Sustenance

It’s a cloudy, rainy, thundery morning today.  Last night was cool and clear, but sometime, overnight, the clouds rolled in and the rain started in earnest about 30 minutes ago.  They say (whoever “they” is) that we will have rain most of the weekend, and can see up to three inches or more.  Good.  We need it.
I will be leaving in about an hour for Western Kansas.  I am taking part in a one-day meeting at Goodland.  It is a church-type meeting (I’m a minister…remember?) called “The Power of the Word”.
I’ll be with friends I haven’t seen for a year or so and will be able to spend the day in God’s country, at 3,500 feet elevation, on the wide-open prairie.  Even though I love living in Topeka, I also like to go “out west” sometimes and get back into what I perceive as a more human reality than the asphalt, noise, and rush of the city.
Yes, there are some asphalt, noise, and city-type things in Western Kansas.  But it doesn’t take a genius to look around and see a whole different way of life…one that depends more on the land, the clouds, and one’s neighbor.  There’s a recognition by those who live in that area that although they are an independent lot, they also have an utter dependence on things that they know they can’t control.  And most of the folks there have a reverence for the Higher Power that sustains them.

One of Life's Lessons

Yesterday, I was helping set up folding tables for a lady in our church who was having a garage sale.  The tables were old and rather heavy.  As I was trying to get one table upright, it slipped and the edge of the table came down on my right big toe and the toe next to it.
It has been years since I experienced pain that exquisite.  I managed to hold my tongue, complete the job, and go about the rest of my day.  I recall thinking that I’m not feeling any blood sloshing around in my shoe, and I can move my toes, so things probably are OK.
Last night I took off my shoes.  There was a blood spot on my sock, and both toes were about the color of purple plums.  This morning, they are sore but I can walk without much of a limp if I try.  I wonder if I’m going to lose a couple of toenails.
Toes aren’t much in this world today…until something happens to awaken a person to their existence.  I’m reminded of the analogy that St. Paul gave regarding the church being like a body.  Some parts are more “honorable”, he says, but all parts are necessary and must work together or the body suffers.  I think I’ve come to a new appreciation of that analogy in the last 24 hours, and the lesson probably will continue for awhile.

