Memorial Day

Memorial Day is coming up yet again.  It seems that the months fly even more quickly than they did just a few short years ago.  Some of our Memorial Days in Kansas have been hot and sticky.  Others have been so cold, rainy, and dreary that we had to wear coats.  And a few others have been, as the old nursery tale suggests, “Just right.”

This holiday is a time for many to go to the lake or the beach and soak in some time off from work and the grind.  For others, it is a time of reflection on their friends and loved ones who have served (or are serving) in the military.  For still others, it is a time to visit the cemetery and reminisce about relatives and friends who have passed on into the next life.

For us, it’s a time for all of that in some form or another.  We make the annual trips to the various cemeteries where our relatives and friends are interred.  We place flowers and French gardens near the stones.  We also usually get together for a time of fun with family.  And we remember those of our number who have, and continue to serve.  It truly is a time for reflection for the Plank and Vincent families.

“Coming from a Mennonite pacifist background,” you might ask, “How can you celebrate those in military service?”

Fair question.  Sometimes people change their perspective, and in so doing change their opinions regarding such things.  I never believed, and still don’t believe, that the military and I would have gotten along very well.  It isn’t for everyone, and it wasn’t for me.  Thankfully, I received a high lottery number, and didn’t have to serve in any way, although I would have if called, to the best of my ability.

I wasn’t lazy.  I did find other ways to serve society.  EMS was a good fit for me for many years.  And I served civically as well in city government, Lions Club, and other endeavors.

But for those for whom the military is a good fit, there may be no better way to obtain an education, develop a lot of maturity quickly (read that “grow up”), and serve society.  I am in awe of those who serve in this way.  And I support them wholeheartedly.

So, whatever you do this Memorial Day weekend, take some time to celebrate the holiday as it was intended.  Remember.  Be thankful.  Support.  The lakes in the Plains states are overflowing anyway this year, so a trip to the lake is probably not in the cards.  Try something different.  You might just find a new tradition to keep.

Rossini Revisited

Today as I was coming back into work, I had the pickup radio on Radio Kansas, the public station out of Hutchinson.  I didn’t pay much attention to what was playing in the first few seconds, but a sliver of the classical piece that was on caught my ear after a minute or so.  Rossini’s “William Tell Overture” was playing, and was in about the middle of the piece.  I immediately turned the volume up to max and set in to enjoy the piece all the way in to work.

The Cincinnati Orchestra didn’t disappoint.  The work stirs up more than just musical emotions in those of us old enough to remember old radio and TV shows.  As you may well know, the final movement of the work is the theme of the old Lone Ranger shows.  And when I hear the overture, I think of that relationship and all that goes with it.

In 2006, I had a similar experience with the overture and wrote a blog post about it.  I’m repeating that post here, as I cannot say it better than what I did 13 years ago when we lived in Topeka.  Here is that post.

When in the pickup going somewhere, I usually am tuned to a public radio station.  In this area, it’s KPR from the Kansas University campus.  I can also receive Radio Kansas out of Hutchinson, as they have a transmitter in the Manhattan area.  Public radio is so much better than the drivel of 100 commercial stations all vying for my ear.  Does that mean I’m getting old?
I was coming back from a “pastoral” visit today and was tuned to KPR.  They started the Overture to William Tell by Rossini.  As I listened, I saw that I would arrive home before it was over, so I pulled into a parking lot in a public park, under some shade, and listened to the rest of the overture.
I know that much guffawing, many jokes, and a lot of fun has been poked at the overture, as it is the basis for a lot of the old cartoon background music, and was the theme song of the old series, “The Lone Ranger.”  But as I listened to it…all of it…I sort of came to a different point of view.
Yes, I recall the cartoons and the TV shows (I’m not old enough for a lot of radio).  I know the Ranger was an extraordinary shot, always shooting the gun out of the bad guy’s hand, but never wounding him.  I know that he always managed to rescue Tonto as well as the people in distress (often children), and that he never wanted thanks for his work.
But I was also drawn back in my mind to a simpler time both in my life and in the life of our society; when it seems right was right and wrong was wrong; when decency and morality meant something other than as fodder for ridicule; when heroes were indeed heroes, worthy of emulation; when funny was funny, when entertainment was just that, and when times were more innocent.
I’m grateful to Rossini for his composition.

