Today marks, for those of us who are bound by time, the end of yet another year. I think I say something like this just about every time I write on the last day of the year. It is remarkable, however, to think that we have actually arrived at this point in the continuum that is the life of the universe.
If you have some age on you, can you remember what you thought life would be like now when you were but a youngster? I remember trying to visualize the turn of the century and beyond when I was a kid in the 1950’s and later a teen in the 1960’s. Science magazines and articles helped that thinking by talking of levitating automobiles, space colonies on Mars and beyond, and pills one could take which would provide all needed nutrition for the day.
The Apollo space program sort of pushed that thinking along with its can-do attitude and whiz-bang technical prowess. Movies (1984 and others) carried our thoughts (and fears) even farther down the path of the future.
So where are we compared with where we thought we were? In some respects, we are much farther than we ever thought possible. In others, it’s the same song, 145th verse. JFK rolled out the first 100 billion dollar federal budget for 1962, and LBJ imposed a 10% income tax surtax to help pay for the Vietnam War. Now look at where we are.
On the other hand, who would have thought that we have more computing power in our telephones than IBM had in all of its research and development centers back in those days? And who would have thought about that phone being attached to our hips and that it could literally access the world through the Internet?
But where are we in the things that really matter? Doing unto others as we would have them do unto us? Bearing one another’s burdens? Helping those in need? Loving God with all of our hearts? Have we learned anything in the last 40 or so years? Have we matured and grown? Have we come to realize our responsibilities as human beings?
Don’t generalize these questions for the nation as a whole or the world as a whole. Make them personal. You can’t change the world, but you can change yourself. And that’s where I need to start.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Day Trip
This afternoon we got in the trusty Buick and took a three hour or so trip down some back roads and past some places I hadn’t seen for awhile. Leaving Wichita on K 42, I turned west on 71st Street South and went all the way over to Kingman County. On the way, I stopped and checked the moisture level (scientifically, of course…I dug down a few inches with the heel of my shoe!) in a wheat field. That particular place was damp enough 3 to 4 inches down that the dirt could be mad into a ball and would hold together.
We went on to Norwich over the county roads and drove in town a few minutes. We talked a little about the church where I preached some in the 1980’s, and the nursing home building that didn’t make it as a nursing home, but now is, we think, a place for troubled girls. There was no sign out front, so we don’t know for sure.
Going west on 42, we passed through what is left of Adams (look that one up on your Google maps) and turned south on Murdock Road. Coming to the Harper County line road, we turned west again and went to Duquoin.
The little church there seems to be kept up, although I haven’t a clue if anyone is meeting there or not. There isn’t much else. I remember a small strip of old buildings on one street from my youth. Those buildings are no longer there.
We went west on what the locals sometimes call Ridge Road (not to be confused with the Ridge Road in Sedgwick County) until we got to the Attica turn off. We went down to Attica and drove around there some, commenting on the health center and a couple of other places we saw.
We then ventured eastward toward Crystal Springs. We stopped at the church there and used the restrooms (the building is always unlocked), and I did some walking in the cemetery. There were a lot of people and names in there that I knew. I remember thinking that the people in this area, and those in the cemetery, are and were good, solid people with traditional values, good work ethic, and a way of life that many people secretly covet, yet are not willing to make the changes necessary to experience it. Some of those changes would have to be the giving up of high-salary jobs, relocation to a rural area, taking on work that could well be hard, physical labor, displaying the virtues of honesty, trust, and friendliness, and willingness to do without Wal Mart, the Mall, the Warren Theater, and Old Town. To me, the fact of the unlocked door on a church on a dirt road across from a pasture in virtually the middle of nowhere is a huge indication of the kind of people who live, love, work, and die there.
From there we went to Harper and saw the new school construction, the new hospital addition, and noticed that some businesses and the library moved. We stopped in at a downtown business (one of just a few left downtown) and talked with Ron for a bit.
Getting gas, we headed back to Wichita and the civilization that we now know. Somehow, though, even though we no longer own any property in that area, and even though we have no close relatives in that area, I felt like some of me is still there. Although I have no plans to ever move back, there is admittedly a certain draw to what for years has been home. I’m not sure that feeling will ever quite go away. Nor am I sure I want it to.
We went on to Norwich over the county roads and drove in town a few minutes. We talked a little about the church where I preached some in the 1980’s, and the nursing home building that didn’t make it as a nursing home, but now is, we think, a place for troubled girls. There was no sign out front, so we don’t know for sure.
Going west on 42, we passed through what is left of Adams (look that one up on your Google maps) and turned south on Murdock Road. Coming to the Harper County line road, we turned west again and went to Duquoin.
The little church there seems to be kept up, although I haven’t a clue if anyone is meeting there or not. There isn’t much else. I remember a small strip of old buildings on one street from my youth. Those buildings are no longer there.
We went west on what the locals sometimes call Ridge Road (not to be confused with the Ridge Road in Sedgwick County) until we got to the Attica turn off. We went down to Attica and drove around there some, commenting on the health center and a couple of other places we saw.
We then ventured eastward toward Crystal Springs. We stopped at the church there and used the restrooms (the building is always unlocked), and I did some walking in the cemetery. There were a lot of people and names in there that I knew. I remember thinking that the people in this area, and those in the cemetery, are and were good, solid people with traditional values, good work ethic, and a way of life that many people secretly covet, yet are not willing to make the changes necessary to experience it. Some of those changes would have to be the giving up of high-salary jobs, relocation to a rural area, taking on work that could well be hard, physical labor, displaying the virtues of honesty, trust, and friendliness, and willingness to do without Wal Mart, the Mall, the Warren Theater, and Old Town. To me, the fact of the unlocked door on a church on a dirt road across from a pasture in virtually the middle of nowhere is a huge indication of the kind of people who live, love, work, and die there.
From there we went to Harper and saw the new school construction, the new hospital addition, and noticed that some businesses and the library moved. We stopped in at a downtown business (one of just a few left downtown) and talked with Ron for a bit.
Getting gas, we headed back to Wichita and the civilization that we now know. Somehow, though, even though we no longer own any property in that area, and even though we have no close relatives in that area, I felt like some of me is still there. Although I have no plans to ever move back, there is admittedly a certain draw to what for years has been home. I’m not sure that feeling will ever quite go away. Nor am I sure I want it to.
Strangely Comforting
There is something strangely comforting about the last two chapters of Joshua. As I read those chapters, I wondered again about Israel and their propensity to fall into idolatry. I wondered why, when they had experienced the majestic power of God in so many diverse ways, and experienced the good life that God had given them in the promised land, that they worshipped articles of metal and stone.
But given all of that, God was faithful to them. He kept all of his promises…even the ones regarding punishment for idolatry. Not only that, but God continued to love them as a father loves a son or daughter. He continued to work with them…to counsel them…to foster a sweet relationship with them.
Yes, he said on more than one occasion that they wearied him, or that he was through with them, or would no longer save them. But that didn’t mean that he no longer loved them or no longer was concerned about them.
We have, I think, a warped sense of what love is. We try very hard to please, mistaking that for love. We become enablers of bad behavior. We don’t allow the natural consequences of behavior to do what they were intended to do…teach and admonish. Then we wonder what is wrong with us, with others, with the world.
God must be rather put off with how we have perverted his notion of love and have made it something that is cheap, selfish, and self-destructive. Yet he continues to love us just as he did Israel when they sinned. He continues to work with us, counsel us, and foster a sweet relationship with us.
There’s something strangely comforting in that.
But given all of that, God was faithful to them. He kept all of his promises…even the ones regarding punishment for idolatry. Not only that, but God continued to love them as a father loves a son or daughter. He continued to work with them…to counsel them…to foster a sweet relationship with them.
Yes, he said on more than one occasion that they wearied him, or that he was through with them, or would no longer save them. But that didn’t mean that he no longer loved them or no longer was concerned about them.
We have, I think, a warped sense of what love is. We try very hard to please, mistaking that for love. We become enablers of bad behavior. We don’t allow the natural consequences of behavior to do what they were intended to do…teach and admonish. Then we wonder what is wrong with us, with others, with the world.
God must be rather put off with how we have perverted his notion of love and have made it something that is cheap, selfish, and self-destructive. Yet he continues to love us just as he did Israel when they sinned. He continues to work with us, counsel us, and foster a sweet relationship with us.
There’s something strangely comforting in that.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Promises Kept
As I read through the middle part of Joshua, where the conquered land was divided among the tribes of Israel, I am struck by the detail and preciseness of the descriptions of the borders of each tribe. The descriptions are not at all generalized, but refer to specific cities, landmarks, and places where the border could easily be found.
It’s not an easy read. The names of the cities and landmarks have been translated into English from Hebrew. And although many of the names probably have some kind of meaning attached to them, I haven’t a clue what that might be and so don’t relate well to the names.
But it’s worth it to work through those middle chapters. The writer and compiler(s) thought it important to outline very specifically what the borders were for each tribe, which cities were given to the Levites, and which cities became cities of refuge. The fact that these writings are included in the Jewish canon, and by extension the Christian canon, causes us to stop and think about the relevance of these chapters to us. We did not inherit any of the land. The names have little meaning to us. What could possibly be so important to Christians in these several chapters?
The beginning of this saga rested with Abraham and God’s promise to him that his descendants would be blessed and that they would be given “the promised land”. We fast-forward several hundred years to the time of Joshua and see that indeed those promises of God were kept, and we see in great detail the evidence of the keeping of those promises. In fact, Joshua himself says in his farewell speech to the people that “Not one of the good promises of God has failed.” They all have been fulfilled.
Therein, I think, is a lesson for us. Every single word in those chapters screams to anyone who will listen the promise-keeping nature of Jehovah. Every detailed description, every boundary description, every city name tell of the provision of the God of the universe for His people. It becomes personal when land boundaries are described. It becomes intimate when specific cities are named and when specific families are given specific places in fulfillment of promises made long ago to an ancestor.
Stay with me here. How do we know but what some portion of our lives right here, right now, are the fulfillment of a promise God made to one of our ancestors? How do we know but what one of our great-great-grandparents (or some such ancestor) prayed for us and that God has honored (and is honoring) that prayer in our lives right now? I know that the descendants of Abraham knew well the promises Jehovah made to their father Abraham. We don’t know who has prayed for us in the past, or present, or even the future (time is irrelevant to God) and has “availeth much” according to James in the New Testament.
Have you seriously considered praying for your descendants? Have you asked God to intervene in the lives of those to come after us so that they may live in peace and follow the way of God fully? I admit that I have never thought of such a thing, although I’ve done plenty of thinking and even some mild worrying about my children, grandchildren, and those who will come after them. Why not give those thoughts and worries to the One who will be there and can (and will) fulfill the fervent prayers of an ancestor.
It’s not an easy read. The names of the cities and landmarks have been translated into English from Hebrew. And although many of the names probably have some kind of meaning attached to them, I haven’t a clue what that might be and so don’t relate well to the names.
But it’s worth it to work through those middle chapters. The writer and compiler(s) thought it important to outline very specifically what the borders were for each tribe, which cities were given to the Levites, and which cities became cities of refuge. The fact that these writings are included in the Jewish canon, and by extension the Christian canon, causes us to stop and think about the relevance of these chapters to us. We did not inherit any of the land. The names have little meaning to us. What could possibly be so important to Christians in these several chapters?
The beginning of this saga rested with Abraham and God’s promise to him that his descendants would be blessed and that they would be given “the promised land”. We fast-forward several hundred years to the time of Joshua and see that indeed those promises of God were kept, and we see in great detail the evidence of the keeping of those promises. In fact, Joshua himself says in his farewell speech to the people that “Not one of the good promises of God has failed.” They all have been fulfilled.
Therein, I think, is a lesson for us. Every single word in those chapters screams to anyone who will listen the promise-keeping nature of Jehovah. Every detailed description, every boundary description, every city name tell of the provision of the God of the universe for His people. It becomes personal when land boundaries are described. It becomes intimate when specific cities are named and when specific families are given specific places in fulfillment of promises made long ago to an ancestor.
Stay with me here. How do we know but what some portion of our lives right here, right now, are the fulfillment of a promise God made to one of our ancestors? How do we know but what one of our great-great-grandparents (or some such ancestor) prayed for us and that God has honored (and is honoring) that prayer in our lives right now? I know that the descendants of Abraham knew well the promises Jehovah made to their father Abraham. We don’t know who has prayed for us in the past, or present, or even the future (time is irrelevant to God) and has “availeth much” according to James in the New Testament.
Have you seriously considered praying for your descendants? Have you asked God to intervene in the lives of those to come after us so that they may live in peace and follow the way of God fully? I admit that I have never thought of such a thing, although I’ve done plenty of thinking and even some mild worrying about my children, grandchildren, and those who will come after them. Why not give those thoughts and worries to the One who will be there and can (and will) fulfill the fervent prayers of an ancestor.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
"There's a Stirring"
God, you’ve not promised us a life of ease. You have made it such that we can be content, however. Our work may be difficult. Our lives may not be easy. We may (and do) have what seem to be roadblocks in our way. You, though, make us successful if we persevere, are diligent, develop resolve, display patience, practice industriousness, and maintain tenacity. And you make our service joyful and satisfying.
Israel’s conquest of the promised land was a long, hard row to hoe. Although it’s covered in just a few chapters in Joshua, it took several years, much planning, hard fighting, and a lot of work.
“Do not fear. I will give them into your hand.” So says the One who is the same today as He was then, and forever will be. He was also up front with them and told them that they would not cleanse the land quickly…that it would take time and effort.
Living life takes time and effort. Things won’t come quickly, easily, or without difficulty. Perseverance, diligence, resolve, patience, industriousness, and tenacity are words easier written than done. Israel was not always patient. Israel was not always diligent. Israel did not always persevere. And they ended up paying the price…and did not receive the full measure of the promise of God.
I believe I am being called to continue my service, but in a different venue, on a different stage. How do I know that call is real, and not my longstanding impatience and desire for the greener grass I see on the other side? How do I know I’m not taking a shortcut and trying once again to make things work out the way I want them to work out? How do I know but what I am to continue in the service I am now in?
And how do I know but what I have been brought to this place (to quote Mordecai in the Book of Esther) “for such a time as this”? Why do I feel guilty about the prospect of service that is joyful and satisfying? What is it about my current service that is neither joyful nor satisfying? Shouldn’t I be content with what I am doing?
Borrowing a couple of lines from a song I know, I feel exactly like it says when it comes to my service as a Christian (I know the theme of the song is different). “There’s a stirring deep within me. Could it be my time has come? Is He calling me? Is He calling me?”
Israel’s conquest of the promised land was a long, hard row to hoe. Although it’s covered in just a few chapters in Joshua, it took several years, much planning, hard fighting, and a lot of work.
“Do not fear. I will give them into your hand.” So says the One who is the same today as He was then, and forever will be. He was also up front with them and told them that they would not cleanse the land quickly…that it would take time and effort.
Living life takes time and effort. Things won’t come quickly, easily, or without difficulty. Perseverance, diligence, resolve, patience, industriousness, and tenacity are words easier written than done. Israel was not always patient. Israel was not always diligent. Israel did not always persevere. And they ended up paying the price…and did not receive the full measure of the promise of God.
I believe I am being called to continue my service, but in a different venue, on a different stage. How do I know that call is real, and not my longstanding impatience and desire for the greener grass I see on the other side? How do I know I’m not taking a shortcut and trying once again to make things work out the way I want them to work out? How do I know but what I am to continue in the service I am now in?
And how do I know but what I have been brought to this place (to quote Mordecai in the Book of Esther) “for such a time as this”? Why do I feel guilty about the prospect of service that is joyful and satisfying? What is it about my current service that is neither joyful nor satisfying? Shouldn’t I be content with what I am doing?
Borrowing a couple of lines from a song I know, I feel exactly like it says when it comes to my service as a Christian (I know the theme of the song is different). “There’s a stirring deep within me. Could it be my time has come? Is He calling me? Is He calling me?”
Monday, December 27, 2010
When the Night is Falling
God, you were right there with Joshua and all of Israel as they crossed the Jordan and conquered the land you promised to give them. Even though they told Joshua that you were his God (and by implication not theirs), you were faithful and saw them through to the end.
You then remained with the nation through their many ups and downs…through the period of the judges, the kings, the captivity…until the Offspring of David came and fulfilled your plan.
You weren’t distant. You weren’t aloof. You weren’t uncaring. You weren’t nonchalant. You were intimately involved with the everyday life of each individual, each family, each tribe, and the nation. You completed (or perfected) that intimate involvement with the advent of the Eternal Son on earth.
And that involvement didn't stop there.
So why would I think of you any differently when it comes to your relationship with me? Sometimes (actually, more than sometimes…often) I think you are distant. Aloof. Uncaring. Nonchalant. Sometimes (Often) I think you watch from a distance, and that you have more important things to do than work with me and be concerned about the things I’m concerned about.
