Archive for the ‘Inspiration’ Tag

Jacksonites, Yours is a Bloody City   18 comments

m_jackson (1)

Jackson, Wyoming

Letter to the Editor
Jackson Hole News & Guide
Jackson, Wyoming
May, 2012

By Mark Holick

“To the Presbyterian Church and Paul Hayden:  you said you have ‘adamantly pro-life’ and ‘adamantly pro-choice’ people in your church, this is an abomination. What Bible are you preaching from? Does the sixth Commandment mean anything to you? The ‘diversity’ you spoke of is a euphemism for:  we accept sin, even those who support the shedding of innocent blood. I urge you to repent. Woe to them who call evil good and good evil (Is. 5:12). You and your church are not pro-life in any sense. Stop the hypocrisy. Be honest and tell everyone that you are a pro-abortion/murder church.

“To River Crossings and Mike Atkins:  you reject your pro-life brothers and sisters in the Lord (escorted out) and embrace practicers of witchcraft (invited in), your choice (and rejection) of friends is telling. How long has [Brent] Blue been murdering babies in your city that you are the leading pro-life elder of? You don’t like our ‘methods,’ you say you want to be the local leader, so what is your plan to save those babies who will have their little fingers, toes and eyes chopped off by Blue next week, in your city? Go ahead Mike, light another candle.

“To Community Bible Church and Don Landis:  you rejected us outright. And was elated to have your brother in the Lord cited. So what is your plan to end the killing in your city? What is your responsibility, Don? (Dt. 21:1-9, Pr. 24:11-12)

“To St. John’s Episcopal:  your support of the shedding of innocent blood and homosexuality is an abomination. You are not a Christian Church, you are an apostate church. Repentance is your only hope.

“To all those of the ‘civility, compassion, love campaign’:  you are pro-aborts, by another name. The shedding of innocent blood is acceptable with you. We felt your ‘civility, compassion, and love’ all week long with F words, vehicular assault attempts, vandalism, and the largest flock of birds we have seen in any city. Where is your civility, compassion, and love for your preborn neighbor? Your hypocritical civility, compassion, love means you support the murder of innocent children…with a smile.

“To the Jackson Police:  you deceived us…again. Some men keep their word, others do not. Your petty harassments on Sunday were tripe.

“To the Federal Government lackey who threatened us with FACE and hounded us all week while befriending a man who sheds blood for a buck:  you had no reason to be involved in any way with peaceful, law abiding, Christians ministering the gospel of Jesus. You sir, are a bully with a badge.

“To all law enforcement:  did you swear an oath to the Constitution or to codes and ordinances? And if you say both, then which takes precedence?

“To the Jackson Mayor and City council:  yours is a bloody city and your overt protection of the most violent man in the whole of Wyoming is on you, before the Lord God, His Name is Jesus, King of kings, who is the Great Judge of all the earth (Is. 11:4). May He have mercy on your eternal soul.

“To those who name the name of Christ Jesus and either attacked us or disassociated yourself from us:  you threw your unborn neighbors, who have fallen among thieves, under the bus (Lk. 10:29-37). …For so persecuted they the prophets which were before you (Mt. 5:12). If you are a true Christian, but simply a Nicodemus by night (Jn. 3:1-2), then it is time to come out of the stained glass cave, and boldly cry out against the evil of your city. Justice is every Christians calling from the Lord!

“To those who dislike our graphic signs:  we dislike them also. However, who is in the wrong, those who show the pictures or those who make the pictures? Shall we shoot the messenger? You did not like our ‘method,’ so tell us, what is your method to stop the killing of 100’s of little baby boys and girls, this year, next week, in your city? Or is the truth that, you just don’t care?”

–Pastor Mark E. Holick
Operation Save America


Prophetic Quote:

“I, John Brown am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood.”  [John Brown said nothing on the gallows, but handed a note containing these words to a guard. The outbreak of the Civil War in April, 1861 proved John Brown prophetic.]

