Setting: December 27th, 2019, 10:00 a.m., apartment complex fitness center, Maryville, TN
[In an effort to keep Raymond & Shirley active and physically fit, Steve and Janet are giving them a fitness center orientation. While Steve, Janet, and Shirley run and walk on the treadmills, Raymond flexes his 86-year-old biceps with the help of some dumbbells. He’s in a long-sleeve, button down shirt and slacks—easily the best dressed person working out today in Blount County. After Steve finishes, he invites Raymond over to the treadmill to walk him through the various functions. Raymond nervously steps onto the running belt.]
Steve: You can “set a goal” with this button, and then set your “time” or “distance” here, and then adjust your “speed” here.
Raymond: Okay.
Steve: If anything goes wrong, you can hit the “Stop” button or pull the string on this shutoff magnet and everything will stop.
Raymond: Good to know.
Steve: Just to get you started, I’m going to put you at 1.5 miles per hour, kind of a casual walking pace.
Raymond: Sounds good.
[Steve adjusts the speed to 1.5 mph and Raymond begins walking, his little legs in perfect rhythm. All is well. Moments later, Shirley ends her workout and walks over to Raymond’s machine. She has a concerned look on her face, not unlike when she first met Steve.]
Shirley: 1.5? That’s not very fast.
Raymond: Just trying it out.
Shirley: I did 2.6 miles per hour over there. You’re not going very fast.
Raymond: I’m fine. Really.
Shirley: You’re barely moving. Let me adjust you upward a bit, at least to a 2.
[I admire a woman who wants to bring out the best in her man.]
Raymond: I don’t know about that.
[With Steve looking on and Raymond grimacing, Shirley reaches for the speed button. Rather than tap it incrementally, she presses firmly and holds it down. The machine responds. In fact, in approximately 1.5 seconds, Raymond is launched down the spinning belt to a speed of 6.5 miles per hour! With everyone looking on in shock and horror (most especially, Raymond), Steve glances down in time to see Raymond’s legs churning like the Roadrunner’s, just as Wile E. Coyote is about to munch down on him.]
Raymond (in the closest he will ever come to an expletive): Shirl!
Janet: Momma!
Steve: Poppa!
[With a disaster unfolding before our eyes, and Raymond catapulting down the belt, Steve reaches for the emergency shutoff magnet with his right hand, while his left hand reaches for the backside of Raymond’s trousers. Steve jerks the magnet. Suddenly everything stops as Raymond regains his balance. The room is still and awkwardly quiet.]
For our annual Johnson family advertisementbrag rag Christmas missive, we thought, what could be more creative and original than an acronym using, get this, the word CHRISTMAS! To our knowledge, no one’s EVER done that. So, here goes…
C is for Christ, the reason for ALL seasons. His incarnation, life, death, and resurrection changed the world. Each year, let’s try to live a little more like him.
C also stands for the Children we hold dear. We’ll start with our grandchildren. Okay, enough on that. Jason & Rachel and our 2 grand-cats continue loving life in the Tar Heel state. He’s a full-up Prosthetist & Orthotist now, annually showing more leg(s) than Beyoncé. Rachel stays busy keeping the household running and enjoying outings and Bible studies with her gal pals. They declined our offer to accompany them on their romantic, 5-year anniversary getaway to Iceland. We don’t get it.
Hiking in Kentucky
Kyle & Laci & grand-dog Pita are taking in all that the STL area has to offer. He continues to minister and serve the Lafayette Church of Christ in Ballwin MO. He can often be found in a local coffee shop sipping java, reading his Bible and interacting with patrons. Laci’s now a full-up, employed Occupational Therapist. With that came dental insurance, allowing Kyle to get his teeth cleaned for the first time since Obama’s first term. The dentist thinks he’ll be able to save several of Kyle’s teeth.
H stands for Highlands, as in the miniature horse-covered Grayson Highlands of Virginia, where we took what would become the final trip in our RV. This was Steve’s overall favorite section of the Appalachian Trail, so he enjoyed re-tracing familiar steps with his favorite gal.
R stands for the aforementioned RV, which we sadly lost in a campground fire this year. We made great memories in our RV travels over the past 5 years and that lifestyle will be missed. For more on that, read our 11/21 blog at https://www.bigsteveandliljan.com/out-of-the-ashes/
“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” – 2 Corinthians 4:18
I stands for In-Laws, specifically Janet’s parents, Ray & Shirley. We’re excited that they recently moved in with us. So far, only two noticeable impacts: 1) more strawberry strudel in the freezer; and 2) Steve does less prancing around in his whitey tighties. (Note: spell check suggested I change that word to “tightness” but I stood my ground.)
S stands for Sojourns, Speaking gigs, and Sheet rocking. Our love for sojourning continued with stops at Palmetto Bible Camp SC, Carolina Bible Camp NC, Camp Inagehi GA, and a non-sojourn week of teaching Bible and counseling at Camp Wabashi IN. We also planned and hosted the annual Florida Sojourner workshop at Central Florida Bible Camp, and then spent a crazy fun week in Key West with our sojourner buds, Denton & Beth Wiggains.
Steve’s speaking gigs this year included a young men’s retreat near Houston, the National Christian Camp Association annual meeting in Florida, a Veterans Day speech and area-wide youth rally in Maryville, and Appalachian Trail talks with various groups. He also spent a week in Texas doing disaster relief (sheet rocking) with his good buddy, Chuck Leasure.