Am I being selfish to want you for myself? Is it only a human thing to want a father to revel in his children? Should I be willing to “share” you, even if it means that I feel left out? Is there really enough of you to go around?
Then you put to my thoughts the song “When the Night is Falling”. Oh if I could only make the words live and not just be words on a screen.
Listen on YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKSyFOsAp6c&playnext=1&list=PL95C856F854F05B52&index=34
When the night is falling,
And the day is done,
I can hear You calling, “Come.”
I will come while You sing over me.
When the night surrounds me,
All my dreams undone,
I can hear You calling, “Come.”
I will come while You sing over me.
When the night would hide my way,
I will listen until I hear You say…
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you.
When this life is over,
And the race is run,
I will hear You calling, “Come.”
I will come while You sing over me,
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you.
–Dennis Jernigan
You then remained with the nation through their many ups and downs…through the period of the judges, the kings, the captivity…until the Offspring of David came and fulfilled your plan.
You weren’t distant. You weren’t aloof. You weren’t uncaring. You weren’t nonchalant. You were intimately involved with the everyday life of each individual, each family, each tribe, and the nation. You completed (or perfected) that intimate involvement with the advent of the Eternal Son on earth.
And that involvement didn't stop there.
So why would I think of you any differently when it comes to your relationship with me? Sometimes (actually, more than sometimes…often) I think you are distant. Aloof. Uncaring. Nonchalant. Sometimes (Often) I think you watch from a distance, and that you have more important things to do than work with me and be concerned about the things I’m concerned about.
Am I being selfish to want you for myself? Is it only a human thing to want a father to revel in his children? Should I be willing to “share” you, even if it means that I feel left out? Is there really enough of you to go around?
Then you put to my thoughts the song “When the Night is Falling”. Oh if I could only make the words live and not just be words on a screen.
Listen on YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKSyFOsAp6c&playnext=1&list=PL95C856F854F05B52&index=34
When the night is falling,
And the day is done,
I can hear You calling, “Come.”
I will come while You sing over me.
When the night surrounds me,
All my dreams undone,
I can hear You calling, “Come.”
I will come while You sing over me.
When the night would hide my way,
I will listen until I hear You say…
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you.
When this life is over,
And the race is run,
I will hear You calling, “Come.”
I will come while You sing over me,
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you, child, I love you.
How I love you.
–Dennis Jernigan
Friday, December 24, 2010
Remembering the Choirs
I get a little teary-eyed at times, especially this time of year. Oh, there are several things that can set me off; one of them especially. Tonight, I turned on the public station and they had some “long-haired” Christmas music being performed by an orchestra and chorus. They were singing some of the more conventional songs. Among them were the Hallelujah Chorus and O Holy Night.
I used to sing in a choir that met beginning in September and performed a Christmas concert for the community. I also sang in choirs in high school many years ago. We performed many of these “warhorse” pieces, and some others that are lesser known.
I always recall with fondness my participation in those choirs and the joy I had singing some of these songs along with others. We didn’t sound as good as the professionals, but we did our best, and did a pretty good job overall. I even recall my bass part on many of the songs and sing along at times with the pros.
My voice isn’t what it used to be, and I don’t know if I would even qualify for a choir spot, even if it was a smaller community choir. Many people can sing better than I can, and I know that. But it was always a thrill to work with and then perform music such as O Holy Night or some other piece like it, and I relish the memories of those times.
I don’t know what you have been part of over the years that you enjoy recalling, but I hope that you have the same kinds of memories you can tap at times. These tend to keep one grounded and provide perspective and experience. And those things aid us as we tumble through the present tense and these uncertain times.
May the Holy Night and the peace that comes from knowing the Eternal Son and the love of the Father abide with you this holiday season.
I used to sing in a choir that met beginning in September and performed a Christmas concert for the community. I also sang in choirs in high school many years ago. We performed many of these “warhorse” pieces, and some others that are lesser known.
I always recall with fondness my participation in those choirs and the joy I had singing some of these songs along with others. We didn’t sound as good as the professionals, but we did our best, and did a pretty good job overall. I even recall my bass part on many of the songs and sing along at times with the pros.
My voice isn’t what it used to be, and I don’t know if I would even qualify for a choir spot, even if it was a smaller community choir. Many people can sing better than I can, and I know that. But it was always a thrill to work with and then perform music such as O Holy Night or some other piece like it, and I relish the memories of those times.
I don’t know what you have been part of over the years that you enjoy recalling, but I hope that you have the same kinds of memories you can tap at times. These tend to keep one grounded and provide perspective and experience. And those things aid us as we tumble through the present tense and these uncertain times.
May the Holy Night and the peace that comes from knowing the Eternal Son and the love of the Father abide with you this holiday season.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Doesn't Make Sense
The last couple of evenings when I came home from work, I noticed the neighbor kids a couple of doors down outside, playing. Monday, they were in back playing on their rope swing they have in a large tree at the edge of the park. They were doing something else on the ground, but I couldn't tell what. This evening, they were out front, just being kids.
Now, you may not think much of this, and certainly you may think it isn't worth writing about. But it is. Far too many kids spend all of their time indoors with their games/phones/computers. Far too few spend quality time outside interacting with other kids and nature, exercising their imaginations through unstructured play, unimpeded by adults smothering and hovering.
I know times have changed. I know there are bad things that can happen to kids. But I also know that the risk many times is minimal, and the rewards are great. I don't have a lot of sympathy for parents who think nothing of risking their kids in the car as they speed, change lanes, and cut off others just to get to the restaurant/grocery store/church a minute before someone else. Yet these same parents refuse to allow their kids to play outside because a kidnapper might come around. Doesn't make much sense to me.
Now, you may not think much of this, and certainly you may think it isn't worth writing about. But it is. Far too many kids spend all of their time indoors with their games/phones/computers. Far too few spend quality time outside interacting with other kids and nature, exercising their imaginations through unstructured play, unimpeded by adults smothering and hovering.
I know times have changed. I know there are bad things that can happen to kids. But I also know that the risk many times is minimal, and the rewards are great. I don't have a lot of sympathy for parents who think nothing of risking their kids in the car as they speed, change lanes, and cut off others just to get to the restaurant/grocery store/church a minute before someone else. Yet these same parents refuse to allow their kids to play outside because a kidnapper might come around. Doesn't make much sense to me.
The Solstice
OK, so today is the winter solstice. I really look forward to this day, because as I get older, winter, darkness, and cold seem to me to be more and more depressing. I'm much more in tune with growing plants, chirping birds, and lengthening days. And now, for the next six months, the days will be getting longer and the nights shorter. The air will begin to be warmed and the earth, at least in my temperate zone, will awaken from sleep.
Having said that, there is also something to be said for the change of season. I'm not sure what it would be like to live in Hawaii or Equador or on a tropical Pacific island. I understand the weather never varies all that much in some of those places. I'm not certain I wouldn't welcome just a few days of zero-degree weather or strong northerly winds or freezing rain or snow. Yes, we have to cope with temperature extremes in our part of the globe, but there are, I am sure, things to cope with in those parts of the world that don't change.
But when it's all said and done, although the Pacific island might be a good place to visit, or even live, for me the place to be is right here, right now. First, because I believe I was brought here for a reason and a purpose, and I'm where I'm supposed to be. Second, because family and friends are here in abundance and home is (or should be) where loved ones are.
This holiday season, I hope you are able to be with family and friends. I hope that you enjoy the time you spend with others. And I hope that you will always understand that God loves you and that you respond positively to that love in service and devotion to Him.
Having said that, there is also something to be said for the change of season. I'm not sure what it would be like to live in Hawaii or Equador or on a tropical Pacific island. I understand the weather never varies all that much in some of those places. I'm not certain I wouldn't welcome just a few days of zero-degree weather or strong northerly winds or freezing rain or snow. Yes, we have to cope with temperature extremes in our part of the globe, but there are, I am sure, things to cope with in those parts of the world that don't change.
But when it's all said and done, although the Pacific island might be a good place to visit, or even live, for me the place to be is right here, right now. First, because I believe I was brought here for a reason and a purpose, and I'm where I'm supposed to be. Second, because family and friends are here in abundance and home is (or should be) where loved ones are.
This holiday season, I hope you are able to be with family and friends. I hope that you enjoy the time you spend with others. And I hope that you will always understand that God loves you and that you respond positively to that love in service and devotion to Him.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Gifts
I just saw a “60 Minutes” piece on people who have the ability to remember every day of their lives (at least from about age 12 on up) and recite the events of that day as if they happened just yesterday. They interviewed five people, along with a scientist and a researcher. They also went through testing of these people, checking their memories against events of the day to be certain they were correct in their memories. The scientist stated that these people were correct at least 99% of the time, and many times were 100% correct in their recollections.
Imagine being able to recall what you ate for dinner on January 19, 1992. Or who won the World Series in 1977 and several of the plays in that game, along with names of those who participated. Your first date would be as fresh as yesterday.
Of course, bad memories would be just as fresh. A bad accident you may have had. Your breakup with your mate or your stint in the hospital would be fresh as yesterday. Obviously, these people have to cope with some challenging things as they deal with life on a daily basis, yet are able to have near total recall of every day for the past 30 or 40 years.
They are not savants, it is said. They are more “normal” than not, with normal lives and normal behaviors. Science is studying these people to see what indeed is different and whether we can learn anything from their biology.
These people say that they “see” the day in question. Given a date without a year, they say they “scan” through all of those dates and can see snippets of each of those days. Given the year, they zero in on that “playback” and recall based on that. There is no mathematical contortion, they say, and no tricks to memory. It just sort of “plays” in their minds and they see the happenings of those days.
Nor do they think it’s necessarily a big deal for them. And it isn’t, for them. It’s a normal thing they live with all the time. Of course, it IS a big deal for the rest of us. And it provokes more questions than we have answers for very, very quickly.
Although I do not claim to be in the same league with these people, I was reminded when watching this piece of how I discern tones on the musical scale. I have at least a form of absolute pitch. The best way I can describe what I experience is that I “feel” the notes. Each note “feels” different. As I think about the C scale, there is a certain feel that comes to me when I think of C, D, E, and so on. I have attached qualities like soft, hard, warm, cool, etc. to each tone. When I hear a specific tone, I recall the feel and can name the note.
Of course, such a gift has its crosses to bear as well. If I am singing a song in key, I do just fine. But if it’s pitched high or low, many times I have to transpose notes as I go…for example, if the note is B flat and the pitch is a step and a half low, I have to mentally convert that B flat that I see on the music to G (1 ½ steps lower), recall the “feel” for G, then I can sing the proper pitch.
Over the years, I have taught myself to sing much as many others do, with the do re me method, and find myself having to transpose much less now, although when I read music for the first time, I still have to have the right pitch (or within a half step or so of the right pitch); else I get lost easily. Gifts usually come with two sides to them.
Others have other gifts. But all gifts ultimately come from the God who created us all and who wants us to use our gifts wisely and for the glory of God.
Imagine being able to recall what you ate for dinner on January 19, 1992. Or who won the World Series in 1977 and several of the plays in that game, along with names of those who participated. Your first date would be as fresh as yesterday.
Of course, bad memories would be just as fresh. A bad accident you may have had. Your breakup with your mate or your stint in the hospital would be fresh as yesterday. Obviously, these people have to cope with some challenging things as they deal with life on a daily basis, yet are able to have near total recall of every day for the past 30 or 40 years.
They are not savants, it is said. They are more “normal” than not, with normal lives and normal behaviors. Science is studying these people to see what indeed is different and whether we can learn anything from their biology.
These people say that they “see” the day in question. Given a date without a year, they say they “scan” through all of those dates and can see snippets of each of those days. Given the year, they zero in on that “playback” and recall based on that. There is no mathematical contortion, they say, and no tricks to memory. It just sort of “plays” in their minds and they see the happenings of those days.
Nor do they think it’s necessarily a big deal for them. And it isn’t, for them. It’s a normal thing they live with all the time. Of course, it IS a big deal for the rest of us. And it provokes more questions than we have answers for very, very quickly.
Although I do not claim to be in the same league with these people, I was reminded when watching this piece of how I discern tones on the musical scale. I have at least a form of absolute pitch. The best way I can describe what I experience is that I “feel” the notes. Each note “feels” different. As I think about the C scale, there is a certain feel that comes to me when I think of C, D, E, and so on. I have attached qualities like soft, hard, warm, cool, etc. to each tone. When I hear a specific tone, I recall the feel and can name the note.
Of course, such a gift has its crosses to bear as well. If I am singing a song in key, I do just fine. But if it’s pitched high or low, many times I have to transpose notes as I go…for example, if the note is B flat and the pitch is a step and a half low, I have to mentally convert that B flat that I see on the music to G (1 ½ steps lower), recall the “feel” for G, then I can sing the proper pitch.
Over the years, I have taught myself to sing much as many others do, with the do re me method, and find myself having to transpose much less now, although when I read music for the first time, I still have to have the right pitch (or within a half step or so of the right pitch); else I get lost easily. Gifts usually come with two sides to them.
Others have other gifts. But all gifts ultimately come from the God who created us all and who wants us to use our gifts wisely and for the glory of God.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Traditions
We will shortly be leaving to go to my sister’s church building where my family will play and sing Christmas-themed songs, and will conduct a “skit” involving candles and the Christmas story as found in the Bible. We’ve done this in some form or another for several years, now. Sis invites those from her church to come as well. This year, we’ll eat a “crock pot” supper before the services.
Also, this year, Sis has a broken rib due to a fall in a parking lot. She stepped in a hole in the asphalt and tumbled over. I don’t know if the Lortab will allow her to come tonight or not. Initially, she wasn’t going to come, but since most doctors (and this one was no exception) say that you can do about whatever you feel like doing with a cracked or broken rib, if the medicine deals with the pain, she may be there.
This has become a tradition…one of many that we have. Surely, you have them too, and not just at Christmas. There are traditions wrapped around many of the holidays, and other events and times in the life of an individual. Some traditions are shared…others are personal. Sometimes others know about the tradition…sometimes no one knows except the one carrying on the tradition.
Traditions are good. They provide a sense of normalcy. They tend to ground a person and keep them from flying off, so to speak, aimlessly. They bring family and friends together. They promote a sense of belonging and camaraderie. And they many times bring good and altruistic things to pass.
Traditions can hinder as well, if one is inclined to allow them to stifle and quench new ideas and ways of doing things. Not everything new is good, but we won’t know, many times, until we’ve tried them. We can become so bound up in our traditions (Fiddler on the Roof) that we can’t see where reality is taking us.
But today, here’s to a tradition that is good and deserves yet another year of carrying out. There will come a time when I and many others in the family will no longer be able to carry out this or other traditions. The younger family members will carry on, and may well discard some of our traditions in favor of newer ones. So be it. It’s all good.
Also, this year, Sis has a broken rib due to a fall in a parking lot. She stepped in a hole in the asphalt and tumbled over. I don’t know if the Lortab will allow her to come tonight or not. Initially, she wasn’t going to come, but since most doctors (and this one was no exception) say that you can do about whatever you feel like doing with a cracked or broken rib, if the medicine deals with the pain, she may be there.
This has become a tradition…one of many that we have. Surely, you have them too, and not just at Christmas. There are traditions wrapped around many of the holidays, and other events and times in the life of an individual. Some traditions are shared…others are personal. Sometimes others know about the tradition…sometimes no one knows except the one carrying on the tradition.
Traditions are good. They provide a sense of normalcy. They tend to ground a person and keep them from flying off, so to speak, aimlessly. They bring family and friends together. They promote a sense of belonging and camaraderie. And they many times bring good and altruistic things to pass.
Traditions can hinder as well, if one is inclined to allow them to stifle and quench new ideas and ways of doing things. Not everything new is good, but we won’t know, many times, until we’ve tried them. We can become so bound up in our traditions (Fiddler on the Roof) that we can’t see where reality is taking us.
But today, here’s to a tradition that is good and deserves yet another year of carrying out. There will come a time when I and many others in the family will no longer be able to carry out this or other traditions. The younger family members will carry on, and may well discard some of our traditions in favor of newer ones. So be it. It’s all good.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Good For Her
An unidentified Dayton, Ohio area woman came to the aid of a police officer along the side of a highway as he was wrestling with the driver of a vehicle he had pulled over because of a broken headlight. The officer asked the man to step out of the car. The man stepped out, then began fighting with the officer. He began to reach for the officer’s pistol when a woman came from nowhere and started beating the man on the head, making it possible for the officer to gain the upper hand in the fight.
About that time, police help arrived, and they were able to subdue the man, who was wanted on several warrants. The police do not know the name of the woman, where she came from, or why she helped.
Good for her.
About that time, police help arrived, and they were able to subdue the man, who was wanted on several warrants. The police do not know the name of the woman, where she came from, or why she helped.
