memory #43: And so it was

Towards the end of summer, we passed close to Moorhead, MN, when we visited South Dakota. Though I was born there, I know nothing about that town other than my parents worked in the fields nearby. I thought to take a detour and visit the city, but I ran out of time.

It did bring a story to mind concerning dad. A moment that, though appearing insignificant, was an essential step in his Christian walk. It was the 50s, and dad, a new convert, was excited to be back in Minnesota so he could preach the Word to fellow migrants. Tio Pilo was dad's right-hand man. They had crates and a blanket as a pulpit. They decided on weekends they'd visit camps and preach and enlighten their brothers and sisters. The first morning they drove to a field, there was a multitude. I'm sure that summer hundreds turned up to their makeshift services; and, over the years, I'm sure those numbers grew in the telling from hundreds to thousands and, on an occasion, during a moment of euphoria, I believe I might have heard a million. This particular morning, as they looked across the field, it must have seemed like 5,000, and they must have wondered if their tacos and coffee would, like the miracle of the five loaves and two fish, feed the multitude.

Dad said they were surprised the workers knew of their coming. They were anxious to spread the Word, so before the car came to a complete halt, they jumped out and immediately set up the pulpit. The crowd was milling around in small groups and had their backs to them, but dad felt as soon as he started preaching, the mass would turn and be filled with the Holy Spirit! He said, "We're like Mexican Billy Grahams!" They had the biggest grins. But as dad began to speak, he felt the tension, and the mood quickly changed. Suddenly a stone came hurtling towards them, then another and another. Soon they were being pelted, and screams rang out, "We don't want los hallelujahs here." It was then they noticed the dice and the money. They have never moved so fast in their lives! As they sped away, stones bounced off the car, and curse words they didn't know existed seared their ears.

That day Dad and Tio Pilo made a promise. Like Steven, who was stoned to death for his believes, they would continue their work; and if stoning was the price to pay, so be it: "But Stephen, full of the Holy Spirit, looked up to heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. 'Look,' he said, 'I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.' At this, they covered their ears and, yelling at the top of their voices, they all rushed at him, dragged him out of the city, and began to stone him (Acts7:56-58).

All summer, dad preached the good news whether he was talking to a friend as they worked the field, or spreading the Good News during lunch break, or merely proclaiming the Messiah's love and forgiveness to whoever would listen. He never, ever let a stone or the threat of any type of stoning deter the preaching of the Gospel. His journey had begun, and it would forever change the course of his life and those around him. In his heart, he carried a verse, Philippians1:21: "For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain." It's inscribed on his tombstone. And so it was...

Marvin Owen Berry

He was a Kentuckian with a Texas drawl acquired by forty years of life in The Lone Star State. He was sparse and deliberate with words, and they seemed to occupy space longer than usual before slowly dispersing like smoke. He wore jeans and flannel shirts and caps and boots and Buddy Holly glasses. He always sported a beard that articulated a certain symmetry of being. He wasn’t religious, but he was spiritual. Folks usually conflate the terms, but one can exist without the other. And in today’s volatile and turbulent days, when at times we can’t tell a Christian from a non-Christian, much could have been learned from a man who seemed to live life in peace and harmony with those around him.

I remember the first time we met, and within five minutes of exchanging a few words, I liked him. I felt a kinship and thought, “A man after my own heart.” He lived life as he saw fit, and in many ways, he saw this crazy world as I did. We had many things in common, like being the eldest son and being honored with our father’s names and being passionate about the Cowboys and loving our families.

His siblings said he was a gentle soul, and as they reminisced, they couldn’t remember conflict or confrontation with him. I found it surprising yet believable. Time seemed to slow down with Owen. He lived life a second at a time and enjoyed the moment. He never worried family or friends with problems and never asked anything of anyone, and he cared less about keeping up with the Joneses. He was content with the essentials. He was who he was and made no excuses for it.

In the end, maybe that’s what moved me the most, his simple ways and the beauty in the way he embraced his life. And as birds began their morning song and the sun broke in the east, an old-time gospel echoed in my mind, “There will be peace in the valley... There’ll be no sadness, no sorrow.” Unabashedly, I wept. I mourned a man who lived life on his terms and left us way too soon. His mom, brothers and sisters, and friends will miss him.

May the Creator be the guiding light on your final journey, Big O. Hasta luego, mi amigo.

The Third Being

This one was born in a river,
wrenched from the warm liquid
of a mother’s womb --
brought forth from water to water
and lifted to light by the hand of God ...

Listen --
day flees the wild country,
scurries beyond the belly of the Spirit
and abides in the Mansion of Infinite rooms.
Earth is void of light.
Dogs cower from the dark.
He knocks at my door.
Should I let him in to sup?
Who is this third being --
this colossal weight that tickles my sacs
and strokes my loins?

