discussing the facts about a situation, I have consistently been a black and white person. I don’t like for people to speak to me in grays, but I want the facts given to me straightforward. I have worked with people who talk around a problem, and I finally have said to them, “Just get to the point please.” I realize that I have probably hurt some colleagues’ feelings in the past by not letting them fully express themselves, but my nature is to be a problem solver, so once we know the problem, let’s get on with fixing it—not continuing to talk around the problem.

When it comes to morality and ethical issues, I have also thought of myself as a black and white person. When it comes to opinions about food, I don’t remember saying “I kinda like this.” I either like it or I do not like it. I realize that using the expression “black and white” is used by some to criticize people like me who they think are judging or showing complex situations in a simple way. I know that you cannot see everything in the world in black and white, but I just like the unambiguous.

The words black and white have dominated the media headlines for the past six weeks. Whenever a news release is written it usually identifies the skin color of those involved.

An Australian friend called me recently. He was proud of the way that Australian authorities had contained COVID-19 outbreaks in Australia, resulting in a low number of cases in the country. He also asked me about the social injustice turmoil in the USA and mentioned that what was going on in the USA was also affecting public sentiment for the historical treatment of the Aborigines in Australia.

He made a statement that has been bothering me since our FaceTime visit. He said something like this: “As long as America media talks about blacks did this and a white person did this or the suspect is an Hispanic male, then there will be more and more problems in the USA. Why do you have to distinguish people by the color of their skin? All of them are Americans, so stop identifying black, brown, or white people in your media reports.”

Since he talked to me about this, I have been monitoring the news more closely, and you know what? My Australian friend is right! The media does not have to report every incident by naming the color of the skin of the accused or the victim. I know that information like this is helpful to law enforcement in trying to apprehend the assailant, but it is not necessary for me to know the skin color. As I think about this I realize that I have to think about terms that I use to describe something to someone else. Am I modeling what I want the news media to do?

When I was in the beginner department of Sunday School, I learned a song that I often sing over and over in my head. “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

The words are a good reminder that Jesus does not focus on the color of our skin, and He loves everyone as much as He loves me.

Pocket calls

Everyone has made a few accidental phone calls from their pocket, purse or backpack or sometimes just by handling the phone. These calls are sometimes referred to as “butt calls.” According to the Urban Dictionary, a butt call is defined as an unintended cell phone call made by sitting on the speed dial buttons. I have never carried my cell phone in my back pocket, so I have never made a “butt call.” However, I have made my share of accidental calls.

We all know that those cell phones have a mind of their own, so there are many ways that an accidental call may be placed.

While leading leadership training conferences in Vietnam a few years ago, two colleagues and I decided to explore tunnels used by the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War. The government of Vietnam has preserved a 75-mile-long complex of tunnels at Cu Chi and turned them into a war memorial. Two different sections of tunnels are a popular tourist attraction, and visitors pay a small fee to crawl around in the tunnels. The first thing you discover is that Vietnamese people are very small! It was a fascinating experience, but it was difficult to move around in the tunnels.

When I finally exited the underground maze, I noticed that my phone was warm. I removed it from my front pocket to discover that I had made 12 phone calls while underground! One of them was to Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Katerine of Serbia and Montenegro! And, yes, she was in my contacts as I had previously met her and visited with her at an event in DC. However, I am most certain that she did not answer my call.

One of my mentors was Avery Willis. In the early 2000s we both served as VPs in the home office of the IMB, and frequently we traveled together. He carried his Blackberry in his back pocket, and often he would accidentally dial my number while we were attending the same meeting or event. I would quietly come alongside him and tell him that he just called me. Avery would quickly respond, “No, I did not!”

How many times have you received a call and you answered but you knew that it was an accidental call? You could hear commotion going on and you knew that person did not know that she or he was connected to you. I am sure that you are not one of those people who stay on the line secretly listening to hear what is going on.

We are so wed to our mobile devices today. The Lord continues to communicate with us in ageless manners, but I am afraid that we are more in tune with them than we are with our Heavenly Father.

God continues to speak to us through other people. We give our uninterrupted attention to our favorite preacher podcast or Bible teacher, but how many of us are guilty of not listening well to the people closest to us—family and close friends. God speaks to us through our family and friends. We don’t always want to hear truth spoken into our lives by a family member or a friend. Proverbs 27:6 says, “Wounds from a friend can be trusted.”

I am reading now from Joshua and it is much easier to hear the Lord saying something to me than when I was reading Numbers. We know that “the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” God speaks to us through His Word.