The Unlocked Door

I’ll tell you now that this blog will be longer than normal.  Hopefully, you will stay with me through the entirety of it.
We took a quick trip to our hometown in rural Kansas a few days ago.  We had some business to attend to, and thought it best to do it in person as we had papers to sign, etc..  My sister wanted to go with us, so we picked her up in the Wichita area and made the trip.
After we got our business done, we decided to go to a rural church and cemetery in the area where we thought there might be some relatives.  Our other sister is the family genealogist and thought someone might be there.  She wanted any information that might have been on the stone.
This particular cemetery was next to a church we had visited when we were young (back in the 1950’s).  It was part of the denomination we were members of then, but went to another church in the area.  Sometimes, though, we went to this church for special meetings and such.  We hadn’t been there in some time, and for my sis, it was an even longer time.  The church and cemetery were in the “middle of nowhere”, so to speak.  Farm land and pasture surrounded the building.  There were no homes or highways in the area.  While we were there, no vehicles traveled the dirt road in front of the building, to my knowledge.
The building was surrounded by ancient elms, some over 4 feet in diameter.  They were ancient fifty years ago when we were kids, and are even more so now.  A recent ice storm caused damage, I think, but the church folks had the trees trimmed, and they are once again becoming the shade trees that we remembered from years ago.
It looked like the church had re-planted a row of cedars out back.  Several years ago, I think they had grubbed out the old cedars, which had become unsightly and didn’t look good due to years of ice, wind, and weather.  The building had a new roof and newer glass doors on the front.  The cemetery stones were upright and set properly, and the cemetery was mowed.  The property was well-cared for.
The tradition of this church has been that the building be unlocked at all times.  True to that, when I pulled on the front door, it swung open.  Inside, it was cool and even more quiet than out doors.  The building smelled exactly as we remembered from 40 or more years ago when we would go there for special meetings, or “revivals”.  Our youth group would also go there at the invitation of their youth group, at times, for “fellowship”.
I don’t remember much about the revivals, except that they many times were in the summer, and there was no air conditioning at that time.  The ushers did the best they could by opening the windows, but that only brought in the hot air and dust from outside.  And, of course, the place was usually packed, with folding chairs set up in the back and in the aisles.
The speakers also seemed to drone on forever, and for a 10 year old boy to hold still all during that time seemed an impossible task.  I often thought that the grown-ups were doing this deliberately to us kids for some perverted reason, and couldn’t wait until services were finally over and we could all go outside and run off the accumulated energy in a game of tag or hide-and-seek while the adults visited.
We looked at the names on the “mailboxes” in the front entrance.  We recognized many of the names and commented on some.  We also looked over the guestbook and commented on some of the folks who had visited in the last couple of years.  Sis sat on one of the benches and commented on the continuing lack of padding.  I didn’t tell her that we have enough natural padding nowadays to make up for any lack of foam on the seats.
We saw hymnbooks that we had known from long years ago.  The old black hymnal and the accompanying Life Songs #2, both with shaped notes, brought back a flood of memories.  We looked at the collection plates, the same ones we remembered from long ago, and noticed that they were given in memory of someone back in the mid-1950’s.
We went over to the cemetery and not only looked for possible relatives, we also reminisced about people who were there whom we had known.  The cemetery is not large by modern standards, and we were able to walk the whole thing in about 20 minutes.
All too quickly, it was time to go.  I went back to the building and rang the bell that is on a stand to the side of the entrance.  I do not know the story of the bell and will, some day, think to ask someone who does to tell me.
We are no longer members of this denomination, but cherish the ties we have, not only with those folks who have headstones in the cemetery, but also the people who are represented by the names on the foyer mailboxes and in the guestbook.  And I am grateful that they have an “unlocked door” policy, which allowed us to go inside to recall a simpler and in some ways better and more innocent time.  It is good to know that the wonderful people of that church can still live many aspects of that time in their daily lives.  The unlocked door is testimony to that.

Moaning and Groaning

I haven’t blogged in awhile.  My sister is getting on me for not writing anything.  She must not have much to do, because Scotty is just now commenting on a blog I’d written on April 4.  Sis, you need to be in a “family” way.  That’ll give you something to do.
It’s getting ready to rain here, something that all of Kansas really needs right now.  The spring has been pleasant, but dry.  When we went to Southern Kansas a few days ago, the lawns and pastures looked like they normally do in the latter part of July.  The rural roads were dusty and dry.  It’s not good in Central and Southern Kansas, and although it’s better here in Topeka, we still could use some soaking rain.
It’s funny how we moan and groan when the rain seems to never stop, and we also moan and groan when it DOES stop for longer than we think it should.  It’s as if the Almighty takes His cues on when to bring the refreshing water based on our moaning and groaning.
I think there’s something there that’s amiss.  We need to understand that He would send the rain if not a human being one occupied this planet.  And He would stop the rain just as easily, even though not a homo sapiens breathed air.  Kind of brings home the point that what we have to say about it doesn’t matter much.  Maybe we should direct our energies toward something that will do some good.

Take the Time

I took some time out of my day yesterday to go to Gage Park here in Topeka.  The park is old and has quite a history.  It is the home of the Topeka Zoo, a working carousel, a miniature train ride, and many other attractions.  It is well-attended and used by a wide representation of the people of the city.
I went to an area where there was a pond and sat under a tree on one of the benches.  The train came by, about half filled with kids, moms, young people, and older riders.  A lone goose wandered somewhat aimlessly, it appeared, around the pond.  The carousel was busy and people were having fun.  Robins and other assorted birds went about the business of raising families and claiming territory.
This is a good time of the year to do something like that.  It’s not too hot, nor too cold.  There are enough people to make the experience interesting (if you like to watch people), but not so many as to create the idea of crowding.
It’s also a good time to think.  We all need more time to do that.  We spend far too much time being busy and not nearly enough time allowing ourselves to process what we’ve taken into our minds.  Today, take a little time to just sit quietly…on the porch, in your living room…in a park.  Just think.  No music, no IPod, no TV.  Just you and your thoughts.

