I love to hear positive news, even while we are going through this pandemic. Here are some bits of positive news, and some positive thoughts.
Unlike most other nations, Finland has been stockpiling medical gear like surgical masks for years. They have plenty! As I read in my morning newspaper, Finland’s location (next to the Soviet Union) and historical lessons have taught the nation to prepare for the worst. Now they are fully prepared.
I have been daily chart-reading the COVID-19. It appears that the top nations in the EU that are infected (Spain, Italy, Germany and France) are now on a downward slope. That means that the US will soon follow. It is my guess that we may hit the peak in just a few days, level off, and then begin a decline.
I was reading how Leah Beno, one of Minnesota’s top news anchors, has been learning new things and adjusting to her new work environment—having to work at home with her kids. People all over the country are learning and making adjustments. That’s a good thing! The more we learn the more we are prepared for what’s to come. And these trials will help us to be stronger and a better person.
Good news for non-Christians. This coronavirus is a warning to you of what’s coming—a foreshadowing of terrible times ahead, prophesied in Revelation 6:6-7. God cares about you and is giving you this warning so you can be prepared for what’s to come. Your only way to prepare is to repent and start believing in Him. He is your only way of escape.
Good news for Christians. This pandemic is telling us now that Christ’s coming is very soon! Be ready! And be excited!
This is West High school. I took this picture from my year book.
West High school was torn down not long after I graduated, in 1969, to make room for condominiums. I always thought that it was a great looking school and I was sad to hear that it was demolished. I couldn’t understand why. It seemed to be just as sturdy as any of the other schools in the city that were of the same age, many that are still standing to this day.
This is Lake of the Isles, a great place to walk or run.
West had a great location. Hennepin Avenue, the standard bus route, that I took to school, goes right by the front of the school. Right across Hennepin Avenue, from the school, was the famous Thirty-One Flavors ice cream parlor. Then, if you were to walk only two blocks from the back of the school, you would run into Lake of the Isles, where you can always see people walking and running around it on the lake’s winding paved path. I often would come there to run. It’s about a 2 ½ mile jog all the way around, and its great scenery made it a great place to get a workout.
I loved the inside of the school; it was so majestic looking. The grey marble floors and the wide marble stairway made you proud to attend. The only negative memory I have of the school was trying to remember where all my classes were. And sometimes, because the school was to big, I had to run between classes to make it on time. I still have bad dreams of that—and also of not remembering where my locker was or remembering the combination.
As far my classes and the teachers, I’m sad to say that I don’t have too much of a memory of any of it. The classes that I liked best were art class and woodworking class, I suppose because you didn’t have to read anything. It was mainly just working with your hands. I think that I have always been naturally skilled in those areas. I do have some memory of other classes and the teachers, not so much because of their teaching, but for other reasons. I remember my history teacher because of the way he scribbled wildly on the black board; he was so funny. I also remember the time when he stopped and gave me a ride to school. I think I had missed the bus. Anyway, be stopped and gave me a lift. His driving was as wild as his teaching. I will never forget it.
I remember my English teacher only because she looked attractive to me. I think I tried really hard in her class, but because my reading comprehension was terrible, I did very poorly. I don’t think I ever got above a D grade.
I remember my math and biology classes because the teachers were both football coaches. Coaches were much more memorable to me, maybe because they seemed to talk straight at you, and they seemed to care more.
I remember band the most. I played the trombone, and for part of the time I was the only trombone in the band. My fond memories of band practice I’m sure was just because I loved music and love making music. Sometimes it was hard playing all the notes as written, but when it finally came together, it was so rewarding and made me feel good. And when any of the music pieces had a special trombone part, I knew it was my time to shine—and sometimes I tended to ham it up a bit!
Well, that’s all for this part. Next time I will write about my favorite thing—sports.
This is the house I lived in during my high school years. This picture was taken in 2018, 50 years after I lived there, but it looks exactly the same.
