As I have written a couple of times in the past several months, I have been on a search for what is, to me, a lost father and family. The whole story of my background and why I have begun this search is written in my blog post on 6/20 … so I’ll not repeat it here, other than to say that I had been unable to find a single blood relative after months of searching.

I was able to discover through a lot of research that I surely, somewhere, have a “cousin” named William Parks – the son of the brother of the father I never knew. There have to be 10,000 people in the USA by this name. All I knew was his name and that he lived in Nazareth, PA in 1994. Several times I have called someone, believing through my research that I had found the lost cousin, only to find out it was not.

My father’s picture from WW2 … he was in the Army Air Corps and served in the area of radio communications in the Far East

However, on Tuesday of last week I made a call and hit the right person. Amazing, and very emotional. In that he had no idea whatsoever that he had a cousin out there with my story, it was a total “out of the blue” phone call for him to receive. I knew this was going to be a very odd situation – one that anyone receiving such a call would greet with significant skepticism and suspicion. To his credit, he picked himself off the floor rather quickly and we had quite a conversation. He also called me back later in the day after it had sunk in a bit more, and after he dug out a box in the basement filled with old family mementos.

I was actually able through all I’ve discovered to tell him about certain points of the family past that he was unaware of – in terms of great-grandparents and where various ones lived and when. So we made plans to get together a few days later – which we did this past Friday.

So, I drove to the Wind Gap, PA area to meet with my 62-year-old cousin, whom just days earlier, had no idea he had such a relative … nor did I know if he was even still alive. It was a unique gathering. He showed me family history pictures and papers, gave me quite a few of them and various items he had from his Uncle David – my father, and filled me with stories that I could never have known in any other way. He was very close to my father.

We then drove down out of the Pocono Mountains to Easton, PA, and went from address to address of the places where the various family members had lived. My father actually lived in a house that I surely had driven by hundreds of times in my life, not knowing it belonged to him.

All in all, it was an incredible experience!! We clearly sensed a bond of family connection, in spite of our total separation prior to that day. And we clearly have lived different lives. I’ve gone the academic road through life, and Bill has taken the “hands-on” route that he described as “a liberal arts degree in life.”  He has truly done just about everything imaginable. I’ve often wondered why I am such a total mechanical ditz – well, now I know. He got all the mechanical genes!

There are two more cousins to find – if they can be. Bill has lost contact with them. I believe I’ve found one of them – living now in Florida – and have a message sent to her. But, it may well be that it hits her husband and her as so totally bizarre that they are afraid to respond!  I can understand that!

There is still much to learn and much that is unanswered. But I pick up a piece here and there; and if it can be found, I will find it.

People who hear this story are asking me how I “feel about it” … about a light now shining into this closet where no light has shown for 57 years. Truly, I think I’m still processing this. But let me say that it was never anything that I felt “angry” about, or even “wounded.”  It is more of a nothingness that now is something … and a residual undercurrent of weirdness that now has some explanation. Truly, my life has been extraordinarily blessed by God in the big picture of things – I’ve been granted grace upon grace. So there is no real loss to grieve in the context of all I’ve had.

But I do think this search is turning into one of the extraordinary events of my life.

Here was my plan for Friday – to go to the Joel Thorpe wedding in Philly a day early. I had the hotel booked. I wanted to spend the afternoon with Diana walking around to all the places we used to go when we first met at 1800 Arch Street. That building has been long gone, but many others would still be there. Lots of restaurants and parks and places of that sort would be at the same locations. Maybe we could grab some Philly steaks and a dessert at the Ice Cream Company.

But, a bundle of responsibilities in the morning delayed departure. Then the weather looked bad for Philly in the afternoon. Before long, it was too late to go.

Then, it started to rain in River Bend Farms … and it rained hard. The spouts could not handle it. I had the thought that perhaps I should check the basement, and sure enough, it was flowing through a crack in the bulkhead door. So I started bailing and carrying buckets. I was able to avert a disaster for sure.

Then, Caleb comes home to announce that a tree had fallen across our driveway. So, that was my next task… cleaning it up enough so that we can at least get by to actually go to the wedding in Philadelphia.

Vacation – Buchman style. We are vacationally dysfunctional. I shouldn’t even try to take days off; it seldom works out.

So I finished my vacation day with an elevated leg and swollen knee – but at least the Orioles beat the Nationals … so, it was a good day after all!

