A Cumulative Correlative
Study of the Gospels
including
An Explanation of Observations

The Word of God was made flesh and dwelt amongst us with a full and capable means to communicate the priorities, ideals and proper attitudes intended for God's purposed people. Gaining a greater and thorough understanding of the Gospels allows the Christian to better understand all other portions of His Word as written in the Bible. This single-story read of the four Gospels is taken from the King James version text, allowing all commonly available study tools to be applied. Just as a concordance is used to deepen one's understanding and verify interpretations, the Gospels of Jesus the Christ can be applied to gain a greater and more complete understanding of the Old and New Testaments. There is an additional, supplemental text section providing my own preferences, precepts, attitudes and understandings regarding how to apply God's Word in all aspects of life. This inclusion is intended to allow a reader to evaluate the measure of value to place in the words accumulated and said to be the Words of God. The goal of this work is to help some increase their understanding, and maybe enjoy an enriching experience by diving deep within A Cumulative Correlative Study of the Gospels and maybe discovering the power and comfort of God's Almighty Word today.

My Story

A long, long time ago (over half a century or so), in a land far away (NW OKC, The Village) I became because my folks evidently had not quite got it right yet, even after 4 or 5 tries. Since I am the baby of the family, I prefer to assume they finally got it right, but acknowledge it could just be they gave up.

When I was growing up, OKC stopped pretty much at Britton road with cow pastures being the only thing north. There were Humpty Dumpty grocery stores, Otasco Tire and Supply, TG&Y 5 and Dime stores and of course C.R. Anthony for back-to-school clothes. Public school spawned back when teachers had paddles and students showed respect. Guns were under control and neatly displayed in the back window of pickup trucks.

As the story is told my dad’s folks were Jewish immigrants from Albania between WWI and WWII. They raised their kids Greek Orthodox in order to fit in within the Albanian community that settled in the New England area. My mom and dad met during WWII; Dad was a glider pilot with the 101st Airborne; Mom was a telegraph clerk striving to become a secretary back when that title was sought as opposed to being “politically incorrect.” Mom was a Holy Roller out of the Great Plains area, so they compromised by raising their kids Lutheran (and yes, that was a critical decision requiring an official stance back then).

About

I have always appreciated those diverse influences, because for me it meant choices along with the sometimes-comical differences between all the factions. Of course, it did leave us kids pretty much out amongst the fray regardless of the side of family we were visiting, so we developed a joke to overcome the awkwardness: “our heritages allowed us the ability to form Jell-O in the shape of an icon, laced with kerosene, while maintaining the faith we would feel guilty about it.” Neither faction appreciated the humor, so it remained our little inside joke.

Please remember I am just a simple ranch hand, by what I believe is providence and choice. I have a shovel, pliers, hammer and ax. I view bailing wire and duct tape with the same staple requirements as milk and bread. I can cope for short spurts mingling with the big wigs dawning suits and ties tangled up in importance with limited time to actually think. I can toss out a few charming remarks pretending close quarters do not offend better judgment and that crowd intelligence is not subject to the inverse square law (for every doubling of people, you reduce intellect by 6 dB). But in the end I search for open air, visible sky, some trees are always nice, minimal human interaction and quiet. In other words, “home.”

I have a family to adore and a career that could be called a hobby. Life is pretty sweet, so I do not have to go around looking for any whiz, bang or hoopla just to seem more alive or fulfilled. My excitement is content watching grand babies play, my wife explain her day and the dogs trying to out-best each other for a treat.

When I left military service I became a full-time student, holding various jobs from convenience store manager to UPS truck washer to warehouse laborer. My son was born and my Mom felt I should buckle down and get a “real job.” So, through church affiliations and insistence she got me hired on at an engineering firm specializing in industrial automatic guidance systems, starting out as an electro-mechanical draftsman back in the days of graphite and T-squares, then as a technical illustrator/writer responsible for manuals, spec sheets and formal publications. It was a pretty good job, plenty of creativity and challenges, good people, reasonable expectations, fair compensation, growth potential; but it was just a job. It never really felt like a career.

