Growing up in a Christian community before our country began massive cultural changes was an advantage; I failed to see it in my youth. However, looking back, I recognize that it gave me a perspective beyond the physical world and into the spiritual. I learned to think about what might happen after I left this mortal shell. I developed early in life the belief in the reality of God and had the fortune to attend a Bible College at a time when students were encouraged to think and reason on their own instead of today's forced thought compliance. Consequently, I was exposed to a myriad of ideas in a variety of religions and cultures. The result is that I know what I believe and have chosen to place all my eggs in one basket.
Therefore, one year ago today, my spirit was prepared when I had my heart episode. As what started out as indigestion continued to evolve into heart surgery, I was fully prepared to never wake up from the procedure. I truly thought that my day had come and I was expecting with some anticipation to see what was waiting for me. Not only was I surprised to awake from the quadruple bypass surgery, but even more astonished by how well my old body has responded to the new plumbing. Modern medicine has been a gift to me.
My pastor reminds my congregation often that the mortality rate in this world is 100% and this anniversary date is a reminder to me that every day could be THE day. So, whether today is it or there are many more todays in my future, every new day following January 8, 2018 is a bonus day for me.

A Tribute to R. Dilmon Black
by: Richard Black
I once saw an interview where a celebrity was asked about his heroes, those who had most influenced his life. And I thought, I should have a heroes list. So, I began a mental list and the first person I put on it was born Robert Dilmon Black. Most called him Dilmon and at work he was Blackie. But to me, he was Dad. Of all the people, teachers, professors, pastors I’ve known, none has taught me more than did my father.
First and foremost he showed me what it was to be a man. I believe that most of the qualities of manhood Jesus Christ exhibited on earth could also be seen in Dad.
He was a man of faith who gave God not only a financial tithe but a tithe of service. He taught Sunday school, chaperoned the youth group and never missed a work project at the church.
He was a gentle man; difficult to anger. I remember the last spanking he gave me. It was on the back porch. Actually, it was over his knee, on my butt, on the back porch. I don’t remember my offense, those were impossible to keep track of for they were legion. But I remember the spanking. He used his belt. I cried after the first smack even though it didn’t hurt. He stopped at three whacks – none of them hard enough to even sting. He stopped because it did hurt him more than it hurt me. Yet, I learned so much about the heart of a father.
He was a hard worker. I could count the number of days he missed work on one hand. He arrived on time and worked a full shift or more. His example taught me the value of showing up, the importance of faithfulness in everything, even the day-to-day drudgery of a job.
He could grow things. How he loved his garden. How I hated that garden. The scariest words in the summer were, “we’re going to the garden.” I knew that meant we’re going to the garden until the sun goes down. I think that’s why I love a good summer rain; couldn’t go to the garden when it was wet. We weeded and hoed and harvested. Quarts and quarts of strawberries. Tons of carrots, radishes, onions and lettuce. Buckets and buckets of peas, bean and tomatoes. Boy could he grow tomatoes. I may be prejudice but I have never tasted a better tomato than Dad’s; red and yellow, big, round, firm and delicious. And I remember learning about the real world in first grade. Peas were on the menu. I love peas but the mushy, sickly colored sludge they put on my tray were not peas. They were one level from toxic waste. Dad grew peas, real peas.
He was patient. There were six children under one roof; kids who had/have their failings. He made sure we finished school, went to church and respected each other. As well, it was expected we would respect our mother. There was no greater offense than to disrespect Mom. He taught us all to drive; six kids!! I taught one to drive and almost lost my sanity, he did it six times. And those occasions that we had bumps and stumbles, he never showed his disappointment when we came home.
That home was a safe place. It was warm and comfortable. Free of danger. It was filled with love and acceptance. All our needs and some of our wants were met. I know what it means to be rich, for I watched a wealthy man freely give of his wealth to those he loved. Yet, he never asked for anything in return.
He was forgiving. Never can I recall him ever bringing up my past mistakes. I know I must have let him down a time or two but I don’t know how or when or where. He never told me; they were all forgotten.
Over the years, heroes have come and gone. The list has grown and shrunk. But one name has never left it. One person has and always will be my hero.
In college I read a book entitled, The Lord Is My Parole Officer. It was a collection of letters by troubled teens with negative father figures. To assist them in understanding God as their Father, they were encouraged to write about a positive male role model in their lives and relate him to God. I have no problem imagining God as my Father. When I arrive in heaven, the face of God will not be a surprise to me. Because I have seen his image here on Earth. He was Dilmon Black, my hero, my father, my Dad. And I am proud to be his son.
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Jesus was placed in a borrowed tomb; there had been no time to prepare one specifically for him. What his family and friends did not know was that he would only use it three days. His final destination was home to be with his Father. And his task was to prepare a place for us. Easter is a celebration that we are only guests on this world, it is not our home. We are living in borrowed space.

