Serious Quiet Time

We worship at a downtown Wichita church. It is only a block from Century II, and is on the East bank of the Arkansas River. This day, as we got out of the car in the parking lot to go in for services, I took notice of the sounds that were invading my ears at that particular time.

An EMS siren was blaring only a couple of blocks from us (As an old EMS attendant, I can still tell the sirens [EMS, Fire, Police] apart by their sounds…mostly). Waiting at the intersection, a car had its radio on entirely too loudly, and was entertaining the whole neighborhood with some kind of something some people call music. A motorcycle pulled up to the light, too, and when the light changed, the throaty sound of a too-loud cycle muffler sort-of killed all other noise for an instant.

Off in the distance were church bells, certainly electronic or perhaps digital, and the general noise of a downtown on a weekend occupied the few quieter seconds when something else didn’t fill the air.

I don’t remember thinking much of those thirty or so seconds between our car and the building, except to think that it seemed noisier than normal, and I hoped for some quiet once in the building. Now that I think about it a little more, I am reminded that for many people, noise and activity are what help keep the demons away. I don’t know if any of these noisemakers had any demons working on them, but think about it.

Most of us have to have some kind of noise or activity going on just about all of our waking hours. The TV has to be going, even if no one is watching. The radio or some kind of music is on in most vehicles all the time. We have radios or stream audio over our computers at work. IPOD’s and other such devices are so commonplace now that we don’t think about them. Why?

Could it be that we don’t want to think about the things we many times think about when we happen to wake at 3am and can’t go back to sleep? It’s quiet then, and we are there only with our thoughts (and maybe a snoring partner). It’s then that we think of job security, our financial situation, our relationships with others, or things even more serious, like our mortality, the existence of God, guilt, forgiveness, and our eternal future.

But as long as we’re preoccupied with something else, these thoughts seem to be pushed out of our minds. They come back, though, as soon as they get the opportunity. We can’t really shake them permanently. We can only suppress them for a time.

I don’t think the people downtown that day were intentionally making noise in order to briefly chase away serious thought (with the possible exception of the radio person), but I do think that we should probably take more time to think about who God is, our relationship with Him, and His with us. And that requires, for the most of us, some serious quiet time alone.

Cattle Call

Tonight, we went to the Prairie Rose and enjoyed a barbecue dinner and western entertainment. Now, I’m not normally a western-type person, but this is an enjoyable place just northeast of Wichita, and I urge you to try it if you haven’t yet.

In any event, during the entertainment, one of the songs the group sang had to do with cattle calls and someone calling cattle. I don’t know the name of the song or the words, and that isn’t important. And for those of you who don’t know, stockmen of old had certain calls that they used to call in their herds of cattle from the pastures when it was time to feed them, count them, doctor them, or whatever needed to be done. Some of the cattle would accept training to come when called and the others would follow.

During that song, I was reminded of the calls of my dad. He had two calls that he used at the pasture northwest of town where he kept his cattle. I can play them in my mind as if I heard them day before yesterday.

The first was a loud suc-calf call with the emphasis on the second syllable. His voice started rather high, but not too high, and it went up rather than down, kind of like he was asking a one-word question. There wasn’t much melody to it…it was just kind of a yelling of that word somewhere around middle C on the piano.

The second was a soo-ook in definite falsetto. The o’s in the word were pronounced the same as in the word took. This call started somewhere around the C above middle C, went down during the mid point to somewhere around G or A flat, then went up a half step or so at the end. The emphasis was on the first syllable primarily, and on the end of the word secondarily, with the middle note just a kind of connecting tone.

This second call could (and did) put chills up your spine. I don’t know what it was about it that did that, and I don’t know if any other of us siblings had the same response to it, but when he used that second call more than just a time or two, you knew he meant business. That second call also carried farther than the other, many times from the lot all the way to the far end of the pasture over a half mile away.

Dad had a kind of a bond with his herds. Oh, they would come and go, and some did better for him than others. But he’d talk with them, move among them, feed them well, doctor them when needed, and never allowed flies to torment them longer than it took for us to make the time to go up and spray them. We used a hand sprayer so as to not have the loud noise of a mechanical one upset them.

Once in awhile, there was one in a herd that just seemed incorrigible, and he’d sell him so as, it seems, to not spoil his experience with the rest of the herd. Dad never abused his cattle. He never used whips, prods, electric shock, or other means of that kind to get them moving, and he didn’t appreciate it when others came to load them up to take to sale and did use that kind of thing. He believed, I think, in the basic dignity of all of God’s creatures, even those that were destined for slaughter, recognizing that they were providing him with a means to feed and clothe his family. And he appreciated that, and treated them with respect.

I could tell of times he sent me to the pasture to bring the herd up to the lot, of times with the branding irons, of giving shots, treating for pink eye, chopping ice, filling the tank, fixing the windmill, shoveling grain, putting up hay or silage, cleaning out manure, fixing fence, chasing down strays that would get out, going to the sale barn, putting up electric fence on fall wheat, mowing prairie hay, spraying for flies, and a host of other experiences with cattle, now only memories. Those were good times, and times I’ll always cherish.

Dad’s cattle calling days are long over, and his voice has long been silenced by death. But the flood of memories that have come over me as I write this have caused me to appreciate even more my upbringing and the hard work and incredible risks that my parents took to provide for us. And in so doing, they provided us with life lessons that are with us all today in some way, shape, or form (respect for life, care for those [human or animal] who cannot care for themselves, relief of suffering, providing for family, perseverance, patience, the miracle of the creation, and a host of others). We are blessed.

Ramblings

Some things I’ve been wondering (or thinking about) recently.

Does anything taste better than vine ripe cantaloupe?

Why do some people seem so helpless? Today, one of the staff at the home told me that an alarm wasn’t shutting off when the “off” button was pressed. She had changed batteries, checked the wiring, etc. It turned out that a switch on the side of the alarm disables the “off” button when it is engaged, and the switch was engaged. When I turned the switch off, the alarm worked fine.

Is it possible to go back to the Andy Griffith Show times? Times that are slower, simpler, and more sensible, if you will? Or do we have to satisfy our longing for those times by watching the reruns?

Why does Dillons not have Post Grape Nuts Flakes on the shelf?

Does anything taste better than fresh, ripe pineapple?

If Pat Roberts, incumbent candidate for the U.S. Senate from Kansas “listened to Kansans” in voting “NO” on the bailout, and if he’s been “working for Kansas” all this time (as his campaign ads say), what things has he been working on? Does he have an alternative to the bail out he’s presented to the Congress that he developed by listening to Kansans? Or is he just a “NO” voter and a complainer?

I’m thinking that Barack Obama is underrated.

I’m thinking that John McCain will run the Executive Branch just like he’s run his campaign…terribly.

Does anything taste better than a tree ripened peach?

I’m still thinking about who I should vote for.

How do composers of music think of the tunes and harmonies that they eventually put down on paper? Do they have all of these ditties of songs playing in their heads continually? How can classical composers keep all of the parts straight? Are composers a little “strange” in some ways?

If gasoline has fallen in price, can’t one save even more money now by continuing to drive conservatively compared to driving like a wild banshee? Why, then, do so many people continue to drive like, you know, a banshee?

Does anything taste better than roast beef, cooked rice, and brown gravy?

The Rub

I got up early this morning for a quick trip to Topeka to visit a friend. Waking at about 5am, I left the house about 5:35. I was reminded at that time that the early morning is kind of a whole ‘nuther world.

The first glimpses of the morning dawn didn’t come until I was well on my way up the turnpike at about 6:20. The sun actually appeared about an hour later. Being able to watch the proceedings of the coming of the sun and the daytime was a good thing.

We seem to be far too cloistered in our homes, cars, and businesses any more to notice the things that keep our lives ordered and that are really the more important. We instead fret about the stock market and our 401k’s, the boss at work, or when we’ll be able to go shopping next.