The Helpers

These past few weeks have been a little more trying than most recently. And the thing is, not much of what has happened has happened directly to me or to my wife. Here's a summary.

Two weeks ago mynephew, the Rice County Sheriff, was shot in the leg trying to apprehend a scofflaw. His deputy was injured more severely. They are both on the road to recovery. A week ago four of my grand kids along with their dad were involved in a head-on collision. The Prius did its job in protecting them, and they came away with scratches and aches. The other driver was arrested at the scene for DUI at the 7:30 AM crash scene. My niece, who has been battling cancer for the past two years, was placed on hospice care and is expected to succumb to the illness in the next few days to weeks. She's in her mid-50's

Those are the big ones. Then there are the little things. The continual battle with allergies and vertigo. The press of the work of an Elder in the church. Church family members having surgeries, discovering cancer, and undergoing tests and further treatment. Other church family members having domestic issues, child issues, or blood family issues. It's a never-ending cycle, it seems.

I sometimes feel a little like the Apostle Paul (although in no way do I claim to be the person he was in life), when he said that he had a continual burden for the churches in II Corinthians 11. Paul had his own issues, but seemed to concentrate his prayers and concern not for himself, but for those who did not know Jesus Christ, and also for the churches he helped establish.

Life is sometimes difficult. One's own physical limitations, a sapping of emotional strength, the inability to be everywhere one is needed, and obligations one has for one's own family and life make life and living rough in spots. Were it not for the spiritual strength that comes from a relationship with the God of Heaven, it may well be unbearable at times.

I don't mean to take anything away from those who are suffering from disease, injury, or mental illness. I don't mean to be cavalier about domestic troubles, issues with family, or mental health issues. Those are very real, very tangible evidences of the fallen state of the creation. And people suffer, greatly, because of it.

Then there are those who are on the periphery of some of these events. I often find myself there in my work and life. We pray. We agonize. We comfort. We aid and help. We do what we can, even though it almost never seems to be enough, or even helpful at times. There is a real burden on the helpers as well. It wears. It is stressful. It is indeed a burden.

Thank God for those who will stand with those who are suffering from cancer, liver disease, mental illness, marital issues, job loss, and a host of other ailments in this modern culture and life. To suffer alone has to be one of the worst things anyone could do. If you are a helper, be compassionate. Be there. Be available. Be a prayer warrior.

And if you are one who is suffering, know that others are going on the journey with you. And if you know Jesus Christ as your Savior and Lord, know that He is beside you as well.

This has been a difficult blog to write. I didn't want to minimize the suffering that people go through in life; yet I also wanted all to know that there are others who walk on the journey of suffering with them, and suffer in their own way. Praise God that there will come an end to the suffering, the pain, and the loss.

It's That Simple

At RiverWalk, we have a rather eclectic group of men who stay under our drive-up canopy overnight.  We also have guys that camp out by the dumpster, behind a bush, and out on the front lawn.  These guys are some of the homeless on the streets of Wichita.  Many of them are semi-permanent residents of this part of town.  Some show up for a day or two and then move on.  Once in a while I have to tell someone that they are no longer welcome on church property due to the mess they leave or for some other reason.  And rarely, we have to call in the police or the ambulance to take care of a specific situation.

I’ve gotten to know several of the frequent or long-term guests on our property.  Rick, Brian, Mike, and others appear to be decent individuals who have chosen, for whatever reason, to spend their time on the street.  They see that the property is cleaned up when people camp out, maintain some order and peace, and generally look after the church building and the grounds.  They’ll tell me if someone is a troublemaker or doesn’t clean up after themselves so I can send them on their way.  They see to it that whenever there is an event or meeting at the church building, they and the others are out of sight, because they know that most people aren’t used to the homeless and have a fear of the unknown.

In return, the church allows them to stay under cover.  We allow them to use the restroom facilities when needed, and can provide some simple food items from time to time.  We keep their personal property in our building for a couple of hours should they need to leave it for some reason.