T stands for The Eulogy – A Sojourner’s Tale, a novel we co-wrote and published this year. We use the fictional tale of a dying Christian man, and the family that rallies around him, to tell the true story of the Sojourners. Hope you’ll check it out on Amazon… https://www.amazon.com/Eulogy-Sojourners-Tale-Steve-Johnson/dp/1694752151
M stands for Maryville, TN, our new home! Love, love, love it here! (Yes, we could have listed this under T, but then we would have had to come up with something for M and, frankly, no one wants to hear about the illegal moonshine still we’re operating out of our spare bedroom.) We have been welcomed with open arms and loving hearts by the family at Eastside Church of Christ. If you’re ever in the area (only 40 mins from Gatlinburg), feel free to come by for a visit!
Biltmore Babes
A stands for Apples and Asheville. In September, we traveled to Missouri to surprise Kyle for his birthday and, while there, did some apple-picking at Eckert’s Orchard. Last month, Janet celebrated long-time friend Lynne’s birthday with another long-time friend, Jana. What happens in Asheville stays in Asheville, but there are reports that the 3 buds hiked, toured a special Downton Abbey-themed Biltmore House, sipped coffee, reminisced about old times and planned future birthday adventures together.
Wouldn’t have lasted long in the Garden of Eden
Finally, S stands for Sewing, more specifically crocheting. 2020 will hopefully find Steve finishing a faith-based book about board games and find Janet cranking out a new hat, scarf, or pair of mittens. Thanks to Janet’s sister, Carol, who taught Janet this new hobby, we will all be nice and warm this holiday season!
And to think I used to carry them
We sometimes discuss how neat it would be to live in the same town as our kiddos so we could see them every week. However, an upside to our current familial arrangement is that our limited times together are always highly anticipated and super special. This year, the Johnson clan rendezvoused in Kentucky in July for a weekend of hiking, playing and eating. And just this past week, we came together again for an even longer Christmas gathering, with hiking, eating, Tennessee basketball (guys), pedicures (gals), playing games, and a downtown Knoxville tour.
We feel so blessed by our family and friends, and that God saw fit to plant us in Maryville for our next chapter. Come see us in 2020—we’ll leave a light on.
Setting: November 27, 2019; apartment complex breezeway, Maryville, Tennessee
Narrator: Today’s the day. An idea that’s been contemplated for the past 18 months will finally come to fruition. Steve and Janet are about to welcome Janet’s parents, Raymond and Shirley, into their home. For good. Well, sort of. This Thanksgiving weekend visit comes two weeks prior to their official arrival and move in. They’re here now just to check out their new digs and begin the settling process. New doctor. New bank. New church family. Most importantly, they want a new, power, dual-reclining, catnapper loveseat with center console. When you’ve lived 8+ decades, your furniture opinions are as firm as a ball of play-dough left out of its Tupperware overnight.
Steve: Welcome home! Be careful with the steps. There are 19 of them.
Shirley: Janet said there was 15.
Steve: We’re off by 4. That doesn’t surprise me. How was your trip?
Raymond: Rained buckets. But we’re here. Only got lost once.
Janet: You should use that GPS system we got you a few years ago.
Raymond: It’s in the glove compartment.
Steve: They don’t work as well in there.
Shirley: We don’t really use GPS. Clarence printed us a map.
{After a quick apartment tour, the four settle in the living room.}
Janet: After lunch, the plan is to go by Eddie’s office, then get you set up at the bank, then furniture shop.
Steve: You use a local bank? I haven’t stepped foot inside a bank in 25 years. Have you thought about mobile banking? We do everything, even apply for loans, just using our phone.
Shirley: We’re not comfortable with mobile banking. Don’t really trust it. Our phones aren’t smart. We like banking in person with a teller or someone across from us.
Raymond: But we’re ready to make a furniture purchase.
Steve: Oh, yeah?
Raymond: Yeah, we sold the old pickup truck.
Shirley: And our cemetery lots.
Steve: Where are we supposed to put you when you die?
Shirley: We decided to be cremated and have our ashes put together in an urn.
Steve: I figured Raymond would want his ashes spread under the bridge in South Carolina where he and Clarence fish.
Raymond: That’s an option?
Shirley: You don’t want those crappie eating your ashes.
Steve: Revenge of the crappie.
{Three hours later, after visits to the bank, the doctor’s office, and two furniture stores, the four are at Farmer’s Furniture. Shirley is lying horizontal on a power catnapper with a salesman hovering over her.}
Shirley: I think this is the one. I like the catnapper.
Raymond: Are you sure? Is it comfortable, Shirley?
Steve {under his breath}: It is comfortable…and don’t call her Shirley.
Shirley: Yes, this one will do.
Janet: When they can’t sleep at night, which is often, they move to their loveseat.
Salesman: I understand. This is one of our most popular models. Comes with the spring headrest, memory foam, and a 1-year warranty. We can give you the Black Friday price today and have it delivered this afternoon.
Shirley: We’ll take it.
Salesman: If you’ll step over here we’ll do the paperwork.
Raymond: I need to go to the bathroom.
Shirley: You just went.
Raymond: For the money.
Steve: Your money’s in the bathroom?
Raymond: It’s in my shoe.
Steve: Say what?
Raymond: When I sold the old truck, the guy paid me cash. And I didn’t want to put it in my wallet, in case we got robbed. So, I put it in my shoe.
Steve: You put the cash in your shoe?
{Raymond smiles.}
Steve: Banks are overrated.
Shirley: Raymond told me, “In case I die, take my shoes off before they cremate me.”
Janet: So why do you need to go to the bathroom?
Raymond: To get the money. I don’t want to take my shoes off in the store.
Steve: Because department store bathrooms are more hygienic. I get it now.
Raymond: You ever do that? Put cash in your shoe?
Steve: Nah, I’m not really comfortable with mobile banking.