All of these things might have an element of importance in them (at least for us), but they of themselves are all manufactured things…things that we deal with and have as a result of the human society and human interaction with nature. Things like the sunrise, however, aren’t dependent on us. In fact, the sun can rise very well with nary a human inhabiting this planet.

And maybe that’s the rub. We don’t like to admit that we aren’t needed for events like sunrise to happen, so we instead fill our lives with those things that do require our attention. Think, however, of just what we know about other bodies in space. Ice crystals on Mars, methane oceans on some of the moons of the gas giants, active volcanoes in the outer reaches of the solar system, giant storms, flying ice balls, the interaction of matter, the obedience to the laws of physics (even if we don’t understand them all), and the orderliness of the cosmos is not dependent upon us and happens all the time without as much as a speck of interference from humanity.

It kind of puts things into perspective.

What I Think

I received an email from Senator Sam Brownback's office today, part of a mass mailing, I'm sure. In the email, he talks about the financial crisis, what he thinks, and why he voted "no" to the bail out. He also asked me what I thought. I thought I should reply, since he asked. What follows is my reply, word for word.
By email, you asked for my views on the economy. I agree that we are going into a recessionary time. I also agree that some kind if intervention is necessary, and that intervention will be costly.
My concern has long been that we are not looking at the long term; rather we are wanting immediate, short term fixes that will continue to promote greed and self-serving action.
This is nothing new. Our nation's history is filled with such times. However, one would think that someone somewhere would get a clue. One would think that someone somewhere would truly have the best interests of others at heart. One would think that someone somewhere would do the right thing.
I'm sick of the political games. I'm sick of the callousness. I'm sick of the gridlock. And right now, I'm sick of the Congress and those who go, bloody hands out, to the people for relief when they are the very ones who have, over the years, been trampling the people to death in search of ever-greater billions.
You wanted to know what I think. Thanks for letting me write.

Poetry and Memory

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.

Blessings on thee, little man;
Barefoot boy with cheeks of tan.
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes.

Under the spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands.
The smith, a mighty man is he
With strong and sinewy hands.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

The above are just about all that I can recall regarding poetry that I studied long ago in school. The poems are on the Internet, now, and I looked up a couple of them to become acquainted with them again.

I am not a poem-y person. I never took much to poetry, preferring to write prose. Some poetry I don’t understand (I also don’t understand works of art, for the most part). However, some of what Mr. Wells tried to teach us in 8^th grade, and what other teachers tried to instill into us in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s has stuck in the form of snippets of poetry such as what is above.

I am much more amazed at the working and capacity of the human brain to retain such snippets for years on end than I am of poetry itself. To think that these kinds of things have been stored somewhere in the recesses of an approximately 3.5 lb blob of tissue (which, by the way, is capable of performing 100 trillion calculations per second, according to Wiki) for fifty or so years is just remarkable in many ways.

Surely, you too know the above poems and the authors. Don’t you?

What Was That??

Just when you think the neighborhood is beginning to feel a little “sterile”, a neighbor kid a few houses over goes out on his patio on Saturday morning and begins practicing his…yep, his bagpipe.

When the Saints Go Marching In, Amazing Grace, and other tunes emanate from the contraption of tubes and pipes. Some sound rather good. Others need a little work. But more than that, it’s a reminder that neighborhoods aren’t just a collection of houses, yards, and cars. There are people who inhabit this place, and they are as individualistic and unique as can be.

The retired contractor, the physician resident, the helicopter pilot (for an air ambulance), the serviceman…all are living, breathing human beings, part of the ecosystem we call a neighborhood. People move in and people move out. There are garage sales from time to time, and I’m sure there are other, less innocent things going on that we can not readily see.

Kids play in the back yard pool down the block, and other kids ride their bikes and trikes in the streets. Busses pick up kids for school, and a few, I think, are home schooled. People work, play, go, come, eat, sleep, and dream. Some may worry. Some may have good reason to worry. Others may already be in that stage in life where they know that worry gets them nowhere, fast.

Our missions committee at church is thinking about an urban ministry of some sort. It got me to thinking how I would approach our neighborhood with a ministry of some sort. In all honesty, I haven’t a clue. Now, what was that He said about being salt, light, and leaven in the world?

Dives and Establishments

Today, I went over to my barber on 13^th Street to get a haircut. I got there just as she was opening, and there were a couple of guys there waiting ahead of me, so I went next door to the Riverside Café for breakfast.

It’s always a treat to go to that café. Nothing pretentious, and a throwback to the days of plate lunches, lunch counters, and juke boxes, this place was so noisy at 9am that I had to raise my voice to the waitress to be heard.

Sitting at the counter beside a man and (who I presume was) his about 9 year old daughter, I noted the bustle of several employees, the loudness of conversation, and the juke box. Oh, the juke box. There are stations at many of the tables, just like the old days. The selections never change, however. And if no one plays anything for pay, the box just makes a selection every so often and blares out something from Elvis, Patti Page, the Four Tops, Louis Armstrong, or someone else from that era.

The lunch counter has a solid (no seams) copper top that has only become more striking with age and use. The cabinets behind the counter are wood, real wood, and crafted with obvious care by someone who took pride in his work. The place is crowded and cramped at times, but everyone is a friend there, and even the owner, who takes cash, tells you he’s glad you stopped in and please stop in again.

I had three strips of bacon, two eggs over medium (a little sloppy, though), wheat toast, hash browns for under five dollars ($4.59). Coffee was a dollar nineteen. The meal was unimpressive in itself, but the ambiance was great. I just sort-of sat there and took it all in. Nothing matched. Forks didn’t match spoons. Coffee cups were random this or that. The water pitchers were different colors. Pictures and other things were hung on the wall in not much of an apparent order.

I’ll take some dive like that over a fancy schmancy establishment any day.

Soaring

This evening I was out on the back patio. I noticed a large bird soaring in the air some distance away. I’m no great bird identifier, but think it was probably a hawk of some kind. I watched him as he flew.

He didn’t beat his wings once that I could see in the several minutes that I was watching. He soared, turned, cruised, and generally seemed to be enjoying being alive. At times he almost disappeared, but then turned in some way where I could see him better. I’m sure that some will say that he was looking for food or doing something for his survival; I prefer to think he was just out enjoying the day, grateful to be alive.

So, when do you take time out of your day to soar?

Perspective

Out of our back door, past the patio and our back yard, is a wall of trees and other vegetation. It truly is kind of a wall, because the property was cleared for housing back to kind of a line, then the natural growth was left in the park that abuts our property. There’s also a hiking trail not far into the woods, and we can see and hear people as they travel that trail.

The wall is a rather imposing thing at times. During twilight hours, it stands as a giant shadow, consuming all of the light that would come from that direction. During the day, it prevents me from looking more than just a few feet beyond the border. I hope that in winter, enough leaves will fall that we will be able to see farther into the woods.

That wall of growth has made me think of several things recently. When we walk on the trail, the woods don’t seem nearly as imposing as they do when I look at the wall from the outside. Also, the wall provides protection for the animals that live back there. Deer, turkey, squirrels and other wildlife are regulars, and need the protection that the woods provide.

However, in the last few days, the wall of plant life has served as a reminder that although things may be falling apart in man’s world (financial meltdown, presidential politics, etc), the creation goes on just as it has for ages past, and just as it will for ages to come (should God tarry His second coming). Regardless of what happens on Wall Street, the fish swim in our backyard pond, the deer come to the edge of the woods to graze in the mornings, and the trees continue the photosynthesis process.

It kind of brings things back into perspective.

Earmarks

One of the things that is going around in political circles nowadays is the fact that politicians are all railing against a Congressional practice known as earmarks. For those who may not know, earmarks are defined by different people in different ways. Generally, the definitions that follow are pretty much on target.

One type of earmark, the soft earmark, is the one in which a member of Congress successfully inserts language into a conference committee report or spending bill which urges or recommends that a certain amount of federal money be spent for a specific purpose, usually in his/her home state or district. These are known as soft earmarks because although they do not have the force of law, they are treated as if they do by the agencies having charge of the funds, in order to not rankle members of Congress or have their budgets cut by the Congress in the future.

