Thanks For the Memories

In Scripture, sweets are frequently eaten during special celebrations. In the book of Nehemiah 8:10, the people were given the following instructions during the rebuilding of the wall of Jerusalem:

“Go and celebrate with a feast of rich foods and sweet drinks, and share gifts of food with people who have nothing prepared. This is a sacred day before our Lord. Don't be dejected and sad, for the joy of the LORD is your strength.”

For years my wife and I have been building a “wall” of sorts, in a good way. Grandkids who were able, would assemble at our home to bake Christmas cookies. We saw this experience like build a wall around joyful memories that would prevail against every attempt by outside forces to diminish their value and importance. I liken it to a grandparent’s loving hug.

Baking cookies (and coloring Easter eggs) with grandkids is messy business. Flour from one end of the kitchen to the other. Dropped eggs. Misshapen and questionable cookies. We compliment the final product despite their look as we wonder what else might have found its way into that cookie dough. (I’m talking nose buggers here!)

This year was a turning point. The cookies turned out near-perfect and professional looking. They found their way as gifts into several different homes. The “wall” of cookies and royal icing still stands, protecting the memories that have been in the works for years. And it still stands as the grandkids reach adulthood.

The best part is that my wife and I get to share in those moments. Thanks for the memories.

Robert Parlante

December 2016

Rivers of Encouragement

Last month, I posted a blog titled “Twenty Years Without a Word” where I chronicled my search for a long lost friend. This blog is an update.

There was no defining moment when my friend and I decided to walk separate paths, he as a Roman Catholic priest and I as a Protestant Evangelical. I take full responsibility for the lapse in contact. I can only speak from my viewpoint. Life just happened.

There were kids, grandkids, schooling, marriages, supporting a family while the thought of others, that we normally contact infrequently, slips further away from our daily life. Suddenly it’s twenty years later with no contact, and you begin to wonder Is he still alive? Worse is the blame that overcomes us because we carry the full burden of failure. That’s not supposed to happen between true friends and those who have had an impact on one’s life.

As my earlier blog pointed out, I found my friend in a nursing facility in New Jersey run by the Little Sisters of the Poor. My friend is anti-technology and no longer owns his ancient typewriter. Communication is difficult, but when we did connect by phone. It was great and emotional. The conversation felt like we picked up where we had left off twenty years ago.

A few days later I received a Facebook posting from a young man I consider a miracle because God transformed his life in a powerful way. Today he serves in a church in New Jersey. His posting said “Thank you for all that you poured into me!” I was touched by his remembrance.

I take no credit for his life transformation. The Lord receives all the glory for how his life turned out. The young man made right choices, and I just stood alongside of him like a cheerleader. His “Thank You” was a powerful reminder of encouragement to continue fighting the battles that try to destroy people’s lives.

All this brought me back to my priest friend. I set upon a mission … contact people who may have been blessed by my friend’s ministry. It needed more than a trickle of encouragement; I wanted the experience to feel like a river!

Our son in New Jersey went to visit my friend. I called and texted people who knew him and suggested they drop him a card for Christmas, make a phone call or visit if they could.

Galatians 6:9 reminds us: Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Those who labor for the Lord sometimes face discouragement and weariness and do not see results of their hard labor. Take this Christmas season to encourage a pastor or a ministry leader in whatever way you feel comfortable. There is no right or wrong way. At a minimum, we can pray a river of encouragement would flow into their lives!

Merry Christmas

Robert Parlante

The Incredible Shrinking Soap

In the 1957, “The Incredible Shrinking Man” was released and became a multimillion dollar movie. The film is the story of a man who keeps shrinking to nothingness after inhaling some atomic mist. It was strictly science fiction with some social commentary thrown into the mix about the horrors of nuclear warfare.

A few days ago I experienced my own version of the shrinking man. (It was not about me getting shorter as I get older.) It had to do with a bar of soap. I reached for a fresh boxed bar of soap and immediately thought the package felt smaller. When I opened the box, my expectations were confirmed. The bar of soap had shrunk in size with rounded corners that barely filled my open palm.

Hand soaps are not the only thing shrinking these days. Cereal boxes are half full. A gallon-size container of ice cream is a thing of the past. Tiny houses are all the rage. Even paychecks are “shrinking” because it costs more to buy less as we encounter minimal salary increases.

But one thing does not change nor shrink in value. It’s the same today as it was 2000+ years ago. This Christmas season is a reminder that the birth of Jesus Christ came with a gift of salvation for all. The heavens announced the birth with a proclamation of peace for all people. It’s not just the peace we experience where there is no conflict. It’s the peace we experience when we know we have a way to reconcile ourselves with a Savior, despite the turmoil in our lives.

Two thousand years later it is still the same. While soap bars shrink to accommodate the times, Hebrews13:8 reminds that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

The best part of the gift of salvation is that it has eternal consequences. Best Wishes to all the readers of this blog worldwide. Thank you for your support and feedback.

Can Toys Predict Your Future?

Every Christmas as an adult I am reminded of a favorite gift I received as a young boy. My gift request was an Erector Set, a toy construction system consisting of various metal beams with hole for assembly using nuts and bolts. I wanted the premium version with its myriad of pulleys, gears and wheels, and a small electric motor.

The gift had been wrapped for several days, sitting under the Christmas tree. Every time I passed by, it felt like it was calling my name. When no one was watching I would shake the gift. I thought it felt heavy enough to be the metal construction set. I was certain I could hear the jiggle of nuts and bolts. I was convinced I was going to receive the Erector Set.