On Sunday morning, May 26th, in Ballwin, Missouri, Janet and I had the privilege of hearing our youngest son, Kyle, preach a sermon about discerning God’s will. Among other points, he said that when you face difficult decisions or are unsure of the way forward, you should seek God’s will. God may open or close a door. He may put the right person in your path or bring clarity to the thoughts swirling about in your head. His guidance may be immediate and obvious or it may take considerable time and be more obscure.
Toward the end of the lesson, Kyle invited everyone to join him for a few moments of silence. He asked each listener to offer a silent prayer to God, seeking his guidance on 2 or 3 decisions we were facing. Without consulting each other, Janet and I each offered a similar prayer. It went something like this…
God, we’ve been on the road for nearly 5 years, living in and serving from our RV. What’s next for us? What will it look like? Where do you need us? Should we stick with our tentative plan to settle down in East Tennessee? Should we keep on Sojourning? Should we hang on to our RV?
On Tuesday morning, the day after Memorial Day, less than 48 hours after offering those prayers, my phone rang…
“Hello.”
“Is this Mr. Johnson?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m the owner of the Whispering River RV Resort in Walland, Tennessee. Are you the owner of the Thor Windsport being stored here for the week?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news. There was a fire at our campground yesterday afternoon and your RV was one of five that burned to the ground. I’m so sorry.”
And just like that, we had our answer.
Whispering River RV Resort, Memorial Day 2019
I’m not suggesting God sent fire from heaven to burn down our RV…though he certainly could have. (For more on that, read about the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel in 1 Kings 18.) I learned long ago not to put God in a box and try to explain what he is or isn’t doing. I simply have faith that he answers prayer in his perfect timing and consistent with his perfect will. I know he’s active in the world and that, for Christians, our stories end well. That is enough.
I got off the phone and took a deep breath. For reasons related to personality type and my military training, I didn’t panic, get angry, or become emotional. Instead, I remember having 3 distinct thoughts:
God is good…and good will come from this.
What did we lose that cannot be replaced?
What are the ramifications? We’re homeless now. Where’s the checklist for that?
I broke the news to Kyle and Janet who, like me, were shocked but remained calm. I asked Kyle to offer a prayer for our situation and he obliged. (Least he could do since he was the one who told us to pray for discernment!) After a few phone calls to notify various family members, we took the next logical step: going out for Mexican food with long-time family friend Brett. Between bites of Arroz con Pollo, the magnitude of this life setback began to sink in.
Fast forward 6 months from that fateful morning, and I am compelled to proclaim the following:
God is good!
God is faithful!
Praise God!
While I didn’t get emotional on the morning of that fateful phone call, I’m a bit misty-eyed this afternoon thinking about what has transpired over the past 6 months. (Or maybe Janet is cutting up onions in our kitchen…yeah, it’s probably that.)
To recap…
No one died. All 5 RVs were empty of people at the time. Based on the burn pattern, investigators suspect the fire started with the RV cattycorner to ours, but they don’t know why.
We had insurance. Turns out really good insurance. I know people who are uninsured or under-insured for certain tragedies that befall them. That was not our case.
After the fire, hundreds of people reached out to us to offer their prayers and well wishes. Dozens of friends and family members offered up rooms in their homes, along with available RVs for us to live in indefinitely, and even second homes and vacation cottages, at locations all over the country. Those offers touched us to the core. It felt like God was unleashing a giant safety net, in the form of our friends, to ensure a soft landing. You all are the best!
Most of what we lost is replaceable. It took some time to get new passports, birth certificates, our marriage license, etc. I lost most of the gear from my AT hike, all my tools, and all my fishing gear. We lost most of our clothes, all of our winter clothes, and all my Air Force uniforms. I lost the watch my late grandfather had given me that he received for his many years of service at Goodyear. The precious picture of our RV that our daughter-in-law, Rachel, drew is gone, along with my 30-year-old collection of CDs. Sadly, the crocheted Fob W. Pot doll, stuffed with beard hair, that my sister-in-law Carol made me, is gone. Again, most folks who have experienced house fires have had it much, much worse, so you won’t hear us complain. It’s mostly just stuff…and God has spent the past 5 years teaching us to not get too caught up in stuff.
We found a nice apartment in Maryville, TN, as the search for a house continues. A 1 bedroom apartment may seem small, but not to folks who have lived in a 350-sq-ft RV for nearly 5 years. It’s next to a pool and a workout room…and, between us, we’re down about 45 pounds since the fire! Pass the turkey.
We found an incredible church home and Christian friends at Eastside church of Christ. They took us in, moved us in, and gave us a “pounding” of food, kitchen supplies, and other items to get us re-established. What an amazing, loving, group of people! Thank you all!
Our fire-induced break from Sojourning gave us the time, oddly enough, to finish our book about Sojourning. Still, our plan is to continue Sojourning in 2020, on a more limited basis. We’ll stay in cabins, for now, and eventually hope to get a small camper.
One of our main goals will finally be realized on December 13th when Janet’s parents, Raymond and Shirley, move in with us. They are dear Christian people and it will be an honor to have them live with us for the remainder of their lives. And if you don’t think their presence will inspire a future book or screenplay, The In-Laws, you don’t know me very well!
A final note…While going through some boxes this week in preparation for our move to a larger apartment, I came across an old suitcase, which contained an old box, which contained my grandfather’s Goodyear watch! Turns out it wasn’t lost after all!
Are we thankful this Thanksgiving season? You bet we are!
Another interesting afternoon at Vienna Coffee House, one of the Maryville-area coffee shops I frequent. A couple of times each week, I spend a few hours drinking coffee, listening to music, and trying to turn ideas into books. While some authors prefer writing in quiet solitude, I’m inspired by the sights and sounds of humanity milling about. Everyone has a story.