Since I’ve been putting a post each day about what I’ve done with my days off, I’ll write a few lines about Thursday. This is not as good as the last two days.

I spent my day at Jubilee Day in Mechanicsburg, PA.  Why? I’m not really sure. And what is it?  I don’t really know how to explain it.

Jubilee Day is an annual event in Mechanicsburg – a city known for big events, like, the dropping of the wrench on New Year’s Eve (I’m not making that up).

It is an annual street carnival sort of thing with lots of funnel cakes places, lemonade stands, crafters, various organizations (including churches with stands), and music venues at various locations. They shut down the main street in town and something like 40,000 people come to it.

We own a franchise location in Mechanicsburg of our oldest son’s and daughter-in-law’s business, Potomac Bead Company. The location is on Main Street there, in a store that our family (mostly Aaron) renovated (it was originally a downtown movie theatre – so the front room slopes upward from the front door.  A stray bead can roll 50 feet before it stops!).

Diana manages the business, most days from a distance – travelling there once or maybe twice a week. I don’t talk about this much – mostly because I seldom see or experience the place, beyond taking inventory on New Year’s Day (can you imagine counting roughly 6 million beads?).

So on this Jubilee Day, there is quite a lot of foot traffic in the store. My role is basically security guard and bouncer!  (Things can get rough in a bead store!)  So, it was not the most interesting day, but I was glad to help Diana.

The following is a picture from the Mechanicsburg Chamber of Commerce about Jubilee Day. And after that are a couple of pictures of the store.

Yes, it is true. I will not deny it; I am officially a doddering old man in his dotage. Have you ever heard that word – dotage – or that phrase?  It came across my radar when reading the book John Adams by David McCullogh. Adams used the phrase all the time to describe failing old men – an ability at which he excelled beyond all his peers, living to the age of almost 91 (as Thomas Jefferson uttered his last words – dying the same day – “Adams survives.”)

The word dotage means “a decline of mental faculties, especially as associated with old age; senility.”

Yep, as if I likely need to prove this to any of you who know me, here is proof of my decline – evidenced by how I spent my afternoon on Wednesday of my vacation week…

I thought I would drive down into West Virginia to view some of the Civil War Trails historic markers of varied sites that are not commonly a part of the major incidents of the War. I’m always trying to learn new things and also gain more material for my Civil War blog (www.enfiladinglines.com … check it out if you’ve never seen it!).

So, I’m at a fairly remote location and came upon a marker at a spot where there honestly was not much to see other than the marker itself – the historic stuff no longer is standing at that location. Well, I read the marker, took a few pictures of it for later reference, and went to get back in the car.

THE DOOR WAS LOCKED!

THE ENGINGE WAS RUNNING!

MY PHONE WAS LOCKED INSIDE!

What to do??  Among options I considered was finding a large rock to break the window! But down the country road I saw a home and thought I’d at least walk toward it. There was fellow outside to whom I told my sad tale of woe. He actually recognized me as a Williamsport coach, as he has a son who is a distance runner for Hedgesville High School. He had a cell phone on him, and I began to call my various progeny to come rescue me. However, one was in Ocean City, another was at work in Carlisle, and a third did not answer his phone. Caleb is the guy I really needed, but, since his phone number is “in my phone” which was “in the locked car,” I could not call him. Eric Boutieller (my Student Ministries Pastor) was fortunately at church, and I was able to call him there … “Eric, could you give me my son’s phone number?”  So, after about 30-40 minutes, Caleb arrived to rescue me.

OK… here is my excuse … old people make excuses for their behavior … like my 90-year-old mother did when she was robbed by a roving band of Gypsies (not making this up – just reporting what happened) who talked her out of her house to discuss home repairs, while a group of them stole a bunch of money and broke into a safe she had in the house!  When I said to her, “Mom, this is why you probably should not be living alone anymore at age 90,” her answer to me was, “Well, now that this has happened, I’ll know to not do that again!”

OK… where was I? … why did I write that story???  OH, ok, I was going to give you my excuse for locking myself out of a running car.

Here’s the story: It is a new-to-us car – the newest and nicest car we have ever owned. It is a 2002 Cavalier with only 53,000 miles on it. You see, we’re not really too “into” cars. But I really, really do still want to have a BMW or Benz – not a big thing, mind you. Just like a 325 series or a small 230 Mercedes – something like that.