A Good Reminder

I took a brief trip to York, Nebraska Sunday afternoon, spent the night there, and came back home yesterday.  The purpose of the trip was to interview a young man attending the college there so see if he would be a good candidate for our summer intern slot we have open at our church.
While there, I spent the night with some friends in their older, two-story home.  Monday morning, after getting up, doing the bathroom routine, and taking a cup of coffee from the kitchen, I stepped onto the front porch in their quiet neighborhood.  It was cloudy and cool, and there was little traffic in that part of town.  A couple of robins were singing, and one of the ever-present trains was rumbling through town several blocks to the north.
About that time, a couple houses down the block and on the other side of the street, the front door opened.  A man stepped out, went over on his porch and picked up an American flag.  He unfurled it and placed it into the standard on the side of his porch.  He looked at it for just a second, then turned and saw me.
He looked for a couple of seconds, and I looked for just a few seconds, mostly unconcerned about the man.  After all, I didn’t live here…I was just visiting.  I happened to glance his way again, and he waved at me.  Immediately feeling a little guilty, I waved back at him and he went back inside.
In just a little over a year living in Topeka, I’ve forgotten what it is like to live in a small town where people make contact with others every day, just like that man did to me.  He most likely knew that I was a visitor.  The different vehicle was in the driveway, and he probably keeps pretty good tabs on his neighborhood.  But he waved anyway.
Whoever he was, I’m glad he waved.  He made me to recall that we aren’t islands.  We don’t live alone.

Are We the Victims (Part II)?

In the last blog, I talked about what might happen if we could overnight become energy independent.  What a rosy scenario it was.  What a different scenario from the reality that is ours now.
We knew in 1973 (remember the first oil embargo) that we needed energy independence from the Arabs, the South Americans and the Africans.  We knew it would only get worse.  Yet 33 years later, when we long ago could have been mostly independent of foreign oil, we are more dependent than ever before.  What happened?
Our government fiddled while our society burned.  If those who made the policy decisions, implemented the policy decisions, and financed the policy decisions would have done their jobs, we would be largely independent of foreign oil by now.
Think of those who served as Legislators, Presidents, and other government officials during the 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s.  It was their job to look ahead, see this train wreck coming, and change the switch so we had a clear track.  That didn’t happen.
And it was our job to hold those people accountable.  It was our job to see that they were faithful.  It was our job to see that they did the right thing.  That didn’t happen, either.
We really have to point our fingers right back at ourselves.  Our greed, care-free attitude, and desire for the next dollar have all but bankrupted us.  The “live for today” philosophy has come back to haunt us.  Our young men and women are dying in a war brought on by 40 years of indifference and greed.  And we’ve no one to blame but ourselves.

Are We the Victims?

I was watching some kind of all-news channel this morning.  Someone who, it was said, was an expert on energy, petroleum, the economy, etc, was on the show telling about how the price of gasoline will reach $3.00 per gallon by summer, and stay there for awhile.
He then said that we actually spend about $6.00 a gallon for our fuel when we consider the massive amount of money we spend to appease the countries that have the oil, protect with our military the oil supplies we tap, and pay for the balance of trade deficit.
I’m not at all surprised by that statement and suspect it is mostly true.  The cost may or may not be $6.00 a gallon, but we spend a considerable amount of money per barrel of oil beyond the actual cost of that barrel.
Think of what life would be like if we could tomorrow tell Saudi Arabia, Iran, Venezuela, Nigeria and others that we no longer will purchase ANY oil from them.  Instead, we in North America (U.S., Canada, and Mexico) will be self-sufficient.  Think of the political ramifications of such a statement.  Think of the improvement to our economy that would happen overnight as we realize that the dollars we send overseas will instead be spent here at home.  Think of the massive military stand-down we could have and how many of our beloved troops could come home and spend their military careers on U.S. soil.
Think of the overnight improvement in our balance of trade.  We could tell China what they could do with their surplus of trade.  We could invigorate our domestic economy like never before.  Over 200 billion dollars annually would suddenly become available to domestic enterprises as we spent our money on energy at home instead of shipping those dollars by the boatload to the Arab sheiks.
In the next blog, I’ll tell you a sad, sad story of incompetence, greed, and failure.  And Americans are the victims.  Stay tuned.

