Values

Billy Graham has said that in 1949, toward the beginning of his career, he learned a secret to preaching that stuck with him throughout his time in the pulpit. He said he learned to quit trying to prove the truth of the Bible in his preaching. Instead, having settled in his own mind that the Bible was indeed true, he preached on that basis…on that authority. Consequently, his preaching was authoritative and effective. Possibly the most prolific and best known preacher of extra-biblical times, Dr. Graham has hit upon something that many of us have not yet really settled in our own minds.

This isn’t going to be a religious blog, however. I say the above to say that there is indeed value in core beliefs and values which don’t change with the winds of time. Whether those values are embodied in our religion, the Constitution, or in our experience and knowledge, they must be immovable and impermeable as we hurtle down the road of life.

Sorrow and loss often come when we compromise what we know is right and good in favor of temporary gain or immediate comfort. Inevitably, that gain becomes loss and that comfort becomes sorrow. To compromise our basic core principles and standards to fit the here and now, or to try to smooth things over, or to weasel out of a situation is to compromise who and what we are at our foundations. And when that foundation is shaken and cracked, the whole structure suffers.

Sometimes we have to pay a price for our steadfastness. Sometimes we lose a friend, a job, or financial resources. But later on, when we look back, we can say with confidence that we were true to our values and are not ashamed of what we did or the decision we made.

Mankind has always had the desire to “get along”. Sometimes that attitude is the better thing to do. But when it involves compromise of what we hold dear, then the desire to get along becomes selfish…the desire to avoid pain.

Sometimes we must examine what we hold dear in the critical light of greater truth. It is indeed a fine line at times to know whether we are compromising or whether we are gaining the greater truth.

Life isn’t easy. If it was, it would be nothing but drudgery and boredom, devoid of meaning. Life was meant to be lived. As Auntie Mame said, “Live! Life's a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!” There’s more truth to that than we’ll probably ever know in this life.

I like to cook. I like to go to the kitchen and fix something that I think sounds good, especially if I’ve never made it before. I’ll usually dump in some of this, a little of that, and maybe some other things. I usually don’t measure anything, preferring to taste as I go. Many times, the finished product tastes rather good and I want to make it again. But I can’t because I haven’t written it down and my memory forgets better than it remembers.

Tonight I made smothered burritos. I know there are probably a million recipes for them, and most recipes are just about like mine. But I didn’t consult a recipe and just made them from what I had on hand…and tried to make it very easy by using mostly canned things. They turned out very good. However, this time I wrote down the recipe. I’d like to share it with you.

Smothered Burritos

8 to 10 frozen burritos

10 oz can tomato soup

10 oz can diced tomatoes & green chilis (Rotel or other)

10 oz can chunk chicken

15 oz can ranch style beans

15 oz can chili (no beans)

8 oz shredded cheese (your choice)

½ t chili powder (or more or less to taste)

¼ onion, chopped (or more or less to taste)

(Optional) ½ t crushed red pepper (or more or less to taste)

In a mixing dish, dump in the tomato soup and chili. Pour off most of the liquid of the ranch style beans and dump in the beans. Dump in the diced tomatoes & green chilis after pouring off most of the liquid. Pour off the liquid from the canned chicken and put half of it back into the mixture. Dump in the chicken, chili powder, onion, and red pepper. Make sure the resulting mixture is not too watery. Add back some liquid from the cans if necessary to get a decent mixture. If a spicier mixture is desired, add back the liquid from the tomatoes and chilies. If a milder mixture is desired, add back the liquid from the chicken or perhaps the beans.

In a 9 x 13 pan that has been sprayed with non-stick spray, place frozen burritos in a single layer. Either allow to thaw, or put into the oven for 10 minutes at 400 degrees to begin the thawing process.

Once burritos are thawed (or warmed in the oven), cover with the chili mixture. Bake covered at 400 degrees for 40 minutes (375 degrees for a convection oven). Uncover and bake another 5 to 10 minutes. Let it bake uncovered a little longer to boil off some liquid, if it appears too sloppy. Top with shredded cheese. Let cheese melt some from the heat of the burritos. Serve.

Moving (Again)

Two weeks from today, hopefully, I will be writing in my blog from our new home in west Wichita. The deal will have been done, the papers will have been signed, and we will have moved what little personal property we have left (after giving/selling/tossing various personal property the last three moves, in order to fit into the new digs) into the home. (To some of you who are family and friends, I’ll send the new address via email. Let me know if you’d like to have that information and aren’t sure if I have your email address.)

This also means that we will have to begin purchasing some of the stuff we got rid of in the past few years, because we again will need them. We have some things, but will need cooking utensils, a toaster, a microwave, glasses and cups, pots and pans, and many of the routine things that people normally already have. We gave up a lot of that when we moved to the children’s home, since all of that was provided. We’ll also have to purchase some furniture, as we sold/gave away most of that before we moved to Wichita.

I’m not sure I like this idea of accumulating “stuff” again. I know that most of it will probably be necessary, but I intend to do what I can to see that we don’t accumulate stuff just to have it…it needs to have a purpose and fill a need. We won’t have a lot of extra money, and we need to be careful anyway as stewards of what God has provided.

And it’s not just that my wife has given up a lot of her stuff. I’ve given up a lot of things that I had at the place in south central Kansas when we moved to western Kansas. I’ve continued to give up those things in each of the moves we’ve made since then. My garage “stuff” now occupies a much less percentage of room than it did several years ago.

One thing I’ve carried with me all this time, though, is a homemade wooden bin that has maybe 75 compartments in it. It stands about five feet high and the same width. It’s heavier than the dickens, and I have it filled with various miscellaneous things that I may need some time.

The reason I have it still is that I remember this bin when my uncle (Jess) had a business in my hometown. This bin held various kinds of pipe fittings (the business was a plumbing and heating shop) and Dad and I would go to the bin and grab what we thought we would need when he had a plumbing job to do and I was his helper. We’d get various elbows, pipe nipples, and other assorted parts and throw them into a box to take to the job. I can remember that to this day.

This bin also has Dad’s initials penciled on the wood…in the form of his old cattle brand. He would do that at times and in places when and where the urge suited him, and this bin was one of those places. I bought this bin in 1984 at an auction of stuff that belonged to the man who bought the business from my uncle. I’m glad I did and hope to will it to someone in the family willing to take on the weight and cumbersomeness of it.

My brother complains that he’s helped move that thing more times than he cares to remember…he’s gonna help me move it one more time, apparently, in a couple of weeks. That and my workbench that Dad built for me way back in the 1960’s will be coming to the new home. Maybe this time it can stay there awhile.

Rethinking

Last Monday, I did as our minister had asked the day before, and asked God to show me His glory. Taking a cue from Moses on the mountain as he dealt with God and asked the same question, I too asked God for that favor. If you read my blog of a couple of days ago, you know that my morning didn’t turn into much of a glorifying experience. Fixing the page system, cleaning up a urine-soaked carpet, and boiling my coffee were just part of the things of the morning that didn’t turn out as I had planned. I began thinking again, as I have many times past, that God either doesn’t care or just doesn’t do things like that anymore.
However, as I think about my Monday morning and the times I said “Lord, show me your glory,” I have to think that maybe God answered in the affirmative that day after all.
Ephesians 3:21 says, “To Him (God) be glory in the church through Jesus Christ…” The glory of God is if I read this verse correctly, in the church; that called out group of people that God has set apart (sanctified), reconciled to Himself (justified), and which now and forevermore in eternities both past and future (the eternal present) is glorified and glorifies through the operation of the Eternal Son (Jesus Christ).
So what did it take for God to sanctify and reconcile us? Basically, God had to clean up the mess that we made. We all have made a mess of our lives and our relationship with Him. We have sinned (fallen short of the mark) and we have estranged ourselves from our Eternal Father and Eternal Family. The justice of God demands that a price be exacted from each who sins. “For the wages of sin is death,’ the great Apostle Paul says.
That Great Apostle John says, however, that “God so loved the world that He gave h is only begotten son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” God provided the payment for our sins. God provided the means to clean up our messes. God did all that needed to be done to be able to present the church to Himself as a bride is presented to a groom (Revelation 21). God’s glory, which I asked Him to show me, is His cleaning up of my messes and my sins. It was dirty, stinky, awful work, to say the least. But it is done.
I now am left with but a question: When I cleaned up the mess made by that resident on the floor that Monday morning, in the midst of all else that was going on, was that God showing me His glory? “I came not to be served, but to serve.”