Hard earmarks are language put into bills or committee reports by members of Congress which direct (not recommend) agencies to appropriate funds in a certain way to certain projects in a certain amount. These earmarks are decreasing in popularity because of relatively recent ethics legislation which requires members of Congress to publicly disclose when they use this process. The soft earmark is not defined by Congress as an earmark; therefore, it is a way to circumvent this disclosure process.

Hard earmarks are not necessarily evil. In fact, under the Constitution, the Congress is required to “pass legislation directing all appropriations of money drawn from the U.S. Treasury.” (Article I, Section 9) (Wikipedia) Congress has the power to direct specific funds to specific projects. In practice, however, in recent times Congress has appropriated a sum of money to an agency and then gives the agency the authority to spend that sum as needed. This essentially gives the Executive branch the final say in how (or whether) the money will be spent. It is understandable that the Executive branch would not take kindly to the Congress taking back that authority (which the Constitution already gives to the Legislative branch).

I think what is happening is a backlash against the so-called soft earmarks; those which escape the scrutiny of ethics legislation and can remain anonymous “requests”. I believe that Gov. Palin, for example, (and as demonstrated by her response to questions in the recent ABC interview) is not against the appropriation of money for specific projects, but rather is against the methods now used (soft earmarks) to do so.

The ethics legislation which brought about the use of soft earmarks (in order to thwart the purpose of the legislation) was enacted early in 2007. It is entirely consistent with Gov. Palin’s actions and statements regarding earmarks that, although she is not opposed to the hard earmarks (remember that the Congress has specific Constitutional authority to use hard earmarks) which benefited her state and community in years past, she is opposed to the thwarting of the intent of the ethics legislation passed last year by the creation and use of soft earmarks. Senator McCain has also made his displeasure well-known on this issue. Our collective misunderstanding of this issue has led us to incorrect conclusions and wrong assumptions.

I have to wonder just how much people pay attention to what is actually being said and what is actually going on in Washington. Additionally, I have to wonder whether people really know what the Constitution provides and allows. I have a much clearer picture of the earmark brouhaha now, and spent only about 15 minutes on-line (yes, I used Wiki, but I also used material from official non-partisan government agencies) finding out the particulars of the issue. If you’ve stayed with me down to this point, you also have a clearer understanding of the issue, and are probably more informed than 98% of the American public.

Courageous Living

Several times these last couple of weeks, I’ve thought about writing on a certain topic, but was always deterred somehow. Now, as I have the time to write, I cannot recall many of those topics that I have thought of in the recent past. Let’s see…maybe I can remember some of them at least enough to give you the general sense of what I’ve been thinking.

Courageous living. I know I’ve talked about that before, but I continue to see example after example of courageous living in the care home where I work. And I see it on the part of staff as well as the residents, who survive each day at a poverty level or near poverty level existence, balancing raising kids with working sometimes two or three jobs and just keeping everything afloat.

These are the people that Mr. McCain and Mr. Obama say they are fighting for and want to help. However, I hold no illusions that either one of them (or anyone else in government, for that matter) really know what’s happening right now to those families. Nor do I hold any illusions that government can be responsive to the needs of these people, even if it does know what is going on.

Because in order to truly know the lives of these people, one has to do more than shake hands and pause for a photo. It takes, I think, a long term relationship with people in their own environment to see the fear, courage, trepidation, hope, promise, and anxiety of these people. And somehow, I don’t see Mr. McCain working at my job in maintenance, unclogging toilets, pulling weeds, and taking out the trash, or Mr. Obama becoming a Certified Nurse Aide, making beds, feeding residents, and cleaning the butts of folks who could be his grandparents.

(Caveat here. In no way do I wish to minimize the service of Mr. McCain and his 5+ years in a prison camp and torture house. He will forever be a hero in my mind, and I will always marvel at his [and others] guts, determination, hope, and endurance during a time when by far the most of us would not even be here to tell about it.)

(Nor do I wish to minimize the service of Mr. Obama during the time when he genuinely tried, I think, to help those in greater need in the Chicago area as a “community organizer”. Such jobs are taken on by few, and even fewer manage to make a real difference.)

(I don’t know enough about the background of Joe Biden to make any statements regarding his service or lack of it.)

Gov. Sarah Palin is about as close as it gets to that kind of thing. And although she has been insulated from some of that for awhile, her family and living situation still present challenges to her and her husband that others also have to face. I think that may be part of the great attraction (or loathing) to her on the part of the nation, and no one seems to get that.

Attraction by those who also have challenges in life and living and see her as a courageous woman with a (mostly) functional family that they would like to emulate and perhaps even be a part of. They know she has “something” that keeps her going, and want to know more about it.

Loathing by those who cannot fathom why someone would deliberately choose to raise a Down’s Syndrome child, who think she is stupid for having a religious viewpoint that includes God in the plans for her and the universe, and who see her as the antithesis of all that their warped and jaded vision of the world is and can be (or not).

This blog started out as a list of those things I’ve been thinking about; as often happens, I got off on a subject and just kept going. Whether or not I continue with the list, I just don’t know. Writing is that way, some times.

What a Time!

In her speech to the Republican convention this week, Governor Palin used the “I” word. I don’t believe I have heard that word uttered by either of the Democratic candidates, or Senator McCain, for that matter. That’s not to say that they have not done so, for I have not heard all of what they have said. It’s just that I have not yet heard it.

In fact, very few politicians dare, I think, use the word because of the awesome responsibility that comes with it.

That word is INTEGRITY.

In her speech, Gov. Palin said, “No one expects us all to agree on everything; but we are expected to govern with integrity, and good will, and clear convictions, and a servant’s heart. And I pledge to all Americans that I will carry myself in this spirit as Vice President of the United States.”

Not only did she use the word; she promised to be that person of integrity as the Vice President. That means, according to the dictionary definition, that Gov. Palin has promised a Vice Presidency that is “possessing and steadfastly adhering to high moral principles or professional standards.”

Many words can be used to describe this kind of behavior. Morality, honesty, truthfulness, honor, reliability, uprightness…all these and more are good descriptions. But to capture the essence, the fundamentality of the thought, I believe the word integrity must be used.

I don’t know who I will vote for come November. I am one of those undecided voters, knowing that things haven’t worked well for the last many years and wondering if I can do anything at all at the polling place to change what I perceive as self-serving, petty politics at the expense of the good of a nation and world.

But I do know that I will continue to search for people who both use this word and demonstrate by their lives that they understand what the word means, and will tend to gravitate toward them even if I don’t agree with them in all issues.

The jury is out on Gov. Palin as to whether or not she is the real deal. She has a couple of months, as do the other candidates, to convince me that she is a person of integrity as she says. This will be an interesting time.

The Heroes

I was watching the Republican convention this evening. Of course, the political far outweighs anything else that might come out of an evening with the Republicans (or the Democrats, for that matter), but one thing grabbed at me.

I watched the C-SPAN version of the convention, meaning there was no commentary and the television showed the minor speakers before the heavyweights came on later on. One of those speakers was a former Viet Nam POW.

As part of his short time on the podium, he introduced the sister and two buddies of a Navy SEAL who had given his life in Iraq by falling on a grenade, thus saving the lives of many others. For that act, he was given the Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously.

The speaker then introduced five men who were at the convention (as special guests, no doubt) who were Medal of Honor winners and had them stand and be recognized. He then introduced twelve (I think that number is correct) men who were fellow POW’s along with himself and Senator McCain and asked them to stand and be recognized.

Let’s be honest and real here. Most of us have no idea. We haven’t a clue. We cannot possibly relate. Intentionally fall on a grenade? Serve 5 years as a POW in sub-human conditions? Be awarded the Medal of Honor? These men, ordinary human beings, each did something that was so extraordinary as to rise to the level of something almost not human.

