I Believe – My Values

In 1997, I got a call from an engineering firm headquartered in Houston, which was planning to do consulting on two refineries in Nigeria.  The Nigerian government wanted to get out of the oil producing business because they were unable to keep the refineries operating at 100% and were losing money.  Mobil Oil Company was gathering data to inform their decision on whether or not to buy the refinery, and our reports would be part of that process.  

I flew out of St. Louis ending up in Amsterdam, where I ran into one of the individuals I worked with on another project in Houston.  We both had reservations at the same hotel in The Hague where we stayed for a week.  The team consisted of four of us in refinery operations and four mechanical engineers.  After the week, we all loaded up on KLM, the only major airline that would fly into Nigeria.  Lagos is the capital of Nigeria, the most populous city on the African continent, and one of the largest metropolitan areas in the world.  We were housed in a Sheraton hotel in Lagos, though we would later be separated and assigned to two different refineries.  Across the alley from the hotel, there was a nice, big building partially finished, but weeds were growing up around it.  I asked one of the people that worked in the hotel why construction had stopped on it.  I was told that every time a new administration took over the government, any projects started by their predecessor were shut down and not finished.  It was to have been a parking garage.  This was my introduction to the graft and misappropriation that was rampant in Nigeria during nearly three decades of unrest, in which there were several successive military coups and the country was governed by dishonest military leaders, one of whom, at the time of his death in 1998, had several hundred million dollars stashed in European banks.  

While in the hotel in Lagos, we determined who would go to which refinery.  The individual who was to work with me in conducting an operations study was from Venezuela.  He had been the assistant superintendent of a Venezuelan refinery but when things started to go badly there, he moved to Houston and started doing consulting work.  

Flying out of Lagos—not an international airport—was rather an adventure.  Each passenger was weighed with their luggage and belongings so that the exact weight of the plane was known.  The runway was not long enough for takeoff of these large airplanes, so when the plane was ready, soldiers, some of whom had been standing by in the concourse, would open a gate in the airport’s chain link fence, and stop traffic on the four-lane highway that ran perpendicular to the runway.  Then the plane had access to an additional 60 feet of extended runway across the highway.  

My partner and I were assigned to check over the refinery in Warri, Nigeria, but when we arrived, the airport there gave us a forewarning of what we might find at the refinery.  The people movers weren’t working.  It was raining and the ceilings were leaking.  When we went to get our luggage, parts of the belt were missing and we could see suitcases had fallen through the empty spaces.  I told my partner that maybe we didn’t even need to visit the refinery if the airport was any indication of how things worked here.  We stayed in a poor-quality hotel one night, certainly not like the Sheraton we had stayed at in Logos.  The next day we were taken to a compound of probably five or six houses surrounded by an eight-foot concrete fence, the top of which was embedded with broken glass to keep out intruders.  The compound was owned by the engineering company that we represented; their four full-time employees lived and  operated out of this compound.  My partner and I were housed in a two-bedroom house with a kitchen and living room.  The first thing we did when we were assigned a driver and car was to shop for groceries.  There was not much selection at the store, so we ended up with mostly eggs and a few other items.  We cooked eggs or ate at the local restaurants for our evening meals.   For lunch, we frequented the refinery’s cafeteria, where we were the only non-Nigerians.  The managers’ cafeteria was off limits to us.  The cook realized that we didn’t like hot, spicy food, so we were directed to what was less spicy.  

In the mornings we went to the refinery on a road with potholes big enough to hide a Volkswagen Bug.  Seriously, the potholes were about a foot deep and we had to dodge on-coming traffic to go around them.  When we arrived at the refinery, we met two individuals in engineering who would take us where we needed to go and make sure we had everything we needed.  My partner and I observed the different areas and the operating units, getting information by talking to the operators and their supervisors.  Their bathrooms were just partly operational; behind the wall, about half of the copper tubing for the waterline was missing.

I was to become convinced that Nigeria was the most corrupt place I ever visited.  It seemed that everybody was stealing whatever they could get their hands on, and punishment was non-existent.

We spent the next two weeks reviewing the refinery, which had been owned by oil companies outside the country before the Nigerian government took it over.  It was our conclusion that the manager for each of the units was stealing the operating money instead of putting it back into running the refinery.  For example, when chemicals were needed for operations, the money to purchase the chemicals ended up mostly in the pockets of the managers.  Funds for repairs went the same way.

When the crude oil came in, it was split using heat and pressure, creating a top product lighter than the bottom, which is more like a tea kettle, top is steam and bottom would be where you would find lime build up.  The refining process continues to split the resulting output into lighter and heavier materials until eventually products such as gasoline and propane are created.  If any of the units was down and couldn’t take the product being sent to it, there was no other place for it to go and no option but to send it to the flare.  To stop one unit was to stop the entire refinery.  The refinery’s flares burned fully open all the time.  

