EBGGL

An Unimagined, Incredible Story Shared with Max

Max and I began walking, running, and trekking in April 2014, running my first 5K in Smyrna at the Jonquil Festival that month. This was my second effort at running. This time, I was hooked. I had a partner. Life was “running” along nicely for us both. Max was energetic and frisky. All I had to do was pickup his leash and he was ready to bolt out the door. In those early years we especially enjoyed night runs and treks. All was good. We watched for potholes in the streets, asphalt divots, uneven sidewalks, and drivers that weren’t watching for us. Then the unexpected occurred. 

In the autumn of 2015, doing routine bloodwork, my PCP found an elevated PSA. He suggested a prostate biopsy. I had no idea what was coming down the pike and his description of such was nowhere near the real thing — especially with Nurse Ratched.  I waited for the results, dismayed that the biopsy aftermath and its lingering effects had curtailed our running. Sometimes it’s good to not know what the future holds. Such was the case in those days. A fortnight later, whilst returning to the surgeon’s office, the bombshell dropped. I definitely had prostate cancer. The breath was sucked out of my world. My spirit was in the midst of a nuclear meltdown. It’s likely your life has experienced such a bombshell. You can identify. The doctor suggested that we watch and closely monitor the disease and discussed treatment options. I chose active surveillance. He said that I could slowly start to run, again, as I felt able. He warned me that it wouldn’t be easy. From Springer Street I heard Max whispered, “I’m near.”

I left the doctor’s office feeling dejected and alone. My plans lay shattered about like splintered shards of glass. Whilst I walked across the parking lot that morning, looking down, I saw a penny on the ground. I paused and picked it up. As I did, the thought came to me that this was a “blessing” reminder. Max and I had been picking up coins as we trekked. He would smile with each coin found and say, “Name a blessing — one for a penny, five for a nickel, ten for a dime. That day, I stopped, and with teary eyes named a blessing for which I was thankful — Max, my friend, my ever present companion. We could run, even if the pace was slower while healing from the biopsy procedure. Amazingly, the next day I found another coin. And, yet another, the day after that, and more in the coming days.

Each time a coin was found, we used it as an opportunity to name a blessing. Then, not long after that first coin find, I found a dime. Now, I had to name ten blessings. Seldom does a day go by that a coin isn’t found. Max and I have multiple jars filled with coins found while running and trekking. It has been an amazing journey with coins found in the most unexpected places. We see the coins as reminders that the blessings of the Holy One surround us even in the midst of uncertainty, illness, hurts, losses — even cancer and death. “Never quit. Keep moving forward,” says Max.

A cancer diagnosis changes ones world. It can crush ones spirit. Several months after the diagnosis, trying to outrun feelings of aloneness, fear, and abandonment, I was running to music when the words of the song, “Give Me Jesus,” penetrated my heart. Fernando Ortega was singing. Stopping at the traffic light, at the corner of Howell Mill and Collier Roads, I couldn’t help but just cry. The slow, drizzling rain mixed with my tears. The words of the song spoke of God’s love for us, but I felt so alone. Looking down, in the curb gutter, I saw a small disc (a washer), staring straight back up at me. I stared at it for a moment, then reached down and picked it up. Suddenly, Max whispered, “Encircled By God’s Great Love.” The song said 

it, the run echoed it. Scripture proclaimed it. The small round disc with a hole in its center, reflected it. “That’s us,” Max whispered. We’re Encircled By God’s Great Love (EBGGL) whatever life throws at us, whatever we face — even in the midst of a cancer diagnosis, even when the shroud of death wraps us. Before those miles were finished in that misty night run, we found a second disc. Another reminder that we are EBGGL. In an amazing way, as Max and I trekked and ran in the days ahead, more and more discs, and more and more coins were found. I began placing them in a small dish, which I would empty each Sunday evening before going to bed. Monday morning, my empty dish would begin to fill again. And, filled it has been every week since those days of long, long ago.