"Lord, show me your glory."

“Lord, show me your glory.” The first day of the work week started with my pulling into the driveway of the nursing home where I work, recalling the request that preacher Rick made the day before. Just as Moses boldly asked God to show him His glory, we too this week were to say that from time to time, asking for a glimpse of God’s glory during the week and let Rick know what happened.
As I came in the door, preparing to go to the kitchen for that first cup of coffee, Julie asked me if I was going to clock in. I said that I was, and she told me she needed help. It seems that the resident wandering system was giving a false alarm to the pagers that the nursing staff was carrying, and they couldn’t stop them. Pagers were going off about every minute, saying that someone had wandered away, but no one was missing. Obviously, staff had better things to do than squelch pagers every minute. After a phone call to the service company and some work on our end, we found the problem and got the alarms to work properly. “Lord, show me your glory.”
Since we had let our housekeeper go a couple of weeks ago due to a slower than anticipated start-up, as Director of Environmental Services it was my job to see that the building was clean. I started immediately following the alarm problem to clean the bathrooms, thinking that coffee at the end of the cleaning session would be a good motivator. One, two, three public restrooms and the employee break room needed attention. I was in the process of finishing that chore when one of the aides came up to me and told me that one of the residents had soiled the floor in his room, and could I clean it up, pretty please. “Lord, show me your glory.”
By now, it was 9:45am and I still had not had coffee. As a bona fide coffee drinker for more years than I care to count, I was feeling the withdrawal. My back hurt, I was tired and perspiring (nursing homes are usually notoriously hot…residents are more comfortable that way) and I was longing for the taste and smell of the coffee bean. But something else was now demanding my attention.
While I was on my way to the room that had the soiled floor, my phone rang. I answered and the alarm service company wanted me to do some reprogramming of their system. I told them that I’d have to call back in a few minutes after taking care of the floor emergency. What I didn’t tell them was that I also was going to have that first coffee before I placed the callback. “Lord, show me your glory.”
Gloves, disinfectant, cleaning water, wet vac, housekeeping cart…now I could attend to the soiled floor. I cleaned up the mess, then cleaned the wet vac, put away the cart, and set a small fan in the room to help dry the floor. I took off my gloves, washed my hands, and went to the kitchen for that first cup of Joe at about 10:30. Pouring my cup and taking the first taste, I quickly discovered that the pot had been on a burner that was turned off. The coffee was lukewarm at best. Returning to the kitchen, I put my cup in the micro zapper and promptly boiled it. Drinking it anyway, I relished the time with my cup and the disappearing pain in my back. “Lord, show me your glory.”

The Call

We've been reading these last couple of days about an accident in Ulysses, Kansas that claimed the lives of four teen girls and injured a fifth. It was an auto accident that happened in the community, a tragedy that is touching the lives of countless thousands of people.
When I was the administrator of the hospital out in Western Kansas, we would be called upon from time to time to provide care in similar situations. I also wrote a continuing column for the Hays Daily News while we lived out there. One of my articles talked about a time when I received a call from the hospital to come and help out with an auto accident. The story is true. The article is reprinted below.

The call comes at about 4:30 this morning. I stumble out of bed, fumble for my glasses (to see the caller ID) and make my way to the phone. I was laying in bed awake anyway, as I all too often do, at about that time of morning. "Logan County Hospital", the caller ID said. I answer and Paula tells me that we have six teen-age victims of an auto accident coming in to the hospital, and could my wife (an RN) and I come in and help? I don't say so, but it seems that whenever I get calls like this, Paula is on the other end of the line. Does she work all the time?? I say, "Sure, we'll be there in a few minutes." I hang up and wake my bride and tell her we're needed ASAP.

We struggle to find clothes, shoes, and to more fully wake up. Since I was laying awake in bed anyway, I was more ready to go than she was. I started her car for her and left in my pickup because often, I must stay over while she can come back home. On the way to the hospital, I pass the ambulance garage/fire department and see all the vehicles of the volunteers who responded to their pagers a few minutes ago. As an active (although I seldom can take call now) EMT, I know and understand what they are doing and thinking right now.

I arrive at the hospital and go to the nurses station to check in. They have already called in most of who are needed. The providers are all there, and several nurses and nursing staff are there, along with a housekeeper, a business office person, medical records, social services, maintenance, and of course lab and x ray. I ask the unit clerk to call in Dietary as it is 4:30am and we may well need to feed some of the staff and volunteers.

The first ambulance pulls in and I help unload the three victims who came in on this unit. The providers quickly do triage and the second ambulance comes in a little later. We do the triage again with the other three. I make the rounds just making sure that people have what they need, and that families who come to the hospital are as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. I bring up a carafe of coffee and cups for the families in the waiting area.

We had plenty of help this Sunday morning and I really wasn't needed to any great extent other than to help smooth out some rough edges and make some phone calls. The providers and staff at the hospital do so well with these things. They've grown considerably over time, and I couldn't ask for better people. I sometimes stand in the hall and just watch as they go about their business in a controlled chaos mode. I marvel at the competence and compassion of those in my charge and breathe a silent prayer of thanksgiving for them, as well as petition the Almighty on behalf of the injured and families.

Regrettably, the above scenario becomes somewhat routine in health care. Some of those we treat are more severely injured than our ability to care for them, other than stabilization, and we ship them to Hays, Wichita, or Denver by air ambulance. Some we treat and release. Some are admitted to the hospital for further care. Some wait in silence in a room off to the side down the hall until the mortuary car can come pick them up. The number of victims can be anywhere from 2 to 32, depending on whether it's a car, van, or bus.

Too often, the victims are the innocent. Often, alcohol is involved. Often, speed is involved. Often, it's a gravel road somewhere out in the county. Often, it's after midnight. Often, we know the victims. Often, someone either dies or has to be shipped to a trauma center for life-threatening injuries. Rarely is it a no-fault accident. Rarely is no one injured.

Later, after the chaos has died down, several of us are in the staff dining room munching on food prepared by Dietary. Paula says, "Maybe this will wake up some people and they'll see what they're doing to themselves."

I tell her, "Paula, we say that each time this happens, and it continues to happen."

Mary says, "They think they're invincible."

I say, "But maybe some of them will see what happened here and learn from it."

However, much as we want to do so, we are impotent to truly stop what has happened, and we know it. Whether those who are hurt are innocent victims or the cause of the accident, the results are often the same. People will continue to drive too fast, fall asleep at the wheel, become distracted at the wrong time, or drink and drive. They will have accidents and die and cause others to die. And we know that we'll all do this again, maybe tomorrow, maybe six months from tomorrow. But we WILL be here again.