John Brown was the “The meteor of the war,” as author Herman Melville called him. John Brown was an abolitionist, and a religious fanatic. Some say that John Brown is a martyr. Brown believed he was an instrument of God.

–from John Brown Quotes

John Brown (abolitionist)


Mural of John Brown

Jackson, Wyoming
America’s Greatest Sin:  ABORTION!
Woe the the Bloody City!–George Fox
Nevada man, anti-abortion group sue town of Jackson
National Abortion and the Great Awakening
TV star calls for children with Downs syndrome to be put down
The Terror of Hell
A Dream about the Presbyterian Church in Jackson, Wyoming
A Court Order
Jeremiah 18 & 19–Evil That Incurs a Holy God’s Judgment
Veronica West:  March a Month of Divine Demarcation
The Eruption of Mount Pelee, St. Pierre, Martinique, 1902
Mark Taylor’s Prophecy about Yellowstone Volcano
A Parable About Lukewarm, American Christianity
New York Deathscape


By Tim Shey

Brutal deathdance;
My eyes weep blood.
Pharisees smile like vipers,
They laugh and mock their venom:
Blind snakes leading
The deaf and dumb multitude.

Where are my friends?
The landscape is dry and desolate.
They have stretched my shredded body
On this humiliating tree.

The hands that healed
And the feet that brought good news
They have pierced
With their fierce hatred.

The man-made whip
That opened up my back
Preaches from a proper pulpit.
They sit in comfort:
That vacant-eyed congregation.
The respected, demon-possessed reverend
Forks his tongue
Scratching itchy ears
While Cain bludgeons
Abel into silence.

My flesh in tattered pieces
Clots red and cold and sticks
To the rough-hewn timber
That props up my limp, vertical carcase
Between heaven and earth.
My life drips and puddles
Below my feet,
As I gaze down dizzily
On merciless eyes and dagger teeth.

The chapter-and-versed wolves
Jeer and taunt me.
Their sheepwool clothing
Is stained black with the furious violence
Of their heart of stone.
They worship me in lip service,
But I confess,
I never knew them
(Though they are my creation).

My tongue tastes like ashes:
It sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I am so thirsty.
This famine is too much for me.
The bulls of Bashan have bled me white.
Papa, into your hands
I commend my Spirit.

February/March 1997
Iowa State University

Genesis 49: 10: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be.”

Locusts and Wild Honey   11 comments

Mark 1: 6: “And John was clothed with camel’s hair, and with a girdle of a skin about his loins; and he did eat locusts and wild honey.”

John the Baptist’s life was/is a powerful sermon. His life was separate from the world. There is a reason why he was clothed in camel’s hair and ate locusts and wild honey.

The Temple in Jerusalem was corrupted by the Pharisees. They were into the letter of the law and not into the Spirit of God. The Pharisees were into self-righteousness and not into God-righteousness. They were a brood of vipers that dragged people into hell with them. They loved power and wealth and were conformed to the world. The Pharisees loved to wear long robes and to be treated like royalty. They probably lived in fine houses and probably had servants at their disposal. But the Pharisees were white-washed walls and dead men’s bones. They had an external show of religion, but had no internal or spiritual life.

John the Baptist had very few possessions, and by the looks of things, did not eat very well—but he was full of the Holy Ghost. He was the first one to say, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” When other people first saw Jesus, they would say, “He is a good teacher” or “He gives us loaves and fishes” or “He is a man of miracles and heals the sick and the lame.” These were all true—Jesus did do these things—but they were secondary to the true purpose of Jesus: to die on the Cross for the sin of the world. It is the shed Blood of Jesus that cleanses us from sin.

Because John the Baptist was separate from the world, and did not indulge in a fake religious lifestyle, he could see clearly (sin causes spiritual blindness) what the Lord’s will was for Jesus’ life. His eating of locusts and wild honey was a powerful testimony against the satanic phariseeism of the day.