During my high school years, we lived in a two-story house in south Minneapolis. Both of my parents were working. My dad was working as a door to door salesman in Fuller Brush and also in Watkins products, and my mom worked as a secretary. I don’t think either of them made too much money, but it was enough to get by. In those days it seemed like we all had our own lives; we looked out just for ourselves—all seven of us: two parents and five of us kids. It was a big family but none of us really saw each other much. Like I said, my parents worked a lot. And me, during the school months I was always involved in sports, and in the summer time you could usually find me at the beach on Lake Calhoun.
My older sister, Diane, like me, had her own life. I really couldn’t tell you what she was involved in, except that she was kind of a book worm. Mark, just a year younger than me, seemed to get in trouble a lot. Instead of being involved with sports, he would hang out with friends, that, well, I really don’t know what they did; it seemed that they would just walk around and act cool, and smoke. Mom was always worried about him.
I had another brother and sister, Jimmy and Donna, that came along later. When I was 17 and busy with high school, they were about 6 and 7. I really didn’t get to know them much at all. They were around, but I was so busy with my life that I didn’t hardly notice them. After high school I enlisted in the Marines, went off to Vietnam, and then stayed in North Carolina with the Navigators for the next four years. When I came back home, both Jim and Donna were almost like strangers.
I don’t know why, but I rally didn’t think about any of my siblings much, and I can’t remember that as a family we did anything together. When we lived on the farm (3 and 4 years earlier) it was a little different. I mean, we didn’t do any fun things together, but at least we worked together—in the fields and doing the chores.
I did see my mom the most. I saw her every morning when she got me up for my paper route and for school. I also saw her in the evening when she would be busy working around the house. I guess I did see my siblings from time to time, but, like ai said, we all had our own lives, and sadly, we didn’t much care what the other was doing. I guess mom cared most about the family and everyone came to her with their problems. Dad, on the other hand, seemed to be quite self-absorbed and was angry most of the time—so it was best to stay away from him. I think he was happiest when he was at work with his clients.
Well, that was my life at home. It was mainly just a place to eat and sleep. It was just a place to recharge my batteries for the main part of my life, which was school, sports, and being with my friends. I wish it could have been different, but it wasn’t. I wish home could have been more of a fun and friendly place, but it wasn’t. It was just a place to eat and sleep and to try to stay out of trouble—and away from my angry dad. I like being around mom, but it seemed like much of the time she was sad and crying—over a bad marriage. But I knew she loved and cared about me. And that was good. Fast forward to four years ago (2016), just before she died; she kept saying to me over and over again, “I love you so much Stephen. I’ve always loved you so much.”
Next blog post: I will talk about my high school, some of my classes, and my involvement in the band.
After 7th grade, where I lived in Montevideo, we moved again, back to Minneapolis. I think I remember that my dad wasn’t doing too well and spent some time in a mental hospital. Meanwhile, my mom was working full time as a secretary and us kids were fending for ourselves.
I don’t remember how it all happened, but I got involved with a Christian group called Hi-C Club. It was a Jr. High branch of the Campus Crusade for Christ group in Minneapolis. I remember our first meeting in the home of one of the girls in the group. We all, about a dozen of us, sat in the living room waiting for the leader to arrive. He was about ten minutes late and came huffing and puffing to the door, saying that he had run all the way. Strange guy. He ran everywhere. Anyway, he gave his testimony about how he came to Christ, and he got us all excited about the group and about being Christians. Looking back on it, that group was just what I needed at that time. It was my first introduction to Christianity since I received Christ a year ago at camp.
We not only did bible studies; we did a lot of fun activities and games. And when one of the leaders challenged us to do beach evangelism, I jumped right in. We memorized a booklet called the Four Spiritual Laws, and then we headed for the beach on Lake Calhoun. It was so scary at first, but after a few encounters, me and my buddy Gary really got into it. Of course, the thing that excited us was the few converts we got. People were actually praying to receive Christ!
The junior high school, Jefferson Jr. High, was about ten or twelve blocks away. Instead of taking the bus, for some reason my mom wanted us to walk to school. It took a long time, over half an hour. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to lug my trombone with me all the time, but I had to bring it home because I had to practice.