Good for her.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
The Thought of One Mind Leaping to Another
Sometimes it seems like a chore to write, knowing that social networking apps are much more likely to gain visitors than the “old fashioned” blogs of yesterday. However, I’m kind of a yesterday kind of person, and have often said that I write for myself as much or more than for anyone else. I’ll never be a great writer, and certainly won’t sell what I write, but seem to enjoy seeing black pixels become letters which form words that communicate a thought. There’s something magical in that, if you just stop to think about it for a minute.
And maybe that’s why I enjoy this kind of thing. It’s a real way to make magic happen. I arrange black pixels on a white background in such a way that I communicate a thought (intangible, yet real) to you…one mind communicating with another. Let’s see. How did that verse go in “For Heaven’s Sake”? “Just so, we communicate, you and I, the thought of one mind leaping to another, given shape and form and substance…” Now, if that’s not magical, I don’t know what is.
Think about it. I can enter your mind, and you into mine, just by the proper arrangement of black pixels on white background, or by the correct arrangement of sounds emanating from my vocal cords, which strike your ears and are processed as intelligence. Of course, there are many more forms of communications…facial expressions, actions, the five senses, and so on. And different people may be able to communicate better one way than another.
So is there communication that does not involve the five senses? Is there “something” there which imparts information that doesn’t use the normal pathways? Call it intuition. Call it supernatural. Call it paranormal. Call it spiritual. Call it whatever you will…does it exist? And if it does, but does not use the five senses to manifest itself, how do you know it exists?
It’s like the old Christian song, “He Lives” by Alfred Ackley. The last line says, “You ask me how I know He lives. He lives within my heart.” I suppose that’s OK, but it really doesn’t do much for me to answer that question. I could truthfully (as far as I can know and experience) say that many things live in my heart. My Dad lives in my heart. A couple of my good friends who have now departed live in my heart. So do my sons, my wife, and others. Love, jealousy, anger, envy, kindness, faith, and other things live in my heart. How could you refute that statement? And just what does that mean…”live in my heart”?
Besides, when it comes to Jesus Christ, which is what that song is about, I’d much prefer to think of Him living in reality and fact…not just in someone’s heart. The bodily resurrection of Jesus is indeed the crux…the cornerstone…the foundation of the Christian faith. That song doesn’t go nearly far enough to make that reality.
Well, I got off track a little and started preaching. But you get the idea. Words are just one form of communication, but very powerful indeed. The very nature of the nature of mankind demands some form of communication, imperfect and prone to misunderstanding though it be. May we continually perfect the tools we use to cause “the thought of one mind (to leap) to another.”
And maybe that’s why I enjoy this kind of thing. It’s a real way to make magic happen. I arrange black pixels on a white background in such a way that I communicate a thought (intangible, yet real) to you…one mind communicating with another. Let’s see. How did that verse go in “For Heaven’s Sake”? “Just so, we communicate, you and I, the thought of one mind leaping to another, given shape and form and substance…” Now, if that’s not magical, I don’t know what is.
Think about it. I can enter your mind, and you into mine, just by the proper arrangement of black pixels on white background, or by the correct arrangement of sounds emanating from my vocal cords, which strike your ears and are processed as intelligence. Of course, there are many more forms of communications…facial expressions, actions, the five senses, and so on. And different people may be able to communicate better one way than another.
So is there communication that does not involve the five senses? Is there “something” there which imparts information that doesn’t use the normal pathways? Call it intuition. Call it supernatural. Call it paranormal. Call it spiritual. Call it whatever you will…does it exist? And if it does, but does not use the five senses to manifest itself, how do you know it exists?
It’s like the old Christian song, “He Lives” by Alfred Ackley. The last line says, “You ask me how I know He lives. He lives within my heart.” I suppose that’s OK, but it really doesn’t do much for me to answer that question. I could truthfully (as far as I can know and experience) say that many things live in my heart. My Dad lives in my heart. A couple of my good friends who have now departed live in my heart. So do my sons, my wife, and others. Love, jealousy, anger, envy, kindness, faith, and other things live in my heart. How could you refute that statement? And just what does that mean…”live in my heart”?
Besides, when it comes to Jesus Christ, which is what that song is about, I’d much prefer to think of Him living in reality and fact…not just in someone’s heart. The bodily resurrection of Jesus is indeed the crux…the cornerstone…the foundation of the Christian faith. That song doesn’t go nearly far enough to make that reality.
Well, I got off track a little and started preaching. But you get the idea. Words are just one form of communication, but very powerful indeed. The very nature of the nature of mankind demands some form of communication, imperfect and prone to misunderstanding though it be. May we continually perfect the tools we use to cause “the thought of one mind (to leap) to another.”
Friday, November 26, 2010
Enjoy This Time
It is Thanksgiving weekend. We’ve had one side of the family on Thursday; we’re looking forward to the other side tomorrow. The weather promises to be pleasant, but cool, and the day should be a good one for all.
This time of the year, I also look forward to the winter solstice. That is the day when the sun travels, so to speak, to it’s farthest southerly point (Let’s see…that’s the Tropic of Capricorn) and begins the slow trek back to our end of the globe. It’s also the shortest day of the year and the beginnings of warmer weather to come. I know that there is a lot of cold weather in January and February, but at least we can see the days grow longer and the periods of cold grow shorter.
I don’t know how many more Thanksgivings I have left on this earth. Nor do I know how many more times I will see the sun begin coming back to the northern hemisphere. I may not see it this year…I may see it 30 or more times in the future. I just don’t know.
Nor do you. Whether you’re 20 or 80, you never know when your time will come. So enjoy the time you have been given, and enjoy the gift of the creation and the blessings that come with it.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thanks For the Blessings
In years past, on this day (Thanksgiving), I made it a point to call my sister in Wichita and visit about whatever happened to come up. During the cell phone era (that sounds weird, but with texting, Facebook, Skype, and other means of communication, simple conversations on cell phones seem rather passé), I would many times call while we were on our way to somewhere for Thanksgiving dinner.
Now that we live in Wichita and see her more often, that phone call doesn’t seem so important anymore. We have better contact with one-another, and with many others in our circle of friends and relatives, due in large part to the Internet and modern communications. I don’t know that we communicate earth-shattering things to those others in our circle, but certainly we catch glimpses of life and living that we otherwise would not see. For some, that means little. For others, it’s a healthy way to maintain those ties that bind.
I remember years ago when communication was by letter. Long distance phone calls were a luxury and were saved for the most important news. In our family, the death of a loved one was fodder for a long distance call. Sometimes engagements were too, but most often those were handled by letter. A tragic accident or someone in the hospital usually resulted in one or more long distance calls. Other than that, it was a rare privilege to speak to someone in another town in Kansas, let alone across the country.
Now, however, I can keep up with friends in Western Kansas where we used to live, loved ones from various communities and churches where we lived and worshipped, high school classmates, relatives, and others I know. It’s easy and it’s enjoyable for me to know some things that these people choose to reveal, and a privilege to be counted among their friends, even if that friendship is Facebook friendship, and not the more traditional meaning of the word.
So, this Thanksgiving season, enjoy what God has given you. Thank Him for His abundance and blessings. And count among those blessings the opportunity to keep in touch, however you choose to do it.
Now that we live in Wichita and see her more often, that phone call doesn’t seem so important anymore. We have better contact with one-another, and with many others in our circle of friends and relatives, due in large part to the Internet and modern communications. I don’t know that we communicate earth-shattering things to those others in our circle, but certainly we catch glimpses of life and living that we otherwise would not see. For some, that means little. For others, it’s a healthy way to maintain those ties that bind.
I remember years ago when communication was by letter. Long distance phone calls were a luxury and were saved for the most important news. In our family, the death of a loved one was fodder for a long distance call. Sometimes engagements were too, but most often those were handled by letter. A tragic accident or someone in the hospital usually resulted in one or more long distance calls. Other than that, it was a rare privilege to speak to someone in another town in Kansas, let alone across the country.
Now, however, I can keep up with friends in Western Kansas where we used to live, loved ones from various communities and churches where we lived and worshipped, high school classmates, relatives, and others I know. It’s easy and it’s enjoyable for me to know some things that these people choose to reveal, and a privilege to be counted among their friends, even if that friendship is Facebook friendship, and not the more traditional meaning of the word.
So, this Thanksgiving season, enjoy what God has given you. Thank Him for His abundance and blessings. And count among those blessings the opportunity to keep in touch, however you choose to do it.
Monday, November 22, 2010
The Holidays
It's not often that I lack for something to say or write. This weekend was one of those times. I don't know if it was the tired-ness of the work week prior or something else. I do know that I put on my Facebook on Saturday morning that I didn't feel like doing anything. That feeling lasted for awhile, but I finally got out and cleaned up some back yard dead stuff and did some trimming. That seemed to help a little, anyway. And today has been good.
The holiday season is fast upon us, and although I like this time of year, it's not necessarily my favorite time. I never was one to "yippee-yea" for the holidays (any holiday), and personally could take 'em or leave 'em. That attitude may have started with my earlier-in-life jobs where I had to work many of the holidays, and found I didn't mind doing that at all. Or it could be from my general personality that doesn't go too far either way emotionally, either happy or sad. Or it just could be that I am somewhat of a non-conformist and would rather be on the minority side most of the time. I dunno.
I'm not a party pooper. I'm just not a fanatic about the celebrations. Should we remember the birth of the Christ child? Absolutely. Should we remember that we've been bountifully blessed? Of course. Should we celebrate our nation's birthday, labor, veterans, and all the rest? Yes, yes, we should. Should families get together and spend the day (or days) visiting, bonding, and strengthening the ties? That's one of the bright spots in holiday celebrations.
Should we make the Christmas season a make-or-break time financially for the retail community? I don't think so. Should we overlook Thanksgiving by massing at the doors of retailers at 3am on black Friday? Ugh. Should we make Labor Day a three day holiday and put the "labor" part of the day in the background to eventually disappear all together? I don't think so.
And that, I think, is what makes me a little jaded about the holidays. They have morphed into something that resembles little of the innocence and joy of
holidays gone by. Oh, I know I can celebrate in my own way, and all of that. And I do. I shun Black Friday with a passion. My gift-buying takes up at most about 30 minutes of my year. And I really try to remember the original intent of the holiday, whether Labor Day, Veteran's Day, or whatever it may be.
So, however you celebrate the day, do so in a way that is true to your convictions. For we who celebrate the days a little differently, please honor our decision. And I am getting ready for family, friends, and pleasant and good times coming up shortly, and I promise I'll not be an Eeyore, but will willingly and happily join in. Deal?
The holiday season is fast upon us, and although I like this time of year, it's not necessarily my favorite time. I never was one to "yippee-yea" for the holidays (any holiday), and personally could take 'em or leave 'em. That attitude may have started with my earlier-in-life jobs where I had to work many of the holidays, and found I didn't mind doing that at all. Or it could be from my general personality that doesn't go too far either way emotionally, either happy or sad. Or it just could be that I am somewhat of a non-conformist and would rather be on the minority side most of the time. I dunno.
I'm not a party pooper. I'm just not a fanatic about the celebrations. Should we remember the birth of the Christ child? Absolutely. Should we remember that we've been bountifully blessed? Of course. Should we celebrate our nation's birthday, labor, veterans, and all the rest? Yes, yes, we should. Should families get together and spend the day (or days) visiting, bonding, and strengthening the ties? That's one of the bright spots in holiday celebrations.
Should we make the Christmas season a make-or-break time financially for the retail community? I don't think so. Should we overlook Thanksgiving by massing at the doors of retailers at 3am on black Friday? Ugh. Should we make Labor Day a three day holiday and put the "labor" part of the day in the background to eventually disappear all together? I don't think so.
And that, I think, is what makes me a little jaded about the holidays. They have morphed into something that resembles little of the innocence and joy of
holidays gone by. Oh, I know I can celebrate in my own way, and all of that. And I do. I shun Black Friday with a passion. My gift-buying takes up at most about 30 minutes of my year. And I really try to remember the original intent of the holiday, whether Labor Day, Veteran's Day, or whatever it may be.
So, however you celebrate the day, do so in a way that is true to your convictions. For we who celebrate the days a little differently, please honor our decision. And I am getting ready for family, friends, and pleasant and good times coming up shortly, and I promise I'll not be an Eeyore, but will willingly and happily join in. Deal?
Friday, November 12, 2010
How We've Grown
I can’t believe that it’s been only 20 years that we’ve had the term “World Wide Web”. So says NBC News tonight in a story recognizing the genesis of widespread public use of the Internet.
It seems that it’s been almost forever since the Internet has been part of our lives. It’s everywhere and is used for everything. It has revolutionized information sharing and society as a whole. The world is a lot smaller, by an enormous factor, because of it.
It’s ubiquitous. It’s a necessity. It’s part of us.
I recall well the first time I logged on to the World Wide Web. It was at the hospital where I worked in the 1990’s. It was, I believe, 1993. I had to make a long distance phone call to Salina to connect, and what I found on the web was not at all what is there now. Pretty much limited to text…reports, papers, statistics…one had to know exactly what one wanted because there was no search engine.
I thought it was extremely cool that my computer (probably a 386 processor running Windows 3.1 and 4mb of RAM) could actually connect with another and view files on that computer.
My, how we have grown. Or have we??
It seems that it’s been almost forever since the Internet has been part of our lives. It’s everywhere and is used for everything. It has revolutionized information sharing and society as a whole. The world is a lot smaller, by an enormous factor, because of it.
It’s ubiquitous. It’s a necessity. It’s part of us.
I recall well the first time I logged on to the World Wide Web. It was at the hospital where I worked in the 1990’s. It was, I believe, 1993. I had to make a long distance phone call to Salina to connect, and what I found on the web was not at all what is there now. Pretty much limited to text…reports, papers, statistics…one had to know exactly what one wanted because there was no search engine.
I thought it was extremely cool that my computer (probably a 386 processor running Windows 3.1 and 4mb of RAM) could actually connect with another and view files on that computer.
My, how we have grown. Or have we??
Monday, November 08, 2010
Amazing
I am amazed that anyone would second-guess a sitting President's decision (whichever party...they did this to Mr. Bush too) to travel abroad to conduct foreign policy. This second-guessing and President-bashing is based on economic data that is at best a flaky guess, and at worst, an outright lie. The fact is costs of Presidential trips are never released for public scrutiny. No one in the public really knows (and I, for one, don't care to know).
Security procedures are not decided by the President...they are decided by the Secret Service and cost the same regardless who is in office.
Recession or no, the foreign policy of this nation must be conducted. I'm certainly no expert on whether the President should go. I've not been privy to the daily briefings, the advice of counsel, the content of intelligence, or the communications of ambassadors, heads of state, and our own state department. Are you privy to that?
There have been scads of misinformation about the financial aspects of this trip. I'm tired of the lies and deceit from both sides. Is there anyone in the media who conducts his/her life with honor and dignity? Makes me want to go live under a bridge somewhere and "tune out".
Security procedures are not decided by the President...they are decided by the Secret Service and cost the same regardless who is in office.
Recession or no, the foreign policy of this nation must be conducted. I'm certainly no expert on whether the President should go. I've not been privy to the daily briefings, the advice of counsel, the content of intelligence, or the communications of ambassadors, heads of state, and our own state department. Are you privy to that?
There have been scads of misinformation about the financial aspects of this trip. I'm tired of the lies and deceit from both sides. Is there anyone in the media who conducts his/her life with honor and dignity? Makes me want to go live under a bridge somewhere and "tune out".
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Remembering
My sisters and I were talking (on Messenger) last night. The conversation turned to things medical in nature. I’ll not elaborate on the conversation except to say that it prompted me to think back to past experiences in my work in health care. The variety of experience I recalled surprised even me.
I was an EMT for 15 years. I also worked at two small, rural hospitals during that time. It’s a little difficult to explain, but in that environment, we did many different jobs with the overriding purpose being to provide the best patient care possible. It made little difference if I was an x ray tech, for example, or not. If they needed help in x ray, I often helped with the positioning of patients, working with films (they didn’t have digital images then), or whatever else needed to be done. It was just that kind of environment, and provided many opportunities for experiences not anticipated.
As an EMT on call (volunteer service), not only did we respond in the community, we were even sometimes paged to the hospital to help out in the emergency room or otherwise if the hospital was short of help. That was the hospital’s reservoir of “last resort” to find adequate staffing for whatever situation was presenting at the time.
I have performed CPR and bagged more people than I can count. I’ve started IV’s, calmed patients, suctioned, held traction, provided oxygen therapy, held hands, taken vital signs, provided assurance, and stopped bleeding. I’ve helped out in X Ray, lab, maintenance, pharmacy, central supply, sterilizing, dietary, housekeeping, the operating room, the ICU (when we had one), and on the patient floor. I’ve helped birth babies. I’ve worked in surgery. I’ve sat with dying patients. I’ve driven the ambulance…and provided patient care in the back of an ambulance. I’ve made blood runs. I’ve transported dead bodies. I’ve even set up and operated a makeshift morgue more than once at the hospital during a disaster.