The other team was at another refinery, finding the same problem:  operation of the refineries wasn’t the problem, corruption was.  In Americans refineries, safety is of primary concern.  Some workers at the Nigerian refineries wore flip flops or were barefoot, confirming their third-world situation.  The Nigerian government owned most businesses outright, or at least had a hand in them.

The Nigerian army and police were corrupt also.  As we drove to and from the refinery, we’d see policemen stopping people on motorbikes, the main transportation there.  The officers would be talking to the people, trying to find out where their pocket money was, and would just help themselves to it.

An English newspaper had an article on the front page with pictures of people holding cans and bottles—anything that would hold liquid.  As the article explained, it happened quite frequently that somebody would drill a hole in a gasoline pipeline, and it didn’t have to be a very big hole because of the pressure on the line.  The leaking gasoline would create a pond maybe as big as a house and the people would wade in with their containers.  The gas stations always had lines because gasoline was scarce.  Motorbike riders bought their fuel by the liter, sometimes from people standing at the curb in front of their house, probably peddling gas gotten from one of the holes.  Sometimes someone would generate a spark with metal cans or some other way, causing the entire pond of gas to flare up into a huge fire.  Those who got burned would not go to the hospital for fear of being arrested for stealing.  They would use some home remedies and heal, or just die.  

The whole country, from the locals all the way up through management, was corrupt.  It was eye opening, and I did not enjoy being there.  

At the hotel, I had bought a pair of bookends carved of African ebony blackwood.  One side was a woman; the other, a man.  I had packed them in my luggage.  Nigeria didn’t want foreigners removing any items from the country that were considered part of their ancestry, and inspectors at the airport checked for such things.  Before the inspector opened my bag, I reported my purchase, and had to pay him the equivalent of ten dollars or so to let me go through, another indication of the endemic corruption there.  If  a person wanted to put a bomb on an airplane, I suppose there was a way to pay off the inspector.  As we entered the concourse from where our plane would depart, we were approached by one of the army officers who asked if we “had anything” for him.  There was no other reason for him to stop us.  I told him we had just paid the last of the Naira we had to a shopkeeper, who had tried to get additional payment from us by asking if we had any watches.  I had replied to him that I had only the watch I was wearing.  Next time, he told us, we’d better bring him a Mobil watch.  It seemed everyone had his hand out, or a hand in your pocket. I don’t know how the locals could even survive in a place like that.  I guess eventually they all learn to live that way if it goes on long enough.

We had made notes of what we saw and gathered technical information on production volume and the like, that we took back to the Netherlands to write the reports of our findings.  In some cases, what we wrote was verifiable; in others, we could only describe what we had seen.  

When we were safely back in the Netherlands, Pat came over to spend the three or four weeks we needed for writing the reports.  She flew into Amsterdam and I caught the train to meet her there.  The Amsterdam airport and railway station are in the same location.  No one was allowed to wait in the arrival area, so I walked around keeping an eye out where I thought she would come.  And finally, she did.  Our team was staying at a hotel in The Hague, so we took a taxi there.  

Pat was able to meet up with our English friends, the Edges, who had brought their camping trailer to the mainland.  While I was going to the office to write reports, she and the Edges took in the sights.  Among other points of interest, they visited Delft, famous for its blue pottery.  In the evenings, we would go out to a nice restaurant with them.  When I was off on the weekend, we went on an art museum excursion, seeing works of  famous Dutch artists.  After the Edges returned to England, Pat and I enjoyed walking along the canals; it seemed any place was as accessible by boat through a canal as by a street.  We saw boats approach a small bridge, where the boater would tie up, hand-crank the bridge open, maneuver the boat through the opening, then hand-crank the bridge closed again.  Bigger roads and highways had bridges high enough for boats to pass under.  The homes we saw on our walks, though often small and nearly identical to the other houses in the neighborhood, commonly had beautiful flowers out in front, and the friendly people tending them enjoyed visiting with us.  

On the 20-minute walk from our hotel to the office, I often saw a lot of people riding bicycles.  Outside the train stations, it was not uncommon to see perhaps 500 bicycles parked all in one area, provided by the government for free public use.  People would ride to wherever they were going, then leave the bike for someone else to use.

The guys in the office invited my partner and me to have a beer after work at an establishment that was featuring live music that evening.  Two ladies, probably in their fifties or sixties, were also enjoying the music as they each rolled a baby carriage, back and forth, back and forth, and tended to the child.  Later, as they pushed the carriages past us, we saw that the babies were lifelike dolls.  We never did figure out what that was all about.

We were very conscious of the effect World War II had on The Netherlands, and how it had stayed with them for a long time.  Amsterdam is a beautiful city with numerous museums; the history has been carefully preserved, even of such places as where American servicemen were housed.  We visited the Anne Frank museum and took a guided boat tour through the canals.  

