Sunday, April 27, 2014

Life's journey-Humbleness by Larry Beachy DDS

This story by Larry L. Beachy DDS was sent in his family letter April 26, 2014. Larry gave permission to share it with all of you on this Beachy Family Stories Blog site. Thanks Larry.
Creative- nonfiction
Life's journey-Humbleness
The license plate on the back of the beat up pick truck read, “Indiana -amber waves of grain”.
We grow very little grain, mostly soybeans and corn. I thought to myself, Amber waves of stalks is what it should read.
Only our Amish raise oats to feed their horses. Everyone knows about Indiana’s basketball but not many know about our Amish.
Extremely conservative,the Amish work hard trying to live the simple life.
My parents were raised Amish. I feel a kinship with my Amish neighbors and in most legal and political battles I stand beside them. It was at the expense of this kinship that I learned a great lesson while traveling down Life’s Journey.
Picture a beautiful spring day in Indiana. One of those
early morning days, where the farmers have their big four wheel John Deer tractors out running with six bottom plows on the back. Every dirt road has two or three rigs
running from one field to the other.
It was on a day like this that I witnessed a dangerous and carless act. I was heading west on a gravel road.  An Amish horse and buggy was just ahead of me and in front of him was a big John Deer tractor with a 6 bottom plow pulling along behind.  We were strung out like a funeral  procession and were progressing at about the same speed.
The John Deer slowed down. The amish buggy decided to pass. The driver  slapped his horse and the buggy picked up speed. As the  buggy pulled up beside the big Green Machine the driver of the tractor gave it the gas. Now we had both lanes occupied and any on coming traffic was confronted with the possibility of a head on accident with a horse and buggy.
Finally the amishman pulled back hard on the reins and the horse and buggy dropped back into the right hand lane of traffic. Fortunately I had also pulled back when I saw what that numb skull driving the tractor was doing. The on coming traffic passed us by safely.
He did it again! The John Deer slowed way down! Out went the buggy to pass. Sure enough when the buggy drew up even with the tractor, the tractor sped up again. The horse was now in a dead heat with the tractor, it’s head was extended, foam was flying out of its mouth, and the whip was snapping across its flanks. Again the Green machine won. Running at a dangerously fast speed the big rig wobbled back and forth across the road, kicking up gravel and keeping the horse at bay.
I waited my turn. Finally the horse and buggy pulled back into my lane behind the tractor and rig.
I was driving a Ford station wagon with the biggest engine Ford motor company produced. It was called the interceptor, because Ford was installing those engines in police cars all across the nation. I kicked the interceptor into passing gear and flew past the horse and buggy, horn blaring. I passed the six bottom plow and the big green John Deer.
Now it was time to act!  I pulled the Station wagon in front of the tractor and applied the brakes. When both the tractor and my station wagon were  stopped,  I
jumped out and ran back to give the tractor driver a piece of my mind.
Just as I suspected, the tractor was being driven by some young kid, probably 13 or 14 years old. In the “Amber waves of grain”, state you CAN’T drive a motor vehicle until you are 16 and pass a drivers education course. HOWEVER YOU CAN drive a tractor or farm machinery as soon as your legs are long enough to reach the pedals.
I reminded him what the laws of the highway were. Just in case he didn’t remember, I recited all of them to him.
I asked him just what he thought he was doing on that road blocking that Amish buggy from passing? I didn’t give him a chance to answer, before I proceeded with my next tongue lashing. I knew I was getting through to him because I could see his eyes getting bigger and bigger. By now he was still shaking his head yes, but he was looking beyond me like he had lost his focus. I wasn’t going to put up with that. I commanded respect, pay attention to what I am saying. You better look at me and listen when I  am talking to you. Finally I ran out of steam. The Amish buggy had passed and was long gone. I straightened my shoulders like a drill Sargent that had just chewed out a buck-private. Just as I was ready to do an about face, I heard a tiny voice.
The voice was a little shaky, but very clear. “Hey mister your station wagon rolled in the ditch, you want me to pull you out?”

Friday, October 18, 2013

Luke Bags Four Point Mule Deer

Glen Beachy's grandson Luke Saffarek, had this hunting experence October 2013. It was on his parents property in northern British Columbia near the town of Smithers.
A little story of God's provision...

Since I came back to Canada 18 months ago I have been living with my parents and paying rent, but it has really been on my heart to do more. I have been wanting to help out more around the house, but with my back-issues have just not been able to.  But there was faith in my heart for the Lord to provide....

So, tonight I felt I should go and try for a deer... In the back yard.  Bear in mind I haven't shot a large animal for over 10 years!  So, I walked to the back of our property and sat in the bush for 2.5 hrs.  With all the dry Fall leaves on the ground I could hear anything that moved.  It didn't take long till I honed in on a larger animal not too far off.  I waited and listened to it walking around for 2 hours before I saw him, a nice legal Mule Deer buck. But he never gave me a decent shot.  Watched him walk off toward the house.  I said a quick prayer - "God if you want me to get a deer, you'll make it happen".  Moments after that I heard another animal coming, but much bigger.  7 minutes later I had a cow moose about 14 meters from me. She had no clue I was there, so I stood up slowly to let her know.  She initial gave me a "ready to defend" look, but as I began to slowly step away from her she calmed down then jogged about 10 meters or so before stopping and  continuing to keep an eye on me.  Pretty intimidating with their size even with my dad's 7mm Magnum rifle in my hands.

So, that was it. I had a "no-chance" on a Mule Deer Buck and had my cover blown by a cow Moose.  So, I walked back to the house.  I stopped at the edge of the sun-deck to unload the rifle.  Took the first two shells out, and dropped the third one on the ground.  As I bent down to pick it up out of the corner of my eye I saw the Buck on the edge of the yard.  I slowly crouched behind the fake well, slipped one shell back into the rifle, put the cross hairs on the mark and pulled the trigger.  The deer dropped straight down, one shot!  Thank-you Lord!

This is such a blessing and miracle for me.  This is our way of life here, it's affordable, clean, healthy meat.  
All hunting is well regulated and controlled with seasons and licensing.  It is not about killing something, but  simply about providing food for ourselves and our families.

God is so faithful to provide for us.
It has been another humbling experience for me.

Luke A. Saffarek

Owner / Guide  at Tiger Fly - Fly Fishing Adventures
Skype: luke.saf

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Elaine Beachy "Good Samaritan"

This is a true story that happened in January 2013 to Elaine Beachy who lives in Virginia.  This is the first chapter, Elaine posted what happened the next day on Face Book. Thanks Elaine for sharing this story with us. Blessings!