I’ve announced code blues over the hospital’s public address system. I’ve announced codes over the public safety radio frequencies. I’ve responded to codes called over those radio frequencies. I’ve even called for a medical evac helicopter to airlift a patient to a facility.
Many of the most intense memories are those of patients who died while I was there. A fourteen year old girl going through town on a trip with her parents walked into the hospital complaining of a bad headache. She died an hour later in our ICU of a brain hemorrhage.
A man driving a truck going through town stopped complaining of chest pains. He died about 45 minutes later in that same ICU of a myocardial infarction.
We picked up an older gentleman in the ambulance and took him to the hospital. He was quickly diagnosed with a bleeding aneurism and was told (tactfully) he would be dead in an hour or less, that nothing could be done. He called his daughter, who came in. He was dead 45 minutes later.
Most of the people who were patients there, I knew. I knew that some families’ lives would forever be changed because of what was happening. I saw families cope, fracture, heal, love, deny, and triumph. I saw secrets made bare, hopes and dreams vanish, and miracles happen.
It was an amazing, wondrous time…one that has forever changed me and, I hope, one in which I was able to be the hands and feet of God as He worked in our world. I will ever and always cherish that time and trust that God now has me where He wishes me to be at this time in history. I am blessed.
I was an EMT for 15 years. I also worked at two small, rural hospitals during that time. It’s a little difficult to explain, but in that environment, we did many different jobs with the overriding purpose being to provide the best patient care possible. It made little difference if I was an x ray tech, for example, or not. If they needed help in x ray, I often helped with the positioning of patients, working with films (they didn’t have digital images then), or whatever else needed to be done. It was just that kind of environment, and provided many opportunities for experiences not anticipated.
As an EMT on call (volunteer service), not only did we respond in the community, we were even sometimes paged to the hospital to help out in the emergency room or otherwise if the hospital was short of help. That was the hospital’s reservoir of “last resort” to find adequate staffing for whatever situation was presenting at the time.
I have performed CPR and bagged more people than I can count. I’ve started IV’s, calmed patients, suctioned, held traction, provided oxygen therapy, held hands, taken vital signs, provided assurance, and stopped bleeding. I’ve helped out in X Ray, lab, maintenance, pharmacy, central supply, sterilizing, dietary, housekeeping, the operating room, the ICU (when we had one), and on the patient floor. I’ve helped birth babies. I’ve worked in surgery. I’ve sat with dying patients. I’ve driven the ambulance…and provided patient care in the back of an ambulance. I’ve made blood runs. I’ve transported dead bodies. I’ve even set up and operated a makeshift morgue more than once at the hospital during a disaster.
I’ve announced code blues over the hospital’s public address system. I’ve announced codes over the public safety radio frequencies. I’ve responded to codes called over those radio frequencies. I’ve even called for a medical evac helicopter to airlift a patient to a facility.
Many of the most intense memories are those of patients who died while I was there. A fourteen year old girl going through town on a trip with her parents walked into the hospital complaining of a bad headache. She died an hour later in our ICU of a brain hemorrhage.
A man driving a truck going through town stopped complaining of chest pains. He died about 45 minutes later in that same ICU of a myocardial infarction.
We picked up an older gentleman in the ambulance and took him to the hospital. He was quickly diagnosed with a bleeding aneurism and was told (tactfully) he would be dead in an hour or less, that nothing could be done. He called his daughter, who came in. He was dead 45 minutes later.
Most of the people who were patients there, I knew. I knew that some families’ lives would forever be changed because of what was happening. I saw families cope, fracture, heal, love, deny, and triumph. I saw secrets made bare, hopes and dreams vanish, and miracles happen.
It was an amazing, wondrous time…one that has forever changed me and, I hope, one in which I was able to be the hands and feet of God as He worked in our world. I will ever and always cherish that time and trust that God now has me where He wishes me to be at this time in history. I am blessed.
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Fact of Life
Tonight we gain back the hour we lost last spring. Or so it seems. Standard time once again will resurrect itself for a few brief months in the dead of winter, only to be replaced by daylight time next year. I don’t know how much things really change because of this man-made event, nor do I know how much it really affects the human internal clock. Some people say it is a chaotic time; others seem to slide through it with no thought.
I guess I’m really wondering just how many more of these time changes I’ll see. I’m not really old. However, I know I have many more years behind me than I have ahead of me, even if I live a normal life span. Increasingly, I see a kind of wall that is being built in my future, through which I’ll not go, and on the other side of which I’ll not see. I’m not the builder of the wall: time is.
There’s nothing macabre or melancholy about this line of thought, at least in my mind. It’s a fact of life and happens to everyone. I would think that one would be prepared as best as possible, and welcome the change from life in a broken world to life in perfection and peace. Of course, if one is not inclined to faith in Jehovah God, that future may not be readily apparent.
And, of course, there’s always the possibility that the men and women of faith who have inhabited history past are wrong. There may be no God. There may be no future. There may be no perfection and peace.
Much as I sometimes wonder, I choose to believe. I choose to look forward to a future of peace and security. I choose to look toward the answer to my faith. So, in a way, it doesn’t matter much how many more time changes I’ll see. The wall that is being erected in my future is only a temporary hold-back.
I don’t know all the details. And that’s OK, even though I admit it’s frustrating at times. All I need to know is that one day, time itself will go away, and whatever that looks like, I will be there in peace, safety, and security.
I guess I’m really wondering just how many more of these time changes I’ll see. I’m not really old. However, I know I have many more years behind me than I have ahead of me, even if I live a normal life span. Increasingly, I see a kind of wall that is being built in my future, through which I’ll not go, and on the other side of which I’ll not see. I’m not the builder of the wall: time is.
There’s nothing macabre or melancholy about this line of thought, at least in my mind. It’s a fact of life and happens to everyone. I would think that one would be prepared as best as possible, and welcome the change from life in a broken world to life in perfection and peace. Of course, if one is not inclined to faith in Jehovah God, that future may not be readily apparent.
And, of course, there’s always the possibility that the men and women of faith who have inhabited history past are wrong. There may be no God. There may be no future. There may be no perfection and peace.
Much as I sometimes wonder, I choose to believe. I choose to look forward to a future of peace and security. I choose to look toward the answer to my faith. So, in a way, it doesn’t matter much how many more time changes I’ll see. The wall that is being erected in my future is only a temporary hold-back.
I don’t know all the details. And that’s OK, even though I admit it’s frustrating at times. All I need to know is that one day, time itself will go away, and whatever that looks like, I will be there in peace, safety, and security.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Some Observations
Oh, where to start? This weekend, we drove to Colorado Springs to see our niece and her family and take in an Air Force football game. The missus and I had gone to one other AF game a few years ago as guests of a retired Colonel, and enjoyed ourselves immensely. We got the opportunity to go again at the invitation of our niece, who is a Chief Master Sergeant stationed there. Our older son and his wife met us there. We had a great time with the family and at the game. However, there were some things I noticed that didn’t have much to do with either of those topics (family and game) that I’d like to share.
• I don’t know if stimulus money is buying all of the road construction in Southwest Kansas or not, but there’s money somewhere that’s buying all of the tearing up of the roadways and bridges.
• It hasn’t rained in awhile in Eastern Colorado. It shows.
• There isn’t much between Kit Carson and Colorado Springs. A couple of wide spots…Wild Horse, Yoder, Rush. And Ellicot has a convenience store. Other than that, it’s about 80 miles with no services. And not many people.
• I had almost forgotten just how black the night can be when there are no lights and no moon to foul it up.
• I had also forgotten that the air is noticeably thinner there, and it’s not hard to tell once you are there and exert just a little.
• There have been rumblings of the Academy favoring Christianity over other religions. As far as I can see (and from what my niece tells me…and she is in a position to know), they are bending over backwards and doing the splits to accommodate all religious faiths equally. Seems to me to be much ado about nothing…little people wanting to make a big splash.
• I was caught off guard a time or two when a cadet addressed me as “sir”. I sort of looked around to see who he was talking to…and it was me.
• If the traffic in our part of Colorado Springs was any indication, the economy is doing “real well” there. Either that or a lot of people are burning through savings and credit in order to drive.
And now, some things about the family.
• Big dogs are nice, but I’m glad Chief is staying out there instead of being with us (no offense, Chief).
• Having a daughter instead of a couple of sons would have been a “whole ‘nuther world” for us. I think I’m glad God gave us what He gave us (No offense, Kayla. I think I would have been thoroughly befuddled by girls.)
• Cole, there will come a time when your mother won’t let you entertain a friend who happens to be a girl at your house when your parents aren’t home…even for a few minutes. Enjoy it now while you can.
• Children are indeed a gift from God.
And now a couple of observations about the game.
• When F-16’s fly over at low altitude, then turn straight up and open the throttles, they rumble even your toenails and tonsils.
• Those F-16’s were only a few (5 to 10) seconds early for the flyover…amazing timing given their speed. (BTW, the official name for the F-16 Viper is the "Fighting Falcon".)
• Cadets on the march are an amazing sight.
• The falcon had his own mind following the working demonstration. “I’ll come back and let you pick me up when I’m ready,” he seemed to be saying. Way to go, falcon!
• The concessions were very reasonably priced…the parking was free…there were many people to guide those who were arriving and departing. Good job. KU could learn a lesson from them.
• Parachutes are so controllable nowadays, one can guide himself down to practically wherever he likes.
• The key of C is a horrid key in which to try to sing the National Anthem.
• The music emanating from the stadium speakers during “downtime” was even more horrid. Enough, already.
• Free tickets on the 40 yard line, free concessions, free parking…what else could one ask for? Thanks, Angie, for everything.
• I don’t know if stimulus money is buying all of the road construction in Southwest Kansas or not, but there’s money somewhere that’s buying all of the tearing up of the roadways and bridges.
• It hasn’t rained in awhile in Eastern Colorado. It shows.
• There isn’t much between Kit Carson and Colorado Springs. A couple of wide spots…Wild Horse, Yoder, Rush. And Ellicot has a convenience store. Other than that, it’s about 80 miles with no services. And not many people.
• I had almost forgotten just how black the night can be when there are no lights and no moon to foul it up.
• I had also forgotten that the air is noticeably thinner there, and it’s not hard to tell once you are there and exert just a little.
• There have been rumblings of the Academy favoring Christianity over other religions. As far as I can see (and from what my niece tells me…and she is in a position to know), they are bending over backwards and doing the splits to accommodate all religious faiths equally. Seems to me to be much ado about nothing…little people wanting to make a big splash.
• I was caught off guard a time or two when a cadet addressed me as “sir”. I sort of looked around to see who he was talking to…and it was me.
• If the traffic in our part of Colorado Springs was any indication, the economy is doing “real well” there. Either that or a lot of people are burning through savings and credit in order to drive.
And now, some things about the family.
• Big dogs are nice, but I’m glad Chief is staying out there instead of being with us (no offense, Chief).
• Having a daughter instead of a couple of sons would have been a “whole ‘nuther world” for us. I think I’m glad God gave us what He gave us (No offense, Kayla. I think I would have been thoroughly befuddled by girls.)
• Cole, there will come a time when your mother won’t let you entertain a friend who happens to be a girl at your house when your parents aren’t home…even for a few minutes. Enjoy it now while you can.
• Children are indeed a gift from God.
And now a couple of observations about the game.
• When F-16’s fly over at low altitude, then turn straight up and open the throttles, they rumble even your toenails and tonsils.
• Those F-16’s were only a few (5 to 10) seconds early for the flyover…amazing timing given their speed. (BTW, the official name for the F-16 Viper is the "Fighting Falcon".)
• Cadets on the march are an amazing sight.
• The falcon had his own mind following the working demonstration. “I’ll come back and let you pick me up when I’m ready,” he seemed to be saying. Way to go, falcon!
• The concessions were very reasonably priced…the parking was free…there were many people to guide those who were arriving and departing. Good job. KU could learn a lesson from them.
• Parachutes are so controllable nowadays, one can guide himself down to practically wherever he likes.
• The key of C is a horrid key in which to try to sing the National Anthem.
• The music emanating from the stadium speakers during “downtime” was even more horrid. Enough, already.
• Free tickets on the 40 yard line, free concessions, free parking…what else could one ask for? Thanks, Angie, for everything.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Grace to Live
Our church sponsored a fun night at one of the local elementary schools this past week. We provided hot dogs, chips, drinks, popcorn, and games for parents and kids to play. We went to help with the festivities, and as I often do, I stopped for a few minutes and just watched people as they went through the hot dog line.
Most all of the families were working class, and many were, it seemed, of the poorer working class. That is a reasonable assumption as the neighborhood is generally the same. Many were of an ethnic variety besides anglo, and there was a good mix of younger and older, male and female.
Many of the adults who were there seemed to show the strain of living and raising a family. There were very few frills, no foo-foo outfits (whatever they are), and there were a lot of grizzled, dirty hands and tired, worn faces. The kids were excited, loud, and expended energy at a phenomenal rate. (If we could only harness that energy, I think we could solve the energy crisis.)
I could only imagine some of the issues that the adults in line may have been dealing with at the moment. Lack of health care, out of a job, being evicted, working long hours for substandard pay, no food in the house, kids not doing well, grandma living with the family, older brother in jail…you name it…it came through that line that evening.
In spite of all of that, however, the parents (and grandparents, uncles, aunts, etc) came to the fun night. They brought their kids. They had, for a few minutes, some time when they didn’t have to worry about being safe or warm or fed.
My problems and issues pale in comparison to some of this, and pale even more to what I know some of my friends and loved ones are working with. The human spirit is as tough as nails. God grants to each of us the grace to live, love, and celebrate Him as we carry on in a fallen world…with the promise of a future that is beyond anything we can know or understand.
Most all of the families were working class, and many were, it seemed, of the poorer working class. That is a reasonable assumption as the neighborhood is generally the same. Many were of an ethnic variety besides anglo, and there was a good mix of younger and older, male and female.
Many of the adults who were there seemed to show the strain of living and raising a family. There were very few frills, no foo-foo outfits (whatever they are), and there were a lot of grizzled, dirty hands and tired, worn faces. The kids were excited, loud, and expended energy at a phenomenal rate. (If we could only harness that energy, I think we could solve the energy crisis.)
I could only imagine some of the issues that the adults in line may have been dealing with at the moment. Lack of health care, out of a job, being evicted, working long hours for substandard pay, no food in the house, kids not doing well, grandma living with the family, older brother in jail…you name it…it came through that line that evening.
In spite of all of that, however, the parents (and grandparents, uncles, aunts, etc) came to the fun night. They brought their kids. They had, for a few minutes, some time when they didn’t have to worry about being safe or warm or fed.
My problems and issues pale in comparison to some of this, and pale even more to what I know some of my friends and loved ones are working with. The human spirit is as tough as nails. God grants to each of us the grace to live, love, and celebrate Him as we carry on in a fallen world…with the promise of a future that is beyond anything we can know or understand.
Friday, October 22, 2010
One More Political Writing
As I said on Facebook, I think I’ve figured out why I am so disappointed with politics and the elections this year. I’ve always wondered just why it is that I can’t seem to get enthused about a candidate these past several years, and I think I now know. It only took me umpteen years to figure this out, and maybe it doesn’t apply to you, but it sure does to me.
Republican and Democratic candidates both may say lots of words, but when they’re boiled down to the base stock, what they are saying is nothing more or less than the current Republican or Democratic lines, straight from the party. There are no independent thinkers, it seems, and no one who is courageous enough to be his or her own person. The parties both tell us that they welcome divergent views, but heaven help the candidate that treads outside the lines set by the party.
You may think the minor party candidates are better…not so. Libertarian, Reform, Tea Party, you name it, they spout the party line. Their ideas just seem to be a little kookier than the ones of the major parties, although no party has an exclusive hold on stupidity and knot-headedness.
Where is the individual who thinks for himself? Where is the person who has ideas never expressed by anyone else? Where is the woman or man who isn’t afraid to stand up and articulate a core belief rather than the party line?
I watched part of the Wisconsin senatorial debate tonight on C-SPAN between Senator Feingold and his Republican opponent. Although the Senator has a record of reaching across the aisle (McCain-Feingold legislation, for one), and for saying what he thinks, and voting not always in accordance with his party, he really didn’t have any new ideas, nor did he say anything that showed he thought for himself. His Republican opponent didn’t even answer some of the questions posed to him for fear of saying something out of line with Republican principles.
Call me cynical. Call me uninterested. Or call me sarcastic. I don’t care. I’m disappointed, and I’m angry. And I think I’m in the company of lots of others in this nation of ours. Who knows? But one thing I do know. I’ll vote this year even though I don’t want to, and even though I may have to hold my nose a time or two. Otherwise, I’d have no cause to gripe and complain as I do.