I Could Learn

I just finished sweeping and mopping the kitchen floor upstairs.  You see, by choice I’m the house husband of this home.  My wife’s time is much more productive financially if she is able to do a good job at her work, so I do the cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, etc.  That relieves her of the duty to do these things in the evening and on weekends, and enables her to rest and refresh.
I was thinking as I was sweeping about how long it had been since I last wielded a broom and mop on the floor.  Far too long, I fear, because there were all kinds of stains and other unmentionables scattered on the tile.
I then thought about my own mother and her work at home when I was young.  There were six of us children, along with a husband and a too-small house (about 1,400 square feet).  The house, as you might imagine, got a heck of a workout every day.  The kitchen saw most of the action, because we never went out to eat or called out for pizza.  The meals were three a day, plus snacks, every day of every month.
Mom once talked a little to me (and I think some other of my siblings) later on in her years, about her lot in life and the fact that she never was a professional woman in the workforce (except for a short stint as a dishwasher for a local restaurant).  She remarked, as part of the conversation, that she swept the kitchen floor every day.  I can’t remember if she said she mopped it every day or not.
She was happy and content with her role as wife and mother.  She often sang as she swept the floor or mixed cake batter.  She enjoyed time spent in the garden raising produce for us to eat.  I am reminded of what Paul said long ago, “I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.”  I could learn a lesson, here.    

On Our Own

It’s been a couple of days since I’ve blogged.  As you know from my last post, my computer went into the shop for repairs.  It came back, has been re-loaded, and seems to be in good shape.  I’m still finding things that I need to adjust on it to get it the way I want it, but so far, so good.
Wouldn’t it be nice if life was like that?  I mean, wouldn’t it be nice if the slate could be wiped clean and we could start over with a “new install”?  The old baggage, memories, emotional garbage, and rot of a past life could be swept away with the touch of a button, so to speak.  We could start afresh, renewed, with new registry files and clean store rooms.
Of course, there would be down sides, too.  The experiences, trials, and lessons of life lived would also be done away.  We’d be naïve babies in a grown-up world.  We wouldn’t have a clue how to deal with this person or handle that situation.  We’d quickly foul up the registry files and pollute the storage areas with dirt that wouldn’t have to have been, had we maintained the benefits of the past.
Life is what it is.  We can change parts of it, but we have to deal with the rest.  We can do that on our own, or we can get help from something or someone greater than ourselves.  Life is too important for us to foul it up by dealing with it on our own.

Don't Look Back

Today, I upset my whole life. You see, my computer is going into the shop to have its hard drive wiped and everything re-installed. There are some corrupt and missing files in the operating system, and we've tried about everything to fix it except for this. It still isn't working properly, so we'll do the ultimate...the wipe.
I hate it when this happens. Even though some things don't work right, I'm comfortable with the old machine the way it is. I know it's for the better, but there's a certain (unfounded) apprehension that even what is now working won't work any more. It's like having to get rid of an old pickup that loses parts as it trundles down the road, or throwing away an old screwdriver that's been with me for the last 35 years.
But, I'll not look back. I've made up my mind. I'm going to a minister's meeting in Manhattan today, and while I'm away, the nice computer man will play with my hard drive. Hopefully, all of the necessary files will be properly installed, and my pain and suffering in getting the PC going again will be minimal this evening and tomorrow.