When we rode the rails between Amsterdam and The Hague, we saw many little houses about the size of a single room.  People from the city would have gardens in the country and these were their weekend shelters with a bed and cooking facilities.  Amsterdam had many street vendors and performers.  There were also areas where the wind was blocked and people sunbathed, topless women even.  I suffered only two black eyes as a result of observing this phenomenon.   

After several days’ layover, we left Hong Kong and flew into Bangkok, Thailand, the biggest city in the country.  There were three of us consultants and our wives.  We spent the night at the airport’s hotel and were picked up the next morning by a minibus the company had sent to drive us to Pattya.  We spent a couple of nights in a hotel there until our apartments were ready in Ban Chang.  This area of Thailand, a third-world country, had been cleared of jungle for maybe ten years at the most.

We were assigned drivers as a way of employing a Thai citizen, as well as to eliminate culpability if we had an accident while driving ourselves.  We were taken first to a golf course that was part of the apartment complex in which we would live in Ban Chang, newly constructed for housing foreigners who were helping with the design and construction of the refinery.  Each of the four towers had six floors with two apartments per floor.  Our apartment was assigned to us, with the loan of several pieces of furniture—beds, a divan and chair—until our furniture, shipped over from Texas, arrived.  Another part of the complex was a club house, where we could have dinner or lunch or drinks.  

After we had settled in a bit, we were taken to where the refinery was being built to get our work assignments.  I was in training and was assigned a class who would be working in the area I would be supervising when we got started. My first class had probably ten employees, and the second had about eight.  Many Thai girls attended school until fourth grade; boys would often go on to tech school, many training to be mechanics for repairing cars and motorcycles.  Our employees had learned basic English and could speak to and understand us.  Some had been  sent to Fort Worth, Texas, for further language instruction at American Airlines’ school where their own employees were taught different languages.  We had gotten to know several of them when we lived in Dallas.  It was common for the teachers to assign an American nickname to each student, like Jake or Joe, for example.  Once during a barbecue given for the Thais and the Americans who were working on the project, two Thai fellows kind of latched onto Pat and me.  Although they were hard for us to understand, they did a good job of understanding us.  One kept trying to tell us the nickname he had been assigned.  “Biwwy.  Biwwy!”  But we just couldn’t get it.  Finally he said, “You know Biwwy the Kid.  Bang!”  In Thailand, our friendship with “Biwwy” grew; although he wasn’t working in my area, he still found ways to gravitate toward wherever I was.

In our observations of the Thai people, we noticed that women actually did more work  manually than the men did.  We would see them sweeping the streets, doing landscape work,  and the like.  As I did some hiring interviews, I often needed a translator because some of them didn’t speak any English.  It was common to hear them express the desire to have a good job,  a home, a car, and then a family.  They sounded much like American youth.

We had training sessions every day with each of our classes, and went to observe the construction of the refinery to acquaint ourselves with where structures were located.  Part of the assignments to our classes involved locating different tanks, pumps or other equipment within the refinery grounds.

Near the refinery were manufacturers of electronics, like televisions and cell phones, which provided bus transportation to and from work for their employees.  The refinery, too, furnished a ride to work from some areas.  Companies that were constructing the refinery had what looked like grain trucks to transport their employees.  While they waited on the truck, the Thais would squat on their heels rather than sit or stand.  Then they’d load up onto the truck, standing packed to go wherever they would be working. 

I was assigned to the tank farm and the marine terminal.  We also had an SPM, a single point mooring, 15 miles out in the Gulf of Thailand.  The big tankers bringing in crude oil would unload there and an underwater 48-inch pipeline brought it to the refinery’s crude tanks.  Refinery employees worked off a boat near the unloading point to make sure that nobody tampered with or stole anything off that single point mooring platform or damaged the 24-inch hoses attached to flotation devices. They were also there to prevent big ships from coming in across our pipeline with their anchor down.  This boat also did spill recovery.  If any product spilled in loading and unloading the tankers, they were there to lay down booms and recover the spill.  We also had to be trained on that work also, and spent several days onboard the ship.  Although it was fun, there was a lot of work to it also.  

The wives had projects of their own.  Because they were from all over the world, it was an adventurous thing when they got together; the language barrier caused them trouble making conversations and getting acquainted.  Pat started contemplating what would help and remembered her mother used to belong to a quilting club.  She asked them if they would like to learn to make quilts, so that each lady would have her own quilt to take home.  Taking turns hosting, once a week they would get together for the afternoon, to get to know each other as they sewed and got things done.  They each made blocks with their name and the country they were from, then exchanged them with all the other ladies.  The completed quilts made really a nice keepsake of their time together in Thailand; Pat gave hers to Tori.  I teased Pat that they must have served margaritas because they were always giggling.