Republican and Democratic candidates both may say lots of words, but when they’re boiled down to the base stock, what they are saying is nothing more or less than the current Republican or Democratic lines, straight from the party. There are no independent thinkers, it seems, and no one who is courageous enough to be his or her own person. The parties both tell us that they welcome divergent views, but heaven help the candidate that treads outside the lines set by the party.
You may think the minor party candidates are better…not so. Libertarian, Reform, Tea Party, you name it, they spout the party line. Their ideas just seem to be a little kookier than the ones of the major parties, although no party has an exclusive hold on stupidity and knot-headedness.
Where is the individual who thinks for himself? Where is the person who has ideas never expressed by anyone else? Where is the woman or man who isn’t afraid to stand up and articulate a core belief rather than the party line?
I watched part of the Wisconsin senatorial debate tonight on C-SPAN between Senator Feingold and his Republican opponent. Although the Senator has a record of reaching across the aisle (McCain-Feingold legislation, for one), and for saying what he thinks, and voting not always in accordance with his party, he really didn’t have any new ideas, nor did he say anything that showed he thought for himself. His Republican opponent didn’t even answer some of the questions posed to him for fear of saying something out of line with Republican principles.
Call me cynical. Call me uninterested. Or call me sarcastic. I don’t care. I’m disappointed, and I’m angry. And I think I’m in the company of lots of others in this nation of ours. Who knows? But one thing I do know. I’ll vote this year even though I don’t want to, and even though I may have to hold my nose a time or two. Otherwise, I’d have no cause to gripe and complain as I do.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
What They Are Made Of
For some time I’ve been wanting to take pictures of things around the house that have sentimental or family historic value, label them somehow, and write a brief summary of what it is and why it has value. My boys haven’t a clue what the story is behind many of these items and would just consider them to be old. They would probably discard or sell many of them.
Doing this will at least give them the story behind the item and allow them to make a more intelligent decision regarding keep or toss. It will also give me a chance to put some of my thoughts on paper, for whatever that is worth.
I decided yesterday that if I was going to do this, there was nothing like the present to start. I took my camera, checked the batteries, and began. Thinking I would have 20 to 25 photos, I started in the back yard with the “memorial weenie sticks”.
I took 71 photos, and know I am not finished yet. I am amazed at the number of things I found that have stories behind them, used to belong to an ancestor, or are important for some other reason. I’ve written a “commentary” about each photo after numbering the photo by using the number as the file name. As technology changes, I will have to migrate these to the newer formats. I can also just have prints made and print out the commentary, put it away, and tell the boys about it.
I don’t know the full story behind many of the things that are old to me and were handed down by my parents. I only know snippets and my memory may or may not be reliable. I am writing, however, what I think I know about the item, even if I may not be really sure of it. I think they need to know those thoughts that I have attached to the items. They can make their own decisions.
It’s been good to write this stuff down. I will probably review what I’ve written and add/subtract to/from it as we go on and as I recall more. I’m not certain how the boys will react, but hope they will appreciate it for what I intend it to be…a passing of history, not necessarily just things, to them for their appreciation. May they ever and always know and understand what they are made of.
Doing this will at least give them the story behind the item and allow them to make a more intelligent decision regarding keep or toss. It will also give me a chance to put some of my thoughts on paper, for whatever that is worth.
I decided yesterday that if I was going to do this, there was nothing like the present to start. I took my camera, checked the batteries, and began. Thinking I would have 20 to 25 photos, I started in the back yard with the “memorial weenie sticks”.
I took 71 photos, and know I am not finished yet. I am amazed at the number of things I found that have stories behind them, used to belong to an ancestor, or are important for some other reason. I’ve written a “commentary” about each photo after numbering the photo by using the number as the file name. As technology changes, I will have to migrate these to the newer formats. I can also just have prints made and print out the commentary, put it away, and tell the boys about it.
I don’t know the full story behind many of the things that are old to me and were handed down by my parents. I only know snippets and my memory may or may not be reliable. I am writing, however, what I think I know about the item, even if I may not be really sure of it. I think they need to know those thoughts that I have attached to the items. They can make their own decisions.
It’s been good to write this stuff down. I will probably review what I’ve written and add/subtract to/from it as we go on and as I recall more. I’m not certain how the boys will react, but hope they will appreciate it for what I intend it to be…a passing of history, not necessarily just things, to them for their appreciation. May they ever and always know and understand what they are made of.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Paying It Forward
I was working today in transportation instead of my regular job. We have a van we use to transport residents to doctor’s appointments, pick up new residents, etc. The regular person who does that needed the day off, and I substituted for her today.
It was a busy day. I made a total of ten pickups and deliveries today, most of which were fine-tuned in timing so I could just finish one and get to the next. Some were taking people to the doctor or to dialysis. There were some, though, that were pickups of new residents that had been dismissed from the hospital and needed further rehabilitation and care.
I was at one of the urban hospitals picking up an older gentleman. He had weakness on one side due to a CVA (stroke), and he had some other issues as well. Because of his weakness, he couldn’t sit in the wheelchair very well, nor could he maneuver into or out of his chair on his own. We had to use the lift to get him into the wheelchair so he could come to our place for rehab.
The man seemed at times to be somewhat confused as well. The combination of apparent confusion, listing to one side, and inability to sit in the chair straight made a prime opportunity for him to just tumble forward out of the chair. To help cope with that, he would tend to grab anything he could with his good hand and not let go willingly.
I got him into the elevator of the hospital and was on my way down when the car stopped to pick up another passenger. We then continued down to the first floor. By that time the resident had grabbed the handrail in the elevator car and was listing rather precariously to one side. The lady who was riding with us held the door open for us, and I worked with the man to get him to loosen his grip on the handrail as well as keep him sort of upright in the chair.
As I exited the car, the woman put her hand on my shoulder and said, “God bless you.”
I’m not sure what she was thinking, but I suspect she may have been thinking that I was taking home my dad to take care of him, or some such. She didn’t have any way of knowing, I think, that I would have him in my care for only a few more minutes.
However, I certainly appreciated her comment and compassion for me. It gave me a lift that lasted the rest of the day. I hope that sometime soon, in some situation, someone pays forward to her the gift she gave me today.
It was a busy day. I made a total of ten pickups and deliveries today, most of which were fine-tuned in timing so I could just finish one and get to the next. Some were taking people to the doctor or to dialysis. There were some, though, that were pickups of new residents that had been dismissed from the hospital and needed further rehabilitation and care.
I was at one of the urban hospitals picking up an older gentleman. He had weakness on one side due to a CVA (stroke), and he had some other issues as well. Because of his weakness, he couldn’t sit in the wheelchair very well, nor could he maneuver into or out of his chair on his own. We had to use the lift to get him into the wheelchair so he could come to our place for rehab.
The man seemed at times to be somewhat confused as well. The combination of apparent confusion, listing to one side, and inability to sit in the chair straight made a prime opportunity for him to just tumble forward out of the chair. To help cope with that, he would tend to grab anything he could with his good hand and not let go willingly.
I got him into the elevator of the hospital and was on my way down when the car stopped to pick up another passenger. We then continued down to the first floor. By that time the resident had grabbed the handrail in the elevator car and was listing rather precariously to one side. The lady who was riding with us held the door open for us, and I worked with the man to get him to loosen his grip on the handrail as well as keep him sort of upright in the chair.
As I exited the car, the woman put her hand on my shoulder and said, “God bless you.”
I’m not sure what she was thinking, but I suspect she may have been thinking that I was taking home my dad to take care of him, or some such. She didn’t have any way of knowing, I think, that I would have him in my care for only a few more minutes.
However, I certainly appreciated her comment and compassion for me. It gave me a lift that lasted the rest of the day. I hope that sometime soon, in some situation, someone pays forward to her the gift she gave me today.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Tradition
“I like change better when everything stays the same!” So says, I believe, Archie Bunker in an episode of All In The Family. I and many others can certainly relate to Archie as he struggled to catch up with the times, while desperately wishing to maintain some semblance of tradition and what he would consider normalcy in his life.
“Fiddler On The Roof” has tradition as a main theme. Churches are steeped in tradition, as is government, the educational system, the military, and many other organizations. Tradition even rises to the stature of law or rule in the minds of many, even though nothing of that particular tradition was ever codified.
We attended a Kansas University football game yesterday. It’s not the first time I’ve been to a KU game, and KU isn’t the only college game I’ve attended. I’m not so much of a sports nut, though, as I am a student of people. I like to watch, as many do, the traditions that accompany a sporting event on a university campus. The release of the falcon at Air Force Academy games, the appearance of the KU band out of the stadium entrances, and many other traditions you can think of which are attached to such events are as much a part of the experience as the game itself.
I was thinking yesterday as I watched some of the tradition play out for the millionth time how even in this day when we have instant access to virtually anything via smart phones and the Internet, some things just don’t change. And if someone were to try to change some tradition at a college sporting event, I dare say the earth itself would move to swallow up the one trying to make that change.
Much as we like to think we’re progressive and open, there is a gene within us that longs for the familiar and the traditional. There is a longing within us for the time-honored and customary. There are some venues into which innovation, novelty, and improvement just aren’t invited.
And that’s OK.
“Fiddler On The Roof” has tradition as a main theme. Churches are steeped in tradition, as is government, the educational system, the military, and many other organizations. Tradition even rises to the stature of law or rule in the minds of many, even though nothing of that particular tradition was ever codified.
We attended a Kansas University football game yesterday. It’s not the first time I’ve been to a KU game, and KU isn’t the only college game I’ve attended. I’m not so much of a sports nut, though, as I am a student of people. I like to watch, as many do, the traditions that accompany a sporting event on a university campus. The release of the falcon at Air Force Academy games, the appearance of the KU band out of the stadium entrances, and many other traditions you can think of which are attached to such events are as much a part of the experience as the game itself.
I was thinking yesterday as I watched some of the tradition play out for the millionth time how even in this day when we have instant access to virtually anything via smart phones and the Internet, some things just don’t change. And if someone were to try to change some tradition at a college sporting event, I dare say the earth itself would move to swallow up the one trying to make that change.
Much as we like to think we’re progressive and open, there is a gene within us that longs for the familiar and the traditional. There is a longing within us for the time-honored and customary. There are some venues into which innovation, novelty, and improvement just aren’t invited.
And that’s OK.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Hope
I had a few minutes of free time this afternoon after calling a couple of Bingo games at work. I sat and visited with a lady from our church who is also a short term resident at our place. As we were visiting about this and that, an older lady who also is a resident sat down at the piano and started playing.
She was playing in (how shall I say) an evangelical protestant style similar to what one might hear in a Baptist church. And she was doing very well for her age (90 years or more old). She had lost her husband, a retired preacher, just 10 or so days ago. He had suffered with dementia for several years. They both moved here when they got just too frail to remain at home.
The first song she played was “Because He Lives”, written by Bill and Gloria Gaither. If you don't know the words to the song, you should. “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know He holds the future; and life is worth the living just because He lives.”
I have to admit that I teared up a bit while she was playing that song. She's not always “with it” herself at 100%, but today at least, she knew, apparently, where her hope lay.
I saw a quiet strength and witness in this woman today that I've not seen before in her. I don't think I'll soon forget the evangelical musical recital I heard today.
She was playing in (how shall I say) an evangelical protestant style similar to what one might hear in a Baptist church. And she was doing very well for her age (90 years or more old). She had lost her husband, a retired preacher, just 10 or so days ago. He had suffered with dementia for several years. They both moved here when they got just too frail to remain at home.
The first song she played was “Because He Lives”, written by Bill and Gloria Gaither. If you don't know the words to the song, you should. “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know He holds the future; and life is worth the living just because He lives.”
I have to admit that I teared up a bit while she was playing that song. She's not always “with it” herself at 100%, but today at least, she knew, apparently, where her hope lay.
I saw a quiet strength and witness in this woman today that I've not seen before in her. I don't think I'll soon forget the evangelical musical recital I heard today.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Do It Again??
I was perusing a couple of blogs down here on my computer. The TV was on, and someone was singing. One of the lyrics caught my ear. It was, “I love life; I’d do it again.” I stopped perusing blogs and thought about that line. No, I would not say that. I don’t want to live life again. I like where I am at this time in this place, and look forward not only to the future here, but eternity.
I’m tired. I’ve worked for almost 45 years, earning money for myself and for my family. I’m ready to do something else. No, I’m not ready to give up and die. I have too many plans…too much on the hook…too much in mind to ever spend a lot of time in my easy chair. The kids are raised, we’re enjoying the grandkids, and we have more than enough of the basics of food, clothing, and shelter.
We have been, and are being blessed beyond compare. Why, in heaven’s name, would I want to go back and do it all again?
I’m tired. I’ve worked for almost 45 years, earning money for myself and for my family. I’m ready to do something else. No, I’m not ready to give up and die. I have too many plans…too much on the hook…too much in mind to ever spend a lot of time in my easy chair. The kids are raised, we’re enjoying the grandkids, and we have more than enough of the basics of food, clothing, and shelter.
We have been, and are being blessed beyond compare. Why, in heaven’s name, would I want to go back and do it all again?
Louis
Once a month or so, I take time off and visit a woman. We have a continuing professional relationship and understanding. I give her money, and she provides a service. I’ve been doing this ever since we moved to Wichita several years ago. When I first started seeing her, we lived not far from where we meet; but since we’ve moved to the west side, it’s much farther to drive, yet I still make the trip. She makes me look good and feel better. I’m at ease when with her, and enjoy the time we spend together.
Oh, I just read the above paragraph and might want to explain a little further. She’s my barber. No, she’s not a beautician, but rather is a barber. She has a shop over in the Riverside area, and does a good job keeping my mop tamed and in place.
I first started going there when we lived nearby. When I went into the shop the first time, I just presumed a man would be there, but was surprised to the point that I even asked her if she was a barber or beautician. You see, I’ve gone to beauticians, both male and female, but just prefer a barber. There IS a difference.
And I don’t know why I make the 20 or so minute drive to this same shop now that we live on the west side. There are barbers out here, most of whom are probably very good at what they do. But about once a month I make the drive, wait a few minutes (or if it was like today, just got in the chair right away), and a few minutes later, my head feels cooler, lighter, and looks better. Sometimes I combine the trip with a visit to the Riverside Café or Indian Hills Ace, but most of the time I just get my hair cut.
Usually, on the way there or back, or both ways, I will take the more scenic roads. I try to avoid the interstates and bypasses in favor of 13th street, Waco, Douglas, 2nd street, Bitting, or one of the other ways to get from here to there and back again. Sometimes I’ll stop and visit with Sis, or maybe stop at the coffee store for some more fresh-ground joe, but usually I just go and come back. The barber charges ten dollars, of which I figure she gets to keep four or five after paying taxes, rent, and other expenses. That’s reasonable, and in fact is rather inexpensive nowadays.
This morning, I was reminded while I sat in the chair, of the barber in my hometown. Louis is long gone from this earth, but stays with me in my thoughts as I reminisce in my mind of times long ago and never to be again. When I was a child, his shop was usually filled with men laughing and carrying on, and smoke so thick it was hard to see the other wall. That smell of cigarette smoke, hair tonic, shaving cream, and old men still is fresh in my mind. The comic books were usually pretty fresh, and there was even an Esquire to sneak a peek at if I was lucky.
He’d put a board on the chair and sit me on it (at least until I could manage the chair without it). He’d adjust the chair up or down as needed and begin with the electric razor around my ears. It usually took about 20 minutes for a cut, usually because he stopped to talk to others who were there, mostly to pass the time.
After most of the cut was finished, he’d lather up my sideburns and the back of my neck with hot lather, whether I was a boy or later on after adulthood. He’d sharpen his straight razor on the leather strop on the side of his chair each and every time he’d use it. If he got to talking with someone while sharpening the razor, he might be there sharpening for a long time. The razor never pulled or tugged, however. Then he’d use the hot towel to remove the excess cream and we’d finish with the hair vacuum combined with a soft bristle brush.
He had a set routine and never varied from it, even in his later years. Those years saw the removal of cigarettes from the shop, and there weren't as many loafers, but the comics were still fresh, along with the Esquire magazines. He wasn’t quite as neat in later years, either, but I wouldn’t have gone to anyone else, nor would I have taken the boys anywhere else as long as he cut hair.
The final straw was the piece of Double-Bubble bubble gum. I got a piece whether a child or an adult…didn’t matter. It seemed the gum piece got a little smaller after adulthood, but that’s OK. A lot of things seemed to get smaller along with the gum.
Barber shops aren’t like that much anymore. There’s never any cigarette smoke, and not a lot of loafers spend the day in the shop. There’s no bubble gum, and although my barber has a razor and strop and was trained in using them, she doesn’t, and says she hasn’t for years. But I’d still rather go to the barber shop than a beauty shop any day. And at times, some experience there takes me back, however briefly, to the shop on East Main where Louis would always be ready with a comic book, a razor, and a piece of bubble gum.