God speaks to us in times of stress, doubt, death, illness and other calamities, but have you ever felt God speaking to you just because you did not have a peace about a decision, a trip or an expenditure? God still speaks to us in that still small voice—that one that Bluetooth does not recognize!

Pajamas on the plane

My brother recently had some major surgery on his abdomen, and we were laughing on the phone today about how he cannot button his pants because of pressure causing pain on his incision. He said the most comfortable things he can wear are overalls or pajamas—neither of which is appropriate for returning to work.

I shared with him the following story about appropriate apparel.

It was December, and I was at work in my office in Richmond when I had acute severe pains in my lower abdomen. St. Mary’s Hospital was near my office, so I went to their emergency room for some relief. It was not long before my suspicions became reality, and the doctor told me that the diagnosis was appendicitis.

Cheryl, Allison and I had tickets to fly to France and the UK in six days. Jason and his family lived in France and Jeremy and his family lived in the UK. Our sixth grandchild, Darby, was born in September of that year, and I had not seen her yet. I was determined not to miss this visit with our kids and grandkids.

The surgeon told me that I needed an immediate appendectomy, and I was devastated. I told the surgeon my situation, but that did not change the urgency of the situation. She performed the surgery that afternoon, and the next morning I talked with the doctor and asked about taking our trip in five days. I told her that I was going to see a grandchild who was three months old and I had never seen her and asked her if I would be OK to make the trip.

Her response was that as my doctor she would not advise me to go so soon after the surgery, but she added, “If I were you, I would go.” That was all I needed to hear. However, she added comments about how to take care of myself on the trip. She also threw in a comment that I was not going to be able to wear my pants or anything tight fitting around my waist for several days.

Amanda went shopping for me and bought me a pair of cotton pajama pants with a drawstring. They were comfortable, so I was set to go. But Cheryl and Allison said they would be embarrassed to be seen in the airport or in planes with me wearing my pajamas. It was not going to bother me as I was going to see grandkids.

I had a doctor’s letter to request special attention during the flights, and when we arrived at the airport an electric cart was there to take me to our gate. At that point Allison and Cheryl decided that it was not so bad to travel with me and my pajama bottom.

Was I uncomfortable on the flights? Absolutely, but the discomfort was overcome by joy when we arrived in London and were greeted by Jeremy, Kimberly, Shelby and baby Darby. I said a prayer thanking the Lord for a surgeon who had empathy about her patient’s life outside the medical facilities and gave me two sets of advice.

Health update

I finished the last of my 33 proton therapy treatments on March 20 just as the COVID-19 crisis got underway. This past Wednesday I did something that I have not done since I walked out of Emory’s Proton Therapy Center in Atlanta on March 20—I went into another building other than our home.

I had my first visit with my surgeon since January. We talked about some minor post-surgery and post treatment issues, but as expected, he affirmed that the next steps would depend on the PET scans of my head and body on June 29 at Emory. I have an appointment with my radiation oncologist on July 8.

A friend recently asked me if I was worried about the results of the scans. My immediate reaction was “no.” I feel like I owe it to my dad, Pete, not to worry because for the past several decades of his life I chastised him for worrying about everything.

However, there is a much more important reason that I am not worried. Before my first surgery, the Lord led me to claim Joshua 1:9, and since that time I have had such a peace about where I am during this season of my life. Even not being able to get hugs from family and friends for the past 12 weeks has not discouraged me. I am basically restless and need to be busy all the time, but the Lord has given me a calmness and a content feeling that I can only attribute to Him.

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9

Imperfect man

The whole world has rightly been upset over the past few weeks about the racial injustice that has taken place in our country. The images and news reports that come into our homes are absolutely terrible and remind us that there is much more work to be done to ensure that there is not even a hint of racial inequity in the distribution of justice in our country. 

I fully support and appreciate the law enforcement officers who risk their lives to protect me and my family. I salute them and respect them. However, some law enforcement officers have misused their authority and brought unnecessary harm on the people they have been called to protect. That grieves all of us.

Recently in a conversation with a friend he asked me how I felt about what is going on. While I was responding to him, I realized that I have not done all that I could do to be part of the resolution to this toxic situation. After hanging up the phone I reached out by text to a couple of my black friends to express my sorrow over what is happening.

One of them telephoned me instead of texting me. He talked about how he is dealing with this with his children. I told my friend that I just don’t ever think about me being white and him being black; I just love him as a brother. He reminded me that in a perfect world there would not be any racial discrimination and injustice, and he followed that with this statement: “Man’s imperfection drives him to impulsively choose evil over good.”