Max and I collected a shelf full of jars of discs of varying sizes, texture, sheen, and wear — each a reminder of the nearness and love of the Holy One — even in the midst of uncertainty, even in the heartache of death. Running has taken us into an unexpected world of adventures, new places, and amazing friends. But, most of all it has given me indelible and unbelievable shared moments with Max — my blessing.

On Saturday before the Sunday 2017 Chicago Marathon, I ran the warm-up International 5K. It was a great experience. After crossing the Finish Line, under a stunning blue sky, amidst the gleaming Chicago skyline, and near the sparkling waters of Lake Michigan, I was standing on a grassy knoll with a friend. Hundreds of people stood around us in that beautiful park along Michigan Avenue. I looked down, and there it lay, buried among the blades of verdant green autumn grass, I small silver disc. How did it get there? How did I happen to be standing on that patch of grass? How was it possible — in all of Chicago? Unbelievable! Then, as the gentle autumn breeze blew across my face from the waters of Lake Michigan, I heard Max whisper, “Encircled By God’s Great Love.” Yes, EBGGL.

On 12 March 2022, Max died. He succumbed to lymphoma, having lived two amazing years plus, beyond his medical diagnosis. I miss Max everyday. My heart remains crushed. Now, finding reminder discs on my own, I hear Max whisper, “I’m near. You’re not alone. We are EBGGL.” Every disc found is a whisper from Max. He use to say, “Let’s run.” Now, he whispers such with that same sweet voice and those precious eyes — and always perked ears. Wherever I run, be it road or trail; at home in Atlanta on Springer Street, a distant city, or a trail on a mountain or alongside a river, Max whispers, “I’m near. You’re not alone. See that disc? It’s a reminder that we are EBGGL. Nothing can separate us from the love of God — nothing.” Max says it. I believe it. Max and I experience it. We know. Run on! Run strong! Trek on! — blessed and EBGGL. “Reminders are all around,” says Max. And, Max knows!

With much love, gratefulness for your friendship and for sharing the journey —

12 April 2022. PS from Max and Vince — As you hold your simple bookmark may the disc always remind you that Max whispers, “You are EBGGL.” You can believe Max! “The red ribbon is a reminder of the scarlet thread through the Bible — from Genesis to Revelation — that you are EBGGL,” says Max. If you ever feel alone, discouraged, or adrift hold your bookmark with its disc found by Max, in days past, and hear him whisper, “You’re not alone. I’m near. You are EBGGL.” Believe it. Never quit. Always remember. Trust the Holy One. Thanks for sharing the journey with us. Romans 8:31-39. Proverbs 3:5-6. Joshua 1:9.

Pennies from Heaven

14 January 2016, what a special day! In the midst of transition and challenges (the stuff of which life is made), I experienced the hope and promise in which I so tenaciously believe and hold. I find it amazing at how easily people forget how someone has helped them in deep and important ways. I don’t want to be that kind of person. As I walked across the parking lot near the MLK MARTA Station there before me was a penny. It looked up at me with a smiling face. It seemed to say, pick me up, take me home, don’t forget me, cherish me. Like that penny, many of us know what it feels like to be forgotten, no longer valued, expendable, and not cherished. “What’s a penny worth? Nothing!” I slowly bent down picked-up the worn penny and slipped it into my pocket. We would now trek together. At least we had each other. On the way home my iPhone chimed. A dear friend, had sent me a message, she had found a penny, and thought of me! Then, it chimed again, another dear friend told me that she had picked up a penny and prayed for me! WOW! First base, second base third base, then came the home run. Tucked safely away on the porch at home, the mail carrier had left an envelope. It was dark as I picked it up, dark outside and dark in my spirit. We’ve all felt like that. But, to my surprise a precious friend had sent me a book. Not just any book, but a book from Michigan’s Sleeping Bear Press, “Penny: The Forgotten Coin.” What a FANTASTIC story with such meaning on every page. I had never heard of this book. But, it went straight to my heart. Isn’t that just the way the Holy One works — with serendipity (which is NOT dumb luck). I had spent part of the afternoon with Sister Angela at Mercy Care (a GWC partner). We had quietly and optimistically talked of the future. We had reflected on the past. She is a Sister of Mercy. She is a prayer partner. She cares for and encourages, even a Baptist. She doesn’t limit her mercy to Catholics. I love Sister Angela. So amidst our gray skies the Holy One sends The Light. That light is often delivered by friends who become Torch Bearers and help us to be Brave Heart. Thank you special friends! I am deeply grateful for your encouragement that comes in many ways. I’m humbled that you care. Sister Angela ended our conversation by quoting Romans 8:28. “All things work together for good …” So, it’s #RunVinceRun Blessings abound. Look around. Hold forth! The day and the NIGHT belong to the Holy One. And, I do still like Bass Weejun Penny Loafers!

