The LaPorte & Goshen Roads' History

With the closure of the intersection of Plymouth-Goshen Road at U.S. 30, I thought it would be good to look back at the history of this road most of us probably are not aware of....and with it the parallel history of the Plymouth-LaPorte Trail.  Only the Michigan Road through Marshall County claims an older history as an established road.  I think sometimes it's hard for us to not think we're the center of the universe, here at the crossroads, but I'll take you back before there was a Plymouth.

Imagine most of  Northern Indiana, north of Logansport to the south edge of the St. Joseph River Valley, was largely unsettled in the 1820s-early 1830s.  A few posts existed in Michigan City (due to the Michigan Road), LaPorte, South Bend, and by the early '30s, Goshen.  This great middle part of Northern Indiana between the Wabash River (canal) and St. Joe River lacked roadways which is why the Michigan Road became so important to the settlement of the state.  To understand the development of the LaPorte and Goshen Roads, you'd have to understand the Michigan Road's history.  Surveyed in 1829, the road connected Madison to Michigan City (established as a port at the northern terminus).  Construction of the road began in 1830 and by 1836 it was mostly complete (passable).  Plymouth was founded in 1836 by three men, one of whom was the chief superintendent of construction on the road-Mr. William Polke.  The road was originally conceived to go north from Logansport to LaPorte, but surveyors felt that the Kankakee Marsh proved too difficult to build through, so it doglegged and went northeast, then straight north toward South Bend.  Both Rochester and Plymouth followed the road.

Prior to Plymouth being established, both LaPorte and Goshen were interested in the construction of the Michigan Road as it came north from Indianapolis.  The Michigan Road brought trade and postal carriers, but more importantly, settlers to the region.  Because of the road's crossing of the Yellow River in what would become Plymouth, both Elkhart and LaPorte County Commissioners felt there was a need to tap into the Michigan Road at that point.  LaPorte County was first to do so.  In 1833, the LaPorte County Commissioners paid for the establishment of the "Yellow River Road" to go southeasterly out of LaPorte toward a crossing of the Kankakee River where a ferry was authorized.  The road also extended northwest from LaPorte to tap into the Michigan Road leading from South Bend to Michigan City.  A bridge over the Kankakee followed shortly after, and the road was planked by the 1840s.  According to Daniel's History of LaPorte County "the road and ferry did much to advance the county in population, as it made Michigan City the market for all the country as far south as Logansport."

Today, this route is part of the state highway system in LaPorte and St. Joseph Counties, but not in Marshall County.  State highway designations are U.S. 35 from its intersection with the Michigan Road (U.S. 20) south to LaPorte, then State Road 4 southeast of LaPorte until 4 turns toward North Liberty-the old trail follows State Road 104 to the west edge of Walkerton (which was not established until the early 1870s).  With some diligence, one can make out segments of the old Yellow River Road, which took on the name "Plymouth-LaPorte Trail" through the southwest corner of Walkerton, then into Marshall County.  While the route succumbed to some straightening on section lines, the old trail can mostly be followed to Plymouth where it enters from the west and becomes LaPorte Street ending just a half-block north of the Yellow River Bridge on Michigan Road.  While not evidenced as much in Marshall County, in LaPorte County the old trail features some of the oldest architecture in Northwest Indiana, including the Major Lemon House, built in 1837 at the crossing of the Kankakee.

The Plymouth-Goshen Trail has a similar history.  Elkhart County Commissioners set to building "highways" a term that literally means "roadways built on high ground" shortly after the county was organized in 1830.  The years 1831-32 saw considerable road building.  But, according to a news article, what became known as the Plymouth Trail was established on October 19, 1835.  The desire of Elkhart County Commissioners would have mirrored those of LaPorte's, to open up a direct route, at its shortest point, to the Michigan Road for settlers, commerce, and postal carriers.  Tapping into the route on the north bank of the Yellow River made the most sense, so the Plymouth-Goshen Trail stayed north of the river, only crossing it at its narrow fork width near what would become Bremen, then meandering southwesterly until it joined the Michigan Road about a mile north of the Yellow River Bridge.  The situation with this route, however, was a little different within the  boundaries of Marshall County because of Bremen being established within ten years of Plymouth, along this route.  That meant that a good trade route between the county's two largest villages was secured.

Again, much like the LaPorte Trail, the Goshen Road follows a southwesterly route from Goshen ignoring cardinal points of a grid, much less section lines.  The trail is intact, for the most part, with its current designation of State Road 119 between Goshen and State Road 19.  However, it suffered from rerouting onto designated county roads as well.  The Plymouth-Goshen Trail is fairly obvious in the northeast corner of Marshall County, and from its intersection with State Road 106 west of Bremen to King Road where it follows about two miles directly south before it cuts off to the southwest again north of King Road's Yellow River Bridge.  Older maps would likely give a better idea of the route before it was conformed to the grid.  The State of Indiana felt that the old route was important enough still to maintain it as an overpass for the new U.S. 31 northeast of Plymouth, however, with the number of accidents occurring now at its intersection with U.S. 30, the road was cut off.  I recall a vote while on the Plymouth Plan Commission when the state asked us which intersection was the most important to address for safety (in about 2005), and we indicated U.S. 30 and Plymouth-Goshen.  And since that time, they've improved three other intersections on 30, but not the one we requested.