I begged my parents to let me open the gift early. The answer was always NO! That was the only gift I was receiving that year. If opened early, there would be nothing to open on Christmas morning.

Every Christmas Eve we would go to my grandparents’ house for the ‘Festa dei sette pesci’ … the Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes, a traditional fasting meal where meats were not served. My parents said I could open the gift when we returned from my grandparents. I should have stopped there. I didn’t.

I was willing to sacrifice the cod, clams, mussels and calamari. Forget the scallops, fried smelts, and pasta with seafood. I pushed one more time to open the gift. My parents finally acquiesced. They were apparently tired of hearing from their pushy son. I sacrificed the meal of seven fishes and opened the gift.

It was the best dream gift I had ever received, and I immediately began skimming through the instructions to pick my first project. By the time my parents came home, I had constructed a Ferris wheel. Even they were impressed. “Maybe someday you’ll own a carnival,” my father had said.

Well, I never ended up owning a carnival, nor did I have any desire to own one! But to this day, it still begged the question: Did my preference for childhood toys predict my future? Sort of, but not exactly.

I ended up with three vocations in life: engineer, minister, writer.

Certainly, the Erector Set forecasted my engineering side. The toy had little to do with my minister side which is more the call of God, and my childhood experiences always manage to weave themselves into my writing. So two out of three is not bad.

Oh, there’s one more thing. I love assembling Ikea furniture! It’s not a whole lot different than an Erector Set.

Robert Parlante

December 2016

Serendipity or Coincidence?

Here's the latest Amazon review of my novel titled "The Reflection in the Mirror".

The third book in the Patch Town series is another great read. The author has a wonderful talent to pull the reader right into the story and not let go until the conclusion. All three books touch on a multi-faceted subject---how we all come to encounter certain people and circumstances in our lives and how can they change the direction of our lives. Are we the ones that determine the outcomes of these encounters? Is it all just serendipity or coincidence? Is it God? In the case of the lead character, Martin Gilmore, many people were placed in his life for good reason & by taking a leap of faith, circumstances took him on his journey to excitement, happiness & fulfillment.

Robert Parlante
December 2016

Twenty Years Without a Word

Have you noticed that as we get older we sense our next birthday rolls around at an increased speed? We all deal with that experience in our own ways. Instead of a truckload of candles on the celebration cake, we settle for one big candle to cover all the years. We rationalize that a single candle moderates the impression that so much time has passed by. Time has a way of slipping away despite what we say or do. I know that experience all too well.

About twenty years ago a good friend and I began to take different paths in life. He was Roman Catholic and a priest. I was an evangelical Christian and a Protestant, married with children. He had a profound impact on my life, but our influences on each other were not strong enough to bind us together as friends while travelling on those different life paths.

A week ago I was jolted by a troubling thought. I began thinking about my long lost friend. What ever happened to him? Was he even still alive?

I could not stop thinking about him. I was disheartened to think we had not shared a single word with each other for the last twenty years. For days I had recurring thoughts about my friend. I have always believed if the Lord places a thought within about some person, there is a reason for that. I felt I had no choice. I decided to find out what happened to my friend.

You would think in this age of Facebook and Twitter I would be able to track him down. From the outset, that was doubtful. When he would send me a letter in the past, it would have been typed on an old Royal typewriter. I suspect that did not change at this point. Social media would not be his thing. I searched the Internet for his name, a fairly common Irish name. I found vast amounts of people with that name, and it turned out to be an impossible option.

I recalled a possible clue. He often visited a charismatic Catholic community in New Jersey. I tracked that info down and gave them a call. They knew where my friend was. He had recently moved to a nursing home in northern New Jersey. When I called the nursing home they told me he had just moved out. Back to square one.

I called the charismatic group back, and they updated the location. He had just moved that day to another facility run by the Sisters of the Poor. I called that facility and I made contact with my friend after twenty years!

It was a sad and emotional conversation. He was not exactly sure what was going on. He could not believe I had found him after all this time. I prayed for him, asking the Lord to give him peace and comfort. Our conversation came at just the right time. That had to be the point when his name was placed on my heart days earlier.

Later, when I shared this story with our son who lives near the Sisters of the Poor nursing facility, he volunteered to visit my friend. It reminded me of a river fed by the Lord. There was now another person adding their concern and prayers to the flow of God’s grace. Only the Lord knows what’s next!

Robert Parlante
November 2016

The Call of a Night Train

I lived in the three different areas of the country as a child, married man and now an empty-nester. At every location, at some point in the middle of the night I would hear the sound of train whistles.

The first place I lived was a tiny coal mining community in the anthracite region of Pennsylvania. About a mile from the house ran railroad tracks adjacent to a wide creek of rushing water. I recall nights while in my bed under a t0n of heavy blankets (no heat on the second floor) hearing the distant soft clickety-click of a train carrying coal from one location to another. When the slow moving behemoth of a train approached a road cross with its flashing red lights, the engineer would blow a warning whistle.

Some nights the horn would wake me up. Other nights I recall being wide awake waiting for the crossing whistle. I would dream about trains on their journey to faraway places. As a kid, I was swept up into that imaginary journey to unknown places. What would I be as an adult? Where would I end up? What distant lands would I visit?