In line at the checkout counter at Food Lion around noon today, I noticed a woman behind me holding a single bottle of Mountain Dew. She drew her jacket close around her as she shivered. 

"I'm so cold," she declared. I suggested maybe she go into the ladies room to warm herself by the hand dryer. She replied her husband is waiting on the motorcycle outside. 

I was incredulous. I asked her what she's doing on a motorcycle, and she replied they drove up here from Florida to take care of some family business, as one of the family here had passed away and they were settling the estate. She said when they got here, her mother in Nokesville (a few miles from Manassas) wouldn't let them come stay with her, doesn't want them to have a share in the settlement, and they have no place to go.

I questioned her about her home, her other family, and her 

situation. She said they lost their jobs, lost their house, had to sell their car, and all they had was on the motorcycle outside in the parking lot! A few clothes, besides the warmest ones she was wearing. She said they should never have left Florida, where it's considerably warmer than here. 

As she told me they were homeless, tears filled her eyes and she began to cry. She said the shelters are all full, churches won't help them, and they had no place to go. "I don't know what we're going to do." I asked her where they plan to spend the night. She said she had no idea. She just cried. 

I had to do something. I debated inviting them to come home with me. I struggled with the safety issue. Then I thought I could at least buy them some hot coffee, a sandwich, and get enough cash to pay for a hotel room for the night, which I offered to do. She was amazed, but hope came into her eyes for a moment. "You'd do that for us? I can't believe it. There are so many other people in the same situation we are, and one just can't go asking people for help." I reminded her she didn't ask me for anything; I offered.

As we headed for the hot coffee and sandwich area of the store, I asked her again about her mother in Nokesville, and if she could possibly be persuaded to take them in. She shook her head, and said she was so surprised that her mother had turned against her too, as they used to be so close. Then she added, "She's supposed to be a Christian."

Back at the check-out counter I paid for her meager meal and got $50 cash to give her. I asked her where her husband is.

"My husband is sitting outside on the motorcycle. He's so depressed, I'm afraid he's going to kill himself." Then she added in despair, "We are just so desperate, I don't know what we're going to do. Maybe I should just kill myself too." 

I took her by the shoulders, looked her square in the face, and said "NO! Don't you dare do that! God loves you very much; don't give up!"

Customers were beginning to line up behind us, but I didn't care. The clerk who had helped us find the coffee and sandwiches and was waiting on us just kind of watched us talking. 

She hugged me and began to weep. She said she tries to pray, but maybe she isn't doing something right, she said. I assured her I'd pray for her, and she asked if I'd also please pray for her husband Dale.

She said she will never forget me, and asked if I would give her my contact info so she could maybe someday repay me for my kindness. I told her that's not necessary, but I gave her my contact card if she needed to get in touch with me. She asked what church I go to, and I told her, "Manassas Assembly of God." She said maybe they can make it to church on Sunday, and asked what the service times were, and which one I go to. 

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

The Testimony of Garry Meier, Pilot in British Columbia Canada

The Tree
This is a true story by Garry Meier, married to my daughter Diane Beachy Meier. Enjoy !
"While circling the tree, the snow got worse and worse, it
started to stick to the wings and windshield. I knew then that it
was only a matter of time before the aircraft stalled and I would
probably die. At that moment I saw my life before my eyes."
Click for complete story in The Streetcorner

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Brandon Beachy Atlanta Braves

Below is a great story about Brandon Beachy, pitcher for Atlanta Braves. Click here for a link to the original article by Mark Bowman.
11/23/11 4:10 PM EST

Beachy thankful for support, chance at dream
By Mark Bowman /

ATLANTA -- Brandon Beachy seems genuinely appreciative of the many individuals who have aided him during a journey that became more improbable as he spent this year enjoying a record-setting rookie season with the Braves.
Two years ago, Beachy was a relatively unknown Minor League pitcher who had just completed his first full professional season. One summer earlier, he had seen his life's path significantly altered when the Braves signed him out of a relatively obscure collegiate summer league staged in rural Virginia.

And it's been just four years since Beachy was attempting to celebrate Thanksgiving while dealing with the fact that he was still just a few months removed from that horrific day when his ill-fated attempt to prank his siblings led to a fire that destroyed his parents' home.

"To be where I'm sitting now, I have a lot to give thanks for," Beachy said. "There is a lot of good that has come out of that experience. It's just one more experience in my life that shows how blessed I've truly been.

"It reminds me to not take anything for granted because it can be taken away so quickly."
Club stories ¬ -- AL EAST ¬ Orioles Rays Red Sox -- AL CENTRAL ¬ Indians Royals Tigers Twins White Sox -- AL WEST ¬ Angels Athletics Mariners Rangers -- NL EAST ¬ Braves Marlins Mets Nationals Phillies -- NL CENTRAL ¬ Astros Brewers Cardinals Cubs Pirates Reds -- NL WEST ¬ D-backs Dodgers Giants Padres Rockies

Given a choice, Beachy would like to forget all that transpired on July 4, 2007. His innocent attempt to startle a couple of his younger siblings proved disastrous when the smoke bomb he threw in their direction led to the fire that destroyed the family's old farmhouse in Kokomo, Ind.

A gust of wind seemingly introduced one of the smoke bomb's sparks to a stack of fireworks that were located in the house. With smoke and flames growing more intense, family members rushed outside to find safety. There they quickly realized there would be no way to control the mighty flames before firefighters arrived.

Suddenly, Beachy, his parents and his six siblings were without a home to call their own. They spent the next 10 months living approximately a mile down the road at his grandparents' house.

"Everybody kept talking about how happy they were that nobody was hurt," Beachy said. "I didn't want to hear that. All I could think of was that I burnt my family's house down. It took me a while."

When Mark DeMichael began recruiting Beachy to play baseball for him at Indiana Wesleyan University, he saw an athletic third baseman with tremendous character. His respect only grew as the young athlete proved to be an energetic and upbeat leader during his first two seasons at the NAIA school.

But it didn't take long for DeMichael to see things were much different when Beachy returned for the start of the 2007-08 school year. As the team went through fall workouts, the once-congenial third baseman proved to be short-tempered and combative.

Still filled with the guilt and anger that had continued to simmer since the fire, Beachy unloaded his fury on a teammate after taking a round of batting practice one September afternoon. This led DeMichael to call the young third baseman to his office for a stern conversation that was filled with tears and encouragement.

"He was just carrying so much guilt," DeMichael said. "I just told him that it's OK and nobody blamed him for what had happened. I told him in order for anybody to forgive you, you have to forgive yourself, accept you're human and open yourself to allow others to care for you.