We got Saturdays and Sundays off.  On Saturday mornings, our international group of guys had a golf gathering and were the first bunch to tee off just as it got light.  I just started playing golf about a year before I retired, and I was not very good.  We kept scores and added a handicap.  Afterwards we went to the clubhouse and got a couple of buckets of beer, paid for by the golfer with the best score.  Luckily, I never had to buy the beer.  I got good enough to know I needed to quit after I came back to the states.

We had a lot of social life also in the evenings.  A bunch of us would go to the clubhouse for dinner, or we would load up in cars and go to the different restaurant areas and resorts within about 15 miles from where we lived.  We’d have maybe eight people around the table and had a good time.  One place had a band; we Americans got up and danced sometimes, which the band appreciated, and so did we.  We ate mostly pork, chicken, or seafood.  What we in the U.S. call shrimp, they called prawn and were as big as your hand.  Some were from the sea and some were farm raised, a very different kind of livestock from Kansas farms.  There was only one restaurant in Pattya where you could get a steak.  That was the only place I know of that served beef.  The only cow animal you would see was water buffalo they used to farm in the rice paddies and such.  

Crops they had included bananas, coconuts and tapioca.  Before the bananas were  ready to be harvested, the banana growers would build little shacks out in the banana orchard.  Someone would stay there to keep monkeys out of the orchard until harvest.  After harvest, no one needed to stay there for another several months.  They also had elephants used for clearing the forest, and I don’t know what else they used them for.  We were out once when our driver was off for the evening.  I was driving home in the dark and came up behind a truck without tail lights and nearly ran into it.  I told Pat, “That guy better get his lights on!”  But as we got a little closer we discovered it was the butt end of an elephant!  He almost got rear ended by me.  

 

Pat and the other ladies visited a farm where elephants were trained and gave rides.  No saddles were available so she rode one bareback.  The prickly hair on the elephant’s skin made the experience like riding a porcupine.  As Pat walked around the yard, a young elephant came running toward her, ears flopping.  The trainer hollered, “No banan, no banan!”  Apparently that little elephant thought she was going to feed him a banana.  He was running so fast that if the handler hadn’t gotten him turned, he’d have run into her.  Pat was afraid she’d be a floor mat for a baby elephant.

 In Thailand, there were many street vendors that sold food.  Some had a four-sided glass box attached to the front of their bicycle, or a wagon that had their food and equipment.  Inside that glass box were ducks that had been killed and plucked and were hanging by their heads.  The vendors would stop on the street, and people could pick out the duck they wanted to have cooked.  The vendor would use their hotplate and a five gallon bucket.  When the food was ready, the people would stand there to eat it.  They would hand back their plate when they were through; the plate would be dipped into the bucket of water, and was then ready for the next diner.  We never ate food from a street vendor because they didn’t have very good sanitation. 

In a restaurant, we would usually get the prawns or pork chop or something like that.  We’d get fried rice with an egg mixed in; or they’d serve rice with an “over-medium” egg laying on top. 

When my driver took me to work at the refinery every morning, there were activities I knew would be going on at a certain location before I got there.  For example, a ring was set up in a yard where fighters trained in boxing and kicking.  Every morning there’d be several boxers standing around outside the ring watching those inside the ring sparring.  

At another location was a slaughterhouse for hogs.  The hogs were transported in the back of a pickup in cages so short that the animals couldn’t stand but had to crawl in on their knees.  By the time we drove by, they had already butchered the hogs, I don’t know how many a day but several.  They had to start early in the morning to be able to make their deliveries to the stores.  Most of the meat had already been hauled off by that time and someone was using a water hose to wash everything down to be ready for the next night’s work.  It was different from what we’re used to.

The population of Thailand is 95% Buddhist.  If I rode with my driver through the town or sat on the street somewhere, I often saw Buddhist monks, perhaps five in a group, each one carrying a little pail.  As they walked by the different storefronts, the proprietors would run out and give them food, like rice and such.  That’s how they got their rations, I guess, every day. Although it wasn’t mandatory, each Buddhist male was expected to spend a couple of months as a monk during his lifetime. 

Bangkok is a dirty city.  In Thailand the sewers run under the sidewalks and the slab of the sidewalk is the top of the sewer.  Often the cracks between the sections of the sidewalk  were not sealed very well and the ammonia coming through would burn your eyes. 

Most families didn’t have a car, but the luckier ones had a motorbike.  Two riders were the limit, but we would frequently see the dad driving, the mom always sitting side-saddle on the back and often holding a baby, and several children standing up and hanging on somehow.  

Not only were we expected to support the local economy by hiring a driver, employing someone to clean our apartment was also assumed.  Pat, being Pat, didn’t want or need help, but eventually got the same woman who cleaned many of the other Americans’ apartments to come in four hours a week.  Les didn’t know much English, but she and Pat could mostly understand each other.  Before she arrived, Pat would be hurrying around, doing the dishes or picking up, but Les would correct her, saying, “No, no.  My job.”  She was very kind, like most of the Thai people, and an older lady; I think she and Pat mostly just goofed off.   

