Category Archives: Books

Geezer Up (Part 6)

Jane

My wife, Jane, can best explain what was going through her mind from the time of my phone call until the arraignment:

The first thought to cross my mind when Dylan phoned was to give him a big piece of my mind. We had planned our forty-sixth anniversary trip to Tahoe for months and even paid a nonrefundable deposit on a five-bedroom home on the beach. Our three children, their mates, and our eight grandchildren were going to be there, too. All of us in one home on the lake for seven days. It was a dream vacation and how many more of these could we expect to have in the years ahead? I could have chewed nails when I hung up, especially after him saying that it was no big deal!

I slammed the phone down and screamed.

That’s when the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart, “Quit acting like a baby. Call the lawyer. Get on a plane and fly to San Francisco. Dylan needs you.”

I fell to my knees and wept.

“Forgive me, Lord.”

But without missing a beat, I jumped up, phoned Jacob, our lawyer, and made standby reservations for a flight on Virgin Airlines out of San Diego International Airport to San Francisco. My flight’s departure was scheduled for 5:15 a.m., which gave me just enough time to pack and make the sixty-mile drive from Temecula to the airport.

Bluetooth allowed me to make four important phone calls on my trip. The first three were to our children, telling them about Dylan’s situation. The words “hate crime” never ricocheted off my tongue, but instead I termed it a slight misunderstanding, one that a lawyer could easily handle. We would see them on Saturday and have a big laugh over Dylan’s latest faith escapade. The three had questions, but I pooh-poohed their fears with a couple of quick Bible verses.

When I finished calling the three, I looked down at the speedometer. Ninety miles per hour! Jane Matthews: beloved wife, caring mother, doting grandmother, and committed believer of Jesus was acting like Mario Andretti at the Indianapolis Five Hundred, passing everyone in sight. I tapped on the brakes and slowed down to seventy-five miles per hour. A police car with a radar gun sat at the next exit.

“Thank you Jesus,” I muttered.

Then, I phoned J.C. Bates. Someone needed to fill me in on the details about Dylan’s arrest and J. C. was the man who could do just that.

(Continued in Part 6…if you’re interested, the full series to date may be seen here.) 

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Geezer Up (Part 5)

Dylan

The heavy-set bailiff with a booming voice announced, “The People of San Francisco against Dylan Matthews.”

Almost with a snap of a finger, I stood to the right of Artie Chin while a junior prosecutor stood on the other side of Chin. Judge Ester Strong sat directly in front of us. The sixty or so year-old judge looked down at the file in front of her and then over at me. A slight smile crossed her lips for a nano-second before she resumed her judicial posture.

Back and forth legalese-filled salvos from the prosecutor and my lawyer ended up with Chin saying, “My client enters a not-guilty plea.”

“I’m inclined to allow Mr. Matthews to be released on his own recognizance, without bail, but I do want to ask him a couple of questions,” said Judge Strong, leaning forward and staring into my eyes. “What will you do if I set you free this morning? Will you go back to Temecula and return for your preliminary hearing in two weeks?”

Three possible answers crossed my mind at that moment: forty-sixth anniversary trip to Tahoe, playing with grandchildren, or enjoying a few rounds of golf with my buddies. All would have pleased the judge so I could have walked out the door into the sunlight once again, but they all evaporated into nothingness. What came out of my mouth caused a reaction much like dropping a live grenade into the courtroom.

“I will walk out the door and go directly to the Castro District and preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to that community. They deserve to be set free from the kingdom of darkness by the love of Jesus.”

Judge Strong stood up and pointed a finger at me. Her judicial mask slipped off her face, revealing her inner feelings.

“Mr. Matthews, you have no right to impose your self-righteous religious beliefs on our gay and lesbian communities. I will make sure your bigoted beliefs cost you dearly by setting your bail at one hundred thousand dollars and remanding you to our county jail. What do you think of that, Mr. Matthews?” she proclaimed loud enough for everyone in the building to hear her.

