Back in Black Mountain

East of Lake Eden

 

When I was seven years old my parents sent me along with my two older brothers to a boys summer camp.  As I remember it was for five weeks.  Camp Rockmont was located in Black Mountain, North Carolina just outside of Asheville.  Our family lived in Miami, Florida.  I felt far away from home.  In my short life in this world I felt the pain of separation for the very first time.  I was experiencing homesickness.

 

Apparently there was no turning back. There was no rescue by my parents. I had to go “cold turkey” as they say in drug addiction recovery circles.  At this very young age memories of the experience are sparse and narrow except for the emotional pain, the psychic discordance that I remember and have remembered for a lifetime.

 

There was a lot of attention from the youth camp “counselors” as well as the adult supervisors and even the camp principals and owners.  Whatever the duration, I bore through it and adapted and returned to this place by Lake Eden over the course of the next five summers.

 

The final summer was the penultimate camp session for me as this was the summer of 1964.  I was to hike a 26 mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail starting in North Carolina and ending in Tennessee.  The accomplishment of this challenge was to be a validation of a boy’s transformation to manhood.  The fact that it was occurring at the same time of my body’s puberty maturation transformation was doubly valuable for prepping me for the coming months when I would lose my father to heart failure.

 

This same summer I was awakened from my bunk by the camp owner George and escorted to his family’s home on site and sat down in front of the black and white television where I would watch my even older brother the Rev. Nicholas Bosworth say the benediction for the July 14^th session of the 1964 Republican National Convention.

 

Just this last weekend I had the opportunity to revisit Lake Eden after more 50 years.  It is a much smaller tract than it appeared as to a young boy.  The owner’s house was just as I remembered it and Lake Eden was more beautiful in color than in the black and white of distant memories.

 

 

Much like the last time I was in these parts I took a nice hike with my dear friend Donna. It was a hike up a mountain to a majestic waterfall deep in God’s country a little east of Lake Eden.

 

Bradford Bosworth

March 2015

Cruising Down the Via Dolorosa

One of the ways that I get fulfillment at Church is through the traditions we follow that liturgically align with not only the order of service but also the simple expressions of the individual congregation. The prior being exemplified by the music and singing of the Doxology in the presentation of the offering. In our Smyrna First UMC at the early traditional service there is an added signature as Pastor Barbara drops her offering into the plate as it is being presented on the Altar.

The latter is an example manifested yesterday in our blessed youth choir "God's Light" and their annual Lenten performance of "Via Dolorosa". Before the singing began a young lady student read the summation of the events (Mark's Gospel) in and after Pontius Pilate's court.  It was very stirring and emotional for this parishioner.  That movement of the spirit is why I attend worship.

It occurred to me that in our world we all travel on the "Via Dolorosa" or Painful Way as it is often translated. It is our choice whether we go trudging or we go cruising.


Bradford 3/15

Two Up With My Pastor

Two Wild and Crazy Guys

 

Not quite two years ago I had a noontime appointment with the Senior Pastor of our Smyrna First United Methodist Church. I was riding a Harley-Davidson Softail Deluxe that I had rented for a longer trip the next day. After meeting with Pastor Steve in his office we decided to go to lunch. As we walked towards his car he noticed the motorcycle and took a keen interest in it. He admired how stylish it was and that it reminded him of the bike Marlon Brando had ridden in the  “Wild Ones”.

 

At lunch we talked about our fledgling ministry known as Peter’s Promise.  We were discussing ideas for a Church wide presentation on a recovery related topic. During the lunch we spoke about faith in depth and the importance of shifting one’s dependence on worldly things to dependence on God based on trust.

 

On the way back to Church Steve asked if I might follow him over to his wife Gail’s office so he could drop her car off as his was in the shop. Then I could give him a ride back to the Church… on the back of the Harley.  Now my first thoughts were fearful and hesitant for a couple of reasons.  First I was concerned that well, you know two men are not supposed to ride two up on a Harley-Davidson.  It is kind of like an unspoken no no as well as a spoken rule of macho man culture.

 

The thought then occurred to me that he needed a helmet and I only had one;  “hallelujah” I am in the clear and home free. When I mentioned this obstacle to him he quickly responded that our Facilities Manager Eddie had a helmet he could borrow.  You should know Pastor Steve really had no idea of this riding faux pas. How could I even bring it up to him.  Would not my reluctance or refusal cast me as the one of little faith?