The second experience was decades later as a married man with three children. Again, near our home now in New Jersey was another railroad track not far from our home. The sound and whistles of a passing train in the dark of night still did its magic for me. Faraway and unknown places pulled at my spirit as my dreams soared with possibilities for our children. Where will the journey take them? Will they see a future despite the chaotic world we live in? Will the train whistle be an inspiration to them and encourage them to seek beyond their borders?

Now in North Carolina, there is a train that runs through the center of town several times a day. I could set my clock to the train horn blowing at the same times each and every night. The faint din of the noisy blast is still like a healing balm applied to my conflicted spirit. I wake up some nights with a start. Then I fall back into a dream-like state where my mind travels the world in search of answers, solutions and options. I never have a moment of blankness of not knowing what to do. If all else falls short, I pray for my family members and let the Lord do the rest.

Psalm 121:8 reminds us that the Lord will keep our going out and our coming in from this time forth and forevermore.

I hope you have an opportunity to hear the call of a night train. If not, when you are forced to come to a stop because of flashing red lights and a passing train, do not consider it an inconvenience. Take the moment to dream dreams for you and loved ones.

Robert Parlante
November 2016

A Ghost Walks Down Main Street

My wife and I are active in the Matthews Heritage Museum which is dedicated to the long-rich history of a well preserved community in North Carolina. Last week we participated in their annual “Ghost Walk” where attendees walk about the historic downtown area accompanied by a tour guide. At various points, the walk stops and people in costume emerge and relate some information about living in Matthews in the 19th and 20th centuries. The walk is family-friendly and is not a scary “ghost” experience. The objective is to impart historical information and to ensure the next and future generations know the roots of their beloved community.

I played a character who died from the Spanish flu pandemic in 1918. My wife played Susie Clark who lived in the structure that currently houses the Heritage Museum. Susie was known for making Raggedy Ann dolls for the local children.

I’m a transplanted New-Jerseyan and wished the community where we had lived committed itself to similar historical preservation and community education. The town in New Jersey had a long history dating back to the Revolutionary War. But somewhere along the way, the town seemed to have lost most of that identification and focused on McMansions.

Recently, George O. Wood, the General Superintendent of the AG, focused on the same concept in the context of spiritual matters. In a recent mailing he discussed the discipling of the next generation. Successful transition from one generation of believers to the next does not happen by happenstance, but only by concerted and dedicated effort. Whether one is transferring spiritual values or historical facts about a community, it takes committed people willing to preach the truth just like it takes committed people willing to preserve history for the next and future generation. When you think about it, both objectives are similar.

George O. Wood uses these Biblical verses to make his point: Psalm 48:12-13 _ “Walk about Zion, go around her, count her towers, consider well her ramparts, view her citadels, that you may tell them to the next generation.”

If we do not get serious about preparing the next generation for their spiritual future, we are sending them into a battle ill-prepared. Likewise, if we do not establish roots of history and family we send our future generation into a battle we may consider not worth fighting for.

Robert Parlante

November 2016

Finding Emmeline

Here is a peek at the back book cover of my next faith-based novel titled "Finding Emmeline." This is the first book in a new series about the Brain-Box Detective Club that will be released early next year.

*******

Martin Gilmore agrees reluctantly to victim reconciliation with prisoner Charles Quinn who tried to murder him. Martin cannot forget his near-death experience when Quinn sets fire to a barn, trapping Martin inside. Martin barely escapes. Now he faces a dilemma.

Can any victim muster enough grace to forgive someone who tried to kill him?

But the prisoner has more than forgiveness on his mind. Quinn wants Martin to find his wife Emmeline who ran away from the marriage after the birth of their child Ava, now eight years old.

Martin is pulled into the mystery and follows a thread of clues leading him to a theater group. He finds Emmeline, with a new identity, being held emotionally captive by a domineering man involved in counterfeit documents and work papers.

Martin and his newly-formed team of amateur detectives plot a plan of rescue. The team focuses on a stage performance of Death by Reunion to kidnap Emmeline. A wild car chase ensues, there is a fury of gunshots, and Martin’s Mustang careens into a guardrail along a cavernous ravine.

Will Martin be rescued in time as his car hangs on the edge of certain death, testing his faith in the Lord? Will Emmeline and Charles ever find a pathway to rebuild their marriage?

Robert Parlante

November 2016

Put on a Happy Face

You have likely heard or read it takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown. One Internet source I read indicated it takes somewhere between 17 to 26 muscles to smile and between 43 and 62 to frown. Given the gap of effort and the amount of human energy we save using less facial muscles, why do I see so few smiles as of late. I’ve heard the argument that it takes more muscles to frown, uses more energy, burns more calories and potentially helps you lose weight. That’s a spurious conclusion and does not justify frowning.

There are enough good reasons to frown. You cannot live life without encountering hurdles that wipe the smile off our face. Watching a news telecast is enough to put on a frown. Following politics, no matter which party you align with will wipe a smile off one’s face faster than you can say Democrat or Republican. The breakdown of family and the society as a whole is discouraging. There are plenty of reasons not t0 put on a happy face.

I attend a gym frequently and normally hold a door open for a woman or a senior adult. Too many times, the person passes through with little or no acknowledgement. There’s just the whoosh of them making a mad dash for an available treadmill. No “thank you” and not too many smiles.

I find people are suspicious and assume you’re up to no good or you are looking for something. Maybe it happens so few times, the person does not know how to react. They may even think the gesture is chauvinistic which it is not. I was raised to be polite. Old habits do not die easily.