Then along came a guy by the name of Tracy Cranton and his co-worker Tom Stotler who both worked for Altec Lansing. They recruited me into the professional audio industry with the lure of being able to go to work in blue jeans and T-shirts, leveraging my hobby into my family’s livelihood. Sounded great, and they have yet to be proven wrong (dress code excluded).

My full time employment in the industry started with Altec Lansing (although corporately it was known as Mark IV Audio at the time). Corporate maneuvers, some good, some bad, tossed me about the world from OKC to Michigan and Minnesota then back again, across Europe and Asia, with some time roasting prawns on the bar-be down under. Positions ranged from Technical Publicans Manager to Market Development Manager, to National Sales Manager, to Product Manager, a term was spent as Director of Technical Services, as well as serving some time as a manufacturing engineer for transducer products. I was responsible at one time or another for everything from DSP products (back when the term “digital quality” had a whole different meaning and expectation) and analog gear to Pro Sound loudspeakers. I used to be one of those show-floor guys many of us try to avoid because we want to actually see and hear the product not just the sales blurb and marketing hype.

I have always enjoyed an affiliation with what has been viewed as higher-end products and companies. Of course, time continues forward, so it became necessary to leave the manufacturing side of the market. That departure resulted in going to work for one of the larger system integrators (secret aspirations were to maintain a focus on audio and acoustics, hopes and rocks tend to find one another). System integrators tend to have their focus on that tricky little word “system” as opposed to just audio. I had to learn new, different, challenging stuff in order to fit in and mingle properly. Not all that horrible, I managed to fake it well enough to get by.

One question I usually try to avoid is my "qualifications." I know that in a professional realm they are needed, but I also feel that success is built on and is maintained by the “experience” of the people and their ability to apply their gifts toward a common goal. There are not a whole lot of books and manuals that explain how to hang 100-pound objects from nothing securely; and even less that details how to do it in less than two hours, ensuring cable path and terminations are all good to go because the job can only afford the lift for half a day and the hard-pan ceiling goes in tomorrow. The reality of profitability just seems to beckon “experience” as the key.

As well, quite frankly much of the time I felt more unqualified than qualified for the tasks being assigned. There is a constant need to “learn” new stuff never seen. New gear, new technologies, new trends in the market, being on the cutting-edge mandates constant and continual learning and stretching of one’s skills and of course patience. Now granted, some of my inherent insecurities stem from the basic nurturing of my generation, situations and circumstances in previous "lives" (meaning vocations not existence), basic inherent humanity assumptions and who knows, maybe some residual brain damage from a lightning strike back in the early ‘90s. However, perhaps it is just a little self-induced, because I also prefer to attack things from a perspective of needing to catch up. It just tends to keep me honest and forces me to double check myself constantly. Good or bad, right or wrong, it is what I do, and so far, it works for me.

One of my Dad's sayings while I was growing up that stuck and has always been a favorite is: "To learn is to grow, the absence of growth is death, let's live a little." That is pretty much how I approach my job, my family and my faith. It seems to work for me, all of the above seem to appreciate my efforts, so I will call that my credentials.

I do not view my past as anything more than something gone by. A few photos, a few friends, a few accomplishments, a few humbling experiences and embarrassing moments that pretty much sums it all up. I find a whole lot more pleasure and success in accepting the present as it comes with memories being applied as guidance more so than precedence. I view the past as a time-honored teacher, but look for more current perspectives for leadership reaching tomorrow.

“Hobbies” is a term I never quite feel comfortable with, because I am never sure if it is a “hobby” or just “stuff” done in life’s process. I do stuff, some stuff more than others, some stuff better than others and some stuff only when I must. I listen to stuff a lot (not just music and/or playback tracks); I fish, I boat, my joints got too old to play softball regularly but I am still able to ski and hike. I do not have (or make) a whole lot of time for spectator sports; never saw the thrill of watching someone else do something I would rather be doing myself. TV and “vidiot” game time could be spent better listening to something pleasant, but I have learned to compromise with the “visual” world.