 

Our caddies, when we played golf, were women in big bonnets with veils to block the sun; they were anxious to keep their skin from getting browner.

Pat and a friend from California had been at a luncheon at the clubhouse.  When they returned to the woman’s apartment on the fourth floor (ours was on the fifth), they found the door locked.  Thinking initially that her husband had come back and locked the door, they soon discovered that the apartment had been broken into.  Missing were some Levis and tools.  Pat and the woman went to the floor’s lobby window overlooking the parking lot and shouted to the drivers that they needed help right away.  The drivers came up, got the door opened, searched the rooms, and found another driver, who they later discovered had a drug problem, laying on a shelf behind hanging clothes in the master bedroom closet.  The rescuers dragged him down all those flights of stairs, beating on him the whole way.  

Our drivers took good care of us, and we tried to take good care of them.  Our first driver, Bamein we helped with paying his rent.  We often tipped our helpers as well.  Our second driver, Sushot, was from an area in northern Thailand populated by artists such as potters.  

We enjoyed our year there and came home to America before the refinery opened.  

Following retirement from Texaco and the many years of working there, I could see in about three weeks that I was not going to be happy doing nothing, so I took another job.  I went to work for SGS out of Deerfield, Texas; my territory covered the south half of Kansas, border to border.  SGS worked with the World Bank in the process of loaning money to people in third world countries. The bank required inspections on site on behalf of the people who ordered a product.  As we got an order, SGS would inspect for quality, as well as quantity, on products being loaded in shipping containers. 

 

I worked a great deal with Rubbermaid down in Winfield, inspecting water bottles they were sending to the Philippines.  I assumed the products were going to a reseller there.  

A Cessna airplane, going to the Gold Coast in Africa, had to be checked.  I needed to take pictures, verify serial numbers on the radios and all the equipment.

One of the oddest products I was sent to verify were cattle hides from packing plants in Dodge City ordered by a company in the Philippines.  The hides had to be rejected if they had too many holes or were too large.

In Hutchinson, I reviewed stainless steel restaurant or food service equipment.  A company in Parsons made oil tanks in sections, to be bolted together on site.  My job was to inspect the sections and make sure they had the right number of parts before it was shipped to South America.  A company in Peru needed machinery to manufacture chicken feed, so I inspected that equipment.  Oil products in El Dorado needed examination as well. 

These inspections were not just a simple glance; a great deal of precision and security went into the job.  For example, I had to break open cases of whatever I was checking to make sure it met the required criteria.  When a shipping container was being loaded with products, I’d have to lock the doors on it while the workers had a break for lunch so that nothing could be taken in or out until we were ready to get started again.  When the container was loaded, it was sealed, and a report was written and sent.

It was also my responsibility to inspect the jet fuel to be loaded onto Air Force One if and when the President of the United States flew into Wichita to fuel up.  I would order testing on a sample of the fuel on the truck.  The truck would then be locked until the test results came back, before the plane could be filled with fuel.  Fortunately, that never happened on my watch. 

In July of 1993, we bought our place on the Lake of the Ozarks and moved here in September.  That ended my work with SDS because I was out of the region they were covering.  About six weeks after we moved to Missouri, I got a call from the man who was previously the  Manager for Operations at Texaco, asking if I was interested in a job in Dallas writing training manuals for a new refinery to be built in Thailand.  Pat and I went to Dallas and I interviewed with Caltex, owned by Chevron and Texaco, conducting operations overseas.  I worked there about a year.  My boss there, John Edge, was from the UK, living in southern Wales, and he had worked for British Petroleum as a captain on ship tankers hauling crude oil.

John’s wife Margret and Pat got along well, too.  There were people from all over the world working together on this new refinery, from South Africa, Australia, the U.S., Canada, and other countries.  After we had been in Dallas for a year, we got another company to help with writing the manuals, training material, and operating procedures.  There were 15 or so writers who needed oversight and clarification.  John was in charge of a tank farm and the marine terminal.  I had never worked around a ship, so I had things to learn also.  He went on to Thailand and we went to Houston for six months until that work was completed.  

Although the company was unsure about whether I would go overseas, John wanted me.  There were four of us from the El Dorado refinery, though I was the first to go to work for them.  When we flew from Houston, we laid over for a couple of days in Hong Kong.  When we landed and went downstairs to the main entrance, there were thousands of people, some holding signs with the name of the person or persons they were there to pick up.  I felt very out of place among all the Chinese people.  I was conscious of how it would feel to people from other countries to come to a city like New York and be surrounded by people of a different nationality.

 

As Pat and I did some touring in Hong Kong, one area was right next to the boundary with China.  We got our picture taken with an elderly Chinese lady on one of our tourist stops where they sell knick knacks; Pat bought a brocade tablecloth that she gave to Tori.  When we left Hong Kong, a man we spoke with was very concerned that Hong Kong would be handed back over to China in just a couple of years after we were there.  We could tell he was concerned and almost frightened about the prospect. 