When someone says “thank you,” it restores my hope in the human spirit. When someone smiles, flashing their pearly whites for some meager effort, I wish I could say what I’m thinking. “You should smile more often! You have a beautiful smile!”

Here’s a Scripture verse to meditate upon on your worst day, full of frowns: Proverbs 15:13 “A glad heart makes a cheerful face, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is crushed.”

Rejoice, be thankful and be glad! It may overcome some of the sorrow of our hearts! We may even find ourselves smiling just a little bit. It’s a baby step, but who knows where it may lead.

P.S. Am I just being too Pollyanna? What’s your view?

Robert Parlante
October 2016

Frankenstein Walked Me Home

Recently attended a book-to-film presentation at our local library branch. After discussing the author and the original book, a film version was presented for contrast. The book was Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and published in 1818. The movie was the 1931 film of that book with Boris Karloff playing the monster.

Mary Shelley had a difficult life and one could see how that life provided inspiration for the idea of a scientist piecing together body parts to create a new life.

I saw the original 1931 version about 15 years after its debut. It was the first horror film I had ever seen. I was a young boy living in a coal mining community. Every week, a man would come to the community house, put up a white sheet on which a film would be projected, all for ten cents. I still remember sitting through that film terrified and almost afraid to breathe. The scene where the monster throws the young girl into the lake where she drowns stills scares me.

The hardest part of seeing the movie was having to walk home in the dark after it had finished. My friends and I walked as a group. There was nervous laughter as if that would eliminate the threat. Members of the group peeled away to their homes. I was the last one left and had to walk alone. It felt like Frankenstein was walking right behind me. I ran along the dirt road to my house, daring not to stop and look back.

As adults we sometimes walk through life like a Frankenstein is behind us, nipping at our heels. We have all been there. Here are a few thoughts to help you deal with the monsters from the past that still try to overcome us with fear.

Frankenstein is a fictional fabrication. But not everything that haunts us in real life is fictional. There are real painful moments in people’s lives that keep resurrecting itself and jumping out at us from a dark place. I handled my fictional monster my running, not stopping and not turning around.

Consider the opposite. Stop and look fear right in the eye! Arm yourself with Ephesians 6:14-17.

Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

There is no need to be afraid. You have all what it takes. You are never alone

Robert Parlante

October 2016

How to Convert your Home into a CVS Drugstore

Some years ago we lived in a multi-family home with our daughter, her husband and their three children. We had this living arrangement for about 10 years. One of the grandkids could easily work their circuitous way to our side of the house without going outside.

Our grandkids would frequently want to visit our “side” of the house. They would first work their way through their garage, then the shared laundry room, into our garage to the door into our apartment. The living arrangement was perfect, with separate living arrangements and complete privacy.

Some evenings, there would be a knock on the door (they were not allowed to walk in without knocking) and one of the kids would say, “Grammy, do you have any Scotch tape?”

“Sure, in the drawer next to the kitchen sink. Do you want something to eat?”

“Poppy, do you have a cover for the report? By the way, could you read it and make it better?”

“The covers are in the middle drawer of the desk. What’s your report about?”

The ongoing joke was our grandkids think we were a well-stocked CVS drugstore! And we could meet all of their needs. I then realized I stumbled onto a great idea. Have a lot of reasons to have your family (grandkids) and even friend knocking on your door looking for something. It’s cheaper than the real CVS, and it forces them to spend some time with you.

Here are some suggestions to stock your shelves like a CVS store.

1.      Stock frozen pizza, ready to heat up and serve at a moment’s notice.

2.     Learn to hem trousers, fix faulty seams and remove stains.

3.     Buy a stapler and have a supply of staples.

4.     Have an array of paper clips, book covers, tape, glue, craft paints, glue gun.

5.     Have a supply of Tums for upset stomachs.

6.     Have some reading material to pass onto them.

7.      Learn how to search the Internet to help with homework.

8.     Always have something sweet to serve.

9.     Have a top of the line computer they cannot resist using.

The list is not exhaustive. But hopefully you get my point. Be creative and select items that fit your circumstances.

Remember the most important shelf item is you. Encourage their visits, their sharing, and try to determine their needs beyond the obvious paper clip.

Robert Parlante

October 2016

Travelling with a Friend

On November 27, 1920 after a long journey across the Atlantic Ocean, my father landed on the shore of this great country and entered through Ellis Island. Some years ago, I was able to retrace pieces of the steps my father took from Perugia, Italy, the land of Francis of Assisi, through Paris to the Normandy coast where he boarded the Il de France for America.

I was able to find the passenger manifest for that sail, and there was my father’s name, a man of twenty-three, full of conviction, independence and dreams. In all of his dreams I doubt he could have envisioned who I am today. I am proud to stand on his shoulders, and I now look into the future, however darkly, and see a bright future for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren despite the gloom and doom of daily news about everything wrong with our society.

But as I went through the ship manifest, I made a startling discovery. I concluded it was one of the keys to a successful life journey. My father was traveling with his best friend. They remained friends until my father’s passing.

My wife is my best friend and a great traveling companion. When two are joined, the hurdles and burdens of life are manageable when you consider two views, two solutions, and two “recipes” to approach any problem. Out of all that stew comes the agreement.

But not everyone is blessed with a “travelling” companion. Well, that’s not exactly true. Here’s a suggestion. Go to You Tube and listen to the hymn “What A Friend We Have in Jesus.”