Yet if you call any of these men heroes, each one to a man will tell you that the real heroes are the ones that never came back alive. (I don’t have to actually ask them. I’ve heard that from the heroes of Iwo Jima for many years, now, having attended several reunions. I have no doubt that these men would say the same thing.) The real hero in the group that was introduced, according to them, was the young man who fell on the grenade. They were just doing their job…doing their duty…doing what they were asked to do.

I complain about the price of gasoline, about the weather, and about my ailments that sometimes keep me up at night. I wonder if work tomorrow will be a good day or a not so good day. I look forward to the weekend, and enjoy the niceties of brewed coffee, a larger-than-life house, and the companionship of a great wife. My kids and grandkids are blessings in abundance.

Two worlds; two experiences. And in a chosen few, those worlds and experiences come together in the lives of men and women who are indeed the extraordinary...the courageous…the heroes.

The Fly

I was listening to NPR today, and they had a story about a man who is doing research on flies…yes, the common fly. Specifically, he is photographing them with very high speed cameras that catch them in very slow motion.

The researcher (Michael Dickinson) said that the fly might well be the “most sophisticated flying device on the planet.” Think of it, folks. The common housefly has been relegated to the top tier of flying devices, and may in fact be right at the top.

Listen to what NPR says that Mr. Dickinson told them about how a fly perceives a threat and escapes out of its way. “What's remarkable about this body position is how fast it happens. In less than a 10th of a second, the fly has to perceive the threat using its eyes, determine what direction it's coming from, and then make the appropriate movement with its legs so it jumps in the right direction. And all this is accomplished by a brain that's the size of a poppy seed.”

High speed videos of the fly taking off from threats coming at it from various angles are at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=94070264

Of course, we could get into the evolution/natural selection debate again with this information. Or we could just marvel at the creation and give praise to the One who made it all…even flies.

Something to Learn

If I have learned anything by working in a nursing home, it is the related virtues of taking things slowly and with patience. Sometimes I recognize that on my own; sometimes it is forced upon me.

What I am about to say is in no way disparaging of or condescending to those in our charge at the home. Each one is an individual created by God, with his or her own personality, strengths, and weaknesses. Each one is at the home because of an inability to care for his or herself in some way. Each one probably wishes for (and longs for) a time when he or she once again can be self-sufficient; when a foot, an arm, or some other body part moves when commanded, when a mind works as it should, and when a medical issue was no more complex than a cold.

To turn a corner and come upon someone slowly shuffling down the hall, having to stop every few feet to catch a breath, and with the greatest of difficulty imaginable willing one’s feet to move in such a way that progress down the hall is made, however small, is one of the most humbling experiences I’ve ever had.

To put someone into a vehicle and hear them tell me that their feet don’t always do what they are commanded to do…meaning I will have to put their legs and feet into the vehicle because they just won’t move on their own…is not only humbling for them, but is also an almost spiritual experience for me, at times.

I have the privilege, five or more days a week, to be of service in some way to over 50 people with one or more disabilities that make it impossible for them to navigate this world and their environment on their own. Most of the time I see to it that the building is the correct temperature, the lights work, and the plumbing isn’t clogged up. Sometimes I am able to help with a resident in some way, or just observe as they, with great stamina and courage, make it through another day.

I would be a complete idiot if I didn’t take a lesson or two from these experiences. These people are, for the most part my senior, and I can learn from them things no one else can teach. “Slow down and be patient,” they seem to be saying to me. “Don’t let life run away from you.”

Will I learn? Intellectually, I already know. It’s the “taking it to heart” that is the problem for me. One of these days, I may not have much choice in the matter. I may be one of the ones who cannot live on my own. I may be one of the ones being cared-for by others much younger than I. I may be one of those who can yet teach those younger ones something about patience.

Endurance

I was watching the Olympics over my lunch hour today. I turned on the women's table tennis matches. I like to watch sports that are a little less-known and get a little less press, so I was on MSNBC cable instead of the NBC station.
The United States contender was pretty much having her way with the challenger from...I don't remember where. It was one of the smaller European countries. As I watched, I thought that as the match went three games to none (4 out of 7 wins the match), the European player would just give up. But that did not turn out to be the case.
Although out-gunned and out-matched, the European player played harder than ever, and even took the fourth game to deuce a couple of times. She won the fourth game, making a fifth necessary. She then lost the fifth game, which was the match loss.
While all of this was going on, I thought, “She knows she's going to be beaten. She knows she can't out-play her opponent.” Then I thought, “But this is the Olympics. This is the ultimate. Those who make it to the Olympics aren't quitters and people who give up. She's playing as a true Olympian.”
I've seen this in contest after contest. There are always some in these events that are totally outclassed and out-matched by the stars. But those folks try every bit as hard...train every bit as much...and put all they have into what may be this one moment in their lives.
They may run only one race. They may play only one volleyball game. They know that they probably will not go any further. Then they are eliminated from further competition. But they do it with all they have and with all their heart.
Paul says to run with endurance the race set before us and to look at the goal...the prize...at the end of it. He says to run so as to obtain the prize. The difference between the race that Paul is talking about and the Olympic races is that everyone who finishes the race described by Paul receives the prize. All one has to do is finish.
I am reminded of the vault of Kerry Strug in the 1996 Olympics...vaulting with an injury that would otherwise have sidelined many, and with that vault “finishing the race” as it were. For those of us that saw it, it was an unforgettable moment. For Kerry, it was the mark of a true Olympian...a true champion.
“I have fought the good fight; I have finished the course...”

Are You Tough Enough?

I was listening to NPR the other day when they had an interview with one of the Olympic athletes. I believe he was an American steeplechase participant, but am not certain of that. Of course, they talked about a lot of things, but then he talked of his motivation to persevere through the training and then the competition.

I don’t know if this will strike you or not. It did me. When asked why he continues training in a sport that very few people know or care about, and if he ever felt like quiting, he said that when he gets to that place in his life, he just stops and asks himself one question: "Are you tough enough?"

Are you tough enough? Maybe we all should be asking ourselves that question at times. Now, I know that I’ll sometimes say no to that question. For example, if I think about skydiving and I ask myself that question, the answer will be “No,” although if it was a matter of life and death, I probably would jump out of that plane.

However, in everyday life and living, we face those giants that just seem to beat us down. The cranky boss, the unnerving traffic, the bad relative, never ending work, the chronic health issue, kids that never seem to grow up, or some such other issue. Maybe we are caught in a debt trap or find ourselves in an abusive situation of some kind. Perhaps we are addicted to something. Whatever it is, one key question we need to ask ourselves is, “Are you tough enough?”

The answer for many might well be no. However, for the Christian, there should never be occasion for that answer. Paul says that we have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear, but a spirit of adoption as sons. He also says that we have not received a spirit of timidity but rather a spirit of power and love. Paul also says that he can do all things through Christ, who strengthens him.

What’s going on in your life that is an issue right now? What are you battling? What is getting the best of you? Are you tough enough? If the answer is "No," maybe you need some help. Try adding Jesus Christ to the equation, then ask yourself again. You might be pleasantly surprised to find that you indeed can do all things through Christ, who strengthens you.

Porches and Perseverance

The wife and I stopped at a Braum’s ice cream store on the way home from evening church and got a hot fudge sundae. We were discussing the lesson we had just heard from a young man who was debuting as a speaker. He is a member of our church, and asked to be able to try his hand at speaking to the evening assembly. He did a great job, and we were talking about some of what he said.

We went just a few blocks with our sundaes to my sister’s house. I decided that whether or not she was home, we would sit on her enclosed porch and eat our sundaes. Sis was home, so she joined us on the porch.

She writes about her porch in her blog. It is a good place to congregate, visit, and just think. Sis has an older home with a large front porch that has been screened in and is very comfortable, especially in the evening.