His statement reminded me that several years ago I took my dad out west. He told me once that he had never seen the Rocky Mountains, and that before he died, he would like to go out west and see the Rockies. While we were traveling, he read me a headline in the Denver Post: “Imperfect Man, Imperfect Storm.” I don’t remember what the story was about, but I remember my dad, Pete’s, comment: “There is no perfect storm. The only thing perfect is God!”

Pete’s words are true, but that does not mean that we should not strive to be more like God every day as we walk with Him. God is in the process of perfecting me. I fail Him every day, and He forgives me every day. I can only be perfected when I am in heaven kneeling before Him praising His name forever. But I can do my best now in this place to live a life that is pleasing to Him and that honors my fellow man and that treats each person with dignity, honor and respect regardless of their color or beliefs.

I can do better. I will do better.

“Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me.” Philippians 3:12 NKJV

Wants and needs

How many times have you heard someone say “I need this or that.” It is so interesting how many times we use the verb ”need” in place of “want.” We have become accustomed to using the two words interchangeably.

A need is something that is required for a person to live a healthy life. It is something that you have to have.

A want is something that a person desires, either immediately or in the future. Unlike needs, wants differ from one person to another. A want is something which is good to have, but not essential for survival.

Each person has their own list of wants—each with a varying level of importance. Wants can change over a period of time. Needs remain constant throughout the lifetime of the person.

Throughout time the three basic needs of mankind have been food, clothing and shelter, but more recently in the history of the world, education and healthcare have also become integral, as they improve the quality of life. Determining needs can be subjective because a person could say that eating an expensive meal at a five star restaurant would fall into the need column, and another person would classify high end clothes as a need.

Cheryl was making out a grocery list online for pickup at a local supermarket. I was reminded that sometimes when she is making out a grocery list, she will ask me, “Is there anything that you need from the grocery store?” Other times she will ask me “Is there anything that you want from the grocery store?” My response is usually not based on whether or not I “need” an item, but rather on something that pops into my mind. I may respond by saying that I need some Drumstick ice cream cones, but those are definitely one of my “wants.” Of course one could argue that they are essential since they contain dairy products and a minuscule of fiber in the sugar cones. The point is that we often work our wants into our needs.

Our granddaughter, Libby, just graduated from kindergarten with an online program. Libby recently had a school assignment about wants and needs. Here is the list that she composed:

I am so proud of Libby because as her worldview is forming in her mind and heart, she already has a better grasp of “needs” and “wants” than most adults. (By the way, the “mats” are the ones used for tumbling exercises.)

Philippians 4 (NIV):

11 I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. 12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13 I can do all this through him who gives me strength.

Wonderfully made

Looking back on this COVID-19 crisis, we will have lots of memories about the things that we did that were uncommon before the crisis I know some of you have taken up gardening for the first time because my kids have been unable to find the garden seeds that I usually buy. And more of you must be cooking because we are shorted several things on every online grocery order. 

All of us will remember what TV programs we binged on. Cheryl and I don’t watch a lot of TV, but we have been watching “Blue Bloods” and “Call the Midwife.” One of our kids suggested “Call the Midwife,” and we have been regularly watching it during the sheltering in place. However, as Allison’s time of giving birth to her fourth child and our sixteenth grandchild approached, we stopped watching it. Too many unusual and crazy things happen on the TV program, so we just decided not to watch it until after the birth. 

The producers of the program worked hard to make it as realistic as possible while keeping the show as decent as possible. Living in West Africa we witnessed childbirth very close up from time to time. There were no hospitals or maternity clinics near us out in the bush, so women had their babies in their villages. There was no midwife to call, so a mother-to-be depended on expertise nearby. Some pregnant mothers came to us and asked us to take them to a small clinic nearby that was manned by the equivalent of a nurse’s aide.

Once a young woman came to us moaning and said she was going to have a baby. Cheryl and I loaded her in our vehicle and headed to that little clinic about 20 minutes from our house. We did not make it. We caught her baby in my bandana—that was the only thing in the Land Cruiser that was “clean.” Baby and Mom did well and both survived our intervention. 

Amanda was born in a clinic with a midwife in Abidjan, Ivory Coast. I was right bedside her “supervising” the midwife, and I was the one to loudly announce, “C’est une fille!” “It’s a girl!” 

Cheryl and I have managed to either be present when a grandchild was born or be there within 24 hours of all but four of our grandchildren. That may not sound like a great feat, but we have had grandkids born in three other countries. 

Our sixteenth grandchild, Noa Edith Dolbeer, was born recently only 2 1/2 hours from our home, and we were not able to be there. That stinks! But it is not the fault of anyone else but me. For a few more weeks I am having to stay away from other people. Thank goodness for FaceTime! We have had regular visits, and she already responds to my voice—OK, so maybe she just had gas or the hiccups. Noa is such a perfect baby.  Of course, I know that she is not perfect, no human is perfect, but right now I long to give her a gentle squeeze and snuggles. 