Thanksgiving and Humility

I ate at the local Dillons today. They have a salad bar in most stores, and I went to the one down the street and got some greens (and reds and other colors). I came back to eat it and decided that this too was a rather miraculous thing.
Now, hear me out. I don't necessarily think everything is a miracle. But just think about it a minute.
This salad bar must have had at least 20 different kinds of fresh vegetables and fruits. Everything from spinach to fresh pineapple was on the bar. There were four kinds of leaves...spinach and three lettuces, at least three different kinds of tomatoes, snow peas, water chestnuts, garbanzos, and who knows what else.
There were strawberries, grapes, pineapple, and several other fruits. In addition, there were salads, cottage cheese, pasta, ham, turkey, and other meats. Besides that, there were grated cheeses, bleu cheese crumbles, bacon bits, and other condiments.
All of this was the right temperature for safety, was clean, sanitary and available, and cost only $5.00 a pound. Now, I don't know about you, but for us to take that kind of thing for granted and just expect it seems to me to be the height of arrogance and selfishness. I'd rather think that thanksgiving and humility are more in order.

Buying Into the Story

Yesterday I called my sis and we visited for awhile. Now, there’s nothing much unusual about that since telephones have been in service for well over a hundred years. What was unusual was that she was on a train parked at a station somewhere in Illinois and I had on the PC in front of me an aerial shot of the place where it was parked.

While visiting with her, I pointed out the water tower, the depot and museum. When she told me they were starting to move again, I told her that she should be starting a right curve, which she validated.

Additionally, since we were in the Wichita area and she had a Wichita cell phone, I dialed a local, seven digit number and her phone rang on a train in a small town in Illinois.

I don’t know how much awareness you have of the incredible technology that makes all of that possible. I don’t know either, but I have had electronics training (years ago), and have some dim, dark idea of the complexity of the systems that make things like cell phones and instantly available aerial photos available on demand.

The data packets that constituted my voice could easily have taken a route to Illinois via California or Canada. Those that made up my sister’s voice very well may have come to Wichita via an entirely different route, and those routes could have changed many, many times in the course of the five minute conversation. Fiber (optical), landline (copper wires), microwave, satellite…all those methods and more may have been involved in getting an ordinary phone call to and from where it was supposed to be.

Some years ago, the number 1,000,000,000,000,000 (I think that’s correct…One quadrillion) was given as the amount of bits per second that the human brain could process. An older number in the same article was given as ten sextillion bits of information. Whatever the number, it is incredibly high and belies a kind of design that fits it all inside a rather smallish mass of skin and bone, with corresponding connections and energy supply (blood). I don’t know but what we will eventually develop computers that will process faster or store more information. If we do, that’s OK. What matters is that this brain has been around for many, many thousands of years and there are some seven billion of them on the planet even now. Someone greater than these brains had to be the one who designed and built it.

This weekend we celebrate the foundational moment of the creation of Christianity. The moment when, we believe, the only Begotten of God conquered death and destruction and paved the way for all of us to do likewise through the power of the Living God. Fantastic as the Easter story sounds to ears not accustomed to it, it is even more fantastic to believe that our brains came into existence by chance and that we are products of an inanimate process which happened to end up with all that we see and know now.

I don’t know about you, but I’ll buy into the Jesus is risen story any day over the existence by chance story.

Grudging Acceptance

We’re still looking for homes to buy. This is a process that I certainly don’t enjoy, especially knowing that it probably will be one of the largest purchases I will ever commit to do. Additionally, one who buys on credit bares his soul to the lender down to underwear size, it seems. Then there’s the “how are we ever going to pay for this?” silent conversations one has in one’s brain after the deal is done.

Actually, we have one picked out and we’re trying to find financing for it. In this market, that’s not a piece of cake. We don’t have much money for a down payment, so have to rely on high-percentage financing, which is even worse. The market is still good in the Wichita area, and the local economy is still pretty strong and growing, but because of the national scare stories, the lenders have gone into hiding.

But the thing that I really don’t like is that I feel guilty each time we do this because I know that the vast majority of the world’s population lives in a cardboard box, mud hut, or refugee camp. They haven’t a clue what clean water is like, and when they have to use the restroom, they just do it wherever. Good food is non existent and clothes are at a premium.

I feel like a heel, sometimes, spending money on a place that is larger than we need, has more amenities than we need, and looks nicer than we need. If I had my “druthers,” I wouldn’t have such a place. But in this society…in this day and age…it comes down to safety, ability to be a person (to have a real identity, one needs an address), and security for family.

I’ll grudgingly go along with this, but long for the place one day where none of this will matter and everyone who loves God will have a place to call home forever.

Sundays

This was another Sunday. It’s toward the close of the day, now, and things are winding down (yes, winding down) toward the first day of work for this week.

Sundays are always a big day for me. Not only do we attend church, we re-connect with people we haven’t seen for at least several days and renew acquaintances. We also take time to rest, refresh, and generally regroup for the work week ahead. Sunday is a big day.

I think of all of this, the re-connecting with others in our church fellowship rank right up there with the best. I don’t even now know all the names of the people that attend our church, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we all show up on the same day at the same time, as a family. We visit, catch up on each others’ lives, share common faith and values, and sometimes take a common meal together. We laugh and sometimes we cry. We share successes and sorrows. We rejoice in the good and are concerned about the bad. We choose to become a part of the lives of others and they choose to make us a part of their lives. It’s a good time.

Most of all, we make a connection with our God. Somehow, some way, we not only refresh our relationships with others; we also refresh our relationship with our Creator and Maker. Our singing, listening, praying, communing, and relating with one-another all come together to make our relationship with our God something real and thrilling. We find something greater than ourselves, which gives us strength to carry on through the week to come.

I know that many folks don’t have Sunday be any more special than any other day, or consider it just another weekend day that they can sleep in or go to the lake. That’s OK. It’s not what I would do, but to each his own. I do think, though, that those folks are missing out on something that would give their lives more meaning and fulfillment. My faith is not a crutch; it’s a vital part of who I am. I’d be lost without it.

Thoughts About Blogging

I try to blog mid-week, but didn’t get it done this time. It’s difficult for me to sit down after work and make the words flow onto the computer screen. As I’ve said before, it seems that I do better at that in the morning hours.

I’ve observed a lot this past week, and thought several times that what I’ve seen might be worthy of a blog entry. However, by the time I sit down to write, those things seem to be not nearly as important as they were when they happened.

Let’s see. This week I thought about blogging regarding poor customer service at a big box home improvement store, poor customer service at a chain hardware store, the fact that my debit card doesn’t work and no one at the bank can seem to tell me why, and the way drivers sometimes do crazy things on the road.

I’ve thought about blogging about the clerk who put a smile on my face when I checked out, a funny situation at work, the warming weather, and the dinner we had last night with the family and a new “friend” of one of my nephews.

I’ve also pondered blogging about our house hunting experience so far, the inexorable march of time into spring and summer, my lack of energy to do anything productive during the week except work, and various political situations (the Air Force tanker deal, Barack Obama’s minister, etc).

None of that, however, seems worth the time and space this week. So I suppose I’ll just forego blogging today in favor of taking care of some other business, such as getting my debit card to work and continuing hunting for a home. Maybe I’ll have something to say when the day is done.

God and Communication

I am attending a class at church on Sundays where we are looking at the life of Abraham, the father of the Jewish and Arab races. The account is centered primarily in the book of Genesis, beginning with about chapter 12. The thing we concentrated on today was the notion that Abraham left the comfort of a “home place” to go somewhere that he had never been before because he believed that God was sending him there. We talked about the uncertainty that might cause, and the fact that Abraham had faith in God and a hope for the future.

The teacher opened up the class for anyone to tell of a time when they believed that they too did something because they believed that God was asking them to do it, not knowing what the future would hold. One or two spoke about their experiences. The teacher then asked us how it is that we hear God. If God communicates to us in some way regarding what we should do, how do we perceive what He is saying to us?

