Bio: Lindsey was one of the first people I ever met in college. We sat one seat across from each other the first day of class freshman year. My senior year, she was in almost all of my classes. And a majority of them in between too! We both did the same freshman bible study at the Baptist student center. We both eventually ended up going to Antioch Community Church. And being in the same small group. And co-leading together! From BIC classes to church to professional writing classes, Lindsey was my closest friend throughout college, in part because we were always freakin’ around each other!
Lindsey is fun, creative, kind, smart, and fearless. I still remember watching her and our other co-leader Erin jump off a cliff into this pool of water on a camping trip, and it wasn’t nearly deep enough, and they both came up wincing, and I was certain they were both going to be paralyzed! But they weren’t, and props to them for jumping when I was too chicken to. (Though my back feels fine… J)
Lindsey is a person with a clear vision of purpose, and you can see this over and over in her life. She knows what is important to her, so she charges forward on the big stuff and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. She loves God, she loves her family (husband Andrew, baby Grant), she loves the church, and she loves the lost. Her life is a great example of knowing God and striding towards him without wavering or getting distracted by life.
Ninth Day Challenge: “Fun & silly: Got to a museum you haven’t been to before. Perhaps one of the following: American Railway Museum, Edmond Historical Society, Oklahoma Railway Museum, Science Museum Oklahoma, National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum. Stay as long as you like, but at least walk around it. You are no longer Ben Davis, but Andrew Christenson from Manchester UK. Speak and act appropriately. [I made the name up myself].
Serious & good: Go on a prayer walk and dream big with God for your neighbors, neighborhood, schools, churches, businesses, etc.”
Initial Reaction: How much fun – I love the British part! Lindsey knows me well. I love a good accent. Or a bad accent. I just love accents. This will be so much fun. And who knew OK had two competing Railway museums? Thanks Google. I think I may tackle the 45th Infantry division museum – one that I’ve passed the sign for years, but never been to.
Recap:
I drove into the parking lot of the 45th infantry museum, and almost immediately DQ-ed it. It is an OUTDOOR museum, and this day the temperature was about 115 degrees. So that was out. However, right next door to it are signs for the Firefighters museum and the softball hall of fame. I opted for firefighters.
I had on dress clothes from a wedding that morning, and I thought that might help me “sell” the accent, because the Europeans are always much nicer dressed than us ‘Mericans. Here is a pic of me heading into the museum.
Straight from Manchester, what what?
The Firefighters museum is basically two big rooms, one full of old fire engines, the other full of historical exhibits. This Saturday, a cheerful young man, probably no more than 25 years old, was staffing it. I walked in to the entrance to pay him, and he waved at me to hold on for a minute. He was talking to an older man and his grandson, and pointing out some aspect of a giant mural on the far wall. I looked around the museum and saw that there was no one else there besides myself and the three of them. “Uh, oh” I thought. “An accent isn’t as much fun if you don’t get to talk.”
The young man finished his explanation and came over to me. “Just one admission?” he asked. I swallowed and tried to sound nonchalant. “Yes, only one please,” I replied in my attempt at a crisp British accent. “I’m traveling solo today.”
He punched the price in his register without raising an eyebrow. “Five dollars.”
I paid him, adding a “Thank you so veh-ry much,” on for good measure. He handed me a handheld audio tour guide without showing the slightest bit of curiosity about my accent. “So, are you a firefighter?” I asked, enunciating every syllable. He nodded. Tough cookie. “Wheh-re do you woh-k?” I asked. “Mustang,” he said. “It must be teh-ribbly exciting, eh?” I said, refusing to be cowed. He nodded. “It’s an adrenaline rush. I like it.”
Then he turned around and turned a TV on, not because he was trying to be rude but because the conversation was finished. So I started my required circuit around the room.