Earlier this afternoon, I found my usual spot in a comfy chair and began writing. Two millennial fellas sat across from me. One was engrossed in his cell phone and the other was devouring a Turkey Pesto Panini as if time were running out on a food shot clock.
The cell phone guy glanced over at me and noticed the hiking boot and Appalachian Trail stickers on the back of my laptop.
“Excuse me, sir. You familiar with the AT?” he asked.
“Yeah, pretty familiar with it,” I answered.
“Ever hike any of it?”
“Yep, I’ve hiked the whole thing.”
With that, his face lit up and his buddy looked over, mustard dripping from his chin.
“You’re a thru-hiker?!”
“Yep, did the whole thing in ’16.”
“Wow!” They were in shock. Cell phone guy looked over at his buddy, then got up and sat down in the chair next to me. “Mind if I ask you some questions.”
“Go for it.”
Over the next 30 minutes, he enthusiastically peppered me with dozens of questions about the AT, and I responded in kind. I have a strand of AT in my DNA and never tire of the subject. No one can “out enthusiasm” me on the AT. On my deathbed, just before they pull the plug, I plan to mutter something about the Half Gallon Challenge.
Some of cell phone guy’s questions were the usual ones—bear sightings, conditioning, hardest part, best section, gear, etc. Others were unique to him and his buddy. They are from out of town, are leaving tomorrow, and wanted to get in a hike before sunset. That led to a discussion of area trails and the pros and cons of each. I pulled up a few recommendations on my laptop and they snapped pictures of each. We discussed my AT books and they plan to check them out.
As I type this, the fellas have likely parked their car at Cades Cove and have arrived at Spence Field shelter on the AT. If they keep their pace up, they have a decent shot at getting back to their car before sunset.
I wonder if I’ll ever see them again. Unlikely, right?
I wonder if there would have been a conversation, and how it would have gone, had my laptop sticker been not of the AT, but of a cross.
I wonder if I would have been as enthusiastic in sharing my faith as I am in sharing my AT knowledge.
I wonder if these two fellas believe in God. I wonder if anyone has helped them connect the dots between the amazing Appalachian Trail and the even more amazing God who made it.
I don’t wonder if it was a missed opportunity. It clearly was.
So, I just ordered a cross sticker for my laptop from Amazon. If it doesn’t prompt a bystander to inquire, maybe it will prompt me to take a chance.
Unfortunately, Amazon doesn’t sell courage. That comes from within.
“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” – John 15:13
Less than three years after the 9/11 terrorists attacks against our country, I arrived at the Pentagon for a 3-year tour. By then, the physical damage had been repaired, although building renovations were still ongoing.
Not long after my arrival, I went to meet with a senior officer from the Army’s G-1 personnel office. While waiting in a reception area, I struck up a conversation with the secretary and asked about her 9/11 experience. I knew that the Army G-1 had sustained a direct hit, killing 29 people, including their leader, Lieutenant General Timothy Maude.
The woman I spoke with survived that day because she was away from her desk at the time of impact. In a large computer room, while on her way to run an errand, she felt the impact and was knocked to the floor. In total darkness and with smoke filling the room, she knew she had to get out. Rattled and disoriented, she didn’t know which way “out” was.
Suddenly, she heard a reassuring voice in the darkness. “Grab a hold of my waistband. We’re going to crawl out of here.” The voice belonged to a Sailor, who was on his way to the Pentagon gym at the time of the attack. The woman complied, and the two of them slowly crawled through the smoke and rubble.
At one point he asked her how she was doing. Her main issue was the snot and soot coming out of her nose. The Sailor pulled off his sweatshirt so she could wipe the snot and grime off her face.
They eventually made their way out of the building. The Sailor quickly left her with his Navy sweatshirt and she never saw him again. She suspects he may have gone back into the building to help others. Although she doesn’t know his name, she said she will forever be grateful to him for guiding her out of the building, and perhaps saving her life, on that fateful day.
The note from the margin reads: Lessons from 9/11…
1. Be a hero. Thousands of heroes were revealed on 9/11 and the days that followed. We found them among the World Trade Center and Pentagon personnel, rushing to save themselves and others. We found them in a group of strangers who teamed up to take back United Flight 93, preventing the plane from killing an untold number of U.S. Capitol personnel. We found heroes in the firefighters and other first-responders who rushed toward danger to help others. Many lost their own lives in the process.
In John 15:13, Jesus highlights a special kind of hero: one who loves his friends enough to lay down his life for them. Jesus raised the bar higher. He laid down his life not just for his friends but for his enemies. He suffered a cruel death for those who despised and rejected him. While I’m confident I would lay down my life for my family, and most likely for my friends, I’m not so sure about my enemies. That’s another thing that sets Jesus apart and makes him the hero among heroes.
You may never have the opportunity to be a hero in such a dramatic and public way as those who emerged on 9/11. But, every day, we have an opportunity to do good for others. Paul, in Galatians 6:9-10, states, “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers.”
2. Live each day as if it were your last. Psalm 90:10 reads, “Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.” The psalmist reminds us of the difficulty and brevity of life. We are mortal and, in the context of eternity, have but a few days. (See Job 14:1 and Psalm 90:12) James puts it this way: “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14)
On the morning of 9/11, I doubt any of the victims gave much thought to the idea that it would be their final morning on earth. We don’t like to think about such things, and yet, we all have that date with destiny. As such, we must make “the most of every opportunity.” (Ephesians 5:16)
Jesus drives the point home in Matthew 24:42-44: “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”
3. Get back up when you get knocked down. The 9/11 terrorist attacks knocked our nation to its knees, but we rebounded stronger and more united than ever. The Army secretary who shared her story with me represents thousands of survivors and next of kin who had to literally or figuratively crawl on their hands and knees in darkness until they found the light.