"It was a conversation we had to have. I hate to think what might have happened had Brandon continued to travel down that road."

It was a conversation that had both immediate and long-term benefits. When asked why he believes the fire made him a better person, Beachy credits DeMichael for reminding him that there are times when he needs to express his emotions and allow others to help him in times of need.

"It has taught me not to keep things in," Beachy said. "If people want to help, let them. It's OK to not be macho."

As Beachy posted a 3.68 ERA and set a modern rookie franchise record with 169 strikeouts in 25 starts for the Braves this year, he proved to be even-keeled and willing to accept advice from his veteran teammates. But the 25-year-old hurler still possesses some of that same hard-headed determination that has allowed him to hurdle many obstacles he has encountered, dating back to his collegiate days.

"From the neck up, they don't come any better," said DeMichael, who is now IWU's athletic director. "He's intelligent and he's determined. He's always shown he's going to find a way to get the job done."

When Beachy went to play in the collegiate summer league in 2008, he simply wanted a chance to pitch. He rarely pitched in high school, and because of some shoulder soreness before his junior year, his pitching experience at IWU was limited to his role as the team's third baseman/closer.

A short time after going to Virginia, Beachy caught the attention of veteran scout Gene Kerns, who convinced the young pitcher to skip his senior season and accept the $20,000 signing bonus the Braves were willing to offer.

Over the next few weeks, IWU's former third baseman served as a reliever for the Braves' rookie-level affiliate in Danville, Va. One year later he would make eight starts while primarily serving as a reliever for Class A Rome and Class A Advanced Myrtle Beach.

When the 2010 season began, Beachy remained in relative obscurity as a member of Double-A Mississippi's bullpen. By the time the season concluded, he was enjoying the first three starts of his Major League career and dealing with the stress created by the fact that the Braves were in a tight battle to win the Wild Card.

When Jair Jurrjens was unable to pitch during the final two weeks of the regular season, the Braves did not give Kenshin Kawakami another shot. Instead they brought Beachy out of the instructional league to make these three starts.

Three years after being burdened by the guilt created by the fire, Beachy was standing on the mound at Philadelphia's Citizens Bank Park, challenging Ryan Howard and realizing a dream that had seemed so improbable before the Braves had found him out of nowhere just two years earlier.

"It really is incredible how quickly I've gotten to where I am," Beachy said. "I really believe God has had his hand in my journey and that I'm here for a reason."

When Beachy and his family celebrate this year's Thanksgiving within the confines of their rebuilt home in Kokomo, there will be plenty of reason for them to give thanks for the improbable journey they have experienced during the four years that have elapsed since the fire.

"Playing baseball is not just for me," Beachy said. "My whole family gets such a kick out of it and they enjoy it just as much as I do. They're watching all the games whether I'm pitching or not. They've definitely transformed into some of the biggest Braves fans out there."

Mark Bowman is a reporter for This story was not subject to the approval of Major League Baseball or its clubs

Friday, June 24, 2011

Craig Beachy British Columbia Canada

Below is a fishing story from my son Craig Beachy who lives on
the Queen Charlotte Islands. The most western part of BC Canada.
Colleen is Craig's wife. Springs is the local name for Chinook Salmon, in Alaska
they are called King Salmon.

Hello everyone,
Last weekend myself, Colleen and two student teachers were spring
fishing in Rennel sound of the east coast of Q.C.I. We were trolling
with down riggers. Anyway we get a fish on so I grab the rod out of
the holder and hand it to one of the girls. She is fighting it and
doing ok, it is taking a bit of line but she is gaining on it. All of
a sudden the line starts just peeling off of the reel like crazy.
then about 150 yards behind the boat we see a sea lion surface. I say
great he has got our salmon and I take the rod from Laura, we can see
the sea-lion throwing the fish in the air and tearing it apart. I am
reeling in line hoping that the hook will come out of the fish so I
can recover some line. The bite of the line is still deep in the
water when we see an eagle swooping down towards the sea-lion, I
guess he saw a bit of fish he was going to grab. The sea-lion saw
him coming and lunged 3 or 4 feet out of the water trying to grab the
eagle. The eagle swerved hard and came up with my flasher
hanging about 3 feet below him. since the bite of the line was in the
water the eagle only got about 10 or 15 feet in the air before the
line came tight and he crashed to the water. O great now I have an
eagle on my fishing rod. Lucky for the eagle the sea-lion took the
salmon and carried on his way. So I start reeling in the eagle, I
went slow because I did not know if the hook was stuck in him or
maybe the line was around his wing and cutting in. Anyway soon I had
a angry hissing eagle right up to the boat. I pulled him up on the
swim grid and I could see that the line was wrapped around one of his
feet and the hook was dangling free. He kept trying to turn and bite
me so Colleen got my rain coat and I put it over him. He was not
happy but he settled down. I managed to just get his foot out from
under the coat and cut the fishing line. We took the coat off of him
and he gave us an angry look and jumped in the water and started
swimming away, he was to wet to fly. I was happy I did not lose any
line or flasher or lure. It took the eagle about 30 minutes
to paddle to shore, we could see him drying his wings,
and eventually fly off.
Sorry I have no good pictures to include. I will send a picture my
friend took of another eagle. And one of Colleen with a spring
salmon. We had to move because another sea-lion joined the first and
I did not want to share. We ended the day with 7 springs.
Bye for now.
Craig Beachy

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

What Worries Me by Michael Beachy

I Asked Mike Beachy for permission to post his letter about Assault Weapons. Below is his reply and letter.
"It is okay to use this letter. I wrote it in kind of an “emotional” state during one of our family discussions and is somewhat tongue in cheek humor but gets my point across." Mike

