An Enigmatic Creation

The holiday that opens up the summer season is over.  Memorial Day is usually considered the start of summer activities.  Swimming pools open, graduations are over, many schools are out for the summer, and folks are planning vacations, trips, and get-togethers.  The weather is turning warmer and more summer-like.  Wheat in the grain belt is ripening and plants in the garden are flourishing in the warmth and rain.

Memorial Day, of course, is more than the herald of summer.  It has become a three-day holiday of boating, picnics, and travel, but also solidly remains a day of remembrance…of war and peace, sacrifice and duty.  A remembrance of family and friend, ancestor and contemporary.  We stop if even for a few moments in the peace of the cemetery and remember those who have gone before us.

For many of us, a visit to the cemetery once a year is an anticipated, yet tentative task.  At the cemetery where the Planks are mostly interred, we take a look around to see the newly dug sites and check to see whose body may be at rest there.  Most of the time we know who it is since we come from a small, rural area and the cemetery is a rural church cemetery.

Sometimes, we already knew of that person’s passing.  Sometimes, though, we are surprised to learn of the passing of an old friend or distant relative.  And sometimes we look at the newer, but not very recent grave sites and remember again the passing of someone we once knew about, but it had slipped our minds over the past year.

Those kinds of slips of the mind, I’m afraid, will become more and more common; not just regarding those who have died and gone before us.  But rather in many other ways, we will one time know something, then a year or more later “learn” of it again.  We will then remember back to when we first heard of it and criticize ourselves for forgetting.

And then, as if the holiday weekend had a split personality, we get together with family and friends.  We barbeque.  We go boating and camping.  We fish and hike and eat and visit.  We enjoy the company of others.  We reminisce and catch up.  We travel.  The whole three day weekend seems busier and more filled with events and “stuff” to do than any normal work day or week.

And so it goes (to borrow a phrase).  I have to wonder what someone who might come from another galaxy, and who watches what we do here on earth might have to say about how we do things.  Nevertheless, the way we do things IS the way we do things.  And if we really didn’t like it, we’d change, I suppose.  So here’s to the human body, soul and spirit, created by God and endowed with amazing capabilities of thought, reason, and emotion.  We are indeed an enigmatic creation, but in many ways wouldn’t have it any other way.

That Gentle Tug

“I don’t know where the culture line is between back there and up there is, but we’re going to cross it at some point.”

So said I tonight on the way from Harper to Wichita.  Harper is the town where I was born, raised, and we raised our sons.  Wichita is where we live now.  Somewhere in between the two cities, along highway 42, lies a culture “line” that when crossed, changes how we think, react, and act about and toward a lot of things having to do with life and living.

Oh, some things stay the same regardless of which side of the line we’re on.  But there are so many things that are an integral part of one culture, but are totally foreign to the other.

Just one example of that is eating out.  In Wichita, you can go “out” to eat any time during the day or night and get just about whatever you want.  Fast food joints are open until midnight or later.  Grocery stores are open 24-7.  Many restaurants are open until 11pm, midnight, or later.  And several are open all night.

But in Harper, one has to plan.  First, there aren’t but a few places to eat.  Second, most of them close at 8pm.  Third, one can’t always get what one wants there…Mexican, Chinese, Thai…forget it unless you happen to go to the Country Creamery when it’s open…they do have some Mexican dishes.  Fast food?  Nope.  Have to go to McD’s in Anthony to get your fix, and I’m not sure if it’s open late or not.  Shop for groceries?  Only until early evening.  Then you have to wait until tomorrow or go to the 7-11-type place and hope they have it.

And the traffic.  In Wichita, you have to look out or you’ll be run over.  You have to travel approximately the speed of the normal traffic flow, which is usually 5 to 10 miles over the speed limit.  And you have to do things like merge, move over for ambulances and fire equipment, and watch out for crazies, both in vehicles and on foot or bike.

In Harper, you can sort of drive as you want to (within limits).  If you want to go slow and “look at the crops,” that’s OK.  Others are out doing that too.  Change lanes?  What lanes?  Merge?  From where to where?  Fire trucks?  When they’re out, that’s worthy of a front page article in the local newspaper.  And if you want to turn around, just find someone’s driveway or do a turn in the middle of the road.  That’s fine.

Those are just a couple of examples.  Others might include people waving at you when your vehicles pass each other on the road, even though you don’t know them and they don’t know you.  Especially on rural dirt roads, if you’re out there, the other guy figures you’re supposed to be there and are probably a neighbor from somewhere.  Or you stop in at the local restaurant and are recognized and waited on by the staff who are genuinely glad to see you.  And the owner stops by your table to make sure things are OK.  In Wichita, you don’t know who owns the places where you eat, by and large.  And people try very hard to ignore you as they pass you on the road or sidewalk.

So yes, there is a culture shock as you cross the line in both directions.  People who have never experienced the rural haven’t a clue; neither have those a clue who are rural but have never experienced the urban.   I feel fortunate in that I know both.  I can seemingly move from one to the other without much to-do, although I sometimes feel a gentle tug and longing for what has been whenever we cross the culture line from the rural to the urban.  Funny, though, I don’t feel that tug when we’re going the other way…

Call Me Wimpy

OK, call me wimpy.  For one of the few times I can remember in our almost 40 years of married life, I got into our tornado hidey-hole with my wife last Sunday.  Normally I’m NOT out looking at the clouds; I’m looking at the radar and the TV.  But the house went dark when the lights went off, and on KFDI on the battery radio, they said the tornado was spotted just south of Mid Continent Airport.

We live just a half mile or so west of the airport, and I was thinking deep inside myself that the storm was moving away from us, but stranger things have happened than to have something change and now a whirlwind is right on top of us.  So I got a chair and sat in the little closet under the basement stairway while the wife sat on some pillows over in the corner.  We had our medications (important for old folks), a light, battery radio, blankets and pillows, and a few other things we thought were important like an extra cell phone battery fully charged.