Faithful Christians can expect to get knocked down from time to time. In 2 Timothy 3:12, we read, “In fact, everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” Our response to being knocked down and persecuted is found in Proverbs 24:16: “for though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again, but the wicked stumble when calamity strikes.”
In 2 Corinthians 4:8-9 Paul, who faced his fair share of persecution, concludes, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”
9/11/01…may we learn the lessons and never forget.
The first I shouldn’t mention. It would be premature, perhaps even inappropriate. Despite making several comments, outright and subtle, I haven’t obtained spousal approval for it. Not even close. My mentions of it have brought only stares, puzzled looks, and a few dismissive comments…like when I suggested that our bedsheet doesn’t need to be tucked under the foot of our queen mattress.
Still, I’ll mention it. I want to “thru-kayak” the Missouri River—the longest river in North America. Beginning in the Rocky Mountains area of southwestern Montana (near a spot where Sacagawea was kidnapped by the Hidatsa during a raid on a Shoshone camp), the grand waterway flows 2,341 miles to St Louis, Missouri (near a spot where my youngest son, Kyle, aka B.W. POT, frequents St Louis Cardinals games).
My kayaking experience? Limited. 30 minutes on a pond in Montclair, Virginia. 120 minutes in a tandem kayak on Alaska’s beautiful Chilkoot Lake with my even more beautiful wife. And a strenuous, windy, 120-minute family adventure in sea kayaks off the coast of Bar Harbor, Maine. That should be sufficient. I mean, how hard can it be to paddle a boat downstream for 3 months? I just need spousal approval. And a kayak.
That brings me to my second new bucket list entry. This one, a result of our recent move to Maryville, Tennessee, is not only approved, but underway! Over the next several years, I plan to hike the Top 20 trails in the Smoky Mountains…accompanied by my better half whenever possible.
So, on August 12, 2019, my assault on this bucket list item began. Tale of the tape…
Trail Number 1 – Newfound Gap to Charlies Bunion Roundtrip Length: 8.1 miles Total Elevation Gain: 1640 feet Avg. Elevation Gain/Mile: 405 feet Highest Elevation: 6122 feet Trail Difficulty Rating: 11.38 (strenuous) Trip Photos: posted in a new album on my Author Steve Johnson Facebook page
My hike took place on my way to pick up Janet in South Carolina, where she had spent the week caring for her injured sister. Earlier, she had informed me that this particular hike was just outside her definition of fun. Thus, I would journey solo.
With my worn AT backpack, two 2-liter bottles of ice cold water, a few books, two PB & J sandwiches, some chips, and an apple, I generously applied lube and left our apartment at 7:30 a.m. for the 90-minute drive to Newfound Gap. On the way, I caught the day’s weather forecast on the radio—the heat index was expected to top 100 degrees, one of the hottest days of the year. Although initially concerned, I remembered I had two things going for me: a morning hike, and one that would begin at a much cooler 5049 feet above sea level and climb to over 6100 feet.
I arrived at the large Newfound Gap parking lot at 9 o’clock and was surprised to see only about a dozen other cars at the popular tourist area. Stepping out of the car, the memories came flooding back. I remembered arriving at that same parking lot on Day 21 of my AT hike, accompanied by Princess Elle, who anxiously awaited the arrival of her boyfriend. On that 2016 day, we received “rock star” treatment as people approached us like tourist attractions to ask us about our thru-hikes.
Fast forward to 2019—no rock star treatment this time. I was too plump and clean-smelling to be confused for a thru-hiker. Less visibly, I was wearing cotton underwear, a trail anathema. I strapped on my pack and walked across the parking lot toward a sign marking the way to head northbound (actually eastbound) on the Appalachian Trail. “Hello, old friend,” I mumbled to myself, then began my ascent.
America’s most glorious trail wasted little time in putting me on a steady, uphill climb, with white blazes marking the way. Once again, my mind began processing the myriad memories from my AT hike. The canopy of trees that form a long green tunnel. The need to keep my head down, much of the time, to plot the next step forward, factoring in rocks, roots, trees, and other obstacles. My ears peeled for the sound of anything unexpected. My arms and legs pumping in unison like a machine. Sweat beads forming on my brow. Muscles twitching in my calves and thighs as I propelled myself forward. The perfect intersection of my physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional selves. (Warm banana pudding has the same effect.)
Man, it was good to be back!
My first milestone, because an ENTJ like myself always must have a goal, was to cover the nearly three miles to Icewater Spring shelter without stopping. Along the way, I passed five couples, two dogs, and a child who, to their credit, had embarked on much more leisurely treks. While it wasn’t the right time of year to catch blooming wildflowers, I enjoyed stunning views of the North Carolina Smokies to the south.
At about the mile point, I encountered my first and only snake of the day—a harmless garter snake. Moments later, I glanced down and spotted a tick crawling along my left forearm. Fun fact: During my 2016 hike, I encountered only two ticks over 2100+ miles—both on my arms—one embedded and one crawling. On this day, I encountered a tick within the first mile of my hike. Okay, so that fact wasn’t all that fun.
As I climbed, I looked forward to my return to the Bunion. I longed to stand alone atop the famed rock, surveying the vast wilderness around me. Incidentally, the name Charlies Bunion was derived when Charlie Conner went on a hike with Horace Kephart, a friend and one of the early visionaries for a national park in the Smokies. When they paused to rest near the now famous rocks, Conner took off his boots and socks, revealing a rather severe bunion that resembled the rocks in front of the men. Kephart observed Conner’s feet and said, “Charlie, I’m going to get this place put on a government map for you.” And that’s precisely what happened. Had Horace hiked with me, rather than Charlie, the place would be called Steves Toenail-Fungus.