Facing a Cold Wind

It was a cloudy, cold 28 degrees, wind chill factor 17 degrees. The Sleighbells on the Square 5K had been postponed because of December snow and ice. It wouldn’t be postponed because of January cold. Sometimes weeks are shrouded in a montage of grey clouds, uncertainties, immobility, and moroseness. Such can seep from one day to another, then another. It’s cold and very windy. No one will know if I show up or not. I’m almost 68 years old. Who gives a rip? The run cause is good, contribution made. Who needs another t-shirt? In the quiet darkness of a warm bed, I remember. I care. No one else, just me! We are not racing against anyone except one’s self. Final conclusion — I’ll know. Life is so often like that. We know. No one else may know, but we know. Bundled, layered, wrapped, and gloved, I quietly leave in the darkness. With a cold wind in my face I run the fierce Marietta hill on which I injured a knee three years before. I noodled, today, where is that fierce hill? And, so another race is run and done. Good 2nd Place time in the old men’s age-group. On my way home I stopped by my WW Group location. There was a meeting in progress. I smiled. Today, is the 4th Anniversary of my waking through that door. Thanks Lisa and Nan for the ongoing WWencouragement. Today’s run was therapeutic; pure therapy! #JourneyOn #WW #RunOn #RunStrong #RunATL

Trash Long Forgotten

On the occasion of the 150th Anniversary Year (2018) of First Baptist Church, Dallas, Texas, here’s a personal story and special remembrance. In the first half of the 70s, I was privileged to serve on the staff of FBC. It was a life-changing and directing experience in many ways. My last assignment was Minister to Jr High Youth. One day while working with some of the maintenance staff cleaning out a long forgotten and unused area of the Burt Building I came across a small pile of old wood with square nails and several pieces of slate. I was told that it was trash and the maintenance crew put it in a pile to be disposed. Upon further inquiry, I learned that it was remnants of the old steeple that had been replaced much to the dismay of Dr. Criswell. I went back and pulled a piece of the wood with nails and a few pieces of slate from the trash bin. Later, I made this wall hanging. It has always been precious to me. Several years after the Burt Building experience, the Criswell Building was being spruced-up and the beautiful doors that faced San Jacinto Street we’re being refinished. I was walking through the basement and tunnel to the Sanctuary late one evening and there in the big rolling, circular trash container were pieces of the renovation being thrown away. Near the top of the trash pile was the brass 1707 door plate which had been replaced by a 70s “stylish” plastic 1707 which “matched” the numbering system being used in the renovation. Out with the old, in with the new! I attached that special numbered brass plate to the top of the old piece of steeple wood. I smile every time I see this special heirloom, which I know means little to anyone else, but I cherish. After more than 45 years and multiple moves across four states, I’m blessed to still hold it. I was in my early 20s then, now moving into my late 60s. Not sure what prompted me to pickup those pieces, but I’m glad I did. Actually, I guess I’ve always liked “garbage-picking.” There’s a sermon in that — God picked me up from a forgotten trash pile and holds me close. I’m grateful!