I wonder how often we long for something that we can’t quite place or put our fingers on, and what we really need is a porch and an hour or so to just sit and ponder and visit. Modern lifestyles often don’t include time or space for such a porch, and we think it to be somewhat hokey in any event. But I think there’s a need for such a time and space in everyone’s life, from Warren Buffet and Bill Gates on down to the “least of these”.

Did we solve the world’s problems? No. Did we solve our own problems? No. But we did reconnect with each other and were able to sort out some things so that we could go into the week with a fresh perspective on some issues that at present seem to be rather intractable. And after all, isn’t that the thing? To keep on keeping on…running the race…finishing the course…that’s the thing. And porches can make all the difference in whether or not we’re successful in doing that.

Today

Today is August 8, 2008. That's 08/08/08 for those of you who are superstitious or count those kinds of things to be something. I don't, except for their unusual nature, but that's for a different day and blog. Today is special, however, for a different reason. Today is the birthday of my grandfather, Sol Plank.
Now, Sol has been dead for over 40 years (almost 42, to be exact). But I don't think there's a year that goes by that I don't stop for just a moment to enjoy some memories of him.
I've talked about him before. You may have heard how he came to Nebraska on the train with his family, or how he lost everything he had in the depression, or how he marveled so at television. You may, if you remember Sol, know that his full name was Solomon B Plank, and that the B was just an initial...no middle name that began with B was part of his moniker.
You may know other things...how he drove until well into his 90's; how he lost his wife in the early 20's; and how he reached out to people of different faiths in a time and as a member of a church that frowned greatly on such things.
But I guess that what I want to leave you with today is the certain knowledge that Sol, if he would be alive today (age 138, by the way), would probably be enamored with the computer, HDTV, and the Martian Rover while at the same time gently reminding his descendants that some things are timeless...faith, love, friendship, loyalty, gentleness, and generosity.
He would continue to spin stories of homesteading on the Nebraska plains, or farming over in the Danville (Kansas) area, or of some other aspect of a remarkable life that saw everything from the invention of the telephone to the internal combustion engine, to manned space flight. And we would sit, mesmerized by his ability to recall details and his knack for weaving together stories of the old times that entertained as well as informed.

It's Always Our Fault

So now it's our fault. It always is, I guess. Oh, I didn't tell you what is our fault, did I. Why, it's the plight of the airlines going bankrupt and hemorrhaging money like banshees. Our fault? Whose bright idea is that? No less than a Mr. Dave Castelveter of the Air Transport Association. This is what was reported by NPR Radio. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=93376602
“Dave Castelveter, of the Air Transport Association, says consumers share in the responsibility for the airline crisis. He says airlines have to keep airfares below their market price in order to remain competitive online. When consumers visit a travel Web site like Expedia or Travelocity, they often view flights by clicking on a button that says "list flights by lowest fare."
While airline executives would like to make a profit, they're busy trying to stay on the first page of those search results — and they can't do that if they hike their fares. This is part of the reason they've begun adding "hidden" costs for checked luggage and aisle seats, for example. Those ancillary fees do not affect a flight's price position on Travelocity and Expedia.”
So, I guess that if we the consuming public wouldn't try to always find the best deals and just take whatever happens to be offered, the poor airlines wouldn't be in this position, or at least would be in better shape than they are. If we'd just stay away from the “flights by lowest fare” button, the CEO's of the various airlines wouldn't have nearly as much explaining to do in their board meetings.
Somehow, I don't buy that. The question was raised as to why airlines just didn't raise fares to cover expenses. The reply was that if they raised fares, the planes might not be filled. In the same piece, it was said that the airlines are losing money on each fare. Now, I'm no economist, but I would think that if every fare represents a loss of $100 or more (which they said was the case), the fewer fares that lost money, the better.
OK. Let's take another look at this. Wouldn't it be better to fly fewer fares that were profitable than to fly a lot of fares that were losers? Why not raise rates, ground some flights, lay off some employees, and be profitable? I know that's easy for me to say, not being an airline employee. However, I've had my share of that kind of thing, and have also had to do that as management. It isn't easy. It demands, as the politicians say, tough choices and tough decisions (and the guts to carry them out).
Of course, it would also be beneficial to make the flying experience something more than what a cow might experience being herded from one pen to another. But that's another blog.

The Things One Learns....

O the things one learns in a nursing home!
We have an older man living here who cannot live on his own due to age and chronic health issues. Ray (not his real name) came to us virtually unresponsive and seemed to be in his own world. He would sometimes be rather messy when it came to bowel and bladder habits. He would eat little, or not at all.
That is gradually changing as the staff works with Ray. He is more vocal now and recognizes when people are speaking to him. He sometimes clears off his place at the table on his own, and enjoys walking with the staff (especially the female staff). But today I found out something about this man that I had not known, and probably would not have known had I not taken the time to watch a video.
You see, Ray is a pilot. And not only that, but he also has built airplanes...not for Boeing or Cessna, but for himself and others. And, he's a flight instructor. Ray has taught many an aspiring pilot how to fly.
Just looking at him now, one would think that this is a poor, little old man who had a less-than-thrilling life, commuting to work and back again, for forty or more years. Not so. Ray has seen the world in ways that many of us can only imagine, and has memories in his mind that make anything we know seem as kindling for his fire and persona.
I will from here on look at Ray in a different light, knowing what I now know. O the things one learns in a nursing home!

The Goldfinch In Our Yard

This morning, Pat went out onto the upstairs patio, as often is her habit. In a few minutes, she called me out and pointed out a brilliant yellow and black bird that had perched at the edge of our little fish pond and was seriously eyeballing something in or on the water. I haven’t seen yellow so bright and brilliant in nature in a long time.

We got a good look at the bird. I went in the house to get my binoculars, but when I returned, Pat said the bird had gone into the trees behind our house. Going back inside, I got my bird book and looked it up.

It didn’t take much to connect what I had seen with the American Goldfinch picture in the book. The match was almost exact. I then looked in the book for a little more information on the visitor we had briefly a few minutes before.

Among other things, the book said the birds were chiefly seed eaters. They also, unlike many species of birds, nest in the late summer and only hatch one brood due to that quirk. The book went on to explain that since seeds become more prevalent later on in the growing season, the birds wait to hatch their young until food becomes more plentiful.

Thinking about that, I wondered just how the theory of natural selection might explain how and why these birds ended up not even trying to hatch young ones until more of their preferred food was available. I imagined eons ago these birds trying, but failing to keep their young alive as they hatched broods in the spring like many other birds. I guess natural selection would say something like, “These families of birds died out, not being able to reproduce. However, some of the finches who (for whatever reason) happened to wait until later in the year to hatch their young, were successful and passed that trait on to their offspring.”

That may sound good to many of you, but it presupposes a lot of things. First, it assumed that the birds were totally unable to reproduce in the spring, which is not supported by any factual information. Second, it assumes that some of the species somehow did not hatch until later on in the summer…again, not supported by fact. Third, it assumes that the seasons; spring, summer, fall, and winter, were always what they now are. We know that isn’t so. Fourth, it assumes that those that did hatch in the late summer were somehow able to pass along that information in their DNA to their offspring.

I don’t know about you, but it seems to me much more likely that an intelligence of some kind planned for the goldfinch to do exactly what it does rather than a series of random chances that rely on unproven assumptions caused the end result of the American Goldfinch in my back yard today.

Carrie Lou

I was looking through a publication from my college of the early 1980’s, Oklahoma Christian College (now, it’s Oklahoma Christian University). I don’t often look in the obituaries in the Christian Chronicle, but did this morning. In those obits, I saw the name of someone who possibly single-handedly saved my marriage, my well-being, my career, and my family.

This woman took me under her wing immediately following my unceremonious termination from employment at a church in Ardmore, Oklahoma in 1983. Many church workers call such terminations massacres, and I tend to agree. In any event, Carrie Lou, a woman of elegance, intelligence, sense, means, compassion, and love offered to pay my way to my choice of either Harding University in Arkansas or Oklahoma Christian in Oklahoma City. She was on the Board of Trustees at both institutions. Anything I could charge to my college account would be paid for by Carrie Lou.