What is an assault weapon? A scary looking gun or any instrument a person
could use to commit an act of violence?
Automatic weapons (machine guns) are already illegal in the United States so
to ban those would make them "double illegal". Guns like a Thompson machine
gun, UZI and a Mac-9 are already illegal if fully automatic unless you have
a specialized federal license. The act of assaulting someone in this country
is already illegal so to regulate that or ban that would make assault with a
deadly weapon "double illegal".
Criminals have automatic weapons that they procured through illegal channels
but they are criminals and they do not care about governmental laws. Laws
are created to govern law abiding citizens. Laws do nothing to regulate or
control non-law abiding citizens. Criminals do not care if a law makes their
activities illegal or "double illegal".
For some reason an AK 47 and an AR 15 are assault weapons but a 44 Magnum
hand gun or a Remington 1100 are not but they all fire at the same speed and
can kill someone with the same effectiveness. Maybe an assault weapon is a
gun that has no other purpose but to assault someone. I know of no such
weapon. The SKS is an extremely effective deer riffle and favored by many
Michigan deep woods hunters because it is short and easy to carry in the
heavily undergrowth areas of northern Michigan. It shoots the very same
bullet as the AK 47 and at the same rate of fire. A Ruger Mini 14 is a
favored riffle of western ranchers for killing varmints yet it shoots the
very same bullet as the AR 15 and at the same rate. Both the SKS and the
Mini 14 are not as scary looking as the AK 47 and the AR 15 so I do not
believe they are considered assault weapons.
I think what we need to do is regulate the movie industry's portrayal of
guns in films. If the film industry would just use softer, kinder looking
guns when the bad guys do bad things in the movies then the ignorant public
would not have this phobia about the scary looking guns.
"Assault Weapon" is the most ridiculous phrase I have ever heard. For Obama
to follow through on his campaign promise and instate a ban of assault
weapons it would be futile and accomplish nothing except to appease the
ignorant. That is ignorant (those who know nothing on the subject) not
stupid I am not calling anyone names here. It would also make me in
violation of the ban because I will never give up my guns, kind gentle guns or scary.
I have a license to carry a concealed weapon. I am a law abiding citizen and
have never committed a crime. I have never carried a weapon out in public
but I could. I have no reason to. There are times when I do carry a weapon
like Walleye fishing at night in a bad part of Elkhart. I do not intend to
assault anyone only to protect myself. I have had training in handgun use
from a federal firearms instructor. I hope that it will never become
necessary for me to use a gun in self-defense.
I am not too worried about internal terrorism but I have seen the reports
about militias increasing in numbers. Any SWAT team or our military could
crush these glorified paintball players like an ant under a shoe. Remember
the Branch Davidians in Waco Texas. That was kind of a botch job but you get
the idea. I am not sure what misinformation these low intelligence
individuals have been fed to make them react in such a fashion but if they
are not in violation with any laws then they are free to play soldier. Nut
balls are always going to be around. The Timothy McVeigh, Ted Kaczynski and
Jeffery Dahmer types will never go away even if you pass another law making
their hideous activities "double illegal".
The whole point is that laws and regulations only apply to law abiding
citizens. You cannot pass a law and correct morality. Those operating
outside the laws do not care and will continue to do what they are doing
already. So I say "Get the American Government off my back" and don't pass
regulations on me in an attempt to regulate what cannot be regulated.
Where is my nearest militia?

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Moose Hunting in The Outback of British Columbia Canada.

Glen Beachy Editor of this site writes about his Moose hunting trip, September 2009.
Here in BC the province is divided into wildlife areas. To hunt in the northern area my son Craig applied for a draw for a party of four. He was successful and was issued two moose tags between four hunters. Craig along with his two sons Clint, Eli, and grandpa Glen all met in Smithers BC. Once we were loaded with camping gear, one quad, etc. We headed north out of Smithers. Two hours later as it was getting dark we set camp and were soon ready for the opening morning of the season.

Next morning before daylight were up and going expecting to bag a moose before the day was over. It never happened. We hunted hard, Thursday-Friday-Saturday, even Sunday, nothing. Not even catching sight of a moose of any kind.

Monday morning I was up before daylight changing my clothes. The night before I laid my glasses on my suitcase and the next morning I couldn't find them. I spent 20 minutes looking for them. After awhile Clint spotted them on the floor in the shadow of a block of wood. They fell off in the dark when I moved the suitcase to get out my clothes.
We grabbed our hunting gear and were off. Craig and I drove across the river to different water shed. This took us to the west end of the mountains where on most days we could spot Mt. Goats. At 7:35 we drove in on a deactivated logging road where we stopped to spot Goats. We glassed the mountain for 4 or 5 minutes when I looked down the road which ended at the timber about 300 yards from where we had stopped. I was dumb founded and could hardly believe my eyes! Here came a Bull Moose strolling along the road right toward us.

It goes without saying that we never talk above a whisper when out of the truck. No slamming truck doors etc. Instantly realty set in and I whispered "Craig". He knew something was up by the tone of my voice. I pointed down the road at the Moose. We quickly went into action and working behind the open truck doors we quickly loaded 3 shells each into our guns. When certain conditions require quick shooting only one bullet is loaded. Loaded guns are not allowed in the truck. We knew we had time for three shells this time. Now we have the big guy in our sights. Craig on one side of the truck I on the other side. Both doors are open. Craig whispers let him keep coming. In a few seconds the moose stopped and looked at us. It was 121 meters by the range finder. We both shot at the same time, as we had decided to do. The Moose never knew what hit him.

One of the pictures I took while Craig was driving the truck through the ditches that were dug across the road during the deactivation. After we took more pictures. Craig radioed Clint and Eli and they were there within 30 minutes with Clint's truck and Eli's quad. Eli's quad is equipped with an electric winch front and back. He drove the quad through the ditch and up to the top of bank. Where he anchored the front winch to a tree and pulled the moose up the bank with the back winch. Craig backed his truck into the ditch below the moose which is now on the bank above the truck. The winch line is backed off and unhooked, the moose is then manhandled into the back of Craig's pickup truck. (we had to cut the moose in half it was to big to handle in one piece)

Back to camp. Clint and Eli skidded in poles with Eli's quad. Before long we have an 18 ft. long meat pole erected with a tripod on each end for support. Once the moose was hanging Eli and Clint went off hunting. Craig and I did the skinning. Craig skinned out the cape for a shoulder mount.

When all is said and done, losing my glasses, stopping where we did, moose walking out of the timber at that moment, we saw it in time, is this all by chance?? As Craig and I stood there looking at this magnificent creature which God created, I said "it makes me feel bad" Craig said "I know what you mean" It was a humbling experience like I had never felt with any other animals I have taken.

Next day Craig and I took the meat into Smithers to the meat cutter. It weighed in at 880 lbs. It must have been 1300 lbs on the hoof. After buying a few odds and ends Craig headed back out to camp in time for the evening hunt. I stayed behind in Smithers to look after the meat etc.