My Father-in-Law: A Tribute

Today, 34 years ago, my father-in-law, Ray Arthur Threlkeld died. It was 1983. It was a bitter cold day on Springer Street and colder still on New Year’s Eve when he was laid to rest on Joe Johnston Hill at Crest Lawn Cemetery. He was only 63 years old. He had outlived his mother, father, and two brothers. I never got the chance to know him, up close and personal, but I do know him in a plethora of ways. I know his work ethic, because scores of people still tell me what a great automobile mechanic he was. They often comment that they sure wish they could take their car to him today, to fix. I know his penchant for perfection. I live it everyday with his daughter. I know his skill at organizing, because parts of his big garage are as he left them. Tools and papers organized to the max. I know his caring for boys that needed encouraging and help. He hired such young men to work in his garage. Being an orphan at age 13 (his Mother had died when he was 3 years old), he always tried to reach out to those that struggled, often no fault of there own. I still bump into adult men who were recipients of his kindness. I know he loved history, Deborah relishes (and I so enjoy hearing) in retelling the stories of Atlanta that her father lived and shared with her — 1939 Gone With the Wind Premier, Winecoff Hotel fire of 1946, Atlanta Crackers Baseball team playing at the Ponce de Leon Ball Park, The Varsity, Yellowjacket Hot Dogs, Krystal on Lee Street, and Sears on Ponce. I know he loved his family and helped them and stayed close to aunts and his two brothers, the older of which was KIA on Christmas Eve during WWII. And, he always made sure his father-in-law, John Wells, got to go fishing, even after Mr. Wells’ stroke. I know he loved his country. He always remembered and recognized his brother, Staff Sargent Richard R. Threlkeld, who was killed in action in World War II and is buried in France. I know he managed his finances well. He left no debt and owned few credit cards. He was a cash man, when it came to paying. I know he knew all about cars. He passed that on to his daughter. I know Mr. Threlkeld, because I know his daughter, who loved her Daddy very, very much … and misses him still. She was and is her “Daddy’s Girl.” He was a city boy (from Atlanta/Fulton County). He never enjoyed staying with his paternal grandmother during summers in very rural Elbert County. We have some “funny” family stories about those forays! I know him because his footprints and fingerprints are up and down Springer and White Streets. He speaks to me still. Shared in loving memory of Ray Arthur Threlkeld.

A Genesis Story

JUST A THOUGHT … Have you ever been in a situation “that” or known someone “who” literally sucked the joy out of the day? It seems to me that such is the Genesis story, and it is a story that keeps being repeated throughout the book. It’s a relationship story. The story of God and God’s very good creation. All creation was good, but when God put it all together it was very good. And, the very good came when ultimately God’s creation carried the image of the Holy One. So, in the Garden, God visited with, talked with, encouraged, provided for, instructed, guided, touched, and cared for. God got to know up close and personal the apex of creation. God journeyed with Adam and Eve in an On-going, committed personal relationship. Then, suddenly, they turned. They abandoned. They forgot. They ignored. They stepped out of the light and into the darkness. They stumbled. There was a fall. They sucked the joy out of the day! And, ultimately God had the joy sucked out of the day, too. There was a sad, dark invasion. Breathlessness shrouded the Garden. Adam and Eve lost their breath, their mooring. They cut loose from the Anchor. God grieved. Over and again, throughout Genesis, God’s creation would suck the joy out of the day. Maybe you, too, have experienced such in a relationship that fractured. Such is also the story of Abraham, Sarah, Noah, Isaac, Pharaoh, Joseph, Miriam, and Moses. It’s our story, too. Seems to me, it’s the Genesis Story. A story of joy being sucked out and found again. Everything God has done since God dispelled Adam and Eve from the Garden, has been to bring men and women back into that Garden Relationship. A relationship of joy and life. God says, I’ve come that you might have life, abundant life, not a life where the joy is sucked away, but rather breathed into you. And, God sent God’s only son, to ensure such. The hymn writer is right, “Breathed on me, breathe on me. Holy Spirit breathe on me.” It’s a Genesis story — creation, re-creation, knowing God — joy for the journey. So, the next time someone sucks the joy out of your day, do what the Holy One did, LOVE anyway! Just a thought …