There is never a time in life when we do not have a friend or travelling companion.

Have a life of dreams and convictions.

If you enjoyed reading this blog, share with someone!

Robert Parlante

October 2016

Life on the Ledge

The old man nudged me carefully to the edge of the ravine. He held onto me as I looked down to the ledge and saw the dog was still there. The animal was stone silent, barely moving, and still alive. The old man said there was no way to save the scarcely alive dog. His words felt like a sledgehammer crushing what little hope I hung onto. I was not looking to be a nine-year-old hero. I had given up on that fantasy nurtured by reading those Zane Grey Western magazines. This felt like real life and death. I wanted a solution to an impossible situation.

When the dog saw us he began to yelp again, more weakly this time like he knew its fate.

The old man grabbed me by the shoulders and said, “We need to go, let nature take its course! We can’t help this dog.”

That was the hardest decision any kid could make. Walk away and let the dog die, either through exhaustion and lack of food and water. Or falling off the ledge to the crater floor fifty feet below. I remember weeping as the old man nudged me along. I recall still hearing the faint wailing as we walked away until distance made it no longer audible. To this very day, within my spirit, I can still hear the sound of that dog crying out for help. It was a defining moment and a reminder about dealing with life on a ledge.

As an adult, I know there are time when we have to walk away and demonstrate tough love. A good friend’s brother was sleeping in a cardboard box underneath the George Washington Bridge because of addictions. As painful a choice it was, the family all agreed to tough love to encourage the brother to make the right decisions. This situation had a blessed outcome. But it doesn’t always happen that way.

There are times when family members or friends end up on a “ledge” crying out for help. Sometimes it’s from circumstances beyond one’s control. Sometimes, it’s by their own doing. The choices leading to a resolution are not always obvious or within our reach.

When the dog moaned on that ledge, my young mind did not comprehend fully the scope of God’s way with miracles. Today as an adult when facing the impossible I choose to rely on Scriptures like Matthew 19:26 - Jesus looked at them and said, "With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Now the final question. Could God have saved the dog I still think about? The circumstances were clearly impossible.

What’s your view on this?

Robert Parlante
September 2016

A Not So Magical Kingdom

I often visited the old man (the junk man) and woman (the book lady) because I liked reading stories in their stash of pulp magazines. Zane Grey’s Western magazine was my favorite. As soon as I finished one story I would begin another and often read the same story over again. I practically had the story memorized, and I would go outside to reenact the plot. Cowboys and rustlers. The beautiful teacher abducted by the evil mine boss. My trusted dog would help me save the day! There was no limit to what my two-sided brain could conjure up on a hot and humid summer day in anthracite coal country.

I also liked to scavenge the areas around the abandoned coal mines searching for treasures left behind after the mines stopped operating. When I brought a stray pulley I had found or stumbled upon a length of rusted metal, the old man acted like I had brought him a million dollars as he added them to his junk collection. I once brought back an empty cobalt-blue glass bottle that glistened like a sapphire gem. It was probably worthless but the old man treated the bottle as priceless, telling me it should be set in a king or queen’s crown. It inspired me to bring back more.

One day, my magical kingdom took a turn for the worse. As a child there was never a time I did not have a dog, and every one of them was named Lassie, male or female. I was obsessed with the movie "Lassie, Come Home" filmed in 1943. Between Zane Grey and Lassie, I had everything I needed to conjure up a life and death story where some nine-year-old hero comes to the rescue.

While on another scavenger hunt, I heard a strange sound coming from the mine area and the surrounding waste heaps. It was a faint wailing that sounded desperate, like a crying baby. When I honed in on the place it was coming from, I walked up to the edge of a cavernous excavation. As I scanned the deep ravine I saw a dog who had fallen off the edge and landed onto a narrow ledge about 50 feet above the crater’s bottom. Had the fall just happened or did it occur days ago? It had to be some time ago, because the dog was skinny and hardly moving.

There was no escape! There was no way for me to reach the desperate dog from the top. There was no way for the dog to jump off the ledge and survive the leap. Who to call? No phones. Certainly no cell phones. I stood frozen looking down at the helpless animal. No matter how much I tried to figure out a rescue, I came up empty. As I considered the likely outcome, I found myself fighting back tears. I sat on the ground and imagined I was stroking the poor dog, hoping it would be a source of comfort.

I decided to walk back to the junk man and see if he could help the dog. He was physically limited but he still returned to the ravine with me. As we approached the ravine, there was stone silence. I was immediately heartbroken. Life was not a story where we could change the ending or soften the hard parts with a happy thought or a redeeming gesture. This time I would not be the hero.

Robert Parlante
September 2016

A Magical Kingdom - Part 3

I tasted my first forkful of pie. Wow! This lemon masterpiece was made from scratch, not some boxed lemon pudding mix. It was the real thing made with fresh lemons. The tangy filling puckered my lips, and I wondered how Anna could achieve such results in her meager kitchen.

As I handed the empty plate back to Anna, the stack of magazines next to the chair caught my eye again. Anna suggested I do some reading. I thought she sounded like a school teacher as she plumbed up the stuffed chair and invited me to sit. She told me some of the magazines would suit a young boy like me. I saw Look and Liberty magazines. They were decades old, smelled damp and felt crumbly. As I grew into adulthood I never forgot those magazines yellowed by time and rubbed thin by calloused fingers thumbing its pages.

We never had magazines around our home as they were considered too expensive. We had radio back then, and that was enough.