Our church is a rather conservative group. We normally do not believe that God appears to us as a ghostly image floating in the corner, or that He speaks audibly to us, or even that He sends angels to us. We normally give answer that God speaks to us “through His word,” which means that we understand what God wants us to do by reading and understanding the Bible. We then talked about how we think that God speaks in ways that we don’t readily understand or have difficulty perceiving. That answer, however, doesn’t seem to me to be adequate to explain things in their entirety.

I find it incredible that we would believe that God formulates His communications to us in ways that are difficult to perceive and difficult to understand…that we somehow have to decipher, decode, translate, interpret, and work out the otherwise unintelligible something that God uses to communicate to us. It’s almost as if we believe that God intentionally codes His communications to us as a kind of a game where if we manage to crack the code, we somehow win (but we don’t win very often).

I would much rather think that the God of the universe as I know Him is such that, if He desires for us to know something, He will make it so plain to us that we can’t help but understand what He is trying to tell us…that it would only be through our own ignorance, selfishness, or lack of desire to understand which would prevent us from hearing our God with clear understanding.

I believe that I am an adopted child of God…that I am a fellow-heir to all that God has along with all others who are children of God and with God’s only Begotten and Eternal Son. I believe that I belong to a community of believers called the church, and that we all are children and joint-heirs with the Son. God has not, to my knowledge, communicated with me audibly, except through the words of human beings as they taught, preached, or read the Bible aloud. But I must say that, as any father worth his salt communicates with his children, so God communicates with His children, and in ways much more understandable than even an earthly father would use. I can’t believe that I am so dense that, as God’s child, I cannot perceive and understand the communication from my Father to myself. I can’t imagine that God my Father is playing some sort of cruel game where He forces me to guess what He’s trying to tell me about my life and life choices, then punishes me somehow when I don’t figure it out.

No, I believe my Father’s communication with me is clear, concise, and true. I believe that He tailors His communication with all His children in various ways so that each one can best understand what He’s trying to say. And I believe that it’s my weaknesses and my failures that prevent me from hearing (with understanding) what He is saying, whatever method He is using to say it. It’s not my job to try to decipher God’s coded messages, because He doesn’t use code. Rather, it’s my job to have my life arranged in such a way that God’s communication can not only get through, but that I can understand it like He intended.

Two Stores

Friday evenings are not a good time to put thoughts into words for me. I’m tired from a week of work, and my brain just wants to zone out to somewhere besides the computer screen. However, I also know that I need to not be lazy and keep things active, so I’m attempting to make something here that is somewhat coherent and perhaps a little interesting to those three or four who read it.

On the way home from work today, I was thinking about the differences in the two hardware stores I patronize in Wichita. One is close by to my work, and the other is close by where I used to work, but is a good 20 minute drive from where I work now.

The one close by is a good store and has a lot of inventory, but their help leaves something to be desired. Sometimes I can’t find anyone to help no matter where I look. Other times they don’t have what I need (although they are the larger of the stores).

The smaller, older store has things, though, that the bigger store doesn’t stock. The smaller store also has associates that will spend 20 minutes on a 32 cent bolt, if that’s what it takes to make a satisfied customer. The bigger store too often will just say, “We don’t have that,” rather than try to meet the need.

Why is it that some people have learned the secret to customer service, but many have not? Why is it so difficult for store owners and managers to know what customers want? Why don’t more store managers and owners work to find solutions that will help customers, yet not break the bank in terms of overhead?

The little Ace hardware store at 13^th and Meridian in Wichita seems to have figured that out. Whatever it is that they do, they do it well because I have nothing but good feelings about that store, and will drive out of my way to go there. The other store, out on Tyler and Central, has not nearly as good of a rapport with me, and I go there only because they are closer and I don’t have to drive as much. If both stores were side by side, I’d go to the older store every time…every time…every time. I wonder if I should tell that to the manager of the larger store?

I'm Just Happy

Once again it’s time to disrupt (that may be a rather strong term, but I feel disruptive today) the normal flow of things and “spring forward” an hour in order to have more daylight at the end of the day. I know that doing this saves a little on energy consumption, and provides more time for people to do things during daylight after work, but we need to look at the morning hours and those of us who wake early enough to see the sun come up. I think that we are the forgotten of our society, and long to see amends made in our favor. Why should the night owls have all the fun?

Taking an hour from morning daylight means that I again will be waking in the dark, commuting to work in the dark, and otherwise feeling like I never quite got enough sleep the night before. I know that’s a small price to pay for the privilege of doing extra shopping at Wal Mart. It’s also a small price to pay to be able to garden, cut the grass, or whatever else we will do with our newly-found hour of daylight. Nevertheless, it is a price. I wonder if anyone has taken the time to discover how much discombobulation really happens in the lives of people that have the time jerked around a couple times a year.

Of course, there’s also the price to be paid in having to expend the energy to change clocks. I wonder if anyone has calculated how much energy is expended changing clocks versus how much energy is saved by moving daylight to the evening hours.

Of course, there are benefits as well. Some smoke alarm batteries would never be replaced if the government wouldn’t mess around with the time. Some people would never see the sun rise if daylight saving time didn’t happen once a year. And we would never know the joy of atomic clocks that, although they have nothing to do with atomic energy, receive radio signals regularly that automatically adjust their time to be correct, including springing forward or falling back. By the way, these radio signals which the Chinese clock factories use, have been in existence since 1956 from radio station WWVB, broadcasting at 50khz and 50kw E.R.P. out of Fort Collins, Colorado. Other radio stations also operated by the government have been broadcasting time signals for over 100 years, usually in the shortwave spectrum.

I guess that overall, though, the benefits outweigh the disruptions. Our government says so, and we all know that no one in government lies to us. Oh, occasionally there may be a misspeak or a misunderstand or embellishment, but never a lie. So dutifully I will set my clocks ahead an hour tomorrow morning (or tonight) and partake in that extra free hour of light so generously given by my government. And I am so grateful….

Something Worth Seeing

We went to the Kansas Salt Museum today. Now, before you begin to snicker at the dearth of great opportunities to have some fun in Kansas, let me tell you that the highlight of the museum is a trip below ground over 600 feet into an active salt mine.

The first part of the tour is a safety video and demonstration on how to use a rescue breathing mask that each of us had to carry into the mine. We also put on hard hats and headed to the mine shaft and elevator.

The lift isn’t like the ones in a hotel. It’s a double-decker lift, with room for about 15 people on each level. It rattles around as it descends, and the descent is in total darkness until we reach the mine (there’s a light on the elevator, but they keep it off unless someone admits they’re nervous about it).

At the bottom, we’re greeted and step into another world. Everything we are looking at is salt. There’s a salt ceiling, salt floor, and salt walls. The pillars that hold up the earth above us are salt. The concrete that has been poured in some areas is a combination of salt and Portland cement.

The guide leads us to a tram and about a 30 minute trip through some of the mine shafts. They really aren’t like a mine shaft you think about…they are more like highways underground. The shafts are 9 to 12 feet tall, 20 to 40 feet wide, and there are over 60 miles of them in this one mine, spread over 1,600 acres. You can listen to the trip down at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5595503 .

And it really is dark down there. In a back area of our tour, with the lights of the tram off, we really couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces. The guide says our eyes would never become accustomed to this kind of darkness, because eyes don’t get accustomed to darkness…they become accustomed to various levels of light. When there’s no light, there’s no reference for the eyes to work from.