If you imagine Plymouth, as a county seat, being connected to all of its neighboring county seats and mostly larger population centers, due to these roads, we should have had greater prosperity.  We had direct routes, the best of their time, to Goshen, South Bend, LaPorte/Michigan City, and Rochester/Logansport.  When the Yellowstone Trail was established in the early 1900s, we were also connected to Warsaw/Ft. Wayne and Valparaiso/Chicago.  I did wonder, though, why the routes in Marshall County were never designated state routes when they were in LaPorte and Elkhart Counties.  So, I did a little investigation that yielded only a little information.  Evidently, when the state highway commission began in earnest designating state routes, Highway 17 had been proposed between Logansport and Goshen, following its current route from Logansport to Plymouth, but then following the Plymouth-Goshen Trail for its last leg.  This was being promoted, particularly by Bremen, as early as 1929 (photo above).  Why it never occurred, and why only the portion of 119 was designated (by 1940), is a mystery to me.  Marshall County was left out.  The Plymouth-LaPorte Trail's lack of designation in Marshall County is also strange.  During the early 1930s, the old trail was considered an "improved" county road in all three counties it touched, however, Marshall County's segment was of a lower quality construction.  This remained true in 1940, though in all counties, the construction improved.  But by 1945, both State Roads 4 (between LaPorte and North Liberty) and 104 (south to Walkerton) had been designated.  It remained a county road south of Walkerton. This may have been in part to the development of the Kingsbury Ordnance Plant during WWII, just west of these routes in LaPorte County.  Left out again.  Did the lack of designations in the 1930s-40s have an economic impact on Marshall County?  It's hard to say.  Being the crossroads doesn't necessarily put you at the center of the universe, even as we sit here now at the crossing of two of Northern Indiana's most important highways: 30 & 31.

On Center

This past Sunday, pastor brought to consciousness in a new way-at least for me-the importance of Jesus in the role of human history.  He stands at the very center of it.  Nothing before or after could carry more weight for all creation than what Christ completed on the cross 2000 years ago.  All of the war and sorrow, human development and ingenuity leading up to and away from the cross all take a knee to the redemption power that struck the earth on a hill outside of Jerusalem.  And the power flowed down and dripped into the earth so that no despair or counter-power could ever reverse the finished work of redemption.  Nothing before, nothing that came after-human history centered on the cross.

And that got me thinking about where Christ stands in my life.  Center or standing off to the side?  Does the cross pierce through me in the same way it does human history-does Christ stand at my core, or is the cross just something I lean on, run to?  Does all my life-the actions, decisions, relationships-balance on Jesus who stands in me or is He just someone I consult with?   In order for me to be in balance with my Creator-He has to stand at my core in the same way a pin works in a hinge.

2020 promises to be one of the most divisive years in recent American history, certainly since the fight for civil rights merged with growing unrest over Vietnam.  As Christians, I think we need to be very conscious of  how we engage in this coming year.  Will our words and actions be balanced on Jesus standing in us, or will our words fire out of us while He stands off to the side?  We do Christ no favors "defending" Him if He is not in the very breath we use to speak.  Will the cross pierce us to become the pin on which we hang our words and actions, or will our politics in 2020?  Those with Christ at their core will not get whipped into the frenzy or cast off fellow believers who stand balanced on Christ-the Gospel.  They will not get tugged into debate that seeks to divide.

Let us allow Jesus and His words stand at the center of 2020.  If it doesn't reflect Him, don't place it in His stead.  If we do this, 2020 could be the most healing, most effectual year the Church in America has ever had.

Boulder

Here is the power of words.  Several years ago, a colleague far wiser, more mature with a few more gray hairs than I shared a story after I had expressed some frustration with the way things were “back home”.  She didn’t know that the story she shared almost 15 years ago, as brief as it was, would stick with me and I’d often repeat it giving her credit.  And as she relayed the story she said “she once heard” I didn’t realize the impact it would have.  I’ve recalled it time after time in greater frequency these last few years.

My colleague offered comfort with these words.  There was a man who was told by God to push against a boulder.  So he did, his whole life, push against that boulder.  When he died and was welcomed home by God, the man said all my life I pushed against the boulder but it never moved.  To which God responded, I didn’t tell you to move it.

I hated and loved this story at the same time.  I hated it because we all want to see the fruit of our labor, we don’t want to feel like our lives were wasted, we want to know our life had meaning, purpose.  I loved it because it demonstrated trust and obedience.  It leaves results to God.

My frustration with the lack of vision and leadership in Plymouth and Marshall County is no secret.  There are leaders who put an anchor around the neck of our future a long time ago.  Being at our annual conference reminds me of this again, as I ready myself to go back to pushing on the boulder.  Most people get re-energized at these conferences, but I get depressed and frankly, find it exhausting.  Too often I think “why not us?”

There were massive opportunities missed a decade ago, or more, but because of politics, we are living with the results.  The lack of decent housing, and our gateway hotels are the most obvious outcome of policies thwarted by the opposition.  And while the public decried the condition of our roads, a deteriorating condition and poor planning 20 years in the making, they doubled-down and rejected real change that would have brought a much higher level of expertise into road building.  We can’t be this gullible.  We can’t be this blind.  I can’t continue to run my head into a block wall.  I’m tired of pushing on the boulder.

