Friends in Christ,
It’s hard to believe, but it’s almost been a year since Nervous Nellie Yours Truly stepped WAY out of his comfort zone and embarked on a six-day excursion of a lifetime around several northeastern U. S. states with my sweet thespian nephew Isaac and a bus load of Broadway actors. I worry about pretty much everything these days (including being bumped out of my boring-but-comforting daily routines), but I had an absolute blast. The first full day I was there (in West Branch, New Jersey) was a day off for Isaac and the incredibly talented cast of “Elf, the Musical,” so Isaac and I got to sleep in at the hotel and spend a delightful afternoon and evening figuring out how to hail a couple Uber rides with our smart phones so we could then tour around historic neighboring Red Bank, New Jersey, the location of the theater where the cast had performed the night before. But not before I got lost. Really, really lost. The following story (with a few 2019 added edits and embellishments) ended up in my Epiphany sermon this past January 6th, so if you were here that Sunday, feel free to leapfrog into the rest of the newsletter. If not, make yourself a cup of coffee enjoy another tall, true tale of the foolishly frantic foibles of Uncle Phil….
I met the three wise men. Seriously. I swear I am not making this up. And in New Jersey of all places! About three miles from the Atlantic Ocean. Yes, I met the three wise men. I never got to know their names, so let’s just call them “Goldie, Frank, and Mervin” like those precious gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh that were brought to young boy Jesus, long before Santa started showing up on the scene.
After getting up at 2:30 a.m. in my parents’ home in Bismarck that Monday morning, and hanging out in the Minneapolis airport for about a three-and-a-half-hour layover, I was finally on my way to Newark International Airport later that morning. After the plane had landed, I tracked down a taxi service my brother had lined up, and soon I was on my way to the Holiday Inn Express in West Branch New Jersey, where I would meet up with Isaac and the Broadway touring cast of Elf the Musical.
Isaac, his mother Beth, and the cast arrived at the hotel about 20 minutes after I got there, and before she taxied back to Newark to fly back to Minnesota, Beth filled me in on the ins and outs of what a chaperone for a 14-year old Broadway actor actually will be doing for the next 6 days. Soon it was off to the theater for Isaac and the crew, and then back to the hotel for me for a free evening until I had to go back and meet Isaac at the theater after the performance. The next day was a rare day off for the cast, so Isaac and I were excited to figure out what were going to do for the day. Isaac’s mom and dad are competitive runners, so he was rather unfazed when I asked permission to head out on a run myself that morning.
“I’m only going to go about three miles,” I said to Isaac, “so I suppose I won’t be gone any longer than forty or forty-five minutes, since I will be walking about 15 minutes to warm up.” Now, Isaac is lot like his uncle: if you tell him 45 minutes, then that is when you better be back. So I made a covenant with myself that I would honor my chaperone promise and be back in the time frame I had given him. How hard would that be? Well, so much for promises….
9 miles and 80 minutes (!) later--twice as long as I said as I was going to be gone--sore, out of breath, and a bit panicked, irresponsible Uncle Phil slid the door key through slot, burst into our hotel room and said (expecting the worst), “Isaac, I am SO sorry!”
And like a sweet-smiling angel from heaven, Isaac looked up from doing his school work on his Ipad and said, “For what?” Thank you, dear little man, thank you…and thank you God…and thank you three wise men, for getting me home. Now if you all don’t mind, I’m going to see if the hotel has a masseuse, a tub of Tylenol and a case of water.
9 miles. Now, even though I must have walked about six or seven blocks during that confusing, disorienting journey, I had never run that distance in my life. PLUS, I had been nursing a sore foot for quite a while so, well, let’s just say it was…..quite the strenuous, stressful and exhausting excursion, both mentally and physically. But, on the bright side, had I not gotten lost that day, I would have never met those three kind and helpful wise men: Goldie, Frank, and Mervin.
Goldie was a New Jersey cop. I met him at roughly mile 5 or 6, thinking that I was running the right direction back to the motel, but not seeing any familiar roads I had traversed before. Goldie was in his squad car with the window down, parked at a red light. 38 degrees, and his window down. Thank you, God. “Excuse me, excuse me, sorry to bother you, sir!” I yelled as I jogged in place, looking about as dorky, dainty, delicate and dumfounded as a lost, sweaty North Dakota 55-year-old could look, don’tcha know. “How do you get to highway 36? I’m trying to find my way back to the Holiday Inn Express in West Branch.”