Oh… I got sidetracked again with another story… sorry …

Notice the tiny little locking thinger!

So, this new car, for which I’m very thankful having had it given to us by my brother-in-law after my sister passed away … well … it does have a stupid feature – in my estimation. The door locking mechanism is not a vertical thing on the handle like in our Toyota cars. No, it is a horizontal latch connected to the door opening latch, and all you need to do it bump against it getting out of the car, and it goes into a locked position. I guess that is what I did … probably bumped it because of my dotage-infested aching knees that make every car-exiting experience the worst moment of any day.

So that’s my excuse; it could happen to anyone at any age, right??

I am mostly using vacation days this week, and as I mentioned at some point in the past, I’ve occasionally been doing some genealogical research – using Ancestry.com and a whole host of other ideas and research.

To quickly review my bizarre story:  I was adopted by my biological mother’s parents – so my known-to-me parents were actually grandparents. My biological father was much older and was already long married (but with no children) when I was born to a young single working woman. So I never knew him, though he lived but a few miles away. I talked with him once on the phone for a couple of minutes, wherein he declined my offer to get together. He died in 1979.

So, this half of my life and background is a relative black hole. And for some reason, I’ve felt the compulsion to dig into in and see what I can find. It has been difficult to learn much – there were/are few relatives. At the most, I might have 2-3 “cousins” living, and I’ve so far been unsuccessful in tracking them down. I’ve only been able to take the family back to three generations before me, and I’m stuck trying to understand why my great-grandfather in 1860 was a five-year-old living with people of a different name – whom I know for sure are not related to him. It appears he was an orphan?

I don’t think I’m going to be able to figure this out without finding a remaining descendent or two and gaining an oral history from them. And with that endeavor, I’ve so far scored the same number as the Orioles have scored runs against the NY Mets – Zero!

Well yesterday I went to the Northampton County Historical and Genealogical Society library in Easton, PA.  There I was greeted by the manager (and I’m not making this up) who is a woman who is exactly 100 years old!!  Though she was moving even slower than me, her mind was not dragging much at all!

As I sat down at a table in this small room, there were two younger women working for the library on some sort of project with stacks of printed materials piled on the same table. The spunky elderly lady sat down with me and asked me to tell my story so they’d know how to help. So I began with what little I know … starting with my biological father …

I told them his name and said that he would have been prominent in the community for only one thing – that he was much involved in musical drama and theatre with a local company called “The Chansonette Theatre” (a group like our local Potomac Play Makers).  Hearing my story, one of the ladies recording information on the other side of the table said, “Well, how about that! That is what we just sat down to work on right here right now – we are cataloging an entire collection of playbills and programs from that theatre group. This pile of stuff was just given to us.”  And then she picked up the first program on top – from 1955 – and opened it and there was a picture of my father on the inside cover! For this particular show – South Pacific – he was the Musical Director (so I came by the role of “Herr Victor Schwab” naturally! … long story there if you don’t know what that references). There were other programs where he was pictured and featured with leading roles, and some reviews of critics in newspaper clippings – that sort of thing.

So, is that surreal, or what?

The lady said, “I think the ancients want to be found as much as we want to find them.”  I don’t know about that … well, yes I do know about that – and know that it cannot be true. But I do think I was on some divinely orchestrated timetable, and that it was not a mere coincidence.  I don’t know why … because I’m certainly not having much divine orchestration going on with my efforts to track down a blood relative.

But there is more to be done and written on this story. My competitive, tenacious nature has now been aroused, and I’m likely to hound it until I figure it out. Here’s a picture … anyone else think he’s got a little bit of a Mitt Romney thing going on?

Now, look at this picture of my oldest son Nathan … do you think these people are related??

If it is true (and it is) that we are in a Kingdom struggle of darkness versus light, we are at war against spiritual realities – “principalities and powers” as they are called in Ephesians chapter six. So it is not a surprise that we’ll experience the “fog of war” from time to time. I have felt that of late … confusion about direction and purpose and my role in ministry. (If this sounds vague, yep – that’s the issue from inside me as well!)

So, I had a scheduled vacation day yesterday and decided at the last minute to use it as a time to go meet with God … and not just anywhere, but to go back to our beginning (humanly speaking, not theologically – since I can’t get back to the foundation of the world!). There is some precedent in the Old Testament patriarchs of visiting the place where a covenant was established – doing so as a sort of reconnection or reaffirmation of God’s calling and work. As an illustration of this, I’d refer you to Genesis 25 and the account of Jacob visiting Bethel.