Whether the frustration arises from missed opportunities to make our communities better places, to make the dollars we invest in our roads go further, to protect our culturally significant places, to motivate our churches to step up to meeting human needs, to stop archaic practices that undermine our property rights, the list goes on and on….the reality is that the boulder hasn’t moved.  And the landscape around the boulder is looking more desolate.

Just a few days ago, figuring that the wisdom of my colleague was one of oral tradition, I searched the simple line “I didn’t tell you to move the boulder” and sure enough, the search proved fruitful. But there were two parts she left out, one that was encouraging, and the other-an ending that seemed to dilute the power of the story.

So the story goes that a young man walked out of his cabin and God showed him a boulder in the valley.  And God told the man to push on the boulder, so he did day after day.  He became discouraged after a long, long time pushing on the boulder and was about to give up but first he prayed and asked God, why.  Why have you asked me to push on this boulder if it cannot be moved?  And God responded, son, I didn’t ask you to move the boulder but just push on it.  Confused, the young man asked but why?  And God said look at your arms, your back, look at the strength that you’ve gained in your legs, the calluses on your hands.  Look at how your obedience has led to perseverance under pressure.  Through opposition you have grown much and your abilities now surpass that which you used to have.  This is not failure.  And I thought to myself after reading this, please God, let me see this in myself because the boulder only seems to be getting bigger.

The story’s ending, at least in one version I read, was sadly disappointing.  While I’m sure it was meant to inspire-and I’m sure a number of tired pushers it did-it left me realizing how much we mere mortals want to be gods.  We want our will.  The story ended by God saying to the young man “now watch me move the boulder” as if obedience wasn’t enough.  Not my will, but thine be done.  God, as much aggravation that may come from pushing the boulder, let me still be obedient.  Let the results of my labor be in demonstrating obedience, not in my expectations.  And not in the expectation of others, most particularly.  If anything, let others see obedience as the most important thing, not the inch or mile the boulder may be moved…if moved at all.  That the example of obedience may be the inspiration others need to move mountains.

I hate politics.  I hate what I have seen in local, state and national politics over the last several years.  I can use hate because it is, in many aspects, sin.  It has held Plymouth and our county back in ways we can’t practically enumerate, but the desolation left around us is a witness against us.  I am tired of Christian culture that focuses on self, which can disguise itself as community if we’re not careful, and playing to that, churches operate as performance stages.  I detest this most unmovable boulder.  I find it demoralizing, strength-zapping, hopeless.  And too often I’ve complained to those around me, even encouraged others to find greener valleys where boulders don’t exist.  And then my mind goes back to the story my colleague told me those 15 years ago.  Just push.  Put a little more shoulder into it.  And maybe pray for more laborers.  I don’t care what party or church they come from if they help push the boulder.

Songs that changed the course of my 2018

I won't forget it.
 
Walking into the doors of a church that would become our new family that first Sunday of 2018.  Broken, wounded, betrayed, scarred from years of cuts and just looking for a place to heal.  And one of the first songs played during worship was Reckless Love.  Neither of us had heard it before, but there it was, spilling out all of its truth, speaking directly to my heart and welling up in my eyes.

"Oh the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God
Oh it chases me down, fights 'til I'm found, leaves the ninety-nine"

All along, I was expecting those who had hurt us to make things right, to "leave the ninety-nine" and fight for us.  It might have been right to expect that.  Guys get angry when they're hurt and expect to be "righted".  The reality was, God was leaving the ninety-nine to rescue the one.  Rescued into another fold.

"There's no shadow You won't light up, mountain You won't climb up, coming after me.  There's no wall You won't kick down, lie You won't tear down, coming after me."

And that's what God had to do in order to put us in a better place.  Somewhere, as I described to friends after that Sunday, a "place that I could breath again".  How often do we displace our trust and expectations onto those who disappoint us, when in fact, we know that only God can rescue, only God can heal.

Within a few weeks, a friend shared a song on Facebook that again, I had never heard before.  The video that ran with So Will I reminded me so fully of our connected-ness to all things God created, my brothers and sisters around the globe.  Those next door who need that simple act of compassion, all created in His image, all "immortal horrors or everlasting splendors" - C.S. Lewis.

"I can see Your heart eight billion different ways.
Every precious one, a child You died to save.
If you gave Your life to love them so will I.
....
You're the One who never leaves the one behind."

And as the flood waters rose in 2018, and I watched people act on that divine character of God, compassion, I realized that nothing else in 2018 mattered more than, well, people.  As obvious as that seems, how often do we really act upon that truth?

Some of the lyrics to that song came back to mind on a short hike this fall because of a conversation I had with a friend about how we think of our lives in relationship to our Creator.

God doesn't call us to brokenness to leave us broken, He doesn't call us into submission to leave us without a mission.  God calls us to live out, to be all, that He created us to be.  Through every talent, in every relationship, each interaction and moment of inspiration-God is saying live in the fullness of the life He created for you.  And in that-we reflect His glory, we worship Him.