I shrugged.

“I shall not pay one dime nor allow anyone to raise money to set me free nor will I eat another bite of food until I am set free from this jail. Whether I walk out the door or am carried out in a casket is up to the Lord, I shall trust Him to set me free,” I replied.

“Well, we’ll see about your so-called God and how your arrogance holds up two weeks from now at your preliminary hearing. Next case.”

My lawyer escorted me back to the small holding pen.

“Maybe you would have answered differently if I would have warned you ahead of time that Judge Strong is a lesbian and staunch leader in the LGBT movement,” he whispered.

I laughed.

“Probably not.”

Then, a voice cut my heart.

“Dylan, Dylan, I love you…”

I turned to see Jane waving at me. She looked great in her yellow dress, one of my favorites, but all I could do was nod my head and wonder about what she was thinking.

(Continued in Part 6…if you’re interested, the full series to date may be seen here.) 

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Geezer Up (Part 2)

Dylan

Any syrupy ideas I might have had about jail were quickly erased when the door banged shut to my holding cell. The five young men who sat on the bolted down metal benches, which lined both sides of the cell, followed me with their dark eyes as I sat down in the far right corner. A stainless steel toilet without a lid and a sink stood in the middle of the back wall. No privacy here, I thought.

“Hey, old white man, what terrible crime have you committed that the police would lock you up with five MS-13 homies charged with murder?” asked a young man covered with tattoos and wearing a white tank top.

My ears perked up with the mention of MS-13, also known as the Mara Salvatrucha. It’s the most violent gang in the United States with its members known for their cruel murders and merciless revenge.

“I preached the gospel of Jesus Christ to the LGBT parade watchers down in the Castro District. Some became angry and kicked me around like an old football. I was charged with a hate crime.”

“Did you fight back, old man?” asked a short young man with teardrops tattooed under both eyes.

“No, of course, not,” I replied.

The five laughed and slapped each other on the back as if my words were the funniest ones ever spoken.

“Old man, that is so hilarious!” said the biggest youth with a large scar on his neck. “You preach the gospel to gays and lesbians. Then they beat and kick the crap out of you, but you don’t fight back. And you’re the one who gets charged with a hate crime. We MS-13 homies understand that type of justice. So, what happened to the gays who did this to you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I pray that God won’t hold their actions against them.”

The same youth leaned toward me. “Do you really think God cares about gays and lesbians?”

“Yes, and not only that, He cares and loves you, too.”

“Old white man, now you’ve gone too far.”

The five leaned back and closed their eyes, ignoring my presence.

I sat there, checking myself out. My broken nose hurt. My ribs were sore and all of the other bruises added to my suffering. Yet, in the midst of my pain, I wanted to jump and shout and praise God because He counted me worthy to suffer for His name.

“Lord,” I prayed softly, “thanks for giving a seventy-one year old geezer, like me, a second chance to be a part of the action and not allowing me to retire from Your kingdom work. And Lord, use me even more in the days ahead.”

The Lord reminded me of this prayer often in the days following it.

(A new sequel to my eBook, Unhitched Geezer.)

(Continued in Part 3…if you’re interested, the full series to date may be seen here.) 

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Geezer Up (Part 1)

 

 

Dylan

I hated phoning Jane, but there were no other options because she needed to know my situation. The long distance operator took my info in a business-like manner and connected the call as I sat there with my hands cuffed together. Sweat dripped off my forehead onto the plastic-covered information blotter in front of me. The police officer standing next to me belched, coating the air with his garlic and onion breath.

“Dylan, what’s wrong?” Jane shouted into her cellphone.

“Well, I have a little situation here in San Francisco, but don’t worry —”

“Don’t worry! Are you kidding? Where are you right now? And where’s your cellphone?”

“I’m at County Jail Number Four, on Bryant Street in San Francisco —”

“Is this one of your jokes? If it is, it’s not funny!”