Great Entertainment

I watched the night come to Topeka a few minutes ago, out back on the patio. No different was it than any other night, necessarily. Nevertheless, I this night, even though it was cool, decided to see what happens when night falls. I was thoroughly entertained by the show.
Across the creek, five young men noisily finished the Frisbee golf game they had started some time before. A young woman hurriedly walked two dogs along the trail. Others in the park and at the softball diamond seemed gradually to melt away as night approached.
A wood duck squeezed through a hole into a nest inside a large branch, then popped out and went in again. A mallard flew hell-bent, about 20 feet above the Shunga Creek, following the channel upstream.
A squirrel purposefully climbed to a nest in a branch fork about 30 feet above ground, looked down into the nest a few seconds, then settled in. Another squirrel across the creek channel, safely inside his hollow tree trunk, poked his head out the hole and watched the nightfall along with me.
I heard starlings arguing about who would sit on what branch in their tree-motel. The cardinal sang one last verse of his conquest song for this territory. A mourning dove in the distance repeated his well-known call. A black-capped chickadee poked at dessert in a bird feeder, and a robin off in the distance was scolding at something, real or imagined.
Did I tell you I was thoroughly entertained by the show? Try it yourself, sometime. It’s better than ANY television production.

Spit Out the Bones

I just read a front page story that talked about the release of a translation of the Gospel of Judas. The writer (an Associated Press drone) waxed eloquent about the notion that this writing would change how Christians view their religion. It would change how they think about Judas Iscariot, because in this writing Judas is portrayed as a special friend and confidante of Jesus, and only turned him over to the authorities because Jesus wanted him to do so.
I don’t usually like to rain on anyone’s parade, but this gospel is just one of a long list of writings that came out of that era (about 150 to 400 AD) which purport to tell this or that aspect of the story of God’s redemptive plan. So far, over 100 of these writings have surfaced, among them the Epistles of Pontius Pilate and the Gospel of the Egyptians.
Many believe that these writings are the “lost writings of the Bible”. Not true. These writings, for the most part, have never been recognized by Christians as being a part of the Bible. While many of them may shed some light on the life and times in which they were written, and many tell stories that are true and reliable, they never were placed into the Canon of Holy Scripture.
Modern versions of these writings might include books by Billy Graham, biographies of the Popes, and pop fantasy books like The DaVinci Codes. No one is suggesting (with the possible exception of Pope Deification and DaVinci Code fanatics) that these books are God-breathed. Some are good literature…others are trash. The same with the early writings.
Take a look at them, chew on them, spit out the bones, and go on. But whatever you do, don’t spout off at the mouth about some ancient writing changing the face of Christianity unless you’ve done some homework. Further, don’t call anything a book of the Bible unless you have at least a working knowledge of how those writings came to be part of the Christian Canon, and why others were excluded.

It’s been a day or so since I’ve blogged. Nothing special has happened, and I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve not felt good these last few days, but nothing I can put my hands on (so to speak). I’ve just not felt well, and feel like I’ve been fighting something, but never coming down with it.
Have you felt that way? I’m sure you have. We all have had times when we didn’t feel 100%, but couldn’t quite figure out why. It can go on for a day or two, or it can last for weeks at a time. What do you do when you get in one of those times?
I dwell entirely too much on what is wrong with me and not enough on what is right. I know that if I work on something that occupies my brain, I don’t feel as bad as if I sit and think about all of the things that don’t feel normal. I wonder if a lot of it is a mental thing.
They say that your attitude and mental working can (and does) affect how you feel and respond physically. I don’t disagree, but wonder how some people seem to be able to block out continuing, chronic pain, weariness, and fatigue and just continue on.
Maybe that’s something I need to learn. I’m sure there isn’t a 1-2-3 sure cure. Rather, there is an examination of the soul and a determination to overcome that’s at (or close to) the center of any answer to the problem.
Physical well-being is a nice thing. But I suspect that emotional and mental wellness trump the relatively fleeting benefits of physical wellness in so many ways. The calm assurance of knowing everything will be OK, even when our physical world is falling apart, is a gift to be cherished and embraced.