How incredibly awesome it is to have the opportunity to know your grandchildren. You want to hold them, protect them, and never let them grow up – which we all know is impossible. Let Me Love You a Little bit More before you Aren’t Little Anymore.

I did not have a relationship with my grandmother, and to have you all in my life and to really know you have been one of my greatest joys. I have had the pleasure of knowing all of you. I was there when Briahnna, Sadeyah, and Mariyah were born. It has been a pleasure to see you grow from that baby girl into the beautiful young woman you are today. Jordan, you were three years old when you came into my life, and I see that little girl, and I am so proud of the wife and mother you are today. Lola, you are the youngest of the grandchildren and the youngest girl. I was not there when you were born, but Dindem and I were on the way, and as I write this, you are only 2 1/2 years old; I can already see the little lady you are going to become. Trey and Trenton, you guys have grown up so fast it seems like yesterday you were little boys. I pray for God’s blessings on you as you find your way. There is a place for you in this world. Logan and Langston are just little guys now, but I know if you listen to your parents, your path will be easier. You all will find your place in time.

To you all, if I could sit you down now and tell you how much I love you and how to get through this thing called life. I would ask you to please make God first in your life; let him be your guide.  Know that you are loved unconditionally. Always. For as long as I live, you will be in my heart. These are the things I really want to pass on to you.

Always show kindness and empathy.

People will be drawn to you when you are understanding, caring, and compassionate.

Treat others as you would want to be treated.

Give others a hand up. You get what you give, so be helpful and encouraging to others.

Go all-in when you have a task to complete or a goal to achieve. Give 100% to any undertaking.

Be happy about successes and know you are capable.

Remember: finding the 12 ways it didn’t work leads to the 13th way that it will.

Have pride in your accomplishments.

The prize is always sweeter when you’ve worked hard and scrambled to get there.

Be Humble. Admit when you make a mistake. We are all human. Start again and do it right next time.

Have Strength. When things go wrong, they probably will, at some point, be strong.

Be courageous. Pick yourself up, dust off, and push ahead. There will be highs and lows during your life.

With the perseverance and strength you have inside, you will be able to handle whatever comes your way.

Learn, learn, learn. It never ends. Take Online Classes. Take Classes at the Community College.

You will never know it all, even if you think you already do. There’s that “one more thing” that could tip the scales in your favor.

Be Open-Minded. Listen to advice from others, even if you disagree with them. Consider their opinions, but make your own decisions.

Be Independent and choose your own way. You are in control of your own life.

You are the one to live with your choices.

Be Involved. Make the world a better place. Go green, fight for what’s right, support a cause. VOTE, VOTE, VOTE

Do what you can to leave your mark – – let them know you were here!

Find Happiness. Laugh. Enjoy your life. Have fun. Be happy.

Remember Family. Spend time with your family.

The love and support you have from them can’t be measured.

Know Where You Came From. Learn about your connections, traditions, and history.

Love God. Find a way to worship and love your God. Have faith in Him through all things.

And the biggest obstacle you will face is FEAR.

“For though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again, but the wicked stumble when calamity strikes.” – Proverbs 24:16

Satan’s favorite tool to diminish your faith is the fear of failure. But you cannot serve God and be constantly worried about what other people think. You have to move forward. Proverbs 29:25 says, “Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe” (NIV).

So, how do you get rid of the fear of failure?

One way is to redefine failure. What is failure? Failure is not failing to reach your goal. Failure is not having a goal. Failure is not failing to hit your target. Failure is not having a target. Failure is not falling down. Failure is refusing to get back up. You’re never a failure until you quit. So, if you’re attempting something for the glory of God, that’s a good thing. Failure is not trying and not accomplishing anything. Failure is failing to try.

Another way to get rid of the fear of failure is never to compare yourself to anybody else. You’re always going to find somebody who’s doing a better job, and you get discouraged. And, you’re always going to find somebody who’s not doing as good a job as you are, and you become full of pride. Both of them will mess up your life. Discouragement and pride will keep you from serving God’s purpose for your life.

The Bible says in Galatians 6:4, “Each of you must examine your own actions. Then you can be proud of your own accomplishments without comparing yourself to others” (GW).

Did you notice that the Bible says there is legitimate pride? There’s a good kind of pride, and there’s a wrong kind of pride. The bad kind of pride is comparing: “I’m better than so and so!” The good kind of pride is, “God, I’m proud of what you’re doing in my family, my business, my life, my walk of faith.” That’s the good kind of pride.

When you get to Heaven, God isn’t going to say, “Why weren’t you more like so and so?” He’s going to say, “Why weren’t you who I made you to be?”