Oh, I just read the above paragraph and might want to explain a little further. She’s my barber. No, she’s not a beautician, but rather is a barber. She has a shop over in the Riverside area, and does a good job keeping my mop tamed and in place.
I first started going there when we lived nearby. When I went into the shop the first time, I just presumed a man would be there, but was surprised to the point that I even asked her if she was a barber or beautician. You see, I’ve gone to beauticians, both male and female, but just prefer a barber. There IS a difference.
And I don’t know why I make the 20 or so minute drive to this same shop now that we live on the west side. There are barbers out here, most of whom are probably very good at what they do. But about once a month I make the drive, wait a few minutes (or if it was like today, just got in the chair right away), and a few minutes later, my head feels cooler, lighter, and looks better. Sometimes I combine the trip with a visit to the Riverside Café or Indian Hills Ace, but most of the time I just get my hair cut.
Usually, on the way there or back, or both ways, I will take the more scenic roads. I try to avoid the interstates and bypasses in favor of 13th street, Waco, Douglas, 2nd street, Bitting, or one of the other ways to get from here to there and back again. Sometimes I’ll stop and visit with Sis, or maybe stop at the coffee store for some more fresh-ground joe, but usually I just go and come back. The barber charges ten dollars, of which I figure she gets to keep four or five after paying taxes, rent, and other expenses. That’s reasonable, and in fact is rather inexpensive nowadays.
This morning, I was reminded while I sat in the chair, of the barber in my hometown. Louis is long gone from this earth, but stays with me in my thoughts as I reminisce in my mind of times long ago and never to be again. When I was a child, his shop was usually filled with men laughing and carrying on, and smoke so thick it was hard to see the other wall. That smell of cigarette smoke, hair tonic, shaving cream, and old men still is fresh in my mind. The comic books were usually pretty fresh, and there was even an Esquire to sneak a peek at if I was lucky.
He’d put a board on the chair and sit me on it (at least until I could manage the chair without it). He’d adjust the chair up or down as needed and begin with the electric razor around my ears. It usually took about 20 minutes for a cut, usually because he stopped to talk to others who were there, mostly to pass the time.
After most of the cut was finished, he’d lather up my sideburns and the back of my neck with hot lather, whether I was a boy or later on after adulthood. He’d sharpen his straight razor on the leather strop on the side of his chair each and every time he’d use it. If he got to talking with someone while sharpening the razor, he might be there sharpening for a long time. The razor never pulled or tugged, however. Then he’d use the hot towel to remove the excess cream and we’d finish with the hair vacuum combined with a soft bristle brush.
He had a set routine and never varied from it, even in his later years. Those years saw the removal of cigarettes from the shop, and there weren't as many loafers, but the comics were still fresh, along with the Esquire magazines. He wasn’t quite as neat in later years, either, but I wouldn’t have gone to anyone else, nor would I have taken the boys anywhere else as long as he cut hair.
The final straw was the piece of Double-Bubble bubble gum. I got a piece whether a child or an adult…didn’t matter. It seemed the gum piece got a little smaller after adulthood, but that’s OK. A lot of things seemed to get smaller along with the gum.
Barber shops aren’t like that much anymore. There’s never any cigarette smoke, and not a lot of loafers spend the day in the shop. There’s no bubble gum, and although my barber has a razor and strop and was trained in using them, she doesn’t, and says she hasn’t for years. But I’d still rather go to the barber shop than a beauty shop any day. And at times, some experience there takes me back, however briefly, to the shop on East Main where Louis would always be ready with a comic book, a razor, and a piece of bubble gum.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Worlds
It’s been a little trying for me the last few days. A cold has taken hold, and although it isn’t a bad one, it tends to make me feel less than good. I’m not complaining, however. I know there are many fighting cancer, intractable pain, disability, etc. which makes my cold seem like a walk in the park. I am blessed to be as healthy as I am and to have access to medications that ameliorate some chronic conditions I have. I can move, think, work, and enjoy life.
I was working in a flower bed yesterday, pulling weeds and old, dead plants out of the bed. As I worked on my hands and knees clearing out the “brush”, I noticed that there was a whole ‘nuther world down there on the ground that I think people very seldom see. There were worms, spiders, roly bugs, snails, ants, and other assorted life forms who were becoming very perturbed at my disrupting their habitat. I’m sure some of them died because of what I did, and others made their way to the heavier brush of the asparagus plants toward the back of the bed.
We actually live in and among many worlds like this. There are several worlds in water, for example. Cave worlds, deep sea worlds, coral worlds, and pond worlds are but a few. On land, we notice the world in the tops of trees, on trunks of trees and plants, under the ground, in caves, under rocks, and other places. All are as different as night is from day. And all in their own ways are beautiful manifestations of God’s creative ability.
Each of us also lives in a world at least partly of our own making. We don’t have total control of our world, but we can and do interfere with the natural order of our world and make it better, worse, or just different by the decisions we make and the things we say and do. Of course, the trick is to make our worlds better for ourselves without causing grief and expense to someone else. And then many times we end up falling into the stupid pit and make things more miserable for ourselves just by what we say or do (or don’t say or don’t do).
Next time you happen to intersect with another world, think about the one you live in for yourself. What can you do to make it better for both you and those you know and love?
I was working in a flower bed yesterday, pulling weeds and old, dead plants out of the bed. As I worked on my hands and knees clearing out the “brush”, I noticed that there was a whole ‘nuther world down there on the ground that I think people very seldom see. There were worms, spiders, roly bugs, snails, ants, and other assorted life forms who were becoming very perturbed at my disrupting their habitat. I’m sure some of them died because of what I did, and others made their way to the heavier brush of the asparagus plants toward the back of the bed.
We actually live in and among many worlds like this. There are several worlds in water, for example. Cave worlds, deep sea worlds, coral worlds, and pond worlds are but a few. On land, we notice the world in the tops of trees, on trunks of trees and plants, under the ground, in caves, under rocks, and other places. All are as different as night is from day. And all in their own ways are beautiful manifestations of God’s creative ability.
Each of us also lives in a world at least partly of our own making. We don’t have total control of our world, but we can and do interfere with the natural order of our world and make it better, worse, or just different by the decisions we make and the things we say and do. Of course, the trick is to make our worlds better for ourselves without causing grief and expense to someone else. And then many times we end up falling into the stupid pit and make things more miserable for ourselves just by what we say or do (or don’t say or don’t do).
Next time you happen to intersect with another world, think about the one you live in for yourself. What can you do to make it better for both you and those you know and love?
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Enjoying the Hour
I’ve been home most of the day, and got a little restless toward evening. So, about 7 o-clock I hopped (figuratively, I’m sure) into the pickup and took a drive in the country. I went down to 55th street south, then west far enough to go into Kingman County (barely), then north a little and back to Wichita via 31st street south.
There are some things I noticed that I will include here in no particular order. First, it’s dry. The roads raised a lot of dust in the rearview mirror, and one did not want to follow someone else very closely. Farmers are stripping their fields, in preparation for the windy conditions to come tomorrow and Monday. Stripping a field keeps the topsoil from blowing nearly as badly as it would if it were smooth and not worked.
Corn has been harvested, but wheat has not been planted to any great extent. Sometimes farmers will plant wheat in August in order to have good pasture, etc. I suspect that following the next rain, assuming it comes in a week or two, a lot of wheat will be planted very quickly.
Several farmers have spread lime and fertilizer on their fields already. Some have the lime in a pile, but haven’t spread it yet. Farm work never ends.
Just before sundown, as I drove into the small valleys where the creeks and draws were, I noticed a cooling of the air. I had the window open, the radio and air conditioner off, and was enjoying the outdoors. There was, I would say, upwards of an 8 to 10 degree change from the normal height into the “bottoms”. The wind was still, allowing the cooler air to settle in those low areas.
One lone deer was in a bean field. I was a little disappointed I didn’t see more. I did see a few quail run across the road. Haven’t seen them in quite a while.
The railroad runs to Garden Plain. I had thought that line was abandoned long ago when the bridge washed out over Cowskin Creek at Kellogg and Maize in Wichita. However, the portion of that line from Garden Plain to Kingman is in service, albeit on an as-needed basis, it looks like. Probably mostly in the spring and fall harvests. The line terminates about 500 feet east of the section line road on the east side of Garden Plain. That would be one line I’d love to ride some day. The scenery would be great, I would think, as it cuts through sections of land, crosses rivers and streams, and is far from well-traveled roads.
It’s a different world out there. People you don’t know wave in that typical rural fashion. In case you don’t know what that is, you put your hand on top of the steering wheel, and when someone passes you, you either raise your hand a bit, or your first finger to acknowledge them. Everyone has a signature wave. If you are a true rural resident, you can many times tell who it is just by their wave. You’re an “unfriendly” or a “foreigner” if you don’t wave.
There are a lot of people who have built a lot of really nice homes on acreage out there. There are older farmsteads, but they seem to be declining in numbers, and groups of developments are there, sometimes several miles from the city. One thing that is also true, however, is that the developments are not far from a paved road.
I enjoyed the hour I spent in Western Sedgwick County.
There are some things I noticed that I will include here in no particular order. First, it’s dry. The roads raised a lot of dust in the rearview mirror, and one did not want to follow someone else very closely. Farmers are stripping their fields, in preparation for the windy conditions to come tomorrow and Monday. Stripping a field keeps the topsoil from blowing nearly as badly as it would if it were smooth and not worked.
Corn has been harvested, but wheat has not been planted to any great extent. Sometimes farmers will plant wheat in August in order to have good pasture, etc. I suspect that following the next rain, assuming it comes in a week or two, a lot of wheat will be planted very quickly.
Several farmers have spread lime and fertilizer on their fields already. Some have the lime in a pile, but haven’t spread it yet. Farm work never ends.
Just before sundown, as I drove into the small valleys where the creeks and draws were, I noticed a cooling of the air. I had the window open, the radio and air conditioner off, and was enjoying the outdoors. There was, I would say, upwards of an 8 to 10 degree change from the normal height into the “bottoms”. The wind was still, allowing the cooler air to settle in those low areas.
One lone deer was in a bean field. I was a little disappointed I didn’t see more. I did see a few quail run across the road. Haven’t seen them in quite a while.
The railroad runs to Garden Plain. I had thought that line was abandoned long ago when the bridge washed out over Cowskin Creek at Kellogg and Maize in Wichita. However, the portion of that line from Garden Plain to Kingman is in service, albeit on an as-needed basis, it looks like. Probably mostly in the spring and fall harvests. The line terminates about 500 feet east of the section line road on the east side of Garden Plain. That would be one line I’d love to ride some day. The scenery would be great, I would think, as it cuts through sections of land, crosses rivers and streams, and is far from well-traveled roads.
It’s a different world out there. People you don’t know wave in that typical rural fashion. In case you don’t know what that is, you put your hand on top of the steering wheel, and when someone passes you, you either raise your hand a bit, or your first finger to acknowledge them. Everyone has a signature wave. If you are a true rural resident, you can many times tell who it is just by their wave. You’re an “unfriendly” or a “foreigner” if you don’t wave.
There are a lot of people who have built a lot of really nice homes on acreage out there. There are older farmsteads, but they seem to be declining in numbers, and groups of developments are there, sometimes several miles from the city. One thing that is also true, however, is that the developments are not far from a paved road.
I enjoyed the hour I spent in Western Sedgwick County.
The Long Weekend
This is kind of an unusual weekend for me. The wife is in central Kansas working with her siblings regarding their recently-deceased Dad’s estate. She left yesterday and plans to be there through Monday sometime. So the house (and all the housework) is mine.
I’ve started already, in the basement spare bedroom. It’s been neglected for awhile and needs a good cleaning. I need to put clean sheets on the bed and generally spiff it up. From there, I don’t know. I think I need to start some laundry and multi-task while I’m downstairs, but don’t have the energy to do that right now. I’m starting a trash pile in the middle of the basement floor, and hope I don’t throw away anything that we (read that “the wife”) think we need to keep.
The TV is on. Although the games don’t start for awhile, it is good company right now as I sip coffee, type this, and think about all we’ve neglected in this house the past month. Maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to get 30% or so done of all that I’ve in mind to do.
It promises to be a nice day outside, although the breeze will be obvious today, and it promises to become downright windy tomorrow and Monday. I should also work outdoors, but wish to leave that for a cool weekend Saturday when I won’t perspire so much and when it will feel good to exert in that way.
So we’ll see how much gets done this long weekend. Hopefully, I can make some inroads as well as have a somewhat relaxing weekend. Happy Labor Day.
I’ve started already, in the basement spare bedroom. It’s been neglected for awhile and needs a good cleaning. I need to put clean sheets on the bed and generally spiff it up. From there, I don’t know. I think I need to start some laundry and multi-task while I’m downstairs, but don’t have the energy to do that right now. I’m starting a trash pile in the middle of the basement floor, and hope I don’t throw away anything that we (read that “the wife”) think we need to keep.
The TV is on. Although the games don’t start for awhile, it is good company right now as I sip coffee, type this, and think about all we’ve neglected in this house the past month. Maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to get 30% or so done of all that I’ve in mind to do.
It promises to be a nice day outside, although the breeze will be obvious today, and it promises to become downright windy tomorrow and Monday. I should also work outdoors, but wish to leave that for a cool weekend Saturday when I won’t perspire so much and when it will feel good to exert in that way.
So we’ll see how much gets done this long weekend. Hopefully, I can make some inroads as well as have a somewhat relaxing weekend. Happy Labor Day.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The Jesus of the Movies
In preparation for my upcoming Wednesday classes that I talked about in my last post, I watched the movie, “The Gospel of John” which is a word for word rendition of that writing. Although the movie was done well, there were some things in it that continue to seem to be the purview of religiously-oriented films and videos. And they just drive me nuts.
First, when crowds are gathered, no one talks, it seems, in the crowd. Most normal crowds of people will have at least a low-buzz of murmuring and quiet talk. People just don’t stand in a crowd when no one is commanding their attention and not say or do anything. But in religious movies, it seems that’s what they do.
Second, religious actions seem to be artificial. Jesus folded his hands and held them to his face when praying, just like we teach children to do sometimes in our culture. I don’t know how Jesus prayed, but I venture a wild guess he didn’t do that.
Third, events of monumental importance and significance receive a dearth of emotion from those witnessing them. We saw walking on water and the raising of Lazarus in this movie. In both cases, there was a generally non-emotional reaction to these events. And what emotion was shown was artificial, in my view.
I can only imagine the chaos in the boat when they saw this figure walking on the waves. And I can surely hear the shouts, the cries, and the human noise of utter disbelief when Lazarus came floating out of the tomb (His hands and feet were bound together, it says…how did he get out of the tomb? I’m not the only one who believes he may well have “levitated” out. Many serious Biblical scholars and commentators agree.)
And Jesus himself was rather short and unimposing. I suppose that could indeed be true; however, I have to believe that God would have His Son to be a fine human specimen, and that He would have had the presence and command of his environment to have chased out the money-changers, elude would-be captors, and make the soldiers who came to arrest him fall back in fear.
Besides, Jesus had command and control of his disciples. I know he could well have done that through divine means, but these guys were sailors, tax collectors, zealots, and other miscellaneous “lower class” life. I’m not sure a wimpy Jesus would have made the impression on them that he did. And what of Jesus’ appearance to John in Revelation chapter 1? Was that a wimp who appeared to him? I hardly think so, given that John fell to the ground as a dead man.
I had anticipated better from this movie. Maybe I shouldn’t do that; I only become disappointed when things aren’t the way I envision them. One of these days, though, someone will make a movie and cast a Jesus who is as I imagine him to be…THAT’LL be the day.
First, when crowds are gathered, no one talks, it seems, in the crowd. Most normal crowds of people will have at least a low-buzz of murmuring and quiet talk. People just don’t stand in a crowd when no one is commanding their attention and not say or do anything. But in religious movies, it seems that’s what they do.
Second, religious actions seem to be artificial. Jesus folded his hands and held them to his face when praying, just like we teach children to do sometimes in our culture. I don’t know how Jesus prayed, but I venture a wild guess he didn’t do that.
Third, events of monumental importance and significance receive a dearth of emotion from those witnessing them. We saw walking on water and the raising of Lazarus in this movie. In both cases, there was a generally non-emotional reaction to these events. And what emotion was shown was artificial, in my view.
I can only imagine the chaos in the boat when they saw this figure walking on the waves. And I can surely hear the shouts, the cries, and the human noise of utter disbelief when Lazarus came floating out of the tomb (His hands and feet were bound together, it says…how did he get out of the tomb? I’m not the only one who believes he may well have “levitated” out. Many serious Biblical scholars and commentators agree.)
And Jesus himself was rather short and unimposing. I suppose that could indeed be true; however, I have to believe that God would have His Son to be a fine human specimen, and that He would have had the presence and command of his environment to have chased out the money-changers, elude would-be captors, and make the soldiers who came to arrest him fall back in fear.