I spent just over a year at OCC. During that time, I amassed 62 credit hours toward a degree. I will forever be grateful beyond words to Carrie Lou for her faith in me.

Not only did she enable me to start on my path to a degree, more importantly, she gave me and my family time to heal, reflect, validate, and grow. Her acceptance of the responsibility to provide for us provided us with a first-hand understanding of unconditional love and acceptance. She gave us a chance to reconnect, to “find” ourselves, and to understand that God has a plan for us.

Although I could not finish my degree at that time due to health concerns of my parents, I used that education to forever change, I think, my direction in life and begin to understand the purpose of my being. I am who and what I am today in large part because Carrie Lou had compassion on a young man who showed the promise of a better life.

Carrie Lou passed away in late June. Her husband passed away just a few days ago and was buried on August 1. If you care to, you can see her obituary at http://www.ardmoreite.com/obituaries/x833719071/Carrie-Lou-Scott-Little-Davis

Rest in peace, Carrie Lou, and thank you.

We’ve had an unsettling thing happen this past week. We received a call during the week that some rather unusual charges were being put on one of our credit cards. We found that one of the two cards we had been issued was missing. We thought that we may have inadvertently lost it the prior weekend at a store. Obvously, we closed that account and are having a new card issued to us. The thief got away with almost two hundred dollars.

Today we were looking at our checking account and found added unauthorized charges. We discovered that one of our debit cards was missing. We know that we had the card Thursday afternoon, so suspect that both cards were stolen by someone rifling through a desk while we were at work. We also have some checks missing…checks at the bottom of the stack so we wouldn’t miss them right away.

We put a stop payment on the checks, closed the debit card, and Monday will go in to the bank and have a new checking account issued to us. That sounds good and it is, but just imagine what we now will have to do with that new number.

We’ll have to order checks. We’ll have to get new debit cards. We’ll have to change the payment method on all of our automatic and on-line payments. It’s a mess.

We put a fraud alert on both of our credit accounts and are thinking about having new credit cards issued to us from other issuers in the off chance that the thief copied down numbers, but didn’t take the card. We also filed a police report. I don’t quite know where to go from here.

This isn’t identity theft per se. However, the consequences are much the same. We suspect an employee at the place where we work (not a specific employee…we don’t know that much). I feel sorry for them on the one hand, and on the other, I hope they get caught so they can get help, perhaps.

I’ll be working tonight on some of our other accounts. I’ll let you know if we have further problems. Life is complicated, sometimes.

Normal Weekends

I thought I’d say a few words before beginning the day. Yes, I know it’s 10am, but it’s on a Saturday and it’s been a hard week.

I look forward to the weekends for the change of pace and letdown that they provide. For example, today I got up at 9am, which I admit is late for me. Usually, I arouse around between 7:30 and 8am. Today, though, it just seemed like a good day to be lazy. I got dressed, went out and retrieved the paper, then read it while eating whole-grain cereal (Grape-Nuts).

I’m getting ready to load up the mower and take it to our other house and mow the yard that has been sadly neglected for the last month. I imagine the grass and weeds will be rather overgrown, and will probably take down the weed whacker as well.

This afternoon I’ll help with some housework and prepare my Sunday School lesson for tomorrow. The topic for the quarter is the names for Jesus. Each week we discuss a different name for Jesus, such as Son of Man, Good Shepherd, etc. Tomorrow we will discuss Jesus saying of Himself that He is The Way.

The yard here at home needs some work and I’ll probably do some of that this evening. Then tomorrow is church, which is always the highlight of the week (yes, that is really true). Tomorrow evening our small group will meet, which also is a great time.

Most of my weekends go something like the above. They can be punctuated with some shopping, visits by relatives or others, trips somewhere for the day or part of a day, or perhaps being called in to work for something. I never know.

So, time to get some coffee around, load up the mower, and head out. I should be back in about four hours or so. Hi-ho, Silver!!

The List

This has been, I think, an unusual spring and summer for the Wichita area. We’ve had plenty of rain and rather cool weather up until now. Our rainfall for the first six months of this year is about what we would receive in a normal year, so we are plenty damp. And, as usually happens with wet weather, the temperature has stayed cooler than normal.

So, what is it about the weather that seems to be a good conversation starter or a convenient way to segue from one topic to another? You’ll notice that I began this blog with the weather. I did so because I couldn’t think of anything else about which to blog and decided, as I often do, to just start writing and see what comes out. What has come is a question out of a long line of questions about why we do what we do.

Weather is something we feel we have a right to cuss and discuss, yet is something about which we can do nothing. It transcends even the federal government in being unreachable and unyielding. It will be what it will be, and nothing on earth can change it.

I suppose our propensity to discuss the weather as a conversation piece may have something to do with that notion. It’s a safe topic, yet one that everyone knows (or thinks they know) something about.

There are other topics like that in our conversation. The traffic on city streets, nameless bureaucrats that make decisions on our behalf, large corporations that seem to have a life of their own, taxes, and death. You can name your own and probably greatly expand the list.

For those who were at the reunion a few days ago, I suppose the quote that would most aptly describe what to put in a list such as the above would be the one heard from one of the grandkids (about 4 years old) during the birthday party for another. She was desperately trying to make sure the party went according to how she wanted it to go, and wasn’t having a lot of luck due to the presence of so many adults. She was heard in frustration to say, “I can’t control this!”

Yep. That list will be MUCH longer than I thought it might, now that I think about that short sentence and apply it to the things to go on the list.

Back

Well, we’re back. We got back home about 5pm and got the rental van back on time. We’re tired and don’t wish to do it again any time soon, but are thrilled we had the chance to go and take our son and his family with us.

I’ll not write much today, except to say that we’re all fine and had a great time in Michigan, seeing all the relatives. There is a lot to write about, probably more than I’ll have the time or inclination to do over the next several days.

Work is tomorrow. From the tone of a couple of emails I’ve received while on vacation, I think there may be a little different work “climate” now than when I left. It should be interesting, and for me is a little disconcerting…nothing bad, but I like my ruts.

Thanks to all who had a part in making the reunion a success, especially the Michiganders who hosted us and fed us and entertained us. You’re terrific!!

We're Off

Well, this should prove to be quite the adventure. We're in Emporia as I write this and it's 6am. We're at our son's home and we're all up and getting ready to take off for our family reunion in Michigan.
The grandkids are up and around and we're getting last-minute things in the van we've rented. Coffee is done and we're looking forward to the next several days together. It's been awhile since we've traveled with babies, and the laws have changed since then regarding car seats, etc. So it will be a sort of a re-learning experience for us grandparents.
We'll be back here a week from today dropping off the kids, then back to Wichita. In the intervening time, we will have renewed ties with many in the family, had a lot of fun, reminisced, taken pictures, and whatever else families do when together (like eat??).

Past and Future

In today’s Sunday School class that I taught, we were talking about the importance of ancestry and where we came from. The topic was timely because we are studying some of the names for Jesus of Nazareth and today we were talking about Jesus the Son of David and what that meant.

The Jewish people spent a lot of time and energy making sure they knew first that they were descendents of Abraham, and second, which of Jacob’s sons they came from. They also were interested in whether or not they were descended from Royalty (the lineage of David the King, or some other person in their history.

One of the people in the class, during the initial minutes of the class when I was introducing the topic of ancestry, talked of her grandmother, who lived to age 109 and never liked to talk about the past, but look forward to the future. That is a noble thing, to be sure, but I wonder if there was something lost there.

No, we can’t live in the past, but we can learn from the past. To know what happened years ago…how people lived, the conditions of society, etc…is to be able to better understand the world today and how to survive and navigate within it. To hear of the struggles and trials of those in the Great Depression, one of the Great Wars, or some other major time is to better appreciate what we have now and to determine that we will not repeat the mistakes of the past.