Anna told me when you read, you can go anywhere. It took many more years later to understand what that meant, but the journey started in that dusty tumble-down structure. This was a different magic kingdom than the old man’s domain and his grandfather clock. I remembered reading those magazines over and over again for years until I entered high school. I began to feel like a penny with its two sides. One side wanted to be a scientist or an engineer, but now the other side suggested a different life option for me. A writer, a journalist, a novelist. The combination of science and the creative side of the brain d0 not easily coexist in the same person. Yet the two sides coexisted in one couple, the home they lived in, and the eclectic lives they led … like collecting scraps of coal during the day, left behind by the abandoned mines, and reading some issue of Atlantic Monthly from 1935 at night. Both activities sustained their lives.

Now an adult, I am convinced that the Lord knows and proves that he could take anyone’s upbringing and use it for his good purposes. Ephesians 2:10 says “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (NIV)

Whatever life phase one may be in, think of yourself as being prepared for the greater good, a mission, an occupation, a vocation you haven’t yet given a shred of thought towards. We may consider our lives falling short at times. Start dreaming about all the possibilities of a life in Christ. Be open. Above all, be patient. I published my first novel as a senior adult. But God started preparing me when I was nine years old by sending two eccentric people into my life.

So grab a seat, reach for something to read, and let your mind soar! You don’t need an expensive ticket to enter this Magical Kingdom.

P.S. When I returned from engineering school years later to visit family, the two-room building was demolished for business development. The old couple was gone … mysteriously, with no explanation. Maybe they were flying to the moon or growing lemons in California.

Robert Parlante
September 2016

A Magical Kingdom (Part 2)

My feet were frozen in place, and my imagination ran wild! Was the old man some serial killer about to claim another victim?

The man turned around and I remember him saying, “Thanks for picking up the tobacco. That was kind. You must be tired from walking? You know the missus made a lemon meringue pie this morning. Come and have a piece.”

Kind? I did it for money and not some charitable reason. I remember feeling guilty. Throwing in the lemon pie was a dealmaker. It was, and still is, my favorite pie! It felt like someone turned on a heat source and I started to thaw. I followed the man into the house like a puppy dog anticipating an obedience treat. I was no longer afraid.

We walked into a large dusty room, smelling oily, and filled to the brim with what I thought was junk. There were bits and pieces, tools, scrap metal, wheels, and coffee cans filled with nuts and bolts and nails. It was visual overload with virtually no open space to place another item. If anything broke, the man probably had the means to repair anything using his stash of scrap. I began to imagine how to take disparate pieces of stuff, put them together somehow to create something new. It reminded me of the Erector set I received for Christmas.

But one item did stand out above the rest. In the middle of the room was a working grandfather clock with sun and moon dials. It was definitely not a scrap item as the time ticked quietly. When I asked him where the clock came from, he changed the subject. It was another mystery involving the old man who went on to tell me stories about the sun and the moon.

I loved science and math in school, and the room with its tales about the solar system energized that side of my personality. Would I be a scientist someday? Maybe I would figure out a way to get to the moon and back. An hour ago, my imagination ran wild with scary thoughts. Now it ran rampant with everything I could do or be as an adult. I had entered what felt like a magical kingdom of possibilities.

The old man introduced me to his missus in the other room. Her first name was Anna, and she had a welcoming smile. There was a coal-burning stove, a bed with a down comforter, two armchairs, a sink with running water, and a table with four chairs. With no electricity, kerosene lanterns were used. Alongside one arm chair was a stack of magazines, decades old.

On the table were three small pieces of lemon meringue pie …

To Be Continued in the next blog

Robert Parlante

September 2016

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A Magical Kingdom (Part 1)

Before Disney World and its magic kingdom, there was the gray-weathered clapboarded two-room building hidden away near an abandoned anthracite coal mine in Pennsylvania. The dilapidated structure surround by coal debris seemed to have been ever-present as long I could remember. I once peeked inside the place early on through dust-encrusted windows when my nine-year-old friends dared me. One room looked like it was used to service mining-related equipment, while the second room was empty space and was probably used for storage. Unoccupied and coal-dust grime made the place look lifeless and creepy.

Even as an adult today, I could not recall how the old building became occupied by the old man and woman who took over the place. They just showed up and became squatters. As a kid, I remember being warned to stay away from the place. There were rumors of their checkered past, unexplained mysteries and stories of two people on the run for speculated reasons. No one seemed to know how they got their food or money or where they came from. I wondered who even owns the building? Who would ever give them permission to occupy the place?

One day, by happenchance I met the old man walking along a dirt road. My first instinct was to run! He beckoned me with an offer. He’d give me a quarter if I would walk to the next town about two miles away and buy him a can of Prince Albert tobacco in the can. I reluctantly accepted the deal.

Hours later I returned. When I approached the place, I had a game-plan. I’d place the can of tobacco and his change (less 25 cents) at the front entrance, yell out and run! As I slipped the tobacco near the door I heard footsteps.

As I turned to run, I bumped into the old man walking back from his outhouse. He smiled, still his yellowy teeth frightened me. “Did ya get the tobacco?” was all he said.

I stuttered back then. I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth.

“Come in the house.” The old man turned away and headed for the front door.

My feet would not move. I envisioned being sacrificed on some demon-worship altar like I saw in the movie serials...