They have old equipment on display down there, and also have a gift shop as well as artifacts from a company called Underground Vaults & Storage (www.undergroundvaults.com), which uses part of the mine to store archival records and other items for companies. Motion pictures, data, records, and other things are stored there, and the company has a small exhibit displaying some of the stored artifacts.

I was just a little, shall we say, unnerved by the experience. Although I wasn’t frightened or uncomfortable, it is a little unsettling to know that there is 600 feet of salt, rock, and water above, being held at bay by pillars of salt. The notion that one could easily become lost in the mine is also one that I thought about, although I believe they had fencing that kept most shafts from being accessible. The fencing wasn’t always visible, but some was. It would be difficult for me to work down there for awhile until I became more at ease with the environment.

The sunlight and wind were a warm welcome upon coming out of the shaft. I have a new appreciation today for the outdoors and the freedom it represents. But the experience of the salt mine was also one that I would do again, and probably will when I have the opportunity. And so should you.

It is said that Will Rogers once said, “Don’t let yesterday use up too much of today.” While I think it’s probably accurate that Mr. Rogers originated this quote, I’m not 100%, so don’t skewer me if that happens to be wrong. In any event, the point is the quote, not the one who said it.

I saw this quote on a church billboard sign this evening. It hit me like a ton of bricks. How much and how often do we let the things that have already come and gone determine what we will do today…tomorrow…next week. Yes, I know that we have memories in part so we can learn from our experiences. Touch a hot stove once and you won’t touch it again. That’s experience. But sometimes we go way overboard and don’t come within 50 feet of a hot stove just because we got burned on one long, long ago. That kind of “learning” is not healthy, yet it pervades the psyches of many of us.

What do we have to do to let go? What does it take for us to look ahead instead of behind? How can we possibly put into practice what the great Apostle Paul said about “Forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal of the prize (Phil. 3:13)?”

I don’t think this is an easy, 1-2-3 thing. I’ve struggled with this all my life, and continue to struggle with it to this day. I am miserable, at times, in my memories and how they affect what I do today. Maybe I can justify my apprehensions by saying that I’ve been stung before in both work and in relationships, and I’m just being careful. But I have a feeling that is just a cop-out and there’s something else going on here that isn’t healthy.

One of our ministers a few days ago said in class (Thanks for the plug, Scott.) that he enjoyed my blog in part because it was so positive. One reason why is that I have found that writing positive things helps with this very problem. That isn’t enough, however. There’s something else at work here…something I’m missing.

“Be not dismayed, whate’er betide; God will take care of you. Beneath His wings of love abide; God will take care of you.” Is that it? Is that what I’m missing? Do I practice what I preach, or do I just mouth the words? Is my life real, or is it Memorex (apologies to those who aren’t old enough to remember this ad quote.)? Do I have a relationship with God, or am I like Adam in the picture? At this point, I just don’t know.

Hope

When was the last time that the national anthem of the United States was played in North Korea? For that matter, when was the last time that a symphony orchestra from the United States played in North Korea? Well, with that last question, you know that I’m on to something, and I am.

Today at 6pm Pyongyang local time, the Star Spangled Banner was played by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra in the East Pyongyang Grand Theater. You can see the video at http://nyphil.org/about/virtualTours/0708/korea/slideshow/video_0226.cfm

This was indeed a first. I don’t know the last time the national anthem of the U.S. was played in North Korea in a public venue, if it ever was. And never before has a group this large come to North Korea to share a cultural and arts exchange. This was truly an historic occasion.

We are still technically at war with this nation. We are observing a cease-fire, but no permanent peace has ever been consummated. The nation starves her citizens, elevates those governing to the status of gods, causes turmoil and friction in the area and around the world, tries to destabilize our currency through counterfeiting, and generally is a not-very-good nation in the world.

I believe, however, that it is through efforts such as this that some kind of thaw will eventually come. Where politicians and diplomats fail to succeed, someone with a conductor’s baton, or someone who plays violin, timpani, or brass, will succeed in some way to create and open a crack in the armor.

And heavens! The Star Spangled Banner? In North Korea? In public? For the first time, I have hope.

Learning to Live

It is said that everyone does something to ease the pain. Whatever the pain, whatever the cause, whatever it is that people do, everyone does something. You may be asking what prompted me to write about this? “What pain?” you ask. “What in the world are you talking about…easing the pain?”

I think most people recognize that life comes with pain, but do different things to help ease it. Some turn to drugs, whether legal or illegal. Others seek relief in relationships. Still others have hobbies, or are work-a-holics. Some resort to religion, mysticism, or some kind of spirituality. As many things as you can think of, those are things that people do to mask the pain…to make life and living tolerable.

I know that I write when I feel the need. As I’ve said before, I don’t really care if anyone reads what I’ve written or not, I find a comfort and peace in writing, whether religious articles, or things like this. It makes things better. I also like to listen to good music. That helps, at times. And I like to be with others who I know will accept me for who I am and not try to make me into what they’d like me to be.

Some people, though, deny that they are in pain. They pretend that everything is hunky-dory (I wonder where THAT expression came from), and go through life in denial. Still others say that there is no pain. They not only deny that they are in pain, they deny that pain exists. They, too, wonder through life in some kind of delusional state, claiming a falsehood as a truth and staking their well-being on the same. These people, by their denial, actually validate the fact that they are in pain and are trying to do something to ease it.

Life in this fallen world is for many of us a wonderful existence. For many others, it’s a struggle to breathe and find enough calories and water to make it through the day. Regardless of our lot in life, we all have times, situations, and circumstances that from time to time cause us some kind of life-pain, whether physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual. It’s this…the pain that naturally results from living…that I’m talking about.

I’ve used this before, but will do so again. The song “The Rose” by Amanda McBroom has as it’s second verse,

It's the heart, afraid of breaking That never learns to dance

It's the dream, afraid of waking That never takes the chance

It's the one who won't be taken Who cannot seem to give

And the soul, afraid of dying That never learns to live

Such are those, I believe, who either deny they are in pain or deny that pain exists. We never really learn to live until we cease to be afraid…afraid of the pain that this imperfect life gives us. And once we’ve learned to no longer be afraid…to deal with the pains and setbacks that life hands us, then we’ve also learned to live.

For What It Is

Yesterday was an almost perfect day. Now, before you skewer me with whatever it is that you like to use, because your day wasn’t at all perfect, let me explain.

The day had been gray and cloudy. There was some spritzing drizzle, etc. through out the day. Later on in the afternoon, an unexpected snow shower left everything covered in velvety, delicate snowflakes. There was no wind during the snow. The temperature was just right for large, fat flakes of wet snow to fall and cover everything in a couple of inches of pristine white.

Those kinds of snows don’t happen often. Far more often, there’s a howling wind out of the northwest, and it’s so cold that a penguin wouldn’t make it very long outside. The snow piles up in drifts and leaves fields bare. It doesn’t make for a very pretty picture.

But yesterday…that snow was one that defied all of the odds here in Kansas and provided us with a glimpse of what surely was the handiwork of God. I can just imagine Him saying something to the effect of, “These folks have had enough blowing and drifting. I think I’ll just give ‘em the perfect snow.”

The sad part of it is, I don’t think very many people appreciated the beauty. I think most probably griped and grumbled at having to deal one more time with slick streets and snowy sidewalks. It seems that anymore, to just stop and enjoy the view is something not many folks do.

Don’t wait until it’s too late. Stop sometimes, whether it snows, rains, or the sun shines, and just enjoy the view. Notice what is “out there” and make it your purpose to take it in and enjoy it for what it is.

Renewal

Today is Saturday. It’s been awhile since I’ve written. And I really don’t have much today to say. It’s a rather lazy day, gray and cloudy. We saw the sun for a few brief hours yesterday, but otherwise it’s been this way for the past several days, and looks to be this way for the next while.