"If the stars were made to worship so will I
If the mountains bow in reverence so will I
If the oceans roar your greatness so will I
For if everything exists to lift you high so will I
If the wind goes where you send it so will I
If the rocks cry out in silence so will I
If the sum of all our praises still falls shy
Then we'll sing again a hundred billion times"

On to 2019.

Leave your gift at the alter...First be Reconciled

I don't think we preach enough about Jesus these days, at least not on how He instructed us to live.  But He doesn't mince words when it comes to conflict resolution.  Most Christians are quick to cite the passage on forgiveness "Lord how many times should we forgive?  Seven times?  Christ said, no, seventy times seven."

Commanded to forgive and move on, right?

But this only deals with half of the problem.  This doesn't address sin on the other side of the equation.  For that, we need to accept the passage on reconciliation as a commandment as well.  To do any less, would be a sin.  Christ says "if you bring a gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar, and go your way.  First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift."  Sometimes this takes a close examination of our hearts to know if we have hurt someone, and then there are times we know it, we've been told, and maybe the other person has done everything they can do, including forgiveness, to provide an environment for reconciliation.

Several years ago, a church I attended was trying to find its way after the senior pastor left.  There was some division in how to move forward, but unity was the "message".  Of course, it should be.  But I mentioned to the interim pastor that without the hard work of reconciliation, there can be no unity.  He must've contemplated on that because a few weeks later, he made that statement from the pulpit.

I try to live this, but more often than not, I find myself in the forgiving commandment and praying for some lifeline of reconciliation.  I don't want to come across as an expert on reconciliation, but I do think that I know what it looks like, and when it is being withheld.  And when that happens, it leaves those affected in a world of darkness, under the weight of hurt.  This is something that our family has had to cope with, after 10 years of extending forgiveness, time and again, the last cut was the deepest.  I said to one person, after an long conversation, that I wasn't going to beg for reconciliation.  But essentially, I was.  I was deeply wanting to be reconciled to my brothers.  An officially approved letter followed, after some time, and it appeared in our mailbox on a Saturday.  And it only deepened the wound.

So, for my own spiritual health, in the middle of one of hundreds of sleepless nights over those 10 years, I typed out a letter to my wife and myself, framing what I thought reconciliation would look like.  It brought some balm to the wound, and I sent it to two of the leaders whom I had considered my best friends at one time.  In return, several days later, I received an email back that they were going to process it.  And there it ended, 8 months ago.

Friend, whether you are a Christ follower or not, and you've found yourself in a similar situation, I get it.  I hurt for you.  Self-help books and counsel can only go so far.  It isn't about a lack of forgiveness on your part, and it can't be about forgetting.  God made you to be made whole, and if someone is withholding reconciliation, it is going against His design for your life.  In your waiting, which may go on until eternity calls, take that pain and use it in understanding others, in your interactions with others, use it to be Jesus to those around you who may also be hurting.  Sadly, there are probably a lot of us.  And if you are the one taking your gift to the altar, think carefully, ask God to search your heart, either in your corporate actions or individual relationships.  First....first.  First be reconciled.

9/11: Winning the fight, losing the War

So much has changed since that fateful day 17 years ago.  A new generation has no memory of it, the war unleashed on our enemies continues to this day, and as a country, culturally, we've changed.  For those who can remember, in the days, the weeks and months following September 11th, we were absorbed in a kind of unity I don't know that we had ever experienced, certainly in my lifetime, as a people.  We experienced a compassion, courage, sacrifice, that erased the walls of race, mostly, and certainly of party and status.

But those months turned into years.  I recall co-hosting a local radio program at the one-year anniversary of 9/11.  On that, I wondered how long we would experience the unity, the understanding among ourselves. I wondered if we had already forgotten hearts standing united. I remember a caller regretted that could ever happen.

Several years after, I remember listening to a sociologist talk about what drives people together, and what drives them apart.  While not talking about 9/11 specifically, I couldn't help but make the parallel.  He said that the greater the trauma, the closer a society is driven together, but in that same high level experience of trauma, the society, after some time, is driven further apart.  The more frequent and/or greater the trauma, the more dramatic the chasm apart society is driven.  Think about what we've experienced since 9/11 with multiple mass shootings, protests, police shootings-both sides, natural disasters, and uprisings that would only exacerbate the trauma already weighing on our collective psyche.

Does this all sound like gobbledygook?
Have you seen an America more divided than it is right now?

I was born in 1968.  I didn't experience the racial divide of the 1960s, nor would I have been aware of the political unrest caused by the Vietnam War into the 1970s.  I've often thanked God I didn't experience those times, so please, correct me if I am wrong, but this seems unlike those times, even though I have heard it described as the "country coming apart at the seams".  This seems like rage.  A spirit of rage, unchecked, unnamed, excused, and even fanned to higher emotions from people behind keyboards, tweets and posts.

The war began at 9:37 a.m. on September 11, 2001.  We took that battle to their bunkers, thousands of miles away.  And we won the battle, as much as it could be won in a battle stemming from ideology.  However, if the terrorists' goal was to unleash unrest, to defeat a country because of principle, we should all stop and ask ourselves if a divided country is the same thing as a defeated country. We should ask ourselves if we are on a trajectory of losing the war because a nation divided cannot stand.