But Noa is wonderfully made as a creation of God. We are grateful for all of our children and grandchildren for they are each such a special gift from God. 

“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”  - Psalm 139:14

Touch

My flight from Calcutta to London was delayed 18 hours, and I had a lot of time on my hands. I had just finished reading the book that I had brought with me on this trip to India. This was during the flip phone era 18 years ago, so I did not have devices to work on or provide entertainment. There was no airport Wifi or any internet connection at all. What I needed was another book.

After finding a small book store in the departure section of the airport, I browsed the window display for books in English. My eyes fell on a book entitled “The 5 Love Languages.” I had heard some people talking about this book, but I had never read it. 

I settled down into a “comfortable” chair in the airport waiting area and read that book in one sitting. It was an amazing read! I only wished that I had read it years before this stage of my life. I was so excited about this book that I sought out the airport post office to place a telephone call to Cheryl back in the USA and tell her about this book. I asked her on the phone to order a copy of this book for each of our four children.

The biggest discovery for me in reading this book was to learn that my love language is touch. If you had given me a list of the five love languages I probably would have guessed touch, but now it was validated: God gave me the love language of touch. 

I like to shake hands, to pat people on the back, to give hugs, and to put my arm around someone or hold their hand when praying for them. Of course, in the workplace I have always had to be careful about expressing my love language. I dislike those side winder hugs from people. I give big hugs!

Cheryl and I are blessed to have 16 grandchildren—newest arrived Friday night (more on that later)—and they all give great hugs. Even our 19 year old grandson, Collin, gives us hugs every time we see him, no matter where we are or who is looking on. I single him out because we only have three grandsons and he is the oldest. I love scratching the backs of any of my grandchildren who enjoy have their backs scratched. I love touching my grandchildren.

And that brings me to today. I have not been able to hug our grandkids for the past nine weeks. The last hugs would have been from our local kids and grandkids at church and in our home for Sunday lunch. The last time anybody but Cheryl has touched me was my last proton therapy treatment on March 20. My treatments compromised my immune system, and my radiation oncologist told me not to have contact with anyone during the healing process.

No touch with any other person other than the main squeeze in my life (Cheryl) in 8 weeks. Now I have had a lot of virtual hugs either via media or when the kids come for a driveway visit where we sit 12 feet apart and talk. 

For two weeks Shelby, our 18 year old granddaughter, lived in the lower level of our home in self-isolation so she could go to Allison’s home to take care of their children while they went to the hospital to have their fourth child. There is a small kitchen and plenty of space on the lower level, and it has a separate entrance, so Shelby would go for a walk each day and did not have to come through the upper floors. 

Shelby was self-isolating so that she would not be infected with anything before going to Allison’s, so she left a week ago without being able to give us a single hug.

Now we are blessed to have Abbey (20) and Madelyn (18) living in the lower level. After riding out the pandemic with friends in Kentucky, they are staying downstairs away from us for two weeks so that they can actually be in close contact with us. 

Today we had a FaceTime visit to meet our newest grandchild—Noa Edith Dolbeer, born Friday night in Nashville. It was a great visit, and Noa cooperated well and even looked right into the phone. We heard her cry as she became hungry, we saw her take a bottle, and saw her burp on Will’s shoulder, but we could not touch this newborn gift. I hurt. I want so badly to cuddle with Noa and establish a lifetime bond between Papa and Noa. But this bizarre time in which we live does not permit me to touch her. I can’t use my love language.

With God’s grace, I know in time I will be able to once again give hugs, but it is hard during this season. Seasons come and seasons go. Some are short and some are long. Some are good and some are not so good. I have said that hundreds of times when giving counsel to others. But right now I need to reassure myself that this will be a short season, and I will be able to express my love language once again. 

The word touch is used many times in the Bible. Here are a few instances that l like:

Then Isaac said to Jacob, "Please come near, that I may touch you, my son, to know whether you are really my son Esau or not." - Genesis 27:21

And all the crowd sought to touch him, for power came out from him and healed them all. - Luke 6:19

See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me, and see. For a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have." - Luke 24:39

P.S.

A few years after the Calcutta airport story I became friends with Gary Chapman and told him this story. He did not know that his book had even been published in India, so it must have been published without permission from his publisher. So, looks like I learned about the 5 love languages from an illegal copy of the book. That did not hurt the blessing that I received from reading it. Thank you, Gary Chapman!