And so, I went to visit my own Bethel – a place called Calvary Community Church in Harmony Township, NJ, just a few hundred yards was where I grew up. It was in this church that I have a first memory of understanding and committing to the Gospel of Christ (as I recall, in a children’s program with a teaching about Jacob and Esau).  This happened about 49-50 years ago, and I remember the exact spot and knew I could even now pinpoint it to within a foot or two of where I was sitting that evening.

This church was founded as an independent congregation that split from a liberal church and denomination about 75 years ago. My grandfather was one of the original elders and my father one of the first deacons. My family attended until I was age 10, and when the church voted to join a certain denomination, we departed to go to another independent church – where I grew through my high school and college years, Diana and I were married, etc. And then, after seminary, I moved back to this same community to be a pastor at a third local church there (for 11 years before coming to TSF).

So anyhow, this is a somewhat small, older, traditional church building. Attached is the church office and the old parsonage. There was nobody in the office or the parsonage – now occupied by old family friends of many generations (who are the church caretakers). I tried one of the lower level doors of the church, and it was open. So I made myself at home and looked around at rooms I’ve not seen in literally decades. Most were far smaller than my childhood memories of them.

My plan was to read and pray at the spot where I first met the Lord. Well, it is no longer an educational space; it has been turned into a kitchen – with a door frame now at my spot! So I went to the sanctuary and sat in the pew where I went to church EVERY Sunday with my family. I would sit with only my father, since my mother was the church organist and was on a sort of side stage for the duration of the services.

I read and prayed and read and prayed – through the entire pastoral and prison epistles … and a collection of other Gospel accounts, Psalms, etc.  I would have much preferred that God showed up in some vision and sat there next to me and answered all my questions and concerns. But I believe I came away with what I needed to move forward – yet as always, living it out over time is the challenge. Even the first generation church was a major mixed bag of blessings and burdens, of faith and encouraging people, yet of those who abandoned Paul and even denied the faith!

So it was a good trip for me, though I don’t want to make the final trip there too terribly soon – since the cemetery there is my final earthly destination! Not everyone gets to be born and raised and ultimately buried “in Harmony!”

This was my view of the front from where I sat for 10 years.

We moved into this house that my father-in-law and I built exactly 28 years ago this week.

For those who are local to the Tri-State area, it is likely that most of you know the events surrounding Williamsport High School and most specifically the baseball team. For those of you beyond this area, let me review the main points.

The annual high school Prom was held on May 5^th, and just after the event was over, a senior boy and girl were killed instantly in a tragic car accident. Both were popular kids and among the best athletes in the school – the boy being the best player on the baseball team.

The regular season for the team had ended that week with a record of 9-9.  They were outscored in their final three games 31-3. After the accident, the team did not even practice for a week, but still won their first playoff game 22-0 with a no-hitter. Granted, the other team was not very good … but the story is just beginning…

The team kept winning games … all the way to the state championship finals. They held a 1-0 lead throughout most of the contest against an opponent with a record of 19-4.  But the opposition scored late in the game to send it into extra innings. In the bottom of the 9^th (the 2^nd extra inning), the Williamsport boys won the game on a suicide squeeze bunt!  If you’re not a baseball fan, this is a very rare and difficult maneuver to pull off and is a “do or die” strategy.

I have said to many that this is the stuff of which books are written. The tragedy, emotion, drama, etc… just an amazing story.

It has been an emotional several weeks at the school. I went in on that first day to just hang out and talk with kids – got to see and say something to most of my runners. I also spoke to the Fellowship of Christian Athletes group that week. And last night was the annual all-sport banquet – an emotional affair – but perhaps an event that put about as good a moment of closure upon the matter as could be made. Their coach is a really good young guy named David Warrenfeltz … who graduated from the school in Aaron’s class. He was also the high school catcher and close friend for California Angels pitcher Nick Adenhart – a fellow grad of that WHS glass of 2004 – who was killed by a drunk driver in 2009.

It is a painful awakening to teenagers to learn that not everyone is assured that they are going to get to play the whole game. The sad truth is that some don’t get out of the first quarter. The apparent unfairness of this drives some to reject God, though, the appropriate response is to run to Him, for there is no hope elsewhere.