Playing the trombone was probably the thing I liked best about 8th and 9th grade. I was in the band and the instructor gave all of us free lessons. He was hard on us—on me, but I learned how to play, and I loved playing in the band. The band wasn’t that good, but we sure had fun. One of the things the band instructor would always tell me was that I was playing too loud! But I couldn’t help it. That’s the only way I knew how to play.
At the time, I was going to a Presbyterian church just two blocks away. It was a little different than what I was use to—like free churches, Baptist churches, and even charismatic churches. So, you can imagine that this Presbyterian church was different, more formal or liturgical. But I didn’t mind.
My Sunday School teacher was also the church basketball coach, and I was on the team. I didn’t make too many points, but I was fairly good at defense. And anyway, it didn’t seem to matter that much to the coach. In fact, he had more than just basketball on his mind. He was out to befriend us. I later found out that he was a pervert, or a pedophile. But at the time I really didn’t know what to think of him. A couple of times he had me and another guy (a fellow basketball player) over to his house for the night. For some reason he chose me to share his bed. I had no idea what he was up to until he did it to me. And then I still wasn’t sure what happened. Living on the farm, away from everything, I had really been sheltered, and no one told me anything about sex. I kind of knew that what happened to me was wrong, yet at the same time I wondered if it was normal—if it was just something every boy would go through.
One fall, I think it was in October, the coach took me and this same player for a week long camping trip in Lake of the woods. It would have been so much fun and a great adventure if it hadn’t been spoiled by what he did to me during the night—as before. Again, I asked myself, was this normal? (years later I found out that my brother Mark had been abused by this same guy. He too was in his Sunday School class. And I heard that when my dad found out he was furious. Evidently, he had been doing this to boys for years and getting away with it.)
Well, wouldn’t you know it, a few months later, in the summer time, some kids from our Christian group had a swimming party. I can’t remember all the details of what happened, but, as I remember, the guy I got a ride with couldn’t give me a ride home and said I could ride with these old guys that he knew. Anyway, on the way back they stopped at their place, and they offered me a drink. I didn’t know what it was, but it sure hit me hard. After a while the whole room was spinning around and they were laughing. I couldn’t see straight and I couldn’t walk. And they led me, and sort of dragged me, to a bedroom and forced me down onto a bed. One of them had his way with me and I could hear that the other guy was in the room too. In a way I was kind of thankful to be drugged, because it kept me from knowing exactly what when on—though I remember some of it.
Thank God, it only lasted a couple hours and then they took me home. The next day I went for a long run in an attempt to clean out my system, and I’m sure I was praying along the way. I think I had come to realize that what had happened to me, both with my Sunday School teacher and with these old guys, wasn’t at all right or normal. The devil was after me. He wanted to destroy my life. That’s the last time I was abused by anyone; but it was just the beginning of what Satan had planned for me. Though I was a child of God and eager to serve Him, I could sense that Satan was constantly after me to destroy me in one way or another.
Most Christians, it seems, have very little concern about whether they will have to give an account for their life or not. They live as if what they do now will have little effect on eternity. But the bible tells us that we will stand before Christ some day at what is called the Bema Seat, and will be judged by Him. In this post we will consider, in the following three points, on what basis we will be judged.
We will not be judged on the basis of sins.
It is true that through Adam, sin entered into the world; and because of that sin, spiritual death was passed on to all men at birth (Romans 5:12). But because of the mercy and grace of God, those who have believed in Him have received redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses (Rom. 1:17). Thus, those who…
As I sped down the hill on my new black Schwinn bicycle, a new assurance gave me an overwhelming joy. I was saved and I had a place reserved for me in heaven. This new assurance had come to me a few months prior, at a church camp, when my camp counselor explained to me from the bible how I could be saved. And then I knelt down beside him in his cabin, and prayed that Jesus would come into my life and take control of my life. Instantly, after my prayer, I received a new peace, that after I die, I would go straight to heaven. From that point on my life was changed, not because of anything external or because of changed circumstances, but because I had a changed heart due to a new life inside of me. I had Jesus in me and He had given me a new peace, a new assurance, and a new attitude about life. I felt new and clean inside. In reality, at age twelve, I really did have a new life!