I would rather eat locusts and wild honey, camp out on the other side of the Jordan River and live in the Presence of God, than eat well, live fashionably and rub shoulders with the Pharisees. I believe that Jesus had an idea of who He was and what He was supposed to do before he met John the Baptist, but when He finally met John at the Jordan River, it was confirmation when he heard John’s words. Now Jesus knew for a fact that he would eventually die on the Cross because He was the Lamb of God (the sacrificial offering from God for the world). “In the mouth of two or three witnesses let every word be established.”

John the Baptist lived on the other side of the Jordan River. Elijah the Tishbite came from the other side of the Jordan River. My life of hitchhiking is on the other side of the Jordan River. Christian Pharisees have infected too many churches. These churches are spiritually dead and are conformed to the world. “They had a form of godliness, but denied the power thereof: from such turn away.”

At least I have never had to eat locusts and wild honey.

Wearing a Rough Garment
Outside the Camp
Jackson, Wyoming Fire
What should we learn from the life of John the Baptist?
God is calling His Remnant out of the established church
The Elijah Factor
The Spirit of a Prophet
Desert Preacher
Ministry Lessons from John the Baptist
The Baptism of Fire
Eagles over America
The Baptist Was All Voice

At a Cafe in Merriman, Nebraska   4 comments

Nebraska Sandhills

[3 March 2010]

Yesterday I hitchhiked from Valentine to Merriman. I phoned Steve and he drove to town and took me and his son, Will, to a local cafe for dinner. Steve and his wife Carol have a cattle ranch thirteen miles from Merriman. Their son, Brock, and their daughter, Tiffany, also work on the ranch. Steve had picked me up hitchhiking back in 2006, so I thought I would stop by and say hello.

Steve, Will and myself sat down at a table and ordered something to eat. A few minutes later, this other guy walked in and sat down with us. He looked like he was in his late 50s. His name was Chuck.

We talked about various things: ranching, hitchhiking, politics. Chuck then started talking about his experience in the Vietnam War. He was a Navy SEAL that had graduated from BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL) Training in 1972. Chuck talked at length about some of his firefights in the jungles of Southeast Asia. He said that the average life expectancy of a lieutenant in Vietnam was eleven minutes. Chuck was once shot out of a tree by an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade); he was providing covering fire for his team when the explosion of the grenade knocked him out of the tree. He had intense, penetrating eyes; it looked like he had been to hell and back.

I asked Chuck if he had seen the film We Were Soldiers and if it was a realistic account of combat in Vietnam. He said that he had seen the film and that it was very realistic. Chuck said that he had met Hal Moore (the author of the book We Were Soldiers) and thought that he was the best officer in Vietnam. I believe Moore had retired as a general in the U.S. Army.

Chuck had a son who fought recently in Afghanistan. He was an Airborne Ranger. Chuck talked a little about his son’s combat experiences on the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan.

Some people think that the Navy SEALs are the best elite warriors in the world and some people think that the British SAS are the best. I asked Chuck if he had ever met any British SAS; he said that he had met a few. I could tell that Chuck knew where I was going with this: are the SAS the best warriors in the world? Chuck told me that the Israeli Special Forces were “deadly”; he had absolute respect for them and for Mossad (Israeli Intelligence). He said that the Israeli Special Forces were the best elite soldiers on the planet.

We finished our dinner and I shook Chuck’s hand. It was a great honor to talk with a U.S. Navy SEAL.

I remember watching a documentary on President Harry Truman. Since a child, Truman had to wear glasses—he was pretty much blind without them. In a World War I photo of Captain Harry Truman, he had his glasses off. The commentator of the documentary said that Harry Truman had eyes of steel. Chuck, the Vietnam Veteran, had eyes of steel.

