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Going for Gold

  The Olympics has been in full swing for a week and my mom and I have been watching as many events as we can. The competition between countries and individuals is intense. Closeups on the athletes’ faces reveal a myriad of emotions. They can be nervous before the event, concentrated during it, with relief and smiles or frowns after. Each athlete has one goal in mind — the gold medal.  They’ve spent years training and competing. Athletes have gotten up at 5am to train before they go to school. Then they’re back to training afterward. They go to competitions and tournaments every chance they get. They suffer injuries and disappointing losses. Yet, they go on because they have their eyes on the prize. It’s what drives them. Everything is done with the end in view. Saturday, I watched the women’s 100-meter final in track and field. As the runners were announced the crowd cheered loudest for the favored Americans. The last to walk into the stadium was a young woman from St. Lucia, a
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Celebrating Life

     Recently, I attended a memorial service for a long-time member of my church. I also attended the wedding of a family member. Both events took place the same day which could seem odd as it rarely happens. David left behind a legacy of faithfulness to the Lord and the Gospel. You could say he died with his boots on. Blake and Leah said their vows promising faithfulness to each other. You could say they were putting their boots on. Then, I realized we were celebrating life in both cases. I first heard about David when I was a new attendee at Grace. The congregation was fervently praying for his wife, Debbie, who was battling leukemia. She passed away shortly after. What I didn’t know at the time was David had been suffering from pancreatic cancer for several years. He had defied the odds.  I got to know David better when he became a member of the care group that meets at our house. His compassion for others was clear and he was fiercely independent. When we started the grief supp
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Thanks for the Memories

          Just a few years ago my high school, John F. Kennedy High School in Taylor Michigan, was closed -- permanently. Last year it was torn down to allow the city to build one central school for the area. I've seen pictures of the rubble and my heart hurts a little bit. A few of my classmates were able to find something in the piles of concrete and bricks to take home with them -- a little reminder of the big memories. Then yesterday I saw the announcement the college I attended, Clarks Summit University (formerly Baptist Bible College), is closing its doors. Jackson Hall with its long, cobbled hallways, worn down by years of foot traffic will gather dust. The bell tower that chimed every quarter hour and played hymns and Christmas carols will be silenced. The rotunda where the choir gathered to sing just before leaving for Spring Tour won't echo voices anymore. And the library which was housed in the monastic chapel in my day, won't amplify the whispers of students c
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Karl Heinz on Memorial Day

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        Monday was Memorial Day. Every year, I invite to my house people with whom I have a connection from Brazil. It turned out to be the biggest group ever and figured there were about 52 people here. Half were children. We grilled, enjoyed the dishes everyone brought to share, and sat around and talked. The little ones gave the bounce house a run for its money and the balls from the pit were all in said bounce house at the end of the day. It's always great to be together. It's also a day to remember those who gave their lives for the freedoms we enjoy as citizens of this nation. I come from a multicultural family. My father was from Germany and my mother is American. They met in Germany in the early 60s when my mom was a university student in Marburg, the city where my father had been born and raised.            During World War II, both my grandfathers served in opposing armies. My American grandfather was stationed in India and flew bombing missions in the Pacific theat
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Remembering Ernie

       Yesterday, May 21st, Ernie entered the presence of the Lord -- two days before his birthday. He was a man of God who loved the Word of God and to serve God. It's hard to believe Ernie's race is finished and that his family has to continue theirs without him. He had an impact on my life in the brief time that I knew him. My first memory of Ernie is from seven years ago. I had recently moved to Winston Salem and was attending a new church. At the beginning of the service that particular Sunday morning, four men went to the platform and began to sing "All my ways, they are known to You" by City Alight. I had never heard it, but the message of the song came through in clear, four-part harmony. Ernie sang with gusto and joy.  Ernie taught Sunday School series from time to time. One quarter, my mom and I attended his class on church history. He had a depth of knowledge of the subject that would put most scholars to shame. He spent hours every week in preparation
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Papa’s Birthday

                       My father would have turned 84 today. He was born in late spring 1940 in the old university town of Marburg/Lahn in Germany. At the time, World War II was gaining traction in Europe. It was a precarious time in history.                   The citizens of Marburg were subjected to nightly bombing raids by allied aircraft and one of Papa’s earliest memories was of running with his mother and sister to the bomb shelter several blocks down the street. It was in that shelter where my father met his best friend — a friendship born in uncertainty, but one that would last a lifetime.           During the nightly air strikes, the allies destroyed the train station but were careful to steer clear of ancient landmarks such as the Schloss (castle) on the hill and the Elizabeth church. Both buildings were well over 700 years old.                   Papa was 5 years old when the war ended and his father came home from fighting the Russians in the east. My grandmother introduc
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The "Nail" Incident

  This story has been running through my mind a lot lately. It's one of the funnier things that happened during our thirty-year marriage. Doug was . . . let's just say a bit overreactive at times. It seems to be a trait handed down by the Reiner men from generation to generation. All the Reiner women reading this will nod their heads in agreement. The Reiner men will snort and say, "Not me!" And then the Reiner women will remind the men of a particular instance . . . Well, you get the idea. It was Alex's senior year of high school and we were headed out to Fortaleza after a break. The trip was long and we had our Akita, Zeus, with us so we decided to split the trip into two days. To save a little money, and to have a place for the dog, we made arrangements to spend the night at the Iguatu camp which was right on the way.  Night had fallen by the time we arrived at the camp and there were only a few lights on. We were essentially unloading in the dark. The fi
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