Uff Da.
“Ahhhh, man!” the officer yelled out the window, “you’re goin’ totally the wrong way! 36 is like 8 blocks back that way…just head on back on this road and follow the signs. Good luck, man!” “Thanks so much,” I yelled to officer Goldie, happy that I had been guided back on to the right path, but now getting a little more nervous that my getting-more-tired-by-the-second body was going to make it the remainder of the journey. Egads, what have I done?
So off I scooted, block after block, looking for the magical yellow brick road that would bring me home, but not making much progress; when finally—now feeling a bit desperate—I stopped to walk by a little strip mall, and lo and behold, out of all the different New Jersey denizens I could have asked for right at that moment, there, walking out of a convenience store, was none other than: a mail man. Yes, a mail man. Bingo, sweaty Dakota dorkman, you are in luck. “Man, if anyone can get me back to the hotel, it will be that guy,” I thought to myself. So, before he got into his vehicle, I bolted over to him and once again repeated my plea to find Highway 36.
“You’re going the right way,” Frank said to me. “Thank goodness,” I thought to myself. “But you’re still a little way away.” Drat. “Head down that street about five or six blocks and then you’ll come to a busy intersection, go right and then it won’t be much longer.” “Thank you so much,” I blurted out, and then I started running again. I probably should have asked for a ride in his cool little mail wagon, methinks. Oh well. I guess I needed to find Wise man #3 so this story has better symmetry and more preaching and newsletter possibilities.
Mile 7? 8 maybe? I don’t know; I had no GPS watch on my wrist. Just a trusty “old school” Timex running watch that appeared to be laughing at me every time I glanced at it. Several more blocks of running ensued (I still wasn’t feeling too confident about the direction I was going), when suddenly, in a residential area, I spied two men around my age, hunched over a car. For all I know they could have pulled out a gun right about then and robbed me of my sweet green running shoes. But, thankfully, they didn’t. I like those shoes.
“Hey guys, sorry to bother you,” I yelled out, surprised that I could even talk by now. “I’m a little lost….West Branch Holiday Inn Express…blah blah blah…how much farther…blah blah …and what direction???” One of the guys—Mervin--popped his head out of the engine, smiled at me with a mouth bereft of a good many teeth, and said, “Oh man, dude, you’re almost there! Go down this road, cut across the mall parking lot—look out for f-ing traffic—and you’ll see a Honda dealership. Your hotel is about a block away.”
Once again, I uttered a very grateful “Thank you so much” and I followed toothless Saint Mervin’s instructions, looked out for the f-ing traffic as he told me, and like a mirage in the desert, after about three more minutes of running, there it was: The Holiday Inn Express. I almost cried. But I think my body was in too much pain to even muster up any energy to do that. Officer Goldie, Frank the Mail Man, and toothless Mervin the Mechanic: Yes, I met the Three Wise Men.
In West Branch New Jersey! A town whose roads--I swear, with no disrespect intended to all my New Jersey readers out there--must have been designed by a kindergarten class. I was so lost. So very, very lost. But those three wise men had guided me home. To a nephew who welcomed me with a sweet smile of undeserved grace. Isaac, I am so sorry. “For what, Uncle Phil?” You mean, you didn’t?? Uh, weren’t you wondering??? I mean, it’s like 90 minutes!! Uh, oh good heavens, I am so happy to see that smile. How is your homework going? And I hope you don’t mind if I collapse right about now. 7,987 of the muscles I have in my body hurt a wee bit during our ensuing evening stroll around Red Bank later that day, but that was a small price to pay for an exquisite taste of the miraculous. And time with my nephew that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
--------------------------------
The story of the original Three Wise Men belongs appropriately in the Epiphany season (Christmas, too), but the story of the Three Wise Men I met in New Jersey maybe belongs right here: in a month where we squeeze out a few more Sundays After Pentecost and then, on one particular holy Thursday, drop to our knees in gratitude with a tummy full of turkey and a heart full of the miraculous. Go back and count how many times I expressed some sort of thankfulness in this article and you will see what I mean. Thanks again, dear Isaac, for an experience I will never forget. And thank you God, for…well, everything. Like finding your lost ones: always.