I stayed overnight at Steve and Carol’s ranch. Steve, Carol, Tiffany and myself had excellent fellowship at the supper table. Tiffany was hoping to get into a Christian college in North Carolina. I told them a number of my stories of hitchhiking around the United States. They have a beautiful ranch in the Sandhills of Nebraska. I was grateful to have met Steve’s family. I also met Steve’s dad and step-mom. Steve’s dad writes for three newspapers in Nebraska and one in South Dakota. Steve’s dad gave me a copy of a booklet that he had published; these were newspaper articles that were published during the previous year.

Right now I am in Chadron. I may be heading south to Alliance tomorrow.

A Ride in Nebraska in 2006 or What Goes Around Comes Around
A Conversation with a World War II U.S. Navy Frogman
No Jump Tonight!
A Conversation with a Vietnam Veteran
When Gibson Stays on Script
On the Mend
It’s a Small World
Where Have all the Warriors Gone?

Hitchhiking in Nebraska   12 comments

Prairie Sunset

Sand Hills, Nebraska

High Plains Drifter: A Hitchhiking Journey Across America
By Tim Shey

Excerpt from Chapter Five:

Psalm 18: 19: “He brought me forth also into a large place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me.”

In May of 1997, I hitchhiked west towards Nebraska. I have always loved going through Nebraska. In all my travels, I believe that the people of Nebraska and Texas were by far the best people I have ever met. Nebraska was in my comfort zone. Whenever I had been wandering out west and came out of Wyoming and into Nebraska, I felt that I was back on my home turf. The people of Nebraska are gold, silver and precious stones.

I got some good rides all the way to Osmond, Nebraska. It was getting close to sundown when this guy driving a tractor picked me up.

“You can sit on the fender if you want,” he said.

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

He drove me to Plainview and we talked about the things of God and the Bible. He asked me what I was doing. I told him that I just quit my job and thought I would hitchhike by faith and see where God would take me. He offered me a job right there. He had his own construction company and lived on a farm with his wife and kids. I told him I would love to work for him, but that God was calling me out west for some reason. We stopped in Plainview and we shook hands. I hopped off the tractor and I got a motel room.

The next morning this tractor-trailer picked me up.

“I’m going all the way to western South Dakota,” he said. “I got five drops: three in Nebraska and two in South Dakota.”

We stopped at three places in Nebraska and I helped unload his van–he was hauling some small trees and shrubs. We got to a truck stop near Kadoka, South Dakota and he told me he would buy me some supper.

We were eating supper when he looked at me and said, “You know, right before I picked you up I saw this man pointing at you. It was like he was telling me to pick you up.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “I didn’t see anybody out there. I was alone.”

“I saw him plain as day. When I picked you up I didn’t see him anymore.”

I was flabbergasted. So I sat there and wondered and looked out the window and asked him, “Do you think he was an angel?”

“He must’ve. It was the strangest thing I ever saw.”

On our trip we talked a lot about the Word of God and certain preachers on TV. He lived in Sioux City and was very well self-educated. I enjoyed talking with him. After supper he said he was going back to the sleeper and get some sleep. I took a long walk—for two or three miles—out in the country. Lots of grassland; it was beautiful.

I walked back to the truck and the trucker was sound asleep. He had a double-decker sleeper, so I got in the top bunk and turned on the VCR. From midnight till four in the morning I watched two films. The first film was The Professional—it was about the life of a mafia hit man and a twelve-year-old girl named Matilda. It was very good. I forget the other film.

The next day we stopped in Rapid City and Spearfish and we unloaded his truck. He bought me breakfast and I hit the road.

A Book Review for High Plains Drifter
Are You An Angel?
A State of Existing, North Dakota
Tim Shey Hitchhiking in Western Wyoming
It’s a Small World
The life of a hobo
Hitchhiking Stories from Digihitch
A Thumb and a Prayer
An American Pilgrim:  Some Reflections on High Plains Drifter

The Short, Short Hitchhiker   10 comments


The Short, Short Hitchhiker
By Stanley Gurcze
Edited by Richard Menzies

This afternoon I finished reading The Short, Short Hitchhiker by Stanley Gurcze.  I thought it was very good.  It reminded me of my own hitchhiking experiences.  The unique thing about Stanley Gurcze is that he has no feet—his feet were amputated at the age of 10.