This I admit to you.  When I stand for the anthem, I am in quiet prayer for healing for this country.  When I place my hand over my heart, I am pledging my life to fulfill the spirit, the dream, the purpose of America.  To see her rise to her full potential, for everyone.  I don't have it in me to hate.  I have no idea what it would be like to be a woman, a black man, an immigrant, or a gay man, and I'm not going to spotlight positions they take to further divide.  I also don't know what it is like to be a Southerner, a soldier, athlete or a police officer.  For some reason, God saw fit to drop this soul into a shell that would have probably the easiest path one could hope for:  a white, evangelical, Republican man from Indiana.  I am called to love every last one of those I am not like, and for me, that means understanding and sometimes extending a lot of grace, just as I hope they extend to me.

We are one people.  We discovered that at 9:38 a.m. on 9/11.  We need to find that again.

What's in a name: Garro

I laid awake last night, pondering some political unrest in my own plight.  And through a string of half-related issues, landed on one that has kept Plymouth people puzzled for decades, and longer.

Where did the name Garro Street come from?

This street was part of the original plat of the town from 1836, though no names were on the plat except for the main street it was platted around, Michigan Street.  The furthest south (east/west) became South Street (later renamed LaPorte for its connection to the Plymouth-LaPorte Trail), the furthest north, North Street, and all those in between were named for the contemporary presidents beginning with Washington and ending with Harrison.  So, who was this guy "Garro" that a street so prominent in the downtown, between South and Washington, would be so-named?  The north/south streets were Water, Michigan, Center, Walnut and Plum(b-sometimes a "b" appeared on maps).

Back to Garro.  This street's importance escalated in the downtown as the Nickel Plate Depot, post office and library were built along it, and then as it crossed the river to the east, it was crowned with Lincoln High School in the 1920s, like the great city halls and churches of East Coast cities.  And now, it traverses one of the finest small city urban parks in the state, River Park Square.

As I understand it, no other name was associated with the street as far back as records show.  At one time, it was misprinted "Gano" on a city map, but that was post-Garro.  And at one time, East Garro was known as Taylor Street, but that was changed by the 1910s.

So, I did a little on-line research on the name Garro.  I could find only one family of Garros in Indiana during the 19th century, located in Posey County.  The name was confused with Gano as it was written in records, and it appears that the family used the Gano spelling by the second half of the 19th century.  Gano.....ok, let's look at that.  So, a research on the Gano name in Plymouth revealed the family of Jerry Gano living in the city in 1880.  He and his wife were from Ireland, he was day laborer and lived on South (LaPorte) Street.  Didn't appear to have much status in the city.  I have a hard time believing the street was named for him, particularly since he lived a block away, in case you were thinking his land was used for an extension of the street.

So, were there any famous Garros in ancient history that the town founders may have been honoring?  Well, indeed there is a pre-19th century famous Garro, Jose' de Garro, nicknamed El Santo (the Saint) was a Spanish military leader of the late 1600s and became the governor of Chile.  His religious piety earned him the nickname El Santo.  Were our founding fathers enamored with El Santo's exploits?  Interest in Latin America grew during the middle part of the 1800s.

Now, I'm not a Star Wars fanatic, but evidently there is another famous, 21st century Garro.  Nathaniel Garro, who was captain of the 7th great company of the Death Guard Space Marine Legion.

It would be interesting to know the true origin of this street name.  I don't think that there are any others without a clear explanation.  Or could we just adopt one of the more famous Garros above?  There's an accomplished artist named Mark Garro, and a Mexican author named Elena Garro.  If we can't find the true origin, maybe its time to embrace them all.  Maybe what this street needs is a Mexican-Irish Bar called the Garro-Gano, just to cover all our bases.

Enough

This is me.

Born in a small town in Indiana.  Raised in a home with a mom and dad who taught me to love Jesus.  Worked through high school and college.  Fortunate to find a job in my hometown.  Christ continued to pursue me time and again.  Met my wife and bought a home.  Two kids followed.  Surrounded by friends.  I wouldn't call life easy, but it was, I never had to worry about food or shelter.

This is my brother.

Born in Haiti.  Found Jesus because someone cared enough to share.  Roamed streets to look for work to buy food.  Loves his family.  Surrounded by love.  He wouldn't call his life easy, but would never complain and still finds joy.


The difference is in the color of our skin, in where we were born.  I chose neither of those.  God's overwhelming love for those He created, who follow Him, join us in a brotherhood experienced throughout the earth.  God does not see color, He does not see country or state.  He sees His creation, a broken people needing a Savior.  Only people who do not know God would see things differently.  Only those with the darkest of hearts would have contempt for His creation.  And of all people, God's people should be those who defend the defenseless, love those who need love, and stand for those who cannot stand for themselves.  If He gave His life to love them, so should I.

I have been so deeply convicted over the events and comments of last week. I am waiting for God's church to drive out any hint of this wrong in our four walls, to ask for forgiveness because we failed to stand in the past, to not be complicit with our silence.  I am waiting for His church to say, enough.