I noted where the grandfather and grandson were, and decided to work my way over to them to force a conversation. But I didn’t want to be too obvious (you know me – Mr. Subtlety) so I actually did pay attention to the first several exhibits. Did you know that dalmatians were first used with firefighting equipment in Europe, because the dogs have a protective instinct towards horses? When these carriages needed to pass through the village, the dalmatians would keep the village dogs back from spooking the horses as they rode through. I think that is so interesting, that without any real training, a dalmatian just naturally wants to protect a horse, a creature many times its size. I think there is definitely a lost Aesop Fable that addresses how this began. Perhaps I will write it. “How the dalmatian got his spots” or something.
There was another display on early telegraphic fire warning systems. Every couple of blocks there would be a pole with one of these emergency boxes on it. If a house caught on fire, people would run to the box and flip the switch. It would ring (or something) in the fire station, and the firemen would pull out a log book and look up where the emergency box was. They would hitch up the horses, drive there, and the person who turned the switch was supposed to wait and take them back to where the fire was. It was a system with some wasted time in it, but the best possible system they could have back then.
After exploring this exhibit (which had an old warning box that used to be in a fire station), I saw the grandpa and his grandson had flown the coop. I’m afraid I’ve inherited my father’s curse. He genuinely enjoys museums, and will read EVERY SINGLE DISPLAY CARD if you don’t rush him along. Even though I don’t really care that much about ancient fire equipment, I had gotten sucked into this thing and missed my chance to inflict my accent on the pair. I decided to keep working my way around the room and, like a spider, wait to see if more visitors came into the museum I could talk to.
There were more historical facts I learned. The handheld audio guide was actually really cool. It had sound effects, music, and narration. When I finished the main room, I headed into the engine room. There were two impressive items in this room. One was a monster fire truck probably from the 60s that had a full-on skyscraper ladder on it. It barely fit in the length of the room. The second was the World’s Largest® collection of firefighter patches. And despite some dubious claims to be found in Oklahoma, I actually believe this to be true. Three of the walls were covered, row upon row upon row, with firefighter patches from all over the world. Apparently this one firefighter would collect them everywhere he went, and then started writing places asking for patches, and then donated them to the museum, where visitors have continued donating patches. Patches from Germany, Italy, England, every state imaginable, even Canada! (Do they even have fires up there?)
It would appear that firefighters never moved out of the jean jacket/patches craze of the 80s. I’m sure somewhere there is a girl named Lisa Frank with bodacious trapper keeper designs and neon shoe laces that curled who would walk into that room with her jean jacket and simply pass out from the adrenaline rush.
I looked at the engines first, and that was interesting for about 5 minutes, so then I moved to looking at the patches, and that was interesting for 10 minutes. In that time, no one else came into the museum. Tragically. So I went back to bother the young money-taker by the door.
“Thanks evah so much,” I said jauntily, and handed the audio guide back to the firefighter. “Tell me, do you still have poles you slide down when your fire alarm sounds?” He nodded sincerely and simply answered the question. “Some stations do, although mine doesn’t. Newer stations don’t really as much as older ones.”
“Do you think you’ll be a firefighter your whole career?” I asked, starching my words. And that unleashed the floodgates. This young man, Micah, got started on the benefits he has as a full-time firefighter (though volunteers have benefits too, from the union), and then how poorly funded the teacher’s pension is, and that is hurting firefighters somehow, and the state wants to cut some benefit, and blah blah blah. It was like I unscrewed the nozzle of the fire hydrant of irrelevant details in his mind, and he just spewed forth for like five minutes without any opportunity for me to interject.
When he finally paused to breathe, I politely nodded, made some excuse about other engagements, and escaped out of the door. Which was actually probably exactly what a real Brit would have done, and accidentally my most authentic moment.
I’d like to tell you that I made lots of time for the serious/good portion of this challenge, but the reality was that I took some friends to the improv (my new favorite entertainment) and got home really late, so I walked down to the nature trail 2 blocks from my house at 11:50 and prayed for only 15 minutes. But even that small portion of time was cool, because I just leaned against the fence and listened to the wind blowing through the trees, and then more softly through the tall grasses that line the trail, and watched the moon rise, and I felt God calm my heart down as I enjoyed his creation.
I walked back to my house, praying short prayers of snippets of verses over the houses on my walk home. And then I went to bed.
-BD
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