Here are a couple of excerpts from his book:

Page 72:  “So back to the highway I went, where if I was going to starve, at least I wouldn’t be working for the privilege of doing so.  I headed west until I reached Indio, California, which is where I found my first hobo jungle.  It was quite an experience.

“A hobo jungle is a camp near a railroad division yard where trains stop and change crews.  It’s also where non-paying passengers get on or off the train.  These non-paying passengers consist of two different classes:  bums and hobos.  The difference between the two is as follows:  Bums will not work, and will steal or beg or do anything to meet their needs.  Hobos, also known as tramps, will work for their needs but no longer than absolutely necessary.  Both classes can be found wherever trains go in the country.

“I was camping alone at the east end of Indio when a man with a bedroll over his shoulder walked by.  I mistook him for a fellow hitchhiker and said, ‘Hi.’

“He looked me over, saw my crutches and decided I was harmless enough.  So he came over and said, ‘Howdy, Crip.’  He paused and then added, ‘You ever been here before?’

“‘No, it’s my first time.’

“‘Thought so.  Let me give ya a little advice.  Git over on the other side of the road by the trees there.’  He pointed to a grove of trees approximately half a mile to the north.

“‘Why?  What’s there?’

“‘A camp where you’ll be safe tonight.  There’s a bunch of ‘bos there, pretty decent guys.  This side’s the jungle with the bums and winos.  They’ll take you for everything you got.  You’d be lucky to wake up tomorrow.’

“‘I sure better get out of here, then.  Thanks for the heads up.’

“‘Okay,’ he said, then added.  ‘You see those two guys back there by them bushes?’

“‘No.  Where?’

He pointed behind me.  “There.  That’s the reason I stopped.  I noticed they had their eyes on ya.’

“‘Yeah, now I see ’em.’  There stood two of the most disreputable looking characters I had seen in quite a while.  One was staring in our direction, the other was sipping from a wine bottle.  Both were unshaven.  Their clothing had the appearance of never having been washed.

“‘Heavens to Betsy,’ I said.  ‘They look worse than I do.’

“‘Come on.  I’ll walk you across the road.  They won’t bother ya as long as I’m here.’


“I got to the other camp as fast as I could.  There I found a group of men with bedrolls and not much else, sitting around a large campfire above which hung a huge pot, boiling.  It contained meat, potatoes, onions, and a few other vegetables all mixed together.  They called it mulligan stew.

“I was informed that anyone who joins the group contributes whatever they have to the pot, which keeps boiling all the time.  Share and share alike.  No one is ever refused hospitality unless they demonstrate by their actions that they’re not worthy, in which case they are booted out in a hurry.  By contrast, the bums across the way aren’t interested in anything but scoring that first bottle of wine to start their day–in any way they can.

“Sometimes bums even steal from one another, taking whatever they believe will get them ‘the price.’  Many awake to find their shoes gone, or any other item of any value they possess.  They are the lucky ones, because there are others who never awake.

“Unlike bums, hobos are men who have left their homes, wives, children, friends, and jobs to seek freedom from their humdrum lives and spend the rest of their days wandering about the country, searching for this elusive thing called happiness–or at least peace of mind.  Some might reach this goal; others may not.  Perhaps they will all find it in the beyond.”


Page 112:  “I cook over an Indian fire—never a white man’s fire.  I learned this from an Apache Indian—in Apache Junction, Arizona, of all places.  Of course, no Apaches live there; they live on the San Carlos reservation east of Globe.  This young Apache worked at the lumber company, which is no longer there.

“I remember I was preparing to build a fire as prescribed in the Boy Scouts manual.  I gathered an armload of dead branches and arranged them in the form of a tepee.  Just then this young Apache came by, sat down, and watched.  He started to chuckle softly.  When I got my matches out and prepared to light it, he stood up, still chuckling, and kicked my campfire in every which direction, which of course made me a bit angry.