We had recently moved from our Montevideo farm to a house in the city of Montevideo. I don’t remember anything about the move, or about the house we moved into, but I do have a few memories—besides my salvation experience at camp.
One of my clear memories was when I was on the wresting team in 7th grade. I always thought I was a good wrestler, since I always beat my brother. But I found out different. Either I was really bad, or the guys I wrestled were really good—probably a little of both. Anyway, I had a rude awakening.
Another clear memory was of the city swimming pool, which was only a few blocks from our house. It only cost 10 cents, and for that one dime you could swim there all day if you wanted. And some days I did just that. It was so much fun. There were two slides and also two diving boards—a lower one and a high one. The high dive was scary, but I did try it a couple times. It was in that pool that I learned how to swim. Mom insisted that we take swimming lessons, and we all did.
One other good memory of that place in Montevideo, was playing baseball with all the neighbor kids in a nearby park. I remember how easy it was to get a game together. We just walked, or ran, down the streets and yelled out something like, “Who wants to play baseball?” We seemed to always get enough kids to play. We played for hours at a time. And now that I think of it, we also played football. That was a little rougher, but I loved it. Those were the days!
I thought it would be good, in these troubled times, to bring a bit of positive news.
From my newspaper I read the good news that because of the bars being closed and far fewer people are drinking and on the roads, there are significantly fewer DWI’s, crashes, and injuries. So, even though the COVID-19 death toll is rising, at the same time the traffic accident death and injury toll is declining.
A retired Venezuelan army general, Cliver Alcala, has surrendered to U.S. That’s great news. Also, I presume that someone just received a 10-million-dollar reward.
Generally, I think people are praying more.
Due to this pandemic, and all the precautions we are supposed to take, there seems to be more positive messages going out, especially among the youth.
This is grandpa and grandma Anfinsen celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
My grandparents on my mom’s side were a lot different than my grandparents on my dad’s side. Grandpa was a house painter for the first few years of his work life; and then, when he was about forty, he began working in the Minneapolis Post Office until he retired. I think what people most remember about Him was his dedication to Christian ministry. In his younger years he would travel around and sing gospel songs in a men’s group, and my mom would play the piano. She was only about 16 or 17; of course, I wasn’t born yet, but I heard about it and have seen pictures.
My grandpa was also a fill-in preacher. But I think his biggest mission was what he did with Christian literature. He and a few others would meet regularly and box up and send used and slightly damaged books and literature overseas to missionary groups and churches all over the world. I helped out one time and I was quite impressed by how much literature they were able to get—which was donated from Christian book stores, and groups such as the Billy Graham Association.
Grandpa and Grandma Anfinsen moved a few times, but the place I remember most was their house in Minnetonka, Minnesota, right on Lake Minnetonka. I remember that house so well, and grandpa saying that Rosie (or grandma) wanted a pink house. So he painted the entire house bubblegum pink. He also painted the garage pink and the fence around the house pink, and even the fishing barge pink. Grandma loved it! And she loved flowers; she planted mostly pink ones all around the house, and the garage, and along the fence, and around the trees. It was plain to see that grandpa and grandma loved each other—just by the way they looked at each other and how they talked to each other.
Every summer they invited all the relatives (about 50, on my mom’s side) over to their home just to sit and visit and eat. There was always plenty of room in the back yard, and it was beautiful with all the flowers. And for the kids, grandpa or uncle Marv would break out the croquet set. And then later in the afternoon grandpa would fire up the barge motor to go fishing. The pink barge was quite large, about 20 feet square. Grandpa made it himself. It was a simple floor with a fence around it; and under the floor were 60-gallon drums that made it float. Fishing was always good. We never caught any big ones, like Northerns or Walleyes, but we always caught plenty of Crappies and Sunfish—with worms.
Christmas time was always special, and it was the tradition to meet at grandma Knutson’s house in Minneapolis. That was my grandma Anfinsen’s mother. Grandma loved to see everyone; and she was funny, and would love to laugh and talk to the kids, and to remind them to be good! She was all Norwegian and had a strong Norwegian accent.