Times like this make me less than energetic. I want to sleep more, move less, and generally be a lazy bum. My disposition becomes as sluggish as my body. Anything I do is an effort, and procrastination seems to grab hold.

This is nothing that a little sun and warmth can’t cure. Meanwhile, I have to work a little harder to keep going. I have to make myself do things. I have to work to smile at others that I meet.

The days are getting longer. The weather is moderating. Tornado season in this part of our nation officially begins just 5 weeks from now. Before long, it will be time to plant, prune, and mow. Spring will be here, and we will again see the results of a God that lovingly cares for His creation. There will be renewal and refreshment.

Already, I’m feeling better just writing about the spring to come. It will be here before we know it, and will give us all a glimpse of the once-for-all renewal that will come to all creation at some time to come.

The Great Outdoors

As we drove out to Western Kansas last weekend, I remarked as we left Lyons that the terrain and the “look” of the land would gradually become different as we went west. Around Rice County, the terrain and look of the land is much as it is in the Wichita area, but as one travels toward Great Bend and beyond, it gradually changes from cultivated to grassland, trees to treeless, man-made to natural. By man-made to natural, I mean that there gradually is a lessening of buildings, power lines, vehicles, etc. as one travels westward.

Sure enough, the transformation was gradual, but very plain. Ellenwood, Great Bend, LaCrosse, Hays, and on out on I-70, the terrain became more open and big, grass was in abundance, and the great outdoors was never more evident than in Western Kansas.

There’s something about that kind of environment that makes me feel rather small and insignificant. There’s something about looking at the sky at night and seeing nothing but black punctuated by thousands of points of light that makes me wonder at it all. There’s something about the way the scene just opens up and envelopes me that makes me feel like I’m an integral part of it.

Next time you go west, don’t just count the minutes until you get to Denver. Take a little time and see what’s out there. Look at that part of the creation with renewed eyes and an humble heart. Spend some time and energy seeing the small as well as the enormous. Then visit with some of the locals and get a human viewpoint on where you are. I think you’ll like what you see and will have a fresh appreciation of the God who made it all.

Past and Present

We took a trip this past weekend to Western Kansas where we used to live. On the way, we stopped to see the wife’s family and stayed overnight with her Dad. He’s an old man, but lives at home and seems to be in good shape. He drives, gets around, and knows his mind.

While with him, we went to the local café for an evening meal, then again for coffee the next day. As I sat there looking around, I recalled times years ago when I was there, and noticed that there wasn’t a lot of change in that time. There is still a neon sign at the back of the restaurant saying they serve the local creamery’s ice cream. The creamery hasn’t been in business for probably 50 years or more but the sign is still there. The building, furnishings, and arrangements of tables is pretty much as it always has been, at least as I knew it.

There’s something about going back and finding that things haven’t changed that much that is refreshing as well as comforting. I know that one of these days, that ice cream sign won’t be there. That will probably come the day the café no longer exists. But at least for now, I know that I can go somewhere and find the past, even as I live in the present.

It's Time

How would you feel if a family in Wichita, Kansas sold their sixteen year old mentally challenged girl to an acquaintance of theirs? The acquaintance held a grudge against Towne West Shopping Center. The acquaintance strapped a bomb onto the body of the girl, sent her into the shopping center, and detonated the bomb by remote control, killing all who were within 150 feet of her. The girl never knew what happened.

How would your community feel? How would this nation feel? What kind of news coverage do you think there would be? What kind of new laws would legislators want to pass? How many inquiries, inquests, and other formal hearings would be held?

And what of punishment for the acquaintance? What punishment would be appropriate? The death penalty? Life without parole? Put on a rocket and sent to outer space?

Such events happen (and recently have happened) in the Middle East. Al Quaeda used this tactic recently to kill 99 innnocents. See http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,327445,00.html for the story.

What should our response be? Should we say that it’s in another country and so doesn’t concern us? Should we read a story or two about it and remark how bad the world is today? Or should we as a society, as a nation, determine to let the world know that these atrocities will not stand, and that those responsible will be held accountable?

The United States long has been the champion of the oppressed. We have, and are the most generous nation on the face of the earth. Even though we tread carefully at times, and our record is not perfect, we step in to right a wrong, correct an injustice, or secure liberty for a citizenry.

If for no other, this is reason enough for us to confront this evil. This is reason enough to expend our national resources, both human and monetary. This is reason enough to be actively engaged in the societies of the nations that permit this.

And this is reason enough (if the Great Commission isn’t enough) for the Church to do its part, confronting evil, overcoming evil with good, and engaging in the spiritual war that has claimed far too many souls for the Evil One.

Something Good Has Happened Here

This morning we had, as we do every Sunday, church services. As we began the service, one of the young women who used to be with us at the children’s home came up and sat with us. We hadn’t seen her in awhile, and she left the home under less-than-ideal circumstances. She’s now living with her boy friend, she says, and says she’s doing OK.

During the “meet and greet” portion of the service, another girl who used to be at the home came up to see us. She’s now caring for her grandfather, who is suffering from terminal cancer.

During the time between the services and Sunday School, and later after everything was over, I got a chance to visit with some of the girls who are still at the home. Most we know, having lived with them. One or two came since we had to move away, but they still greet us and talk with us.

It’s times like this that I ache to be back in that life. These girls have so much potential and have so much going for them. They need guidance, structure, and direction. But most of all, they need someone to hear them. Not just hear the words they say, but hear what they’re saying underneath the words that they say openly. I think Pat and I did a good job of that. I think we validated their feelings and ideas, even if we disagreed with them. I think we withheld judgment and affirmed their person-ness and their worth as individuals. And I think they understood that and appreciated that.

I’m not saying that they aren’t getting that now. I don’t know what they are getting. But I do know that in spite of their snits with one-another, in spite of how tired we were, in spite of our disappointment sometimes in the actions of the girls, in spite of their bad grades and bad choices, we listened. We validated. We affirmed. We loved.

Oh, the girl who made the choice to sit with us this morning? She’s the one we had the most trouble with while she was staying at the home. She’s the one that consumed most of our strength and energy. She’s the one who just didn’t seem to get it. And now she chooses to sit with us. She, by that action, has validated us. She, by that action, has affirmed us. Something good has happened here. I’m overwhelmed.

It Is What It Is

We had our final life safety inspection today at the new nursing facility where I recently went to work as Director of Environmental Services. There is always something that needs to be re-done in inspections such as this, and today was no exception. However, there were a couple of things during this process today upon which I’d like to comment.

First, it seems that people sometimes have a hard time understanding that when they’re asked to do something by someone in authority, that person means exactly what he/she says. One of our sub-contractors had not performed an inspection on the fire suppression kitchen hoods over our stoves. They had done the installation and the check sheet that they normally do with the install, but no inspection was done because, “We don’t do inspections on new equipment.”

The Fire Marshal was polite, but said several times that he needed an inspection report, and that the installation report wasn’t adequate. The owner of the business repeated that directive a couple of times, as did I. Finally, the sub contractor “got it” and said that he would do an inspection, even though I know without a doubt that he was thinking, “This is a new installation. Why do I have to do an inspection?”

The answer to his non-verbal question is simply, “Because the authority is requiring it.” It doesn’t matter if it makes sense to the sub contractor or not. It doesn’t matter if anyone else wants it done or not. It doesn’t matter if it’s a brand new system that doesn’t really have anything to “inspect.” The fact is, it is required and the authority (the one with the badge and the force of law) is the one who is requiring it.