As I continued my climb along the ever-narrowing ridge, I glanced at my watch every few minutes to note the change in elevation. I’m not mentally at peace unless I have some sort of data to process and make sense of. It helped me pass the time during long stretches alone on the green tunnel in 2016. You might call me analytical…or simply a nerd.
At the 3-mile point, I arrived at my first stopping point, the Icewater Spring shelter, which is named after the nearby spring that flows from a pipe in the middle of the trail. I sat on the bench at the front of the vacant shelter, and the memories returned. I remembered sitting on that very bench, three years earlier, in sub-freezing weather, surrounded by dear friends who came to be known as the Great Smoky Mountains Bubble.
It was at this very shelter I met John Just who was hiking the AT to draw attention to his rare, genetic Fabry disease. We also encountered a sweet, though slightly overwhelmed couple, accompanied by their 9-year-old daughter, a telescope, guitar, and canned goods…but no sleeping pads. The poor girl tossed and turned, shivered, and cried out throughout the night. I felt bad for her. I hoped that she would survive the night. I also hoped that if she didn’t survive the night, I might get a share of her food.
Speaking of food, I made quick work of an apple and PB & J, as four section hikers from Indiana arrived and chatted with me about…guess what…the AT. I opened the shelter log, signed in with a note, and scanned a few of the entries. The day prior, a hiker with the trail name Spirit had been there. He/She wrote, “I am infinitely grateful for the woods and the peace it brings me. I am 90 days sober and feeling better than ever. It’s always a bit scary leaving the comforts of society for the outdoors for weeks but it is always worth it… ‘into the forest I go, to lose my mind & find my soul – John Muir’.” I appreciate the note and hope this hiker finds what they’re looking for. Not all trail magic takes the form of food.
Before departing the shelter, I established the Icewater Spring shelter library by placing my two AT hiking books and devotional book, secured inside clear, protective storage bags, on the upper bunk inside the shelter. Maybe God has someone in mind to read them.
Back on the trail, I snapped a picture of the Icewater Spring, then continued mostly downhill about a mile to a sign marking the Charlies Bunion spur trail to the left. With it being a Monday morning, I anticipated having the place to myself. I would be able to climb the famed bunion alone, with the peace and serenity of the Smokies surrounding me. As I carefully walked along the narrow ledge with an extremely steep drop-off, I took in spectacular views, including Mount LeConte, and considered how easy it would be for someone to misstep and die.
As I rounded the final turn, I looked up and was shocked to discover the glorious bunion was covered with unsightly humanity! Bummer! But, hey, no problem. I would hang out at the base of the bunion and chat with a couple as we waited for the large, brown-skinned contingent to climb off the famed rock. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Despite glancing at my watch and then glancing their way several times, they didn’t get the hint. For the next 10 minutes, they laughed, took in the views, and chatted in a language appearing to be Spanish, although I wasn’t close enough to confirm.
Needing to get back down the trail, and unwilling to wait any longer for them to show tourist etiquette and gracefully exit, I got an idea. I cautiously approached the base of the rock and, using the pseudo-Spanish I learned from my friend Terry Reeves in Honduras, said, “Hola. Mi nombre es Steve, aka Fob. Me gusta…uh…una foto…uh…on that bunion you’re sitting on.”
They looked at each other, laughed, and motioned for me to join them. Yes, it was an offer to join the party. The party on the bunion. Or, as they say in Guadalajara, la fiesta en el juanete.
As I scrambled up the rock, using both hands to keep my balance, one of the male rock occupants said something to me. I couldn’t tell if it was “que es un Fob?” or “queso Fob” (a rare cheese) or perhaps something else. My ear canals were sweaty. Not wanting to be impolite, I replied, “Es una larga story…for another tiempo.”
At the top of Charlies Bunion, I quickly assimilated to my hosts’ lives and culture. We smiled, high-fived each other, laughed for no reason, posed for a few photos, and bonded in ways that transcend language and nationality. This wasn’t the moment of quiet, solitary beauty I had anticipated, but it was special…really special. Trail magic, in fact.
Realizing they had no plans to leave the bunion, and might even live there, it was time for me to gracefully exit. I gave them a few more fist bumps, started down the rock, and looked back to say, “Gracias, amigos.” They smiled and said something I couldn’t quite make out. It might have been, “Fob, eres el mejor.”
I made my way back to the trail, and turned westward toward Newfound Gap. A few miles later, I caught up with another couple and their son who were plodding along. Craving conversation in my native tongue, I asked if they had been to Charlies Bunion…they had. I asked if they had met the delightful Hispanic people atop the bunion.
“Yes,” the man said. “But they’re not Hispanic. They’re from India.”
Boom.
That brings me to my third new bucket list item: learn Hindi.
Until then, this first of 20 planned hikes of the Smokies will remain… la fiesta en el juanete!
“Your decrees are the theme of my song wherever I lodge.” – Psalm 119:54
Good or bad, family names carry connotations. When I think of the Manning family, I think of National Football League quarterbacks. The mere mention of the Manson family conjures up horrific images of mass murders. The Bradys, on the other hand, remind us of the blended, somewhat corny family from the popular 1970’s television show.
That brings us to Brad, Jenny, Carolyn, Mary Brook, and Ann Marie— collectively known as The Diamond Family. When I think of these exceptional Christian friends of mine, I can’t help but think about music. This family lives, breathes, is energized by, and inspires others with their music.
The chorus to Alton Howard’s popular hymn “He Gave Me Song” states, “He gave me a song, to sing about; He lifted me from sin and doubt; O, praise His name, He is my King; A wonderful song, He is to me.”