Let go of your fear of failure because anything you’re attempting for God in faith is a good thing, regardless of the results.

Lord, help me let go of my fear of failure. I know Satan wants to use my fears to hold me back from living boldly for You. Forgive me for not living in faith, and help me from this moment on to live with bold confidence in You. Lord, help me not compare myself to others around me. Instead, I pray that I can keep my eye on You and live a life that proclaims Your excellence. In Jesus’ Name, I pray, Amen.

I wish you a good life full of Love, Joy, and Happiness. I wish you just enough!!

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.

I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final goodbye. (Author unknown)

But most important of all, I wish for you; I wish you to know Jesus.
5 Spiritual Habits that Will Change the Way You Live
Make God the one thing you pursue above anything else.
As a new season begins, here are 5 spiritual disciplines you can practice to make time with God a daily habit.

1. Give thanks
“We give thanks to you, O God; we give thanks, for your name is near. We recount your wondrous deeds.” – Psalms 75:1
Have you experienced healing? Answered prayers? Breakthrough in the life of someone you love? Salvation? As you seek God’s heart for this new season, take a moment to thank Him for what He’s already done.

2. Spend 5 minutes in silence
“Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me.” – John 15:4
Abiding in Jesus starts with stillness. Pause, take a deep breath, and give anything concerning you over to God. Spend 5 minutes centering your heart on the One who matters most.

3. Remember Whose you are
“You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” – 1 Corinthians 6:19-20
God loves you. (Let that sink in.) The price He paid for you cost Him everything. Remind yourself of Whose you are, and then confidently dream big with God for this new season.

4. Meditate on God’s Word
“Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day.” – Psalms 119:97
How does Jesus want you to live? One of the best ways to find out is to spend time in Scripture. As you do, ask God to speak to you through His Words about what your next right step should be. (Not sure how to start studying God’s Word? Read this.

5. Focus on what is excellent
“…If there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” – Philippians 4:8 You have been given the mind of Christ. If you’re not sure of what you should do in your next season, try asking yourself: What is praiseworthy? What decisions would honor God?
Make a list of whatever comes to mind, and intentionally pursue those things.

By practicing these 5 steps every day, you can actively create keystone habits: acquired patterns of behavior that form the basis of your daily routines.
Imagine what good personal habits you might be cultivating a year from now because you purposefully chose to pursue intimacy with God today!

Grammy loves you. I will love you forever; I’ll love you for always; as long as I live, my babies, you’ll be. You will always be my Children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and I am forever proud of you. Wherever life may take you, may you know this to be true.
I Love You All. Your Grammy……Martha Jane Vernon Williams Harrell

Romans 15

13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

These images portray my beloved family, whom I am grateful to have been blessed with by God.

On October 1, 1841 in Waldenburg, Germany William T. Eichholz was born.  William Theodore Max Rhinehart Eichholz, which he changed to W.T. Eichholz in the United States.  

Private Texas LT Artillery in the Confederate States Army

Married on April 13, 1868 to Friedricka Louis Dreier

Died in Cuero, Texas on February 13, 1916.

Wm. T. Eichholz was born at Waldenburg, Schlessen, Prussia, October 1, 1841 and died February 13, 1916 in Cuero, DeWitt County, Texas at the age of 74 years.  His parents Carl Johann Eichholz and Charlotte Louise von Geisler Eichholz sent him to America when he was nineteen years of age.  They did not want him conscripted into the German army.  He had an older brother already living in Ohio or Tenessee.  However I do not think it was the plan for him to go to the older brother.  He landed in Galveston, Texas.  He knew of a German family living in the Meyersville community.  So he and several other young men walked from Galveston to Meyersville.  This was a long and hard journey.  The only thing he really knew about them was that they raised chickens.  One morning when they thought they were in the right area, they heard a rooster crow.  He headed in the direction of that sound and fortunately found the family he was seeking.  He came to America in October 1860 and the next year joined the Confederate Army and served as a company clerk until the war was over in 1865.  He was well educated.  In Germany he went to school twelve months each year.  He could speak, read and write five languages, play the violin and was knowledgable in all subjects to make a fine school teacher.  It was the custom in Germany to give a child the names of all uncles and sponsors.  He was given seven names: William Theodore Max Rhinehart.  He said he forgot the other three.  Great Great Grandfather was Carl Johann Eichholz and Great Great Grand Mother was CHarlotte Louise von Geisler Eichholz.  I have little information on these two.  I do know that he was an accountant in the government of the Kaiser.  There were several children.  A brother had come to American before he came.  Another brother was an artist and painted the blue cups about which you know.  There was also a sister named Anna.  The children were well educated.  To my knowledge the brother in Ohio/Tennessee never saw him, however they did correspond.  Once when I was young his daughter Kate and her daughter Helen visited Tanta Paula.  Kate was elderly at the time.  I had a picture of the relatives in Germany but it was destroyed in the fire along with a lot of other information.