Besides, Jesus had command and control of his disciples. I know he could well have done that through divine means, but these guys were sailors, tax collectors, zealots, and other miscellaneous “lower class” life. I’m not sure a wimpy Jesus would have made the impression on them that he did. And what of Jesus’ appearance to John in Revelation chapter 1? Was that a wimp who appeared to him? I hardly think so, given that John fell to the ground as a dead man.
I had anticipated better from this movie. Maybe I shouldn’t do that; I only become disappointed when things aren’t the way I envision them. One of these days, though, someone will make a movie and cast a Jesus who is as I imagine him to be…THAT’LL be the day.
The Life
A couple of weeks ago, I asked if I could teach the Wednesday evening adult class at church in a three-week mini class. We would watch the one-man play “St John in Exile”, presented by Dean Jones (made several Disney movies and other films). In the play, Jones is John the Apostle, living in exile on Patmos Island Penal Colony. He recounts his recollections of his time with Jesus of Nazareth in a way that is amusing at times, yet very powerful. The class coordinator, not being used to people volunteering to teach, decided to schedule me quickly before I changed my mind. So I will be teaching for the next three Wednesday evenings.
In preparation for the class, I have watched the play yet one more time. First having seen it about 20 years ago, I have watched it probably 25 times or so. Each time I see or hear something in the play that I’ve not seen before, and the play remains fresh to me even though I know much of the dialog by now. There’s just something about seeing Mr. Jones as John the Apostle that bring s a realism and even life to the words of his gospel.
Actually, that’s one of the things I think John is trying to convey in his writing. He talks several times about Jesus and the Life that is in him. He quotes Jesus saying, “I am the resurrection and the life.” He talks in the play of the life that was in Jesus following his own resurrection. He talks of the eternal life that is promised in John 3:16. There are other places as well, but you get the picture.
I’ve often wondered just what this “life” was, how it manifests, and what it looks like. Oh, I know that there are myriads of living creatures on this planet (and perhaps other planets somewhere). And I know the difference between a living person and a dead person. I know all of that. But there’s something different about the life that Jesus talks about, I think.
Jesus seems to be talking about a life that is special…that is unique…that is a gift only God provides. It transcends mortal and physical life, although it certainly includes it. It is a life that is at once eternal, yet in the here and now for those who know God and know His only Begotten Son.
I don’t understand it all, but each time I hear the play by Mr. Jones, I have a little better appreciation for the Eternal Son and what he has done (and continues to do) for us all. Truly, if Jesus is not a liar or a crazy man, he is God Himself and embodies that Life which is made available to all who will accept the gift.
In preparation for the class, I have watched the play yet one more time. First having seen it about 20 years ago, I have watched it probably 25 times or so. Each time I see or hear something in the play that I’ve not seen before, and the play remains fresh to me even though I know much of the dialog by now. There’s just something about seeing Mr. Jones as John the Apostle that bring s a realism and even life to the words of his gospel.
Actually, that’s one of the things I think John is trying to convey in his writing. He talks several times about Jesus and the Life that is in him. He quotes Jesus saying, “I am the resurrection and the life.” He talks in the play of the life that was in Jesus following his own resurrection. He talks of the eternal life that is promised in John 3:16. There are other places as well, but you get the picture.
I’ve often wondered just what this “life” was, how it manifests, and what it looks like. Oh, I know that there are myriads of living creatures on this planet (and perhaps other planets somewhere). And I know the difference between a living person and a dead person. I know all of that. But there’s something different about the life that Jesus talks about, I think.
Jesus seems to be talking about a life that is special…that is unique…that is a gift only God provides. It transcends mortal and physical life, although it certainly includes it. It is a life that is at once eternal, yet in the here and now for those who know God and know His only Begotten Son.
I don’t understand it all, but each time I hear the play by Mr. Jones, I have a little better appreciation for the Eternal Son and what he has done (and continues to do) for us all. Truly, if Jesus is not a liar or a crazy man, he is God Himself and embodies that Life which is made available to all who will accept the gift.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Why Do You Pray?
We had an interesting thing happen yesterday (Sunday) at our church. One of our brother-members has been in the hospital for the past week or so, with one unexpected problem after another. He went in initially for surgery on his esophagus, but had at least three more unexpected surgeries, ending with one that removed some of his colon and small intestine due to a diverticulum which ruptured. On Sunday morning, when they were about to go in for the fourth time in a week, he was on total life support and the doctor gave him virtually no chance at survival.
They did that surgery on Sunday when the church was meeting. We stopped the service and had a special prayer for him, as they were working on him at the hospital. The prayer was sincere, humbling, and honest. There was no doubt in the one leading the prayer that God could intervene, and he conveyed that hope to the rest of us in good fashion.
We found out on Sunday evening that not only had he survived the surgery, but he came through it so well and looked so good that the doctor now is saying he has a chance to go home and live a normal life. The doctor is also quoted as saying that it shouldn’t be this way…that he should not even be alive; yet they are now talking about possibly going home and living rather normally.
They have one more surgery to do. That is tomorrow (Tuesday). If he comes through this one as he did the one on Sunday, they will sew him up, put him back in ICU, and work to get him out of the hospital and on the long road to recovery.
I remember thinking during the prayer Sunday morning, unlike many times when I’ve participated in such prayers, that God indeed can and does intervene in these kinds of things, and that the prayers of His people do matter. Oh, I know He doesn’t always do what we ask, but does that make God any less of a prayer-answerer?
When you pray for someone, whether for healing, for comfort, wisdom, or whatever, what do you think of? Are you going through the motions? Are you doing your duty? Or are you petitioning the God of the universe to intervene in a situation because you are asking Him to do so, believing that He can and does work in His creation?
They did that surgery on Sunday when the church was meeting. We stopped the service and had a special prayer for him, as they were working on him at the hospital. The prayer was sincere, humbling, and honest. There was no doubt in the one leading the prayer that God could intervene, and he conveyed that hope to the rest of us in good fashion.
We found out on Sunday evening that not only had he survived the surgery, but he came through it so well and looked so good that the doctor now is saying he has a chance to go home and live a normal life. The doctor is also quoted as saying that it shouldn’t be this way…that he should not even be alive; yet they are now talking about possibly going home and living rather normally.
They have one more surgery to do. That is tomorrow (Tuesday). If he comes through this one as he did the one on Sunday, they will sew him up, put him back in ICU, and work to get him out of the hospital and on the long road to recovery.
I remember thinking during the prayer Sunday morning, unlike many times when I’ve participated in such prayers, that God indeed can and does intervene in these kinds of things, and that the prayers of His people do matter. Oh, I know He doesn’t always do what we ask, but does that make God any less of a prayer-answerer?
When you pray for someone, whether for healing, for comfort, wisdom, or whatever, what do you think of? Are you going through the motions? Are you doing your duty? Or are you petitioning the God of the universe to intervene in a situation because you are asking Him to do so, believing that He can and does work in His creation?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Semper Fi
Well, it's over. The funeral for my father in law was yesterday morning. It was a fitting tribute to a plain and humble man, wounded Iwo Jima veteran, and patriarch. Six Marines from Wichita provided an appropriate service at the graveside. They played Taps, folded the flag, and fired volleys in honor of a fallen hero and fellow Marine. Several Legionnaires paid tribute as well, forming a corridor outside the church and at the cemetery. The funeral itself could not have been better or more fitting.
Several of the family spoke at the service. My niece gave perhaps the most eloquent, although no more passionate, tribute. The only thing Grandad would not have wanted was the salute at the end of her talk. She is active Air Force along with her husband. They stood at attention at the casket after she said her piece and gave a salute to the decorated soldier and lifelong Marine who always said that the real heroes were the ones who never made it back home alive.
A member of “The Greatest Generation”, Grandad assimilated back into society following his wound and discharge, raised a family, worked hard, paid his bills and his taxes, griped about the government and politics, and loved his offspring and their issue. He had a rather simple philosophy of what was right and wrong; if it looked or sounded cock-eyed and obtuse, it was probably wrong. If it fit with the philosophy of loving one's neighbor and doing the right thing, it was probably right. He didn't have many things that he hadn't already placed in one category or the other long, long ago.
As a pumper for an oil company, Grandad worked hard and put in a full day's work for a day's pay. He had little use for anyone who wouldn't or couldn't carry their own weight in the oil field, or any other work environment for that matter. “Can't use you,” was the kiss of death when Grandad said that to someone working for him. It meant that you weren't pulling your weight and might as well pack up and go home.
In later years, he became more frail. Although he managed to live at his home until the end, and remain active in the community as well, I think he was ready to go long ago. His wife died fifteen years ago, and I think he was ready to be reunited with her. What happened, happened, and it is all part of life and living.
The family tree will continue to sprout new branches and leaves. It will continue to grow by both direct descendancy as well as by grafting in (marriage and adoption). It has had a good root system, which remains alive and vibrant, even though the one providing the anchor is no longer here. Someone else will step in to fill that void, and life and living will continue.
Semper Fi, Grandad.
Several of the family spoke at the service. My niece gave perhaps the most eloquent, although no more passionate, tribute. The only thing Grandad would not have wanted was the salute at the end of her talk. She is active Air Force along with her husband. They stood at attention at the casket after she said her piece and gave a salute to the decorated soldier and lifelong Marine who always said that the real heroes were the ones who never made it back home alive.
A member of “The Greatest Generation”, Grandad assimilated back into society following his wound and discharge, raised a family, worked hard, paid his bills and his taxes, griped about the government and politics, and loved his offspring and their issue. He had a rather simple philosophy of what was right and wrong; if it looked or sounded cock-eyed and obtuse, it was probably wrong. If it fit with the philosophy of loving one's neighbor and doing the right thing, it was probably right. He didn't have many things that he hadn't already placed in one category or the other long, long ago.
As a pumper for an oil company, Grandad worked hard and put in a full day's work for a day's pay. He had little use for anyone who wouldn't or couldn't carry their own weight in the oil field, or any other work environment for that matter. “Can't use you,” was the kiss of death when Grandad said that to someone working for him. It meant that you weren't pulling your weight and might as well pack up and go home.
In later years, he became more frail. Although he managed to live at his home until the end, and remain active in the community as well, I think he was ready to go long ago. His wife died fifteen years ago, and I think he was ready to be reunited with her. What happened, happened, and it is all part of life and living.
The family tree will continue to sprout new branches and leaves. It will continue to grow by both direct descendancy as well as by grafting in (marriage and adoption). It has had a good root system, which remains alive and vibrant, even though the one providing the anchor is no longer here. Someone else will step in to fill that void, and life and living will continue.
Semper Fi, Grandad.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
A Privilege
Right now, we are dealing with the somewhat unexpected demise of my father-in-law. He was advanced in age, but was in fairly good health for his age and had no immediately life-threatening medical issues that we knew of. Nevertheless, we found him dead in the garden of his daughter, apparently from a fall, whether caused by some sudden medical condition or not.
I am an in-law in this situation. I’ve been through the drill with my being in the middle of things with my mother and dad. It’s interesting to kind of sit back this time and just watch and absorb. I also know that I can say some things some times and what I have to say will be welcome. The children may or may not take my advice, and that’s as it should be. I’m just glad I can feel like I can offer it.
I’ve been with this family for over 35 years. I know them all pretty well. I’ve not been surprised to any great extent by anything I’ve seen in the past couple of days, and I don’t expect to be greatly surprised by anything I’ll see in the next couple of days. Nevertheless, as a student of people and their behavior, I am intrigued.
The family has grown considerably since I first came into it. There are cousins and such that I’m not sure I would recognize if they appeared at my doorstep. There are other cousins that I’m not sure I could say their names. But it’s the siblings that are on center stage, so to speak. I’m married to one of them.
To those of you who know of our family and our situation, and have expressed sympathy; thank you. To those who don’t, that’s OK. We’ll come through this and will be all the stronger for having passed through this valley. I’m privileged to be part of this family.
I am an in-law in this situation. I’ve been through the drill with my being in the middle of things with my mother and dad. It’s interesting to kind of sit back this time and just watch and absorb. I also know that I can say some things some times and what I have to say will be welcome. The children may or may not take my advice, and that’s as it should be. I’m just glad I can feel like I can offer it.
I’ve been with this family for over 35 years. I know them all pretty well. I’ve not been surprised to any great extent by anything I’ve seen in the past couple of days, and I don’t expect to be greatly surprised by anything I’ll see in the next couple of days. Nevertheless, as a student of people and their behavior, I am intrigued.
The family has grown considerably since I first came into it. There are cousins and such that I’m not sure I would recognize if they appeared at my doorstep. There are other cousins that I’m not sure I could say their names. But it’s the siblings that are on center stage, so to speak. I’m married to one of them.
To those of you who know of our family and our situation, and have expressed sympathy; thank you. To those who don’t, that’s OK. We’ll come through this and will be all the stronger for having passed through this valley. I’m privileged to be part of this family.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Until Next Time
We had dinner with friends from Topeka this evening. They had flown out to Las Vegas, rented a car, and drove to the Pacific coast for a vacation. They spent a night or two in Vegas coming and going. They marveled at how much things cost there and the fact that one cannot do very much there at all without spending money to do it, even to the point of sitting on a lounge chair at the hotel.
I’ve never been there. I don’t intend to go anytime soon. It’s not on my list of things I want to accomplish before I die. If I get to that part of the country, I’d much rather see Hoover Dam and perhaps the Grand Canyon for the second time. Northern California wouldn’t be a bad place to visit, and there are parts of Nevada and Utah that are stark, breathtaking, and drop-dead gorgeous. Vegas isn’t one of those places, in my mind.
There are other places where money greases everything. Cruise ships are one of those places. My heavens, you can’t sling a dead cat (as my brother would say…please don’t send PETA after me) on a cruise ship without hitting an attendant waiting to sell you something. Mostly they want to sell you drinks, but they also sell bingo cards, souvenirs, and other trippy trap stuff.
Branson is lubricated nicely by money. As in many of that type of place, it takes dough to flow.
But there are things one can do that don’t require money, or at least much of it. Sometimes those are good deals, sometimes not. But most of those things are at least worth looking at and perhaps going back to.
I’m glad we spent time with Chris and his family. We were able to re-connect in a good way, and managed to send them on their way with a full tank and filled stomachs. Until next time…
I’ve never been there. I don’t intend to go anytime soon. It’s not on my list of things I want to accomplish before I die. If I get to that part of the country, I’d much rather see Hoover Dam and perhaps the Grand Canyon for the second time. Northern California wouldn’t be a bad place to visit, and there are parts of Nevada and Utah that are stark, breathtaking, and drop-dead gorgeous. Vegas isn’t one of those places, in my mind.
There are other places where money greases everything. Cruise ships are one of those places. My heavens, you can’t sling a dead cat (as my brother would say…please don’t send PETA after me) on a cruise ship without hitting an attendant waiting to sell you something. Mostly they want to sell you drinks, but they also sell bingo cards, souvenirs, and other trippy trap stuff.
Branson is lubricated nicely by money. As in many of that type of place, it takes dough to flow.
But there are things one can do that don’t require money, or at least much of it. Sometimes those are good deals, sometimes not. But most of those things are at least worth looking at and perhaps going back to.
I’m glad we spent time with Chris and his family. We were able to re-connect in a good way, and managed to send them on their way with a full tank and filled stomachs. Until next time…
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Well Rested
Today hasn’t been a great one. During the night, I felt one of the vertigo episodes that I’ve been plagued with for many years coming on. I managed to get to the bathroom and down some medication that kept it from becoming a full-blown disabling thing.
Now all day today, snowed by medication, I haven’t felt like doing anything. Finally this evening I ate some soup (chicken, dontcha know!!) and feel better. I’m letting the medication go and will see how I do this evening.
What is it about a day like this when one looks around at the things that need to be done, can’t do them, and feels guilty about not getting any of them done? If we had been gone all day visiting friends or relatives, none of this would get done either, but I wouldn’t feel guilty about wasting the day.
Instead, I sit here and see the full trash cans, the laundry, the dishes, and other things and wish I would have felt well enough to have taken care of some of these chores. I wonder if I should get up and get busy, or just be happy that I can sit upright and not have the world spinning around my head.
I’ve always had a problem with just doing nothing, unless I really felt crappy. Laying on a beach all day, sipping some kind of fruity drink doesn’t rank very high on my list of things to do. Instead, I at least like to think I’m somewhat productive, even if the productivity quotient is a little nebulous and the quality of productivity is some lacking.
Tomorrow will be another day. However, tonight will be rather long as I have slept a lot of the day. I should be well-rested.
Now all day today, snowed by medication, I haven’t felt like doing anything. Finally this evening I ate some soup (chicken, dontcha know!!) and feel better. I’m letting the medication go and will see how I do this evening.