“Honey, it’s not a joke. I’m being charged with a hate crime and will be arraigned tomorrow morning. You need to call our attorney, Jacob, and have him refer me to a criminal lawyer here in San Francisco. Tell him I’m in County Jail Number Four.”

A gasp could be heard through the receiver, followed by a few sniffles.

“Hate crime? What’d you do?”

“It’s really no big deal. I just preached a short message to the gays in the Castro District. That’s all…no big deal. So don’t worry, please.”

“Gunsmoke, no big deal! It’s Pride Week there, right? Did they rough you up?”

“There was a little fighting, maybe even a small riot. I have a few bruises, but my nose should be okay once a doctor  checks me out and sets it in place.”

BEEP!

“Sweetheart, don’t talk. That beep means we have thirty seconds left before we’re disconnected. Call Jacob and tell him I’m at County Jail Number Four.”

“Honey, I love you and —”

The officer tapped me on the shoulder as soon as my call finished. I stood up and he pointed toward the door, leading back to lockup.

Yikes, I thought as I walked through the door, Jane’s really upset because she called me by my college nickname –Gunsmoke – which she hates. Not only that, she’s probably wondering how my arrest will affect our forty-sixth wedding anniversary plans to travel to Tahoe for this upcoming weekend. What a jam you’re in, Dylan Matthews! I’d better geezer up and prepare my seventy-three year old body for what awaits me in the days ahead.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which is free on Amazon today. Check it out here.)

(Continued in Part 2)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 13)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

A Catholic friend of mine hungered for the baptism of the Holy Spirit for many months. Her trips to large Charismatic Renewal conferences in Des Moines and Kansas City resulted in nothing happening for her.

So, she came up with a Plan B. When her husband left for work and her children attended school, she would go into the living room, place candles on the floor, light them, and bow down in the middle of the lit candles. There she cried out to God for the baptism of the Holy Spirit.

Plan B failed, too.

On a July 4th holiday weekend, she invited another family to their home for a picnic. What says Independence Day more than hot dogs, potato salad, and a picnic, right? While she stirred a large batch of potato salad, she looked out the window at her friends and husband, and at that precise moment, she was baptized in the Holy Spirit and spoke in tongues.

Now, think about this for a few seconds. What was God thinking when He baptized her in the Holy Spirit at that awkward moment? Couldn’t He have performed it at a more opportune time?

REMEMBER: God is Boss and He chooses the breakthrough times in our lives. We don’t!

A little over four weeks ago, I turned on the water, stepped into the shower, and the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart: “Full Gospel Businessmen’s Fellowship.”

I was absolutely shocked because I had not thought about that particular men’s fellowship in over twenty-five years. The FGBF had been an important part of my life in my early Christian years, but I had drifted away when I moved to Ames, Iowa.

As soon as I dried myself and slipped on some clothes, I rushed downstairs to check on the computer for the nearest FGBF chapter. None were nearby or within fifty miles. Yet, in my Google searches, I ran across another businessmen’s group: Business Men’s Fellowship. There was a local phone number for BMF and I called it.

My phone call resulted in a meeting at Starbucks with Bill Keith, who had moved to Temecula a few months before and happens to be a great guy and the national president for Business Men’s Fellowship. What a remarkable coincidence, right?

We talked for a few minutes and then I looked at him and said, “I’ve been waiting for twenty-two years for you. Where have you been?”

(Continued in Part 14…if you’re interested, the full series to date can be seen here.)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 12)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

 

It was only a dream, but it seemed so real.

I stood on a starting line for a race. A man dressed in a long white robe stood off to my left, wearing leather sandals on his feet. His dark beard and long hair framed his bronze face. He held a starter’s gun in his hand and nodded at me.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I pulled up my red track shorts, yanked my white athletic t-shirt outside my shorts for more freedom of movement, and checked to see if my shoestrings were tied tightly on my Nike running shoes. Everything seemed ready. I nodded back at him.