The editor of the Deutsche Rundschau, was born in Waldenburg, Province of Silesia, kingdom of Prussian, Germany in 1841.  He came to Texas in 1860 landing at Galveston after a voyage of seventy-one days.  He proceeded to Bastrop, Texas where his brother was located and entered the employ of the leading merchant as clerk and bookeeper.  In July 1861, he removed to Austin and soon after joined the Confederate Army, enlisting in the Battery of Light Artillery under Captain H. Wilke’s command, remaining with this company until the close of the war, when he located at Yroktown in 1865 and began to teach school.  For the following fourteen years Professor Eichholz was principal of the Yorktown School.  He taught also at VIctoria and Indianola with the same success.  After ten years he was recalled to take charge of Yorktown Normal School and superintended it for ten years.  After a career of twenty-six years as an educator he came to Cuero and established the Deutsche Rundschau (German Observer) on July 3, 1891.  His paper is the only German newspaper of DeWitt county, is rapidly gaining in circulation and prestige.  It is independent in its politics, but supported the democratic ticket at the last election.  It has done much to unite the Germans in closer social bonds.  Professor Eichholz took a prominent part in the organization of the Germania society, being their first secretary.  His is alos leader of the singing choir.

Ferdinand, brother in Bastrop, will move to galveston. 15 january 1860 birthday,unsure of age

Stepmother 12 dec 1859 birthday

On October 1, 1841 in Waldenburg, Germany William T. Eichholz was born.  William Theodore Max Rhinehart Eichholz, which he changed to W.T. Eichholz in the United States.  

Private Texas LT Artillery in the Confederate States Army

Married on April 13, 1868 to Friedricka Louis Dreier

Died in Cuero, Texas on February 13, 1916.

Wm. T. Eichholz was born at Waldenburg, Schlessen, Prussia, October 1, 1841 and died February 13, 1916 in Cuero, DeWitt County, Texas at the age of 74 years.  His parents Carl Johann Eichholz and Charlotte Louise von Geisler Eichholz sent him to America when he was nineteen years of age.  They did not want him conscripted into the German army.  He had an older brother already living in Ohio or Tenessee.  However I do not think it was the plan for him to go to the older brother.  He landed in Galveston, Texas.  He knew of a German family living in the Meyersville community.  So he and several other young men walked from Galveston to Meyersville.  This was a long and hard journey.  The only thing he really knew about them was that they raised chickens.  One morning when they thought they were in the right area, they heard a rooster crow.  He headed in the direction of that sound and fortunately found the family he was seeking.  He came to America in October 1860 and the next year joined the Confederate Army and served as a company clerk until the war was over in 1865.  He was well educated.  In Germany he went to school twelve months each year.  He could speak, read and write five languages, play the violin and was knowledgable in all subjects to make a fine school teacher.  It was the custom in Germany to give a child the names of all uncles and sponsors.  He was given seven names: William Theodore Max Rhinehart.  He said he forgot the other three.  Great Great Grandfather was Carl Johann Eichholz and Great Great Grand Mother was CHarlotte Louise von Geisler Eichholz.  I have little information on these two.  I do know that he was an accountant in the government of the Kaiser.  There were several children.  A brother had come to American before he came.  Another brother was an artist and painted the blue cups about which you know.  There was also a sister named Anna.  The children were well educated.  To my knowledge the brother in Ohio/Tennessee never saw him, however they did correspond.  Once when I was young his daughter Kate and her daughter Helen visited Tanta Paula.  Kate was elderly at the time.  I had a picture of the relatives in Germany but it was destroyed in the fire along with a lot of other information.

The editor of the Deutsche Rundschau, was born in Waldenburg, Province of Silesia, kingdom of Prussian, Germany in 1841.  He came to Texas in 1860 landing at Galveston after a voyage of seventy-one days.  He proceeded to Bastrop, Texas where his brother was located and entered the employ of the leading merchant as clerk and bookeeper.  In July 1861, he removed to Austin and soon after joined the Confederate Army, enlisting in the Battery of Light Artillery under Captain H. Wilke’s command, remaining with this company until the close of the war, when he located at Yroktown in 1865 and began to teach school.  For the following fourteen years Professor Eichholz was principal of the Yorktown School.  He taught also at VIctoria and Indianola with the same success.  After ten years he was recalled to take charge of Yorktown Normal School and superintended it for ten years.  After a career of twenty-six years as an educator he came to Cuero and established the Deutsche Rundschau (German Observer) on July 3, 1891.  His paper is the only German newspaper of DeWitt county, is rapidly gaining in circulation and prestige.  It is independent in its politics, but supported the democratic ticket at the last election.  It has done much to unite the Germans in closer social bonds.  Professor Eichholz took a prominent part in the organization of the Germania society, being their first secretary.  His is alos leader of the singing choir.

Ferdinand, brother in