 

I mentioned that there were a couple of reasons for my fear. The second reason was that I had never ridden two up on a motorcycle.  It is one thing to be responsible for your own well being but whole different scenario when you have someone else’s welfare in your hands.  Lets take these ramifications a step further and consider the consequences in having to face the parishioners of the Church if something was to happen to our Pastor while I was piloting the ship, so to speak. This request was risky business.  But what about this heartfelt talk about faith I had just experienced a short while before.  How could I say no to my Pastor?

 

There was God’s Grace abounding in those moments as I realized that this man of God had placed his complete faith in me not knowing anything about my riding experience, only knowing me the person.  What an experience this would be. How blessed I was to have been placed exactly where I was.  I told Steve no problem lets go!

 

You must realize that our Pastor Steve Lyle looks just like the comedian Steve Martin. Two grown men riding on a Harley-Davidson is odd enough looking but when the guy on the back looks like Steve Martin well it is off the charts humorous. I’ll never forget pulling up at a stoplight and looking over at the car next to us and seeing our reflection in the window. It was pure Joy!  God is good.

 

On the way back to the Church I remember coming almost to the Harley-Davidson Dealership where I worked and thinking - boy I hope none of the guys see this.  There is the me of little faith again!  We got back to our Church and I delivered our Pastor safe and sound along with a story that will never die.

 

Bradford Bosworth

The Valentines Day Resentment

A few years ago I was doing an exercise where I was listing my resentments down on paper. This exercise was part of a program of Spiritual development. At first I was listing people mostly and then it was pointed out that I could identify institutions or other things or entities. My first thoughts went to the IRS which made it first on the paper.  But then I remembered Valentines Day.

On the surface the reader might or could think, the writer - me,  has no heart. (No pun intended). To this day I can remember standing in a florist shop on Valentines Day in 1983.  It was early afternoon, on lunch break actually, and here I was standing in front of a reach-in cooler staring at various flower arrangements.  I can't even remember the lady I was dating at the time. I do remember though the two guys who were standing next to me; one on my right and one on my left. This situation could have been an episode of the "The Three Stooges".

My recollection was that the guy on the right had beads of sweat on his forehead and the guy on the left had veins popping out on his temples. Both had glassy eyes and a deer in the headlights look of "How did I get here?" It occurred to me that there were no women in there looking for a gift for their boyfriends and to this day I have always felt that this commercially driven date on the calendar is mostly directed one way. All one has to do is study the advertisements to substantiate this premise.

All humor and sarcasm aside, my true belief is that if we love and love fully and totally; If we love everyday those we are close to and those we meet in passing, we do not need to designate one day to show Love.. We do not have to do something special just once a year for the folks in our lives to know we love them. Each moment of each day we love with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our minds, with all our strength.  If we love ourselves first then we can love our neighbors as ourselves!

'There is no fear in Love..."
1John 4:18

Foxhole Prayer

Writer's note: The following post was written a couple months ago when familiarity with the entire "blogging" process was still very dim. So I thought I had posted it already and it turns out I had not. I also had referenced this text in a subsequent post ( "What goes around... on 2/17). Well here goes and the reader can be sure there will be more written about my experiences with Dale.

Foxhole Prayer

Back in the early eighties when I was involved in the sport of motor racing as a PR and Marketing consultant. I was working with a company  in Atlanta called the Championship Group. During this time a young motorcycle road racer from Dalton, Georgia contacted us to help find him a ride on four wheels instead of two.  He had much success in his two wheel career and in a three year stretch 1979-1981 won the prestigious Daytona 200 twice and finished second once as a privateer. Earlier in his career he had been nicknamed "Pig Farmer" by the California -surfer boy- contingent in the sport because of his southern twang accent.  One day we were traveling together and he told me the story about how the promoter of the infamous Isle of Man motorcycle race had called him after one of his Daytona victories to ask him to run his race.  The Isle of Man is considered in most circles as the most dangerous motorcycle race on planet earth. Dale said that he really did not want to race there so he gave the promoter an astronomical appearance fee figuring he would say no.  Well the promoter said yes and Dale, being a man of integrity, entered the race. Dale described a point in the competition where low light and misty fog prevented clear vision and he could tell when he would hit a puddle because the tachometer would spike with wheel spin engine rev. He said a foxhole prayer, "Lord if you get me out of here alive, I will never make a decision like this again."

Mark 11:24