I told the class that I marvel even now at my grandfather, who died when I was 16 years old. He was 96. Born in the mid to late 1800’s, he was witness to Reconstruction following the Civil War, the addition of all of the states from Colorado on, the founding of the WCTU (Womens Christian Temperance Union) and the Suffrage amendment to the US Constitution, five wars, the defeat of Custer, the Kodak camera, alternating current (forerunner of modern electrical systems) the light bulb, the machine gun, the x ray, the airplane, the vacuum tube, Prohibition, the Cyclotron, the Roaring 20’s, the Great Depression, the advent of plastics, Social Security (he was already eligible for Social Security when it went into effect), radio, television, the transistor, UNIVAC, nuclear submarines, the integrated circuit, Bob Dylan, the computer mouse, and space flight (Gemini XII).

He especially marveled at television and how those pictures and sounds could be transmitted through thin air, picked up by aluminum tubes (antennas), and converted by a box in his living room to picture and sound. I really think that if he thought he could have done it at his age, he would have gone to school to learn how television worked.

I had the privilege, three years after he died, to go to school and learn how television works (the new digital television is a whole ‘nuther animal). I marveled then at how it works and still am amazed that anyone could have thought up all of the intricate interplay and delicate balancing acts that have to occur in the circuitry and the concept for television to be reality.

Had he not experienced the coming of the light bulb, would he have marveled so at television? Had he not witnessed reconstruction, would the nuclear submarine have meant anything to him? Do you get my point? The past helps to drive who and what we are today and who and what we will be in the future. The past isn’t our roadmap to the future, but the past helps us choose the path we will take.

The Unwashed

At our Wednesday Bible class this evening, the leader was talking about the time in Matthew when Jesus ate “with the tax collectors and sinners.” The leader was saying that we are much more comfortable in our own circle of church people than we are when outside that circle. He also said that some people have great difficulty naming even one friend that is not a church friend or someone outside of our comfort circle.

I have had the opportunity over the years to make friends with several people outside of my circle of church friends and family. I don’t feel that uncomfortable around people like that; I used to be one of them. However, I’m not sure that my witness of the Good News has been at all stellar during the times I've been with my “unwashed” friends. Oh, I don’t get in the mud with them, necessarily; I just may not always be as overt in the teaching part of it as I could be.

I could tell you some stories here, but I prefer that most of the details stay with me for the time being. Some of you may have heard me talk of my friendship with local media personality Kevin Craig, who tragically took his life a couple of years ago here in Wichita, and how I had intended to contact him again after moving here…but didn’t.

Some of you may have heard of some other story, such as the time the CEO of Maude Carpenter Children’s Home and I went to a nightclub in Old Town over a Christmas holiday because they were doing a fundraiser for the home and we needed to be there. I was chosen to go because I was the only one on staff who was not uncomfortable with the smoke, booze, loud music, and drunks. Shellee went because she had to. The live music was pretty good. I rather enjoyed the night. I don’t think she did.

I'm not necessarily proud of my prior "unwashed" life. I'm not particularly thrilled that I once picked up a girl in a bar in St. Paul, Minnesota, or that I frequented the 13th and North Hydraulic area in Wichita with friends (and a girl friend), or that I walked the streets and alleys of downtown Wichita at night back in the late '60's, or that I had a four year relationship with a woman that, to put it delicately, was not in my best interests.

However, that is who I am and that is my history. I believe that even in all of that, my God can take those times and circumstances and make something good come of them. If that something good happens to be a level of comfort with the unwashed and their culture, so be it.

I don’t know that it’s just “eating with the tax collectors and sinners” that’s required. I think it’s having some of who I am wash off on those I eat with. That can be a horse of another color. There can be a fine line between enjoying the company of such people and immersing oneself into the culture as one of them. Not all of us may be capable of discerning the difference, but for those who can, perhaps is also given a responsibility to use it wisely.

Gritty Living

I am from the Anabaptist tradition. Both sides of my family were (are) firmly set in that tradition both by heritage as well as practice. One component of that tradition is that of being “a people of peace”. The practical effect of that is that those who subscribe to the Anabaptist philosophy do not serve as police officers, military, or other vocations of that kind and type. They also affirmatively champion the cause of peace (not just absence of war, but real, lasting peace) and work toward that end.

One thing I never heard much about when I was growing up was the effect that WWII had on those who were Anabaptist. My uncle, in his blog, gave some insight into that time recently. He did a series of blogs on the topic and admirably provided a good apologetic for his belief. His blog can be found at http://kings-continuingthejourney.blogspot.com/

The church we attend has no position on serving in the military or in law enforcement. That is left up to the individual to make that choice. It has been an effort, at times, for me to meld my Anabaptist upbringing with (for example) the sight of a uniformed police officer on duty on Sunday mornings (member of the church) stopping by for services. That happened regularly in Oakley, KS where we lived for several years, as Chuck and his family would meet for worship with the congregation. Sometimes he would have to leave during services to go to a call. Other times, he could be there the whole time.

I must admit I'm in the great gray middle on this issue. I like to hear both sides of any issue, and certainly appreciate and honor my uncle’s series of blogs as well as him for writing them.

The older I get, the more I have concluded that life isn't always the black and white that we sometimes have thought. The ideal is not always the reality, nor can it be in a fallen world. That doesn’t mean, however, that we should discard the ideal in favor of wallowing around in the reality without hope of something better. It does mean that sometimes we find ourselves in a position we’d rather not be in, but have no practical way to escape.

Jesus Christ and His example to us is the ideal. Just because we will never meet that ideal doesn’t mean we don’t continue to scratch and claw (that phrase doesn’t sound very peace-like, does it), giving all we have, pursuing it with every fiber of who we are.

On the contrary, as Christians we are called to do just that, while at the same time living, working, coping, and dealing with the imperfect and the effects of it. Loving one’s neighbor and doing unto others sometimes means being gritty and grimy. It sometimes means getting out of our comfort zone. It sometimes means sacrificial giving. It sometimes means disrespect and contempt. And it sometimes means giving the ultimate gift…life itself.

Not Me, Man

The last several days have been days of emotional ups and downs for me. I know I don’t often display emotions as some do, but I can certainly feel them inside. One such time happened today as I heard some beautiful music.

Sis came by the home today and serenaded the residents and staff with some selections on the baby grand we have there. As soon as she started playing, I was struck with emotions that I cannot describe several hours after the fact.

The music was beautiful, but that wasn’t the reason for my feeling. Instead, there was something about the relationship I have with the one doing the playing that made the whole afternoon. I looked forward so to her coming so my friends at the home could meet her, and look forward to her coming back. I was proud of her and her accomplishments in life and wanted others to know about her. And I was grateful and proud for her service and willingness to volunteer an hour or so doing what she does so well.

I also had a good evening at our Wednesday Bible classes. Our class is viewing a video on the life of Jesus. We are watching the book of Matthew portrayed as it is translated in the New International Version. I can’t think of the video series right now…some of you would know about it if I could remember it.

In this video, Jesus is portrayed as a man who has a sense of humor, shows emotion, and seems to sincerely enjoy his ministry and being with people. I understand the producers of the video have taken some license with it in order to produce something that has some attraction to those who would watch.

However, I cannot abide by the old notions that Jesus went around with a frown on his face all the time, used “thee” and “thou”, and had not a bit of fun in his life. He was fully human, according to the Scriptures, and that means he ran the full gamut of emotion including humor, sarcasm, wit, and others.

The Bible says that “the life” was in him. The Bible also says that Jesus came to earth to give us all life, and to give it abundantly. Jesus is The Life. To me, that means that He embodies all that is good about life and living, including humor and emotion.

I am grateful that I am receiving another perspective on the life of this God-Man, the Eternal Son. I am humbled and awed by the possibility that Jesus may well have lived and worked much as he is portrayed in this video. Why else would the crowds respond to him as they did? Would you want to follow someone who frowned, had no fun, and spoke in the king’s English (so to speak) all day? Not me, man. Jesus came to give me life…the abundant life…eternal life. And that means (at least to me) that I have some abundant living to do.