Craig is having a mount made from this moose. He has wanted one for long time but never got one in the trophy class. I like the idea since I had a part in it. In fact we took the cape and anthers to Phil Giesbrecht a professional taxidermist in Cranbrook. Phil is married to my granddaughter Laurel. It is a "Wall Hanger"!
A few days later Craig shot a large black wolf in the same area. That is a story in its self.
An interesting twist, 35 years ago when Craig was 14 years old we were hunting moose together and we bagged a huge Bull Moose the first for both of us. History did repeat itself as father and son once again bagged a moose while hunting together. This time a trophy class animal. The above picture is Craig, Clint, Eli & Grandpa Beachy

Saturday, July 4, 2009


A Real Life Story By Jeanette Beachy Saffarek

My grown son Grant was home for a week, so I took a day off with him. I thought it would be nice to go for a hike. Grant asked his friend Aaron if he would like to come along, he said sure, so I asked Aaron's mom Judy to come. Judy is my hiking friend. Aaron had just come home from Calgary recently too. So we thought we would have a mother/son hiking day.
We decided to go up a mountain that we had hiked several times before, but never in the spring, or in snow. It was a beautiful sunny day, the snow trail was hard – packed and away we went. As we climbed higher we came to an area where there was an old mining road cut into the side of the hill. The road was about eight feet wide, then a drop into a ravine. The snow had filled in the road cut in the side of the hill, so it was all one big snow covered slope. Grant was in the lead and had walked out about 15 ft. ahead, and said, “this is getting sketchy” (sketchy is his latest word for dicey, or iffy). So we stood and discussed, should we go a different way etc.
I decided we should cut up hill a bit, Aaron went to make a move, and poof away he went down the hill. He had fallen and took off, just as if he was on a toboggan. I was calling on the name of Jesus, and his mom was praying too, but very calm (normally she screams at the drop of a hat), Aaron would hit small trees, then break through, and off he would go again. It was awful to watch! He finally reached another road near the bottom, but he still went up the side of the bank, then back down before he finally stopped. If he had not been somewhat slowed by the trees I think he would have had too much momentum and would have been off again down the other side of the bank. He got up and said he was OK. So we were greatly relieved! Grant decides to go down and help him. We figured he had gone about 300 – 400 feet.

I decided to go back to where Judy was, I had just walked out there, I turned
(I think), the next thing I knew I was down and headed down the mountain too! I knew was going to be OK even as I took off praying. I broke thru the first set of trees, then hit the 2nd set which was much bigger and stopped. I had gone about fifty feet. As I was there Judy's dog went sailing down the mountain. The same place where Aaron had gone down.
The dog was standing perfectly still, and flying down the hill. He was OK.
Grant very carefully gathered our scattered snowshoes, which we lost off our packs. Grant had to talk me off the hill. He would bang his heel into the snow 4 or 5 times to make an indent the size of 2 X 2 inches and only about ½ inch deep. That was the only foothold we could have. To sit down was the worse, you wouldn't have survived.

Anyhow, this old lady has learned a hard lesson, and thank God I lived without injury to tell about it.
Aaron skinned his hands and arms up pretty bad, as he wasn't wearing gloves. The snow was so hard it took the skin off (like road rash). Now I know how people kill themselves in the wilderness, and they will say, “they were an experienced outdoor person”. I was experienced in a very limited area, but not in those conditions,

Jeanette lives in Smithers BC where her and husband Kurt raised their family. Jeanette works in the lab at the local hospital when she is not out hiking.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Will History Repeat Itself?

First written and posted Friday, May 06, 2005 by the editor of this site. Due to the turmoil in the world I thought it would be worthwhile to rerun it.
Does History have To Repeat Itself? Or Can We Change It? The collapse of nations and empires has held an interest for me all the way back to my teenage years. I remember talking to dad about the civilizations that have disappeared from the earth. Like the Egyptians, the Romans, the Greeks, Babylonians, to name a few. My question at that time was how long could we expect the US to last when other nations have failed to survive. Over the years I have read different opinions why the different civilizations failed. Some of these writers were right with at least part of their reasons. I was looking for a simple condensed three point statement why the powerful nations failed. Little did I think when talking to my dad all those years ago that I would live to see the day when America (Canada Included) would meet all the requirements for failure, as shown to us by past civilizations. Two words describe the reason for the downfall of once powerful nations.
Moral corruption is a monster with many heads and any nations that allow this monster to mature will become its victim. History does not have to show that North America followed the same road as the other nations in the past did. Abraham asked the Lord (Gen. 18:16-33) if He would spare Sodom if there were ten righteous people. God said He would spare the city even for ten righteous people. "God does hear the prayers of a righteous man". "Our destiny can be chosen".

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Larry and Brad Beachy, Abaco Bahamas

These Queen conch are fully mature by the example of their
well formed lip or curl. You can only harvest Conch that have a
fully formed lip or roll. Some books say it takes 5 to seven years
for the Queen conch to form. I think we have excellent conditions for
growth and formation.
You gather them in shallow water to water as deep as 40 to 50 feet.
You find them usually where there is a sand bar, on the edge, and
many times around objects on the bottom that gives them some
protections. Ferns are what we look for. You snorkel on the surface
with mask and fins. When you see the horns sticking up through the
sand you surface dive and pull them out of the sand. They are heavy
enough that only two can be carried to swim back to the boat. A good
boat driver will keep a safe distance of his divers and use a long
handle net for them to drop their conch into, saving a long swim back
to the boat with a load.
You must know what you are doing to remove them from the shell.
Count two rings on the nose end and cut a groove in the shell, insert
a knife and cut the muscle loose from the shell, grasp the operculum
and pull out the muscle. This must be skinned and all the
apenditures removed. The nice triangles of white tough muscle must
be cubed very small and put into conch salad with sour orange,
onions, peppers, celery. We pound them very thin with a meat hammer
and make sweat sour conch over rice with pineapple. I like to take
them and run them through my fine hand grinder into a mushy conch-
burger. I mix flour, spice, and tomato and drop them in a fry daddy
until they surface. I make a dip out of mayo and catsup. Dip and eat--
Wow. Thanks Larry for sharing with us!

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Lela Beachy on Shoofly Pies

Lela said her mother baked hundreds of Shoofly Pies to sell. With that kind of background Lela must know what she is talking about. Even if she said "I wouldn't walk across the street for a Shoofly Pie." Below is a letter I received from Lela that I will share with you. Thanks Lela for sharing your knowledge about this pie.

Hi Glen,
I reduced a recipe for your size to make it like a cake. Let me know how you like it. It is o.k. to say you don't like it if you don't. This is a good with coffee, and the golden barrel molasses makes a better flavor. It is milder.

Small Recipe
1/2 cup Molasses- golden barrel
1/2 teasp. soda
Pour 2/3 hot water over this and stir
In bowl mix:
2/3 cups brown sugar
1 beaten egg
1/3 teas. vanilla
scant 1/4 teas. salt
Add to the molasses mixture.
Set aside

1 1/3 cup flour
1/3 teas. soda
1/4 teas. cream of tarter
1/4 cup lard
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/3 teas. cinnamon
scant 1/8 teas.salt

Rub until it is blended into crumbs.
Mix 1/2 cup of the crumbs into the
liquid mixture and pour liquid into
a cake pan, 8X8 or similar size.
Spread crumbs on top and bake at 350 till done, probably 25 min. (325 if you use glass or granite pans. I use foil on the outside of glass or granite, and it bakes really nice and does not get so brown, and then you can bake at 350.