“‘Let me show you how to build a fire.’ he said.

“He squatted down, dug a hole approximately six inches deep and twelve inches across, took a few of the smaller branches I had gathered and broke them into little pieces, which he placed in the pit.  He then took the two thickest branches and placed them across the top of the hole.  ‘These two thick branches you use as a grill,’ he said.  ‘Just put whatever you want to cook on top of them.  By the time they burn through, whatever you’re cooking will be ready.’

“Well, I cooked a whole chicken wrapped in aluminum foil using only the few pieces of wood he put into the hole.  It works, he explained, because when the wind blows, it passes over the top of the hole and creates a draft.  This results in a hotter fire, and the sparks don’t blow out of the hole.  With a white man’s fire, which is above ground, the sparks fly and start wildfires.

“Another nice thing about an Indian fire is that when you are finished with it, just pour a little water onto the remaining hot coals, then refill the hole with dirt and tamp it down.  When you walk away, nobody would know you ever had a fire there.”

Virginia Avenue Press
Reno, Nevada
Published in 2011

[Stanley Gurcze, 1917-1989]


Book Launch
The Life of a Hobo
Hitchhiking Stories from Digihitch
A Ride in Nebraska, Blue Highways and William Least Heat-Moon
Stobe the Hobo


“Stanley Gurcze, Footless Vagabond” by Richard Menzies

Author Pens Tales Reminiscing from the Road   7 comments


April 25, 2012

By Ryan Bonham


Eat your heart out, Jack Kerouac.

Self-professed hitchhiker Tim Shey, whose traveling path often passes through Lake County, published his second book earlier this year, a work filled with tales reflecting his experiences in hitchhiking across the country over the past 16 years.

Shey, who often works as a laborer for friends living in the Cedarville/Surprise Valley area of northeastern California, said his travels have taken him far and wide through the years.  His first trip to Lakeview occurred in 2004 while hitchhiking from Cedarville, Calif., to Washington state.

His newest book is entitled “The First Time I Rode a Freight Train,” and features stories inspired by his many years traveling a solo journey in and around the United States, in which he proselytized his Christian faith.

Born and raised in Iowa, Shey graduated from the University of Iowa with a degree in English literature in 1995.  He published some of his short stories on the online blog, as well as the Ethos (italics), a publication of the University of Iowa’s journalism department.

After finishing college, Shey worked full time in lumber yard until 1996, when he considered, applied for and did not get accepted into law school.  The allure of the open road came about that year, Shey said.

“I’d say I’ve been hitchhiking 80 percent of the last 16 years,” he said.  “I’m a Christian, and I’m hitchhiking by faith.”

Shey said that he’s putting each and every day’s provisions into his faith in God, and writes about his experiences and encounters from this travels.

He published his first collection of reflections from the road, “High Plains Drifter: A Hitchhiking Journey Across America,” in 2008, which traced his travels from earlier journeys of 1986-87 as well as those spanning 1996-99.

“You see a lot of nice country, but mostly it’s the people you meet (that leaves an impression),” Shey said.

Shey acknowledged the social stigma associated with hitchhiking, particularly in the United States, but he said he mostly faced occasional warnings by Johnny Law and recalled mostly positive interactions; sometimes they even helped him get to his next destination, he said.

“If you’re not causing any trouble, they’ll cut you some slack,” he said.

Shey said that the first book was put together within 10 days, but his newest effort is the culmination of two years of work.

Lake County Examiner [Lakeview, Oregon]

Copyright 2012 Lake County Examiner

[Corrections:  I received a BA from Iowa State University,  not the University of Iowa.  It is, not  Ethos is published by the Journalism Dept at Iowa State University.]

The First Time I Rode a Freight Train & other hitchhiking stories
A Short Hitchhiking Trip