The Nudge

As darkness swamped ATL the news continued to reverberate with updates from London. There our friends were reeling from another terrorist attack in the city. Such events almost seem ordinary, now. As our small planet has become ever more divided and filled with hate, anger, cruelty, and disdain. Ironically, we seem to be divided by the very things that should bring us together. We could make a better world for all, except we don’t. They say that love makes the world go ’round. So, I guess we no longer spin on our axis, but rather are standing on our head, caught in a trap that won’t let go — quicksand of the heart, mind, soul, spirit, and will, so to speak. As night gave way to day, the news was no better. More deaths, more uncertainties, more terrorists, more glee from the dark side, more tears, more anxiety, more fear, more of everything that those of us that were children of the 60s thought we had somewhat overcome. Such is certainly not the case this day. Morning has given way to afternoon and with resolute determination evil has dug in its heels.

Saturated with news of rampant evil, I turned off all media and sat in silence. It seemed easier to avoid and ignore than to face the realities about us. I suspect some of you may have done the same. But, in the silence came the reminder of chores to be done and kilometers to be run. Nah! Outside of my safe cocoon is a world of unknowns and uncertainties. Yet, the nudge would not let go! The nudge prods. The nudge pushes. The nudge says, “Lace-up those kicks! Journey on! Run on!” Finally, the nudge wins. Ever so slowly I begin to prepare for the journey, to exit to life on the streets. The real world awaits. You’ve been there, too!

I decide to run 5K and on the return address the chore list. It’s cool and breezy, but sunny.  I lock the door and head out of the safety zone of Springer Street and into the bustling noise and traffic of Howell Mill Road. This will be an out and back run, with a few purposed hill detours. I breathe. I run.

As some of you know, since I found the first penny in the doctor’s parking lot on the day I received my prostate cancer diagnosis, I seemed to have been drawn to stray coins. That day, I said that the found coin would serve as a blessing reminder, even in the face of cancer. The coins are a reminder that everyday, in all things, in God we trust. Running south on Howell Mill Road, I paused at the light at Chattahoochee and looking down there to my amazement was a penny. I reached down, picked it up, and gave thanks to the Holy One for having nudged me out into the world.

Running at a bit faster clip than usual, I discovered my second find of the morning. A small round disc with a hole in the center. Some of my friends call them washers, and I guess such is the case. But, for me they mean something so much more. It was in late autumn, eighteen months ago, when my world would change again. I remember that day so clearly. You’ve had days like that, I’m sure, that are seared into the fiber of your being. Nothing I could do or say could undo the reality that I faced. Running that evening, with iPod playing in my ears, the old Christian hymn, ‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus, began to quietly play. I ran, and ran some more, as the hymn played. Coming to a cross street, I looked down, and there at my feet was a small round disc, with a hole in the center (a washer). It was rusted and had obviously been there a long time. The falling autumn leaves somewhat hid it in the street’s gutter. But, to be sure, it was there and there for a purpose. My broken spirit was drowning in tears and hurt, when a nudge came to me and whispered, “That disc, it’s a reminder that you are Encircle By God’s Great Love. I will never leave you or forsake you. Trust me, even in the darkness. I am with you.” I suspect that some of you, too, have felt the hurt of brokenness, fear, separation, disappointment, medical trauma, unrealized dreams, and loss. Such hurts! Emotional pain can be more severe and longer lasting than physical pain. The old hymn that was playing gave way to a new tune, and who would believe it, Fernando Ortega was singing and playing, Give Me Jesus. The song said it all. I reached down, picked up that small round disc, rubbed it between my fingers, and standing in the darkness of night, prayerfully listened to the song, holding this newly found reminder disc. As the song ended, I realized for the first time that I was standing beneath a street light at that dark corner, but more than that, I was standing in The Light. At that moment, Niagara Falls had nothing on me. Indeed, I was standing at a life corner. I had to make the turn, but I wasn’t on the journey alone. I ran on.