Following is the recipe for four 8" pies.

Wet Bottom Shoo Fly Pie
1 1/2 cup Molasses- (Golden Barrel)
1 1/2 teas soda
Pour 2 hot water over this and stir.
In bowl mix:
2 cups brown sugar
3 beaten eggs
1 teas. vanilla
1/2 teas. salt.
Add to molasses mixture. Set aside.

4 cups bread flour
1 teas. soda
3/4 teas. cream of tarter
3/4 cup lard
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 teas. cinnamon
1/2 teas. salt
Makes enough for four 8" pies.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Good Bible Search Site

Here is a site that is just too good not to share with the rest of you people out there in the world wide web. Click here for my favorite page for quick look up.

Lookup a word or passage in the Bible

Friday, January 30, 2009

Kyle Beachy >>"The Slide"<<

Hello, everyone...

I'm writing with a simple announcement which let's just go ahead and get it out there: my debut novel, The Slide, is now, as of this very morning, available on store shelves across the country. This is terribly exciting for me, and I cannot possibly stress how important these first few days of sales are. It's a numbers game, this one, and quite literally every sale makes a big diffference.

Here is the other part of the announcement: the book is crazy affordable. To reach more readers, The Dial Press decided to publish my book as a paperback original, which means it costs about half the price of a hardback. Plus the cover design by Anders Nilsen is beautiful, and I'm honored, and basically the whole thing makes me shiver with joy.

Here are a few early reviews, and for more things, a video trailer, various interviews, and others.

"Kyle Beachy has a knack for fantastic little nuggets of observation…Like his protagonist, the first-time author is brimming with potential." — Entertainment Weekly.

"The theme is American Home, that place that lesser writers sentimentalize and satirize. Beachy writes with bracing melancholy in a voice that is all his own, and his St. Louis, like Cheever's Westchester, is populated with isolated, self-aware characters, each of whom is new to us. Potter Mays is great company."
--Jincy Willett, author of The Writing Class and Jenny and the Jaws of Life

"Suspenseful, erotic, funny, and terribly sad, THE SLIDE presents the long, hot 22nd summer of Potter Mays, the most ethical sexual deviant this side of Portnoy--or Hamlet."
-- James McManus, New York Times bestselling author of Positively Fifth Street

"Refreshingly sincere."
-- Joe Meno, author of The Great Perhaps

"Kyle Beachy has written a knockout first novel. Part love letter to the American Midwest, part ghost story, and part heartbreaking tale of one young man's struggle to find forgiveness as well as himself, this is a book that you won't want to miss."
-- Cristina Henriquez, author of Come Together, Fall Apart

Thank you for your time, and thank you for your support.

kyle beachy

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Trent Beachy

UP DATE ON TRENT: Trent has been released to live in an apartment on
the hospital campus in Denver. I asked if he could get along by
himself? He said he does pretty good. Cathy is there to lend a hand
also. He will be coming home the 24 of January and by that time they
will have given him all of his therapy exercises and directions for
exercises. They are treating the muscle tissue with electro shocks to
keep the nerve fibers firing and stimulating growth of the nerves and
muscles. This will increase the number of neurons firing . His Right
arm from the wrist up is now almost 100%. The last tree fingers on
his right hand are functioning pretty well but the thumb and
forefinger still lack gripping strength. The left arm is not
responding except to the electric shock. He spends most of the time
from 8:00 to 4:00 in therapy. Now that the rest of his body is in
the healing stage he discovered some injury to his ribs also. I
questioned Trent about his neck about flexibility and he replied
things are going well and he has good movement. So I felt this was a
good positive report. His phone number is 574-536-7806 and I am sure
he would be glad to hear from you. Gramp

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Trent Beachy, Firefighter

Trent Beachy
Golden Firefighter Trent Beachy is back in Colorado after breaking
his neck during a trip to the Midwest over Thanksgiving weekend.
Beachy and two other people were injured when his pick up truck
veered off the highway in Iowa and rolled multiple times before
coming to rest on its roof.

Beachy had to be extricated from the vehicle and was hospitalized in
Omaha, Nebraska for two weeks where he underwent surgery to fuse
three broken vertebrae in his neck. The two passengers, Golden
Firefighter Bruce Peters and Beachy's girlfriend, were treated and
released with minor injuries.

Last week, Beachy was transferred to Craig Hospital in Englewood,
Colorado to begin his rehabilitation. Craig is nationally known as a
leading treatment center for spinal cord injuries. Doctors are still
evaluating his injuries, so no timetable has been set for his
recovery. Initial estimates indicated it could take up to a year for
Beachy to make a full recovery.

While Beachy has movement in all of his extremities, he still suffers
from some weakness in his arms.

Numerous members of the Golden Fire Department have taken time to
visit Beachy. Several people, including Chief John Bales and Chaplain
Kevin Kirby, traveled to Nebraska to visit him before and after his

The volunteer membership took up a collection and purchased a new
iPod which they filled with music and movies from their own
collections to keep him entertained while he is in the hospital.

Throughout this experience, Beachy has remained positive and is
working hard towards a full recovery. He has developed a new
appreciation for life and his family at the Golden Fire Department.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Beachy Echoes: A Genealogist's Christmas Eve

Beachy Echoes: A Genealogist's Christmas Eve

A Genealogist's Christmas Eve

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
The dining room table with clutter was spread
With pedigree charts and with letters which said...
"Too bad about the data for which you wrote
Sank in a storm on an ill fated boat."

Stacks of old copies of wills and the such
Were proof that my work had become much too much.
Our children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And I at my table was ready to drop
From work on my album with photos to crop.

Christmas was here, and of such was my lot
That presents and goodies and toys I forgot.
Had I not been so busy with grandparent's wills,
I'd not have forgotten to shop for such thrills.
While others had bought gifts that would bring Christmas cheer;
I'd spent time researching those birth dates and years.

While I was thus musing about my sad plight,
A strange noise on the lawn gave me such a great fright.
Away to the window I flew in a flash,
Tore open the drapes and I yanked up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But an overstuffed sleigh and eight small reindeer.

Up to the housetop the reindeer they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys, and old Santa Claus too.
And then in a twinkle, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of thirty-two hoofs.
The TV antenna was no match for their horns,
And look at our roof with hoof-prints adorned.