“Now remember,” he said, “you need to go as fast as you can. This is a timed race. You only have a limited amount of time to finish it, okay?

I looked over the racecourse. In the distance, I saw the finish line with healing, deliverance, prosperity, miracles, wonders, peace, and joy awaiting me on the other side. Between the starting and finishing lines stretched an obstacle course. Posts sticking out of the ground. Fences. Brick walls. Quicksand pits. Mud bogs. Trees. Rivers. Water falls. Railroad tracks. Highways. Tunnels. Dangerous cliffs. A narrow path zigzagged its way through the course like a switchback jungle road. It looks easy enough, I thought, just stay on the path and run as fast as I can.

I nodded again to him.

“Get ready.”

I got down on my haunches.

“Get set.”

I rose into a sprinter’s position. My feet and legs strained, set to slingshot my body forward.

“But first, you’ll need this,” he said before firing the gun.

He walked over and covered my eyes with a black blindfold. Not one ray of light touched my eyes. I could not see a thing, not even my feet.

“Now, don’t forget, you must go as fast as you can.”

I heard a faint whispering behind me, a soft voice saying something. I paid no attention to it.

BANG!

I took off like an Olympic sprinter, running as fast as I could.

BAM!

I hit a post and fell to the ground. My nose felt like it was broken with blood gushing from it. The warm wetness soaked through my t-shirt. It hurt so much I wanted to just lie there and quit.

The dark haired starter walked over and stood above me.

“Now, don’t forget this is a timed race. You need to run as fast as you can.”

I struggled to my feet. As I did, the same soft voice whispered words behind me. But again, I paid no attention and took off running.

YUCK!

I fell into a quicksand pit and found myself sinking under the heavy glop. The more I flailed my arms and legs, the faster I sank. The sandy goop soon reached my neck, not far from my nose.

“Help me, Lord,” I shouted.

My body relaxed and I floated over to the edge, crawling out of the pit. I flopped down there. It was all I could do to catch my breath from the all-out physical effort of trying to survive. I wanted to quit.

“Don’t forget. This is a timed race. You need to go as fast as you can,” the starter exclaimed.

Why I stood up, I don’t know. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment or possibly a modern day Don Quixote searching for futile endeavors to joust against. I brushed the sand off my legs and attempted to clean my shoes. I once more heard what sounded like soft whispers in the background, but like the earlier times, I ignored them.

My sense of direction was completely out of kilter. I could not figure up from down, let alone north, south, east, or west. However, I gave it the old college try and took off running.

SPLASH!

I feel into a deep river with fast-moving waters rushing over me. The hurtling rapids sent me flying downstream in a haphazard manner, smashing my body against rocks and floating logs. I attempted to swim toward shore, but the full force of the current battered my body, flinging me about like a rag doll in a typhoon.

“Lord, help me!” I screamed.

My hand reached out and grasped a tree limb. I pulled myself across the stream, hand over hand on the limb, and climbed onto the shore. This was the end. I couldn’t handle anymore.

I heard the soft voice whispering to me once again. This time I gave it my full attention and listened.

“Stand up,” said the gentle voice.

I obeyed it.

“Okay, now turn to your right ninety degrees.”

Again, I obeyed.

“Walk four steps ahead and stop.”

I walked ahead and waited for the next command.

“Turn forty-five degrees to your left.”

I turned.

“You went too far. Turn to your right five degrees.”

I adjusted myself in accordance with the instructions.

“Walk ten steps forward and wait.”

I stopped after walking ten steps.

“Won’t this take a long time to finish the obstacle course,” I said.

The gentle voice laughed.

“My system is the fastest way through the obstacle course. However, you can always choose to return to your running blindly method, but as you have learned, that can be extremely painful. What do you want to do?” the voice said.

“Lord, what’s Your next instruction?”