Today marks the 41st wedding anniversary of Richard and Barbara Black. As a couple with over 40 years behind us, we are frequently asked what the secret is to our longevity. In our case, we actually have two; although they are hardly secrets.
One is obvious to anyone who knows us; we have learned to love each other. The ancient Greeks were an intelligent people. They had six words for love while English has only one. In English, the same word is used for the affection between two people and a liking for potato chips.
When Barbara and I first met, we developed a fondness for each other, an attraction of two young people with hormones running wild. With the passing of years, we moved from youthful romantic love to an unconditional love as a couple. Each of us has developed a love where our partner has become the most important person in our life at the cost of our own personal wants and needs.
It is my contention that most marriages fail because many people do not grow in their love for their mates. Their concept of marriage does not expand beyond romance and no married couple can survive on sexual attraction alone; it fades and must constantly be renewed. Eventually for many, it becomes too hard to retrieve the old physical sensation with the same intensity and dies.
We have shared the second non-secret to our success numerous times when people ask us about our sustained romance. Nevertheless, it appears to be particular to us. That is, we have never encountered another couple who have made the same commitment to one another. While we had a formal wedding which included vows we exchanged in the presence of our family and friends, we also made a private vow to each other prior to our marriage. There was no ceremony, no candles, romantic music or warm atmosphere. I do not even remember where we were or what we were doing at the time. However, we made a verbal pledge, we spoke the words out loud. Our declaration to each other was clear and unmistakable.
Our promise was that we would never, under any circumstances, ever use the D-word in connection to our marriage. We would not speak the word in anger, frustration or antagonism and even decided that it included not joking about the word. We would not tease or mockingly use the D-word with each other or about each other. After 41 years of marriage, we have never used the word in a conversation between the two of us or with anyone else in reference to our marital relationship. Not in our most heated disagreements or lightest moments have we said it or implied the meaning of the word. It is a promise that we have faithfully kept.
It may be, for some, difficult to believe, yet I assure you that it is the absolute truth. Even now, I cannot bring myself to write the word as it relates to the union of Richard and Barbara Black. A habit of 41 years is hard to break.
In a world of instant everything and the fragility of obligations, contracts and agreements, it is often forgotten that anything which is worthwhile takes work, perseverance and determination. Rarely is anything of value or permanence gained easily. We have developed something special and enduring with a dedication to keeping our commitment.
Forty-Onederful Years of marriage speak for themselves.

During my time at the Bible College, I took a course on Marriage and Family. Although our professor was a forward thinking and practical instructor, I do not think he could have envisioned the current state of marriage and family in this country given the cultural shifts that have taken place in my lifetime. However, I remember one principle he taught which could revolutionize the family unit if practiced in any age. He stated that marriage was not a 50/50 relationship; 50% give and 50% receive. Marriage, he said, was a 100% commitment; giving 100% to the relationship without expecting or demanding anything in return.
Granted, given that we are flawed humans, it is more a utopian dream than a practical expectation that someone would give 100% to a marriage without anticipating anything in return. Nevertheless, there would be fewer broken marriages, dysfunctional families and shattered lives if more spouses would strive to meet their partner’s needs and wants instead of attempting to have their own desires fulfilled or insisting on some kind of equal tradeoff. Someone who is 100% committed to their mate, or as close as is humanly possible, will be more likely to remain faithful to their marital relationship when trials test it.
Over 40 years ago, I fell in love with Barbara. Our love has matured and grown through the struggles of life. Together, we have enjoyed the high points of life and shared the disappointments of the low points. Her commitment to me was never more evident than when I had my heart attack and was on a very uncomfortable emergency room bed waiting for the doctors to decide what to do. Right beside me the entire night was Barbara on an even more uncomfortable chair. I have had the time to reflect on how much more difficult my health crisis experience could have been and might still be had I not had someone faithfully and supportive there with me through it all.
One of the great privileges Barbara and I had attending a Bible College was that we met other couples making the same lifelong commitments we made and traveling the same marital path we took. Some of our friends have seen their spouses go on ahead of them to the next life after many years together. Others continue to celebrate new anniversaries of life together. They all can attest to the power of love in living life to its fullest as a couple. Whatever the future holds, the past has been worth the journey as two people bonded together in love.
This Valentine’s Day, I hope others can find the same love that I have had with Barbara.