Second, it would be quite helpful if people would not take it upon themselves to make changes to the plans and specifications without consultation. Some of that happened in this construction, and we now have to go back and make those things right. The cost will be much more now that the project is complete, and people are going to be inconvenienced. The plans should have been followed.

Third, I’ve been working with government for about 20 years, now. Rules and regulations are there for a reason, even if that reason may not be apparent to the general public Joe Schmo. It is unproductive and just plain not a good idea to try to bargain with these people. They don’t care if it costs an arm and a leg to comply. They don’t care if we obtain our license to operate next week or next year. They don’t care if we have to tear out walls and dig up the floor. They expect us to follow the rules of construction and operation as clearly spelled out in both the Kansas regulations as well as CMS (Medicare) regulations. And if we don’t, well, that’s a shame.

And so we have some things to correct. I think all in all we did OK. We learned, and hopefully won’t make the same mistakes next time. And, after all, isn’t that what experience is all about?

The Unattainable

“Gentlemen, we are going to relentlessly chase perfection, knowing full well we will not catch it, because nothing is perfect. But we are going to relentlessly chase it, because in the process we will catch excellence. I am not remotely interested in just being good.”

So, according to Parade magazine (February 3, 2008, page 8), said Vince Lombardi 50 years ago to his new team, the Green Bay Packers.

Although this was said in the context of a football team (and a darned good one, I might add), think about what Mr. Lombardi said and apply it to life…your life. Think about what those of us as Christians are called to do — “Be perfect even as your Father in heaven is perfect” — and how what Mr. Lombardi said could help as we struggle with the unattainable, yet firm and clear command.

The great apostle Paul of Tarsus talks more than once about running the race, looking toward the prize at the end, and finishing the course. To “relentlessly chase” perfection is to run the race without fainting. We go even when we’re tired. We continue even though we are discouraged. We press on even though we are beaten down.

To “relentlessly chase” perfection is also to look at the prize in the end. We have a goal in mind. We have a prize we covet. We have a gift we cherish.

We also “relentlessly chase” perfection when we finish the course. We dare not quit in the middle of the race. We cannot sit along the side and let others go by. We need the courage to finish, even when reason and logic tell us it isn’t worth it.

And we should never be remotely interested in just being good. To be good is not good enough. To be perfect is our goal. And as long as we are given breath and life from the one who commanded perfection, we struggle, strive, push and strain for the unattainable, yet mandated. And as long as we are in this home of imperfection, we continue to look to the one who is the I AM for the grace of perfection, even in our imperfection.

It All Comes Down to This

Well, a whole week has come and gone since the last blog. Sorry. It’s been hectic at work, and when I get home, I don’t feel like doing much of anything. It’ll calm down before long, but until then, I’ll probably not write much during the week.

I was out helping direct cars in the parking lot at the new nursing home last night. It was my job to help people coming to the open house find parking spaces and get them in the right doors of the building. The weather was cold, but I had lots of clothing on and was doing just fine. The open house for the professionals (invitation only) was from 5:30 to 7:30pm. That’s when I was helping in the parking lot.

I was standing there listening to and looking at the traffic on Maize road, which goes by our place of work, during a time when no one was coming in. I started thinking how in the world I went through fifty-some years of life, and more moves and jobs than I care to count, just to end up in a parking lot greeting the mucky mucks who came for the festivities.

At about that time, the setting sun came out from behind a cloud bank that had been overhead all day and had dropped four inches of snow on us earlier. It briefly shone and lit up everything with that reddish-orange glow that comes from a setting sun. And somehow (you’re gonna think I’m strange) I knew that this was the place where I was supposed to be and this was what I was supposed to be doing at this time.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and all ended well. But for just a brief moment, I got the distinct feeling that there was something or someone bigger than I who knew that I was standing there and that I was wondering about how it all came down to this.

Next week we have the state fire marshal inspection and the state nursing home inspector. It’ll be another hectic week.

Writing Cramps

I don’t write well, sometimes. Although I like the written word and like to put words together to form thoughts that hopefully communicate the intangible, but real to others, I’m not really that good at it. But sometimes I do better than others.

I usually write better in the morning. Now it is late afternoon and I feel a little pushed to get this written, even though I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of days now. In the evening or at night, it seems that I just can’t get words out that make any sense at all.

Sometimes, though, in the morning hours, I can start writing at the computer about little of nothing and watch as it turns into something that I think is rather good. It’s almost as if I’m watching someone else write, but of course, it’s I who am writing. Those times tend to come rather infrequently now, but when they do come, it’s a blessing.

I still have the papers I did in college, at least the ones I did at OCU. When I read them again, I think, “Did I really write that?” Of course I did, but I have little clue how those thoughts came into my head to put down on paper. The writing is not as polished as it is now (I wrote those papers in the early 1980’s), but the thoughts are as if they came from outer space somewhere. I don’t know how else to say that.

I save all of my writing now. All of my bulletin articles from Oakley, the things I write to others in answer to questions or discussion of things (thanks, Kathy), and these blogs are all on my PC. I also have things I wrote while in the ministry in Topeka that no one else has seen. These writings are my way to sort out things and make things clearer in my mind.

I think that’s why I like the blog. I don’t really care if anyone else reads this or not. It’s for me and my thoughts. However, if others benefit from it or enjoy it in some way, that’s all the better.

I’ll probably never make any money writing. My sister is a much better writer than I am when it comes to writing things that might sell. I don’t think she’s sold or published anything yet, but I think it would be worth a shot for her sometime. She’s also a musician and cook, as well as school psychologist, mom, wife, and friend. She has a plethora (as she would say) of experience from which to glean. Maybe she’ll do some of that gleaning some time.

Grateful

The work week is over for me. I am working the conventional days and hours right now, and am looking forward to not having to wake up to an alarm tomorrow morning. We’ve worked hard at the new nursing home and my muscles are complaining about it. But it’s been good work, and I am glad and grateful I have the work.

It would be so easy to complain about having to unload and unpack so many boxes of furniture and equipment. It would be easy to complain about having to go to work early this morning because a truck was coming in early and needed to be unloaded. It would be easy to complain about the upcoming week and the stresses that will undoubtedly be there.

However, there will be no complaining here because I know what it’s like to not have work. I know what it’s like to stay home while everyone else goes to work. I know what it’s like to have to explain to someone why I’m not working when it seems everyone else is.

I’m grateful for the job and for the work. It’s work I can do and work that I can enjoy. It’s also work that I appreciate having and thank God for allowing me to be healthy enough to do it.

So, although this weekend is also very much appreciated, I’ll enjoy getting up early and going in on Monday. And if you just think about it a minute or so, I think you’ll also appreciate the work God has given you to do and your ability to do it.

Last Friday morning as I headed into work, I noticed the sun just peeking over the horizon. There was a layer of clouds above the sun, so it was shining orange-red light under the clouds, illuminating them all the way across the sky. The illumination was brighter, of course, closer to the sun, but it was obvious that even the clouds to the far west were receiving some of the orange-red light. As the sun rose further, the clouds hid it and the phenomenon went away.

I’ve not seen that kind of sunrise (or sunset) often, but a few times have been fortunate enough to see it. One morning in Oakley, I was coming home after a bad storm during the night. The power had been knocked out at the nursing home, and flooding was occurring in a rear door. I looked to the east and saw the sun peeking through the slot just below a shelf of clouds that covered the rest of the sky. There was another rainstorm to the west of where I was, and I saw a rainbow (that’s right, a rainbow) to the west in that storm cloud, just for a few brief moments of time under the cloud shelf.

I’ve never seen such a thing before, and don’t think I’ll ever have the privilege of seeing one like that again. First, how many times have you seen a rainbow to the west of your location? Second, how many times have you seen a rainbow under a shelf of clouds?