We had some friends over this evening for a hamburger cookout on the back patio. We were talking about some of the wildlife we could see behind our home when Eric brought up the fact that an owl had made an appearance at their place (which backs up to the Little Arkansas River).

I immediately thought of times past and gone when I would hear a hoot owl (great horned owl) in the hackberry tree just outside my bedroom at home where we grew up. I was a teenager then, and the sound of the owl in the middle of the night brought shivers to me as well as a comfort in knowing that I was safe and warm. I usually went right to sleep again for the rest of the night.

Later in life, when I moved our family to that same place, owls once again would roost in the hackberry tree and hoot during the night. I felt that same strange combination of spine-tingles and comfort that carried me through those teen years. And in Oakley when we lived in our first house there, an owl would sometimes hoot during the night in the large tree out front. I’m not sure what it is about the sound of the horned owl that brings those powerful feelings to me. However, as I live and work in the Wichita area, I long for that sound to manifest and bring back the flood of memories and simpler times and lives.

As I write this, I am reminded of several sounds in that old house where I grew up. The great horned owl was one. Trains passing through town at night are another. We lived about ¾ mile away from the BNSF main line from Chicago to Los Angeles. Over 80 trains a day go through there at 70 miles an hour. The sounds carried far and wide. We could easily hear the trains.

Back when there was a switching yard at the railroad, sometimes locomotives would rumble as they started and stopped while switching at night. That low frequency rumble was sufficient to rattle a spring inside one of the windows in my bedroom. I got to where I listened specifically for that sound whenever I heard a loco in the distance. I loved that sound.

Our furnace made a peculiar sound just a few seconds after the blower came on. I could count on it and that sound, again, was comforting to me as I lay in bed.

Finally, probably the sound I miss most is the sound of our large black Labrador as she would come onto the front porch and plop down against the screen door in the middle of the night. I always knew when Dynamite (my son named her) was back from her nightly rounds of the neighborhood, and there was a certain comfort there, too, as I knew she kept a watchful eye out for unusual things. There is still, 15 years later, a worn place on the screen door where she lay.

The saddest sound of all was that same sound of Dynamite plopping up against the screen door one Sunday evening some 15 years ago. I knew it would be the last time I heard that sound, because the next day I knew I would put her down as she was full of cancer and was suffering too much. She’d already been to the vet. I already had made arrangements for him to come to the house and put her down rather than my hauling her there. Besides, I could bury her out back and come to the reconciliation that she was no longer with us much better that way.

I can remember that sound like it happened five minutes ago….

Some things that seem at first somewhat incongruous, or at least a little different from what I would have always thought (these in no specific order):

• The young nurse aide this morning who said she will really miss Tim Russert because she watches mostly the news channels and his program.
• The City of Harper, KS charges a minimum of $33 per month water bill, even if no water is used during the entire month.
• Goldfish can be purchased at Wal Mart, dumped in an outdoor backyard pond, and will live for a good long time.
• Jesus makes the statement, “Before Abraham was, I am.”
• A plant can grow out of a rock.
• When I get a hair cut, the barber actually cuts many, many hairs.
• Circuit breakers for Federal Pacific brand circuit boxes cost upwards of $60 each while other breakers for other brands can be purchased for as little as $5.
• People drive fast, jump start, tailgate, weave in traffic, and use their brakes too much even though gasoline is $4.00 per gallon.
• At my age, I should be smelling the roses instead of plowing up weeds.

Saturday Morning TV

I was watching TV this morning (Saturday). I know, I know, that’s many times a waste of time, especially on Saturday. Nevertheless, I was taking in I Love Lucy and a commercial came on. Normally, I don’t watch them to a great extent as I have what I need, and if I don’t, I go down to the local store and get it. This commercial, however, caught my eye.

They were selling ped-eggs. Now, if you have never seen one, just think for a minute what these gadgets might be good for, knowing only the name of the product. OK, I’ll just tell you. These little marvels somehow scrape off the dead skin from the bottom of your feet in order to make them “smooth and silky”. Now, before you tell me that I’m “tetched in the head”, let me finish.

The commercial was a classic. One young woman raved on and on about these things and closed out by saying, “I’ve just got to have one!” One scene showed five people of various genders and ages all sitting in the same room shaving off the bottom of their feet, then opening up these egg gadgets and dumping out all the dead skin in piles, evidently showing the usefulness of the thing. And, of course, there was the proverbial “But Wait!! That’s not all!!” phrase following the announcement that one of these cost only $10. Turns out that you can obtain two at that price (one for each hand…foot...) and some kind of cream that is supposed to make your feet more attractive.

OK. I have a couple of questions. Why would anyone be that interested in dead skin on the soles of one’s feet? If there is a legitimate answer to that question, why would anyone want to engage in that kind of personal care in a room with four or five other people? And why, for heaven’s sake, would those people dump their dead skin in piles in order to compare success? Of course, the greatest question is why anyone would think that they just had to have something like this?

Am I wrong, or are there more important things in this world that we need to be thinking about, working on, and spending our money on? Am I being too serious here, or is there a case to be made that some folks are just so full of themselves that they have to have the silkiest foot soles in town?

This is making me more nauseated the more I think about it. What started off as being something funny and asinine has become, in my mind, something that has grown into a “This is what’s wrong with this world,” kind of thing. But that isn’t even right. What’s wrong with the world isn’t the fact that someone somewhere knows there are people gullible enough to send him $10 (plus shipping and handling) and their name and address for a plastic egg-like thingy that shaves off dead skin. (By the way, the names and addresses are sold on mailing lists many, many times over, making more money for the shysters than the profits from the sale of the product.)

No, what’s wrong with the world happened in a certain Garden over in the East many, many centuries ago. The human race has futilely trying to cope with that ever since. One of these days, we’ll all know that only One Man has ever successfully won that battle. And He won it for us all.

What God is Doing

I’m working on a theory. OK, I’m not a scientist, nor am I a learned scholar. Nevertheless, I have a theory. I think the writers of old who penned the works known collectively as the Bible knew what they were talking about when they wrote about God being involved in literally the routine and mundane things in our lives.

David wrote about it. Daniel did, too. Many of the writers of old talked glowingly and waxed eloquent regarding God’s provision for His creation in even those things that we might otherwise take for granted.

In today’s world we tend to dismiss such thoughts. We say that the writers of old didn’t know about scientific theory, the solar system or the water cycle. We say that they attributed to God things that they could not otherwise explain, and that because we are an advanced people, we have explanations for such things that do not involve the intervention of a deity.

I’m not so sure. I was prompted to think, following yesterday’s evening lesson at church, that perhaps there are a couple of reasons why we tend to poo poo such ideas. One, perhaps we like to think of ourselves as intelligent and advanced…too “smart” to fall for such explanations. Two, could it be possible that God’s work in our routine lives is so pervasive that we don’t know what it’s like to be without that work…therefore, we don’t appreciate and “see” what He truly does?

Think for a moment what might be different about your life right now if God, just for today, did not work in your sphere of consciousness. How would things be different? Would you have food to eat? Would you have shelter? What about a job? Maybe your spouse, children, or relatives might not exist or be different. Would you have gasoline to power your car? Would you have a car? Would you be healthy? Would you even be alive?

We have not a clue how much of what we ate today was due to the work of God in our lives. Nor do we have a clue whether or not we would even be alive today if God didn’t work on our behalf.

I suspect we would be a lot like the servant of Elisha who, when confronted with Aram and his army (II Kings 6), wrung his hands and wondered what they were going to do. We don’t see the work of God or the hand of God in anything. We are too cynical, too logical for that. You may know the rest of the story: Elisha prayed that God would allow the servant to see what was really happening, and the servant then saw God’s army surrounding everything.

What would happen to us if we really saw what God was doing right around us?