God gave the Diamond family a song; actually, a trove of wonderful songs. In fact, if you’re around the Diamond family, you’re going to hear an abundance of singing. Brad is a talented, accomplished tenor and Associate Professor of Voice at Samford University. From soloing before large concert halls to leading singing at small congregations, God gave Brad a song.
Using her Bachelor of Music Education degree, Jenny has performed with various choral groups around the world, and has directed adult, high school, and children’s choirs for over 20 years. God gave Jenny a song.
Not surprisingly, Brad and Jenny’s three girls inherited their musical genes. While sitting in the family room of their Alabama home, I once heard Carolyn sing the entire Phantom of the Opera soundtrack while dancing downstairs in the basement. Whether singing before audiences in plays and musicals or with a small group of Honduran children on a mission trip, these precious girls have been given a song by God.
As good as they are individually, the Diamond family takes it to a whole new level when they sing together. Sometimes their performances are planned, like when they serenaded my youngest son and his bride with an Irish blessing at their wedding.
Often the family spontaneously and powerfully breaks out in song, catching everyone else off guard. It may be at the breakfast table, when Mary Brook sings the first phrase to a song, and they all join in with full harmony. It may be in the car on a family trip, as they shake the roof with a favorite hymn. Wherever it is, it’s always a joy to hear.
The note from the margin reads: What a beautiful notion! It seems the psalmist sings about God wherever he goes! I suspect if the Diamond family ever traveled with the psalmist, they would join in. In a very real sense, their lives are an unending song, with each day a different verse.
This tale is embarrassing and still stings. That’s why it’s taken me 29 years to tell it. Stories of epic journeys, heroic deeds, and grand accomplishments are easy to recount. You see them on social media every day. In some form or another, we all hold up signs saying, “Look at what I did.” We long for acceptance—to be noticed by someone. Anyone.
But some of life’s greatest lessons come wrapped in shame rather than glory—in embarrassment rather than exhilaration.
I must get this off my chest.
I was a 24-year-old second lieutenant, or “butter bar” in Air Force vernacular. As military officers go, no one was below me on the totem pole. Despite my lowly rank, inexperience, and still developing frontal lobe, I was confident. I had (and continue to have) the kind of wife you had better hang on to because you won’t find one any better. We were living in a three bedroom house in the middle of Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain. I had a college degree, an Air Force commission, and had been entrusted to administer a $128 million computer contract for the Office of the Secretary of Defense. With all that going for me, who needed a fully developed frontal lobe?
One aspect of being an officer at the low end of the totem pull is a propensity to be assigned additional duties. I was our organization’s “designated rep” on more than a dozen committees, including the holiday party committee. The main incentive of getting promoted in the Air Force is not the additional rank, pay or responsibilities, but to no longer have to be on the holiday party committee. In fact, if I had known there was such a committee and I would be assigned to it, I would have become a dentist.
Another of my additional duties was being on-call as Staff Duty Officer (SDO) for a couple of days each quarter. Whenever a Distinguished Visitor (DV) flew into Tinker Air Force Base, the 24/7 on-call SDO had to don his or her uniform, travel to the Passenger Terminal, and assist a colonel or general in welcoming the DV. By “assist,” I mean carry luggage, fetch a cold beverage, and do whatever else the DV needs you to do.
On one occasion, in the early days of Operation Desert Shield, I was on SDO duty and was called in to greet and assist an arriving DV. An Army lieutenant general (3-star) was arriving with a traveling contingent for some business at Tinker AFB and to be the keynote speaker at a luncheon in downtown Oklahoma City.
The Army general was high enough up the totem pole to warrant a dedicated jet plane, a protocol officer, a communications officer, and other support staff. This traveling posse allowed him to monitor Desert Shield activities from the air or ground. As his plane taxied in front of us on the flight line, a Tinker AFB official and I rendered salutes and then welcomed the general as he exited the plane. The senior officers made their way to the DV Lounge to do whatever senior officers do in a DV Lounge. Meanwhile, I made three trips across the tarmac in the searing Oklahoma sun to transport the luggage of our distinguished guest and his staff. With sweat rings forming on my recently dry-cleaned blue Air Force shirt, I almost wished I was at a holiday party committee meeting. Almost.
An Army captain, the general’s protocol officer, asked me if there was a landline phone he could use to call the venue where the general was scheduled to speak later that day. I escorted him to a nearby phone, then plopped down in a seat close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation.
The protocol officer requested to speak to the luncheon meal coordinator and was placed on hold for a moment. For the next several minutes, the officer went into excruciating detail over the opening course, a dinner salad. He spoke of nuts, seeds, crude fiber, salad dressing and spices. From where I sat, it seemed the person on the other end of the line was in “receive mode.” I shook my head, silently wondering if I would ever be high enough on the totem pole to have an assistant manage my crude fiber.
The conversation then turned to the main course where, again, a lengthy discussion ensued over the general’s desire for a specially cooked chicken breast along with his favorite vegetables. Once again, I shook my head—a little disgusted this time. I wondered how much additional trouble the meal coordinator and kitchen staff would have to go to in order to satisfy the needs of this Army general. I silently vowed to never be the kind of officer or person who was too big for his britches—who had to be constantly pampered like that.
The phone conversation finally and mercifully came to an end. The protocol officer hung up the phone and walked over to thank me. Unable to keep what I was thinking inside, I looked at him and asked, “Does that ever get old?”
“What do you mean?” he answered.
“Having to call ahead and go through every item of your boss’s meals. It seems like that would get tiresome.”
“No, not at all. It’s an honor, in fact.”
I gave him a puzzled look, the kind you have when your undeveloped frontal lobe is having trouble grasping what is being said.