What is it about a day like this when one looks around at the things that need to be done, can’t do them, and feels guilty about not getting any of them done? If we had been gone all day visiting friends or relatives, none of this would get done either, but I wouldn’t feel guilty about wasting the day.
Instead, I sit here and see the full trash cans, the laundry, the dishes, and other things and wish I would have felt well enough to have taken care of some of these chores. I wonder if I should get up and get busy, or just be happy that I can sit upright and not have the world spinning around my head.
I’ve always had a problem with just doing nothing, unless I really felt crappy. Laying on a beach all day, sipping some kind of fruity drink doesn’t rank very high on my list of things to do. Instead, I at least like to think I’m somewhat productive, even if the productivity quotient is a little nebulous and the quality of productivity is some lacking.
Tomorrow will be another day. However, tonight will be rather long as I have slept a lot of the day. I should be well-rested.
Monday, August 02, 2010
A Radical Idea
It started years ago. First one or two, then a few here, a group over there. Now it has become a torrent; one that seems about as unstoppable as the water in the proverbial thumb in the dike leak story. Oh, I never said what I was talking about. I don’t know if it even has a name or not, but what happens is that Christians give up on church and religion in favor of living lives of service and devotion to God.
“Wait,” you say. “That can’t be right. You can’t be a Christian and not be religious. You can’t be a Christian and not do church.” There are many, many souls out there who will beg to differ with you, and they may well be correct.
We see it all the time. Fewer and fewer are attending traditional church services in buildings. More and more are calling it quits when it comes to aligning with a denomination. Many have begun small groups of like-minded Christians and meet in someone’s home or other nondescript location. Why? I confess I don’t know the full answer to that. But I suspect that the following may play a part in someone’s decision. What follows is in no particular order of importance; you judge for yourself.
First, denominations and religions tend to be top-heavy with bureaucracy and bloated with money-guzzling offices, buildings, and work. Some believe this is an unnecessary waste of resources.
Second, religion in general is suffering from the pains of humanity. Sexual abuse, theft, extortion, greed, and racism all play significant roles in some religious institutions today. Many people see this as hypocritical.
Third, people are recognizing an inner nudge to make the world a better place in some way. Some religious organizations haven’t a clue (or don’t want to know) how to harness that nudge and provide the help that may be needed.
Fourth, religion is full of officials of some kind or another who discourage innovation, individual initiative, and in general doing things differently than has been done in the past. It’s called obstructionism. The officials might well call it doctrine.
Fifth, the lives of people today are more harried and busy than ever before. We are inundated with data, lists, calendars, and appointments. We long for a simpler, easier time. Sometimes, that is attainable, even if for a short time, by eschewing tradition and ceremony in favor of innovation and informality.
I don’t know if this movement is on target or wildly off tangent. I suspect that, like much of what humanity thinks up, there is good and bad in it. Regardless, it is here and we must not only deal with it, but work with it, interact with it, and learn from it. After all, Christianity itself was a radical idea two thousand years ago.
“Wait,” you say. “That can’t be right. You can’t be a Christian and not be religious. You can’t be a Christian and not do church.” There are many, many souls out there who will beg to differ with you, and they may well be correct.
We see it all the time. Fewer and fewer are attending traditional church services in buildings. More and more are calling it quits when it comes to aligning with a denomination. Many have begun small groups of like-minded Christians and meet in someone’s home or other nondescript location. Why? I confess I don’t know the full answer to that. But I suspect that the following may play a part in someone’s decision. What follows is in no particular order of importance; you judge for yourself.
First, denominations and religions tend to be top-heavy with bureaucracy and bloated with money-guzzling offices, buildings, and work. Some believe this is an unnecessary waste of resources.
Second, religion in general is suffering from the pains of humanity. Sexual abuse, theft, extortion, greed, and racism all play significant roles in some religious institutions today. Many people see this as hypocritical.
Third, people are recognizing an inner nudge to make the world a better place in some way. Some religious organizations haven’t a clue (or don’t want to know) how to harness that nudge and provide the help that may be needed.
Fourth, religion is full of officials of some kind or another who discourage innovation, individual initiative, and in general doing things differently than has been done in the past. It’s called obstructionism. The officials might well call it doctrine.
Fifth, the lives of people today are more harried and busy than ever before. We are inundated with data, lists, calendars, and appointments. We long for a simpler, easier time. Sometimes, that is attainable, even if for a short time, by eschewing tradition and ceremony in favor of innovation and informality.
I don’t know if this movement is on target or wildly off tangent. I suspect that, like much of what humanity thinks up, there is good and bad in it. Regardless, it is here and we must not only deal with it, but work with it, interact with it, and learn from it. After all, Christianity itself was a radical idea two thousand years ago.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
A Lot to Ponder
We just came back from an afternoon at our church. We hosted an ice cream social for the homeless in our back parking lot, which abuts the east bank of the Arkansas river in downtown Wichita. Several people arrived early, helping carry out tables, chairs, and food and drink. Several of the homeless also showed up early, waiting for us to complete preparations.
We had a couple of guys with guitars who sang various types of songs, mostly country and older soft rock, and a man had a car backed up to the area with a trunk full of new underwear, socks, shoes, and other things needed by folks.
One of the first things I heard was from one man who was eager for the line to form. He said something about the ice cream and all the toppings on the table, then said he thought he had died and gone to heaven. Others expressed appreciation for us and our cooperating community organization for hosting and having them.
We had besides ice cream and toppings, cookies, brownies, and various kinds of drinks, including water and coffee. I know it wasn’t a nourishing meal, as one might get in a soup kitchen, but it was a time when for awhile the folks could meet, visit, and share stories with other homeless, and with the volunteers.
We did this last year, too. That time was my first experience with something like this. I was a little apprehensive last year about it all. This year, it was different. These people were just people like me. The only difference was most of them didn’t have a home to go to tonight.
As I stood at the edge of the group, the unmistakable odor of sweat and bodies wafting my way, I looked at people who appeared to be hardened, chronically homeless as well as those who may well have only been that way for a month or two. I saw the old and young, children and grandfathers, men and women of all shapes and sizes. And the empathy I felt for each of them multiplied in that short time and after as I served coffee and bussed tables.
One man asked if he could play the guitar of one of the performers during a break. He strummed a little, and asked if the amplifier could be turned on. He did a tolerably good job of chording, although his repertoire consisted mainly of harder rock-type sub lines. The bass guitarist worked to stay with him in an informal jam session, and some of the man’s friends were obviously pleased he was performing.
I don’t know how long it had been since he had played, but the experience was well worth the price of admission for me, and I hope he went away from there with a renewed sense, however minimal, of self-worth and dignity.
There but for a few paychecks go I. That’s a lot to ponder.
We had a couple of guys with guitars who sang various types of songs, mostly country and older soft rock, and a man had a car backed up to the area with a trunk full of new underwear, socks, shoes, and other things needed by folks.
One of the first things I heard was from one man who was eager for the line to form. He said something about the ice cream and all the toppings on the table, then said he thought he had died and gone to heaven. Others expressed appreciation for us and our cooperating community organization for hosting and having them.
We had besides ice cream and toppings, cookies, brownies, and various kinds of drinks, including water and coffee. I know it wasn’t a nourishing meal, as one might get in a soup kitchen, but it was a time when for awhile the folks could meet, visit, and share stories with other homeless, and with the volunteers.
We did this last year, too. That time was my first experience with something like this. I was a little apprehensive last year about it all. This year, it was different. These people were just people like me. The only difference was most of them didn’t have a home to go to tonight.
As I stood at the edge of the group, the unmistakable odor of sweat and bodies wafting my way, I looked at people who appeared to be hardened, chronically homeless as well as those who may well have only been that way for a month or two. I saw the old and young, children and grandfathers, men and women of all shapes and sizes. And the empathy I felt for each of them multiplied in that short time and after as I served coffee and bussed tables.
One man asked if he could play the guitar of one of the performers during a break. He strummed a little, and asked if the amplifier could be turned on. He did a tolerably good job of chording, although his repertoire consisted mainly of harder rock-type sub lines. The bass guitarist worked to stay with him in an informal jam session, and some of the man’s friends were obviously pleased he was performing.
I don’t know how long it had been since he had played, but the experience was well worth the price of admission for me, and I hope he went away from there with a renewed sense, however minimal, of self-worth and dignity.
There but for a few paychecks go I. That’s a lot to ponder.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Good Heritage and Great Promise
“There is nothing in this world quite the same as reminding yourself where your place in life is through a big family reunion where everyone gets along. Experiencing first hand the Christian heritage I've been given provides a place to belong, and an inner sense of peace in a chaotic world.”
A friend of mine said this recently on Facebook. He had just attended a family reunion and was expressing in words what I’m sure many who were there felt. I know much of his family and would concur that his experience was genuine and his comments heartfelt.
As a family, we feel much the same way. We try to get together annually, if possible, and seem to always enjoy each other’s company, catching up on the latest, and seeing the nieces, nephews, and others grow and develop as we siblings age. We cherish the memories of past reunions and know that there are but a limited number of reunions in our future.
I want to expand a bit on the Christian heritage part of his comment. Although families who are not religious or do not share a Christian heritage that stresses love can and do have good families, good reunions, and good relationships, it seems that the fact of that heritage and training makes the likelihood of such relationships more plausible and more frequent. We know that we are a forgiven people and that God has overlooked, so to speak, our shortcomings and has made us His adopted children. As such we tend to forgive the faults of others as we work and interact with them. We overlook, as it were, things that might cause no end of rift in another family.
Christians also believe that there will come a Day unlike no other, when we all as the family of God will be together in a wonderful, loving, and everlasting present tense, experiencing for eternity the same sense of belonging and inner peace (which passes all understanding). A taste of that happens in the here and now in venues like family reunions, gatherings of Christians to worship, fellowship or celebrate, and other ways and means. But those events and feelings, however great, are temporary and soon fade.
Christians look (or should look) toward that day, however, when there will be no temporary, no fading, and no imperfection.
A friend of mine said this recently on Facebook. He had just attended a family reunion and was expressing in words what I’m sure many who were there felt. I know much of his family and would concur that his experience was genuine and his comments heartfelt.
As a family, we feel much the same way. We try to get together annually, if possible, and seem to always enjoy each other’s company, catching up on the latest, and seeing the nieces, nephews, and others grow and develop as we siblings age. We cherish the memories of past reunions and know that there are but a limited number of reunions in our future.
I want to expand a bit on the Christian heritage part of his comment. Although families who are not religious or do not share a Christian heritage that stresses love can and do have good families, good reunions, and good relationships, it seems that the fact of that heritage and training makes the likelihood of such relationships more plausible and more frequent. We know that we are a forgiven people and that God has overlooked, so to speak, our shortcomings and has made us His adopted children. As such we tend to forgive the faults of others as we work and interact with them. We overlook, as it were, things that might cause no end of rift in another family.
Christians also believe that there will come a Day unlike no other, when we all as the family of God will be together in a wonderful, loving, and everlasting present tense, experiencing for eternity the same sense of belonging and inner peace (which passes all understanding). A taste of that happens in the here and now in venues like family reunions, gatherings of Christians to worship, fellowship or celebrate, and other ways and means. But those events and feelings, however great, are temporary and soon fade.
Christians look (or should look) toward that day, however, when there will be no temporary, no fading, and no imperfection.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Bully
I was in a business today purchasing a part for work. Ahead of me was an older lady who had an electric trimmer on the counter and was talking to the counter man about replacing the rechargeable battery in the unit, which evidently was bad. The business sold batteries but didn’t have any way to do the installation.
The woman was frustrated because she was unable to open the trimmer and replace it herself. She evidently did not have anyone else to help her with this task, which wouldn’t have taken long, but would have taken some tools.
The man sympathized with her, and told her that if she went to a place that sold batteries, most likely they would also do the installation for her. He suggested a couple of places, but it was obvious that the woman was a little unsure about something. I suspect she was really unsure whether the battery place would really install the new battery for her.
I deal with one such battery place on a rather regular basis for work. I told her that the place I patronized indeed would install the battery for her and would do a good job. We left the business together, and I also told her where the place was that I used to buy my batteries.
As we parted, she said she would go to one of the places and see how things worked out. I’d like to know how they worked out for her. I left there frustrated that some things like that seem to be almost insurmountable obstacles to older folks, especially women, maintaining their independence. It was obvious that this woman was in fairly good apparent health and probably could live on her own for some time yet.
You might think that she should just go into one of those battery places and get the work done. However, some of those places aren’t very woman-friendly, and are somewhat intimidating at times if you’ve never been there before. They generally are very masculine oriented, and the help sometimes is little more than some insolent-looking young man grunting behind the counter as the customer interrupts his lunch, his phone conversation, or his nap. They are also somewhat unkempt and not especially pleasant for those of the feminine persuasion.
On the other hand, we all have had to do things we weren’t very comfortable doing. I suspect this woman screwed up her nerve, went into one of these places, and now has a weed whacker that is charging a new battery in her garage. Bully for her.
The woman was frustrated because she was unable to open the trimmer and replace it herself. She evidently did not have anyone else to help her with this task, which wouldn’t have taken long, but would have taken some tools.
The man sympathized with her, and told her that if she went to a place that sold batteries, most likely they would also do the installation for her. He suggested a couple of places, but it was obvious that the woman was a little unsure about something. I suspect she was really unsure whether the battery place would really install the new battery for her.
I deal with one such battery place on a rather regular basis for work. I told her that the place I patronized indeed would install the battery for her and would do a good job. We left the business together, and I also told her where the place was that I used to buy my batteries.
As we parted, she said she would go to one of the places and see how things worked out. I’d like to know how they worked out for her. I left there frustrated that some things like that seem to be almost insurmountable obstacles to older folks, especially women, maintaining their independence. It was obvious that this woman was in fairly good apparent health and probably could live on her own for some time yet.
You might think that she should just go into one of those battery places and get the work done. However, some of those places aren’t very woman-friendly, and are somewhat intimidating at times if you’ve never been there before. They generally are very masculine oriented, and the help sometimes is little more than some insolent-looking young man grunting behind the counter as the customer interrupts his lunch, his phone conversation, or his nap. They are also somewhat unkempt and not especially pleasant for those of the feminine persuasion.
On the other hand, we all have had to do things we weren’t very comfortable doing. I suspect this woman screwed up her nerve, went into one of these places, and now has a weed whacker that is charging a new battery in her garage. Bully for her.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
That "gutty" Feeling
I was out back tonight as the darkness fell. It has been normal for me to have a kind of "pit in the gut" feeling at various times during the day in the past year or so. I had it again as I sat out back and just thought. Why I get these feelings, I don't know. I suspect, however, that it has something to do with the unknown future, and that a big chunk of that is employment.
To have a job in this economy that pays well is a true blessing. But that blessing can be very fleeting and fickle, and the job can be gone in a matter of days or hours. Along with losing the job comes not only losing insurance and a steady income, but also a certain dignity and identity.
I've been there and done that. So has my spouse. In fact, in the last ten years or so, it seems we have changed jobs every two or three years or so. We certainly have never been the kind who get a job at age 20 and stay with the same job and same company for 45 years until retirement. Our jobs also have never been the kind that have contractural security of any kind.
But back to the gutty feeling. As I thought more about it, I thought about what would dispel the feeling. The only thing I could think of is the unchanging nature of the God that I know. Somehow, that gave me a respite from the uncertainty of the unknown. Somehow, that provided me with a security that could not be found anywhere else.
I am not always able to dispel the gutty feeling just by thinking about God. But most of the time, He provides me with a peace that enables me to take the next breath, take the next step, go to work the next day.
One day, I won't have to have that gutty feeling anymore. I'll have no need to maintain health insurance, money in the bank, or a good credit rating. I'll not have to worry about losing my job, house, dignity, or health. All will be taken care of. All will be well. And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
To have a job in this economy that pays well is a true blessing. But that blessing can be very fleeting and fickle, and the job can be gone in a matter of days or hours. Along with losing the job comes not only losing insurance and a steady income, but also a certain dignity and identity.
I've been there and done that. So has my spouse. In fact, in the last ten years or so, it seems we have changed jobs every two or three years or so. We certainly have never been the kind who get a job at age 20 and stay with the same job and same company for 45 years until retirement. Our jobs also have never been the kind that have contractural security of any kind.
But back to the gutty feeling. As I thought more about it, I thought about what would dispel the feeling. The only thing I could think of is the unchanging nature of the God that I know. Somehow, that gave me a respite from the uncertainty of the unknown. Somehow, that provided me with a security that could not be found anywhere else.
I am not always able to dispel the gutty feeling just by thinking about God. But most of the time, He provides me with a peace that enables me to take the next breath, take the next step, go to work the next day.
One day, I won't have to have that gutty feeling anymore. I'll have no need to maintain health insurance, money in the bank, or a good credit rating. I'll not have to worry about losing my job, house, dignity, or health. All will be taken care of. All will be well. And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
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