As I drew in my head, and bumped it on the sash,
Down the cold chimney fell Santa - KER-RASH!
"Dear" Santa had come from the roof in a wreck,
And tracked soot on the carpet, (I could wring his short neck!)
Spotting my face, good old Santa could see
I had no Christmas spirit, you'd have to agree.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings, (I felt like a jerk).
Here was Santa, who'd brought us such gladness and joy;
When I'd been too busy for even one toy.
He spied my research on the table all spread
"A genealogist!" He cried! (My face was all red!)

"Tonight I've met many like you", Santa grinned.
As he pulled from his sack a large book he had penned.
I gazed with amazement - the cover it read
"Genealogy Lines for Which You Have Plead."
"I know what it's like as a genealogy bug,"
He said as he gave me a great Santa Hug.

"While the elves make the sleighful of toys I now carry,
I do some research in the North Pole Library!
A special treat I am thus able to bring,
To genealogy folks who can't find a thing.
Now off you go to your bed for a rest,
I'll clean up the house from this genealogy mess."

As I climbed up the stairs full of gladness and glee,
I looked back at Santa who'd brought much to me.
While settling in bed, I heard Santa's clear whistle,
To his team which then rose like the down of a thistle
And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
"Family History is Fun! Merry Christmas! Goodnight!"
Author unknown
Thanks to Mary Campbell

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Larry Beachy Summarizes His Family's Thoughts on Global Warming

I promised to summarize the global warming letters that I received.
Basically everyone agreed that we are having global warming. What is
causing it and how to treat it we disagreed upon. Some felt in spite
of best efforts here in North America we can't do anything about it,
because other countries, ( China and Russia and don't forget the
sheep in New Zealand) will keep pouring pollutants into the
atmosphere. So with out saying it we all agree that we need to work
on a global solution. ( The United States has failed to sign the
global agreement to stop pollutants.) Will the reduction in fossil
fuel and lower emissions make a difference? Will better and stronger
environmental laws and controls help?
Here we were divided. Some felt the present government has brought
us to the present conditions, others felt keep the government out of it.
Brad wrote and interesting letter with footnotes backing up his
opinions and a great illustration of thinking on two or three levels
not just the surface. I was going to print his letter but because of
the length of this family letter I will be glad to forward his letter
to anyone who would like to read it.
My take on the issue is that we are witnessing a more than normal
global warming - more than in the past history of the universe. We
can't place blame or give up on trying to do something about it. We
must accept responsibility for being our Brothers keeper and each of
us need to do our part. Good environmental practices are not only
good for the future they are also good for us- now. My parents
admonished me always to try to do good, if you make an error at least
you are trying to do the right thing!

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Larry Beachy story "The Best Place on Earth"

Funny, freezing water doesn’t feel that cold. Instead it burns or maybe a better description would be to say it stings!
Yes, sting is the best word to describe the freezing river water rapidly seeping through my layers of clothing.
I had to get back to the surface in spite of my now heavy, soaked, hunting clothes.
Long underwear, football sweat shirt, hooded sweat shirt, topped off with a flame orange safety vest. Heavy canvas pants, double thickness to prevent the Multi flora Rose thorns from penetrating the skin. Heavy rubber -leather combination boots, now acting like weights wanting to suction into the muck on the bottom of the Elkhart River.
I had to get back to the surface in spite of my now heavy, soaked, hunting clothes.
I still had my Mossberg 410 shot gun clutched in my hands. My mind raced, trying to come up with a solution in a short period of time, as I descended to the bottom of the river. I knew the hole in the ice that I had just fallen through was somewhere above me. I knew I had to get my feet on the bottom and kick hard to get back up.
The current pulled me further away from the broken jagged hole somewhere above me.
There, I felt the bottom, and I kicked hard trying to kick forward to compensate for the current that had dragged me away from the hole.
My head hit the ice hard and momentarily I was stunned. By whipping my head backwards and pressing my forehead hard against the ice I sucked in air.
I had never smelled anything so putrid and rancid- as the air under that ice. Immediately I felt nausea creeping into my stomach. I tied hard to stay in that little air space by jamming my head against the ice but the current pulled me back towards the main body of the river.
I once saw a movie where a man fell through the ice and managed to return to the surface and fired his 12 gauge shotgun, blowing a hole in the ice to provide enough air for him to save himself.
I was only carrying a 410 rabbit gun and besides the idea never crossed my mind. At 13 years old I wanted to live and I wanted air, no matter how bad it smelled.
I had to go back down and push off again once my feet hit the bottom. Going down was easy now. I was thoroughly soaked and my boots with their thick felt liners were full of water.
I struck bottom once more and kicked hard, pushing upward and forward. My eyes were wide open and I could see light ahead in the narrow space between the water and the ice.
Back down and kick forward.” Dear God guide me “I prayed. Up again and it seemed the light was closer but it was off to my left. Back down again, don’t panic, look for the light, and breath. This time the light was brighter but still out of reach.
How long had I been under? How long until the humane body of a young boy stops functioning? I truly can’t recall that my hands and legs were not working. Only one thought was cemented into my brain. Kick and breath.
Finally the hole miraculously appeared over my right shoulder. Every movement was now in slow motion. My shotgun stock slipped up through the hole. The barrel extended across the hole. I hung there with head extended both hands clasped around the gun stock. Sucking fresh air, like a newborn taking its first breath.
Just my old red bone hound, and I had gone hunting that morning. Every year the river would flood and fill the low ground, driving all the rabbits up on the islands. As soon as it was frozen over, Pal and I would go in for a day of great hunting. I knew there was no one else around to call for help.
I managed to use my shotgun to lever my self on to the ice. Finally I was lying prone and I could move spread eagle away from the hole and current below.
Once on high ground I stood up only to find I was rapidly becoming incased in ice. My hunting cloths were glazed, as the ice quickly formed.
The nearest refuge was over a miles down river. A small packing house was located on the edge of the river just outside the bottom land and the owners had a little bungalow that they lived in while operating the slaughter house. I started running or I should say sloshing towards the slaughter house.
Now I hurt. My hands throbbed. I stopped and swung them wildly in circles like my scoutmaster had demonstrated if we had cold hands. It didn’t help. I ran as hard as I could and I could feel the ice on my sweat shirt rubbing my neck. Finally the old lane appeared as depressions in the snow. I renewed my efforts and gradually the bungalow filled my vision. Mr. Chapman, the owner, had spotted me in the lane, and had the back door open for me.
“My Got, Son, getch your Freezin Arse in chere”, he said in his German accent.
Within just a few minutes I was buck naked in a wash tub of water on my hands and knees. Butch Chapman was a medic in WW2 and he said the cold water would prevent frost bite. His wife wrapped me in woolen blankets and gave me hot tea. Finally I stopped shaking! I was alive!
At that moment, at that place, that little kitchen in the little bungalow located in the bottom ground of the Elkhart river, was the greatest place a 13 year old could ever find.
Thanks Larry, Great Story!

