Do You?

We spent last weekend at Jenelle's greater family reunion on her mom's side. They get together every other year for a three day reunion and this has been going on for almost fifty years, so there are lots of distant cousins gathered together, all descendents of Asa Schrock. I'm not a genealogist, but a quick Google search for the Schrocks in this area links the family to Casper Schrock who, along with his family, arrived from Switzerland in Philadelphia, PA on the ship ‘Peggy’ on Sept. 24, 1753. Google says that Casper was the youngest son and was so weak that the oldest son, John, carried him on his back all the way to Berks County, seventy or more miles away. Later Casper settled in Somerset County which isn't real far from where we live now. 

Enough of the genealogy lesson. The fact is that the Schrocks have been around for a long time.

When I go to their reunion, as an outsider looking in, one thing that I see that holds them together is this strong faith in God, that has been passed along from generation to generation. It's neat to see how that connection bonds the distant cousins together and makes the reunion feel like a giant gathering of a family, like a brother and sister type family, not third and fourth cousins.

On Sunday morning they always have a church service that consists of someone preaching or talking and worship music that is usually accompanied with some guitar or other stringed instruments. (They have some good bluegrassers in the family) This time the guy leading the worship decided to lead out in some old-timey hymns. One of the songs they sang was, “I Love to Tell the Story”. I hadn't heard that song in a good while, but remember it from back when I was a kid. I didn't really remember the words and not being the greatest singer anyways, I kinda focused on reading the words more than music. Usually when it comes to music, at least for me, you just kind of sing along without even thinking about the words, but instead of singing “I love to tell the story, of Jesus and his love . . .”, I was reading and asking

myself, is that true? 

Later in the day someone mentioned how they loved singing the old hymns. Stacey, I'm not sure if she's an in-law or an outlaw, but either way she's in the family, she mentioned that the hymns had a lot of deep theology in them. I agreed and mentioned about how I was reading the words and had to ask myself, “do I love to tell the story?”

Stacey’s reply was something down the lines of, “well, I guess you'll have to write about that in your next blog”.

And so that's what I'm writing about.

I grew up like most Americans that grew up in the seventies and eighties, going to church every Sunday and having Christianity as the defining rule in our home. Not only that, my parents had this strong love for Jesus, that was more defining than just trying to follow the rules of religion. Some might argue that it's one and the same, but I'm here to say that it's a little bit like having spaghetti and meatballs. You can have meatballs by themselves and they're pretty good, but throw in spaghetti and some sauce, now that's how it's supposed to be. But take out the meatballs and it's just not that great. If there's no meatballs then I’m heading somewhere else, like maybe Burger King, because without the meat there just ain't much there. And without Jesus, religion and church and noodles are pretty much the same. And it's probably why people go somewhere else.

I grew up a normal kid (I think), although I was extremely shy and awkward and scared to death of people and crowds. When I was fourteen I remember there was an altar call at church one Sunday where if you wanted to give your heart to Jesus or felt the call or tug on your heart, to come up front. I was too scared to go up front but when the preacher prayed over those who came up he also asked if there was anyone else that was maybe wanting prayer, but didn't come forward, to raise their hand. My hand shot up. My mom asked if I wanted to give my heart to Jesus, and I said yes, but I was too scared to go up there. Anyways, to stay on track with the story, I got baptized later that summer, in front of the whole church. I was scared to death, but afterwards I felt like a million dollars, almost like I could fly.

But that's not the end of the story. I accepted Jesus but I didn't do so well with the defining rules of the church. It wasn't that I didn't try, it's just not an easy thing to do. At least not for a young outdoorsman that not only loves hunting and fishing, but also had the aspirations of living the life of a mountain man. I'm not sure if smoking oak leaves from a homemade pipe was necessarily forbidden, but one thing led to another, and before long I was drinking too much and getting into mischief that were definitely outside of the Mennonite realm. It wasn't that I was rebellious or trying to be bad. It was probably more about being insecure and trying to fit in. At the age of seventeen, me and a cousin got into some Wild Turkey that ended up with a totaled car for him, a broken nose for me, and a reputation that wasn't so great. With a fabricated story down the lines of thinking a bottle of whiskey was like drinking a bottle of beer, and so it really wasn't that bad, since we had never had drank whiskey before, along with lots of apologies and I'm sorry’s, we went on our merry way. Underage drinking laws weren't very tough back then and I didn't learn much from that experience, and about a year later I was pulled over, after purchasing a case of beer with friends in the little town of Salisbury, PA. By now I was an adult, but not yet the legal drinking age of twenty-one. Since I hadn't been drinking yet, but was from a different state, I was only charged with underage possession along with transporting liquor across the State line. The fine was under a hundred bucks. The killer for me was seeing my name on the front page of the local newspaper. What I thought would be easy to hide was out there for the whole world to see.

I was devastated. And not so much about being found out, but about the path that I had somehow taken. It wasn't where I wanted to be or where I wanted to keep going. 

I tried to be good after that. I tried to stay away from the parties. I wasn't successful but I tried, really tried. I tried to hang around the church crowd but it felt like they viewed me as the farce I was. I prayed to God. I read the Bible. I tried to do the right things. Nothing worked. And when I would hang out with my old friends I would have a good time but soon I would find myself heading the wrong way. But I really wanted to be good. I wanted to live the perfect life and to be happy not only here on earth but to get to heaven.

One evening I was forking silage into the cow bunk. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was working and thinking and praying. I was frustrated. I remember saying in my mind, “God, I can't do it, I just can't.” 

And I remember hearing in my heart and mind, not an audible sound, but something as real as cold water feels after falling through the ice, “you don't have to do anything, Dwight, I did it for you!”

And that moment right there changed my life. It wasn't a license to go on a wild rampage, but a realization of how much Jesus loves me. My life wasn't perfect after that. But the struggle to be good enough, at least for God, pretty much went away. When you realize that Jesus really does love you, that he is real, that you can't do anything to earn your keep, but that he wants you with him. There's not a better feeling in the world. It's one of those things that when you know you know.

And if someone is around that my story can help to find what I found, well then I love telling it. It's what makes life great. 

But if it's just a bunch of people that I think would smirk at it like it's a lame dad joke, or if they heard it before, well I usually keep it to myself. Truth be told, I feel a little bit like Casper Schrock after being carried seventy miles by his big brother. Even though the big brother doesn't expect or want anything back, I owe him big-time. I love him so much for everything and so yes, I love to tell the story!