Then I awoke with a Bible verse on my mind:

“Your own ears will hear Him. Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” whether to the right or to the left (Isaiah 30:21 NLT).

The dream made perfect sense to me: wait on Him and follow the voice of the Holy Spirit when He spoke to me. It seemed so easy at the time, but soon things became more complicated.

(Excerpt from The Hunt for Larry Who by Larry Nevenhoven, ©2014, Amazon eBook)

This dream certainly depicts my journey on building a publishing company.

(Continued in Part 13…if you’re interested, the full series to date can be seen here.)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 10)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

I began this series on January 10, 2015, but because nothing was moving forward for me, I placed it on hold. Now things are happening again. So, I’ve decided to rerun the earlier parts before I began anew. If you don’t want to wait, you can read the first ten parts in their entirety here.

 

Twenty years ago, if you would have asked, “What will you say when your publishing company is successful?”

I would have quickly answered by singing a Toby Keith song: “How do you like me now? Now that I’m on my way. Do you still think I’m crazy, standing here today? I couldn’t make you love me, but I always dreamed about…How do you like me now?”

You see, when you’re walking through the wildernesses designed just for you by God, there’s not a lot of people who believe in you because of your mistakes and how unsuccessful you appear to them. If you bother to mention your dreams to others, you invite ridicule and the inevitable questions: “How?” and “When?”

And all you can do is shrug your shoulders at their queries.

But in all this, you have to hold onto the promises given to you by God. You can’t ever let go of them. Each day, you must thank the Lord for your publishing company and your promises being fulfilled, even if you’re sleeping in a car and eating out of dumpsters. Walking by faith is not an easy path for anyone.

So, for a major part of my journey through the wilderness, I kept going for one major reason: the desire to prove my worth to others. I wanted to show them that I heard God’s voice and that He honored me for my perseverance.

Today, if you asked me the same question, I would answer, “It was by His grace and I deserve no credit for any success.”

Somehow, in the wilderness, it no longer became about me and my quest, it became all about Him.

(Continued in Part 11)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 8)

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(Click on photo to enlarge)

I began this series on January 10, 2015, but because nothing was moving forward for me, I placed it on hold. Now things are happening again. So, I’ve decided to rerun the earlier parts before I began anew. If you don’t want to wait, you can read the first ten parts in their entirety here.

 

Ten thousand and seventy-four days ago, a female minister named Linda Sutter (Olson) pointed to me as I sat in a pew of a small church and asked me to stand up. She then began prophesying to me: “God is doing a quick work in you…”

Even today when I look at her prophetic words, which I wrote down in the back of my Bible, I laugh at God’s idea of a “quick work” versus mine. I thought it would be months, certainly not 10,074 days or nearly thirty years.

But let me tell you a little bit about Linda Sutter Olson.

During the early 1970’s, the Lord told her to go into full-time ministry as a teacher and a prophetess, but she had at least three  problems. First, she was a woman. Second, her pastor would not endorse her ministry. Third, she did not have any contacts.

What could she do?

She sent out a few flyers to area churches, but had no responses. No one seemed to need her ministry.

One day, Linda was driving through rural Iowa and stopped at a diner in a small town. She sat down at a table and ordered her lunch. Linda noticed the couple sitting at the table next to her had received their meals and were praying before they ate.

She leaned over and said, “It’s nice to see a couple pray together in a restaurant.”

“Oh, you’re a Christian,” replied the husband. “Why don’t you join us for lunch? We would enjoy fellowshipping with you.”

The couple turned out to be a pastor and his wife. The pastor ended up inviting Linda to minister at his church that evening.

Linda eventually ministered in numerous large churches and then traveled to Russia, Albania, India, Eastern Europe, China, and the Philippines. But every door that opened to her calling could be traced back to that chance encounter at a diner in a small town in Iowa.

So, when I look at the boxes of books in our closets, I like to think that I’m just one divine encounter away from publishing success.