Sensing my confusion, he continued.
“The general had part of his stomach blown off in Vietnam. Nearly killed him. They sewed him back together and, after several months in the hospital, he was able to continue his career. But he has to be really careful about what he eats. Well, it looks like we’re getting ready to go. Nice meeting you, Lieutenant. Thanks again for your help.”
Devastated.
Crushed.
Pained—even to this day.
There I was, a lowly butter bar, who hadn’t done squat in his career, doubting and questioning the care and attention being given to a senior Army officer. An officer who nearly gave his life in the service of his country. An officer who had served his country 15 times longer than I had. An officer whose scar tissue across his torso is a permanent reminder of what it means to be a warrior and a hero—to value the lives of others more than your own. An officer whose only kryptonite came in the form of fried foods, crude fiber, spices and large seeds.
Stunned by my insensitivity and ignorance, I added insult to injury. I sat there silently, rather than apologize to the protocol officer and the general. Shame on me.
Few of us readily admit to being prejudice, but how often do we pre-judge people? How often do we secretly harbor, or even openly share, an opinion without fully understanding the facts or context? How often do we reach conclusions on someone’s character or predict their behavior based on nothing more than skin color, gender, age, nationality, or some other factor? How often do we ignore James 1:19, preferring to be slow to listen, quick to speak, and quick to become angry?
That seemingly inattentive, distracted waitress who doesn’t deserve a tip—what if her husband left her this morning?
That juvenile busted for shoplifting—what if he’s never had a father figure…and hasn’t eaten in a couple of days?
That “liberal Democrat” or “Bible-thumping conservative”—what if they love their country just as much as you do?
That “trailer trash” walking the aisle at Walmart—what if she’s caught up in a human trafficking ring and needs your help more than your condescension?
As for that “pampered” Army general, there was more to his story, wasn’t there?
Given a do over, I would thank the general for his service and heroism. I would proudly carry his bags and fetch him a bottle of water. I would ask him if he ever ran into my father, a C-123 pilot in Vietnam. And, given an opportunity to salute the general again, I would hold it a little while longer.
On paper, today will go down as an ordinary day in my life—day #19,419 to be exact. I ate three meals, did routine work with some friends at a Bible camp, played with a dog, worked on a book, went for a walk, and attended an evening Bible study. But as I sit here just past midnight and reflect on the day gone by, I believe God had a couple of specific messages for me. He sent those messages—those reminders—via three friends and fellow Sojourners. Those messages, if I take them to heart, can make today not ordinary but extraordinary.
The first message came from Dale Morris, a man who I have grown to love and respect through our work together as Sojourners. Dale did our morning devotional and talked about how the existence of God can be seen in the natural world around us. Actually, he did more than talk. Dale was pretty fired up and it wasn’t just because of the warm cinnamon rolls. He talked about a National Geographic program he had seen that featured a stunningly beautiful jellyfish, spotted 4000 feet beneath the ocean surface off the coast of Baja California.
As Dale put it, “The thing was incredible, I mean it was beautiful, and it was dancing! Ya gotta see it! (I did, and included a link below) I mean, why is this gorgeous and intricately detailed creature dancing at 4000 feet deep? I’ll tell you why. Because God made it! And we serve an awesome, creative God!”
Dale was just getting started. His next stop took us to a giraffe exhibit at a zoo where he had taken his grandchildren. Dale talked excitedly as he described one particular feature of the giraffe—its black tongue. “You know why it’s black? I’ll tell you why. Because giraffes spend much of their waking hours with their tongues out, trying to reach leaves at the top of trees. Those tongues are highly susceptible to sunburn. So, God designed the giraffe with a black tongue to protect it from ultraviolet rays! Ya gotta see it! What an awesome God we serve!” Dale was fired up…and that got me fired up…at least enough to pen this blog.
After a few more examples, Dale concluded with God’s most significant creation—mankind. When God made man, he was at the top of his game, and made us in his own image. Among other things, that means he instilled in us a tiny fraction of his creativity. To make his point, Dale pointed to Denton Wiggains, another Sojourner friend of mine.
Among many great qualities, Denton is a creative problem-solver. Years of solving problems on the farm, at church camps, and elsewhere have given him a knack for looking at problems in unconventional ways. Case in point: Denton was asked to take the lead on a bathroom repair project here at Carolina Bible Camp that was supposed to take a couple of weeks and cost several thousand dollars. Denton studied the situation for several minutes and came up with and implemented a brilliant, creative solution that took him two hours and zero dollars.
How was Denton able to pull that off? I’ll let Dale answer: “Because our creative God made him that way! And you know something else about Denton? No one gets more excited about completing a project than Denton does. He emerges from cold, dark, damp, dirty places with a smile from ear to ear because he knows God just helped him figure something out!” Denton’s joyful attitude reflects the God who created him. It’s also contagious…but will I catch it?
In addition to learning about joy and God’s creativity from Dale and Denton, I learned a third lesson from Bob Jarvis, another Sojourner friend who made a comment in class tonight. We were discussing how heaven is the ultimate, final blessing for Christians, but we experience many blessings even while we’re still on this earth. Yes, there are hard times—trials and suffering—but also many good things that should bring us joy.
Bob chimed in and said that “eternal life” is not something that will begin when we die. It’s something that already began when we began our new life as a Christian. For Christians, you might say eternal life is already underway. I had never thought of it that way. In John 10:10, Jesus said, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” While our ultimate home in heaven will be the final, complete, and perfect manifestation of that abundance, we also experience it on this side of eternity. We experience God’s peace, provision, and purpose for our lives, and that should give us joy.
Just like the giraffe tongue, it might even get Dale fired up.