The thing I remember most about Christmas at grandma Knutson’s house was when all us kids, about a dozen of us, would go wild in the basement and run around and around the furnace. I must have been very young then, about 6 or 7. I also liked all the sweet foods laid out on the tables—all the Norwegian sweets like krumkake and lefsa.
The last thing we all did was gather around and sing carols—and opened gifts. Grandpa would always take charge of announcing and leading the songs, and leading the devotional and prayers. And the way he led, and what he said, and the way he said it was always so inspirational. You could tell he was so proud of his family; and you also knew he was so dedicated to God.
Later in life grandpa and grandma moved to a smaller house in Ortonville, Minnesota; and again, on a lake. And I didn’t see them much anymore. And the most touching thing was when they died. Both of them died almost at the same time, only a few hours apart. Everyone said that that was so fitting; for just as they were always together in life on this earth, they left this earth in the same way—together.
President Trump suggests the high goal of reopening the county on Easter Sunday–April 12th.
woke up extra early this morning and was unable to fall back to sleep. I had on my mind what President Trump was hoping for: that we could reopen the United States by Easter. That after so much suffering and lock-downs and being isolated from the world due to the Coronavirus, that we could, very soon, by Easter reopen our country. Here are three quotes from him that I read in my Newspaper this morning. He said,
I would love to have the country opened up and just raring to go by Easter.
Wouldn’t it be great to have all of the churches full?
You’ll have packed churches all over our country.
It does seem a little early for that to happen. But President Trump seems confident that it could happen, at least in most of the country. And what I have been thinking is, why don’t we make it a prayer! As long as the President is thinking that way, why don’t we as Christians get behind him with our prayers. What have we got to lose? Let’s make it a matter of prayer with faith—a prayer focus. Let’s pray every day until Easter that God would heal our land and open up our schools and churches and our work places and meeting places. Like the President has said, “It will be a great celebration on that day.” And all believers will give thanks to the Lord.
This is my grandpa on the left after his successful deer hunt.
Our visits to the grandparents were always fun. My grandparents on my dad’s side were totally into farming. They had a huge farm, located not far from our farm, with many animals, and acres and acres of corn, oats, soybeans and flax. Besides my two uncles that were still living at home, Mike and Lyle, they always had hired help—as many as they needed. And grandpa was always working too. And so was grandma. She was the brains of the outfit—much more than grandpa. She kept the books, made the schedules, and I think even made sure grandpa got up in the morning to milk the cows! And then after the early chores were done, all the workers came in for breakfast, which grandma had all ready for them on the big kitchen table. Breakfast was always a big deal—eggs, bacon, pancakes, juice, milk, coffee, whatever you wanted.
I guess you could say that when we came over to visit, nothing stopped just for us. The farm work had to keep going and we understood that. Many times, us kids would just set in the living room and watch TV. That was fun for us because we didn’t have TV at our farm. I also remember walking around in the barn while the milking was going on.
Everything on Grandpas farm was so much more modern and bigger than on our farm. All the milking was by machine, and unlike our old wood barn, grandpa’s barn was made of shiny, silver-looking metal; and it was huge! And all their buildings looked modern and huge. And their tractors and machinery looked so new. And they had horses, which we didn’t have.
And they also had other properties. Besides their farm in Montevideo, they also had land in South Dakota, where they had Black Angus cattle—hundred of them. I remember riding with grandpa and my dad one day to check on them. Grandpa said he just needed to check to see if they had enough salt blocks, and also to see if there were any new calves.
I liked grandpa. He laughed at my stories (when I was about 7), and he told stories to me too. Unlike my dad, grandpa was a hunter. He hunted deer and pheasants, and even rabbits. And he always had his rifle in his pickup truck. I remember once when I was with him hunting rabbits. The way he would do it was just to shoot them out the window of his truck as we drove through the fields. I heard some stories about grandpa after he died, that he would go into town to drink, and that he had a wild side. I never knew that about him. I guess for some reason grandma and my parents wanted to hide that from us. But I still have always liked him.
Stephen Nielsen 