(To Be Continued in my next blog)

Robert Parlante
September 2016

As Evening Approaches

I am the youngest of four brothers. I never knew my second oldest brother because he died from spinal meningitis when he was two years old. The remaining three brothers are six years apart which means each of us was raised almost like an only child for the first six years of their life.

I loved my two other brothers, but one of the negative outcomes of being raised six years apart was that we lived fairly independent lives from each other. There were infrequent phone calls between us, and neither of us knew much detail about what was going on in the other brothers’ lives. We might exchange a phone call every so often, and the humorous part was the call felt like we picked up from a conversation we had the previous day. Yet our typical conversation lacked specificity and depth.

Recently, my oldest surviving brother faced some serious medical issues. It looked bleak for a few days. Thankfully, he made it through surgery and is holding his own. But this near-death experience got me lamenting about how little I knew about my brother.

Romans 14:13 reminds us: “Therefore let us not be judging one another any longer, but rather make this your decision, not to put before a brother a stumbling block or a cause for tripping.”

As far as I know, I have never intentionally placed a stumbling block before my siblings. But as years advance and evening of death approaches an aging person, recent events with my brother causes me to add specificity and depth to whatever time we may have left.

Robert Parlante
August 2016

Because of One Solitary Life

This past week we experienced the passing of a close neighbor after a long illness. It was a sad time, as well as an uplifting time hearing about the wonderful contributions he had made into the lives of his family and friends. What a blessed way to be remembered.

A few years ago I experienced a passing that felt just the opposite. This incident is forever etched into my memory bank. It was a sad experience, yet it felt like an episode of “Seinfeld.”

I had just started an environmental engineering position at the corporate headquarters of a major corporation. I was on the job a few weeks, I was the only one in the office at the time, and I hoped no incident would happen requiring me to intervene. I was just a neophyte!

Early afternoon I received a call from my boss who was out of town on business. He said one of the corporate executives had died and was being waked at a local funeral home. He asked me to pay respects to the family on behalf of the environmental engineering department. I had no clue who this person was. I had never seen a photo of him. I could not think about what I would say to the mourners.

Later when I walked into the foyer of the funeral home I saw the overflow crowd in the viewing room to my left. I walked over to the open casket and knew something was immediately wrong. The man laid out was short and stocky; every executive I had seen in my company was trim and over six feet tall.

A woman walked up to me and thanked me for coming. “How do you know my husband,” she asked.

I barely got the words out. “I work in the environmental engineering department at American Cyanamid.”

“Thank you for coming today,” she said. “My husband did all the bricklaying of the monuments at the front entrance to your company.”

What? This man is a stone-mason, not an executive! After offering condolences, I immediately and quietly escaped into the crowd, headed for the exit, when I saw another viewing room with a lone closed casket. The placard in the door indicated it was the executive.

I was stunned still. There was not a single mourner in the room. Surely there must have been a good reason for that. I cannot judge.

To this day, that incident is a reminder to remember people for their contributions to life worth living. Did they finish the race? Did they stay the course? Did they encourage their family? Did something change in a positive way because of that one life?

We are all one solitary life. I hope and pray we leave behind a legacy of blessings whether you are a stone-mason or a powerful executive. I know my neighbor friend did! 

Robert Parlante

August 2016

They Are Not Real People!

Today we return to Psalm 37 for our final word of encouragement found in its uplifting words. Verse 7a reads: Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.

I don’t know anyone who can honestly say they know how to be still and patient and wait for the Lord to intervene in their pressing issues. The political environment we are presently experiencing agitates me and has me talking to the television at times. Being still and patient are the last things on my mind while watching the political drama unfold before my eyes.

 My wife and I have been binge watching the TV series “Madam Secretary” on Netflix. The stories are riveting and the characters are realistic. Last night while watching an episode, we found ourselves both yelling at our least favorite character in the series.

In a moment of revelation, I turned to my wife and said, “What are we doing? They are not real people!”

How can I be still and patient when I can’t adequately separate reality from fiction?

Galatians 5:22 reads: But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness. If you are a believer you are equipped with the fruit of the Spirit.

Need to be still … Need patience … then dig deep within yourself because you are already equipped to deal with life’s challenges. Ask the Lord to strengthen you.

Robert Parlante
August 2016

Power Outage

I was listening to iHeartRADIO when one of their Internet DJs shared how her family reacted when they had recently experienced a 2-hour power outage during a thunder storm. Beyond the obvious results of electrical power outages, computers went dead. Internet-based news cycles could not be accessed. One work-at-home family member was a web designer. No power; no web design activity.

Life came to a screeching halt when there was no access to electrical power. But consider what would life be without the other power source ___ the Holy Spirit. The impact of such an event would impact a person far beyond two hours. In fact, it would be a lifetime and an eternity impact.

When a person places his or her faith in Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit is imparted to us. That Spirit is then available to lead us, guide us and help us. The good news is that there is never a power outage or “removal” of the Holy Spirit if we continue to seek the direction of the Spirit through Scripture, prayer and fellowship with other believers.

With the Holy Spirit in our lives, one’s life can never come to a screeching halt! Life is more exciting than any computer game, more important than any news cycle spreading gloom and doom, and is perfectly designed.

Have a Holy Spirit powered day!
Robert Parlante

August 2016

Grafted Apples

As a child I loved being with my grandparents who owned a homestead adjacent to my family’s property. Neither grandparent worked outside the home, and both worked the land and raised livestock to sustain their large family. My grandmother made the largest and best cinnamon buns in the world (excuse the exaggeration!), and my grandfather was a master gardener (before Master Gardener became a certification).

