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.

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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