I decided, when we came to Topeka, that I would get a debit card, but wouldn’t use it any great extent. Rather, I would pay cash for much of what I would buy. And for awhile, that worked out according to plan. The debit card stayed in my wallet, and the cash left it.
But something has happened over the course of the last several months. Increasingly, cash is harder to spend than debit cards. My debit card is getting a real workout these days. “The devil,” you say. Yes, it is impossible to buy gasoline in Topeka with cash without pre-paying. That means that you have to find an empty pump, go to the cashier and give him/her/it a couple of twenties, and go back out and pump your gas. Then you traipse back into the cashier and settle up with him/her/it. After that, you go back out to your car and try to squeeze out of the lot, because 22 other cars are waiting for a slot at the pumps.
Other businesses are just as untrusting as the gas stations. They scrutinize each twenty dollar bill, especially the new ones. It’s almost impossible to pass a fifty or a C-note nowadays. They mark something on them that is supposed to tell them if the bill is counterfeit or not. You more often than not receive back ratty and torn ones and fives in change. Counting coins is a new experience for some checkers. Usually, you receive your change in a lump…not counted out, not checked for accuracy.
So, the debit card is winning out, at least here in Topeka. It’s fast, convenient, and always has the correct change. It’s almost universally accepted, takes up little space, and signifies that one is at least somewhat modern in thought and action.
I don’t like debit cards. They enable the tracking of my purchasing habits, provide too much of a paper trail, and are just one more thing for which I have to remember a PIN. They encourage non-relational transactions, destroy what little is left of mutual trust between business and consumer, and continue to preside over the degrading of humans into PIN-carriers.
Welcome to post-modernism.

Walkers and Runners

This Sunday afternoon, after the requisite nap on the couch, I spent some time on the back patio watching the people in the park across the creek. I’ve mentioned the park in prior posts, so you have a good idea what it’s like.
This time I noticed how people walk on the trail that hugs the creek. Some walk as if they have a to-do list, and have to check “walking” off of their list. They walk with purpose and little extraneous action. Others walk along slowly, stopping here and there to look at a squirrel, something in the brush, or just take in the view. Still others walk in a way that suggests they are having kind of a hard time even getting down the path. There’s a limp or an effort to their walk that tells me that all may not be well with their bodies. Yet others stroll with another person, holding hands or having a conversation as they walk.
Sometimes people run down the trail. They are usually dressed in appropriate attire and are running with a purpose. They are invariably well-proportioned. Yet others, mostly children, run for a short distance, then stop and look back. They yell at Mom, Dad, or whoever has taken them there and maybe play some kind of game with them. Joy is their primary emotion.
One of these days I’m going to do a personality profile on the walkers. I’d like to know if their personalities match their walking style. Are the purpose walkers the type A personalities…driven to succeed? Are they the 70-hour-a-week workers?
Are the walkers that have a hard time getting down the path determined just to finish the course, so to speak? The ones who take their time…do they stop and smell the roses of life at other times, too?
What kind of walker would you be? What kind of walker do you want to be? Me? I think I'm in the smell-the-roses category at my stage of life. I've many more years behind me than I have ahead of me. I want to enjoy what I have left to the fullest, by the grace of my Creator.

The Perfect Day

Today is just about the perfect spring day. The temperature is perfect (72 degrees), the wind is perfect (5 to 10 miles an hour out of the south), the sky is perfect (a few wispy clouds in an otherwise blue universe), and the lack of having to do anything right away is perfect.
The wildlife out back along the creek is enjoying the day as well. Squirrels chase each other up and down branches and jump from tree to tree, thoroughly enjoying life. A flicker pecks at an ever-widening hole in a dead tree on the other creek bank. A brown creeper alights on a branch, spirals up the branch to the top, then flies to another and starts over. A ground rat on the creek bank pokes his head above ground and hurries to the place where a neighbor throws corn for the critters. He gobbles a few bites, then hurries back to his den.
People in the park on the other side of the creek are playing Frisbee golf, cycling, loafing, and walking. One or two walk slowly enough to enjoy the scenery and animals. Once in a while a couple walk, holding hands.
I’ve told you about the wildlife and park before. Those things are, as you might guess, an important part of my day. There’s a reason for that. You see, it’s easy to see all of this right now, because the tree leaves aren’t out yet, obscuring the view. When later spring comes and the trees leaf out, much of the view will be gone. So I enjoy it while I can, and drink in the wonder of it all. For it won’t be long until it’s too hot, too steamy, and too obscured to really enjoy the sights.