We didn’t spend a long time in there because a short while later they said the storm was farther away from us.  We came out and surveyed things which by now consisted of rain and small hail and some wind.  I called the power company’s “out of service” line and was told by the mechanical man that it would be 18 to 32 hours before we were restored.

I started planning hooking up the emergency generator to run the refrigerator and freezer, along with a few lights.  I had a gallon or so of gas in the unit, so knew it would be good for an hour or so.  I got it hooked up and going; then went to the Quick Trip place where they had power and pumped five more gallons of gas into a can…came back and poured it into the machine.

So, we were set for awhile.  Although nothing happened to us from the wind or hail, I felt rather uneasy and disconnected, so to speak, from normal life.  Besides, the generator was now sputtering from time to time and wasn’t running well.  Neighbors came out and we visited about the events of the day.  One neighbor had his generator going as well.  We commiserated as best we could.

After about six hours, the power came back on.  The mechanical man was incorrect, thankfully, and the power was restored just about dark.  I disconnected the generator, hooked back into the power grid, blew out the gas lamps, and went back to normal.  Later in the week, I took the generator apart and found a grounding wire that was sometimes touching the metal shield close to it, causing the spark to be intermittent.  Fixing that fixed the generator.  I put a load on it and ran her for awhile…did fine.

So, call me wimpy.  Hidey hole…generator…gas lamps…radio.  Age tends to make a body look at things just a little differently than it did some years ago.  And that’s not a bad thing.

Right Man...Right Time

Sir Winston Churchill was Prime Minister of Great Britain during the dark years of World War II.  Perhaps never in history has such a great leader emerged at just the right time and in the right place to effect a change in the course of human history.

The German war machine under the guidance of Adolph Hitler, was building strength, conquering nations, and placing much of Europe under the tyranny of the Nazi regime.  Churchill knew that if they were to be stopped, Great Britain would be the one to stop it.  He knew he would have to call on all of the strength and reserve of the British Empire as well as the United States in order to reverse the steamroller that was the German war machine.

And he made no bones about invoking the power of God, just as he did in this excerpt from his first speech to Parliament following his installation as Prime Minister.  The speech was given on this day in 1940.  Read through this part of his speech.  Think about the war and all that it meant for not only Great Britain, but for all of civilization at that time.  Yes, Mr. Churchill was one of a kind…the right kind…in the right place…at the right time.

"I would say to the House, as I said to those who have joined this government: 'I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat.' We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering.

You ask, ‘What is our policy?’ I can say: It is to wage war, by sea, land, and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy.

You ask, ‘What is our aim?’ I can answer in one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival. Let that be realized; no survival for the British Empire, no survival for all that the British Empire has stood for, no survival for the urge and impulse of the ages, that mankind will move forward towards its goal.

But I take up my task with buoyancy and hope. I feel sure that our cause will not be suffered to fail among men. At this time I feel entitled to claim the aid of all, and I say, 'Come then, let us go forward together with our united strength.'"

Thought Provoking

A couple of things happened this past weekend that made me think.  I don’t know that they are related, particularly, except that they both provoked some thought in the cobwebs of my head.  I’ll tell them in no particular order.

We went to “Bearlesque 2013”, a production of the fine arts department of Northwest High School.  One of our teens invited us (actually, she sold me a couple of tickets) to the show as she and one other teen from our youth group was in the production.

There were about 200 teens that participated overall, and overall, it was a great production and performed well.  The teens were on their best behavior, and there were not a few tears shed when they put up senior pictures on the back screen and introduced each of the seniors that were involved in the production.  This was the last “big deal” for them before graduation.

I couldn’t help but think, however, as I saw all the fresh faces and talented kids, that sadly enough, more than one or two of those kids has been abused in some way; has been neglected in some way; has been put down and denigrated in some way.  If statistics are correct, close to ¼ or more will have had some kind of preventable trauma in their lives at the hand of parents or other adults.  This is one reason, sadly, why we need places like Carpenter Place, which I’ll mention in the next section.

I also couldn’t help but think of the resilience of those young people as they put on a smile, danced and sang (and sometimes played), and performed their best for a very appreciative audience.  I had to wonder where each of them would be in five years; ten years; thirty years.

Second, I saw a FB post Saturday from Jennifer, the house mom for the young adult women at Carpenter Place.  She was looking for someone who could help move a bed mattress and springs for a young woman who was moving out of the Carpenter Place campus and on her own in her own apartment.  I volunteered and shortly thereafter was on my way to help.

I don’t even know the young lady’s name, but she knew me.  She rode with me to her new apartment in order to be able to tell me how to get there.  As we went, I asked her how long she had been at Carpenter Place.  She said, “About a year.”  I also said,  “So, this move is a big deal for you.”  She agreed that it was.

As we moved her rather meager things into the apartment (my pickup with the mattress and springs, and an SUV with her other stuff), I wondered what it would be like for her on her first night in her own place.  She had a job, she said, but no vehicle.  Her possessions consisted of little more than what would fit in a regular bedroom closet, except for the bed.

Yet she was nervous, happy, and probably a little scared at being on her own.  Oh, I know Jennifer will always be available, and so will others.  But it’s a big deal, these kinds of moves, and I pray her safety and God’s hand on her as she makes her way in the world.  I wondered, too about where she would be in five years; ten years; thirty years.  And I was humbled and awed that I could have a small part in the success of these young women as I volunteer from time to time fixing things, hauling things, or just encouraging.

So, those are some of my thoughts this past weekend.  Certainly not earth-shattering to say the least.  But if they provoke some thought within you as they did me, so much the better.