With deep gratitude,
Pastor Phil
(As posted in November 2019 Newsletter)
It’s hard to believe, but it’s almost been a year since Nervous Nellie Yours Truly stepped WAY out of his comfort zone and embarked on a six-day excursion of a lifetime around several northeastern U. S. states with my sweet thespian nephew Isaac and a bus load of Broadway actors. I worry about pretty much everything these days (including being bumped out of my boring-but-comforting daily routines), but I had an absolute blast. The first full day I was there (in West Branch, New Jersey) was a day off for Isaac and the incredibly talented cast of “Elf, the Musical,” so Isaac and I got to sleep in at the hotel and spend a delightful afternoon and evening figuring out how to hail a couple Uber rides with our smart phones so we could then tour around historic neighboring Red Bank, New Jersey, the location of the theater where the cast had performed the night before. But not before I got lost. Really, really lost. The following story (with a few 2019 added edits and embellishments) ended up in my Epiphany sermon this past January 6th, so if you were here that Sunday, feel free to leapfrog into the rest of the newsletter. If not, make yourself a cup of coffee enjoy another tall, true tale of the foolishly frantic foibles of Uncle Phil….
I met the three wise men. Seriously. I swear I am not making this up. And in New Jersey of all places! About three miles from the Atlantic Ocean. Yes, I met the three wise men. I never got to know their names, so let’s just call them “Goldie, Frank, and Mervin” like those precious gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh that were brought to young boy Jesus, long before Santa started showing up on the scene.
After getting up at 2:30 a.m. in my parents’ home in Bismarck that Monday morning, and hanging out in the Minneapolis airport for about a three-and-a-half-hour layover, I was finally on my way to Newark International Airport later that morning. After the plane had landed, I tracked down a taxi service my brother had lined up, and soon I was on my way to the Holiday Inn Express in West Branch New Jersey, where I would meet up with Isaac and the Broadway touring cast of Elf the Musical.
Isaac, his mother Beth, and the cast arrived at the hotel about 20 minutes after I got there, and before she taxied back to Newark to fly back to Minnesota, Beth filled me in on the ins and outs of what a chaperone for a 14-year old Broadway actor actually will be doing for the next 6 days. Soon it was off to the theater for Isaac and the crew, and then back to the hotel for me for a free evening until I had to go back and meet Isaac at the theater after the performance. The next day was a rare day off for the cast, so Isaac and I were excited to figure out what were going to do for the day. Isaac’s mom and dad are competitive runners, so he was rather unfazed when I asked permission to head out on a run myself that morning.
“I’m only going to go about three miles,” I said to Isaac, “so I suppose I won’t be gone any longer than forty or forty-five minutes, since I will be walking about 15 minutes to warm up.” Now, Isaac is lot like his uncle: if you tell him 45 minutes, then that is when you better be back. So I made a covenant with myself that I would honor my chaperone promise and be back in the time frame I had given him. How hard would that be? Well, so much for promises….
9 miles and 80 minutes (!) later--twice as long as I said as I was going to be gone--sore, out of breath, and a bit panicked, irresponsible Uncle Phil slid the door key through slot, burst into our hotel room and said (expecting the worst), “Isaac, I am SO sorry!”
And like a sweet-smiling angel from heaven, Isaac looked up from doing his school work on his Ipad and said, “For what?” Thank you, dear little man, thank you…and thank you God…and thank you three wise men, for getting me home. Now if you all don’t mind, I’m going to see if the hotel has a masseuse, a tub of Tylenol and a case of water.
9 miles. Now, even though I must have walked about six or seven blocks during that confusing, disorienting journey, I had never run that distance in my life. PLUS, I had been nursing a sore foot for quite a while so, well, let’s just say it was…..quite the strenuous, stressful and exhausting excursion, both mentally and physically. But, on the bright side, had I not gotten lost that day, I would have never met those three kind and helpful wise men: Goldie, Frank, and Mervin.
Goldie was a New Jersey cop. I met him at roughly mile 5 or 6, thinking that I was running the right direction back to the motel, but not seeing any familiar roads I had traversed before. Goldie was in his squad car with the window down, parked at a red light. 38 degrees, and his window down. Thank you, God. “Excuse me, excuse me, sorry to bother you, sir!” I yelled as I jogged in place, looking about as dorky, dainty, delicate and dumfounded as a lost, sweaty North Dakota 55-year-old could look, don’tcha know. “How do you get to highway 36? I’m trying to find my way back to the Holiday Inn Express in West Branch.”