During summer vacation from school I would follow my grandfather throughout his patch of land. He taught me so much about gardening and raising chickens from the old country in Italy. My love of gardening has still not diminished. I gave up on chickens since I always seemed to have a love-hate relationship with roosters.

His grafted apple tree was legendary. He took scions (cuttings) of different apple trees and grafted them all on one other tree. When the resultant apples ripened you could pick whichever ones you like. Back then, I thought it was a miracle. Now I know it is only science and knowhow.

Today with events as they are, the grafted apple tree got me thinking in a different direction. Perfect and different varieties of apples were all growing on the same root stock. Shouldn’t our lives as believers be the same? When we are grafted into Christ as a believer a Macintosh apple can grow next to a Granny Smith drawing the same sustenance through the tree roots. There doesn’t have to be an isolated tree for each ethnicity or culture. When grafted into the same root stock as believers we should appreciate and celebrate the variety and tastes of cultures which Christ came to save.

Robert Parlante

July 2016

Some Plant, Some Water, Some Reap

In 1991 my wife and I joined a mission trip to the city of Krasnoyarsk Russia located in eastern Siberia to minister to school children. The team distributed the Book of Life which was an easy-to-read version of the Gospel of John, as well as medical supplies.

I still recall the warm and enthusiastic reception the various teams received ministering in the schools which ranged from lower grades to college.

Now jump ahead a few decades. I recently received a call from a minster friend who led the teams going to Krasnoyarsk. He was on a layover at the Charlotte Douglas Airport and decided to “catch up” with me and my family. At the close of our phone call, he then told me how he had preached recently at a Messianic congregation where he had shared about the trip to Krasnoyarsk in 1991. After his sermon a woman in her 30s-40s came forward and shared with him her journey to salvation.

She recalled a group of missionaries coming to the Siberian city to distribute the Book of Life. The missionary team came to her specific school and gave  her a copy of the Book of Life. After we had long gone, the young girl read the Gospel of John and told my friend how it set her on a path to salvation. (I do not know if the attached photo includes the woman in question. But I would like to believe it does!)

It brought to mind Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 3:6 – I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow.

This was a reminder to continue planting seeds,
watering with discipleship, encouragement and friendship,
and most important, trusting God to make it grow!

Robert Parlante
July 2016

Commit Your Way to the Lord

Today we return to Psalm 37 which I believe gives us several instructions that help be at peace with ourselves. Verse 5 says: “Commit your way to the Lord, trust in him and he will do this…”

Before we get to what the Lord will do, we need to first look at the issues of commitment. Couples co-habitating before marriage seem to be the norm. After they are married it is not uncommon to hear one say, “If it doesn’t work out we’ll just get divorced.” It appears marriage is not always viewed as a commitment.

When I entered the workforce in my early 20s, I was grateful to have a job, and I believed I was committed to that job potentially for a lifetime. Today, millennials anticipate they will change jobs every few years. Commitment is redefined to fit society’s changing viewpoints.

When the David wrote Psalm 37, he understood the frivolous nature of people. If you do not commit to the ways of the Lord, one gets onto a slippery pathway of potential discontent because the world keeps changing the rules and definitions of life. Only Scripture remains true to purpose and meaning of life.

Now what will the Lord do if we commit ourselves to the ways of the Lord? Verse 6 gives us the answer. “He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.”

For those unhappy with the worldly path you may be on, consider what comes from commitment to the ways of the Lord. (1) Your prayers will be answered. (2) One’s righteous standard of living will be an encouragement to others. (3) You will enjoy the Lord’s sustaining help and protection. (4) You can look forward with confidence to a heavenly inheritance.

Be encouraged. Commit your ways to the Lord. His definitions are not subject to whims of society. The Godly ways are true and comforting.

May the peace be with you,

Robert Parlante
July 1, 2016

Sharing a Takis Blessing!

For those who have never eaten a takis, you need to grab a package of this rolled tortilla snack from Mexico. The snack is super spicy hot and super sour at the same time. I am told you can typically buy takis in Walmart and maybe some Hispanic grocery stores. The different versions of the snacks are colored coded depending upon the spice mix used to flavor the rolled tortilla. They range hot to hotter to super-hot!

My love of takis came by way of a second-grade class in a Title 1 school in North Carolina. My wife and I volunteer to help students with their reading skills in the class of twenty youngsters. Last year, they had a Thanksgiving celebration and students from Mexican heritage brought in the takis. We were invited to attend the celebration.

The kids challenged me to eat a takis. I could hardly get one tortilla down. My throat was on fire and my lips puckered from its intense sour taste. The kids thought it was hysterical. I tried another; the same reaction.

At their recent end-of-year party, the first thing the kids wanted was for me to eat a takis! Not just eat the snack but also go through all the gyrations reacting to hot and sour. The kids could consume an entire package with nary a grimace on their faces. Even though I had gotten use to eating takis, the kids were not happy unless I went through all the exaggerated reactions.

The takis experience turned out to be a way for different cultures to feel comfortable with each other.

1st Corinthians (9:22-23) speaks to that same broad point of how the apostle Paul developed relationships with people from different backgrounds and culture.

“To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings.”

While helping at a Title 1 school was not specifically for the sake of the Gospel, it was a blessing! Whoever thought a takis could break down the differences between cultures?

Robert Parlante
June 2016