Heroes: King David, Apostle Peter, my Dad and Brandy. Two screw ups that due to the sincerity of their hearts managed to make it big, one great man and a little girl that grew into an amazing example of God’s Grace. I often refer to God as “the Big Guy” because it just seems right and it helps me keep things in proper perspective between reverence, respect and friendship (if I am not mistaken, my childhood friend Carl first coined the phrase). Additionally, I enjoy the play on words as it relates to my all-time favorite hero, “He of whom it can be said, He rose.”

Much of what I am by logic stated is simply a culmination of that from which I came, interweaved with the influences, nurturing, reinforcements (positive and negative) and experiences survived along the way to my current form. I am a collection of the times and location of my youth, family causes and effects, the Boy Scouts, school, church, Marine Corps and work, all educated me toward my present-day stance.

My Dad played a major role in the prior list mentioned. I have no qualms in stating my goal is to be “like him.” At best I find my person sometimes in similarity, but more practice is definitely needed. I was fortunate to be able to spend a lot of time as his “little apprentice,” fetching and toting, watching and listening, learning the reasons and exceptions, and gaining what I cannot help but call my inspiration. My brothers tended to not appreciate being his “helper.” They claimed at most they were only allowed to be an audience, as opposed to being allowed direct participation. I did not have that big of a problem with that status, and over time, spent listening, learning and understanding, my participation was allowed and trusted. As well, whether audience or apprentice, I was entreated to my Dad’s perspectives and views, analogies and attitudes toward those things seemingly important. I call them my Dad’s sayings. Whether or not they are verbatim quotes, paraphrases or close proximity quips, I am really not sure. They are what he taught me, and I will give credit as is due. As such and in course, the following are his, as I assign sayings:

“The price of your shoes shouldn’t determine the direction of your path. ” My Dad grew up during the depression as part of a minority class of farmers when shoes and soles where not always coincident. He enforced an attitude of appreciation for everything obtained no matter the material value. His opinion was more targeted as the value of what you did with it than how much you paid for it. I cannot help but agree.

Such as I have been known to just throw my boots on even when wearing shorts (yes, I have a few pairs, some cut-offs). If I chance to see my wife’s face on those occasions, it is usually turned down and shaking back and forth. She has learned it is easier just to make sure my public appearance is proper than to try and change everything.

I wear boots pretty much all the time. They are comfortable, require minimal thought, minimal effort to put on and take off, just need a little polish every now and then and in my opinion go with most all wardrobes. My wife ensures I have a pair of tennis shoes (I am supposed to wear those when in shorts), flip flops (not really a fan, they just seem sloppy) and house shoes (those are okay, but I always feel guilty when I go outside). Boots, blue jeans and a shirt to match the weather is about as far as my contemplation ever stretches toward fashion. That is not a “macho” thing, or a generation thing, a gender association or preference thing or anything other than I just do not care. My wife does, so if you see me in public, it is pretty much her, if you catch me at home or on the boat, it is pretty much me.

“The well is only as deep as the bucket can reach.” He taught us to be practical and realistic. Although he accepted and valued theoretical expressions and growth, his statement of “if the horse can’t pull the plow, get rid of it,” still rings in my ears today. The first job I remember having of any sorts was shoveling up horse barns for the rancher about a mile north of our house. My compensation was to be with the horses and occasionally get to ride. At 6 and 7 years old that seemed like a bargain. I disagreed with my Dad on that point, I would rather sweat in the barn and then ride the horse, then have to sweat in the barn and still have to sweat behind the horse. I always thought that was what a mule was for anyway.