The sky can bring wonder to the human mind, and if one looks up once in a while, can bring joy and peace, knowing that things are working as they were ordered to work. The sky can also let us know that we aren’t as all-fired important as we sometimes think we are, and that there are things we have not yet learned to control.

And don’t get me started on the night sky. It’s a wonderland of its own, and has recently been brought to dazzling clarity with the Hubble telescope and other advanced optical equipment. Active volcanoes in the solar system? We have pictures of them actively spouting. Water in the form of ice elsewhere besides earth? Comet dust? We’ve brought some of that back to earth. Close-ups of asteroids? We have that. A comet crashing into a planet? We have photos of that as it happened. Conundrums that challenge, puzzle, and mystify scientists and physicists of all persuasions and stripes? You can see the same things they see and marvel just like they do.

Take a tour of some of those web sites sometime. I think you’ll come away with a renewed appreciation for this creation we inhabit.

Which Is It?

Bob came to the front to say a few words before we took up the collection today in church. He said that he worked as a volunteer at Christmas helping hand out coats and food to folks who had need. He told this story about an encounter he had with one woman who had come in for help.

He said he was working there, greeting people as they got ready to pick up their things. He said one woman came up to him and he said, “Hello. How are you today?”

She replied, “I am blessed.”

He said he replied to her, “I am blessed, too.”

He said that afterwards, he thought about what she meant when she said she was blessed versus what he meant when he said he was blessed. This woman had spent over an hour in line, on a cold day, waiting to receive a used coat, a used blanket, and a box of food. “For that,” he said, “She said she was blessed.”

He didn’t say it outright, but as much as said that we tend to consider ourselves blessed if we have three cars, high speed internet, and a 401k that has several hundred thousand dollars in it. This woman considered herself blessed because of a used coat, used blanket, and a box of food that people donated.

When do you consider yourself blessed, and when do you begin to whine a little about how unfair things are and how hard you have it? Is God blessing you when He gives you enough to pay money down on a 24 foot boat and a garage in which to store it? Or is God blessing you when He allows you to wake up in the morning and see the sunrise?

Out of Touch??

With both of us working (or at least we both have jobs), we are beginning to look at alternate living arrangements. We are enjoying staying with my brother, but it will soon be time to find our own place and leave these folks alone.

We’ve been talking rent or buy. We’ve been talking about how large of a place we will need versus how large of a place we will want. We’ve been discussing location. We’ve been discussing a lot of things.

One thing I’ve noticed is the price of housing. My 1960’s mind just can’t wrap itself around a regular-looking home in a regular-looking neighborhood selling for $160,000 or more. It just seems like something is terribly, terribly out of whack here.

I suppose, though, that if I had kept track of inflation over the years, it wouldn’t seem so bad. And even at that, the money I’m making per hour now in my job is many, many times what I made when I first went to work years ago. So all in all, maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

Do you remember when it was unusual to find something in the grocery store that was over $1.00 (other than meat)? Now, you can hardly find anything under a dollar any more, and a lot of things are 2, 3, or 4 dollars each or more. Remember when a coupon for 3 cents off was a big deal? Now many people don’t even do coupons. Remember when if you found a nickel on the sidewalk, it was unconscionable to pass it by? Nowadays, kids get change at the store and throw it on the ground outside because they don’t want to mess with it.

I don’t know about you, but I still pick up pennies, nickels, and the like. I also finish my plate, save all my change, and think a five dollar bill is really something. Sheesh. Am I ever out of touch!!

The Ties That Bind

We attended a concert last night. The York College choir came to Wichita and performed. We thoroughly enjoyed the choir, but I enjoyed something else just as much. While there, I was able to visit with several people. Among them was a mom and her two sons from Topeka that we knew when we lived there. Another was our foster daughter and granddaughter. Daughter lives in Wichita, but granddaughter lives in Oklahoma and came up for a shower for a friend and came to the concert.

My, my how the boys have grown, Kelly! And how well they behaved (at least what I saw). You’ve done well with them, and it’s obvious that they love you. I don’t envy you in a house with five other boys (including Dad). God has given you special gifts to go along with the special challenges that this situation brings.

As we left the building, I was thinking that we don’t always communicate as well as we could and should. Our foster daughter lives in Wichita, yet we don’t often see her or contact her. We see her family even less. Those in Topeka and others we know in other places are often the same way. Although with modern communicative methods, we could easily be in touch, we often just don’t. In fact, Sheila found out about our new jobs and new grandson on the blog, just like many of you. Somehow, that just doesn’t seem right.

So, to all of you that we don’t see or contact as much as we should, we ask your forgiveness. I don’t know how much better we’ll do in the future, but you need to know right now and up front that we think of you often; we pray for you and the situations in your life that we know about; we enjoy the times when we do see you; and we cherish the ties that bind us together, even through long periods of no contact.

Am I Entitled?

OK, OK, so it’s been five days since a blog. I have an excuse. I started a new job on Monday and have been running my little (insert appropriate noun here) into the ground. But it’s coming along and I’m glad to be working.

Secondly, we are grandparents again. Scott and Laura had our second grandchild…Gabriel John. He’s obviously the cutest baby around these parts and seems to be doing well, as well as Mom and Dad. I went to Emporia yesterday evening for a quick visit, and came back late in the evening.

So there. I think I’m entitled, I suppose.

I was thinking on the way back last night about how old Gabriel would be when I would be leaving this earth. Oh, I know that I don’t really know that information, but was thinking that if I lived another 20 or so years (not out of the question at all), Gabriel might not even be married then.

His sister Rachel will be much the same way. She’s only a year and a half old now. Our kids will be in their mid to late 40’s, and it will be in the late 2020’s.

I don’t know why I thought of such a thing, but I’ve been saying for some time now that I have far more years behind me than I have in front of me. This kind of brought that home in a way that I haven’t thought of before now.

It is even more imperative that, should I be permitted to be a part of the growing years of Rachel and Gabriel, that my example be that of the love of Jesus Christ and that I convey to those kids the need to develop a lasting relationship with their Creator.

I don’t know that I could do anything any better for them than that.

The Genuine Article

Today, we went to the mall. We had some shopping to do for me. I needed work clothes for my new job on Monday. We also stopped in another department store while my wife looked over some female clothing articles that were on sale.
While she was looking, I (having two large bags of shirts and slacks on the floor beside me) stood to the side of an aisle waiting for her to make her selections. While I was standing there, a mom and little boy walked by. The boy, no more than about two years old, stopped in front of me and looked up intently.
I had been waiting for some time and pretty much ignored people who went by. I also overtly ignored this little boy by looking straight ahead, as I knew he was looking at me as if I might be a mannequin. I thought that if I smiled or spoke, it might frighten him. I could, however, see him in my peripheral vision.
I know it never entered into this boy’s mind why a male mannequin model would be placed in blue jeans and scruffy flannel shirt in an aisle between bras and womens’ shoes, but nevertheless, I think he thought I might be made of plastic.
His mom took his hand after a couple of seconds of his looking up at me and said, “C’mon, son.” A few steps down the aisle, she looked at him and said, “Yep, he’s real.”
Now I’ve never thought much about that before this afternoon, but I really have to wonder if people in the past have had to look at me more than once in order to determine if I was real…the genuine article. If so, that’s really rather sad. It seems that it shouldn’t take a lot of critical, close inspection of anyone to determine the genuineness of that person.
I hope I remember that little boy as he looked up at me. I hope that I never have to wonder whether or not people are seeing the genuine article when they look at my life. And I hope that the genuine person that others see is the person that I really am and that God wants me to be.