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DANCING ON THE WATER!!!

 A Biographical Account of John and Karen Bohlen And their family, and, their Dance On the Water, with God!

INTRODUCTION

 As our son Joshua would say, and it is probably not original with him, "I was born at a very young age . . ."

 Every person's life is unique.  Every person's life is special.  But every person's life is especially unique and special if Christ lives within that person.  If that person is living according to the plan of God.  I  once heard a person say that the world has yet to see what God can do through one person who is totally committed to Christ.  But, then, we added, "The World has yet to see what can happen when a married couple or a family, or church, or community, or nation, is totally committed to Christ."  Wow!  What an interesting prospect!  Karen and I once read a book aloud to each other, called, In His Steps, where a man wrote about a world society that was totally committed to asking and following through with the question, "What would Jesus do?"  What a powerful book!!!

 So, we wrote a book, How to Rule the World , another on how to have a perfect marriage, called The Sexual Ministry, another, on how to raise a family called, How To Raise 'Purfect' Kids, and another, on how to have healthy relationships, called The Cult of Cannibals.   We wrote another smaller book about  how to live happily ever after, called, The King's Greatest Secret!.  

 But we wanted to write the story of our lives, not because we are so special, but because the mix, the adventure with the Lord is so very special, as is the life and family of every one who allows Christ to have His way!

 Why the title, Dancing On The Water!!! ?  Because while out of the boat, out on the water, walking with the Lord, we may as well put a little style into it, a little sense of humour, a little life, and laughter and hoochy-gooch.  While out here on the water with the Lord, we may as well have a little fun!  Hence the title.  This is the story of our lives, walking with God, and many of the glorious adventures experienced thus far.  Perhaps it will be for our children to write the rest of the story.

  When John was 5 years old, the whole family moved from Burlington, Iowa to the farm country near New London, Iowa, on the road from New London to Yarmouth.  They rented from a man named Wesley Clark, who lived in Mt. Union, Iowa.  John had been attending Kintergarden in Burlington for 6 months with his friends David Schultze and Bill Horne.  But when they moved to the country, John went to first grade, but, ahead of his time.  So, the next year, he entered again into first grade.

  Mr. Simmonds: The Bus Driver

I, John had a special friend. Mr. Simmonds, the bus driver.  I would sit on either side, in the front row, because Mr. Simmons was my friend.  I liked to see what was going on.  Now there were two ways Mr. Simmonds would drive the students home, the long way around and the short way.  The bus driver would take turns going one way on one day, and the other way, the next day, so as to be fair, as to when the children would get home, sooner or later.  If Mr. Simmonds would go the short way, then I could have more time before chores, to listen to the radio, programs such as 'The Cisco Kid', 'The Lone Ranger', 'The Shadow', 'The Green Hornet', 'The Invisible Man', 'Straight Arrow', etc.  On Saturdays, they would listen to 'Buster Brown' when the radio would play and say, "Plunk your magic twanger, Froggi, "Doioioioioing".  Then, "Arf!  Arf!"  Thaaat's my dog, Tiag!  We live in a shoe.  I'm Buster Brown!  Look for me in there, too!"  In between the programs would be advertisements like Bryl Cream and Ajax commercials.

  One afternoon, Mr. Simmonds was planning to go the long way home, and I wanted to get home sooner so I could listen to the radio, so I begged and pleaded with Mr. Simmonds to go the short way.  I begged and pleaded, I whined and begged.  If we went the short way, after we got across the rail road tracks south west of town, we would go straight.  Otherwise, the bus driver would turn left, and drive past the entrance to the Isaac Walton Country Club, and the lake there where I almost drownded one time.  Further and further we went, toward the inevitable turn, but when Mr. Simmonds started to make the turn, I impulsively jumped out of my seat, and grabbed the steering wheel of the bus, and tried to prevent the driver from making his turn.  The bus gave a sickening lurch, as though it could not make up its mind which way to go, then, very quickly, Mr. Simmonds gained control of the wheel, and completed his turn to the left, going home the long way.

  For some reason, my friendship with Mr. Simmonds, was never quite the same, after that incident.  Years later, I would think about Mr. Simmonds, whenever I would want to take over the steering wheel of my own life, when the Lord wanted to drive.  Many times, it would be like I would be saying to the Lord, "Come on Daddy,  Let me drive!  Let me drive!  Let me drive!  Let me drive!"  I would constantly be jumping up and down, wanting God to take the short way, the easiest way, the 'funnest' way.

  That first farm had a long lane that would turn to mud in the early spring thaw, or during long periods of rain.  Sometimes the ruts would be so deep that one would not need to steer at all, as the ruts would take you where you wanted to go.  Sometimes it is like that with people who get so very conditioned to their own ruts, that the Lord can't even lead them.  One Sunday morning, the family, Mother and Daddy, Ruth and Roy, my older sisters Jolene and Sherrill, and my younger brother, Michael, were on our way to church in New London.  The ruts had been muddy the day before when the sun was shining, but they had frozen over night, and as our old Dodge car with the wooden spoked wheels, and the wooden floor passed over these ruts, suddenly, there was a loud explosion of sound and the muffler, which had caught on one of the ruts, came blasting through the floor of the car and hit my ankle.  So, we went to the doctor who said that had I not been wearing combat boots at the time, my ankle would have been broken.  By this time, we were in the middle of the Second World War, and, in the process of playing war, my parents bought me a pair of combat boots, like our army boys wore in the War.  Karen and I remember when the War was over, because the horns were honking and the sirens were sounding and everyone was happy!

  During this time, we moved to the Becky Clark farm, on the main road to town, then, to the Row Farm, near Yarmouth, Iowa.  I would sometimes win speed contests, looking up verses of Scripture, and would win a prize.  Otherwise, we would go to the Oak Street Baptist Church in Burlington, Iowa, 25 miles away, and sing in the Junior Choir.  Sometimes I would sing a solo.  Mother would also be busy singing at weddings and funerals and at church and on special occasions.  Mother was the best singer in the whole world, and other people thought so, too.