Renewing my faith in people of faith

"The every day kindness of the back roads more than makes up for the greed in the headlines."  - Charles Kuralt

Professors and pastors alike get time off for self-reflection, personal growth and refreshment.  I feel a bit cheated in this because if I could get a sabbatical, this is what it would look like:  me, going Charles Kuralt, and driving the countryside visiting church and parish, large and small, urban and rural to interview people about their faith walks.  Because, I've realized, somewhere along the way I've lost my faith in people of faith.

Now, before you fire back that we are not to look to people to sustain our faith, stop and ask yourself where exactly it says that we are to be islands in the development of our faith.  Of course we're not, that's why we plant ourselves in pews each Sunday.

I will admit to being saddened, maybe sickened, certainly dismayed by what has become the mainstream face of people of faith-the "headline" demonstration of our faith.  The movement toward civil religion will ultimately make the gospel of no effect in America.  Unless we come back to the heart of God and demonstrate the love of His Son, we will surely lose a generation.  Already our evangelical leaders' voices sufficiently clang with hypocrisy as they vie for political favor.

I believe, somewhere out there on the back roads, in the food pantries, coffee shops, orphanages, alleys, and migrant camps are those who understand the "call" that prods them out of the pews and away from the "show" on Sundays to live out the gospel in a way that it was intended.  I believe these people exist.  And I'd love to get to know them.  I need to have my faith renewed in people of faith.

These are the questions I'd ask:  What are the times you feel closest to God?  Is there a passion you feel for His creation?  How do you feel part of the brotherhood of man?  What do you sense in your quietest times?

I've really only ever known two churches my entire life.  I was about 4 when our country church of a couple hundred went through a split separating families and friends.  I don't remember much, other than the hurt it caused.  But the church I grew up in, well beyond my college years, was closer to a couple thousand.  It operated big, and there were big ideas, and we worshiped a big God.  But in the end, after I had left, it collapsed-in a big way.  I wouldn't give up the 25 years that I was there-it was solid teaching, but it also taught me what a church is not.

After my wife and I were married, and we settled into our hometown, we also settled into a new home church.  It became very personal, intimate, and as our family grew, so did our church family.  They become those we could count on, laugh and grow with.  Fellowship.  Our kids were dedicated, baptized, and mentored by friends until they, themselves, became mentors.  And now, 20 years later, I look back and understand these roles as part of a church family.  But, once again, I'm beginning to understand what that means, and doesn't mean, and how God can use adversity in those roles to make us seek Him in others.

People, particularly leaders, can and will fail us.  I'm not immune to that myself.  However, in those failures, are we learning and growing together?  Are we seeking unity through the hard work of reconciliation?  Are we becoming a stumbling block to the spiritual growth of others?  Are we being encouraged by the true demonstration of faith, of Christ, or are we just protecting the show?

I'd love to be on the road for a year to visit a mission in LA, a reservation in South Dakota, a church on the plains of Texas, a mighty cathedral in Boston, and a home church in Indiana.  I'd love to site down with my Catholic and Episcopal brothers, fellowship with Methodists and Baptists, worship with my Latino and AME family, have a conversation with Muslims and Jews.  God isn't in four walls, and his family is much bigger than the few hundred white people we sit with on Sundays.  If engaging others can restore what has been compromised and carved away for years, then we need to stop, ask, listen and learn.

When was the last time you stopped long enough to have your faith encouraged by someone you don't even know?

Pattern of the Precipice

A good friend texted me and asked what I was up to one afternoon several weeks ago.  It had been awhile since we had caught up, he knew some things were unraveling and wanted to come by to talk.  In the midst of a long conversation, he mentioned how patterns seem to weave into our lives over the years.  In this case, every 10 years.  His comment made me consider what extent this was true in my life.  And it became evident it was very true.

Ending 1997, I looked ahead into 1998 and thought that graduate school would be in my near future.  But within months of the new year, I had met my wife and we were married and had bought our home by the end of 1998.

Ten years later, after a wrenching but spiritually flourishing 2007, our little family sat at a precipice, not knowing what 2008 would hold.  I had lost a position that I thought would carry me into the future and my career itself was terribly uncertain.  I remember that Christmas being one of great anxiety, right through New Years, as we waited for an announcement that would also mean the end of my job.  That never came, but by July of that year, the uncertainty finally took a toll and it pushed me right out and onto my own.

And here we are, at the end of 2017.  Another ten years have passed since that uneasy Christmas and New Years, and we find ourselves thrust right back onto that precipice.  And much like ten years prior, it hasn't been of our own making.  Not by our choice.  And not under good circumstances.

By the end of 2018, I hope to be able to say the pattern of not knowing has a good ending like in past decades.  But this one stings.  It stings deeply because the stability that you would count on to uphold you is what is crumbling after decades of loyalty and commitment.  God carries those who trust in Him-I don't doubt that.  And we have never seen where He has not been faithful.  But this time, after many times, my spirit-my soul cannot be satisfied in that alone.  This time, I feel that speaking is what is required to level the deep chasm ahead because silence created it.  This time, speaking is what demonstrates my faith in Him.  God uphold us all in 2018.

Westward Ho!

You can learn all about our vacation exploits at http://westwardhovacation.blogspot.com.  I'll be posting over there for a few weeks.