(Continued in Part 9)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 7)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

I began this series on January 10, 2015, but because nothing was moving forward for me, I placed it on hold. Now things are happening again. So, I’ve decided to rerun the earlier parts before I began anew. If you don’t want to wait, you can read the first ten parts in their entirety here.

 

One of my favorite prophetic words was spoken to me in the Spring of 1994. It happened when a friend and her husband stopped by the house to see me on their way to a restaurant.

“Larry, the Lord knows how much you love to preach, but He wants you to do something first for Him, before you do any more preaching. Then afterward, you can preach all you want,” she said.

The “something” the Lord wanted me to do first turned out to be – start a paint contracting company, which ended up being a total disaster. I am still suffering from its fallout, twenty years later.

And preaching? I still laugh when I think about the Lord saying to me: “Then afterward, you can preach all you want.”

You see, what was missing in the prophetic words was that the Lord was going to squeeze every drop of desire out of me to preach and be on a stage ever again. The guy who used to love to preach died often in countless trials over the last twenty years. I absolutely do not miss him and, in fact, I abhor the guy I used to be.

Okay, how does this fit into publishing?

I have two thousand copies of The Day LA Died, ready to be marketed through whatever way the Lord shows me, like Christian book stores, churches, and advertisements. The two thousand copies weigh a total of 1900 pounds and are stored in closets throughout the house. It would be nice to free up the closet space again.

But first, I feel the Lord wants me to do something for Him, something which, of course, has nothing to do with publishing.

So, if you believe that walking with the Lord is the shortest distance between point A and point B, I have bad news for you. That is usually not the case. There will be plenty of time-consuming zigs and zags and stops along the way, but I also guarantee, it will be the greatest adventure of your life.

(Continued in Part 8)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 6)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

I began this series on January 10, 2015, but because nothing was moving forward for me, I placed it on hold. Now things are happening again. So, I’ve decided to rerun the earlier parts before I began anew. If you don’t want to wait, you can read the first ten parts in their entirety here.

 

Have you ever heard of Fred Smith?

When Smith attended Yale in the 1960s, he wrote a term paper, which invented an industry and dreamed of changing the impossible into the possible. His professor couldn’t visualize the revolutionary implications of Smith’s ideas and gave Smith’s term paper an average grade. The professor’s reasoning: the business was not feasible.

Smith’s impossible dream became a reality on April 17, 1973, when Federal Express began operations with 389 employees, 14 planes, and 186 packages in Memphis, Tennessee. The packages were flown to 25 cities and delivered the following day.

Today, we think little about dropping a package off at a Federal Express site or a competitive carrier and then expecting the package to be delivered the next day or soon after. Yet, the whole air/land express industry was just a dream fifty years ago and pooh-poohed by experts at the time.

Let’s say that I sat next to Fred Smith in his business class at Yale and also had to write a term paper on a proposed business, just like Smith did. For my business model, being the believer that I am today, I would have written:

1. My publishing company will have no partners, except for family.

2. It will never ask for money.

3. With the exception of book stores and eBook publishers, my publishing company will not set prices for its books.

4. My publishing company will operate under the U.S. and state business laws as a business and not as a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, tax exempt organization.

5. The millions of dollars generated by my publishing company will help feed and care for the poor and needy of the world.

What do you think the professor would have said to me after reading my paper?

The professor probably would have called me into his office, closed the door, and stared at me for a few minutes in total quiet. Maybe he would have shaken his head and blown out a deep breath before saying, “Son, you remind me of the two guys who came up with the brilliant idea of buying watermelons in San Diego for $1 each and then hauling them to LA and selling them two for a dollar. Business was great, but it wasn’t long before the two men learned they were losing lots of money. One of the guys finally came up with an idea. ‘We need a bigger truck so we can be like K-Mart and make up our losses with bigger volume.'”

I can guess what my grade would have been on the paper. Can you?

(Continued in Part 7)

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