“Hammers are great tools, but it takes more than a hammer to build a table.” When I think about my Dad, I always put him in the garage amongst all his woodworking tools; in my mind they are one and the same. He had every type of hammer imaginable, from framing to roofing, tack to mallet and back again, always neatly lined up in “their proper place.” And then there were the saws, chisels, rasps, screw drivers, hand planes, knives and files, the list goes on and on. Each in its place, never to be out of sync with the system of storage devised and demanded per outlines and engravings. I found solace in the organization and comfort in the consistency of form. I too could never understand the haphazard return of a borrowed implement to any place other than what was so obviously the “right” place (OCD is a terrible thing to waste; perhaps it is a learned trait).

His tools were his family’s livelihood, and he took pride in taking care of his own. He would remark how and when a given tool was to be used with reminders of how if you do not take care of them, they will not be available when the need for them arises. He believed in having the patience to find the right tool to meet the objectives at hand.

It would always boil back to having to make choices. Good choices of course resulting in good, poor choices resulting in less than satisfactory conclusions. Success or humility were the options for outcome and my Dad hated to be embarrassed.

“If little Johnny jumped of the cliff, would you.” So now you know why I come off sometimes as a rebel (or at least that is my excuse). I cannot imagine many of us managed to make it through childhood without hearing this once or twice. Usually when a poor choice had been made regarding peer fellowship a parent finds need for this rebuke to be uttered. I think for my Dad though, he took it just a couple steps further. He wanted his kids to be something more than just followers. He wanted us to exceed the “average,” stand apart from the swarm, realize the value of independence, and above all else, “think for ourselves.” But then, when a 12-year-old thinks for themselves that handle bars are a needless appendage that just gets in the way on a bike, he would allow that child to realize the eventual outcome of humility, then promptly supervise the restoration of intended design.

And by far, the one thing my Dad said more than anything else, in multiple fashions and forms: THINK; Were you thinking? What were you thinking? Did you bother to think?

Nothing could be accomplished according to my Dad without first having a well thought out plan. He would say the goal should be to prove you are a “lazy man.” Naturally that was said for impact of point, because no one ever could reference that trait to that man. His point was to differentiate the thought from the sweat. His words recalled stated, “A truly lazy man finds the way to do it just once.” His explanation would detail how “to do it just once” meant it had to be done “right,” but additionally “right” entailed a far more in-depth thought then just doing it. He was the epitome of the KISS principle. In his world, if you did not find the simplest method to make it work, you added more cost and effort than it is actually worth and you designed more opportunities for it to fail or break.

All of us kids have furniture designed and built by my Dad, and to this day nothing has broken from wear or use (a couple have gone away due to neglect and abuse, but we were all young and stupid at one time). I cannot remember all of the “store bought” stuff acquired and disposed of through the years which could catch the eye with razzle-dazzle, current fashion forms, but lacked the longevity of his “lazy man’s” touch.

Above and beyond all else, my Dad had a way of leaving the impression that he expected more, while establishing an expression of acceptance and pride in what you had already accomplished. He would repeat the adage “you play the way you practice,” and he viewed all attempts as part of the game. His goal was to make us try, and for the duration of that trial to always be our best.

The outcome was insignificant compared to our intentions and effort. He would sometimes state that “if you get it right the first time, that could be luck, correct the second time can still be just coincidence, it takes a third victory to ensure it was skill.” I remember thinking, “man, if I can just make it happen once, I am done.” Of course, then I would take a swing, the umpire would call out “strike three,” and I would head back to the bench.

So, there you have it that is pretty much “me.” Although it may seem a bit sided toward a tale about my Dad, it is a story about what I strive to become, am disciplined to endure and intend to express in all my attitudes and actions. As a human, at best I am no more than an alchemist’s theory coagulated into form and represented by other’s perceptions amassed.

As a person, I am just a simple ranch hand; grateful for all the blessings bestowed upon my family and I. I have a great gig; I got away with robbing the cradle and wound up with a good wife. None of my kids are in jail and they all made it to independence without having to lower the bar to recognize their achievements.

Yup, all I have left to do is keep the barn clean and finish the game.