Help stop building abuse

 We've all seen it.  We know the signs.  Yet we choose to remain silent and let building abuse happen all around us.  We pass it every day and do nothing to stop it.  In Marion, Indiana, a group of people have decided to put an end to building abuse with the rescue of their old depot.  The depot served a railroad that ran from Anderson through Marion during the early 1890s.  The folks at Marion got the shaft though, when the railroad company built the foundation of their depot in 1893, then loaded the rest of the building materials on cars and shipped them down to Anderson who received a depot exactly like the one promised in Marion.  Ultimately, Marionites got their depot when it was opened for passenger service in 1895.  Restoration will be slow, but the abuse is over.  What abused buildings are you aware of River City?

Photo journal of a Quaker church

One of the things I love about the work I do is the opportunities I'm given to visit places I've never been, nor likely would ever go.  I meet great people all across our state that are proud of their history and the buildings and places that embody it.  Such was the case at this little Friends Meeting House in Dublin, Indiana built c. 1874.  A great photogenic building with a wonderful history and steadfast folks who care for both.

A Home to come Home to

Time is ticking.  Mom and dad have talked about selling their house for over a year now, and they've stepped up the process by looking for a place in River City, and prepping the ol' homestead for the market.  This is going to be a big transition....in fact, they've never bought and sold a home.  When they were first married, they moved a mobile home onto grandpa's farmstead and within a few years built the house in a woods on the farm in 1973.  They've been there ever since.  And except for a few fragments of memories from my toddler days, the house they built is really the only one I can remember from my childhood days.

I know it is going to be difficult.  I can't imagine not having that house to come "home" to after more than 40 years.  Mom insisted on having a get-together over Memorial Day weekend, thinking that it may be the last time all of us siblings, and our kids...and grandkids, would be together in the house.  I don't even want to think about the monumental task of moving and downsizing.

My room-turned antique/plant room.  The only corner view in the house.

My grandparents were in their houses for 46 years and their entire lifetime since it was handed down from generation to generation.  My wife's parents have been in their house for about the same length of time as my parents.  People don't do this anymore these days.  We've moved once, after spending 11 years in our first house and going on 7 years at the farm.  At 11 years, we were some of the "oldest" neighbors in the neighborhood.  It seems that these days people are so disconnected to their homes, families, communities, neighborhoods and other circles that once held our broader communities together.  Our connections are now social media based and it makes me wonder if our inability to be civil in our discourse doesn't follow the trend to be disconnected in real time.

Anti-establishment before it was cool

I remember after I won my first election, in 2003, the city party chairman came up to me, congratulated me and said "we have a name for guys like you....progressive."

I wasn't sure how to take that.  At that time, I think it was a good thing to be a progressive.  It meant that you thought outside the box, wasn't trapped in typical party platform ideology and were willing to work across party lines to make things happen.  The first reference to a "progressive wing" of the party dates to 1910-1916 when Teddy Roosevelt split off from the Republicans and ran as the head of the Bull Moose Party.  Now my  admiration of Teddy makes sense to me.  The views were generally left of center of the party and Teddy's brand was famous for its trust-busting ideology.  Social security and other social justice issues branded the wing too far left and of course, it and the GOP went down in flames that election year.  In 1924, a senator from Wisconsin controlled that wing of the party and he launched an equally unsuccessful third party campaign for president.

Of course, I don't know that I fully align myself with those ideas of progressivism, but social justice issues are part of my moral fiber and probably does push me out of many rank and file types.  So be it.  I also believe that there is a role for government-something that many in the tea party and libertarian wings of the GOP don't want to acknowledge.

Interestingly enough, when I did a google search for "Progressive Republican", it didn't even come up.  Progressive politics, progressive Democrat, but nothing on the GOP.  Which goes to my next point that the progressive wing is dead.  I, and what I believe were a large number of others during the 2000s virtually became extinct with the election of President Obama because the right ran so far to the right it left progressives as rare as the white buffalo.  And if there was a reason to hate progressives, it paled in comparison to the disdain the "establishment" wing of the GOP found in the hearts of folks calling themselves conservatives in this election year.

In that first election, it became clear that the "establishment" (a term no one was using then) had to figure out what to do with me.  The answer came in the next election when I ran an unsuccessful reelection campaign, losing by 15 votes.  When I was interviewed after the loss, I commented "I got the message, loud and clear".  And so I figured that was the end of my involvement in politics.  The establishment won.

Fast forward to the beginning of 2014, long after the elimination of the progressive wing.  I saw a slim chance to run and win a position I don't think I had ever seen myself holding, a very slim chance.  I knew I had to do it outside of the insiders, outside of the party establishment.  And my message was simple:  stronger together.  And it was a massive uphill climb, feeling like every step was fraught with someone, something working against it. The message resonated, and I think to some degree my campaign was seen at the "anti" establishment that folks could get behind.

Oddly enough, I think now I'm seen as part of the establishment, only a year and a half into it.  And that goes to my next point.  What exactly is the establishment?  Because for the last nearly 20 years of my life, folks in the establishment would have never identified me as one of them.  So is it after a year in?  Is it because someone else isn't in?  We've so villainized our elected officials that anytime someone gets in.....that we've put there to upset the apple cart.....we immediately blame them as being part of the problem.

And we've lost some really good public servants in the process.