It has been 18 months, since I found that first small round disc and 2 1/2 years since I found that first coin. Over and again, since those days, I have found blessing reminders and discs reminding me that we are Encircled By God’s Great Love. I have a few jars filled with those reminders. I look at them and give thanks!

Back to today! Who would believe it? It seemed as those the street had been strewn with small round discs, just as the Holy One had left manna for the Hebrews on their journey to the Promised Land. As I gathered the handful of discs, I received a nudge. It was as if someone was saying to me, “You didn’t want to get about the journey, today. So, I decided to inundate you with reminders that you are Encircled By God’s Great Love.” I picked up those discs as gladly as did the Hebrews pick up the manna. The only difference was they had baskets. I simply had two full hands.

The Holy One is like that. Two full hands outstretched in Calvary love. Two full hands holding us when we are sinking, thinking for a moment that we could walk on water. Two full hands uplifted in blessing. Two full hands touching and healing the broken and leprosy diseased parts of our life. Two full hands wrap us in hope when all seems lost. Two full nail-scared hands that open and hold us safe and secure in life’s dark moments.

The Holy One is nudging all of us, in the midst of the broken and depraved world in which we find ourselves on this day — from London, Paris, Lockerbie, Oklahoma City, Nairobi, Little Rock, Benghazi, San Bernardino, San Antonio, Chattanooga, Tel Aviv, Berlin, New York, Washington, Boston, and places in-between — nudging us to get about the journey. Run on. Run strong. You are not alone in the chaos. Finding the blessings — they are there, and remember that we are encircled by God’s Great Love.

Six Hours One Sunday

On Sunday, 9 October 2016, I began what I thought was the the final leg of a journey that had begun on 14 January 2014. I wasn’t the only one on the streets that day. Many share the six hours both virtually and beside me. It was reality for all. Much to my surprise and utter amazement, “final” was not in the thesaurus of that experiential journey. Rather, it was six hours of a continuing flow of life’s new minutes, thoughts, serendipities, pains, breaths, meltdowns, multiple finish lines, faces, heartbeats, great cloud of witnesses, limps, tears, smiles, grins, runs, and all-in moments.

The writings that will continue from time-to-time during the next weeks will underscore the difference that a moment makes when held in the hands of the Holy One. Life is often like drops of water that connect with the ocean. The identity of the “drop” is unique for a moment, then suddenly they are part of a larger cosmos. It is in that “dripping” moment that the “drop” is seen, felt, known, and unique. It is only an instant, a scant moment in time. What we do with and in “that” moment, makes all the difference.

The questions are real. They are direct. They are penetrating. They pierce to the core of ones being. They emerge as one’s life canvas in all its multiple strokes and hues. I invite you to join me in exploring these questions that provide insights to THE ultimate question, “what’s it all about?” Alfie wasn’t the ONLY person of whom this question is asked, to be sure! We muse it daily and it becomes ever more consuming as the “drop” gets closer to the ocean cosmos.

New insights, renewed perspectives, deepened awareness, and some answers are found in “street life.” Let’s trek and run on, together, mates. Your presence is needed. We may even discover that from time-to-time we run strong, as we run on! See you on the streets, mates! StreetLife emerges once again.

 

 

Starting, Again!

It has been way to long since I started the Blog “StreetLife.” I did so as a cathartic outlet several years ago. Then, life got a bit stretched in multiple directions at the same time. You’ve been there. I somewhat used Facebook as my mini-Blog site. I know, sometimes the “mini” posts got way too long. 🙂

So, today, as I “get ready” to launch a new year and all the newness that it will hold, I’m “Starting, Again!” I invite you to follow my Blog, if you so choose. It will be another place that we can share conversation, across the miles and days, as they stretch forward.

Come on along. Let’s share the journey. Holding forth! Finding the Way! Trusting Jesus! along the trek of “StreetLife.”