Bread of Life

Memories.

Back in 1981 I was a young sales clerk at Berean Christian Store in Santa Ana, CA. Our youngest daughter was just born our oldest was 3-years-old. An artist named Rick Dressler sold this print to our store and I liked it so much, I bought one. I remember meeting Rick and him telling me how he shot the photo; “The bread was very dry” he said.

Over the years my children and eight grandchildren, at very early ages, have loved this print. We pointed out and exaggerated the “Breaaad” and “Biiiible” to them. We would say, “Where’s the bread?” and “Where’s the Bible?” and even at 1 year old they would turn and point to it.

Little things in life have impact.

This week I had the print re-matted and re-framed. Most of our grandkids are older now, but still love the photo. Recently I found the artist online.

I wanted to thank him for bringing a lot of joy to our family over the last four decades!

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Why Do People Make the Gospel So Complicated?

I was disappointed to come across a step-by-step five-point list (it says only four) of how to be saved. Isn’t salvation by grace alone through faith alone? Before reading further ask yourself if you believe that.  In fact, here is the actual verse:

Ephesians 2:8 (NASB95)

8For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God;

Do you believe that?pttn1ztish6jof29iyqrta.jpg

Go to my Faithlife page to read the rest of this article…

 

I Can’t Wait To Buy More Bibles

One of my favorite things to do in Phnom Penh is hit up the Cambodia Bible Society. They sell an awesome little bi-lingual gospel of John.  We can never have enough of these and one of my goals this trip is to hand out as many as possible to deportees and locals.  Read more about it by joining my Faithlife group,

Avoiding Trolls

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Because the Internet is a dangerous place to hang out, I am compelled to use caution when posting more sensitive information on my website. The site you are on now is WordPress. I like it since it is easy to use and relatively inexpensive. I pay about $100 per year to keep it going. But like any place on the Internet, it is not totally secure when it comes to who reads my posts and their motives for doing so (FYI: There is nowhere on the Internet with complete security).  

Trolls abound!

Weekly, I receive strange notices from people ‘following’ this site. Most of them are legit. The problem is, I have no way to controlling them. I have communicated with WordPress and their response is, “What harm is it?” Well, so far no harm no foul, but I believe in caution. Don’t you?

troll2 | trōl | noun 1 a person who makes a deliberately offensive or provocative online post. a deliberately offensive or provocative online post.

The Internet is not a static place to live. It is not a good idea to plop down anywhere and stay there. Do not get lulled by it. You do not “put down roots” on the Internet. Bad people lurk and strike. To be safe, one has to be alert and moving.  (And keep your kids AWAY from it).

I will continue to post on this site. I will include narrative and photos here, but more sensitive stuff, like travel dates, etc., I am moving and will be linked to my Faithlife group “Roger that!”–a place I have control over who joins my ‘group’.

Faithlife. It is Christian based (they have a great Bible study app too!). At this time there are no ads and no spam. While things can always change, it is a pretty good neighborhood. Trolls have a harder time getting under the bridge.

I invite you to join my group at https://faithlife.com/rogerfeenstra/activity. A login and password need to be created, so it will take you a few seconds to do it. If that kind of stuff annoys you, you can stay here. I will keep you updated, but you will only get crumbs (joke).

I would like you to join.  If a troll joins my group (which probably won’t happen), unlike WordPress, I can quickly delete and block.

Sounds like a plan to me!  I hope to continue seeing you here, or on the other side!

My Non-Jewish Caddy Friend

IMG_3299It seems the older one gets the less new friendships he has. Most adult friendships develop early in life when the kids are small. I have many of those deep friendships. We moved away and left my friends behind, but our friendships remain intact and when we meet on occasions, we pick up where we left off. Once kids grow up and after moving several times, new friendships do not bloom as often.

 
In my mid-sixties, I am fortunate to have new friend.  Well, our friendship isn’t brand new. My friend and I have been acquainted for several years. He lives around the block and a few times a month I see him when he passes in front of my house, walking his two little dogs. When I am out front, doing yardwork or enjoying a beverage he stops for a moment and we talk—Not deep conversations, but we have hit it off. Like older guys do, we joke, talk about our health, make small talk; nothing deep. But the friendship developed.

 
My friend and I could not be further apart in our background.  He grew up on the east coast, New York. I like New Yorkers. They are articulate and straight-forward. I am from the left coast, California. Often I am indirect and can’t find the right words. He’s a hard driver and I am more laid back. I am uncertain about our political differences, but I am sure they differ. During the presidential primary I voiced my approval for voting for Trump. He smiled and wasn’t as vocal, perhaps trying to preserve our fledgling friendship. I like guns; he appears to not like them. He once said in passing, “Nothing good comes from owning a gun.” We are different since I believe in the hands of a good and responsible person, lots of good can come from gun ownership. He has a fast-brand-new Dodge Challenger (lucky guy), I have a 12-year-old Nissan truck, with a chip in the windshield. As for spiritual things, we may be different. He knows I am a pastor. He does not appear to be a bumper sticker guy. I have one that says Jesus Saves. He curses, I don’t (full disclosure: I try not to!).

 

Yes, we are different, but he is my friend and I am better for it.

 
My friend and I are alike too. We are both about the same age. I enjoy pointing out he has a few years on me. He takes care of his home, and I try to do the same. When there is a problem in our neighborhood he addresses it and tries to fix it. Me too. We both like mild sarcasm. He and his wife like Butterfish Poke Bowls. We do too! He is the president of a company and I am a former president of a company. He’s a dog lover, I am also, although I am happy we do not own one right now.

 
One day about a year ago my friend walked by my house and saw me unloading my golf clubs from my truck. “Are those golf clubs I see?!” “Do you golf?” I asked. “Occasionally.” “Well, we will need to golf someday.” If that happened, it would have been the first time our friendship moved from my sidewalk to another venue, the golf course.

 
It happened—a few months ago. We played 18 holes. Oh, and that’s another difference: He is a good golfer, I am not.  He says he is lousy but underestimates his game. He can chip a shot with one arm and get the ball pin high. We played again this week. He gives me pointers on the course which I appreciate. He told me I shouldn’t listen to someone who has a messed-up game (except he did not say messed-up). But I listen anyway and he’s taught me a lot.

 
My friend is not a Jew but in his teenage years he was a caddy at a Jewish country club. He liked the tips, he told me. One day he caddied for two men—Their bags slung over his shoulders. He had on his white Converse high-tops, no traction. It was early in the morning and the dew was heavy on the grass. He had no problem carrying the clubs but he stumbled as his feet slipped on the way up a hill.  “If this is how it’s going to be all morning, you can just head back into the clubhouse and caddy for someone else!” one of the Jewish men snapped. “No, I can do it” my friend said. “It’s just a little dew and it’ll be okay.” He slipped again, and the man exclaimed “That’s it, you can drop the clubs and leave!” My friend said, “No problem!” He gently set down the other man’s clubs and then picked up the contentious player’s bag in both hands and threw it down the hill. The clubs exploded from the bag and slid down the dewy hill. He never caddied again.

 
See, that is a New Yorker, and that is my friend.