Category: Did You Hear The One About…

Tomorrow Is Not Promised

Carrie Fisher: "Jesus love you."
Carrie Fisher: God is in control.

I used to be a newspaperman and before I interviewed someone, I learned everything I could about them.  You know the adage about old habits dying hard, so, the other day, I googled “Carrie Fisher, N.C. Baptists.”

I plan to interview Carrie  early next year for a story about the need for volunteers to repair Down East homes damaged by Hurricane Florence and other storms.  A lot work has already been done, by Baptists on  Mission and other groups, working together. A lot remains to be done.

I already knew that she is the site coordinator of the Baptists on Mission rebuild site in New Bern, N.C.  I had been there twice, in July and November, working with the team from my church, Trinity Baptist in Raleigh.  On those trips I had heard Carrie  pray six or eight times.  She talks to God like she knows Him well, and He knows her.

Paul Fisher
Paul Fisher: “Jesus loves you and He’s got a plan for your life — a good one.”

Someone told me that her husband, Paul, died while they were on a mission to Puerto Rico but I didn’t know when or how. Or why.

When I Googled Carrie I found a video of her testimony, honoring her husband and praising God.  And the more I thought about it, the more I thought how appropriate it would be to share it with you today, at  Christmas.

Here is Carrie Fisher’s testimony.

NOTE1: Paul Fisher, 36, died on Feb. 28, 2019.

NOTE 2: The following information is from the Baptists on Mission website.

Hurricane Florence Update: Hurricane Florence [Landfall, Sept. 14, 2018]  is the most devastating natural disaster North Carolina has ever experienced.

Feeding Summary
Baptist of Mission kitchens prepared a  total of 1,057,623 HOT meals for Florence survivors at 10 locations.  We are still feeding volunteers.

Long Term Response
This disaster is so big that it will require a long term rebuild response, two to three years, and require thousands of volunteers.  We are setting up four rebuild center sites [New Bern is one] where we can house and feed volunteers.

Coming Friday:  The Porcupine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Face Is Still Red

We all do something embarrassing every once in a while, don’t we?

***Blurting out one too many hallelujahs while singing the Hallelujah Chorus.

***Sending a private, very personal, email  to “Reply to all” instead of “Reply.”

**Making a noise you should not have made any time you’re not alone. I think you know what I’m talking about.

Why is it that we forget many of our wonderful days and some of our triumphs, too, but we remember those red face moments for decades, maybe until the day we die.

*  *  *

I’ve already told you about one of my most embarrassing moments — squirting mustard on a perfect stranger.

And then there was the time I turned a tape recorder on during a murder trial, after the judge had issued an order not the record any testimony.  I tried to record a witness but instead of pushing the “record” button I pushed the “play” button.

[Oh, cut me some slack. I was still in my twenties.]

In my defense, let me say this: I wasn’t present when the judge issued the order and I said to myself,  Self, if he hasn’t told you personally, his order doesn’t apply to you.

I was wrong about that.

The judge interrupted the trial  and asked me, right then and there, if I had recorded anything the witness had said.  I said, “No, sir.”

[I had tried to record it, I admit that, but that is not what he asked, people.]

The trial was in Brunswick, GA, and the reporters from Charlotte [I was reporting for The Charlotte News.] were staying at the same hotel. The judge was  staying there, too.  At night, we’d all get together and have a beer or two. That night the judge told me: “I was going to put you in jail, but I saw how red your face was and I thought you had been punished enough.”

* * *

About this time every year, at Christmastime, I am reminded of another one of my most embarrassing moments.

I was a sophomore at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, working part-time as a student assistant in the UNC Sports Information Office.  My wife, Donna,  was a secretary at the UNC School of Nursing. We had  married in June and now she was pregnant.   Money was tight and about to get a lot tighter.

My office was going to have a Christmas party and I was told there would be a gift for me.  That meant I had to have gifts for the others, gifts we couldn’t afford. But what choice did I have? I spent a good part of a week’s pay  –I made $1 an hour — buying nice presents for my boss and two co-workers.

I showed up for the party, wrapped presents in hand.  Only, it turned out, I wasn’t invited.

They gave me a bottle of shaving lotion, wished me “Merry Christmas,” and I left, red-faced.

Fifty-six years later I am still embarrassed at the memory.

Coming Monday:  Tomorrow Is Not Promised