Friday, November 28, 2008

Wayne Beachy Story

Glen, You asked for my story of my disability and how I started mentoring in prison.

When I started my teen years I started to have a hunch back and so started many years of going to a chiropractor but all they could do was give me temporary relief from my pain. In 1984 I woke up one morning with my left arm paralyzed and in pain. This happened while my wife and I were in voluntary service in Alice Texas. It was discovered that a disc in my neck had completely disappeared and all the xray showed was a black hole where the disc belonged. They took bone from my hip and replaced the disc. Then it was not until 1993 a chiropractor refused to adjust my back after seeing my x rays and the pain in my back got so bad I could not work anymore. It was by God's grace we made contact with a neurosurgeon in Chicago who said he could take the curve out of my back. I actually had three curves in my back and I had shrunk about 2 and a half inches because of the curveture. They also said I had spinal strenosis and a rare disease called Von Hippel Lindau which was a deteriati!
on of my
discs. The doctor replaced 9 discs and literally stretched out my back 2 and half inches and coompletely removed the 3 curves in my back. This was just the beginning of many back surgeries because the rest of the discs in my back continued to deteriate. My back is fused solid all the way to the top 2 discs in my neck. So in 2001 I became permanently disabled because of all the surgeries. I became very depressed and angry at God and was always asking God "Why did you put me on the shelf?" What purpose do I have in life if I cannot work and how can I serve you(God) if I cannot do anything?
In 2004 a friend of mine was having Monday night services at the local county jail for the inmates and invited me to attend those services. Soon after I started going he told me of a young man that was looking for a mentor. I went to the visiting room to talk to a man I had never met before and I had no idea what to say to him. As far as I knew he was dangerous and not to be trusted. The inmate(Tim) had no idea who I was and also had no idea if he could trust me. After meeting for about 2 months Tim was moved to the Indiana State Prison and so I wondered what do I do now with Tim. Well, the Lord told me the prison is only about an hour and a half from my house and I do have plenty of free time. So I wrote a letter to Tim asking what the visiting hours and how do i get into the prison to visit him. Tim was shocked that I would follow him to prison and later told me that I was the first true friend that he ever had. I said what do you mean? You were a drug dealer and you had a!
lot of
friends. Tim said no they were not friends because they all just wanted one of 3 things from me: money, drugs or my girlfriend. He said, "Wayne, you don't want anything from me. You are here for me and are giving of your time and money to me. This tatooed, Biker, former gang leader, drug dealer inmate broke down and cried. Tim had accepted Christ while in the county Jail. I started Mentoring Tim in 2004 and gradually started mentoring 2 other men from my county. I finally felt like I had something to do in service for my Heavenly Father.
On February 7, 2005 I was on my way to the prison in very heravy fog. The worst fog I haver ever been in in my whole life but I kept going because I felt I had made a committment to be there and I could not go back on my word. I was driving a little Mitsubishi Mirage which I had bought just a month before for my daughter. The fog soon made my eyes tired and all of a sudden I saw a stopped semi truck in front of me and I crashed into the back end of the truck. I was smasherd under the truck up to my windsheild and all the glass shattered all around me. I should of been killed instantly because of the whiplash because my doctor had just told me that any kind of whiplash will kill me. By this time I had been fused all the way up to my shoulders and I had a curve in my neck now and was planning surgery on my neck in the near fujture. When the paramedics saw my car they said the driver is dead because we have seen accidents like this before. A bystander was beside my car about in!
after my accident and he kept me calm and called my wife for me to tell her what happened. I ended up having only one cut on top of my left hand and a broken foot. I was taken to a local hospital and was told after xrays were taken that nothing was wrong with my neck except for a whiplash but they will keep me for the night. I had horrendous pain but received very little pain medicine. After a week by God's grace I was taken to Chicago to my doctors hospital and they ran tersts for a week and then was sent home for 2 weeks. I then returned to my doctor's office for a follow up and it was then that the xray showed very obviously that I had broken my neck. So in 2 days I had surgery done on my neck. I woke up from my surgery experiencing the worst pain in my life. I had 7 surgeries before this and never experienced this kind of pain. To make matters worse I woke up with both arms and hands PARALYZED. I cried out to God "Why did you not just let me die in the accident? What go!
od am I
now? God, if you do not go through this with me I will NOT MAKE IT!!! What good can come out of all this??? Even though I was paralyzed they started physical therapy with me on my right arm. After over 2 months of therapy I could pick up my right arm just enough to feed myself. We did not even attempt to do anything with my left arm because there was no response at all.
During this time in the hospital the men in prison soon found out what happened to me when I did not arrive at the prison. They started blaming themselves sayinf if Wayne would not of been coming to see us this would never of happened. My wife wrote to them for me because the pain was so great I could not even dictate a letter to her to send to the guys and told them not to blame themselves. The guys said Wayne has always been there for us and now it is our turn to be there for him. This accident completely turned around my ministry at the ministry. This story is a lot longer then what Glen was asking from me, sorry.
As I said earlier I went home with just a little use in my right arm. A miracle happened but not in the ujsual way. I continued therapy at home 2 hours a day 5 days a week. With time I was able to move my right arm a more and more but still could not move the left arm.
A new doctor was making plans to do surgery on my left arm He wanted to put a muscle from my chest into the left elbow and fused my arm to my shoulder. The result would be that when I lifted my shoulder the left arm would go up as well and the elbow would bend with the new muscle BUT GOD had another idea. We asked if we could try passive therapy which means somebody else would stretch my arm for me ujntil the pain was too great. By the time for my appointment with the doctor I could bend my lift my left hand to my mouth. You should of seen the look on the doctor's face when he saw me lift my arm. He kept on saying "Do that again, Do that again" We are not doing surgery. You just keep on doing what you are doing."

My minstry has grown tremendously at the prison. In the last 3 years I have mentored over 20 men and have actually trained 7 inmates to become mentors themselves. I am told that I am the first mentor to train inmates to be mentors in the United States

I am also Director of Mentoring for a ministry called Crossing's Fresh Start, a minstry to x offenders being released back into our community.

If you want to contact me you can call me at 574-238-4635 or email me at or write to at Box 545, Goshen, Indiana 46527