Uff Da.
“Ahhhh, man!” the officer yelled out the window, “you’re goin’ totally the wrong way! 36 is like 8 blocks back that way…just head on back on this road and follow the signs. Good luck, man!” “Thanks so much,” I yelled to officer Goldie, happy that I had been guided back on to the right path, but now getting a little more nervous that my getting-more-tired-by-the-second body was going to make it the remainder of the journey. Egads, what have I done?
So off I scooted, block after block, looking for the magical yellow brick road that would bring me home, but not making much progress; when finally—now feeling a bit desperate—I stopped to walk by a little strip mall, and lo and behold, out of all the different New Jersey denizens I could have asked for right at that moment, there, walking out of a convenience store, was none other than: a mail man. Yes, a mail man. Bingo, sweaty Dakota dorkman, you are in luck. “Man, if anyone can get me back to the hotel, it will be that guy,” I thought to myself. So, before he got into his vehicle, I bolted over to him and once again repeated my plea to find Highway 36.
“You’re going the right way,” Frank said to me. “Thank goodness,” I thought to myself. “But you’re still a little way away.” Drat. “Head down that street about five or six blocks and then you’ll come to a busy intersection, go right and then it won’t be much longer.” “Thank you so much,” I blurted out, and then I started running again. I probably should have asked for a ride in his cool little mail wagon, methinks. Oh well. I guess I needed to find Wise man #3 so this story has better symmetry and more preaching and newsletter possibilities.
Mile 7? 8 maybe? I don’t know; I had no GPS watch on my wrist. Just a trusty “old school” Timex running watch that appeared to be laughing at me every time I glanced at it. Several more blocks of running ensued (I still wasn’t feeling too confident about the direction I was going), when suddenly, in a residential area, I spied two men around my age, hunched over a car. For all I know they could have pulled out a gun right about then and robbed me of my sweet green running shoes. But, thankfully, they didn’t. I like those shoes.
“Hey guys, sorry to bother you,” I yelled out, surprised that I could even talk by now. “I’m a little lost….West Branch Holiday Inn Express…blah blah blah…how much farther…blah blah …and what direction???” One of the guys—Mervin--popped his head out of the engine, smiled at me with a mouth bereft of a good many teeth, and said, “Oh man, dude, you’re almost there! Go down this road, cut across the mall parking lot—look out for f-ing traffic—and you’ll see a Honda dealership. Your hotel is about a block away.”
Once again, I uttered a very grateful “Thank you so much” and I followed toothless Saint Mervin’s instructions, looked out for the f-ing traffic as he told me, and like a mirage in the desert, after about three more minutes of running, there it was: The Holiday Inn Express. I almost cried. But I think my body was in too much pain to even muster up any energy to do that. Officer Goldie, Frank the Mail Man, and toothless Mervin the Mechanic: Yes, I met the Three Wise Men.
In West Branch New Jersey! A town whose roads--I swear, with no disrespect intended to all my New Jersey readers out there--must have been designed by a kindergarten class. I was so lost. So very, very lost. But those three wise men had guided me home. To a nephew who welcomed me with a sweet smile of undeserved grace. Isaac, I am so sorry. “For what, Uncle Phil?” You mean, you didn’t?? Uh, weren’t you wondering??? I mean, it’s like 90 minutes!! Uh, oh good heavens, I am so happy to see that smile. How is your homework going? And I hope you don’t mind if I collapse right about now. 7,987 of the muscles I have in my body hurt a wee bit during our ensuing evening stroll around Red Bank later that day, but that was a small price to pay for an exquisite taste of the miraculous. And time with my nephew that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
--------------------------------
The story of the original Three Wise Men belongs appropriately in the Epiphany season (Christmas, too), but the story of the Three Wise Men I met in New Jersey maybe belongs right here: in a month where we squeeze out a few more Sundays After Pentecost and then, on one particular holy Thursday, drop to our knees in gratitude with a tummy full of turkey and a heart full of the miraculous. Go back and count how many times I expressed some sort of thankfulness in this article and you will see what I mean. Thanks again, dear Isaac, for an experience I will never forget. And thank you God, for…well, everything. Like finding your lost ones: always.
With deep gratitude,
Pastor Phil
(As posted in November 2019 Newsletter)