Maybe there is good reason to not trust politicians-I can think of plenty, reasons and politicians.  But we also have to be educated and able to be governed.  God's Word goes to this point very plainly.  I trust one day civility returns to public debate and that finding oneself in the role of an elected official isn't about catering to a particular ideology that is counterproductive to a solid democracy.  It may be an imperfect system, but it is still the best in the world.  And it didn't happen absent of decent people, strong leaders, with a desire to work together for the best interests of the people they serve.

Vincennes: our first territorial capital

One of the most spectacular memorials in Indiana is the George Rogers Clark Memorial in Vincennes.  Its location along the Wabash River in Indiana first territorial capital is a fitting site given the importance of the river to the expansion of the country in the old west, now our Midwest.

Just across the lawn north of the memorial is this great bridge crossing the Wabash into Illinois.  Its grand flanking gateway carved with Native Americans is probably my favorite bridge in the state-well, second to the one I proposed to my wife on....I suppose that's my favorite.  While my reason for visiting the city this spring was because of it being the location of Indiana's Historic Preservation Conference, I'm losing a good friend to Vincennes-his hometown, so I'm thinking more visits are in my future.

Where the Wild Things Are

This is Bandit.  Every night I have to go out and get to the bird feeder and suet before he does.

This little fella swam right past me while I was sitting down by the creek.

I've been roaming our little 8 1/2 acre piece of paradise as the weather warms and the sun has been making its appearance.  I remember the first time we visited Sycamore Hill and being a wildlife lover, I realized pretty quickly that I found "home".  Late spring seems to bring out the very best on the Hill, at least in terms of wildlife.  And with the advantage of phone cameras, I'm usually quick to send my latest sightings off to family and friends.  Now, none of these shots are spectacular, and some you'll just have to take my word for it, but here's a little photo-documentary of where the wild things are....on Sycamore Hill.

The bright red spot is a Scarlet Tanager.  I believe this is what the fortune cookie foretold. 

This is a Mockingbird that's been hanging around the farm.

Thankfully we found enough to make one mess of these tasty morsels.

Take it to the Ring...er, uh Hoop.

I knew Ted was Cruz'n for a bruisin' in Indiana when he made two fatal mistakes:

1) He told Hoosiers how to vote and
2) He called a basketball hoop a "ring" while trying to channel our favorite pastime to his advantage.

Maybe that's what happens when a transplanted Canadian crosses the border into Indiana.  If you're out campaigning you have to either get it right with the folks you're trying to win over or admit the heck you don't know their culture and move on.  If I ever run for president and go to California to campaign, I'll applaud surfers for their skill but you won't hear me talking about "catching a wave on that floaty thing".

And Hoosiers simply don't like to be told what to do.  Rolling into the primary and saying you struck a deal with John Kasich (my pick) and that his supporters should vote for Cruz I think left an odor most foul.  I think a good deal of uncommitted voters at that point doubled-down and voted for Kasich or thought forget those two and went Trump.

We Hoosiers are a funny bunch.

Holding Court in Porter & Sullivan Counties

The Porter County Courthouse (above/below) provides the tale of a phoenix, as it were, rising from the ashes.  The courthouse was built in 1883-1885 and designed by John Cochrane of Chicago, responsible for the Illinois State Capitol.  It typified many courthouses of that period with a mansard roof and clock tower.  However, just after Christmas in 1934 the courthouse suffered a major fire bringing the roof and tower down.  The building was substantially rebuilt and a fourth floor added giving the impression of more classically-designed courthouses of that period.

The Sullivan County Courthouse (above and below) with its great rotunda and stained glass dome was built in the Classical style and designed by Vincennes architect John B. Bayard in 1926.  The courthouse is the center of the small southwestern Indiana town taking its name from the county, Sullivan.  This courthouse, along with five others built during the same period, ended the time of classically-inspired design for Indiana's courthouses.

Pomp and Circumstance(s)

Andrews University graduation outside Pioneer Memorial Chapel

I've been like a kid over celebrating Indiana's bicentennial this year, but 2016 is big in my book for at least two other reasons.  The advantage of graduating from your first four-year stint in college and going to a five-year program at another is that when you celebrate important graduation anniversaries, they are always in the same year.  This year marks the big silver anniversary of 25 years from completing my Business Administration degree from Bethel, and 20 years from completing my Architecture degree from Andrews.  So if you do the math, I spent nine years in college and don't have a "Dr." in front of my name to show for it-or the income for that matter.

Marrying these two degrees with my love for history has allowed me to take what is essentially a hobby and turn it into a career in which I work for myself.  It's just hard to believe it has been this long out of college, even as I look to my 30th high school class reunion next year.  There is no way I am that old.

Bethel College graduation outside of Goodman Auditorium

Unfortunately I don't see any of my old Bethel or Andrews classmates, except for occasional pics on FB.  I miss my archi-friends from Andrews.  I trust you guys are all doing well and changing the physical face of America and beyond for the better with your exceptional talents.  What I wouldn't give for another round table discussion over coffee at the Daybreak.  And I miss many of my Bethel business classmates-it does my heart well to know many of you stayed right here in Indiana to make this a better place.  Happy 20th and 25th everyone-it doesn't quite seem like yesterday, but close enough.