She waits in the kitchen.
Her finite hovel hurtles --
where?
To the cesspool at the end of creation.
You take her.
Dance a mad tango.
In your fisted bones, a bushel of hair --
ruby beads --
strands of a hundred centuries.
And on your lips,
the stain of the Virgin Mary.
And in your groin,
the sting of Jezebel.

Why do you do this?
There is no honor in it.
Why do you allow this?
There is no honor in it.
Grandfather --
who is this third being
that stalks the night?

In my mortal heart,
three men fight.
In the broth of my bowels,
one butchered boy.

Didn't my Old Man die for you?
His scream transfigured Golgotha.
Why, then,
Grandfather,
why, then, this weight,
this third being

-- these strands of a hundred centuries.

On the birth of my grandson...

I remember the day dad passed away.  As he exhaled his last breath, Alexis, my niece, inhaled her first. One floor up there was jubilation, one floor down momentary despair. Momentary because we realized a life was coming into the family, and everlasting life was beginning for our father. The room was full of people that loved him, and we started to sing hymns, and the Holy Ghost comforted us.

Today, June 12, 2017, my thoughts are of beginnings and endings. The cycle of life. Life's arch is short and swift. But for Christians, the journey through this strange and sometimes wonderful land leads to a place of eternal bliss. "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (2 Corinthians 4:18). 

Today, my thoughts are of my parents, how they lived their lives for the Lord, and the legacy they left behind. Today, I think about my niece Mary and her courageous battle against ALS. Today, my thoughts are of my son, Christian, and daughter-in-law, Vanessa, as they bring their first son and my third gra

Today, I'm full of joy and hope and pray that our Heavenly Father blesses and keeps my grandson safe throughout his short journey. Today, I am simply in love with God's 

ndson, Elliot Esteban Arellano, into a temporal world.Word.

memory #27: My old man

Early in my parents' marriage, in the 1950s, my dad drank and smoked and didn't have a personal relationship with God. Still, mom, having accepted Jesus Christ as her savior at eight, had become a fearless prayer warrior. And as they say, God works in mysterious ways. A newlywed and a little jealous, Dad would follow mom to church every Sunday. The worship house was a small country church in the Texas brush with big screen-less windows kept open during service to let the breeze in. Bushes and flowers lined the church walls, and dad hid behind them and peeked through the windows to see if any man was trying to sit with his beautiful bride. To pass the time, he'd listen to the sermon and wait excitedly for the invitation when mom and her two sisters, Tia Jelita and Tia Linda, would sing. The Spirit was moving in dad's life though he didn't know it at the time.

Dad started to question long-held beliefs, and when mom wasn't around, he'd search scripture in her Bible the pastor had quoted in his sermon. One cloudless, beautiful day when the world around him seemed more vibrant and alive with color and filled with invigorating scents, and electricity was in the air, it happened.

As had been the routine for several weeks, dad waited for a half-hour before he followed mom to church, but excitement and anticipation for the word replaced the anxious, unsure feeling. It was a strange and exhilarating emotion he didn't quite understand. But as he crouched by the window listening to the pastor's closing statement and mom and her sisters began to sing, something stirred within his soul. And when the pastor gave the invitation, dad, struck by Holy Ghost lighting, jumped up.

Suddenly, the church doors were forced open as if by a high wind. The congregation was startled and turned to see dad standing at the entrance. He sprinted down the aisle, collapsed in front of the pastor, and, weeping, surrendered his life to the Lord. Mom hugged him and cried joyfully, and the pastor, my aunts, and the congregation joined in. They sang praises, and my dad felt a piece of heaven in his heart. My dad's life changed instantly. "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here (2 Corinthians 5:17)!" From that moment on, he filled his life with beatitudes and, for the rest of his days, he followed the rugged cross.

memory #63: The rattlesnake

Dad's first pastorship was in Wilson, Texas, population 50. We lived on a farm just outside of town. By the back porch, in a corner, there was a burrow. One day my sister and I were playing close by when she dropped her doll in the hole. Reaching for her toy, she suddenly screamed. That's when I heard the rattling. I rushed to her rescue with my Roy Roger's six-shooter, and with the butt of my gun, I aimed at the snake's head. It coiled and struck, but I was just out of range. We were in a death dance for a minute before mom heard the commotion and screamed for dad, who was about ready for a bath. He rushed out and pushed me out of the way. He grabbed a hoe that was nearby and quickly disposed of the rattlesnake. Amid the cacophony and my innocent "I would have vanquished the serpent" bravado, sudden realization, like a fresh breeze in a hot summer's day, set in, and the paroxysm of fear turned into hysterical laughter as dad stood in the hot Texas sun nude as the day he was born.

I should have been a snapshot in your life;
not a life's story.