But more than that, and I think most importantly, we provide them with a sense of dignity and no judgment.  We treat them like human beings.  We sit with them from time to time on the river bank at the back of the building and just visit on a nice evening.  We ask about their welfare.  We listen.  We interact.

Yes, the odor is sometimes not the most pleasant.  No, we don’t ever expect that they will attend worship services (although some have).  Yes, we hold no illusions that we will be able to somehow get them a house and two-car garage.  And No, they don’t always use the best and finest language when they visit with us.  We just serve.

We have a few simple guidelines that they, for the most part, respect.  No alcohol or illegal drug use while on the premises.  Clean up after yourself (you’re welcome to use our dumpster).  Don’t use our yard as a bathroom.  Take any fighting, carousing, or other disruptive activity somewhere else.  And I believe they respect us enough that these guidelines are pretty much followed.  They know that if they mess it up, and we know about it, they’ll be told to move on.

This is, in a real way, the meeting of two cultures—the middle class with the homeless.  The homeless culture is not the poverty culture.  It is not the low-income culture.  It is its own culture with its own norms, standards, and customs.  And those of us in the middle class culture can no more truly understand the homeless culture than we can the culture of the Mayan Indian tribes until we put in some effort to learn about it from those who are part of it and those who know that culture through study and observation.

Our effort to “help” those in this culture to become “normal” like us is doomed to failure unless and until we make the effort to see, hear, and understand.  Our attempts to “normalize” them will be fraught with failure unless we see them as human beings, hear their stories, and understand their way of life (at least to some degree).

Many do not wish to make the leap into a different culture.  Many have been in the middle class and decided, for whatever reason, that the middle class is not for them.  Some do not have the capability or capacity, intellectually or emotionally , to make the decisions necessary to leave that culture and enter into another.

So, what to do?  Love them.  It’s really that simple.  Not always easy, but simple.  Try it.

A Wondrous Creation

Often, especially in the spring and fall, as I go on the streets of Wichita, I see people running. Many times these people are young people anywhere in age from 8 to 28. I presume that some are running just for the exercise. Others, especially school-age young people, may be running to get or stay in condition for track, softball, or some other school sport. And each time I see someone like that, I remind myself that I once was able to do the same thing in as effortless of a manner as these people are seemingly running.

They go along the walk, the path, or at the side of the street in an effortless sort of way, some of them with a rather good kick, and others in it for the long haul. Their bodies are in shape, muscles toned, and coordination at its best. They seem to be enjoying what they are doing, often running in a small group, talking to one-another as they run.

I then wonder if they truly appreciate what their body is able to do for them. The fact that they can be upright, running, remaining balanced, and burning enough calories to provide the energy they need for what they are doing. Their muscles work in coordination with hundreds of other individual parts of their body, propelling them along. And all the while, their brain is working both consciously and sub-consciously, regulating everything from heartbeat to blood sugar level, and giving them a sense of presence and consciousness while it looks out for oncoming traffic and other dangers.

At my age, there are some things that I can no longer do, and other things that it would be best if I didn't do. Oh, I know that if I put my mind to it, got more in shape physically and emotionally, and did the proper training, I could give running a decent effort. But I have to wonder if even that is something I might want to think twice about, given my impaired sense of balance, the constant tingling in my feet (not diabetic neuropathy...had it checked out), and arthritic joints. Maybe it's better if I stick to the 20 to 30 minutes of mostly-daily walking and the occasional work in the yard and let the younger people enjoy the hard stuff.

Yet, I am grateful even for what I am able to do. Yes, my body is wearing thin and wearing out. But I can still function at a reasonable level, both physically and mentally. And on those days when things are a bit worse, I need to continue to be grateful for a body that mostly works, and does what it needs to do to get me through the day. Headache or not, achy joints or not, dizziness or not, I have had, and continue to have use of a wondrous creation of God.

No, I'm not 16 years old anymore. I don't run the 1500 meters (used to be the mile) any more. Nor do I jump from heights above my head and land on my feet anymore. But I do what I can do, and praise the Maker of Heaven and Earth for each day He gives me.